The Emissary (Dawn of Heroes Book 1)

by H. A. Harvey

  “I’ll carry her, you’ve already got your scorpion egg to lug around.”

  Clambering back into the saddle with a giant egg and a delicate incendiary device seemed like a foolish endeavor, so Nian led Gatefyre and they marched back to the camp on foot. The little fairy still hadn’t stirred by the time they arrived. After spending nearly half an hour explaining the egg and convincing the lot to keep his word to Riona, Nian left the sprite with her and Malor to tend to while he made an attempt at communicating with Shirts.

  Nian decided that the wall drawings were the best place to start. He hoped more than just Wobbly had seen them and knew what they meant. He took up a stick and drew a small circle, then pointed at Shirts and back to the circle. Then he drew a larger circle and pointed at Tombo, then back to the large circle. Shirts looked at him. Alright, Nian thought to himself, he’s either following closely, or about to bite me for pointing sticks at him.

  Nian drew the dragon crest next to the large circle and more than twice its size. Shirts growled. He knew that one at least. Nian pointed to the big circle, then the dragon, then stomped on the dragon. Shirts snuffled happily and danced a waddling jig in a circle with his arms flailing over his head. Nian poked him with the stick to get his attention back and nearly lost a hand.

  Once Shirts calmed back down, Nian traced the big circle with a wavy line and pointed back to Tombo. He pointed to the little circle, then drew a trio of small circles touching each other and traced a line from the small circle to the trio and then to the big circle. He erased the wavy line then stared at Shirts, who stared back.

  “Did any of that make sense?” Nian asked the chubby little brogan. In answer, Shirts snorted and started to waddle toward Riona. “Wait! I’ll try again.”

  Nian grabbed at Shirts’ shirt to get his attention back, but the brogan clearly misinterpreted his intent. Shirts spun and leapt onto Nian, bearing him to the ground and snarling in his face. After a moment, Shirts hopped off of Nian. As the youth picked himself up, Shirts poked him with a claw, then drew a trio of circles, two small and one large in the dirt.

  “Right,” Nian said, relieved that he’d managed to survive his first two-way brogan communication without bleeding . . . well, without more than a pin-prick of blood and a bruised backside. “We need Tombo to stay with the brogan until he’s healed.”

  Shirts snorted and waddled on towards Riona, leaving Nian to wonder if that was a yes, a no, or ‘Now I have ash in my nose from tackling you.’ Shirts trundled right up behind Riona and bumped his snout into her rear. Riona turned around and blinked down at Shirts. The brogan held up a paw and waggled his claws in a funny sort of wave. Riona smiled and bent down to rub noses with Shirts, making Nian wonder if she’d put any thought into where the brogan’s snout had just been. She ruffled Shirts’ thickly braided hair and gave him a nod. The brogan nodded back before turning to go. He looked back and Nian and gave him another snort before vanishing into the hedge. Nian walked over to Riona and Malor picking up on a soft, high-pitched sound that reminded him of wind through hollow reeds as he drew near.

  “Shirts is going to get some of the brogan to take care of Tombo . . . at least I think that’s what we worked out.” Nian wiggled a fingertip in one of his ears, “What is that sound? It’s really pretty annoying.”

  The sound grew louder and Riona elbowed Nian in the ribs, “She’s crying, you jerk.”

  “But we’re still in the valley, I thought fairies couldn’t feel sorrow.” Nian rubbed his ribs sorely, wanting to point out that he didn’t heal that fast, and that had really hurt, but figured he’d just get a girlish accusation of trying to make things all about him.

  “They don’t remember it, but she’s sad right now,” Riona looked like she was trying not to cry herself, “Because she can’t go home.”

  “What? Why not? She’s like a hero. Actually not like one, she is a hero.”

  “Remember your fingers, and the dagger, Nian?” Riona lectured him, “What do you think happens if she tries to land on a flower or flies into that old grove of dried ash trees and thick blanket of dead wood along the floor?”

  “There’s very little I can do.” Malor apologized, “Not only do I know little about fairies beyond basic lore, but what I’ve been able to work out is that just about any solution I can think of is negated by the very nature of a sprite.”

