Sworn To Transfer c-2

by Terah Edun

  And then the dragon spoke. When it spoke, letters illuminated the sky. The letters formed words, the words became sentences, and the sentences combined into a thought. When the thought was complete, the action began. And they watched as water rose from the sea, foaming. The water grew five feet, ten feet, and then stopped at fifteen feet, a giant wall of water. With another breath, the dragon formed a second sentence and the water flattened. In a shape of a disc, the water stilled fifteen feet above the ocean’s surface and the dragon landed on the platform with a satisfied huff.

  She had heard Sahalian magic was different. A literal interpretation of words and spells. Until now, she hadn’t seen it for herself. As the Sahalian dragon stood waiting, Prince Heir Sebastian walked forward until he was five feet from the ship’s railing. In the calm of the Weather Mage’s shield, man and dragon stared at each other. Sebastian wore his light armor with a sword at his waist. The dragon’s scales gleamed like armor of its own.

  With his head tilted back, the Prince Heir called out, “Welcome, Ambassador Sedaris, it is a pleasure to have you visit the Empire of Algardis.”

  *****

  The dragon chuffed and stared down at the gathering of humans arrayed below it on the ship’s deck. For a few moments it let silence descend over the humans, broken only by the exhale of its smoky breath. It wondered with amusement if the soldiers formed in single file behind the Prince Heir’s party were meant as a warning. If so, the humans had much to learn and much to remember. Dragons feared no one and nothing.

  The pleasure is mine Prince Heir Sebastian, said a decidedly female voice echoing in their heads. Dragons generally chose to mind-speak, having way too many problems with accidental spells when speaking in the human tongue through their large jaws.

  Ciardis felt surprise ripple through the gathered retinue. She was surprised, having expected the envoy with grandiose horns to be a male. But her surprise was nothing compared to the horrified shock that she felt permeating through the surrounding group.

  Glancing around her she took in the stiff, almost petrified forms of the retinue. Several hands had dropped inconspicuously to blades at their sides. Now they want to get worried? What were these battle mages thinking minutes ago when a half ton dragon was looking like it would either fall onto the ship or into the sea?

  Ciardis felt Sebastian’s fear radiating outward before she even recognized what the emotion was. He was too well-trained to grip the pommel of his sword but the frantic swirl of emotions in his head told Ciardis he wanted to. So it was female. Big to-do. Right?

  Irritated, Ciardis would have given her right arm at that moment to know why everyone was so upset about the dragon’s gender. She couldn’t step forward to touch Sebastian and demand an answer. The protocol officer present would throw a fit.

  To her surprise it was that same officer that stepped up to her side. His piercing gray eyes and blond hair were striking alongside the svelte form that could have him mistaken for a member of Sebastian’s personal guard as well.

  Keeping his voice low and pitched for her ears he said, “We would ask that you don’t venture out of your place again Lady Weathervane.”

  “How did you know I was going to move?”

  “Training has made me apt at capturing movements of the body. Besides you were fidgeting.”

  Ciardis said nothing.

  “In any case it is important that the envoy is not angered.”

  He hesitated and then admitted honestly, “This was unexpected....unexpected and unwelcome. The females are the ones that fought on the battlefield, the warriors of the dragon race. They are known far and wide as bloodthirsty and insatiable.”

  “Well, this sucks,” she whispered back.

  He didn’t bother commenting. There was nothing to say. They were faced with a high-ranking Ambassador of the most fearsome gender of the dragon race. If she decided to kill them – they were dead.

  As he stepped back to his place she reached out to latch on his sleeve, “Thank you. For the explanation I mean.”

  He bowed slightly, “You are welcome.”

  Ciardis inhaled deeply and sought to calm herself. She couldn’t imagine how Sebastian felt, standing right beneath her jaws. It probably didn’t help that he was also staring up into a closed mouth that was larger than his whole body. When the Ambassador opened her mouth and she saw the serrated teeth as long as her whole body, the sensation of being a rabbit staring in fear into the mouth of a ravenous wolf was hard to ignore.

