by Scott King
"I'm ready," Cooke said after securing her harness on the dragon's back. Medrayt must have heard, because a moment later, her dragon and all the other dragons moved in unison, stretching their wings and leaping into the air.
Like clockwork toys timed perfectly, the dragons moved as one, circling and rising higher above Dras. The sound of their wings and the rushing wind was deafening.
From the compartment on her side saddle, Cooke withdrew a scarf. She wrapped it tightly around her face and ears, protecting herself not only from the noise, but also the cold.
Medrayt kept back a group of twenty-five adult dragons. They were his protection, and she had insisted. The rest of the dragons, including the adolescents were in the air heading to war.
Cooke debated whether it was right to allow four hundred dragons to descend upon Stobnyk Kol. The snowy foothills around the villa had enough space, but they did overlook Demral, the largest harbor in Caerkaldor.
She could keep her students in line, but was not confident that a swarm of dragons wouldn't cause sheer panic in the port city. Maybe that's what they needed, a wake-up call and warning of what was to come.
The downside of the dragons not landing near the villa was that Cooke would have to trek through the snow, and that seemed like an awful lot of work to spare the emotions of the locals.
"Take them down here." Cooke leaned in close to her dragon's neck, knowing Medrayt could hear her through the beast's ears.
Cooke's dragon landed outside Stobnyk Kol's walls, and all the others followed suit. Their array of colors and scales reflected off the fresh white snow.
"Headmaster!" Devina's voice rang across the snowfield before Cooke managed to get her feet on the ground.
"What is it this time, girl?" Cooke slid off her saddle and down the side of the dragon's neck. She sunk knee-deep in the snow.
"The dragons!" Devina said with panic in her voice.
"There are dragons?"
"Headmaster!"
Cooke chuckled and looked back to assess the dragons. Each had settled down, like a dog in front of a fire, as if to take a nap.
"The dragons won't harm anyone," Cooke said. "But the city folk won't like it. Have a squad of fourth years set up on Demral's outskirts in case anyone feels inspired to do something stupid."
"I'll send word right away," Devina said. "Anything else?"
"Recall the Red Hounds. All of them."
"Are you sure?"
"It's time."
"Letters, messages, travel..." Devina wiggled her fingers as if doing complex math. "They can all be back within five months."
"Do it."
Devina bowed and turned to head back into the villa.
"Devina!" Cooke didn't try to hide her annoyance.
"Yes?" Devina paused and looked back with with pang of irritation, as if the simple act of waiting caused her physical pain.
"Help me inside," Cooke said.
"Of course! I'm sorry for not thinking." Devina bent her arm in a hook shape and offered it to Cooke.
"Thank you." Cooke took Devina's arm. "Although unlikely, I may not return from Elene."
"Don't say that!"
"I expect to. I will not be in the heat of battle. That is not the service I am to supply, but things can happen in war, and you need to be prepared."
"I don't like to think of such things." Devina held her lips together tightly and frowned.
"We have that in common."
They hit a deeper patch of snow, the bank that students had created when clearing the road to Stobnyk Kol. Devina walked backward and, with both hands, lifted Cooke over the snow and set her down on the icy stone road.
"I prefer to think that I will live forever," Cooke said. "But that may not happen, and if it doesn't, this school and you are my legacy."
"The students would not listen to me if something happened to you."
"That's not true. You are of House Cooke as much as I am." Cooke pointed to the gates leading into the villa. "This home is as much yours as it is mine. You are the last heir to the family. It belongs to you."
"But–"
"No buts. When your father died, I did my best to raise you, and if anyone can handle this school it's you."
"Yes, Headmaster."
"About that," Cooke said. "It's clear you run things here day to day. I think it's time that you keep the title."
"Oh no, I couldn't, I mean–"
"You have earned it."
"But there..." Devina did the thing where she crossed her eyes so it appeared that her brain had broken. "What would I call you?"
