by Chris Pisano
A look of horror swept across Haddaman’s face as the minotaur stood on its hind legs and stumbled backward. “You speak the truth.”
“I know no other way to speak, a concept sneaks such as yourself fail to grasp. Now tell me what you know.”
Half of Haddaman’s face went slack, the other half remained in a rictus grin, the burn scars having sculpted it as such. He licked his lips, his tongue resembling the slug on his forehead. “Very well, General. Perciless and his protectors have been meeting with an ambassador from Tsinel in the town of Ironcore, usually twice a year. My sources tell me that they were just there. I can think of no better place for you to start.”
Methel gave a slight bow, scooped the slime from his shoulder, and flicked it to the floor, and then turned on his heel to leave. This was the first Dearborn Day in nine years that he actually enjoyed.
five
Ideria grabbed a fistful of her cloak around her shoulders and pulled, shifting it. “It’s tight.”
“I doubt that,” Nevin replied, tone even and calm.
Ideria gripped the short sword tighter. Because of her size, it looked more like a dagger, like the one Nevin tossed from hand to hand. After their run-in with the king’s guards a few days ago, they decided to better prepare themselves.
Today was market day in Orsrun. Their grandparents had given them permission to be here with the sole purpose of examining the tables and stalls set up along both sides of the road and reporting back to them what goods the locals had to offer. The siblings took the opportunity to spend some of the coins they had stolen from the Constable.
“It’s too heavy.”
“It’s lighter than mine.”
“Then it itches.”
“I doubt that, too.”
Ideria huffed. “I just hate wearing a cloak.”
“It’s the same cloak you’ve been wearing for the past four years.”
“I know. That is why I stopped wearing it.”
Ideria waited for Nevin’s rejoinder, but he held it while he handed ten coins to the blacksmith’s wife. She was surprised and appreciative, happy to move something more expensive than nails, hinges, and horseshoes. Ideria tied her sword to her belt and then moved along with her brother. They now needed to seek out a leatherworker to see if any sheaths might be available for purchase. Away from any potentially curious ears, Nevin continued with his lecture. “You decided to stop wearing your cloak and then one of the first things we did was pilfer the constable of Bulderswith. You interacted with him, so he will undoubtedly recognize you if he were to see you again.”
“He might recognize me, but in his mind, I’m not suspicious.”
“In his mind you are suspicious. You’re a memorable individual at the scene of the crime against him. He may be a deplorable person, but he is still the constable of Bulderswith after all. We must assume that he has some skill necessary to get that title.”
All this talk of suspicion was making Ideria paranoid. Someone was watching her, the tiny hairs tingling at the base of her neck told her so. She looked over each shoulder as best she could with her hood being up. In the shadows of an alleyway across the street, a large figure moved about. It held the shape of a minotaur, but it was hunched over and jerked around awkwardly as if it had forgotten how to move. Something in its hand glowed blue, the light exposing its face. It was indeed a minotaur, but one that caused insects to skitter down Ideria’s spine. Its face seemed dead, tongue dangling from the side of its mouth. It retreated deeper into the alley, blue light disappearing.
Was that horrific creature truly watching her, or was it some deformed beggar too afraid to come into the light? She thought about telling Nevin, but as her fear subsided, so did her belief that it was something nefarious, so instead, she decided to continue the argument with her brother. “Right. The constable from Bulderswith, not here, not Orsrun.”
“They’re neighboring towns. You don’t think those in charge talk to each other? You don’t think the towns have relationships? And don’t forget about our grandparents. Even though they don’t leave the farm all that often, they still visit these two towns, as well as Hemmson for that matter. What would happen if they heard a rumor about a large blonde girl stealing from those of elite status in the area?”
“They’re not our grandparents.”
“Captain Wahl and Marrim are our grandparents. Their blood may not flow through us, but neither does the blood of Draymon or Bartholomew, yet we refer to them as our uncles. They all have raised us since the king and his dragons took our parents from us.”
“Then maybe you should take something back from the king.” The voice came from behind them. It was a man’s voice, human from the sound of it. Deep, yet calm, like an attempt to be friendly. “We could always use a couple of men—”
Ideria turned and moved the side of her hood just enough to expose part of her face. She needed to see if she was going to test the strength of her newly purchased sword on whoever snuck up behind her. A human and an orc, both able-bodied with dirt-streaked faces. Miners, no doubt. She was right that the voice came from the human. His face rippled with a vast array of emotions. Confusion, regret, pity. This was not the first time she saw these emotions, not the first time someone mistook her for a man. The human cleared his throat and continued, “—individuals such as yourself. You seem solid enough and smart enough to know the wrong son of the late King Theomann sits on the throne.”
Nevin pulled close to Ideria and leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’re just a couple of nomads.”
“Nomads and miners all look the same when cast under the shadow of tyranny.”
“What do you expect us to do?”
“No need to whisper, boy. In fact, be louder. Spread the word that Perciless—King Perciless—is still alive and recruiting for his secret army.”
“Secret army?”
“Yes. He and his entourage are going from town to town, giving hope to everyone. When the time is right, we will all rise against Oremethus.”
