Dragon Dodgers (Wounds in the Sky Prequels Book 1)

by V. R. Cardoso

  The group of Runners spread itself around the tavern, small conversations sparking up here and there.

  Targon sat down on a table, hiding a sigh of relief and Nasur sat beside him.

  “There is an alchemist with a poison that kills Dragons?” He asked, presenting a bottle of burning water and a cup.

  “It’s what I told the king.” Targon replied. He wiped sweat from his forehead and snatched the burning water from Nasur. “I’m just rolling with it now.” Ignoring the cup, Targon drank three long gulps straight from the bottle.

  “I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Captain.” Nasur told him.

  “Boss.” Anweh called. She was standing behind his chair.

  “Yes, Anweh.” He said. “What is it?”

  “The boy. You still haven’t made your decision.”

  “Yes, I have. He’s not joining us.”

  “But…”

  “Did you hear what was just discussed or did you leave the room at some point?”

  “The kid doesn’t have to fight a Dragon, you can leave him in the rear or something. Which reminds me. Have you lost your mind?!”

  “Anweh, please… Not you too.”

  “Alright, I won’t tell you you’re going to get us all killed for a stupid reason… if you go and talk to the boy.”

  Targon pressed two fingers against his temples and exhaled loudly. Why was it always so hard to say no to her?

  “You’re right. I just crossed an entire continent, I don’t need to rest.”

  Anweh grabbed his arm, pulled him up and threw him a smile.

  “Come on boss, it won’t take long.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  Chapter 4: The Agreement

  The sickening scent of burning flesh was barely covered by the abundant incenses lining the walls. There was a quiet wailing coming from one corner, but Targon could barely hear them over the repetitive mumbling of the priests surrounding the corpses. There were only a few, since most of the dead had been carried away by the Dragon.

  Some of the attending threw necklaces and rings into the fire, others drew marks on their faces with mud from three large bowls in front of the pyre. Enrig, however, did nothing. He simply stared at the crackling flames as if he was daydreaming.

  “Your cousin’s parents, are they here?” Targon asked him.

  “Died two years ago.” Enrig said. “In the orchards to the north.”

  Targon and Anweh exchanged a glance.

  The priests fell onto the floor and began to scratch it. Their chants became louder and frantic as if they had become impatient. Someone’s sob broke through the hypnotizing mantra and as if on cue, Enrig left without a word. The two Runners went after him.

  They were on one of the lowest levels of the city. There, the tunnels were narrower, darker and damper. Moss covered most of the walls and Targon could almost taste the moisture in the air.

  “Is the ceremony over?” Targon asked.

  “It won’t be over until tomorrow.”

  “Well, that’s priests for you right there.” Targon said. “Whatever gods they worship, they never do anything unless they can do it outrageously.” He was trying to lighten the mood, but failed miserably.

  “People die. Painting mud on your face and burning your jewelry won’t change the goddess’s mind.” Enrig said. “Cavill is gone. That’s it.”

  Anweh and Targon exchanged another glance.

  “Right.” Targon replied. He felt silly chasing the boy like that. Especially since he didn’t even want to be there. He signaled Anweh to leave, but she gave him a stare and pushed him along.

  Enrig just kept walking, turning into narrower tunnels, going down darker stairs.

  How deep does this city go? Targon wondered. He almost stepped on a calico cat, and when he turned to watch it run off, stepped in dog shit. He cursed, but kept going after the boy. After another corner, they were forced to jump over a man lying on the ground, cradling a bottle. From the many houses lining the corridor came a mix of screams, dog barks and baby cries, and Targon was pretty sure a man was beating his wife in one of the houses down the corridor. They turned one more corner and passed through another series of doors. The new tunnel was filled with just about the same sounds as the previous one. The only difference was that now some houses had their doors open. On one of them, a little girl was wiping the floor while sobbing. On another one, a naked old man was sharpening a knife.

