by Sam Farren
I was glad of the new clothes Sir Ightham had bought me, though they were already crumpled from sleep and riding. I tried flattening them out as we approached the city, and all those in the crowd around me seemed infinitely finer than I'd imagined the nobles of Thule to be. Their clothing was as vibrant as the city around them, the stone of the streets gleaming as though a thousand pairs of boots didn't press down upon it every hour of every day.
I'd known that Praxis was wealthy, but to me, wealth meant being able to choose what you ate for dinner, what you wore. Here, people were out for the sake of being outside, walking arm in arm with friends, idly chatting and showing off their purchases. All the workers faded into the background, but even they were remarkable; they wore uniforms and donned hats, standing in front of polished glass shop-fronts, ever ready to open a door, or sat on the driver's seats of carriages, waiting for their next passenger to ferry around the city.
People pushed past, heels and canes clipping against the ground, and though I'd survived Eaglestone, pane and all, my chest was too small for all that needed to fit inside it. I realised I'd come to a halt when Sir Ightham placed a hand on my shoulder, guiding me forward. We took our horses to a stable by the gate, and Sir Ightham paid no small fee to have them safely lodged there. I kept trying to get a glimpse of the coins she carried around in her pouch, and almost forgot to bid farewell to Charley and Calais, for all my prying.
The bags seemed heavier than ever, what with the promise of finding somewhere to stow them. I tried not to think about it, sure Sir Ightham would delay the process indefinitely, but she cut across a river of a street, heading for a building that looked like all the others surrounding it. Everything in Praxis was made up of precise angles, buildings pressed perfectly together without being crammed and wedged awkwardly into spaces.
She knew the city well. The front doors of the building were opened for us by what looked like guards, at a first glance. Weapons hung from their belts and they wore a uniform, but it was unlike that of the guards I'd seen in Eaglestone, or outside Praxis. Sir Ightham gestured for me to head over to the counter, from where I could see rows and rows of safes the size of coffins lined up behind an iron gate.
“Can I be of assistance?” a woman asked from behind the counter, knowing to speak to Sir Ightham, not me.
“I need to store two bags, and I can't say when I'll be back,” Sir Ightham said. “How much for, say, a year?”
The woman bowed her head, as if apologising for the answer she was going to give.
“That'd be a mark, I'm afraid—fifty valts each, judging from the size of them.”
Just to be safe, Sir Ightham slid four golden marks across the counter. It was such an unreasonable amount of money that I wanted to beg her to let me carry the bags, if it meant not throwing the coins away. Still, I placed a bag on the counter when Sir Ightham gestured for it.
One of the establishment's guards took a ring of keys from her hip and unlocked the gate. The bags were taken through and placed in a safe, and upon doing so, the woman Sir Ightham had paid brought her a small silver key back. Sir Ightham took it, thanked her for her help, and placed it on a chain around her neck.
We headed back out into the street, each carrying a single bag. One contained her dragon-bone armour, and the other, I supposed, was full of parchment for her letters, food, and whatever else we needed for the road.
“Where to now?” I asked. I assumed I wasn't to call her Sir Ightham in Praxis, either, and she almost didn't hear me over the way she was so busy keeping her head down, the rim of her hat casting a shadow across her face.
“We'll find rooms for the night,” Sir Ightham said. “I've business to attend to.”
I brightened at the suggestion of taking rooms. I'd nothing against sleeping under the stars and certainly wasn't sick of it after a single night, but I'd never had reason to sleep in a bed that wasn't my own. I'd been to the Marmalade Lodge a few times, when travellers who'd come in search of my aid couldn't quite make it to the apothecary’s, but that was work. This was something different indeed.
The city opened up as we came to a square, surrounded on all sides by cafés and restaurants, tables and chairs spilling out onto the patio. There were statues in the centre, statues on pedestals taller than I was, and I hurried over to them, not waiting for Sir Ightham to catch up.
