Dragon Bones (The Dragonwalker Book 1)

by D. K. Holmberg

  So were a dozen other people, who wandered the tables inside. They were shopping, picking up items off the tables that created rows upon rows within the tent, though most were intending to purchase, not trade, not the same way as the priest likely intended. Each tent catered to a different market, and this one seemed to sell dragon relics—or replicas of them.

  Fes lowered the hood of his cloak. It would do no good coming in here looking like a thief. He was careful with his dress not to draw attention, and in a place like this, he would have to be especially cautious.

  Where was the dragon blasted man?

  There wasn’t any other way out of the tent other than the way they had come in, and Fes made certain to keep his eyes on the entrance. If nothing else, he wasn’t about to have the man slip away, not now that he finally had him cornered. Azithan wanted the dragon bone this man supposedly had, and Fes had been sent to acquire it. That was his assignment.

  He moved behind a pair of people murmuring excitedly about a hunk of stone, still keeping an eye on the entrance. He overheard the merchant they were speaking to telling them how it had been burned by dragon flame, which gave it a particular shape. Fes glanced over their shoulders and saw nothing other than rock. There wasn’t anything particularly impressive about the shape that would make it likely that it was genuinely dragon-shaped. Fes had heard stories of places where the earth had been scorched by dragon flame. Stone had melted, leaving it dripping in sheets. All of that stone had been harvested, brought to places like the emperor’s palace, and saved. A single fistful of true dragon-burned stone would actually be worth twenty gold. It was why he prized his daggers.

  Fes moved on to another table. This one featured carvings of stone, and many of them bore scratches, with a placard in front proclaiming them to be dragon etched. Fes shook his head. The people of the plains were far too gullible. They believed everything was dragon touched. Considering the creatures were exterminated almost a thousand years ago, anything that really was dragon touched had long ago been scavenged by the dragonwalkers for the empire or destroyed.

  “Are you interested in something dragon blessed?”

  Fes considered the merchant who was speaking to him. He had a deeply tanned face and eyes that were so brown as to be nearly black. Much like the tent, his clothing was striped in multiple colors. How could he stand wearing something like that?

  Now that Fes thought about it, the man he’d followed had been similarly dressed.

  Could he be a merchant in this tent?

  His gaze darted around, looking for the man but seeing nothing. “I don’t know. Do you have anything worth looking at?” Where had the man gone? He couldn’t have disappeared, and there was nothing on the other side of this tent.

  Maybe there was another way out. He didn’t like the idea of disappointing Azithan. The fire mage had been kind to him, but there was no reason he needed Fes. All it would take for him to move on was a failure.

  “We have many items that are dragon blessed. Look at this stone. You can see these markings. These were made by talons from the great creature as it pierced the stone.”

  “How do I know it’s not a fake?” Fes didn’t want to get into a conversation with this man, but if he didn’t, there would be no reason for him to stay within the tent. He had to look as if he intended to purchase. He shifted his cloak, pulling it around to conceal the long daggers he had sheathed on either hip.

  “A fake? The Bayars do not carry fakes. All of these items are dragon blessed.”

  Fes blinked. He’d heard that name before. The Bayars were one of the oldest families from the plains. They lived in the far north, practically at the base of the Sapiar Mountains before the start of the dragon fields. Maybe there was something more to these items. “What else do you have?”

  What he really needed was that bone. Get that, return it to Azithan, and collect the bounty. That was all Fes cared about.

  The merchant swept his hands wide, motioning toward the table. “What else do we have? You have come to the Bayars tent at the Great Market! Everything we have is incredibly rare.”

  Fes looked along the table. He doubted that. More likely, everything here was incredibly forged. Fakes were valuable to those gullible enough to believe anyone other than the fire mages would be able to acquire true dragon relics.

  “What about that one,” he said motioning toward what appeared to be a necklace.

  It was at the far end of the table, and he was surprised to see a jewel mixed in with all of the other stonework. Most fools who promised dragon blessed goods brought out stone, thinking to pass off nothing more than rock as something truly touched by the ancient dragons. Given how long it had been since the dragons roamed, it was an easy claim to make, and it was incredibly difficult to disprove. His own daggers were supposedly made from dragonglass, and considering how hard the blades were, he believed it.

  “That? Ah, you have quite the eye, sir.”

  The merchant tottered down to the end of the table. He had a slight limp that gave him a bit of a wobble, and when he returned, he held the necklace in the palm of his hand. Fes thought that it had been stone work, but seeing it up close, it was nothing more than a smooth black sphere.

  As the merchant twisted his hands, streaks of blue rolled across the surface. “Do you see how the light catches it? A dragon pearl this is. Incredibly rare, and possibly the most valuable item we have.”

  “I thought dragon pearls were larger,” Fes said.

  “Anything larger would be held by the fire mages. What we have is inert, but still quite lovely.”

  “And you’re willing to sell it, knowing what it is?” Fes asked.

  “Ah, it is but a small pearl, and as it is inert, no power remains in it. Unfortunately, that makes it not quite as valuable as it once would have been.”