  Enrig finally stopped at the entrance of a small hovel. The door was a rotten plank that squeaked when Enrig pushed it open. He motioned them to follow him and went inside. From further down the hall, Targon heard the rocking sounds of a couple having sex. Quite loudly.

  “Where the surface are we?” Anweh asked.

  “I think we found the world’s asshole. Thank you for bringing me here.” Targon said, then followed Enrig inside.

  The house was a dark mess, barely lit by a couple of candles quickly running out of wax. It smelled of vomit and bad wine.

  “You live here?” Anweh heard herself say.

  Enrig was about to say something, but instead, they heard a noise from one of the rooms.

  “Enri? Is that you?”

  The voice was female, but had a harshness to it, like the growl of an animal too small to be fearsome. The woman came stumbling into the furniture and stopped at the threshold of a door, leaning precariously into it.

  “It is you…” She stopped, staring at the strangers in her house. Her hair was a gray fur ball and her ragged clothes hung to her body like they belonged to someone else. “Who’s this?” She asked.

  “Mum, this is Anweh and Targon.”

  She fixed her eyes on Anweh.

  “I’m not paying for your whores!” The woman said.

  Anweh’s mouth dropped and Targon clenched a fist, but Enrig simply laughed.

  “Oh please… When was the last time you paid for anything in this house?” Then he turned to the Runners. “Ignore her.”

  Enrig’s mother spat on the ground. She tried to walk towards her son, but her legs betrayed her, so she just stood on the same spot, holding on to the door knob like she was about to fall off a cliff.

  “I apologize, Captain, but I did bring you here for a reason.” Enrig said.

  He signaled them to follow him and stepped into his own bedroom. It was like they had been transported to a different building. The walls were clean, the candles were new and it smelled of cinnamon. Everything was neat and tidy. Above his bed, nailed to the wall, Enrig had a collection of drying leaves and tree branches, all from different species. Anweh was immediately drawn to them.

  “Wow!” She let out.

  “You like them?” Enrig asked. He looked tremendously proud. “Most people never even saw something like that. Well, obviously, you two have. Being Runners and all, but…”

  “It’s very impressive.” She said with a smile.

  Enrig swell with pride.

  “Is this why you brought us here?” Targon asked.

  Something in his voice made Enrig’s smile disappear.

  “Yeah… I mean, I wanted to show to you that I am Runner material.”

  Targon sighed.

  “Look, I’m sure most kids don’t collect things from the surface, and I did notice how you move up there. You can read a Dragon’s movements and know where to run. You certainly have what it takes and you’ll be a great Runner one day, but I can’t take you.” He paused and sighed. “Sorry kid.”

  “But, why?” Enrig’s heart was broken.

  “Because the Dodgers aren’t going on a regular Run, this time. We have a special mission. Too dangerous for an apprentice.”

  There was a moment of silence as Enrig’s eyes fell to the ground.

  “Come on, boss.” Anweh pleaded. “You can leave him in the rear. Leave him in Sandahar, we’ll pick him up on the way back.”

  “Sandahar?!” Enrig yelled. “You’re going to Sandahar?”

  Targon nodded.

>   “I’ve been halfway to Sandahar.”

  Targon didn’t look the least bit convinced.

  “I have, seriously. Prophet’s Peak, the mountain to the north. I’ve been there. Slept there through the night and then came back. I swear!”

  “You slept on the surface for an entire night?”

  “Yeah!” Enrig boasted. “I found this cave and slept there.”

  “Wait.” Now, Targon’s interest was piqued. “You know about a shelter halfway between here and Sandahar?!”

  “I do.” Enrig said.

  Anweh punched Targon in the shoulder and smiled.

  “See, he’s even useful.” She said.

  * * *

  It took them about an hour to climb back. Anweh had found lodgings for the company at a place called ‘The Leaning Hog’. It was possibly the worst inn on all of Saggad, but even that dump wasn’t as far down as Enrig’s district, and compared to that part of the city, these tunnels felt spacious, clean and luxurious.