I stared up at the statues – a man and a woman, both of them fifteen feet tall – and grinned, rocking on the balls of my feet when I saw Sir Ightham out of the corner of my eye. She stood there, arms folded over her chest, far from impressed, but I didn't let that dash my spirits.
“We're really in Praxis!”
“We are,” she agreed, not pointing out that we'd been in Praxis for close to half an hour.
There was more excitement in the word Praxis than there'd been in all of Eaglestone.
“I never thought I'd come here. Never thought I'd go anywhere, but especially not here. I've heard so many stories about Praxis that I was starting to think it was just that—but look at it! It's bigger than my brother said it would be.”
“And yet it has taken us less than two days to reach it. So much for stories,” Sir Ightham muttered. “You'll soon see that the whole world is a lot bigger, a lot more everything, than can ever be gathered from books.”
I was inclined to agree. I wished Michael had been there, just to see his jaw drop at the suggestion that books weren't the be all and end all of human experience.
“Who are they?” I asked, pointing up at the figures. I was fairly certain the statue was a likeness of our King and Queen, for the price that had to be paid to shape such a monument out of metal, but wanted to be certain.
“Read the plaque,” Sir Ightham said, nodding towards it. She'd taken to rummaging through her bag, trying to find something. I didn't answer. I just keep looking at her, shoulders hunched, and when Sir Ightham glanced up at me, she pressed her lips together tightly and said, “You can't read.”
I nodded. It wasn't a question, but I nodded regardless. Sir Ightham spoke as though irritated at herself for not piecing it together sooner, and then went back to searching through her bag. I kept glancing at her out of the corner of my eye, and eventually, she relented.
“King Garland and Queen Aren,” Sir Ightham said. I brightened, full of my enthusiasm for Praxis again, and she read the inscription out loud. “Commissioned in 1477 by Liege Halka, to acknowledged the roles Their Highnesses played in ensuring the Territories' war never encroached on Felheim, never marred our way of life.”
Everyone in Felheim knew what they'd done, knew the way they'd promised to lend their aid to one territory, should another try crossing our borders, and none had been willing to take that risk. If we could slay dragons, we could crush them.
Being in front of the statue gave me a better feel for history than Michael ever had, and I leant closer to Sir Ightham, dropping my voice to a rough whisper. Not that anyone would've been able to overhear us with such a buzz of conversation blending into the air.
“What are they like?” I asked.
Sir Ightham found what she'd been looking for – more parchment, surprise – and said, “What are who like?” barely bothering to follow the tenuous line of conversation.
I pointed up at the statues, saying, “You're a—you know, so you must know them.”
“I suppose I must,” was all she said, turning from the statues.
I hurried after her, pleading my case.
“Come on! Sure, I've heard plenty about them, but you can't learn everything from books, can you?” I tried, grinning up at her, even though she was staring dead ahead again.
We turned out of the square, down a narrow road that was far from empty, surrounded by houses and apartments on all sides. There were rows of washing strung out on lines far above our heads, windows pushed open, flowers bursting and blooming on balconies. As though she wouldn't know any peace until she answered me, Sir Ightham sighed, slowed her pace, and said, “They are neith
er as tall nor as stern as their statues make them out to be.”
It was all the information she'd part with on the matter, but to me, it was invaluable. It was something I'd be able to hold over Michael's head. A thousand other questions came to mind – did she know the Princes, how big was the castle, and could Thule really be larger than Praxis? – but I knew better than to push my luck with her.
Instead, I said, “I'm glad we got rid of those bags. They were making a crook of my spine.”
“Don't get too used to your new-found freedom. We'll need to stop for supplies at the next market—additional food, some manner of pan, bitterwillow. Can you remember all of that?”
Without it being written down, she meant.
“Food, plants, pan—got it,” I said, sealing the information with a nod. “Anything you like in particular? How about Calais?”
“We eat most things,” came her eventual reply, and I didn't question her further. She was a Knight, likely trained to withstand all sorts of torture; I wasn't going to be able to force a preference between chicken and pork out of her.