  Turning its head away from the humans, it chuffed once more. This time a big black ball of gook shot out, straight into the ocean. It looked digusting as it passed over their heads and smelled even worse.

  Ciardis had the urge to run her fingers through her hair just to be sure that none of the liquid had lodged in her curls. It would be her rotten luck if it did.

  Is it sick? she wondered.

  “I am not sick,” proclaimed a booming voice in her head.

  The rest of the sailing party hadn’t heard Ciardis’s query, but they had certainly heard the directed response. And they knew it was directed at her. If censure could be palpable, the vibe she was getting from the surrounding retinue was like a heavy blanket of displeasure weighing down on her.

  So I’m not supposed to think now? Delightful.

  “Ambassador Sedaris,” said Sebastian smoothly, “You flew three hundred miles to our empire. Let us pay our respects and welcome you properly.”

  The female’s head titled to the side until a bright amber eye stared directly at Sebastian.

  “Yessss,” its mind spoke, a hint of a slither in its voice.

  “I confess, Ambassador, we have wondered at your reasons for asking for a meeting to be held on the ocean.”

  “Neutral territory.”

  “Come again?”

  The dragon lowered its head until it was level with the ship, “I did not misspeak.”

  “Indeed,” Sebastian said with a cautious glance at the commander to his left. What was this dragon up to? The ship was much too small to maneuver. The honor guard of pike men and soldiers he’d brought along were just that: an honor guard. They were tightly packed in for a display; they weren’t meant to fight. And they certainly weren’t meant to battle a dragon with the advantage of unlimited skies at a push of its wings and the ability to breathe fire down upon their ship.

  “My sisters have sent me here for one reason and one reason alone,” she proclaimed. “We have received grievances against your empire.”

  “Grievances?”

  “Kith,” she hissed, “Kith who have come to us with tales of death and magic devoid of life.”

  “Ambassador, I—we—have heard no such tales. The Algardis Empire has maintained peace with the kith peoples for centuries.”

  “Our grievance is not about peace. It is about the dead—the living dead. Souls trapped in this life while their bodies have gone to the next.”

  She raised her wings and lifted her forelegs in the air. “I will rest in the guest quarters for my kind in your capitol city, Prince Heir. I will stay as long as needed to ensure this is addressed. But be warned: Our patience is limited.”

  Without any warning she lifted off and flew into the skies. She was heading east toward Sandrin.

  Ciardis was sure she wasn’t the only person left behind wondering what the hell had just happened. As she stared at Sebastian and he looked back at her, her confusion mirrored in his eyes, she got the feeling that life in the courts had just gotten a lot more interesting.

  As the ship returned to port Sebastian pulled her aside. It was but a moment—to whisper a message in her ear. And then he left her standing still.

  Chapter 4

  As the ship docked back in the bay, the Weather Mage said proper goodbyes to his Imperial retinue and walked down the gangplank. Seeing that all of the carriages available at the dock were reserved for the Prince Heir, he decided to walk towards the wharf and see if he could find a tuk-tuk. Wiping his brow of th
e perspiration that had accumulated there, he lugged his heavy bag in one hand, breathing a sigh of relief that it was over.

  Marcus hadn’t been feeling well all week and today was no exception. As he walked farther up the dock, a sharp pain in his head nearly drove him to his knees and he cried out.

  None of the sailors surrounding him paid the least bit of attention. Most made sure they were looking in the opposite direction. A group of men off to the side coiling ropes near a docked ship began mumbling amongst themselves. These sailors were careful not to speak loudly enough for the stumbling mage to overhear them though.

  “Just another drunk mage on the docks with one too many shots of whiskey in his belly”, said one.

  “When they get drunk like that leave them be,” another replied, “The magic folk are nothing but trouble. Drunk ones are worse.”

  One sailor with an oiled and pointed black beard grinned and bared a mouth full of rotten teeth as he brandished a long, curved blade, “This will show em what’s what.”

