Season of the Dragon, page 10
Pahpi rarely called upon the Jagaru to sort out crimes committed in Solia. He’d preferred the town elders to mete out justice. He said the Jagaru were too much vigilante and too little justice. Quen sighed, thinking about what Pahpi would say if he knew both she and Rhoji had joined the Jagaru. Her chest grew tight.
But Quen couldn’t recall Solia ever dealing with men stealing children. Though Pahpi had no love for the Dynasty, he probably would have handed Earnôt over to Kovatha. Like Pahpi, most Kovatha were Pillar-trained. He believed Pillar-educated people could be more fair.
Before the dragon attack, Quen likely would have agreed with what she imagined Pahpi would decide. But in the weeks since Nevara darkened their door, she’d dramatically increased her knowledge of the world. I’m uncertain if I agree with your ways of thinking anymore, Pahpi.
She saw a bit of herself in the young girl still quaking by her mother’s side, tightly hugging a soot-covered rag doll. It wasn’t long ago that she was a young girl and vulnerable. Quen shuddered to consider what might have happened to the girl if they hadn’t happened along.
Quen raised her blade high.
Rhoji looked aghast. Mishny’s smirk was likely the closest Quen would come to the woman’s approval. Aldewin gave her a single nod, though his lips were a grim line.
Earnôt tried to run, but Shel snatched him by the shirt and pulled him back. She yanked his bound hands and forced him to kneel.
A thin, red-faced woman sprang from behind the bar. “No more blood in my inn! Take your Jagaru business out to what’s left of Juinar.”
Druvna nodded. “Get him up and out.”
Rhoji helped Shel drag Earnôt to his feet, and they marched him out to Juinar’s acrid air.
As Quen turned to leave, the mother grabbed at Quen’s tunic. Her tired pale-green eyes were red and watery. “You did good business today, young Jagaru. Blessing of the Three to you, and I’ll pray the Sister keeps you.” She pressed a dar into Quen’s hand.
Quen couldn’t recall anyone thanking her like this before. Pride swelled her chest. Hot tears stung her eyes. It’ll ruin my image as a brave Jagaru if they see me cry. Quen nodded once and left, the dar warm in her hand.
• • •
Earnôt stood in the center of charred Juinar, awaiting Jagaru justice. Townsfolk, scavengers, and the mother and children gathered to watch as Earnôt tried various arguments in quick succession to wriggle out of his fate.
“I did no’a break the law. You know this, Jagaru. We can sell people in the Capital.”
His claim brought a chorus of jeers from the onlookers. One man shouted, “But you no’a can steal a person, you kopek dung.” The emboldened crowd cheered even more.
When claiming he was in the right hadn’t worked, Earnôt switched gears. “If you kill me, wait and see what happens to you. The childrens was headed to Māja Wix, they was. Mistress Idaya gonna be powerful mad when I no’a bring them for Māja Wix.”
His threatening rhetoric didn’t dissuade the increasingly large angry mob from jeering and even throwing bits of charred wood at the Jagaru prisoner. The people of Juinar had lost everything. Earnôt hadn’t burned their town, but he was there, and the murderous dragon wasn’t.
Aldewin whispered into Druvna’s ear, and the old Jagaru raised his hand and called for quiet. “Everyone knows what you did was wrong, Earnôt the Evil. And you know it, too. Even in the stinkin’ capital, there’s no’a captives or enslaved people, only indentured. You wouldn’t get past the Tilaj Gate anyhows. This madi deserves justice, and the Jagaru are gonna save the Kovathas the trouble.”
Druvna nodded to Mishny, and she forced Earnôt to kneel. He blubbered like a child who lost their toy, showing he hadn’t an ounce of self-respect or courage. Eira pushed Earnôt’s head to a charred stump, exposing his neck.
Druvna drew his doubled-edge curved blade, but it shook in his hands. He wiped his brow with his forearm.
“What’s the matter?” Quen whispered to Shel.
Shel sighed and whispered back. “I think he’s afraid he hasn’t the strength to do it in one blow.”