  “How do you mean?” Nian asked, feeling like an utter layman between Riona and the wizard.

  “Spells don’t really work on them. Any structure I give is undone when it contacts the sprite. I was able to wake her with a jolt of Genesis energy, but anything I do just soaks in and feeds the flame, so to speak. I suppose we can hope it’s not permanent though. I think the dragon’s song-“

  “Drake’s.” Nian interjected, hoping to show some level of knowledge, and maybe get Riona off his back for calling the most fearsome creature he’d ever seen a dragon.

  “Drakes remember a few notes,” Malor groaned impatiently. “But the songs are still called Dragon’s Songs. May I continue?”

  Nian nodded. So much for that plan.

  “The song should have swelled the poor creature and burst her like an over-filled waterskin.” Malor continued on, seeming not to note Riona and Nian cringe or the alarmed chime from the sprite. “Yet, somehow, she survived. Now, at least I think, the energy should bleed off slowly, though she may have the element of fire merged with her permanently; quite unnatural for a woodland fairy.”

  The wailing resumed from the sprite.

  “Wow, Malor.” Nian chided the wizard sarcastically, “Do they teach you to put thorns on even good news at the academy, or is that just natural? How slowly are we talking here? It’s already been two days and a bit since she got hit.”

  “Ah, well.” Malor seemed to pause, “That’s like asking a fisherman how many pails of water are in the sea. There are very few events charged with more energy than a Dragon’s Song. The shimmerine pad was a stroke of genius though. It seems to drink up a little bit of the energy when she lands on it, dissipating it safely afterwards.”

  “So,” Nian clarified for himself, “The tidal wave Riona mentioned earlier . . . the sprite basically gets to try to mop that up with a dishrag?”

  “She can come with us while it works its way out.” Riona clapped her hands together cheerily, “I’ll need something I can pronounce to call her. I was thinking Cinder . . . or Cindy for short.”

  “So, you’ve been thinking this for a while already.” It was taking all of Nian’s will not to laugh. “You are older than me, aren’t you?”

  Malor groaned, “Are we on a dangerous quest, or an outing to gather as many magical castaways as possible?”

  Nian folded his arms as he watched Riona bob away grinning at the spri . . .at Cindy. She made the mistake of leaning too close and singed the tip of her nose lightly, though she quickly gave a dismissive shrug and found a spot in the wagon corner to settle down and sit on her egg while she chattered with the fairy, cupping its shimmerine nest in her hands.

  “I’m not sure.” Nian sighed at last, figuring he’d used up most of his arguing with the egg debate. “I mean it’s one thing to lug that egg along in hopes that it doesn’t eat us all when it hatches . . . but I don’t know about the surly wizard and his pet ogre.”

  Malor turned and raised an eyebrow at Nian, but ended up laughing. “You had best avoid calling Axios anyone’s pet.”

  “I’ll just tell him you said it.” Nian smiled, “Just a wizard getting cocky now that he has a proper staff.”

  Malor shook his head, “It’s just an interesting walking stick for the time being, but I figured a bit of ash heartwood charred by Dragon’s Song couldn’t be a bad start. I suppose we should get our menagerie under way then.”

  Tombo was roughly equal to Axios’ weight, though proportioned more like a dwarf to the Ogre’s Orcish frame. Still, Axios had
only a little trouble bearing Tombo through the murky bog, and returned with still a few hours of daylight left. It wasn’t much, but the company was able to camp near the road by dusk.

  Sitting around the campfire, they determined that a simple old man and his ox wouldn’t work with such a large company. Xain also argued against heading directly into Kadis City itself. Malor had warned them that there was a powerful caster working for the Baron, and so any subtlety might become impossible once they entered the city. There were at least three towns in Kadisvale large enough to house slave markets where Karen might have been taken, only one being Kadis City itself. Xain suggested starting in one of the outlying towns, rather than storm the keep and leave themselves trapped if Karen was not there.

  Autumn suggested making use of her pack’s tactic: posing as a carnivale of travelling performers. The guise made good excuse for a wide array of members, ‘prop’ weapons, and allowed them to move on when they wished. The group readily agreed, and decided to follow the Gateward road to the town Kolel’s map labeled Wolf Hill as their first stop.