"How about Natalia or Aunt Natalia?"
"I think I can do that."
"Good." Cooke patted Devina's elbow and let go. "Now go. I know there is a list of fifty things you want to get done."
"It's only twenty-three..." Devina bit her bottom lip. "You were joking, weren't you?"
"Go." Cooke laughed. "I have my own things to arrange before I must head off again."
"Of course, yes head–" Devina took a deep breath. "Yes, Aunt Natalia."
In a flash, Devina was gone, and Cooke hobbled toward the infirmary. There was a slight chance she could end up facing Carter or Owen in Elene. She couldn't do that unprepared.
Both magicians had her beat in raw power, but neither could handle her mastery of alteration magic. If she had possessed the proper supplies when meeting Carter in the woods, he would have left the altercation powerless or more deformed and broken than Mogul.
Cooke did not have faith in The Silver Lady, nor did she think such things mattered, but she had left the wooden infirmary intact because of what lay beneath it. A maze of crypts and tunnels that had once been used for rituals and storing offerings.
The secret labyrinth was where Cooke had her agyltorium and workshop. It was where she created her wind burs and other devices. Only a trusted few knew how to reach it, and none knew all its secrets.
From her office in the infirmary, Cooke traced fögzrupta onto the fat timbers that formed the floor. The wood in a four head radius blurred. She drew prösprufta, and the wood turned intangible, revealing a staircase.
Cooke moved down the stairs, taking her time and moving slow, for the last thing she needed was to fall and break a hip. At the bottom, she reached up and pulled on the threads forming the agyls she had drawn. They flashed, and the wooden floor returned to its usual state, sealing her in.
From the time she could walk, the tunnels had been her playground. In total darkness, she was able to find her way, but fools do foolish things, and she was no fool. She traced Kölprufta and used its light to finish climbing down the stairs.
To her surprise, Mogul was at the bottom waiting for her.
"I take it that there is a reason you are intruding upon my personal space?" Cooke demanded.
"Where is it?" Mogul's lips were cracked, and an unusual raspiness hung in his voice.
"I've spent half a day on the back of a dragon freezing my ass off." Cooke jiggled a leather cord strung along hallway's wall. It stirred, bringing to life a series of agyl lamps. "You need to be a bit more direct. I'm a tad worn out."
"The clear concoction. The one you used on me and on Bash." He moved in close, so close that she could smell the zewik juice on his breath. "Where is it?"
That's what he was after. A quick fix for his missing arm, even though she had told him there was no such thing.
There were three ways into the tunnels. Two required magic. That meant Mogul had entered through the pantry in the main house. How long had he been down here? Since she had first left for Gwen?
"The mixture you refer to is not stable," Cooke said. "I do not keep it around. Even if I did, I would not allow you to take it again. It would kill you or turn you into something less than human."
"I don't care." Mogul swung his one fist at her.
Cooke didn't flinch.
At the last second, Mogul diverted the blow and struck the hallway wall.
"I don't want to live
," he said in a low tone.
She couldn't leave him here like this. He would end up hurting himself or one of the students. Did she dare bring him on the attack to Elene? At least there he would have a place to direct his anger. Maybe that was the answer. There would be no fixing him. He was broken, but maybe she could at least use him one last time.
"Dragons have been flying reconnaissance over Elene," she said. "We wanted to keep watch to know what kind of war machines they might use to defend against our attack."
"I do not care about Elene and your meaningless plans–"
"Be mad. Grieve for your loss. There is nothing wrong with that." Cooke bent so that her nose was level with his. "Do not belittle me or what the Red Hounds stand for. Do not throw away the thing your life has been dedicated to. Sure, you may not have an arm, but the one thing you will never lose is your family here."
Mogul pushed against Cooke's chest as if to move her aside, but she knocked his hand away and slapped him across the face. Grabbing his jaw, she squished in his cheeks and jerked his face to hers so that he couldn't look away.
