Call of the Dragonbonded_Book of Fire

by JD Hart

  His work for the night concluded, the man pushed away the mug he had been nursing for the past hour and rose. Tipping his broad-brimmed hat politely to the pair still arguing, he announced with an odd accent. “It seems it is well past my time for sleep, so I wish the Cosmos bestow safe travels and a fulfilling life to you both.” Undaunted by the fact neither noticed his departure, he stepped into the cool evening air. He paused to lightly stroke the soft fur of his gray squirrel bond while regarding the Eastlander trailing two men into the darkness. It was not like him to feel smug, but then again, it was hard not to feel an element of pride, especially when his handiwork altered the Weave. The balance of force was shifting, but not all his labors were for naught. That was the core difference, he knew, between his deeds and those of the mischievous Kindred. Laws like Cosmic discernment, free will, and cause-and-effect could be weakened, or bent, but they could never be broken. Turning the opposite direction, he stepped spryly up the street alone, spinning a short wooden cane between his fingers and whistling an ancient tune.

  In A Bind

  Annabelle stretched a body that had sat too long in a wooden seat and was rewarded with an inquisitive look from Veressa. Slowly this time, she repeated, “Yes, Caralynn, it is time we found our beds.” She wanted to get started early in the morning purchasing supplies and horses so that they were out of town before the streets became a beehive of activity. The fewer people who saw the two, the less likely it was that the princess would be recognized. Of course, no harm letting the girl enjoy herself for a few hours. But Annabelle would need her strength to deal with the effects of the princess’s drinking.

  Staying in the shadows, she led the way to the door, steering clear of a red-tailed hawk agitated from having to share a perch with a golden eagle above their drunk bonds’ table. Once outside, she pulled her dark green hood forward and started up the street toward their inn, occasionally keeping Veressa from running into buildings or tripping over the wooden boardwalk.

  It did not take much mental effort to know that an endless list of things could go wrong with whatever Conner might devise as a plan; but he found some solace in one aspect of what he was doing. While in the Thieves Guild, he had learned Sorcerers and fighters were not likely to detect Earth spells. He followed the two men to a dark side street and paused in the shadow of a building. After making certain no one else was about, he cast the three spells he knew—Night Vision, Stealth, and Cloak, then waited. Confident the spells had not drawn attention, he moved forward again, a flowing shadow from the flicker in a distant street lamp. Soon, Conner picked up the sounds of whispering voices ahead.

  Through his Night Vision, he could see the clear outline of the thin Sorcerer and the bulging frame of the fighter standing before three more men. He crept closer, sticking to the shadows of shadows. Still, he could not discern enough of the conversation to know what they were planning. Turning around, he discovered that the siding of the building he was pressed against was made of horizontal wooden slats. In less than a minute, he was atop an awning that extended out over where the men had congregated.

  “Yer to leave the older Ranger for me to deal with,” the fighter whispered with a snarl at the men. “Once she is down, and only after she is down, are yer to subdue the other one. Under no circumstances is the girl to be harmed. She’s worthless dead. Is that clear?”

  The three young men glanced at each other to muster some courage. They nodded their understanding, then dispersed into the shadows of the street beyond.

  Conner had no choice but to wait with the faint traces of skunk rising from below.

  Annabelle studied the princess, relieved enough to relax her grip on the girl’s shoulders. Fresh air and a brisk walk were reviving Veressa’s dulled senses. “Feeling better?” But the faint flashes of three Earth spells from the dark street ahead distracted her from Veressa’s mumbled response. Ranger instincts took hold. Her pace slowed, body tense. Senses sharpened as she scanned the empty street for any signs of a trap.

  Minutes passed and still nothing happened. Annabelle shook her head. Too much time near the Borderlands or being the princess’s protector had made her paranoid. Maybe some guildsman was working late in practice with an apprentice. The spells were clearly not powerful enough to be of any real concern to a master Ranger. She was about to berate herself when three young townsmen appeared out of the darkness in front of them.