  20

  Cat’s Eyes and Family Ties

  Nian reined back a bit to drop beside the driver’s seat where Malor rode next to Autumn, who insisted that the wizard not be allowed to pretend to use the reins. He shifted uncomfortably and eyed Axios the bear, tugging the wagon along. Autumn looked over at him. Her dark eyes and raven hair might have seemed pretty to most, but they just made him miss her real golden orbs as well as his sister at the same time.

  “What’s wrong?” She asked.

  “I don’t know if I can do this.” He murmured, “It feels strange, pretending to be someone else.”

  “Relax, Nian.” Autumn murmured, “You’re one of the only ones not in a disguise, and aside from Riona, the only person that already knows what to do for your role.”

  “I don’t know anything about being a ringmaster!”

  “Don’t be silly.” Autumn retorted, a hint of laughter in her voice. “It’s the same as playing host at an inn. You just steer people’s attention to the carnivale and ensure they’re entertained. Besides, this particular troupe doesn’t even need to do well. It’s just an excuse for us to move into town and look at the slave markets.”

  “What?”

  “You can say you’re looking for talent, or roustabouts, whatever.” Autumn explained. “But with you as the manager, it makes it natural for you to peruse the market and see if you recognize Karen. Just when you see her, either buy her or come back and get us. You don’t want to tangle with slave-camp guards alone.”

  “What if they figure out we’re a fake carnival?”

  “Every carnival is a collection of fakes.” Malor inserted himself into the debate. “We have a real wizard, an actual girl with impossible strength who’s wearing actual drake parts to look like a savage, and a dancer who has a real fairy to dance with her. As long as our bear doesn’t eat someone and the fairy doesn’t light Riona on fire, there really isn’t anything to go wrong.”

  Nian sighed and watched Kaesa fiddling with her hair again. Stripped of her armor and garbed in hide strips and bone, with her hair cut to shoulder length and slicked up into a blade with grease, she looked like a completely different person. Xain had suggested the haircut, more to throw off Dwarves than as part of the disguise. It was Dwarven tradition not to cut their hair, but braid it into ever more elaborate patterns. She was clearly not certain whether the haircut or lack of steel clothing made her less comfortable, but the foul mood gave her an authentically savage expression.

  At least someone was as uncomfortable as he was. Nian supposed if the Njord could bear her humiliation without complaint, he could as well. At least he got to keep his clothes. He tapped his knees to Gatefyre’s sides and rode back to the head of the procession and watched the farming town of Wolf Hill come into view.

  Wolf Hill was a little larger than Longmyst, but nowhere near as well-situated. There were about half a dozen small grain fields scattered around the town’s perimeter, not more than one of which would have counted for more than a large garden in Longmyst. An orchard of cherry trees in the midst of their spring blossom lined either side of the road into town, stunted by the stony ground into dwarfed versions of what Nian was used to.

  As they rolled through the trees and into the tall buildings of brick and hewn stone, Nian faded back to the wagon’s side again, feeling a bit cowed by the cold stone and dreary countryside. Autumn tapped his shoulder with the driver’s whip.

  “You should be at the head of us and announce the carnivale. Garner attention.”

  “I don’t feel too much like being the center of attention at the moment.” Nian murmured back. “Didn’t you say we didn’t need to be a good carnival?”

  “But we do need to look like we at least try to be showmen if we want to avoid suspicion.” Autumn grumbled, “Nobody trusts a carnivale troop that’s content to starve. Here, nod to me and climb over to the wagon.”

  No sooner had Nian complied than Autumn sprang over to the perch with one foot on the horn of the saddle and the other just behind it on Gatefyre’s rump. She let out a loud, trilling whistle and Nian couldn’t help but admire the striking appearance of her human guise perched atop the stallion wearing Riona’s borrowed travel garb and Rowan’s cloak, set off by the long, black, silken boots and gloves. The startled horse bolted forward in response to the shrill call. Autumn called out as she rode ahead, somersaulting and doing handstands without leaving the saddle.

  “Ruin’s name.” Malor groaned. It sounded more legitimate than his typical griping, so Nian’s interest was piqued.

  “What?”

  “The Sattal girl by the side of the road ahead.”