Without words passing between them, Aldewin pulled the great broadsword from his back and took Earnôt’s head from his neck with one mighty stroke. Earnôt’s head fell to the ground with a sickening plop. Crimson blood pumped out of the neck before the body, too, fell to the soot-darkened sand.
Silenced replaced the cheers, shouts, and yowls. With a face set like stone, Aldewin wiped Earnôt’s blood off his blade. He stowed the broadsword back in its scabbard and walked to the alehouse without a word. People tried to put pits and dars into Aldewin’s hand as he passed, but he ignored them and didn’t take the money.
Mishny said, “I’ll collect your tributes to the Jagaru.” She stood amongst the crowd and collected the token coin the survivors of Juinar offered for the justice served.
Shel elbowed Quen. “Come on. Let Mishny gather coin while we get good and pished.”
Best idea I’ve heard since we left Solia.
When they entered the Juinar Inn, Aldewin had already settled at a table in a dark back corner of the place, a mug of ale to his lips. Quen moved to join him, but Shel pulled her toward the bar.
“He needs to be alone,” Shel said.
Aldewin hadn’t even looked up when they entered. His face was dour, his foul mood palpable from across the room. Shel’s probably right. Quen followed her friend to the bar in the center of the inn.
Eira, Rhoji, Druvna, and Mishny soon joined them. Druvna ordered ale and plunked down a dar to cover their tab. “Even the moss-brained squibs here get a mug tonight.”
One mug became two and then too many. They sang more rounds of “Song of Niyadi” than Quen had ever sung before, each progressively bawdier than the last. Mishny sang lyrics with double meaning, but Shel was not to be outdone.
“Dance strong, Niyadi, dance!” Shel sang, her words garbled with drink but her voice rich and melodious. She added a seductive swivel of her hips to punctuate her lyrics.
When they all cheered and egged her on, she continued.
“Rise, big ole Niyadi, rise!
Sink down on bended knee,
Plant kisses there,
Tween nether hair.
Make her swoon and scream, yes, yes!”
Shel’s verse made even Druvna blush. Quen laughed so hard she snorted ale through her nose. Shel bowed and drained her cup. She leaned to Quen and said, “By the Three, I think my garden needs tending.”
Shel had meant to whisper, but her voice carried. Everyone at the bar raised their cups and said, “Hear, hear!”
It didn’t embarrass Shel. She laughed with the others, and a farmer across the bar bought her an ale. Not one to pass up a gift cup, she drank every drop.
“Poor guy. He doesn’t know Mishny’s got more chance of being welcomed in your bed than he has,” Quen said. They clinked their mugs, spilling ale on the bar.
“By Niyadi’s arse, you know I’m too pished when I think maybe spooning with Mishny is a good idea,” Shel said before falling off her stool.
Quen tried to see in Mishny what Shel saw, but even under the influence of ale, she couldn’t imagine kindling romance with sour Mishny.
Druvna slid from his chair and nearly fell over. “Get as mush-brained as you want, but remember, the Jagaru won’t wait for your sorry arse in the morn. People say they saw smoke farther north, so tomorrow we ride to the Tilaj Gate.”
Mishny had drunk as many mugs as the others, but she stood without wobbling. She put several coins on the bar for the barkeep then slung an arm around Druvna and helped him out.
“We should prob’ly—proob’ily—aw, I need sleep,” Rhoji said.
Quen had never seen him so drunk. Eira joined arms with him, and they staggered to camp.
The ale and song had taken Quen’s mind off the day’s events. Relaxed and aroused by the bawdy songs, Quen searched the room for Aldewin, but he was no longer brooding in the corner.
Shel drained her mug. “He left hours ago.”
“Who?” Quen’s face flushed.
Shel laughed as Quen lent her a hand up off the floor. “By Hiyadi’s round ass, Quen, you’re terrible at hiding your feelings. You better never play Duple di Marc in Qülla. You’ll lose your last skin.” Shel tugged at Quen’s sleeve and indicated the door with her head. “Let’s go. Maybe you can find Aldewin’s thighs at camp.” She pantomimed humping a man, laughed, and headed for the door.
