Call of the Dragon
A Dragon Fantasy Adventure
Jessica Drake
Copyright © 2018, Jessica Drake. All rights reserved. Published by Dynamo Press.
This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used fictitiously, or are entirely fictional. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the publisher. Inquiries may be addressed via email to [email protected].
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Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
About the Author
1
Holding my breath, I eased my way from the lip of the roof onto the window ledge hanging directly across from me and prepared to commit my first criminal act of the year. The night air ruffled my hair, bringing the stench of the city streets with it, and I did my best to focus on what was beyond the pane of glass, rather than what was below it.
And me.
A clay tile crashed to the cobblestones three stories below, echoing in the night like cannon fire and distracting me from the possibility of certain death. Biting back a curse, I flattened my back to the wall and strained my ears, listening for the sound of an opening door, of footsteps traversing the floorboards. Of the window screeching open as my nemesis poked his head out to discover my hiding place.
But no one was there. And why should there be? I already knew Rajek wasn’t here. He was downstairs in his bedroom, likely sticking his cock in some whore’s mouth instead of keeping watch over the artifact he’d stolen from me.
Gritting my teeth, I fished out my magical lock picks from the inside pocket of my jacket and picked the lock on the window. Why had I ever let that jerk get into my pants? He was supposed to be a fling, nothing more, but one roll in the sheets had led to two, and two to four, and, well, you do the math. He’d been good enough to merit an invitation to my place, where he’d promptly stolen the notes for my upcoming expedition, and beaten me to the punch.
Asshole.
Oh well, I thought. It’s been a while since you last broke into someone’s place. You’re overdue for a refresher.
The golden metal slid easily into the keyhole, molding to the precise shape needed to open the lock. With a flick of my wrist, I was inside. The cool night air drifted in behind me as I stepped inside, my boots soundless against the carpeted floor. They were spelled to silence my footfalls, not that I needed to be particularly quiet. The sounds coming from below were more than enough to cover any noises I might make.
“Ooh, yes! Please, just like that!”
Rolling my eyes, I stomped on the brief spurt of jealousy and stepped past a large, gaudy statue of a Pre-Plague fertility goddess that Rajek probably thought was an original. Closing my eyes, I focused my senses, reaching out with my mind for any valuables in the space.
Instantly, I felt a humming in my veins, heard the cry of countless objects in the attic. A cacophony of signals chimed in my head, all begging for attention, and I did my best to tune out the useless objects and focus my senses on the ones that mattered.
As I’d thought, the fertility statue was worthless. It barely emitted any signal at all. In contrast, the three paintings rolled up into tubes and propped against its base hummed a cheery tune. The one in the middle practically begged me to pick it up and take it home with me.
My fingers twitched, but I resisted the impulse. I’d come here for only one thing, and I wasn’t equipped to haul away half of Rajek’s treasure room, much as I’d love to. I had to stick to the task at hand.
Putting the paintings out of my mind—which my treasure sense, as I’d taken to calling it, told me were worth at least ten golden dorans—I crossed the room to a large curio cabinet against the wall. The cabinet itself was gorgeous, made of dark, lacquered wood that was inlaid with gold and painted with colorful flowers. But while my sense told me it would fetch a pretty price on the market, it was the object that lay within that I really wanted.
“Come to Mama,” I muttered, reaching for one of the small, square-shaped doors. My fingers curled around the crystal knob, and I pulled it open to reveal the object inside.
The moment I did, a shrill whistle ripped through the air.
“Shit!” I grabbed the object within—a silk fan—and spun toward the window. There was a commotion downstairs, followed by footsteps thundering up the staircase to my left as I sprinted for the exit. I’d just managed to reach the windowsill when the door flew open, banging against the wall. Something that sounded very expensive shattered.
“Stop!” Rajek cried. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!”
I froze, turning slowly to face my ex. He stood in the doorway, dressed only in a pair of khaki trousers, his dark chest glistening with sweat in the lamplight and highlighting his muscles. Once upon a time, the sight would have ignited desire in me, but the knowledge of where that sweat had come from left a bad taste in my mouth.
And the crossbow pointed at me certainly didn’t help.
“That’s right,” Rajek said, his full lips curving into a cruel smirk. “I knew you’d be stupid enough to try and steal the fan back, Zara. Did you really think I’d be dumb enough not to take precautions? Now put it down. Slowly.” He gestured with his crossbow to the ground.
“I don’t think so.” I snapped the fan open so that it covered my face. My skin tingled with magic, and I envisioned myself looking like a hag, with thick, bushy black brows, sagging skin, and warts all over my face. “Is this more in line with what’s in your bed tonight?” I cooed as I snapped the fan closed.
Rajek raised an eyebrow. “Well, at least I know the fan works now,” he said. “Now put it down, or I’ll shoot.”
