Age of Valor: Dragon Song

by D. E. Morris

  “You sound so natural!”

  “I tend to absorb the accents around me. A blessing of being a wandering minstrel. Or a curse, if you don't realize you're slipping into an Alybaen accent when there is warlord in front of you who thinks you're mocking him.”

  Misuzu raised a brow. “You have so many fascinating stories I wish to hear.”

  Lerranyth village was different from the last time Cailin had been there. It had been calm before, somewhat peaceful despite the shortage of food being given out. Of course there was grumbling - there was always grumbling - but they knew better than to complain when she was doing her rounds. It wasn't that Cailin didn't care, she cared more than she had ever shown, but there was nothing she could have done. It was easier for her to pretend to be heartless when she saw people starving than let her heart break over the sound of people weeping. This visit, however, brought happy faces to greet them at the gate, mugs of ale, beer, and cheap wine in hand. The dirt streets were muddy with spilled alcohol and vomit, giving the air an acrid smell.

  “This is disgusting,” Jaryn muttered, side-stepping a mushy indiscernible puddle.

  “This is a distraction,” Cailin corrected, anger in her quiet voice. The trio had entered the town center and melted into the crowds, watching people pretend to battle one another. Their actions were slow and sloppy, each fake attack sending up raucous cheers from the drunk onlookers. Cailin was only partially looking at the crowd, her attention also pulled to the surrounding buildings. Over the winter there had been damage done by ice and snow. Shutters hung from a nearby home in a crooked, swinging manner. It looked like an attempt had been made to tie it closed with the shutter on the other side of the window with several strands of twine, but they had either torn or broken when they froze. Thatching was caved in on a few roofs; one looked like it had been burned in a fire. There was a house a few streets away that appeared empty with broken glass in the windows and the door wide open.

  “Let's split up,” Cailin growled after a moment, her eyes narrow. “Talk to as many people as you can and meet me at the pub on the western side of town at dusk. It's a place where we'll be able to spend the night and share information. Tomorrow we'll meet with Connor one way or another.”

  “Tomorrow?” Jaryn questioned. “Why can't we do it tonight?”

  “Castle security will be tight today with so many people this drunk. It makes more sense to learn what we can today, wait until morning, then speak to him once we are all sharing the same information.” She turned from the crowd to look at Jaryn. “I'm sorry. I know you want to get back to Ashlynn, and you should, but this is the best course of action.”

  He frowned, but both he and Misuzu nodded. “All right. we'll take your lead on this.”

  Pleased that both of them were willing to trust her decision, Cailin nodded. “All right. See you at dusk.” The three of them turned their backs to one another, all branching off in different directions.

  Cailin was fairly certain she knew the right places to go to seek out information. When she'd been the sheriff's deputy at Lerranyth, she made a few important connections. One of the reasons she had been so highly praised at her station was because she knew there were those that needed to be dealt with harshly, but there were also those with whom she could be a little more lenient, therefore establishing a good relationship. She'd done so at four key businesses within the poor town, making sure to have a wide web from which she could draw information. There was no guarantee that there was no warrant out for her arrest as a deserter to the crown, but she would be careful. Hopefully her allies were still just that.

  She cut down an alley, stealthy and calculated in her movements so as not to draw any unwanted attention. It was as though she was a shadow, passing by people so closely that they didn't know she was there until they felt that strange breeze one feels at the back of the neck when someone walks by, but by then, she was gone. Feeling rather proud of herself, Cailin crouched behind a broken crate in another alley, peering at the building across the street through the straw and wooden slats.

  A steady crowd of people moved by, none of them wobbly on their feet or slurring the few words she could catch now and then. Once, a group of children went rushing down the alley without even noticing she was there, celebrating the coin purse they stole from someone in town. Cailin watched them, her heart sinking at the poverty of the town she once loved. How long had it been like this? How long had she been fooled into thinking it was otherwise?

  Her head swiveled at the sound of the creaking windmill high above the building she was scouting. It hadn't been turning when she first arrived, its sails torn and sewn up with multi-colored patches, but now it moved like a stiff old woman after a freezing cold night. The door opened and a familiar face stepped out, a man with long hair and a rounded belly. It wasn't as round as she remembered, neither had his hair been so white. He looked up at the poorly repaired windmill for a long moment, then shook his head and moved to a water trough under one of his windows to pick up a bucket. Cailin watched as two men came from down the street, their wits very much about them from the sure way they moved. One of them approached Cailin's informant so quietly that when he spoke, the sudden realization that he was no longer alone made the old man drop his bucket of water on the ground. He responded to whatever had been asked of him with a shake of his head and a shrug. The other man drew his sword and pressed it to the older man's throat before he could react, shoving him inside and slamming the door shut.

  Cailin sprang into action, hastening from her hiding place to cross the street. She jumped over a pile of empty burlap sacks in the narrow road beside the building and ran around the back corner, going to the rear door she knew was there. Pausing before throwing herself inside, she pressed her ear to the door and listened. Nothing. Gingerly, she gave the latch a lift and pressed inward, opening the door just enough to poke her head in. There she could see the giant spoke of the windmill above, spinning and turning on the spokes of a wheel that ground flour and other grains, but there was nothing else. Cailin slid inside and hurried on light feet across the room. She was about to open the door to the main part of the mill when it flew open. There was only time enough to leap behind the grinder wheel with the hope of not being caught.

