by T. A. White
Dragon-Ridden
By T.A. White
Copyright © Tobey White, 2012
All rights reserved
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Prologue
It was cold. So cold. The kind that sunk below the skin and dove straight for the bone. So deep she couldn’t even shiver. There was no sense of self or place, just a vast dark nothingness. The silence was so loud it practically screamed.
Ages passed, each moment the same as before. In time, the tiny existence floating through the emptiness became aware of a second presence. It curled itself around her like a shield— unyielding. And silent. Sometimes she’d rail against its silence begging for a word, a feeling, anything. Through it all, the presence was a beacon of light that drew her like a moth to the flame. Sometimes it felt as if that light was simply a shadow on her mind, created to keep her company as the long years passed. Real or not, she watched its glow with the hunger of a woman starved for thousands of years.
She couldn’t tell you her name, what she was, or how she came to be. Her world revolved around that beacon of light. It was a hypnotic and soothing distraction that flickered and danced in the darkness just for her.
Time passed.
Pain ignited along her nerve endings. Startling, after an eternity of nothingness. The ground reeled beneath her as she shivered and convulsed. She prayed for the pain to end. An odd sort of keening began, assaulting ears used to silence. And then there was the thumping beat that was felt more than heard.
Her chest rose and fell. The keening developed into a pattern, one that started and stopped in time to her chests’ movements. The floor beneath her felt hard and unwelcoming. She shrank from it, rejecting the alien sensation. Something stirred against her skin, a gentle kiss of sensation. Air, her mind supplied, it was air.
Her nerve endings were alive with sensation and spots danced across her closed eyelids. Her eyes opened slowly and blinked rapidly against the encroaching light. She held up a hand against the assault. Unable to see anything but a blur, she closed her eyes seeking the relief of the previous dark. But the light was too much. It followed her. Even with her eyes closed, it sunk below the lids and seared her retinas.
Gradually, though, her eyes adjusted, and she stared curiously at the room she occupied. She was lying at the bottom of a glass cylinder, one big enough to accommodate her curled up body. Her knees were pulled to her chest, her arms hugging them close as she hid her face against her knees.
On weak arms she pushed herself upright and propped herself against the glass. The pants and thin shirt she wore did nothing to provide warmth.
What was her name? She couldn’t remember. She was a somebody. Surely. Her mind grasped desperately at a word that might define her. After eons locked inside the emptiness, her mind was slow to provide her information.
Name, she thought. Name. Name. Name.
And then, slowly, a word drifted up from the recesses of her mind. It was a short word, but it was hers nonetheless. Tate, her name was Tate.
Chapter One
The breeze caressed Tate’s face and arms, teasing several copper colored strands from its tight braid as she leaned against the ship’s railing. It brought with it the salty smell of the ocean, a smell she’d become familiar with over the last eight months she’d spent aboard the Marauder. It was a comforting smell, one that invoked memories of being rocked to sleep by the waves and sharing meals with friends.
She rubbed a finger over the weathered wood of the railing and folded her arms over it. It was time to make a decision. She grimaced and plopped her chin onto her folded arms. She’d spent the last week lying awake at night, unable to sleep as she went over every detail of her plan. Even now she didn’t know if she had the courage to leave the ship at the next port or if she would choose the familiar and stay.
“What do you think?” a voice said to her right.
Guilt made Tate jumpy, and she tightened her grip on the rail as she straightened, not wanting her companion to know where her thoughts had strayed. Instead she made a noncommittal sound and hoped he’d move along.
“When I first saw the jewel of the Aurelian Empire, I was in awe,” he said about the city, resting tanned forearms beside hers on the rail. His tall figure dwarfed her considerably smaller one. Standing straight, she still only came up to his shoulder. “It took awhile for me to see that it wasn’t so different from other cities. There’re still murders, double dealings and, luckily for me, work for men intent on skulking about.”
“Is that so?” Tate said, keeping her attention on the city coming into view.
The captain was right; it was a magnificent view. The sun was just coming up and dawn gently cradled the city in its arms, setting it alight with orange and pinks. A slim peninsula embraced one side of the harbor forming a half crescent moon that was mirrored on the other side by high cliffs. It allowed a strip of open water that ships could pass through before deepening into the wide pool that formed the harbor. On one side a tower stood sentry. Its purpose was to house the massive chain that was strung across the harbor in times of siege and would protect the city from a sea invasion. Framed by the tower and cliffs the city sprawled in a maze of buildings and streets. A palace with its majestic towers and gleaming windows, sat atop cliffs formed from a black rock that sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight. It was an architectural wonder, the crowning piece of the city, and people came from all over the empire to see it.
“First time in Aurelia?” he asked lightly.