  The first sailor to speak turned and spit over his shoulder – wishing away the foolish words of the man before him, “You couldn’t rob them because they’d set you on fire with their minds, but if you tried to help, they’d stiff you the minute they were well, their noses up in the air. Who needs that kind of grief?”

  Their muttering continued as the Weather Mage staggered up the dock. He only paused once – a momentary lapse as another wave of pain hit him.

  As he crouched in pain, the Weather Mage took deep breaths and looked around for a quiet place. He needed to take his medication and he didn’t want any onlookers interfering. Standing up, he raced toward the open doors of a large storage house. None of the workers were going near it as dusk fell, and it looked as if it had been recently emptied, straw everywhere and some smashed crates near the entrance.

  As he hobbled into the building, the pain was getting worse—much worse than it had ever been before. He fell against a wall and slid down onto the dirty floor. Ignoring the state of his robes, he desperately fiddled with the clasps on his baggage. It was one of those confounded mechanical ones that kept thieves from getting into his prized possessions, but at the moment with his pain-clouded mind, it was only prolonging his misery. Finally getting the combination lock to unsnap using the symbols he’d set, the bag popped open with a distinct click.

  Wasting no time, he dug into the depths until he found the vial he was looking for. Pulling it up out of the bag, he held it to his lips. In the darkness of the huge storage building, he couldn’t see the dark liquid that moved around inside the vial, but he knew it was there. As he pulled out the stopper, he reflected on how he’d gotten to where he was.

  Months ago, after a debilitating headache had left him incapacitated for the fifth time in a week, he’d gone to the imperial healers for a sixth time. He was losing far too many shifts to stay in the emperor’s service much longer. The healers had muttered and chanted and probed, but finally had to explain that they couldn’t find any source for the headaches. He’d nearly cried when they’d pushed seeds of poppy into his hands again. The seeds weren’t working. They just made him drowsy.

  Seeing the state he was in, the healer he’d come to see on his sixth visit - an old friend from the school for mages, had looked around and then leaned over to whisper, “This isn’t sanctioned, but I’ve heard stories.”

  He’d hesitated.

  The Weather Mage had grabbed the lapels of the healer’s coat and dragged him closer with bloodshot eyes. “What? A cure? For this malady?”

  “Calm down, man,” the healer had said soothingly while unlatching the Weather Mage’s fingers from his coat. “Yes, in the markets. Healers, natural ones that get their training from the clans.”

  “Hedge witches?” the Weather Mage had said, shrinking back in distaste.

  “You may have no other choice.”

  Taking the man’s written directions in trembling hands, the Weather Mage had gone to see the hedge witch in the local market. Down side streets and behind an alley, he finally found the rundown shack the man was supposed to be in. When he had entered, he was met by a foul smell and a shrouded figure in black. Stammering his apologies, he’d stumbled back and prepared to leave.

  The voice had called him back, saying, “You have an illness—a throbbing, striking pain that leaves you half mad.”

  Raising his hand, the hedge witch held out a vial of indeterminate substance. “I have the answer.”

  “How? How did you know?” stammered the mage while eyeing the vial. It was filled with a black liquid that shone with a metallic gleam even in the darkness of these quarters.

  The Weather Mage couldn’t see the hedge witch, but he could hear the smile in his voice as he’d said, “Call it a gift.”

  The Weather Mage was usually a cautious man, but every passing day the headaches grew worse. Soon he feared he wouldn’t be able to perform his duties at all, not to mention the fact that he was slowly losing his mind from all of the pain.

  “How much?”

  “Fifty shillings for three. After three you will need no more.”

  Frazzled, tired and desperate for a cure the Weather Mage was willing to try anything. Especially for such a small price. The Weather Mage had held out the paltry amount and snapped, “Here. Take it.”

  Rushing out of the shack, he’d pretended that he didn’t see the shadows moving or smell the overwhelming stench of the dead. Anything to end the cursed headaches.