  Fes squeezed his hand around the pearl. “How much?”

  The merchant beamed at him. “You like it?”

  Fes shrugged. If he failed to recover the bone, at least he could bring Azithan something. He wanted all the dragon relics Fes could find. “I can see the appeal.”

  “I would part with it for twenty gold shil.”

  Fes blinked. “Twenty?” He handed the necklace back. There was no way that it was worth twenty gold, even were it a dragon pearl. It could be resold for maybe half that if he were lucky, and he doubted that Azithan cared enough about an inert pearl to spend even a quarter of that.

  “As I said, these are incredibly rare, and the opportunity to acquire them does not come along that often. If you would only…”

  Fes shook his head. “I don’t have twenty gold.”

  “How much do you have?”

  “Not twenty gold,” Fes said, smiling.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement near the back of the tent.

  Glancing back and seeing stripes of red on the hat, he concluded it had to be the man he’d followed here. Fes tipped his head, nodding to the merchant. “I think I’m going to have to pass.”

  “If this does not interest you, I’m sure I could come up with something that would. I have many items, as I have said. And all of them are dragon blessed. If you would tell me what you would be willing to spend, I think I could find you something that would fit your needs.”

  Fes shook his head. “Only fire mages need something dragon blessed. For the rest of us, it’s nothing more than decoration.”

  The merchant took a step back, suddenly eyeing Fes warily. He had made a mistake. He shouldn’t have dismissed the merchant so quickly. He knew better than to reveal his feelings, especially in a place like this, with the fools so tied to believing in the dragon artifacts.

  Fes nodded, trying to be polite, and slipped around the table, catching a glimpse of the man he’d followed. With his thick beard and balding head, he was distinctive enough.

  Maybe he could wait, and the man would sell the bone. If he did, then Fes could buy it back from the merchants—or steal it, if it were necessary. H
e wasn’t above stealing, especially for an assignment like this, with the payout being what it was.

  As he continued to make his way around the outside edge of the tent, he realized that the merchant that he’d been talking to trailed him. Did he know what Fes intended? He wasn’t necessarily a thief, but he wouldn’t know that Fes served the emperor, if indirectly.

  He continued to let his gaze drift down to the table, making it seem as if he were interested in the items there. If he lingered too long in one spot, he ran the risk of another merchant approaching, or even the first re-engaging him. After the conversation they had, he didn’t think the first merchant would be too kind.

  It had been a mistake to even bother pausing and looking at the items on the table. His focus was on acquiring that bone.

  The man stood near the back of the tent, wearing the brightly colored clothing that had marked him as Fes’s target. He was locked in conversation with another man. Fes studied the man he’d followed, realizing that he wore a necklace with what appeared to be another dragon pearl, this one larger than what he had seen on the table. Fes suspected it was inert, even if it were real. Should he grab that along with the bone?

  The other man was dressed more simply. Red embroidered along the sleeves of his gray cloak marked him as a priest. They were found throughout the Arashn Empire, though rarely spent much time in the city. Priests were tolerated in Anuhr, but not as respected as they were in places outside the city, places that still believed the empire was wrong for destroying the dragons.

  Fes edged closer. He would get that bone.

  “You understand what this means,” the priest was saying.

  Fes looked down at the table, shifting his feet. He needed to be able to listen, yet at the same time, he didn’t want to draw the attention of one of the merchants. He moved back, positioning himself so that he could listen. Standing behind an older couple who were murmuring as they handled different pieces made for excellent cover.

  “We need to confirm that it is real,” the man was saying.

  “Which is why you came to me?”

  “If anyone would be able to determine its authenticity, it would be a Priest of the Flame.”

  The priest bowed his head a moment before looking around. “Your faith is appreciated.” His gaze drifted toward Fes.

  Did he know that Fes had followed the other to the tent? It had been difficult to find the man in the first place, especially when the only thing Azithan had given him had been word that he’d been in the market.

  Fes shifted, wrapping his cloak around himself again, twisting so that he stayed out of view. He was of half a mind to pull up the hood of his cloak, but doing that would only draw more attention, not less.

  “How long before you would be able to make the journey?” the merchant asked.

  “I will need time to prepare. What you ask will take time and might require alliances that aren’t fully formed.”

  “I’m not certain how much time we have,” the other man said, his voice a tight whisper. Had this all been a setup to a meeting? “We already fear that others will learn of this. We have been doing what we can to protect it, but if those with the right kind of power come after us…”

  “I will do what I can,” the priest said.

  “If it’s what we think, then we are one step closer to returning them.”

  Fes stiffened. Was that what this was about? The priests often preached that the dragons would return and that by bringing the bones together, they could resurrect them, though they never shared how that might be possible.

  If that was what they believed, then they really were simple.

  Fes sidled a step closer to them.

  “I will need something to convince the others,” the priest said.

  “I understand. Take this as a demonstration of what we’ve discovered.” The man pulled a long length of bone out of his pocket, surprising Fes.