“You mean you haven’t tested it yet?” I snorted. “You’re an idiot. I suppose you’re about to tell me that you didn’t realize the crossbow you’re holding is a Golden Age antique?”
“What?” His eyes widened as his gaze dropped down to the crossbow, and he lowered it fractionally. “You’re kidding. I bought this off a weapons dealer last week!”
“Sucker.” I snatched a smoke bomb from one of the pouches on my belt and threw it hard at the ground. It exploded, sending black smoke billowing through the room, and I dove through the window before Rajek could take a shot. I managed to clear the sill just before the window shattered from the force of his bolt, and grunted as I slammed into the building across from Rajek’s apartment.
“Get back here!” he cried as I gripped the window ledge. Ignoring him, I scrabbled up the wall and darted across the rooftop, my heart hammering. I’d tucked the fan down the front of my shirt, and hoped it hadn’t gotten damaged when I’d hit the wall, but there was no time to check. I needed to get out of range.
As I raced across the rooftops, breath singing in my lungs, Zuar City glittered below me, a sea of flickering gas lamps battling valiantly against the grimy haze that hung perpetually in the air. They cast shadows aga
inst the brick and alabaster buildings lining the maze of cobblestone streets, whose rooftops I’d traversed so many times I had my very own set of map routes outlined in my head.
The Muncies—municipal guards—didn’t much like my preferred method of transportation. I can’t count the number of times I was pulled down from the roofs as a child and hauled back to the orphanage. But the city streets stank, and while the air up here wasn’t perfect, it was a hell of a lot fresher than anything down below. Up here, I could think, my nose free of the stench of refuse and offal that seemed permanently embedded into the city’s bones.
And people wondered why I liked to go on expeditions so much.
I kept up my brisk pace, trotting across narrow gables and steeply pitched valleys, my senses on high alert. Rajek wasn’t following me—he knew he had no chance in hell of catching me in a rooftop chase—but there was always a chance he might try to ambush me outside my shop, so I didn't want to dawdle.
As I got closer to home, the gas lamps became scarcer, gradually plunging the city into darkness. A few candles flickered in windows, providing scant illumination, but in the poor sections of town, electricity was largely non-existent. My shop, the Treasure Trove, was fortunate enough to have a few outlets, but most of the surrounding business and residential areas were forced to do without. It made my section of town dangerous at night, and I’d had to fight off my share of rapists and thieves who’d mistakenly thought I was an easy mark.
I was almost back at my shop when wings beating overhead made me freeze. I glanced up, my breath catching in my throat at the sight of a dragon soaring hundreds of feet overhead. Its scales glittered in the light of the crescent moon hanging in the sky, and though too far away to see, I knew there was a rider atop its back.
Envious, I turned my head to watch the dragon’s trajectory, unsurprised to find it was heading straight for Dragon Table, the flat-topped mountain that jutted out of the city center where the elite lived. The dragon riders who ruled Elantia governed from that lofty seat, building their palaces and municipal buildings at the top of the mountain. Some even made their homes atop the floating islands that drifted across Elantia on magnetic currents, far beyond the reach of us filthy plebeians.
With their heads so firmly stuck in the clouds, it was little wonder the sky dwellers had no care for those of us in the lower city. The dragon does not deign to notice the mouse, so why should its rider spare a thought for those who would never be able to fly?
Shaking my head, I traversed the last few yards, then made my way down to the street. I landed directly in front of the three-story brick building that was both my livelihood and my safe haven, and despite everything, I couldn’t help but grin. The Treasure Trove wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but it was all mine. As the name implies, it was literally filled with treasure. Art and artifacts I’d unearthed from ruins all over Elantia lined the shelves, and I prided myself on curating one of the best collections in the capital.
I fished my key out of my pocket, unlocked the front door, and stepped inside. The bell tinkled, and Carina, my partner, looked up from the ledger she was pouring over behind the counter, pushing her long, midnight hair out of her face.
“Dragon’s balls!” Her mouth dropped open in horror as she saw me. “Zara, what happened to your face?”
“Huh?” I lifted my hand to my cheek, self-consciously wondering if I’d been walking around with a giant zit on my face. My fingers bumped against the warts on my skin, and I laughed. “Sorry.” I pulled the fan out of my shirt and waved it in front of my face to dispel the magic. “I thought I’d show Rajek what he was missing.”
Carina snorted. “Does that mean you weren’t able to steal the fan back from him without being noticed?”
“No, but it doesn’t really matter now that it’s in the shop.” I set the fan on the counter. I’d paid a mage to set wards around the perimeter that would prevent unauthorized entry at night. It had cost me a pretty penny to have those wards installed, but in this part of town, it had been necessary. They had already repelled several intruders and would repel Rajek if he got it in his thick skull to try to come after me again. “Besides, we should be able to sell this off pretty quickly. I don’t know a single woman who wouldn’t want the ability to change her face at will.”
