Dragon Assassin 4: Bitterwaters

by Arthur Slade

  I blinked and opened my mouth to tell him he was wrong, but stopped. It was my first kill. I had never slain an enemy in combat.

  “You’re right,” I said. I honestly didn’t know what to think or feel about that. “We’ll see if I deserve congratulations. First, we need to survive. I spotted a cave nearby.”

  “Darius had to lay his ugly carcass somewhere,” Brax said. He snorted. “Carcass is an inopportune word. But it will be a warm place, and we can shelter there and pray for quick healing.”

  “Then we will,” I said. I took another set of clothes out of my haversack, pulled off my boots and stood barefoot, my feet melting the snow. My boots had mostly survived the flames. There was nothing special about their leather, so I assumed it was only the fact they were soaking wet. I pulled my clean and unburnt clothes over the tattered remains of my previous outfit.

  And then, without announcing my intention, I leaned down and grabbed Brax by his front leg. He didn’t resist, other than to ask, “What are you doing?”

  “We are going to that cave and you clearly can’t walk.”

  “So you’ll drag me? Good luck.” He still had enough strength to chuckle.

  But a fire continued to burn inside me, left there by the white dragon’s flame. And with that fire came strength.

  His chuckling stopped when I pulled and dragged his frame out of the massive snowbank. We were on a small rise that led down to the cave so that helped my efforts. My legs and arms grew warm again, as if the dragon fire had heated them and invested my limbs with strength. I had to stop several times to get my breath back.

  “This is ignoble,” Brax whispered, but he didn’t struggle.

  “At least I’m not dragging you by your tail.” The cave, with a fire still lit inside, came into view. It had a large opening, which made sense since Darius had been a large dragon. It took several more minutes, but I pulled Brax right to the mouth of the cave, and then my strength faded.

  “You must make it the rest of the way,” I said and stumbled into the cave alone.

  Because I’d read so many stories about dragons and their treasure, I expected there to be a massive collection of gold or copper or shiny things, but I was greeted by broken bones piled neatly and the stink of rotted flesh. But the dragon had left a fire blazing in the middle of the cave. A uniform collection of logs and kindling were piled along one wall. I was impressed by how high the flames were. He must have just tossed a log or two on before he came out to challenge us.

  Brax crawled, slow as a turtle, until he collapsed next to the fire and lay still. “I won’t be moving for at least a hundred years.”

  I lowered myself down and leaned against his side, but he was a cold-blooded creature and seemed frozen to the bone, so I sat up. Though the flames heated one side of me the other was shivering. After almost dying my body seemed to yell, “What were you thinking!”

  “Tell me what you know,” I said.

  Brax didn’t move. His eye was closed, and the snow had melted to droplets on his wings.

  “Tell me,” I whispered. There was a touch of anger to my tone.

  “Do you smell that?” he said, his voice raspy and harsh. “Something is strangely off in this cave.”

  “It’s rotten meat and dragon offal. What do you expect? Now tell me why I am changing.”

  “What more can I tell you, Carmen? Only that I warned you when you asked for my eye.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, you did. But you didn't say specifically what would happen."

  "I didn't have any specifics."

  "But have you heard of this before? There must be others. I can’t be the first to change this way. I stood in front of a dragon and its flames never harmed me.”

  “It was rather interesting to watch," Brax said. "Amazing and surprising, really. But we are on new ground. There was a dragon once who could have answered these questions. But he died over five hundred years ago.”

  “What dragon? Who?”

  “His name was Erok the Sacrificer, and he was perhaps the dragon most steeped in magic and knowledge. He was from a time when we dragons knew our own magical powers and didn’t just rely on talons and flame. He was the last of the great dragon mages.”

  The idea that there were dragon mages made me shake my head. I hadn’t read about this. As if breathing fire wasn't power enough.

  “But why would he know what happened to me?” I asked.

  “I’ve read all of his work I could find—only bits and pieces remain. He knew the secret veins of magic, its connection to dragon blood. To everything. That's why he might have been able to explain your reaction to my blood. But most of his writings were destroyed in the many wars between dragon clans. And he died sacrificing his life to bring his daughter back to life.”

  I wrapped my arms around my legs. I was growing warmer. “He did?”

  “Yes. He was the last to understand how to bring dragons back to life. I found that so very interesting. If the conditions are right and the correct ancient words are spoken, you can bring a dragon back to life. But it demands a sacrifice. So Erok's daughter Eryn was his general. A fierce and legendary general who died in an attack Erok had planned. He was so distraught that he decided to return her to life. He used a very, very ancient ritual with the help of his wife. She performed the sacrifice and their daughter lived. Erok had hoped Eryn would become a great dragon mage like him and bring the warring factions together. Eryn failed at the mage part but ruled the dragon kingdoms for many years. One of her relatives still has a high place in the court of my father.”

  Clearly the dragons had a history as bloody and interesting as our own. "So can any dragon be brought back to life?" I asked.

  "No. Only the ones who have been preserved properly. And no one has the complete knowledge that Erok had of revivification. I am perhaps the most well read of his writings. And I know nothing when I compare myself to his knowledge. Though you should thank Erok."

