Season of the Dragon, page 9
Quen followed. “This is an odd bit of magic. Why would you—I mean, what purpose does it serve?”
Rinsing off his feet in the stream, he said, “Let’s just say my past required much of me, and most of it, I’d rather not recall.” His look was harsh; his tone a veritable wall built between them.
Instead of retreating, she moved closer. “I can be a good listener.” Quen wasn’t usually flirtatious, but her desire to know him made her brazen.
Aldewin feigned a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I would love to talk to you—someday. But we had a long ride, and the energy I used manipulating Menaris for my—prayer—tired me further. Perhaps another night we’ll speak.”
He began walking back toward camp.
Quen said, “Will there be another night when Lumine shines so brightly? When the waters of Enara lap so gently at our feet?”
He continued walking but backward. “Are you a death siren sent by Vay’Nada to lure me to my end in the waters?” His voice was only half-mocking, containing an edge of grave concern. “I need rest, Quen.” He turned and made his way swiftly upstream toward the soft firelight of their camp.
Quen was suddenly aware of how cold and uncomfortable her wet feet were. The thrill of being near him and his magical watery orbs vanished. She was cold, wet, and alone—again—and wished she hadn’t made such a fool of herself.
She rejoined the others and plopped down beside Shel.
“What happened with you two?” Shel whispered to Quen.
Her mood soured. She didn’t feel like reliving Aldewin’s cold rejection. “Nothing happened.” Fortunately, Shel didn’t press for more details.
Though a dark cloud hung over Quen’s mood, the others had already begun passing a pipe of heja and were in good spirits. Eira played a double flute, and Shel drummed on a small hand drum as they sang Sulmére drinking songs. Rhoji’s lovely tenor lilted, while Mishny’s singing voice was as sour as her general demeanor. Aldewin rifled through his pack, pulled out a small stringed instrument he held on his lap, and strummed along. He kept apologizing for getting notes wrong, as he didn’t know all the songs. Quen hadn’t noticed an off-key note. The lighthearted songs lifted her dour mood.
Once they’d sung through all the tavern songs they knew, Eira put his flute down. “My lips are tired.”
There was a chorus of “No!” and boos, but Eira shook his head.
“Eira, may I?” Aldewin asked.
Eira handed him the flute. “Please do.”
Aldewin played a few test notes, checking his fingering. “It’s different from the flute I learned on. But I’ll give it a go.”
Quen had always enjoyed listening to Eira play. He was capable enough to join a traveling entertainer group. But Aldewin's music was bright and clear. Like Juka playing through him.
The song Aldewin played was as mournful as it was beautiful. It reminded Quen of the plaintive cry of Nilva pyre songs. By the time he finished, tears had welled in her eyes. Eira wiped his face, and even stoic Rhoji sniffled.
“What’s the name of that song?” Eira asked.
“‘The Dragon Is Broken,’” Aldewin said. He wiped the mouthpiece and handed it back to Eira.
“A song about defeating a dragon should be a jolly, celebratory song. Or maybe a marching tune,” Rhoji said.
Aldewin chuckled. “Perhaps. It’s an ancient song from Bídean, the northernmost territory of Tinox. Some say it’s the land where dragons were born.” His gaze landed on Quen. “Maybe the Bídeans loved dragons. You can recognize the danger, yet still lament that humans broke the majestic creatures and scoured them from the land.”
“Maybe the people that wrote the song never had their Pahpi burned alive by dragon fire.” Her words were clipped, her voice taut.
Aldewin nodded. “Perhaps not.”
“Or perhaps the song recognized the loss on both sides,” Druvna said. He’d been transfixed on the dwindling fire during Aldewin’s song, and Quen thought he’d nodded off.
“You refer now to dragons?” Rhoji asked. His voice was terse. “They’re supposed to be one of the ‘sides’ you speak of?”
“Of course. Every war has two sides,” Druvna said.
Rhoji laughed bitterly. “Are you saying that gnash-fisting bastard of a dragon who killed my father is a side in this war worthy of consideration?”
Perhaps wanting to avoid a brawl, Aldewin said, “It’s only legend, anyway. Bídeans live in the snow year-round. What else do they have to do but spin fanciful yarns and sing sad songs?” He took a draw of the firewater he’d brought.