  The one in the middle stated in a wispy, nervous voice, “Excuse me, but we have been walking these dark streets for over an hour. It seems we have lost our way. Could you please direct us to the Whispering Inn?”

  Annabelle released her grip on Veressa, hands disappearing up her cloak sleeves where she lightly gripped two knives. The three spells she had sensed before had made her wary. “I am sorry, young man, but we are Rangers and obviously not from this city, as you well should know. So if you would please step aside, we will be on our way. We do not want any trouble, but if you take a step closer, I will hurt you.”

  From their reaction, her response was not what they expected. Even with her warning, the men stood their ground; their tense, uncertain stance signaled something more was afoot. Annabelle caught the slight shift in the middle man’s eyes over her shoulder, the sinister twitch of his lip, and a faint shadow of movement from behind. She spun and crouched, her blades flashing in the distant lamplight, but already she knew she had reacted too late.

  Conner was forced to reassess his initial impression of the Rangers when the burly fighter slipped stealthily up behind the taller one, both hands in a death grip on his large ax. He wanted to shout, but knew he could not warn the Rangers in time. Or worse, he would be rewarded with a knife in his chest. The angle was not right, but with no time to concoct a better plan or even take better aim, he leaped from the awning. Some part of him wondered with wry wit if he should have taken the Sorcerer’s offer for the job with “minimal risk.”

  The luck of the Cosmos made up for Conner’s bad aim. The burly fighter stepped right under his descending body. Conner kicked out hard, his feet striking the man solidly between the shoulder blades. Though merely half the fighter’s weight, the force of the unexpected impact propelled the big man forward. The fighter waved his ax before him in a futile attempt to regain his balance and blundered headlong into the Ranger, his momentum driving her two sharp blades deep into his chest. His left eye twitched as the side of his ax struck the Ranger on the temple. And the two went down hard into the mud. Neither moved.

  Meanwhile, Conner’s body recoiled from the kick. Unable to keep his feet under him, his shoulders and back struck the ground, stealing the air from his lungs. He tried to inhale, wanting to scream a warning, but his chest refused to cooperate. Pain coursed down his spine, so he rolled to his side with an urgent need to breathe and came face to face with a skunk. The creature’s horrific, mournful cry tore at Conner’s heart. Then it flashed a fluffy striped tail his way and sprayed Conner squarely in the chest before scurrying down a dark alleyway.

  As Veressa’s head cleared, she realized she wanted nothing more than a good night’s sleep in a dry bed. So when three young townsmen appeared out of the dark to thwart her progress, she developed a terrible itch of irritation. Before she could rebuke them, Annabelle let go of her and she went down on hands and knees into the thick mud. Oh no! Not again! A princess should not be seen like this. The thought struck her as amusing until a big man fell next to her, splashing mud across her face and down the side of her cloak. She rose with slow deliberation, blood boiling. Muck dripped from her chin. That was when some unfortunate soul grabbed her from behind.

  Conner took a breath, then wished he had not. His eyes stung; his nostrils screamed at the smell. Dizzy, staggering forward, he surveyed the scene about him. He could make out the lifeless body of the fighter in the mud and the dark green-cloaked figure buried beneath. Conner groaned at his failure to save the older Ranger.

  By then, the Sorcerer had finally mustered enough courage to step from t
he shadows, moving toward the three townsmen standing bewildered with their leader dead at their feet. “You there,” he screamed at the flatfooted men. The orderman would be taking charge in a moment, so Conner reacted. Gagging and unable to see clearly, he grabbed the younger Ranger’s arm. He was not prepared when she spun about and slapped him hard across the cheek.

  Conner rocked backward from the blow. He met the Ranger with his own intense glare. “So that is what I get for trying to save you? Fine! Stay here and fight if that is what you want. Just don’t complain when you find yourself shackled to a slaver’s block by morning.” In indignation, he staggered down a dark street and away from the fight.

