Season of the Dragon, page 8
“There’s no initiation or anything? We just ride with you?” Rhoji asked.
Mishny narrowed her eyes at him. Druvna chortled. “Oh, you get your ‘nitiation on the road.”
Rhoji stood and dusted the sand from his bottom. “But aren’t there vows or oaths?”
Druvna craned his neck and glared up at Rhoji. “You want an oath, do you?” He spat tobacco juice through the slit in his lip. “Okay, here’s one for you. Swear you’ll have my back and let nuthin’—not even a Kovatha—knife me ‘cause if you don’t protect your pod, those of us left’ll string your skinny arse up and leave your bones for scavengers to pick clean. What say you to that?”
Rhoji swallowed hard. “Yes, well, okay then,” he stammered.
Druvna glowered and hawked tobacco juice again. “’Stead of worrying about fancy oaths and such, you best be thinking about your beds ‘cause this pod’s leaving at Hiyadi’s first light with or without you sacks of thukna turds.” Druvna waddled away hastily on his deeply bowed legs. Mishny glared at them one last time, then followed Druvna.
Quen hadn’t asked for an oath or vow, though she would have gladly sworn one. She was glad to have the pod at her back and eager to prove her worth.
Her sleep was fitful. When Quen drifted off, she dreamed of Pahpi’s charred hand still clutching his sword and the dragon’s glowing yellow eyes. When Hiyadi’s first rays shooed Vay’Nada’s darkness away, she was already awake. She’d cleaned her mouth, taken her morning relief, and rolled her bed before anyone else woke.
All except Aldewin. He’d bedded down outside Liodhan’s tent with the rest, but was already gone when Quen rose. She didn’t want to notice him or ponder his every move. But other than thinking about the dragon, Aldewin occupied the rest of her mind.
True to his word, Druvna and Mishny rode up to Liodhan and Zarate’s tent shortly after Quen had rolled her bed. Druvna had donned a dented steel helmet with frayed red and gold plumes and a finely worked red riding girdle over a well-worn deep-gold tunic and pants.
As always, Mishny was with Druvna. She had changed into crimson riding pants pegged by knee-high brown leather boots. A gold tunic, split below the waist, fluttered in the morning breeze. Though she wore no helmet, Mishny had also donned armor. Over her tunic, she wore worn leather-plate mail and an azure riding girdle on the bottom.
Each wore a sheathed blade on both hips, and Mishny had daggers stowed at her belt too. The pair looked like they were riding into battle.
Their battle-ready gear made Quen fully realize what she was signing up for. The harbinger of battle settled in Quen’s gullet, where it met a lump of uncertainty. She had no weapon save for the nicked and drab curved blade Druvna had lent her. Quen wore her only remaining set of clothes and the brown riding girdle she’d salvaged from Santu’s Stand. Tucked beneath her tunic on its singed leather cord was Pahpi’s amber pendant.
“As I expected, Mishny, this pile of lazy moss-brained squib ain’t ready to ride. What say you? Shall we leave ‘em here in the ashes?” Druvna asked.
Mishny glared down from atop her kopek, Boy. “We can leave this lot of kopek dung behind, but what about your pal Aldewin?”
As though he’d planned for the right moment for an entrance, Aldewin emerged from behind a nearby tent on his brown-and-white dappled horse. Mishny looked disappointed.
Liodhan and Aldewin approached, leading a freshly oiled dark-brown kopek. I thought Lio was still in his tent. Lio held out the reins. “This is for you, Quen.” The kopek jerked its head but didn’t rear up or prance away.
“It’s too generous a gift,” Quen said. It was a polite thing people said without meaning it. In this case, though, Quen was sincere. She and Lio disagreed about her life’s path, but Lio owed her nothing. Lio was true to his beliefs and feelings, as was Quen. Neither of them would ever be anything other than themselves.
“It isn’t from me,” Lio said. Zarate popped her head from the tent opening and, seeing Lio, came out with tiny Lumina in a sling at her chest. Lio put his arm around Zarate. “Remember, I own nothing. Nabu is a gift from my dear herdwife.”
Zarate offered her lips up to Lio for a kiss. “Nabu is the most self-assured kopek in our stables.” Zarate petted Nabu’s velvety nose. “You need a mount with fire to match yours, not a docile animal afraid of its shadow.”