  The miller was forced inside, the sword still at his throat. “The wheel is going,” grumbled the man without a weapon. “Don't tell us you don't have any grain.”

  “This is all I have,” the old man panted. “It's for the high king. If it isn't delivered today, I'll be stretched!”

  “Well it looks like you might be a little taller before the day is out,” said the man with the sword. Both of them laughed, and Cailin used the noise to re-position herself. She moved to the other side of the wheel, still hidden behind it, and drew an arrow from the quiver on her back. Taking careful aim, she loosed the arrow with a quiet whistle. It found its mark in the stomach of the unarmed man. As he gasped and fell to the floor, the man with the sword panicked and looked around, trying to figure out where the shot had come from. Taking advantage of the moment, Cailin dropped her bow and pulled her sword free, ducking back around to the other side of the wheel again to spring forward, hoping to catch the man off guard.

  It would have worked if he hadn't turned in time to see her. Quick on his feet, he shoved the miller away and raised his weapon in time to block what would have been a killing blow from Cailin. He pushed her back, both of them stunned for a moment but quick to recover. He charged at her and Cailin hopped deftly to the side, rolling and springing up like a cat to bring her sword down on his unprotected back. He fell to the floor with a wet cough and didn't get up again.

  The miller cowered back against the far wall and raised his hands in defense when Cailin turned for him. “Please! Please spare me!”

  Suddenly remembering almost her entire face was hidden, Cailin faced him fully, pulling her mask up and the hood and mouth covering down. “It's all right,” she breathed. “It's me.”

  The
old man squinted up at her, perplexed. “Cailin?”

  “Are you all right?” She extended a hand to him and helped him to his feet, visually searching his neck for injury but seeing nothing. “Who were those men?”

  “Thieves. What else these days?” He rubbed his neck, his eyes traveling the length of her body in confusion before returning to her face. “I thought you'd left Ibays. Fintan said you were gone.”

  “I did,” she confirmed with a grimace. “I was. I suppose I still am. I work for the high queen of Siness now.”

  “Good for you. I always thought you deserved better than being Fintan's watchdog.”

  She nodded to the two dead men on the floor. “Does this happen often?”

  “More than I care to admit. Supplies are thin and people are getting desperate.” He walked to the mill and looked in at the fine tan powder being produced. “I only got this grain in a half an hour ago. Had to sneak my supplier in under the noses of those drunkards out there or they would have pecked at him like vultures. I should have just locked myself inside for the day, but I needed water.”

  “This flour is for Connor?”

  The miller shook his head. “No, it's really for the baker. He's been making bread to give to the sick. Seems the number of sick is growing day by day, but we're doing what we can.”

  Cailin felt her heart both break and swell at the same time. “You both put your lives at risk by doing that, it seems.”

  “What good are our lives if we don't do anything with them?”

  She nodded, touched by the selflessness. Remembering her initial reason for being there, her expression grew grim. “I have to ask you something: have you heard about any attacks on Siness recently, anything involving dragons and dragon riders?”

  He shook his head, slow at first as his gaze went far away in thought. “No. Not so much as a whisper about Siness, actually.”

  “What about any odd sounds at night? It would sound something like a flute, high and sad.”

  “Not that I've heard, though I can sleep through pretty much anything.”

  Cailin frowned. “All right. I'll keep looking then.” She looked at the dead men. “I suppose I should help you with these two, first.”

  With a dismissive wave of his hand, the miller picked up Cailin's discarded bow and handed it back to her. “Don't worry about it. This isn't the first time I've had to get rid of a body or two.”

  ~*~*~*~

  The sun was setting, giving the sky a purple-gray haze as dusk lowered itself over Lerranyth. After a long day of celebrating and drinking, the village was quieting down and those who'd kept their heads were coming out of the woodwork. Men, women, and children alike scampered through the streets and back alleys to the places where people lay passed out in their own vomit and slobber, taking whatever money and valuables they could find. As they moved about, each one had to be careful not to be caught by one of the many wandering soldiers, else whatever treasures they'd found would be taken home by the one who found the thief, or possibly given to Connor himself.

  Cailin watched it all from the pub she waited in, arms crossed as she leaned against the doorway, her mask off and hood down. Her disgust had turned to rage during the day, that turning to sadness until she eventually became numb to it all, including her fear of being spotted. None of it made any sense to her. When she'd been in the employ of the castle about six months ago, she knew the treasuries were low, but no one ever indicated that they were this low.

  “Cailin.”

  Someone had come up beside her and put a hand on her shoulder, jarring her from her thoughts. It was Jaryn, and the look on his face suggested he was as heavy-hearted as she was. “Come on, Misuzu's in the back.” She followed him inside and looked to the tender, nodding to him with purpose before making her way through the solemn pub to a table in the back where the redhead she knew to be Misuzu waited. They were all barely seated before a bar maid came over to take their orders.