She kept her sigh to herself. It figured that he’d want to chat right then. He hadn’t had much of a presence on deck for the last few weeks, instead choosing to remain in his cabin and plan the next job. Now when she was thinking mutinous thoughts, he popped up like a bad luck charm. And leaving the ship would mean mutiny in his eyes. Since she hadn’t exactly volunteered to get on his ship in the first place, she saw her departure more as a continuation of her life’s journey. He, on the other hand, would see it as a revolt. It wasn’t that she wanted to leave, quite the opposite in fact. She loved the freedom of being on the open seas and seeing the world one country’s port at a time. But it had been made abundantly clear to her over the last few months that there was only so much weirdness a crew could take, especially from a female. When members of the crew cornered her in her bunk and told her to leave or else, Tate had gotten the message. Being a female on an all-male crew was difficult enough. Add odd things happening when she was around and the situation was impossible. She’d considered telling the captain. He might have even come to her rescue, but she knew that his involvement would only turn the rest of the men against her.
She was in danger if she stayed and more if she didn’t. There was no doubt in her mind that the captain would hunt her down if she left. She’d seen him do it before when a man jumped ship without a word in her third month on ship. She still had nightmares about what they’d done to him.
Tate faked a grin as she looked up at the captain. A tall man, his face was tanned and showed his age in the weathered lines around his eyes and mouth. Captain Jost’s brown eyes were fastened on the c
ity as the ship’s crew bustled around him, preparing to weigh anchor.
“Not that I remember,” she said.
Jost stared at her with penetrating eyes. He was a canny old seadog, unused to not knowing a person’s secrets. Tate, however, still remained a mystery to him. He’d picked her up about eight months ago wandering a strip of rocky shore not known for being settled by humans, unable to speak any language he’d ever heard, and he’d heard a lot. She claimed memory loss, her past before the ship a complete blank.
“That’s right,” he said softly as if he’d forgotten. They both knew he hadn’t. The man’s mind was a steel trap. Nothing escaped. “It’s amazing how fast you picked up our language,” he said, changing the subject. “What language did you speak again?”
Used to his probing questions, Tate ignored him. He often tested her, throwing out random questions that seemed harmless but which were designed to catch her unawares.
His comment about her aptitude for the language was true, though. She had picked the language up quickly. Almost too quickly. Just another puzzle in her life. It was one of the many reasons that some on the crew wanted her gone. They called her a witch, and a witch had no place on a pirate crew.
“Is there something you needed, Captain?” Tate asked, hoping to move him along.
“Just wanted to make sure you won’t be going ashore alone.” One of his main rules for sailors was they were to have a buddy when visiting a city. There were two reasons for this. One to make sure the men had someone at their back in case of trouble. And two, it prevented malcontents from just disappearing or turning crew into the authorities.
“Danny, Riply and Trent offered to take me with them when they went ashore.”
“Good, good.” Jost seemed like he was waiting for something. Tate waited awkwardly, unsure whether she was dismissed or not. It felt odd to see the normally decisive captain acting unsure.
“Is that all, Sir?” Tate asked. His scrutiny was making her uncomfortable. It would be very easy to start acting paranoid and give away all her carefully laid plans. A knot of fear and uncertainty tightened in her chest the longer she was in his presence.
He seemed to come out of his thoughts. “Yes, of course. You’re dismissed.”
Tate turned to go, exhaling with relief until he called her back. Instantly she was on guard again, convinced that he knew her plans. A small leather purse sailed through the air. She caught it before it could hit her in the face.
“Tate, for your work these last few months,” Jost said. “Thought you might be able to use some spending wages while in Aurelia.”
More than he could know. The bag felt heavy to Tate. She knew without looking that it was far more than her usual shore allowance. It felt like all the extra wages she’d earned over the months. She hadn’t dared ask for them, not wanting to alert anyone to her real intentions before she’d even gotten started. Now that she had the money, there was nothing she wanted more than to return it. Jost didn’t need another reason to come after her when she was gone.
“A boat is ready, sir,” a sailor said from behind them.
Jost held out his hand to Tate, and she shook it. This was it. Goodbye. He’d never know how grateful she was to have been forced onto his ship and made part of his family. No doubt if she hadn’t met him, she’d be dead, killed by one of the monstrous beasts that roamed the northern territories.
His calloused skin was rough against her smaller hands. Though her hands had toughened over the months she’d spent on the ship becoming blistered and cracked and eventually developing calluses, they didn’t compare to a veteran sailor’s.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you when I get back,” she said. Her lips stretched tight over her teeth, but the smile she offered him was tense.
“Not if the boys take you to their usual place. Most of the crew stays there while we’re in port.”
She nodded. It was good to know. If she did this thing she was contemplating, she’d have to lose them in the city or sneak out in the middle of the night while they slept.
Still, she could decide to stay. Take her chances. She’d given the men who’d come for her more bruises and pain than they gave her. They knew she wouldn’t be an easy mark if they came for her again. But even as she thought it, she knew it wouldn’t work. They had the advantage of numbers. Next time there would be more until there would be no way she could fight them all. She’d never get a full night's sleep for fear of attack.