“I'll get more carrots,” I decided. “He seemed to like them.”
Sir Ightham didn't answer me, as was her wont, and we strolled into what would've been the bad part of Praxis, if Praxis could be said to have a bad part. The houses around us had been replaced by taverns, doors and windows spread open to soak up the first hint of spring. A musician played a piano in one and a patron drunk enough to mistake himself for a musician played in another, sounds entangling in the centre of the street until you couldn't tell who was playing badly.
Instead of looking around, I found my eyes fixed on Sir Ightham. Her expression was as neutral as ever, and I wondered what it would take to pry a reaction out of her; wondered how many questions I'd have to ask before she snapped and told me to shut up, rather than just fall silent. Realising I'd been staring for a second too long, I followed her gaze, and saw what everyone was already aware of.
Outside of a tavern, perched on a stool with plenty of empty seats around them, was a pane.
CHAPTER IV
Even seated, the pane was taller than me.
I couldn't say how the seat beneath it – her – hadn't been reduced to splinters, but it was far from the most pressing thing on my mind. I wanted to run, but my feet were stone and I couldn't part them from the street.
I expected pane to merely look like overgrown humans with horns and fangs, but up close, I saw how wrong I'd been. Thick tusks protruded from the pane's prominent lower jaw, each of them two inches long. Her skin was no darker than mine, but it looked more like soft, brown leather than flesh, and a ring of gold stood against the coal her eyes were made from.
Sir Ightham inclined her head towards the pane in a respectful manner, and the pane's long, pointed ears perked up at the recognition.
The pane rose to her feet, strange as they were – hoofed like a goat's, but shaped like a wolf's – rising up and up. I'd considered Sir Ightham tall, but she barely reached halfway up the pane's chest. The pane bowed her head as a formality. There was no real respect exchanged, and the pane returned to her full height easily, infinitely more relaxed than Sir Ightham had ever been.
“Dragon-slayer,” the pane said.
Her voice was unlike anything I'd heard before. Not quite human, but not quite a growl, either. It was like gravel sifting through fingers; gravel that had been left out in the sun to trap heat.
It took me a moment to take in the weight of her words themselves. She knew what Sir Ightham was, even without her dragon-bone armour. Being called a dragon-slayer might've been a compliment from a human, but to hear it from a pane, I didn't see how it could be taken as anything less than a death sentence.
Sir Ightham, entirely unperturbed by the pane knowing who – or what – she was, said, “And a good day to you, dragon-born.”
The pane grinned. Her tusks were arrow heads, ready to be lodged into Sir Ightham's throat. I lost faith in the fact that I was a necromancer, for there was no way I could do anything to negate the damage caused by a pane. But the pane didn't strike. That was all in my head. Instead, she slipped a hand between the tough leathers and sash of bright orange cloth she wore, plucked out a letter with her great, clawed hand, and held it out to Sir Ightham.
“Been hearing some troubling rumours, lately,” the pane said as Sir Ightham took the letter. “But as they say, a burden shared...”
Sir Ightham scanned the letter, and I tried to imagine the pane writing, tried to imagine her holding anything as small as a quill between her fingers. When she reached the end of the note, Sir Ightham's brow creased, and she read over it for a second time; certain she'd understood it, she folded it in two and tore it down the middle, over and over.
“Peculiar,” Sir Ightham said.
The pane nodded gravely, fishing something else from beneath her clothes. She clasped a chain in a fist, and the gold-silver pendant swayed in such a way that I couldn't make out the design. I didn't edge closer and it was gone in a flash, but Sir Ightham understood what she'd seen. She brought a gloved hand to her mouth, fingers running across dry lips, and the pane's ears twitched at the reaction she'd managed to draw out of her.
“What say you?”
Sir Ightham considered the question as though she had no choice in the matter. Whatever she'd read, whatever the pendant had meant, affected her more than five bandits and their swords had. She set her jaw and tilted her head towards me.