Rhoji laughed as he swung himself onto Gambol’s back. “Lumine’s teats, Zarate. Are you talking about someone for Quen to bed or an animal to ride?”
Quen’s cheeks colored. I hope Aldewin doesn’t notice.
Liodhan held the reins while Quen hoisted herself up. It was more difficult than she’d expected. Nabu was at least a hand taller than any kopek she’d ever ridden.
Zarate talked sweetly to Nabu while Quen got herself settled. As she pulled Nabu away, Liodhan stood with Zarate, their sweet babe snuggled against Zarate’s chest. Quen committed the vision to memory, and her throat tightened. I might never see them again.
She trotted to catch up with Druvna and called over her shoulder, “May you find peace in Lumine’s arms.”
Lio responded, “And may the Brothers light your way, dearest sister.”
There was a catch in her throat, but she pressed onward and denied herself one last look at what used to be her home. Charred cinders lay behind. A vast sea of dunes lay ahead. And in her heart, Quen vowed to put a blade through the core of the damned fire-breathing beast before it took someone else she loved.
• • •
Druvna rode like he was more comfortable in a saddle than walking on land. When he stopped, it was for the animals.
By the second day, Quen’s backside was already getting calloused. Quen tried to walk normally when they stopped for meals, but her tight back, hips, and thighs made her hobble. Her only solace was watching Rhoji wince when he sat for midday meal. At least he won’t make fun of me for having a tender arse.
“It will take a few weeks, but you will get used to it.” Aldewin sat down gracefully next to her and offered her a wine sac.
She raised an eyebrow. “Bit early for that, isn’t it? Besides, Druvna said no drinking wine or firewater for us ‘moss-brained squibs.’”
Aldewin laughed. His chuckle was warm and melodic, as though it was part of a song. I wish he laughed more and that he’d ride by my side rather than guarding the rear of our pod. His absence from conversation only made her ponder him more.
“He’ll not notice a sip or two. It will take the edge off your pain.”
Quen tittered, and her voice went pitchy. “I’m in no pain.”
Aldewin gave her a sidelong glance. “If your back and legs don’t feel like they've been beaten, then you’re a stronger rider than I was when I first joined the Jagaru.” He took a long swallow from the wine sac.
Quen ate her ration of bread and a bit of cheese and then took the sac from him. The wine was smooth and tasted of plum and honey. Better than the jiri wine at Yulina’s. A pleasant warmth spread from her throat to her belly. She handed the wine back. “Thank you.”
Aldewin fixed his gaze on her mouth. “You’ve got—” He wiped a dribble of wine from her lower lip.
The touch had lasted only a second, but it caused a cascade of reactions within her. Her loins tightened, and heat rose from her neck to her ears. Her heart quickened, and it double-thumped. Most disconcertingly, the back of her neck grew hot and tingled where the bone protrusion lay beneath the skin.
As if sensing what his touch had done to her, Aldewin pulled his hand away and averted his gaze. He took a long pull on the wine sac. “I apologize—I should not have….” He cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you to your meal.”
Quen wanted to protest. To tell him she didn’t want him to leave. I want him to touch my face again, and to feel his… Merely thinking about his touch made her neck ridge tingle. She feared his kiss would distract her from guarding against the Nixan trying to push its way to the fore. Instead of asking him to stay, she nodded, afraid if she spoke, her voice would reveal how his slightest touch had stoked desire within her.
Aldewin rose in one fluid movement, bowed, and said, “I hope you have a good afternoon of riding.”
I can’t imagine how it could be now. He’d done nothing more than touch her lip for less time than it takes to shoo a fly, but he’d created a simmering pot of feelings to stew over the rest of the day.
On the road again, Shel and Quen rode behind Mishny and Druvna. After catching up on the happenings in their lives since they’d last seen each other, Quen pressed for information about Aldewin. “So, what’s his story?” She glanced furtively over her shoulder at the lone rider tall in his saddle at the column’s rear.
“He’s an odd one, isn’t he?”
“I was thinking more attractive than odd,” Quen said.
“What?” Shel laughed. “That bean pole? All that sun-reddened skin and pale hair?” Her lip curled in disgust.