  A glance over her shoulder at two townsmen holding a cloth sack was all Veressa needed to know she was not in a safe place. Unable to locate Annabelle, she felt alone and vulnerable in the middle of the street.

  The Sorcerer who had appeared from the shadows shouted, “Don’t stand there! Grab her!”

  That was all the coaching she needed. Adrenaline wiped away whatever was left of her inebriation, and she chased off after the shadowy Eastlander with eyes glowing gray from a Night Vision spell.

  Conner caught the sound of footsteps from behind, then a female voice calling out, “You there! Wait!” She should have waved a lantern at her ambushers and saved everyone the time of a chase. He melded into the shadow of a building and waited. When the Ranger ran past, he snagged her arm.

  She jumped with a start.

  “Down here,” he whispered and redirected his feet along a new route that led them down a narrow alley.

  “I wish you would stop doing that,” she whispered, working to keep her feet behind the shifting human shadow.

  Conner bit his tongue so as not to comment on her lack of gratitude, then dithered when he noted that the alley opened out into another wide street. He started again toward another alley on the opposite side, but the Ranger’s hand held him in place.

  “Wait! Where is the Ranger I was with? Isn’t she with you?”

  He faced the girl, not sure how best to break the news, especially here in a dark alley with a gang of thugs about. “No. Your comrade went down back there with the fighter.”

  The Ranger caught a full whiff of Conner and nearly gagged. Instinctively, she shoved him hard in the chest, forcing him out into the street. Realizing she had touched him, she rubbed her palm vigorously over her cloak. “I have to go back. She could be hurt. I can’t run off—”

  “That would be insane!” Conner interrupted, slipping back into the alley’s shadow. “Those men want you or something you possess. They don’t care about her. If she is alive, it is only because they haven’t caught you yet. Once they have you bound, she becomes expendable. The best way to keep her alive is to not get captured.”

  “Oh.” The Ranger exhaled hard, holding the back of her hand to her nose. Her eyes watered. “So where do you think you are taking me?”

  The Ranger’s question struck Conner as odd. Even he knew enough about High Law to know the Ranger’s best chance to get free of this skirmish was to take the grievance directly to the high court. He wanted to get moving, but her interrogation was delaying them. He impatiently studied the quiet street ahead. “I remember passing the High Chancellor’s regional court earlier. I think I can find it again.”

  “No!” the Ranger exclaimed. Under Conner’s disapproving glare, she lowered her voice. “I ... I mean we ... I mean I cannot go there,” she sputtered.

  Conner was confused by her reaction.

  The Ranger lifted her chin into the air. Speaking with a regal voice to end their discussion, she commanded, “Take me back to Annabelle.”

  Conner threw his hands up to ward off the thought of going back into that pack of mad dogs. “Oh no! I’m just an Eastland farmer trying to come to aid someone I thought was in need. So if you are foolish enough to think you can handle a master Sorcerer and his three assistants, help yourself.” He gestured back up the murky alley.

  “First, I’m insane? And now, I’m foolish?” She fumed. “Fine! Stay here. To be honest, I don’t need you getting in my way.” The Ranger turned and disappeared into the night.

  Leaning his aching shoulders against the corner of the building, Conner dropped his head back with a sigh, trying to ignore the reek wafting from his chest. But that paled in comparison to the spasm of pain in his neck that was as much figurative as it was literal.

  Veressa stepped cautiously into the street near the big fighter’s body. Dull, vacant eyes glared up into the Cosmos. “Annabelle!” She risked a harsh whisper, then held her breath as she scanned about anxiously. Shadowy street phantoms danced with her imagination. But no response came. The street light was inadequate to discern which way Annabelle had gone, forcing her to reconsider her decision to return.