  “What I don’t get,” Targon told Anweh. “is why you like the kid so much.”

  “I don’t know… He reminds me of you a little.” She shrugged. “Anyway, this is me. Your room is upstairs”

  Anweh gave Targon a key, then turned around to unlock her own room. Targon didn’t move.

  “What do you mean, my room?”

  “Not tonight, Targon.” She said.

  “Ok…” Targon’s unfailing frown seemed to somehow get heavier. “Why?”

  Anweh was already midway into her room.

  “Because I don’t know what is going to happen once you have all that gold in your pocket.”

  “You know what’s going to happen. I need to go home, Anweh.”

  “Then take me with you.”

  Targon sighed and squeezed his burn scar.

  “Anweh, I’m married…”

  “No, you’re not. You told me yourself, she’s with another man.”

  “Because I’m away!” Targon yelled. “I’m a Surface Runner. I haven’t seen her in years, of course she’s with another man.” He exhaled loudly and regained his composure. “I have to repay them for what I did. A man can’t just walk away from his wife and son. With this money…” He hesitated. “The least I can do now is make sure they never need for anything again.”

  “Good for them.” She said. Then slammed her door shut.

  Targon stood for a moment, pushing back a curse, then turned away clenching his teeth. He climbed the rock-carved staircase and punched the walls. He used to make his own knuckles bleed with those same punches, in Awam, years ago, in the months after marrying Shalim. It was as if he had been trying to fight the city itself, the confinement, the rotten taste of humidity, the never going anywhere. He had Ran the Surface with his previous company, The Burning Striders, since he was a little kid. And while leaving them for Shalim had been easy, soon all he could think about was the Surface. The sprawling, bright, wind shaken surface. No amount of Dragons could have changed his mind. He had packed his things and left. The first years were glorious, he had even founded his own Company, but then, as the years passed, sunlight burned his skin and guilt burned his soul. Surface Runs became longer, the wind became colder and daylight became darker. On every city he visited, every wailing woman sounded like Shalim, and every boy of every age ran and laughed and cried like the son he had never even met.

  What choice do I have?

  The thought was interrupted by something around his neck. At first, he didn’t even realize what was happening. When his mind finally caught up with his senses, it was already too late. Two men were pinning him against a wall, while a third one held a knife to his throat.

  “Out for a walk, Captain?” Said the man holding the knife.

  It was Serak’s voice. As soon as Targon’s eyes adjusted, he recognized him and the other two – Daviel and Thaeus.

  “Just stretching my legs, boys. How about you?” He asked.

  “Oh, just wondering if we really need you as our Captain. You know, the usual.”

  Targon glanced sideways at Thaeus. The boy was trying to look fierce.

  “Do you remember when we met? You were begging on the tunnels of Aparanta. You ate your first piece of meat after I recruited you.”

  “And now you’re trying to get me killed.” Thaeus said.

  “We’ve been thinking about those ten thousand Spades, you know.” Serak said. “It’s worth a lot more than your talk. And killing a royal butler sounds a lot easier than slaying a Dragon.”

  “I’m not the only one who thinks that is a stupid idea, Serak.”

  “Why? The king knows who you are, but I can take care of that.” He said, pressing his blade against Targon’s throat. “Then, I can just change our name. We can be the Dragon Ditchers."

  The other two laughed.

  “That’s a good point.” Targon conceded.

  “This is what we’ll do.” Serak said. “You’re going to tell me everything about that plan of yours and then I’ll decide if I like my plan better. Because let’s face it, Captain, there is no poison. Is there?”

  “Fair enough,” Targon said. “But I need to reach into my pocket.”

  “Let him go, Daviel.”

  Targon’s hand disappeared into his jacket and returned shortly after with a folded piece of parchment. Serak snatched it from his fingers, unfolded it and then inspected it from every possible angle.

  “What is this?”