Quen’s face grew hot. She doesn’t even desire men. She wouldn’t know what makes them appealing. “Forget I said attractive.” Still Waters. Still Waters. “Tell me what you know about him.”
“We camped near Enarili, holding some raiders and waiting for Kovatha to haul ‘em to Qülla. Druvna left Mishny in charge—that was fun.” Shel rolled her eyes. “Anyways, he came back a week later with the lofty guy. He and Mishny fought about it.”
“What did they say?”
Shel shrugged. “We couldn’t hear what they said, but everyone within a league heard them argue.”
“What’s Mishny’s beef with Aldewin?” He rides alone and hardly speaks. How can she find fault with that?
“You probably noticed that Mishny hates outsiders. If you don’t bleed Sulmére sand, she considers you a ‘shite eater.’”
“Except for Druvna, none of us were born in the Sulmére,” Quen said. While Eira and Shel were originally from Suab’hora, the capital province, Rhoji and Quen had been born in the city-state of Bardivia in the Vindaô Province.
“Exactly. That’s why she hates all of us except for Druvna.”
A nasty way to live. Hating people just because they were born somewhere else. “So Mishny’s sour on everyone. Got it. But what about Aldewin? Why did he join this third-rate pod? No offense.”
Shel faked offense. “Third rate? Just because we’re small and inexperienced? Our leader a bowed old man, his lieutenant a sour-faced crazy woman?” She laughed.
“I mean, if Aldewin is as handy with all those weapons as he appears—”
“Oh, he is.”
“He could make a passel of silver kovars, maybe even gold, as a mercenary. Or join a larger pod with more clout.”
Shel shrugged. “I’m just one of the ‘moss-brained squib,’ Quen. I don’t get paid to ask questions about Aldewin. We’re Jagaru, and you are too now. All I care is that Aldewin fights better than even Mishny. And there’s no one you’d rather have at your back ‘cause he’ll protect your arse like it was his own. Who cares if he prays to water and shite? So long as he keeps thukna turds off my back in a melee.”
Inwardly, Shel had stoked even more curiosity. But outwardly, Quen left the topic alone. They returned to gossip, laughing and chattering.
Mishny glared at them. “By the Three! Those two have more shite runnin’ from their mouths than a Qülla sewer.” She yelled to them, “Ride at the back, so I have some peace.”
“Does she belong to a sect with rules against joy?” They turned and rode farther back, just ahead of Aldewin. They rode past Eira and Rhoji, riding close together and whispering. I’ve never seen Rhoji so talkative and quick to smile or laugh. And he hasn’t chided me or made a joke at my expense since we left Solia. His mood was lively despite the long, hot, tiring days of riding. I wonder if he and Eira….
Shel and Quen exhausted their gossip in less than a day. They spent two more days speculating about the relationship between Eira and Rhoji, complaining about Mishny’s sour attitude, and interpreting Aldewin’s every gaze. But Aldewin gave them precious little to speculate about. He ate his meals alone and wandered from camp each evening rather than smoking heja with the others.
Curiosity piqued, Quen was going after him. Eira held her back, though. “He needs time alone.”
Quen laughed. “He’s been alone all day.”
“True enough, but he said he needs to stretch. And he’s devout, that one. Said he needs time alone to pray to the goddess.”
I could do those things with him if he’d let me.
The following night, they made camp along the sandy banks of a desert stream. Though it was likely dry most of the year, recent snowmelt swelled the river.
“Want a feast fit for a Qülla noble?” Shel asked. She dug in the soft sand and retrieved a closed shell. Shel pulled her belt knife and carefully prized the shell open, revealing a freshwater mussel. She made quick work of loosening the tendon, then stabbed the fresh shellfish with her knife and offered it to Quen. “Try this.”
Quen scrunched up her face. “Yuck! It’s still—wriggly. Don’t you cook it?”
Shel gently teased the mussel from her knife, chewed a few times, and swallowed. “Why waste time cooking when it’s good raw?”
Encouraged by her grumbly stomach, Quen dug for her own shell. She did as Shel had. The sweetness of the mussel pleasantly surprised her. “Rhoji,” she called. “You gotta come try this.”