  “How nice of you to come back, little one.” The Sorcerer and his three men stepped from the shadows. “I’ll try to be gentle to repay you for saving us all the time and trouble of running you down.” Veressa stiffened; the Sorcerer had already begun an incantation.

  You called the young Ranger insane and foolish. Well, just look at you now. Conner rebuked himself. But the jabs at his stupidity did not slow his feet. He ran swiftly through the alleyways, turning this way and then that, hoping luck or memory would guide each direction. He was not sure if he had either on his side until he sprinted down a narrow alleyway and nearly ran headlong into the Ranger standing in the middle of the open street. He was about to admonish her for being so blatant when he heard the Sorcerer’s incantation. “Hetos eftos pagiprosopo.” Just as the Sorcerer finished the binding spell, Conner leaped in front of the Ranger and wrapped his arms around her.

  A blast of hot air tugged at his back. He held the Ranger tighter, protecting her as the inferno whipped into a whirling frenzy. Just as quickly as it had begun, it ended. He opened his eyes, staring straight into the deep blue eyes of the Ranger. For a single heartbeat, a tranquil silence gripped him. And then the heartbeat was gone. An explosion of dazzling lights spiraled outward, the sounds of a hundred crackling Illuminaries reverberating off the buildings. Then, once again, all was still.

  Reluctantly, Conner worked to release his grip, though his muscles were slow to respond. His arms tingled with the energy he sensed flowing between him and the Ranger as if they had been bound together. The Ranger apprentice did not fight him, or make any further remarks about his intense odor; she only stared back questioningly. The moments became more awkward and his cheeks flushed. Slowly, he pulled away and turned his attention on the destruction about them. The forms of the Sorcerer and his men lay sprawled on the ground near a building, blown back by the force of the spell’s explosive backfire. The body of the fighter at their feet had been scorched beyond recognition. And all around them, the muddy street was dry and hard like fired clay. A slow-moving form at the corner of a nearby alley drew their attention.

  “Annabelle!” the young Ranger exclaimed in relief and ran up the street, hugging her companion. In the light of his fading spell, Conner could see Annabelle awkwardly return the hug.

  The Ranger Apprentice

  Six hours north of Pennington Point, the three stumbled along in silence. Attempts on Conner’s part to strike up a cordial conversation with the two Rangers during the long night had resulted in nothing of value, other than learning their names. That was hardly worth the grief he had received from the Ranger apprentice for all his troubles. To be sure, he was just an Eastlander, but did they have to treat him like a serf? Risking his life for them should have at least been worth a minute of civility.

  The silence had left him with time to ponder what he had, quite literally, jumped into. He studied the two green-cloaked figures, who maintained a safe distance upwind. Little he had gleaned about them made much sense, unless everything he knew about ordermen was wrong. He pondered the contradicting facts as Hemera broke across the horizon.

  First, judging by her braids, Caralynn was a Ranger apprentice without a bo
nd, which was an extreme rarity. Second, Caralynn treated Annabelle, a very young master Ranger, more like a hireling than a preceptor. Maybe Rangers had strange customs in training their apprentices, but judging by the way the two interacted, Caralynn was used to getting her way, especially with Annabelle. Third, an orderman attacking another was a serious crime against the Canons of the Orders, punishable by order banishment or death. But whenever Conner probed into why the two had refused to take the grievance directly to the High Chancellor of the region, electing instead to flee the city on foot, all he got was silence. Finally, the Rangers couriered no valuable merchandise. No. It was the apprentice the gang had wanted, unharmed. Caralynn was the key to this riddle. Well, he did enjoy a good mystery.

  Conner examined the outline of Caralynn’s features against the morning light. He had heard of merchants in the uncivilized outlands who marketed young women as slaves or concubines. Someone with her looks would surely bring a handsome price. But the dead fighter had taken the gamble and lost. And neither the fighter nor his hapless Sorcerer accomplice had seemed the type to risk their lives all for the coins a young woman would fetch on a slaver’s auction block, beautiful or otherwise.