Everyone laughed except for Druvna. “What are legends but shadows of history?” He rose and yawned. “My bones need sleep. You moss-brained squibs better be beddin’ down soon ‘cause I’ll no’a wait for you in the morn.” He waddled away from the fire.
Soon, the others did the same.
Even though the long day’s journey had exhausted Quen, thoughts of Aldewin kept her awake. Quen tossed, and her sleep was fitful. She silently cursed Aldewin for worming into her mind—and for being beyond reach. Everything he said was an enigma. Everything he did made her more curious about him. And like her ill-fated relationship with the gods, every attempt to get closer resulted in being pushed further away.
• • •
After a few days of riding, Quen’s blisters became calloused, and her rear end, back, and thighs hurt less. Conversations and catching up exhausted, Quen and Shel settled into the meditative silence Mishny, Druvna, and Aldewin preferred. By day five, Quen’s racing mind quieted. She focused on the whistling wind and became attuned to how dune shadows marked the passage of time.
Their voyage north was a slow but steady elevation climb and gradual vegetation change. As if stepping through a mystical portal, once across the Béanju River, Tikli Province’s rocky hills replaced the undulating sands of the Sulmére. Scrubby bushes and tall, spiky plants Druvna called cactus dotted the slopes.
The odor of salty air was a pleasant and unexpected change. The road skirted a steep drop-off to the vast Zhongdu Sea to the east.
Quen had never seen an ocean before. In his youth, Fano had been a sailor and sailed the Orju Sea and the Straits of Minea to the north, a busy trade route with Tinox. Fano said more than fish filled the Zhongdu Sea. He said mysterious creatures and unseen forces filled the sea, too. And he’d warned her to never trust someone trying to get her to cross the Zhongdu Sea. “It’s home to sea dragons, it is, Quen. They say there are evil changeling women who look beautiful and call to sailors. But when the poor sot jumps in, the woman becomes a hideous darmanitong straight from Vay’Nada and eats him alive,” Fano had said.
It was one of the many stories about evil Nixan and their disregard for human life. These tales made Quen maintain her ferocious battle against the Nixan within. I don’t want to steal children like a slint. Or lure a man with song, only to devour him like a darmanitong. The thought made her shudder.
Like a shimmering turquoise jewel, the sea looked inviting, not like a home for Vay’Nada’s spawn, like slints and darmanitongs. “Can we go to the beach for midday meal?” Quen asked.
Rhoji, Eira, and Shel voiced approval of the idea.
But Druvna shook his head. “It’s farther away than it looks and a cruel climb back up for the mounts.”
Mishny eyed Quen with disapproval for even asking the question. She gave Quen a narrow-eyed catlike smirk when Druvna shot Quen down.
Druvna listened to Aldewin. Quen called back over her shoulder to him. “Aldewin—you’d like to take midday meal by the sea, wouldn’t you?”
“Sorry, but I agree with Druvna. The sea is… It will tax the mounts unnecessarily.”
His voice had an odd catch. Apprehension? There’s something he’s not saying. They passed the path down to the Zhongdu, and Quen missed her opportunity for her first taste of the salty sea.
Before long, an acrid smoke odor replaced the sea’s pleasant tang. The Jagaru followed the foul odor to the remains of Juinar.
From the looks of the burnt structures, Juinar was slightly larger than Solia. Juinar sat along a wide channel of the Béanju River on its way to the Zhongdu Sea. It was only a day’s ride south of the Tilaj Gate, a waypost on the journey to the capital province of Suab’Hora.
The blackened town was empty save for surviving families and opportunists scavenging the ruins. Quen had recently done the same. If Tikli Province people were like Sulmére folks, they’d be mortified to see someone gawking at their grief. We endure such things in private, not share them with the world. Quen kept her eyes forward, trying to honor their privacy as she would want them to respect hers.
The small pod of Jagaru didn’t go unnoticed. It was Quen’s turn to carry the colors, and the flag she bore flapped in the light sea breeze. It was loud in the otherwise silent ruins of the town.
People ceased rummaging, their eyes alight with curiosity about the newcomers. Children ran after the column of riders, their bare feet blackened by running in soot-filled streets.
Unlike in Solia, the dragon fire had spared about a half-dozen of Juinar’s structures. Thank the Three, the tavern still stands. Druvna marched to the pub, apparently as thirsty and ready for rest as she was.