Eira, Shel, Rhoji, and Quen stuffed themselves with fresh mussels, stale flatbreads, and the creamy drey’s milk cheese Zarate had gifted them. The others stared dreamily into the fire while Druvna smoked his pipe. But Quen was antsy. Aldewin can’t pray all the time.
She rose and patted the sand from her backside. “I’m going to find a—private spot.” To spy on Aldewin.
Rhoji acknowledged her statement with a head bob, and Shel gave her a wave.
Though Hiyadi had set, Niyadi gave enough pale light for Quen to follow the path of desert grasses Aldewin had trampled. Reeds anchored sand in the center of the stream, forming a small island. I think he’s there.
At the stream’s edge, Quen took off her boots and rolled the legs of her riding pants. She waded in the knee-deep water, and as she approached the tiny island, she heard Aldewin.
He sounded like he was talking to someone, but nobody was with him. The gentle babbling of the stream over rocks obscured his voice, making it impossible to understand what he said. It doesn’t sound like a prayer, though. Is he talking to himself?
Quen stepped deliberately, taking care not to lose her footing on the slippery rocks. When she got to the sandbar, she crouched behind reeds, parted them, and glimpsed Aldewin.
His hands were outstretched, and he held an orb of water aloft. The watery globe shimmered, reflecting the light of Lumine and Niyadi. The water ball was perfectly round, swirling slowly as Aldewin spoke to it in a language she’d never heard.
He’s talking to water? What kind of magic is this?
Her feet squished in the soft, sandy soil as she inched closer. Quen pulled her foot out of the sucking sand. It popped, and the sound echoed in the quiet evening.
Aldewin’s head whipped in her direction. Did he see me? Aldewin spoke more words into the water ball, and a faint blue light emanated from his fingers. The water dispersed into a fine mist, traveled upward, then scattered, and the wind carried it away.
“You’re about as stealthy as a herd of thukna,” Aldewin said.
Quen pulled her other foot out of the sinking sand and stepped from behind the reed curtain. Aldewin’s arms were clasped behind his back, a bemused look on his face.
“I’ve always been a lousy spy.” She closed the gap between them. “What were you doing?”
“Talking.”
“To the water?”
“Sure. Have you never seen someone whisper prayers to Lumine?”
“Of course. Just not—magically.” Is he really Jagaru? “Does the water—talk back?”
Aldewin chuckled. “Not literally.” Aldewin swooped his hand downward, flourished his fingers, and drew a swirling ball of water into the air. “The Waters of Life have intelligence.” He spun his hand, and the water swirled in a glistening ball.
Quen stepped closer and examined the water. “The Bruxia of my village, Dini, would call this a mummer’s trick.” Quen sliced through the water with her hand, expecting it to return to the stream. But the water reformed into the tightly bound ball it had been.
“Is this a mummer’s farce?” Aldewin’s eyes twinkled, his mouth pulled into a mischievous grin. He leaned close to the ball of water and whispered into it. He thrust his arms up, and the water scattered into a mist as before. This time the mist swirled to Quen.
The water droplets reformed into a ball before Quen’s eyes. From the sparkling orb, Aldewin’s voice emerged. It wavered and gurgled, like he was speaking underwater. “Curious Quen should hope for a cat’s nine lives.” After the water repeated Aldewin’s words, the water fell, and the stream carried it away.
“That was incredible,” Quen whispered. He thinks I’m curious. Is that good or bad?
Most people with Menaris ability studied at the Pillars, thus making magic in Indrasi something rarely observed. Until she witnessed Nevara raise a column of fire in Pahpi’s store, magic was something in stories passed by traders or in books or herbal healing wisdom of Bruxias. But Aldewin’s skill with Menaris was wholly new to her. He wasn’t using Menaris as a weapon, but for something beautiful. Once we’ve brought the dragon down, maybe I should do as Pahpi wished and study Menaris like this at Val’Enara. “Where did you learn this? At a Pillar?”
Aldewin adjusted the staff across his back and cleared his throat. “At a Pillar? Nah. This is arcane magic, straight from the swamps of Tinox.” He chuckled. “Roughian magic, they call it in Partha.”
“Where you’re from.”
He nodded. “Not something most people master anymore.”
“But you did.”
Aldewin yanked his foot from the mud and returned to the stream.