“How do you know we’re not agents sent by Oremethus?”
The orc and the human laughed. It was the orc’s turn to talk. “Because I can smell the goodness on you.”
Ideria held up the coin bag she lifted during the conversation. “We’re not completely good.”
The orc looked down to his belt, then snatched his coin bag from her hand. “Your pretty face won’t always be able to get you out of all the trouble your hands get you into.”
“When that fails, then that’s what this is for.” She split her cloak to expose her weapon.
“No need for that, girly. We just wanted to offer you an opportunity.”
“I assure you, we appreciate that and will mull it over,” Nevin said.
The human and the orc looked at each other and shook their heads. They walked away and the human mumbled. “Children. They just don’t understand the importance of politics.”
Ideria chuckled to herself, satisfied with the outcome of that exchange until Nevin grabbed her arm and pulled, forcing her to look him in the eye. He was angry, his blue eyes as cold as a frozen lake on a sunny day. “Was any of that necessary?”
“Don’t tell me that you found any interest in their conversation.”
“Of course I didn’t, but we just finished discussing how we need to stop drawing attention to ourselves.”
“No, you finished lecturing me about me drawing attention to us.” Ideria punctuated her statement by yanking her arm from his grip.
Nevin sighed and reached out for her again, this time a supportive hand on her shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Frustration built up within her. Her desire was to end this conversation and move on, but if she tried to dance around it, then it would just become arduous. Nevin would not let his question go unanswere
d. “I’m a freak.”
“What? Why would you say that?”
Ideria sneered. Either he was patronizing or ignorant, and neither concept sat well with her. “Don’t be thick. I’m taller than anyone we’ve seen today. I may not be the largest person walking around, but I certainly possess the most muscle.”
Nevin looked confused. “So you’re a little different. Rue is much smarter than any other ogre and Joy is green.”
“Rue still looks like an ogre, and Joy still looks like a harpy. I don’t look like a human woman.”
“You look like Mother.”
No arrow pierced the heart deadlier than the truth. Ideria knew very well that she looked like her mother and had been wondering a lot lately if she faced the same issues, had the same problems. Her mother’s father was a blacksmith who ran into some financial troubles, so her mother joined the army when she was Ideria’s age. Did she feel that was the only option available to her? Were the only two choices available to Ideria farming or army?
“I wish Mother was still alive. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so destined to be alone.”
“I wish she were alive, too. And Father. Don’t forget, they found each other, so it’s doubtful that you’re destined to be alone.”
Ideria snorted. “They needed to fight armies of demons and save the world to find each other. I’m not entirely sure I’d wish to do that to meet the love of my life.”
Nevin held out his arm and flexed his bicep, teasing her about the very thing that upset her. “But you’d be so good at it.”
Either he was a genius for finding a funny way to move her past her consternation, or he was a heartless fool for not understanding what bothered her and trivializing her emotions. She laughed, never knowing him to be anything less than a genius and a loving sibling. “Yes, with my new purchase of mighty short sword, I shall slay all the demons.”
“There’s the spirit! Now let’s find a sheath for that mighty short sword of yours.”
The tanner had some utilitarian sheaths, but nothing more intricate than what she could make herself with some time and patience. He certainly had a variety of tanned hides for her to choose from should she wish to go that direction, but she wanted something more elaborate. She wanted something with more flair than what a man would carry. Orsrun had one leatherworker, and he displayed his wares for sale today. Ideria was pleased.
She spent almost an hour attaching different ones to her belt and testing how well her short sword worked with them. Nevin had the patience of moss covering a stone, helping her with each one, even pointing out a few she might like. It was right when she made the decision on the perfect one when she heard the first scream.
“Dragons!”
No one on the crowded market street reacted at first, the proclamation bordering on ludicrous until the shadows appeared, and then all of the people in the market reacted at once. Chaos. Screams. Running. Not knowing where to go, most ran toward the buildings, until a dragon made of metal crashed through a set of two-story buildings. Their construction was sturdy, but wood and shingle were no match for the size and power of an armor scaled beast.
The masses now knew what to flee from but they had yet to find a safe place to flee to. A dragon of shimmering blue and white scale landed at one end of the street. It pulled its wings tight to avoid the buildings. The beast was large enough to damage the surrounding buildings if they were its target of attack, but unlike the metal dragon, it lacked the sheer bulk to do so with ease. Instead, it extended its head, neck parallel to the ground, and released its breath. Lightning. White bolts of electricity hummed and crackled as they arced from its opened mouth. Deep black char marks gouged into whatever the tips of the lightning bolts touched. For those not fortunate enough to find shelter, they were turned to charcoal mid step, a malicious insult to the person they once were, and crumbled upon impact with the ground.
The other side of the street offered no escape either, where a dragon of gemstone landed, carrying King Oremethus. The creature’s multi-hued scales glittered with every color of jewel and flowed in intricate patterns over its body. This dragon, too, unleashed its breath in the form of dust. Motes, glimmering in the sunlight, sprayed from its mouth and shredded the flesh from all that they touched. The dragon blasted wherever the king pointed, and the king pointed to anyone crossing his path while yelling, “Demon! There! Another demon!”