No, it was better to leave. She could control the risk better that way.
She savored the feel of the ship under her boots as she followed the sailor to the boat. It was unlikely she’d walk its decks again.
The small oar boat bucked against the ship as waves rolled gently under it. Several crewmen had already climbed in, eagerly anticipating shore leave, no doubt. She threw her leg over the side. The crewman standing next to the ladder grabbed her wrist tightly. His grip was firm and unyielding. Tate refused to let any sound of pain escape her. Weakness was a luxury she could ill afford.
“Remember, witch,” he whispered harshly. “This ship is no place for you. If you’re on it when we set sail we’ll consider you fair catch. Perhaps you’ll have a little pleasure before we throw you overboard.” His gaze darted down her body in case she missed his meaning.
She jerked away, her skin crawling. She more or less slid the rest of the way down. The rope ladder swayed jerkily under her weight, the hemp cutting into her hands as she raced down. Seawater made the rungs slippery, and she almost slipped. Arms steadied her as she stepped into the boat and sat down.
She didn’t look up, not wanting to see the cold eyes glaring down at her in anticipation. Tate folded her arms across the sick feeling in her stomach and hunched in on herself. He hadn’t been part of the group that had attacked her. Anger at the unfairness of it all churned within her.
Tate gripped the sides of the boat as it cut through the waves, the men steadily pulling on the oars. Stray drops of water landed on her neck, as the men withdrew the oars only to dip them into the water again. A small puddle of water had formed in the bottom, and Tate moved her feet to the side to prevent her leather boots from getting soaked through. She didn’t welcome the thought of having to walk around the city with wet socks for the rest of the day.
A steady stream of humanity moved along on the docks helping the ships and fishing boats anchored there unload their cargo. It was busy this time of day. People from all parts of the world came to Aurelia to do business. Tate saw the sleek lines of an Imelgram Schooner anchored next to the bulky hulk of a Fallat merchant ship.
A sense of exhilaration began to thread through Tate, as the boat pulled steadily closer to shore and to what she was beginning to hope was a new chapter in her life. No good would come of dwelling on the past so it was best to put it behind her and focus on the future.
She breathed deep of the intertwined smells of the sea and the city, allowing a small smile to play across her face. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
A shout at one of the east piers pulled Tate’s attention from the ships. A group of people had begun to gather at its edge. Tate could feel the fear rolling off them even from where she sat twenty feet away. It was jarring against her previously good mood. She craned her neck to see what drew them but could barely make out a speck of blue and some fishing nets.
“I wonder what’s going on?” one of the boys said. He was only about 15 or 16 and was a thin scrap of youth serving as a cabin boy aboard the ship. In the midst of a growth spurt, his arms and legs were longer than he knew what to do with them. Most of the time he looked like an unsteady colt.
“Probably a body caught in one of the fishing lines,” another man said. He was about ten years older than the boy. He had a certain charm about him that belied the too sharp lines of his nose and boxy jaw. “It’s a favorite dumping spot for the Night Lords.”
The boat drifted up beside one of the smaller piers, and a crewman hopped out to tie it off. The dock
partially obscured her view of the gathering and suspected body. With a mental shrug she put the net and it’s odd blue shape out of her mind. It was time to meet the city where she might be residing in the near future.
She tied the moneybag to her belt and pulled her shirt down to cover it. It wasn’t the best place to store money, but it was better than putting it in a satchel that could easily be stolen.
She paused a moment to absorb the sights and sounds of the city. After eight months on a small ship, the atmosphere of the city pressed close and threatened to overwhelm her senses. It was too much. Too loud, too noisy, too smelly, too everything. Gulls cried overhead and the smell of fish assaulted her nose. She swayed trying to regain her land legs as the ground beneath her mimicked the motion of a boat without the benefit of any waves.
She took deep breaths. Steady girl. You’ll get used to this too, she told herself sternly.
The other presence that was her constant companion uncurled from its small corner of her mind. It used Tate’s body to take a long sniff of the air and growled. The rumble of it, a tickle in her head.
Crowded. Noisy. Smelly. Its voice echoed Tate’s previous thoughts. She determinedly forced it back to its little corner. With a sigh, it went.
An officious man stepped into her path. He wore a stiff gray jacket embroidered with the Aurelian Empire coat of arms, a dragon wrapped around a large blue stone. She hadn’t noticed him at first amid the stream of people loading and unloading their goods. Her inner friend had distracted her from his approach. Under different circumstances that lack of awareness could have gotten her killed. She frowned. She’d have to be more careful. There’d be nobody there to correct her mistakes if she messed up.
He was short and very round in his uniform.
“All visitors to Aurelia have to sign in and pay an entry tax before entering the city,” he said in an officious tone.
She watched as three crewmembers of the Marauder passed them, laughing and joking amongst themselves. They didn’t seem inclined to help her out.