  “Three of your strongest...whatever you have left.” Jaryn sighed as the woman walked away and rested his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. “What a day.”

  “I've never seen anything like this,” Misuzu agreed. Her brows were knit together in concern. “Has it always been this way?”

  “Never,” Cailin assured with a defeated spirit. “Not even in the days after Tadhg seized the capital and claimed the country as his own was Lerranyth so bleak. It hurts my heart to see.”

  Jaryn rubbed the nape of his neck. “I watched a young woman get flogged today because she wouldn't give a stolen coin purse to a soldier. He literally threw her to the ground, shoved her face in a pile of mud, and beat her until she gave it to him.” With a shake of his head, he added, “All for two gold pieces. That's it!”

  “We need to talk to Connor,” stressed Cailin. “I know him. He's a sweet kid. I have a hard time believing he would be aware of all of this and let it continue.”

  “How will we get in to see him?” asked Misuzu. “I could disguise myself as one of the guards and possibly lead you in as prisoners, though you would have to tell me where to go, Cailin.”

  She frowned. “I don't think that will work. I'll have to see who is still at the gate that I know. It might not be possible to get in that way.”

  The drinks were brought over and Cailin accepted her mug of beer. Looking at the bar maid, she asked, “How long has Ibays been like this?”

  The woman shrugged. “Right before winter, probably. Food started running out, then the food we were getting was rotten, bugs in our grains, things like that.” She looked Cailin over. “You used to work in the castle, didn't you?”

  “Another lifetime ago, it seems.”

  With a careless nod, the woman shrugged again. “So many people have been let go from the service of High King Connor, that's a sad tale I've heard all too often.”

  “What do you mean?” Jaryn asked, his weariness making him forget his adopted accent. “Have others been banned from the castle?”

  “Not so much as banned but kicked out. There's not enough money to pay the wages of everyone Lerranyth used to employ. Now most of the ones who walked around, thinking they were better than the rest of us, are just as hungry as we are now.”

  “So your high king is sending armies to, what, intimidate other nations into helping him?”

  She looked at Jaryn with narrowed eyes. “You're Sinessian. What are you doing here, slumming it with the poor folk?” Returning her attention to Cailin, she said, “From what I hear, he's asked for help from several different places, all cordial and formal like. It's when they refuse to send any aid that he tends to get a bit cranky. You know how kids are.”

  Forcing a smile of thanks, Cailin paid the woman double what their drinks cost. She only raised a brow and glanced at Cailin one more time before sauntering away.

  “It may have been a mistake to let our guard drop so much,” Jaryn muttered.

  Cailin gave a sloppy shrug and drank her ale. “I'm not worried at this point. I paid the tender a great deal over his asking price for our rooms. He'll keep his mouth shut.”

  “So basically,” said Misuzu, “Connor asks for the other nations to play nicely, and when they refuse, he tries to intimidate them by sending ships to stalk their shores in the middle of the night.”

  Jaryn nodded. “That sounds about right.”

  “Did he ever actually ask you for help?” Cailin asked.

  “No, but if he's acting the way that woman said he is, I wouldn't put it above him to try to carry out whatever vendetta his so-called father had against us.”

  Cailin remained unconvinced. “I just don't see that happening. No one I spoke with today has heard anything of an attack, and we all know how quickly word of something big like that can spread despite attempts by the court to keep it under wraps.” She looked from Misuzu to Jaryn. “Did either of you hear any differently?” When neither of them could say they had, she chewed on her bottom lip. “I can't see those on his Privy Council advising
him to attack one of the richest nations among the Celts. It would be as foolish as attacking Caedia.” She puckered her lips in thought. “I suppose the treasuries could have been drained so quickly because he has been paying these dragon riders, but that just seems like such a stretch to me.”

  “You are the only one among us who knows him,” said Misuzu. “We will continue to follow your lead.”

  “I need to think more on it.”

  “Of course. In the meantime...” The younger woman rummaged through her bag and pulled out a roll of parchment. “I may have stumbled upon something myself.”

  “What is it?” Jaryn asked with a tilt of his head.

  “I found a retired cartographer in a small home practically hidden under the shadow of the walls of Lerranyth. He was very kind and had all these beautiful maps and paintings from all over the world. I found this among them.” She unrolled the parchment carefully, taking the mugs on the table and setting them on three of the corners of the piece, her hand holding down the fourth. “I was told this painting is called 'Rinde Yaaraer' and that it was done so long ago that the paint has had to be retouched several times since it was first commissioned.”

  Both Jaryn and Cailin rose from their seats to stand on either side of Misuzu, their heads bent to examine what she'd found. “It's the continents,” Cailin observed.

  “Not long after they split from the look of them.” Jaryn hovered his finger over the map and followed the shoreline of Siness. “Look at how close Braemar and Siness still are, and look here – Mirasean could fit right in this little pocket off of Ibays.” He glanced at Misuzu. “The name is elvish, right?”

  “In Caedian, it means 'Circle of the Ancients.'”

  Cailin's brows came together. “I don't see any circles.”

  “And apparently you won't, not unless you hold it to the night sky on a particular date.”