Quen was going to protest Shel’s insinuations, but when she tried to speak, her words were a gurgling mass of vowels. “Ah, piss on it all,” she managed, and plunked the single dar she’d received earlier onto the counter. It was all her money, but it was worth every pit to have a few hours away from thinking about dragons, death, and the Nixan soul trying to steal her skin.
She followed Shel to their camp outside the burned town, trying not to stumble. Collecting breezes from the vast Zhongdu Sea, Juinar turned chilly at night. The damp seeped into Quen in a way she had never experienced in Solia. She shivered as she made her way to their small fire.
Druvna was already snoring loudly, his out-breaths whistling through the slit in his upper lip. Rhoji, still wearing boots, had passed out on his bedroll, an arm slung across Eira.
Shel didn’t bother carefully smoothing her pallet as usual. She threw it on the ground and practically fell onto it.
The small fire was nearly out and provided little light or heat. Quen stoked it with a long stick, rousing the embers. In the increased light, she noticed Aldewin sitting across the fire. He was so still she’d mistaken him for a large rock in the dim light. Drowsy-looking but awake, Aldewin stared at the flame.
He glanced up at her. “Your first true day as a Jagaru.” He drank from his wineskin. “You should get some rest.”
Quen unrolled her pallet and sat down. “I’m not tired.” She stifled a yawn.
Aldewin smiled and shook his head. “You’re not, hey?”
A part of her wanted nothing more than to fall into an ale-induced deep sleep, the prize for the long ass-numbing ride from Solia. But her desire to be in Aldewin’s company was greater.
“Tell me, Aldewin di Partha, how you learned to use your stick like that.” Her cheeks colored, realizing how he might take what she said after the bawdy singing at the Juinar Inn.
Aldewin’s eyes twinkled. He smiled over his wine sac at her, unembarrassed by her question. “Which stick are you referring to?”
“That’s not—well, I meant—”
He laughed. “I know what you meant.” He took another drink and put the wine down. “Would you like me to show you?”
Quen’s heart raced. “Here?” Mishny stirred, and Quen realized her voice had been loud. She whispered, “Now?”
Aldewin gave her a hand up. “Sure. Why not? Come with me.”
Her loins tightened, and both hearts beat more rapidly. She’d imagined intertwining with Aldewin for days while riding, but didn’t believe it would happen. She followed as he headed away from the warmth and light of the fire. Shivering before, Quen was no longer cold.
Once they were about thirty paces beyond camp, Aldewin pulled the staff from his back. She wasn’t sure if he intended to fight her or bed her. Quen stepped back.
He shook his head and chortled. “Don’t be afraid. Come.” He motioned to her. “I’ll show you how to wield a stick, as you call it.”
She tried not to show how disappointed she was that he wanted to give her a fighting lesson, not a love lesson. But any closeness with him was preferable to her cold bed, so she moved closer.
“First, you must learn how to grip it.” He held the staff out to her. “Come on, don’t be shy.”
She held the staff gingerly with one hand.
“Come now, it won’t bite you.” He winked at her. “Take it firmly, in both hands. That’s it, but don’t squeeze too tightly.”
She gripped the staff with both hands and tried to ignore how being close made her want to kiss him.
He stood behind her and put his hands on hers, feeling her grip. His lips were close to her ear, his breath warm on her neck. “Your grip is too tight. Loosen up a bit.”
She tried to loosen her grip, but having him so close made her insides quiver. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate.
Aldewin pushed her feet apart gently with his foot. “You want a shoulder-width stance, but keep your knees slightly bent, not locked. That’s it. You want to be ready for anything.”
Her voice was low and raspy when she spoke, her desire less than concealed. “I am.” She cleared her throat. “Ready for anything.”
His whiskers tickled her neck. “Are you?” He guided her hands and swung the staff in a figure eight. “You’ve got strength, Quen. I can show you how to use it.”
Aldewin thrust the staff forward, but Quen wasn’t ready for it, still tipsy from drinking. The forward momentum pulled her off-balance, taking Aldewin to the ground with her.
They wound up with their legs knotted together, both laughing.
“I guess I wasn’t ready after all,” Quen said.
Aldewin brushed a stray hair from her eyes. “Me either.” His gaze was intent and serious. “Your commitment to your family, your pod—to your people. It’s admirable. And you’re lovely, Quen. Do you know that?”