"Gideon, the one who took your arm, is leading the defenses at Elene." Cooke paused long enough for the words to sink in. "If you want to be angry, if you want to direct that anger in a meaningful place, direct it at him."
"I thought the Red Hounds were to stay put, that this was only you and the dragons?"
"It is," she said. "But I can always make an exception."
He straightened his posture. "I want to go."
"Why should I let you?"
"I am a Red Hound."
"Are you?" She stuck her chin up, looking away from him. "This behavior of yours does not reflect that."
"I'm sorry." Mogul pounded his chest. "Please let me come."
"Then I ask again," Cooke said, "why should I let you?"
"Because if you allow me to, I swear by The Devourer that I will kill Gideon."
36
Tavern Talk
Ornsday, 21st of Winewen, 1162.111
Alex wanted warm food. Maybe a nice bisque or hot tea. It didn't have to be fancy. Though with every step, the streets of Yemto mocked her because, no matter which way they turned, she caught the smell of leek stew. She did not want to see or smell leeks ever again in her life.
It had been late at night when they arrived at the city gates, and the only places open were the kind of unsavory places where one shouldn't go. She had never been to Yemto, but it was one of the more important cities in Arwyn and the largest port on the east coast.
"I don't like this," Doug said. He had a foul look on his face.
"You don't like anything." Carter jabbed him in the ribs.
"I don't like people, 'specially people who stink." Doug held the back of his hand to his nose to block the smell. "It's fishy and sweaty mixed with the salty sea. It's disgusting."
"The harbor isn't far." Alex wasn't sure how far the harbor was, but she knew it couldn't be that far. "Suck it up."
Instead of cobblestone streets, like Compitum had, or dirt streets, like she encountered in Hal, Yemto's roads were littered with shells from oysters, clams, and drocs. It meant that every step they took involved a crunching or grinding, like walking on gravel, which gave the city a dingier vibe.
"You sure we can't just go to the big house?" Carter looked down the block, and Alex followed his gaze. In the distance was a small hill, and on it was a fort with a manor house at its crest. "You can do the princess thing, and they will give us a ship."
"Duke Kelsworth runs Yemto," Alex said.
Carter shrugged.
"I know you don't get politics," she said. "Especially the subtle nature of them, but I can't ask Kelsworth for help."
"You are a princess, can't you order him?" Carter asked.
"Technically yes," Alex said, "but it doesn't work like that."
Carter poked his nose repeatedly and squinted at her. "And if you can't ask for help when your kingdom is about to go to war, I don't know when you could. At that point what's the point of being princess?"
"Trust me," she said. "My plan is faster."
"I think you have a problem with asking for help," Carter said.
She shook her head, brushing off the comment, and continued past a pub. The buildings gradually changed from stone to wood as they reached the poorer section of the city, and by the time they got to the harbor, everything was made of wood. If it weren't for the near-constant rain and high humidity of the region, it surely would have been a fire hazard.
Jetties and a seawall formed the harbor in a perfect circle. The only egress was on its far side between two lighthouses. Each penetrated the fog with a series of glowing agyls that legend says could be seen from more than twenty leagues away. The lighthouses were for more than navigation. They also housed archers armed with long bows that could deal with any invading or pirate ships.
"I still think if we want a ship we need to find a pub or inn and locate a captain there." Carter walked backward eyeing the unnatural number of drinking establishments along the harbor. "They seem to like alcohol around here."
"You want a captain who has been drinking since Ulesday to get us out of here?" Alex said.
"What's today?" Carter asked.
"Ornsday."
"Yeah, ok, but there has to be a more sensible way to go about this."
"Look at all these boats. We will easily find someone who will ferry us to Kale."
"Are they boats or ships?" Carter tilted his head to the side.
"I don't know the difference," Alex said.
Carter scratched his chin. "I think there is a difference."