“Give her your things,” she said, pushing all of the pane's attention onto me.
I'd hardly been inconspicuous up until that point. I was right there, hovering around Sir Ightham, unable to back away, but now the pane was looking right at me. The corner of her mouth tugged upwards, revealing rows of fangs more subtle than her tusks, and I was so intent on not blinking, on not showing fear, that I missed her swing her bag off her back. It hit me square in the chest and my arms instinctively wrapped around it.
I tried not to wince, not to breathe too loudly.
“This your servant?” the pane asked, eyes fixed on me.
“This is my squire,” Sir Ightham said. She was met by a moment of silence, before the pane let out a deep, hearty chuckle. Even Sir Ightham seemed amused by her own words, and I dug my fingers into the pane's bag, hoisting it further into my arms.
“What's our first step to be?” the pane asked.
A few secrets scrawled onto a letter had earnt her a place within our group. But then again, if Sir Ightham was to travel with a necromancer, why not add a pane into the mix?
“I'll take rooms for us at the Rambler's Rest,” Sir Ightham said and the pane nodded. Turning to me, Sir Ightham said, “I trust you remember what we need from market.”
I slung the pane's bag onto my back, meaning to use my arms to strengthen my protest, and Sir Ightham took the opportunity to slip a handful of silver coins into my hand. I clasped them tightly, but before I could get a word out of my mouth, Sir Ightham was gone. She pushed a hole through the crowd and it closed behind her, leaving me alone with the pane and my thundering heart.
If Sir Ightham wanted to be rid of me, she could've just sent me home.
I kept my head down as I considered my options. For the first time in months, being ignored actually seemed appealing. I couldn't run—the pane would reach out and grab the scruff of my collar, and the crowd would never let me back in. They'd made a well around the pane, not daring to walk too close to her, quickening their pace as they passed.
So much for hoping the pane had business of her own to attend to. She crouched in front of me, which still didn't put us at eye-level, tilting and bowing her head in an effort to catch my gaze. I was being rude, I knew that, certain I'd have an easier time with it all if I just acknowledged the pane, but I couldn't force myself to move. All I could think of was the pane who'd come to my village, Queen Kouris in the woods, and all the people who'd been ripped to shreds by hands like the one being waved in front of my face.
<
br /> “Now, now. Was only teasing you, yrval,” the pane said, returning to her full height. She reached out not to attack, but to pluck the bags from my back. The weight was lifted and my gaze flickered up, though my body remained tense. She slung the bags onto her back with such ease that I believed them to be empty, despite holding them a split-second ago. “Name's Rán.”
“I'm R—” I began, stunned. My tongue was too large for my mouth, too heavy, and I was in such a daze that I might as well have been struck across the back of the head. “Rowan, I'm...”
Talking was getting me nowhere. I'd forgotten how to wield my tongue and I'd had to dig to remember my own name. Poor as it was, Rán didn't hold my introduction against me. She smiled in a way that thankfully didn't show off as many of her teeth, immediately turning to leave.
Relief claimed me and immediately loosened its grasp: Rán was gone, but she'd left with the bag containing Sir Ightham's dragon-bone armour. I didn't dare to think what would await me if I returned to Sir Ightham empty-handed. Horns or no horns, I probably wouldn't have come out of it in one piece.
I did the most foolish thing I could think of.
I ran after the pane.
I soon learnt that there was one major advantage to walking with a pane: people got out of the way, and they did so quickly. Rán walked at a comfortable pace, but I had to half-jog to match her stride.
“What's that dragon-slayer having you fetch?” she asked, looking down at me.
The words came automatically, loudly.
“Food, pans, bitterwillow.”
I gripped the coins tightly, fifty valts in five and ten pieces, afraid that one would slip between my fingers and roll along the street, lost under someone's boot or a stray cart. Worse still, I was afraid they'd lose their value simply by being in my possession. On the verge of causing the coins to sweat, I focused on making sure I hadn't dropped any; it gave me an excuse not to look up, and up, at Rán.