  He hurried out so fast that he stepped around the body of the true hedge witch, bloated and lying under a discarded burlap sack. Behind him the charlatan smiled in the dark and vanished without a trace, his task completed.

  Back in the storage house, the Weather Mage prepared to drink the last of his treatment vials that he had acquired. Over the last few days the headaches had lessened until they were almost gone. Sometimes he’d gotten sharp pangs that distracted him or hit him by surprise, but nothing compared to the monstrous headaches that had left him an invalid in his bed for days when they’d struck before. Preparing to drink the disgusting substance, he held his nostrils pinched closed and tilted back his head.

  It was the only way he could get it down. The liquid smelled like tar and oozed down his throat like a slug. Drinking it down, he shook his head rapidly to clear the smell. As he gulped the tonic a sharp headache surfaced. He winced, waiting for the pain to rise in a crest like it always did. In utter surprise he felt it die down almost immediately – dwindling until he felt nothing more. He began smiling with joy, thinking the cure was working, and it was.

  His joy was short-lived. Out of the shadows emerged a cloaked figure.

  Stumbling up and leaving his bags on the floor, the Weather Mage demanded, “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “Why, what I’ve always wanted, Weather Mage. You.”

  The Weather Mage vaguely recognized the man’s voice but couldn’t place it. Deciding that he’d teach this idiot a lesson, he called lightning to his fingertips. A costly magical measure, but one that always sent thieves and vagabonds running away as fast as they could. The cloaked man didn’t move.

  Smiling, the Weather Mage thought just before he threw the ball of lightning, He can’t say I didn’t warn him.

  He watched as the ball of lightning—enough to destroy a man, and usually in spectacular fashion—arced toward his victim. He had to give the man praise; he didn’t run, he didn’t scream or cower. Instead he stood still in the face of certain death. And when the lightning ball his him directly in the chest, the man absorbed it. The Weather Mage watched in astonishment as the lightning hit a writhing dark, shadowy thing on the person’s chest and was gone, like it was never there. And then the Weather Mage knew dread. He was in trouble.

  The cloaked man laughed and strode forward, unafraid. When the Weather Mage tried to run, he felt the wall behind him grab him. Screaming in fear, he saw dark shadows come down over his shoulders and slither up his thighs to bind him to
the wall. As the cloaked man stopped in front of him and pulled back his hood to reveal his face, the Weather Mage still didn’t recognize him. But he recognized that smell—the smell of death.

  Shaking as the man traced a finger down his trembling face, the Weather Mage licked his lips and said, “Please. I’m a wealthy man. Anything. Anything I have can be yours.”

  “You see, Weather Mage,” said the man with surprising gentleness, “I already have what I want.”

  And then he clutched the Weather Mage’s face in one hand, and shadows began to pour down the mage’s throat. Before he lost consciousness, the Weather Mage thought, They feel just like slugs.

  Chapter 5

  A few hours later, Ciardis was rushing across the outer courtyard of the Companions’ Guild. As she reached the courtyard’s center where the cobblestones started radiating out in ever-growing rings, she stopped and stuck out her hand in confusion. Frowning, she took in the falling precipation in dismay. It was snowing...in fall. It was far too early for this sort of nonsense. It shouldn’t be snowing for at least another four months. Maybe five. And even then the snow was only likely to fall in the early morning hours when night had yet to release its hold and the sun still slept.

  Snow never lasted long in Sandrin. The capitol city was too close to the sea and too warm year-round for it to have a regular annual snowfall. She lifted her hand hesitantly and watched as snowflakes dropped from the sky and dissolved in the heat of her palm.

  So why I am looking up in the sky and seeing flurries come down?

  Shaking her head at the bizarre weather, Ciardis hurried forward to get access to the Archives. She hadn’t wanted to go her normal route through the colonnade and into the main entrance. Too many prying eyes. So instead she went outside, across the courtyard, and cut through a side garden to a small entrance adjacent to the side garden’s entrance.