Quen’s breath caught in her throat. She’d longed to hear such words, but had nearly given up hope that she ever would. Suddenly speechless, she merely shook her head.
He rubbed a calloused thumb across her cheek, cradling her head in his large palm. “There’s something about you, Quen Tomo Santu. Something that makes me question everything I knew. I wish…” Aldewin looked away as if searching for something on the dark horizon.
Don’t go to that far-off place where you spend all your time. She chucked a finger under his bearded chin and gently pulled his face back to look at her. “What, Aldewin? What do you wish for?”
He shook his head and sighed. “I wish I was not sworn to another.”
His words were like Juka’s coldest wind sucking away her warmth. Aldewin sighed and pushed himself up.
Her bewilderment quickly gave way to anger. She bolted up, hands on hips. “Sworn to another? Then what right do you have to toy with me this way?”
“No right.” His previously twinkling eyes were cast downward, and the brightness faded. “I wronged you, Quen, and I apologize. No amount of drink can excuse my behavior. I promise it shall not happen again.”
He began walking back to camp. Still holding Aldewin’s staff, Quen knelt low and swooped the stick. Off-guard, the blow took his feet from beneath him.
Aldewin fell, and Quen, on fire with rage, used her preternatural speed for the first time since the day she nearly died in a haboob. She closed the gap between them before Aldewin had registered what happened. Quen loomed over him, the staff tip poised over his heart.
The ridges on her neck were hot and pulsated. Her fingertips tingled, and the bones in her hands ached. She panted hard, her arms trembling. She wanted to ground the stick into his heart—to punish him for humiliating her.
Perhaps sensing this, Aldewin put his hands up, palms facing her, showing he had no wish to fight. “You have every right to be angry. If you do this, no one will be there to protect…”
It might have provoked her further if he had shown the slightest fear. But Aldewin was as calm as Still Water. His eyes were warm and friendly, not pleading and pathetic. She took the staff from his chest, and Aldewin rose and brushed off his backside.
“What did you mean, ‘protect’? You think I need protecting?”
He smiled at her but ignored the question. He held out a hand. “Can I have my stick back?” Gone was the hint of double meaning in his voice.
Quen twirled it. The staff felt good in her hands. More natural than a blade. “On one condition.”
His eyebrow rose in surprise. “Maybe.”
“If you ever toy with my emotions—or any woman’s—again, I’ll shove this stick so far up your arse, it’ll come out your nose.”
Instead of looking afraid of her threat, he smirked but nodded. “I can agree to that.”
She held out the staff but didn’t let it go. “And another thing.”
“I’m listening.”
“You will train me to use this. No love games. I want to know what you know about this weapon’s Orrokan power.”
Aldewin laughed nervously. “What makes you think I know about the Orrokan arts?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve been watching you, Aldewin di Partha. You are more than Jagaru. To defeat the damned beast, I must know more about the Orrokan arts.”
Aldewin’s face relaxed. “I agree to your second term as well. Anything else you’d like to add? Want me to wipe your arse every time Lumine goes crescent?”
Quen smiled and released her grip on the staff. “I can wipe my own arse, but I’ll hold you to your vows.” She headed toward the camp, the fire nearly out.
Behind her, Aldewin said, “I have no doubt you will.”
Chapter 8
Salivating
Salivating for salacious details about what had happened the night before, Shel badgered Quen as they left Juinar. Nursing both a bruised bottom and ego, Quen’s mood was sour. Her hangover was an unwelcome companion in the saddle.
“Come on, you gotta tell me what happened. You look like you lost every pit and dar you’ll ever have in a game of Duple di Marc.”
Quen ignored her, and Shel, thankfully, got the hint and didn’t push further. Quen was glad of it. She was too tired to keep a civil tongue, and she didn’t wish to pick a fight with her best, and perhaps only, friend.
After a few hours of riding ever north, Quen’s mood had evened out a bit. Shel was chewing kabu stalk to stay awake. When she offered some, Quen took a piece and proffered a weak smile.
“I’m sorry I acted like a drey’s behind back there,” Quen said. She sucked on the bark, its tangy flavor refreshing.