  Targon laughed.

  “Right, I forgot. You can’t read…”

  Serak’s knife found its way back to Targon’s neck.

  “What a great Captain you would make.” Targon said.

  “I wouldn’t send my men to their deaths.” He yelled. “Besides, others can read for me.” Serak passed the letter to Daviel. “What does it say?”

  The Runner released Targon and took the letter. His pierced lips moved silently as he read the piece of parchment.

  “What is this?” Daviel asked Targon.

  “A year ago,” He replied. “We were headed to Niveh with a load of spices and silk. Do you remember? When we found those bodies on the foothills of Silusa?”

  Daviel nodded.

  “Some idiots who got careless and were robbed.” Serak said.

  “Robbed?!” Targon smiled. “They still had bags full of Silphium. They weren’t robbed.” He turned to Thaeus. “You remember, kid. They were carrying a bag of mail, you found it.”

  Thaeus glanced at Serak, confused, then back at Targon.

  “Yeah… But, it was burnt to a crisp.”

  “Exactly.” Targon said. “They had left a valuable cargo of Silphium behind, but burned the mail? It got me curious, so I did… a more thorough search of the bodies.”

  “And you found this.” Daviel said. “But where?”

  Targon gave him a smile.

  “Let’s just say the parchment stank for months.”

  All three of them grimaced.

  “So what is it? What does it say?” Serak demanded.

  Daviel shrugged.

  “It’s a letter from a man named Kanuur, from Sandahar, but it doesn’t say to whom it is addressed to.”

  “The only person who knew that was probably the Runner who had the letter.” Targon said.

  “It seems like… Alchemist small talk.” Daviel continued. “Stuff about herbs and substances, but I never even heard most of these names.”

  “Yeah.” Targon said. “Took me a while to figure that out too. But try holding it up and aiming the letter towards a torch.”

  The three men surrounding him exchanged a couple of glances, but Daviel obeyed and as soon as the letter stood in front of the flames, they all gasped.

  “Impressive, right?” Targon said. “It was written with seeds placed between the layers of parchment.”

  “What does it say?” Serak demanded.

  Daviel took a while to answer, then finally:

  “Dragon killed. It works.”

  Chapter 5: The Dep
arture

  He had been in that same exit chamber the previous morning, begging for a spot among the Watchers of the harvest. He had left the chamber with his cousin by his side, and Cavill had never returned, not even as a corpse – Dragons always carried away their victims.

  This time, Enrig himself wouldn’t be coming back. He wished he could have had more time to prepare, but the Captain refused to spend another coin accommodating the Company in Saggad. The shocking news had left his mother silently weeping on her rotten bed, probably reliving the day her husband had left her for the exact same reason – Roaming the Surface. It felt wrong, but Enrig had always known this day would come, and it seemed like it should have come much sooner already.

  At least I’m not abandoning my wife and son…

  The company had formed two single files in front of the gates. The Runners were getting ready to leave. Nasur was giving Carn basic Surface Running instructions; Marek and his brother Yarek were arguing about how to properly tie their boots, even though it was obvious they were both right; Thamet was packing bandages and other medical gear; Shayllah, Nyssa and Samir were holding each other’s hands, praying in silence; Thaeus was making a bet with Daviel to see who would puke first; and the others were just casually chatting, like they were on their way to the market for some bread.

  “On the surface, if you drop something, it’s lost forever.” Anweh told Enrig. “We don’t stop and we certainly don’t go back for it.” She finished fastening a cloak on his leather backpack with a tight pull. “Now, you are going to stick right beside me. If I move, you move with me. If I stop…”

  “I stop with you.”

  “Exactly. That’s all you need to know for now.” Anweh gave him a wink. “I’ll teach you other stuff as we go. Oh, and one more thing.” She stuck a finger on his nose. “When you run, you watch where you’re running. Lose your step, snap your foot and we’re done. A Company is only as fast as its slowest Runner. Remember that.”