Mishny tied Boy to the charred remains of a hitching post. “Odd burn patterns.”
Druvna didn’t stop giving his gaunt old kopek, Dauer, a quick rubdown. “Nothing odd ‘bout it. Mindless beast ruled by chaos, that dragon is.”
Rhoji patted Gambol’s haunches, sending a cloud of dust into the air. “I do not know if the creature is mindless, but I agree with Mishny. Burning the outer ring of the town but sparing the center?”
Mishny nodded and gave Rhoji a rare approving look. “This dragon is no curd brain. Looks to me like it had a plan.”
Druvna raised his brows and looked skeptical. “I think you both grasp for something t’aint there. Beasts don’t plan.”
Quen rubbed Nabu’s velvety nose. “Dragons aren’t moss-brains like kopeks.” She whispered in Nabu’s ear, “No offense.”
“You an expert on Vay’Nada’s spawn, are you?” Druvna squinted at her.
“No. Are you?”
Druvna narrowed his eyes even further at her and spat tobacco juice. He was about to speak when Aldewin interrupted.
“They have a point, Druvna. There is a pattern here.” He gestured around them. “The dragon burnt the dwellings but spared the center of town—the commerce. It’s as if this dragon, or whoever controls it, wants the people forced out of their homes.”
“You think someone controls that thing?” Shel asked.
Rajani control it. Quen watched filthy orphaned children running past houses that were now rubble. What if I’m a Nixan like Nevara, destined to be a Rajani? Someday I might be responsible for death and destruction like in Juinar. Her stomach churned.
But Aldewin’s point raised another concern. What if my quarrel isn’t only with the damned dragon, but its master?
Previously quiet, Eira now said what they were likely all thinking. “The beast could have eaten them. Why just burn the town? This makes no sense.”
Druvna wiped the back of his neck with a dirty cloth. “Might be what stragglers passing Solia were talking ‘bout. They’d been told a dragon cult down in Volenex would do some fire ritual on ‘em.” Druvna sounded impatient with the entire conversation. “I need firewater in my belly if we keep talking ‘bout this dragon shite.”
He pushed open the door of the charred but still-standing Juinar Inn. None of them argued against it. Quen looked forward to warm food, drink, and being out of the saddle.
At least that’s what Druvna had promised they’d do in Juinar. But as soon as they stepped inside, it was clear they wouldn’t have the rest they’d planned.
A woman held the hand of what appeared to be her son, likely sixteen. Her other arm encircled a younger child, a girl of about twelve. “Are you curd brains? I told you, my children aren’t for sale. Shove off.” She ran her thumb along the side of her nose and then flicked it out to them the way Dini did when telling someone off.
A lanky man with salt-and-pepper hair pressed closer. He towered over the woman and her children. He undid the fastener on his scabbard, and his hand lingered on the hilt of his blade. “You must be mistaken. I wasn’t asking. I was telling. Besides, in Qülla, at least your children will have a roof o’er their heads. Two meals a day, most like. My buyer’s a top-notch noble from Māja Wix—an old house with prestige. Even servants of Māja Wix are more respected than Tikli trash like you’uns.”
Druvna moved with astonishing speed for a man of his years. Before the shady men registered Jagaru had entered, Druvna stood protectively in front of the woman.
“You’re not telling nobody nothing,” Druvna said.
The other men surrounded Druvna. The three would-be human traffickers pulled their blades, ready to fight.
In one hand, Shel brandished a dagger. In the other, she held a small blacksmith’s hammer. Her eyes glistened with excitement, and her mouth set in a smirk. “Time for your true Jagaru initiation.”
Chapter 7
Ignoble
Ignoble child snatchers circled Druvna, their curved blades drawn. While Quen fumbled with the fob on her scabbard, Aldewin already had his staff in hand. He swung low and wide, knocking the legs out from under one man.
One man called to the salt-and-pepper-haired man, “Do no’a listen to them, Earnôt. I know this one. She no’a proper Jaga—”
Before the man could finish his sentence, Mishny landed a roundhouse kick to his gut. While he reeled, Mishny drew a dagger and slit his throat. The blood gurgling from a gaping wound in his neck swallowed the man’s last words.