"It doesn't matter does it?" Doug made a low grumbling sound, like a baby roar. The closer they got to Kale the crankier he got.
Alex took the lead, walking along the docks. She skipped the larger vessels. Most were for transporting goods and the rest were meant for a large group of passengers.
A sloop caught Alex's eye. Its narrowness meant it was built for speed, and it looked like the crew was on board, which meant setting off shouldn't be too hard.
A man stood near the gangway, drinking from a brown jug. His clothing was dirty, but instead of the common linen of the region, he wore dyed cotton, a sign that his boat was profitable.
"Excuse me," she said. "Is your captain about?"
"About what?" He ran the back of his hand across his lips and wiped it against his maroon shirt.
"May I speak with him?" Alex asked.
The man eyed her, stopping for too long at her chest. He cocked his head over his shoulder, looking back toward the ship. "Fulton! A woman is here requesting if you are about."
Three other sailors popped their heads above the deck, staring at Alex and her companions.
"Get back to work you lazy crots," a man said. He had curly blonde hair and a dark face covered in sunspots. He stopped at the top of the gangway, keeping his distance. "What do you want?"
"My friends,"–Alex spun, acknowledging Doug and Carter–"and I are looking to procure transportation."
"And my mates and I are looking to be dukes," he said. "Why should I care?"
Alex patted her pouch, making sure to jingle the coins inside. "We need passage to Kale."
"No one goes to Kale." The captain turned his back to them.
"Wait! I can pay." Alex pulled her purse from her belt and untied it. She didn't have many coins on her. Not after helping as many travelers as she could when making her way to Hal. She did have one thing, though, a ring given to her by her father for her sixteenth birthday. The Eos crest was stamped on a sapphire embedded in a silver band. "This should cover it."
The captain limped down the gangway and took the ring. His eyes narrowed and then widened before he handed it back to her. "Begone. I will not deal with thieves."
"We aren't thieves." Alex raised her voice.
"No way a ragamuffin like you came across this without it being in an unsavory way." The captain stomped his good foot on the gangway. "Thi
s is Yemto. Maybe if we were in Breen, but I'll not risk the law here. Go."
Before Alex could argue further, the captain turned and re-boarded the ship.
"Great plan," Carter said.
"You're not helping," Alex said.
"Can we go to the duke and ask for a ship now?" Carter looked at her with big eyes. Tired eyes. It had been a long day for them all. "Please?"
Alex had been betting on the ring being perfect payment. She hadn't thought anyone would accuse her of stealing it. Yemto's books still fell under Lockhaven's old system. Here, theft was worse than murder.
"A moment, miss?" The man with the jug leaned in close so no one else could hear. "If you are looking for a ride. Try Tamryn at the Bearded Stag. Please make sure to say that Kendall sent you."
The Bearded Stag sat northwest on the fringe of the harbor. It was no different from any of the other pubs they passed. Once inside, Alex recognized the establishment for what it was, a run-down hole-in-the-wall. Trash and spilled drinks littered the floor. Dim lamps were spread too sparsely throughout the room, and the patrons didn't care enough to look away from their drinks to see who had entered.
"No," Doug said. "This place smells like ogre piss. I'm going back outside."
Alex didn't know if Doug literally meant ogre piss or if it was an odd dragon saying.
"We'll call if we need you," Carter said.
"I'll be listening." Doug waved a hand in front of his nose and slipped back through the pub's entrance.
Alex asked the bar keep if he knew who Tamryn was. He shrugged, but a crotchety guy who smelled like sour whisky grunted and pointed to a corner booth. In it sat a woman with fiery hair, though silver streaks wound through it. Her skin was dark, but less wrinkled than many of the men in the room.
"Tamryn?" Alex asked as she approached the woman.
The woman cleared a stein, and then peered into it as if looking for more. She held it up as if to make a toast. "I may be, but can't know for sure till I get some more of this."
Alex waited for the woman to get up, but she didn't budge.