  Now was his chance. If he didn’t act now, the priest would get it, and it would be harder taking the bone from a priest.

  Fes darted forward and grabbed it before the priest could. When he turned, the way was blocked. Two merchants watched him. One was the same man who had given him the eye after he had made the mistake of revealing his feelings about the dragon artifacts. Turning the other way put him in the path of the priest and the merchant.

  That left through the tent.

  Fes slipped the length of bone into the pouch hidden beneath his cloak. He grabbed his daggers and reached the tent wall. He stabbed through it, cutting the fabric. One benefit of dragonglass was that it could cut through nearly anything.

  Out on the street, crowds pushed around him. Fes slipped into the crowds, needing to disappear as quickly as possible. He pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head and ducked down, better to disguise his height. He kept one of his daggers unsheathed but slipped the other back into the sheath, not needing to accidentally stab someone as he made his way through the streets. He rubbed his finger along the hilt as he often did, feeling a soothing relief from it. There was something to the comfort of having these daggers, the only thing that he still had from his father.

  He needed to get out of the market.

  There was too much of a crowd here, and it made it difficult to move quickly.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Three merchants raced toward him, shouldering people out of the way and approaching more quickly than he could escape.

  Fes ducked between a pair of tents. He was still in the middle of the market, the place far too enormous to easily escape. And now he’d stolen an item from one of the merchants.

  He wasn’t a thief, not that he hadn’t stolen on behalf of Azithan before. A better term would be a tracker, a collector of items of value for Azithan. And now he’d revealed himself. Maybe that was a mistake, especially with how many people jammed in around him, and even for what Azithan would pay.

  Someone grabbed his sleeve, and Fes spun, jerking his arm free.

  Carter smiled at him. “What do you have, Fes?”

  How had she kept pace with him? “It’s nothing. Now get out of the way.”

  Fes danced around, spinning out of the way, and crashed back into the crowd in the street. It was better to push people out of the way than to run the risk of one of the merchants reaching him.

  Someone shoved him, and Fes went stumbling, staggering forward until he managed to catch himself. Someone kicked him, and he grunted, rolling out of the way, and slashed with the dagger.

  As he got to his feet expecting Carter to continue her attack, he faced an average-sized man. Could he be with Carter—or the priest? He didn’t really want to cut down anyone in the market. It wasn’t that he couldn’t use the daggers—after an upbringing like his, he was more than competent with them—but he had no interest in hurting someone unnecessarily. Azithan offered a certain sort of protection in the city, but there were limits.

  The man grabbed his arm and Fes tried to jerk free, but the man had a firm grip. One of Carter’s men, probably. The priest wouldn’t have employed anyone to attack.

  “Not a good idea,” he said. He stabbed with the dagger, just deep enough into the flesh of the man’s arm that he would let go.

  The man cried out, and Fes darted off, slipping back into the crowd.

  Fes wiped the dagger on his pants before sheathing it. Blood didn’t go well with blades, and he didn’t like contaminating his sheath with it. It was easier to clean his pants than to clean out the sheath.

  Azithan owed him for this one.

  He pressed forward into the crowd. Those nearest him glanced over, glaring at him.

  This wasn’t the way the job was supposed to go. Then again, none of the jobs ever went quite the way they were supposed to go. Most of the time, Fes ended up in some sort of trouble. Azithan sent him after difficult to acquire items, and given Fes’s reputation, that made sense, but there were times when he wished that he didn’t have that reputation and that he wasn’t so successful. Of cour
se, if he weren’t so successful, he wouldn’t be as useful to Azithan.

  The edge of the market was just up ahead. All he had to do was get a little farther, away from Carter, and he could make a run for the palace.

  A shout caused him to turn.

  That was a mistake.

  When he turned around, the priest from the tent was looking at him. How had he reached him so quickly?

  There had to be a more accessible—and less crowded—way through the city.

  Fes withdrew the dagger from his sheath, holding it out. “I’m sorry, but I have a job.”

  The priest glanced from Fes to the dagger. “The artifacts belong to the dragons.”

  “I’m pretty sure the fire mages would disagree.”

  “Would they?”

  Almost too late, Fes realized someone barreled toward him. The size of the man and his clothing suggested he was hired by Carter. He spun, sending a kick that sent the attacker flying backward, but the dagger went flying from his hand… landing directly in front of the priest.

  “That’s mine,” Fes said.

  The priest held it out in front of him. Fes was tempted to reach for his other dagger but decided against it. He lunged for the priest, but the man backed away. “Where did you acquire such an artifact?”

  “It’s mine,” he said again.

  “And what you carry in your pouch is mine. A trade?”

  A debate warred within him. He wanted the fee that Azithan promised, but he also didn’t want to lose his dagger. He prized it, but mostly because it was the only thing he had of his family.

  Still, the money—and the risk of disappointing Azithan.

  Two men approached, nearing the priest. Carter trailed behind them.

  It didn’t leave him with any choice.

  Fes spun, racing off toward the edge of the market.