Earnôt had been standing between Druvna and the woman and children as if defending his prize. When his companion slumped to the floor, Earnôt dropped his blade and stepped back, empty hands in the air. “I want no trouble, Jagaru.”
“Dammit to Vay’Nada’s cold arse, Mishny. I told you to stop killing them.”
Mishny’s dark eyes were wide, and her nostrils flared. She was wound tight and ready to pounce. She kicked the dead man’s leg with her booted toe. “No one will miss the likes of this scum.” She spat in the dead man’s general direction.
Aldewin had pulled a cord from his belt pouch and was busy tying the hands of the man he’d knocked unconscious with a staff blow to the head. “According to new edicts from the Dynasty, it’s not up to Jagaru to judge his crimes—or his character.” His tone clearly showed what he thought of the man’s character.
Druvna motioned for Eira to bind Earnôt’s hands. “That’s the Jagaru creed, right, Mishny? We scour the sands to root out the evils, but it’s up to the Dynasty to decide their fate.”
“Dynasty. Pha.” Mishny said the word ‘Dynasty’ as though it was a foul-tasting lump of pus in her mouth.
This “creed” Druvna spoke of was new to Quen. I thought the Jagaru were reeve, Kovatha judge, and royal executioner all in one. That’s how they operated when they visited Solia, anyway.
The mother still had her arm around the girl and held her son’s hand. “You can kill the lot of ‘em for all I care.” She glared at Earnôt and looked ready to spit on him. “Dynasty dungeons are too good for people who’d rip children from their mother for a few kovars.”
Mishny kicked the unconscious but bound man. When he didn’t rouse, she knelt and slit his throat, too. Her action, swift and defiant, took all by surprise.
Druvna hissed, “Mishny.” His face was red, and his eyes blazed with anger. He pulled his hand back, ready to strike her.
She rose and faced him, standing a solid head taller than their bowlegged and age-worn leader. Mishny returned his angry glare with one of her own, daring the old man to strike her. After Druvna withdrew his hand, she said, “Some crimes call for old justice. Jagaru justice.”
Druvna’s face relaxed. A moment of meaning passed between them, and Druvna admonished Mishny no further.
Earnôt, hands bound, shuffled away from them, never taking his eyes off Mishny. He sounded panicked. “You gotta take me to the Tilaj Gate, you do. It’s the law. Only Dynasty officials can pass judgment.”
Aldewin guffawed. “You’re an expert in Dynasty law now, are you?” He cracked his staff across the backs of Earnôt’s thighs, dropping him to his knees. Aldewin’s nose scrunched up as though he’d caught an offending odor. “You scared the piss right out of him, Mishny.”
Aldewin used the tip of his staff to force Earnôt to look into his eyes. “Normally, I’m a by-the-book guy. But this time, I’m with Mishny. Anyone trying to steal children isn’t really a person at all.” Aldewin’s eyes narrowed, his jaw set and twitching. He looked like it took restraint not to pull the broadsword from his back and end Earnôt with one powerful blow. “This woman deserves to see justice served, not wonder if he ever made it into Qülla’s dungeons.”
Druvna’s dented helmet sat askew on his head, and sweat beaded on his upper lip. He drew a stained cloth from his belt and wiped his forehead. “Suda. All I wanted was to get good and pished.” Druvna righted his helmet. “Looks like we got a disagreement ‘bout what to do with your sorry arse.” He put the cloth back in his belt and gestured toward Shel, Eira, Rhoji, and Quen. “Looks like you squibs get your first Jagaru vote. Sheath your blades, and we carry his arse to the Tilaj Gate, hand him over to the Kovatha, and collect our reward. Raise your blade, and we return his blood to the sands and forfeit the coin.”
Shel still held her hammer as though she expected to use it. Without hesitation, she raised it high.
Eira also didn’t pause to weigh the options. But he sheathed his blade, breaking ranks with his sister. Rhoji followed Eira’s lead. Is Rhoji respecting Dynasty law or just trying to stay on Eira’s good side? Druvna sheathed his blade while Mishny and Aldewin held their weapons high.
The deciding vote was Quen’s. Earnôt’s red, watery eyes bored into hers, pleading for his life. Mishny stood tall, arms crossed, glaring at Quen like she was willing Quen’s blade to rise.