  Nian followed the wizard’s nod with his gaze and spotted a rather fetching feline young woman with short, white fur striped in black wearing a scarlet dress. By her side stood a short, ruddy-furred creature that looked for all the world like an enormous, scarred flying squirrel with a touch of feline features. Both the girl and her strange companion were staring straight at him.

  “What do they want?” Nian asked, trying not to move his mouth more than necessary.

  “I don’t know, which is another reason for concern.” Malor replied, “But those eyes are what I don’t like. Golden eyed Sattal are rare, and have a reputation that is particularly problematic for people trying to move about unnoticed.”

  “There’s nothing to notice though.” Nian argued, “Axios is a bear right now, and Autumn’s masque is just as good, she even fills up Riona’s clothes . . . maybe a little more than Riona does.”

  “If what I’ve heard is true, it doesn’t matter. No level of magic can fool them, and it’s legendarily difficult to get anything non-magic past one as well. Her kind were much sought after by the Dragonslayers of old, and instrumental in the extinction of the Reaver Drakes. I’d wager she sees a Dryad tumbling about in baggy clothes and an ogre pulling a wagon full of gold, weapons, armor, and drake parts.” Malor looked over at Nian. “The puzzling part is: with all that, it’s you she’s staring at.”

  Nian shifted a little uncomfortably. The Sattal leaned over to her odd companion and whispered something in his furry ear before turning to walk down the street and into the gathering crowd. Nian tried in vain to try and pick up the girl’s movements. Then, quite unexpectedly, the small creature hopped up onto the side of the wagon next to him. The strange fellow gave a rather gallant bow.

  “Pardon my intrusion, good friends. I am called Ates.” Ates stood back to his full three and a half feet. “My cousin asked me to extend an offer of hospitality to you and your troupe of . . . performers. You are welcome to take up rooms at the inn of our Uncle Dante. There is a fallow field just behind where you can set up your carnivale.”

  “By cousin,” Nian replied in a questioning tone.” You mean . . .”

  “Her father was my mother’s
brother, of course.” Ates replied with a slight inclination of his head. “We hope to see you at The Den.”

  “Where?” Nian asked.

  “The Den, our uncle’s tavern, my friend.” Ates responded patiently. “A suitable, if obvious, name for the largest hospitable house in a town named Wolf Hill, don’t you think? You will find it to your left when you reach the market commons. I am sure you will have little trouble recognizing it. Can I tell my cousin to expect you?”

  “Nian,” A voice in his head seemed to come from nowhere, “This is Malor. Don’t look at me you fool! It defeats the entire purpose of going to this trouble. It’s quite certain that the girl already knows more than we’d like about us. We might as well see what she wants.”

  “Uh, alright.” Nian nodded at Ates. “We’ll be sure to stop in.”

  “I will extend your grateful acceptance then, and my cousin will look forward to your arrival.” Ates grinned roguishly and leapt over Nian’s head, gliding away over the crowd after his cousin.

  Nian looked at Malor and shrugged. They proceeded forward through the crowd toward the town commons. As they rolled along the cobbled street, Nian couldn’t help but note the lack of people close to his age. In fact, there were surprisingly few people older than about fifteen or younger than forty. Those that were here looked afraid. Nian thought it odd that so many of the townsfolk would be absent, even with the war on. Still, the crowd was well over a hundred people by the time they reached the market square.

  Ates had been right. There was no missing The Den. Most of the buildings were two-storied, or at least had room for a vaulted ceiling or attic. Nian guessed digging basements and cellars here was problematic at best. The Den stood three stories tall, but each story was almost half-again another floor, so the building towered over the rest of the town like a castle. The second and third stories were lined with a dozen tall, narrow windows sparkled with stained glass. Each window depicted a sequence of the same mountain skyline, each with a progressively different positioning of Phoenix’ bright plumage, marking the progression of a full day from left to right across the second story, and those of the third story displayed a starred nightscape that varied with different constellations of stars from pane to pane. The windows of the ground floor were finished with high-quality frosted glass. Between the two central windows stood a broad, squat doorway, atop whose mantle hung a wooden sign depicting a wolf curled in sleep beneath a stone archway.