  "Me? Why?"

  "Because his writings brought me to you. Remember finding me in that cave? Of course, you do. Well, the mercenaries who trapped me there had lured me with a promise of trading Erok's writing. Some of it had been stolen by a magician and brought here many years ago. The mercenaries sent a spell bird to whisper that they had his book and then trapped me."

  "And did they have his book?" I asked.

  "No. But it wasn't a complete lie, for they did have a segment. A very important section that I had been looking for. It was lost when my rage got the better of me and I killed them. But I had memorized that section. So all the important words are still in my head."

  It was all very interesting, I decided, but wasn’t helping me understand why my body had changed.

  “I read once about a wizard who…” I hesitated. “… who replaced his arms and legs with dragon arms and legs and—”

  “I wonder who he got those extra parts from.”

  “Yes, it’s horrible. But he went mad.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Brax said. “Although these days there is little that surprises me. I wonder if you’ll go mad.”

  “I well might,” I answered. I looked down at the skin on my wrist. Had it been scales only a few minutes ago? Now it was pink flesh that was slowly warming. On impulse I leaned ahead and held my hand over the flames.

  “Ouch!” I cried then pulled my hand back. No scales. Just a red and throbbing hand.

  “Maybe don’t do that,” Brax said. He was now watching me. “I understand that it confuses you. But this change, this thing that came over you in that moment and protected you from Darius's flame, saved us. So let’s be thankful for that. I, for one, am thankful. Especially now that I’m warming up.”

  “But I—”

  “Carmen. Not everything can be answered at the moment you ask. Yes, you can see like a dragon does. You are much stronger than you were before—at least for short periods of time. And sometimes I can see through your eye, which believe me is not a gift I want. Briefly toda
y you were protected from dragon fire. Those are the things that have happened. Those are truths. But the mystery behind them we cannot solve now in this damp cave on the far frozen edge of Drachia.”

  I stared at him for a moment; my dragon eye could look at every scale on his body as if I were only inches away. My other eye blinked. Focused. “Then why are we here? You could answer that. The white dragon said your father had expelled you.”

  “Yes. You knew that already. Father is a king, so he has to exile people or execute them. I guess I should be happy he didn’t take my head, though many called for it.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Those are private matters. File it under not your business, mortal.”

  “Well, tell me now, since we are partners.”

  “No. Not now. When the time is right. And we are not partners. You are my slave. It would do you well to remember that.”

  I wanted to shout I am not your slave, but since I was shaking with anger and cold, I decided to alleviate my condition. There were several blankets piled in one corner of the cave. What a dragon needed with blankets, I didn’t know. But dragons were weird and unpredictable and frustrating. I stomped over there and lifted the first blanket, which was made of some thick fur that made me sneeze. I tossed it aside.

  The second blanket was a reddish thick wool, and it looked very warm and almost snuggly. I would use it to sleep and then come back at Brax with a whole new round of questions.

  I picked the blanket up.

  There was a dead man below it.

  8

  The Symbol

  The body was a young man, near my age, who had dark curly hair and very pale skin. He'd perhaps never seen the sun. He was clad in ragged furs and what looked to be a rough sack sewn into trousers. His boots were made of rags that had been tied around his feet in several layers. I noticed all this in a glance.

  There wasn’t a clear method of death, but perhaps he’d been poisoned or suffocated. Did the white dragon leave his food under a blanket to eat later? I shuddered. That meant the bones scattered around the cave might be human, too. I didn’t know how my fellow mortals got to this strange land and ended up in the cold food locker of a dragon. A shame. The dead man was handsome; where Thord’s hair was blond, this man’s hair was dark and very thick.

  Why was I comparing him to Thord? That made no sense.

  I peered down at the man. At least his body had been spared being torn apart by a dragon. His face was impeccably smooth, except for a small dragon wing tattoo on his left cheek.

  What color were his eyes?

  As if in answer to that question, his eyes opened.

  A dagger was in my hand immediately, and I fell on him and pressed it to his throat as my other hand held down his arm.

  He didn’t move. He looked from the hilt of my dagger to my face and back. He did grow pale in fright, but he was smart enough to not make a motion.

  “Who are you?” I spat the words out.

  “So he’s dead, is he?” the young man rasped. His question was a little high pitched at the end. “The white dragon is dead?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Then you have freed me, stranger. For that I thank you. You have freed me!”

  “Who in the seven Hades are you?” I asked.

  “I am Dyn. I am… I am a former dragon slave.” He glanced at my dagger again. “Also, I am no harm to you.”

  I pulled the blade back a few inches, but didn’t sheath it. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” he said, which I thought was a cheeky reply since I was holding the blade.

  “No. It isn’t. Humor me by telling me why you are in a cave of a white dragon and why you are alive and not in his gullet.”

  “Well," he said, then cleared his throat. "The reason I am still alive is that I was rather important to dear Darius's comfort. I was here to prepare his bed and gather the firewood, tend the fires, cook his meals and scratch any itches on his back or in those other unreachable places, and to pick the meats stuck in his teeth and to read to him at night.”

  “You were what?” I asked, shaking my head. “You did what?”