Ideria had never seen the king before, but she would most assuredly never forget how he looked now. Nothing about the man seemed regal. Shoulders rolled forward as he leaned in to converse with his dragon, his long hair wild, his eyes maniacal.
“What is happening?” Ideria whispered to herself.
Nevin grabbed her arm and ducked under the stand holding the leather worker’s goods. “I believe this is the very thing our grandparents and uncles warned us about concerning our king.”
All of the vendors ran to their respective homes, most located right behind their stands and tables. Nevin looked around for the best form of escape. Ideria saw a river of people rushing to the nearby mountain, a jut out containing a mine shaft. “Nevin, this way.”
Ideria reached for her brother, but he pulled his arm away. Instead of taking the chance to escape, he tackled her. Her confusion was short lived as something crashed into the leatherworker’s stand. Splintered wood and chunks of leather rained down upon Ideria and Nevin.
The metal dragon.
The beast’s wings destroyed the stands as it ran down the market street, chasing those fleeing to the mine shaft.
Debris falling from them, the siblings stood. Nevin still looked around for an escape, but Ideria could not stop watching the dragon. Her fists clenched. Her teeth ground together. This was not acceptable. She could not stand around and plot her escape while others cower in a hole waiting for their deaths.
Nevin grabbed her arm. “This way.”
It was her turn to yank her arm away. “No. We have to help.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“What would Mother and Father have done?”
Nevin sighed. “I saw a group of children that are huddled together in a dangerous spot. I’ll get them to safety, you distract the dragon from the people in the mine. But that’s it. Nothing more. We get out of Orsrun. Promise?”
“Promise.”
Catching up to the dragon was easy. It would intermittently pause to finish any snack it caught, and it stopped once it reached the mine shaft. If the stories she heard were true, the metal dragon did not possess the gift of breath, relying on its sheer strength and impenetrable skin to impose its will. It roared at the mine entrance and then clawed at the opening. Each swipe tore away a chunk of the mountain. The dragon tossed boulders aside as if mere pebbles. Ideria struggled to maintain her balance after each one hit the ground.
Short sword drawn, she pondered about her options. The thing’s head was large enough to swallow three of her without effort. She had been lamenting her abnormal size moments ago, but now found herself to be as useless as a toddler next to this creature. Any sword strike would go unnoticed, any punch or kick would be no more effective than trying to tickle the beast. If she tried to yank it by the tail, she would be blessed with a popped joint or pulled muscle. Its tail, though.
The dragon was scaled with the gray metal of weathered armor, but it was scale, nonetheless. There was overlap and imperfections like any other reptile. Close to the tip of its tail, Ideria found a seam large enough to slide her sword in and pierce flesh. A tiny sword poking the tail of a monster? She hoped that it would be a sensitive spot, unused and unexpected. After all, a minor stub of her little toe always yielded much greater pain than a punch to the shoulder. She hoped this was something similar.
Cave opening now wide enough, the dragon paused in its demolition and tried to jam its head into the hole. It snapped its jaws and children scr
eamed. This was the only motivation Ideria needed to test her theory. She ran to the tail—limp as the beast pressed its chest to the ground—and stabbed the flesh through the seam. It sank deeply enough to draw blood and she yanked it back out. Success!
Throwing about more chunks of rock, the dragon yanked its head from the mine entrance and roared. As soon as it turned its head, Ideria ran back into town. She did not look behind her; she knew very well it was chasing her. Instead, she looked forward and ran toward the area where lighting erupted from the ground. She hoped the streets would have been emptied of people by now, but there were still plenty running around. Panicked. Screaming. Injured. As she ran to where the others ran from, the lightning dragon stepped into the street, its head jerking as it moved its gaze from one running person to the next. There was a constant buzzing in between the cracks of thunder every time the dragon opened its mouth to release jagged bolts of electricity. Her skin tingled, but she pressed on, running even closer. She threw her sword.
Hitting a moving target with a sword while running was as easy as extending an index finger to point. That had been a part of the constant training she had been receiving all of her life from Grandfather Wahl, Uncle Draymon, Uncle Bartholomew, and the dozens of different fighting trainers they had brought to the farm over the years. She never thought she would have a need to use her learned skills, but she was happy to have them now as her sword flew through the air and pierced the lightning dragon’s eye.
Roaring loud enough to shake the world around it, the dragon reared up on its hind legs and clawed at the sword stuck in its eye. After digging it out, the dragon dropped back to all fours and released its pain and fury with a blast of lightning upon the closest thing—the metal dragon.
With every blast of lightning, the metal dragon twisted its body in unnatural ways, a dance of agony. A blooming flower of light and death, a ball of electricity swirled around it as tendrils of lightning lashed out and left charred marks on the street and the buildings. The lightning dragon stopped its assault and pawed at its eye as it took flight. The metal dragon continued to screech with noises no living creature had ever made while twisting and folding in on itself. The arcs of electricity finally slowed and stopped. The dragon no longer resembled what it had been mere seconds ago, now a misshapen ball of metal, appendages warped beyond recognition. Thin streams of blood the color of melted pewter trickled along the street, the only evidence the heap of metal was once alive.