Carina sighed. “I’m not so sure about that, Zara.”
I frowned, taking a closer look at Carina. Her dark eyes, normally full of life, were defeated, and her shoulders slumped as if she carried a heavy weight. Something was definitely wrong.
“Why do you say that?” I asked, dread coiling in my stomach. “Has something happened?”
“That big deal I was negotiating fell through,” Carina said bitterly. “The client was supposed to come in and sign papers today, but Barrigan managed to convince him that the statue of Armazan was a fake.”
“That bastard!” I clenched my fist. Ludor Barrigan owned Barrigan’s Antiques, one of the most successful antique shops in the business. I was an ant compared to him, yet he considered my business a threat and constantly tried to discredit me. That probably had something to do with the fact that he knew I was the real deal—back in the day, I’d brought him all kinds of valuable pieces. I’d been one of his best treasure hunters, and he’d tried to hire me on as a permanent employee before I’d decided to go independent.
Now, he was trying to destroy me.
“I found that statue myself,” I fumed, pacing back and forth in front of the counter. I’d excavated the Temple of Armazan six months ago, buried in the heart of the Malissia Forest near Elantia’s northern border. Armazan had been one of six major gods worshipped during the Pre-Plague period, roughly three thousand years ago. Elantia’s history was divided up into three main epochs—Pre-Plague, Golden Age, and Dragon War. The temples built during the Pre-Plague period were made to last, and were in surprisingly good condition, making them excellent places to find treasure. Dozens had been uncovered in the last century or so, and I was certain dozens more still waited for treasure hunters like me to unearth.
“I know,” Carina said soothingly. “That son of a hoggleswaith is just jealous of our success. He knows damn well that anything you bring back from an expedition is genuine, or he wouldn’t have tried to buy the shop from us.”
I snickered. “He does look like a hoggleswaith, doesn’t he?” I asked, thinking of the giant, four-legged amphibious creatures. Of course, Barrigan lacked the plated armor covering their bodies, and the giant horns that jutted from their foreheads, but I could easily imagine him hopping around his shop, unfurling a long tongue to snatch artifacts out of unsuspecting customers’ hands.
Carina smiled briefly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. In fact, she looked like she wanted to go hide under the covers in her bedroom and never come out again.
“All right.” I crossed my arms across my chest. “Spit it out, Carina. Tell me what’s really going on.”
To my horror, tears sprang to her eyes. “It’s Brolian,” she said, swiping at her eyes. “He’s missing.”
“Missing?” A flash of anger ignited in my chest at the thought of Carina’s wayward brother, but I suppressed it for her sake. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“He hasn’t been home for three days,” Carina said, her voice tight with worry. “I’ve tried asking the Muncies to track him down, but of course they won’t help me unless I cough up some dorans, and I’ve been hesitant to spend the money when he’s always turned up in the past.”
I raked a hand through my mass of red curls, my mind racing. “The Muncies are useless anyway,” I said. “Chances are you would have wasted your money. I’ll reach out to my contacts, see if any of them have seen him.” I had a network of friends spread out across the city, former orphans I’d grown up with who worked together with me to help newly free orphans get on their feet after being thrown out to make room for younger ones. We also tried to help each other out when we could, pooling our resources and talents. They’d ke
ep an eye out for Brolian if I asked.
“That would be great—” Carina started, then cut herself off as the doorbell tinkled. “Brolian!” she shouted, rushing out from behind the counter. “Where have you been?”
“Hey, Rina.” Brolian smiled wanly as he tottered inside. He looked the worse for wear, his hair disheveled and clothes torn, and from the fresh bruises on his face and the way he clutched his left ribs, I suspected he’d been in a brawl. “Long time no see.”
“Long time no—!” Carina choked back whatever else she was going to say and glared up at her younger brother. I suspected that if he wasn’t injured, she would have already decked him, even though he was a head taller and outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. “You look like you’ve been in a fight. Who’d you piss off this time?”
Brolian scratched the back of his neck, his eyes darting nervously toward the front door. “It’s a long story.”
“Have a seat then,” I said, dragging a chair over. I knocked it into the backs of his knees, forcing him into it. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”
Brolian looked like he wanted to protest, but under the weight of our combined glares, he quickly deflated. “I went with a couple of friends to the Dancing Pig,” he said. “They invited me to a game of dragon poker.”
I groaned. “Let me guess. You lost badly, and you can’t pay up.” Dragon poker wasn’t like normal poker. The rules were convoluted, and betting usually started at five silver dorans—a month’s pay for the average city resident.
“I did not!” Brolian said indignantly. He tried to sit up straight in his chair, then winced and clutched at his side. “But one of the other players accused me of cheating, and things got ugly. During the…ah…ensuing altercation, someone knocked over a lamp, and the whole place went up in flames.”
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