  “I chopped wood, prepared meals and scratched his back. I even cleaned the offal off of, well, never mind. I read to him.”

  My hand was trembling. “You read to the white dragon?”

  “Yes, every night. He was too lazy to read for himself. But I, Dyn the human, read to Darius the fifteenth of the Hordian Clan, he who rules over all he sees, the great warrior dragon.” His eyes were dark but there was humor in them. “I assume you do the same for yours?”

  “My what?” I asked.

  “Your master,” he said.

  “I don’t have a master,” I answered.

  At that Brax made a hrrmph sound. “He means me. And since this conversation between you two is neither entertaining nor elucidating, I will explain what he has just said: he was the slave of Darius.”

  I stared down at Dyn then loosened my hold slightly and rose, very slowly. I continued to point my blade. “Slave?” I said.

  “Don’t be so thickheaded,” Brax said. “You’ve seen slaves before. They’re all over the land of Ellos. The Akkadians are especially good at gathering up slaves to build their walls and statues and toilet houses. Even the hoity-toity Avenians are not averse to having some poor slave carry out their honeypots and tend their fires. You are speaking to a slave right now.”

  “Dragons keep slaves?” I said.

  “Does he have a winged tattoo on his face?” Brax asked.

  “Yes,” I said, staring down at the image. “Yes.”

  “Then he is a slave to a dragon. You freed him from his dragon, who was a cruel small-minded master. Not that there’s anywhere for him to go.”

  “But dragons keep slaves?”

  “Oh Carmen.” Brax’s voice was showing both signs of life and of aggravation. “Stop being so repetitive.”

  “But you told me nothing of this. I didn’t think there would even be mortal men in these strange lands, and now I discover that my kin are here and they are slaves.”

  “Not all,” Brax said. “Some are chattel. You know, food.”

  “Dear Belaz!” I said. “Food?”

  “Just the lazy ones,” Brax added. “Sheep are easier to raise and much, much tastier. And anyway you didn’t ask me, so I didn’t tell.”

  “But… but why would I ask?” I said.

  “Not once have you inquired about the dragon system of government or our cultures—you’ve been in such an ‘I just want to kill my brother’ mindset since we met. Why do you think I was so averse to you riding my back? Slaves never ride on a dragon. We carry them in our talons or they mope along on the ground.”

  Dyn still hadn’t stood or moved. He was staring at my face.

  “You don’t have a tattoo,” he said. “So you’re not a slave.”

  “No. No. I’m not.”

  “Well, she’s a kind of slave,” Brax corrected. “She’s just not marked, that’s all.”

  I put my dagger away. “I’m not a slave. I’m part of an agreement between Brax and me. He did something for me and now I’m doing something for him.”

  “An agreement with a dragon,” Dyn said slowly, as if this sounded impossible. “Does that mean this dragon won’t eat me?”

  “Of course he won’t,” I said.

  But Brax being Brax couldn’t leave it at that. “I won’t eat you now, I’m too tired, and I won’t eat you if there are sheep around. But I may eat you if there’s nothing else handy.”

  “Oh,” Dyn said. “I guess that’ll have to do.”

  9

  A Revelation in the Cold Room

  “We have to leave here soon,” Brax said. “They will send other sentinels to investigate the ward's warning.”

  “You are correct, mighty dragon.” Dyn said the mighty part without a sense of sarcasm, which suggested he meant it. Now he was standing I realized I had to l
ook up—he was half a head taller than me. Since I’d always been used to being eye-to-eye or even staring down at people, I found this a little disconcerting. And, despite living in a cave with a dragon as a master, he smelled like sandalwood oil. “It will take hours for the nearest guardian to make the journey.”

  “Then I will have to heal in hours, not days,” Brax said. He had not moved in the last few hours other than to pull himself closer to the fire. “My blood remains frozen. Feed this fire.”

  I opened my mouth to remind him to ask politely, but Dyn spoke first.

  “I will, right away, my lord.” And he was off to the back of the cave to gather wood.

  “You shouldn’t be so commanding,” I said.

  Brax rolled his eye. “That man has been a slave his whole life and knows only how to serve. Plus, you do realize he’s as good as dead.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “He will either be seen as a traitor for not defending his master, or the next guardian will kill him out of spite, or he will be enslaved again by an even more horrible dragon or, and this might be the worst option, he will be sold at the meat markets.”

  A chill went down my spine. “You don’t mention a scenario where he lives happily ever after on a tiny farm.”

  “There isn’t one. You saw how hard it was to get here from Ellos. How does he cross the Bitterwaters? And where would he go? Your home is not his homeland. He was born a slave. He’ll die a slave.”

  “We could take him with us.” Dyn was far enough away that our words wouldn't carry to him. He'd gathered a large pile of logs in his well-muscled arms. They were maybe bigger than Thord’s.

  Why was I thinking of Thord again?

  “If you mean for me to let him ride on my back, please put that under the heading: NEVER. I will be lucky to get enough strength back to carry you. I need food.”

  “Food?” Dyn asked. He was approaching us now, peering over the pile of wood. “We have food. Would you like a cow?”