by James Duvall
Amanda winced. “Joshua, this isn't an appropriate conversation for the middle of a parking lot.”
Joshua held up a finger to silence her, the book open in his other palm. He was going to have his piece.
“The Seeker's speed can be overcome by directing it into heavily wooded areas. Once downed, injuries to the wings or tail fins will prevent the dragon from escaping. To finish off the dragon, approach from behind and –“
Amanda made a grab for the book. “This isn't necessary, Joshua,” she said, staring him down after he lifted the book out of her reach.
“No that's not even the best part,” he said, snapping the cover shut and stuffing it back into his bag. “There's an entire chapter on how to process my bones into glue and how my wing sails make a nice lightweight armor.”
“Get in the car,” Amanda demanded, yanking the passenger door open. For a moment their eyes locked and after some mental maneuvering, Joshua begrudgingly slid into his seat. Amanda went around and got in. She started the car without a word and pulled out onto the dark road.
“Don't tell me you've read... this...” Joshua said, eyeing the book with disgust. Amanda kept her eyes on the road. “Oh come on, seriously? Were you really reading up on how to kill me? Did you really need to know the proper method to cut my liver out to sell to an alchemist? Do I seem like some sort of monster to you? Is this how Solomon's Watch sees me?”
There was only silence. Joshua's question hung in the air, and Amanda gave him a brief glance, anger flashing in her eyes.
“Yes, I've read it. Cover to cover.”
“Stop the car. I want out.”
Joshua felt his mouth dry up and the fire went out of him as though had punched him in the stomach. She had read it. The image of her taking in the grisly images of dragons being hunted down and hacked apart left a deep pit in his stomach. He regretted asking and looked down into the floorboards, wishing only to be taken home.
“Solomon's Watch has a primary directive of protecting the people of this world from whatever might be coming through that portal. That meant I had to be prepared to do what was necessary. That means that I had to be prepared to kill a creature I'd never thought real before. Do you have any idea what that's like for me? I am sure it is upsetting to you to find the value of your life printed out in a neat little table of parts like cuts of a butchered cow, so maybe you can imagine what the portal represents to us. It's a dark closet, Joshua. Only when we were kids the fear was all in our minds. The portal is very real, and so are the monsters that come out of it and we cannot call dad in to close the door. So yeah, I read it, cover to cover. I needed to know exactly what it was I was letting settle in at the library down the street. I won't apologize for that. Got it?”
Joshua grumbled a noncommittal response and stared out the window into the evening sky. For a moment he could see himself through her eyes. Her guest was not human. The innocuous, familiar human face was nothing short of a pleasant mirage and beneath it, the insidious truth: a predator unmatched by the fiercest of her world. When she looked over at him she would see not the man, but the dragon. And looking back at her, for the first time he could see the great distance between them. They were not alike.
The drive continued in silence until Amanda had circled around to Keystone Ridge. She put the car in park and grabbed a folder from the back seat.
“C'mon,” she said. “If you're done being angry, we have some things we need to talk about.”
A menacing figure greeted them at Joshua's door. In his absence someone had hung another iron dragon on the door. Its eyes glinted a deep crimson.
“I have a collection of them,” Joshua grumbled as he took down the grisly ornament. “Brian says they mean 'Beware Dragon'.”
“You're leaving the nail?” Amanda asked, surprised.
“I have two options,” Joshua explained as he unlocked the door. “I can wake up at 3 AM to hammering, or sleep. Either way there's going to be one in the morning.”
Amanda sat down at the kitchen table and selected a photo from her case file.
“I have almost two weeks until I cannot assume my alter,” Joshua answered. He did not know the exact day that his magic would run out, but he could already feel the effects of it flowing out of him. Earth was not like Arcamyn, where magical energy was as plentiful as the air and his fire was constant and strong. He felt surrounded by a bracing cold, unable to contain the shimmering blue flame of arctic power within him. It flowed out of him nightly, slowly banked by virtue of the emptiness around him. Every morning the sparks had dimmed a little more and his wings felt heavier on his back. For now he bore the loss without trouble, but he could feel the time coming when each passing day the fading light would take with it some precious ability. First would be his alter, lost until he found a source of magic to stoke his flames. The threat of being trapped in his draconic form again was enough to keep the date of the four week mark in a prominent position in his mind.
Amanda sat across from him at the kitchen table and started laying out photos from the envelope. “I need you to tell me if you were contacted by any of these people while you were in Ryvarra.”
“I gave you a list already,” Joshua protested.
“You gave us names but they might not have been honest with you about that. Please look at the photos.”
With a sigh Joshua looked down at the array of photographs. “...who is that?”
Amanda turned the photo around and took a look at it herself. It showed a man peeling a mushroom off the side of a mossy, broken stump. His hair was mostly gray and his eyes were bright and blue as Joshua's.
“He is Alexander Barov,” Amanda said. “An alchemist and known werewolf that once came through the portal. Were you contacted by him?”
“No,” Joshua said, shaking his head. “Just, those eyes.”
“Werewolf eyes are very blue. Anyone else?”
Scanning through the rest of the array he found no familiar faces. “I spent most of my time with Syrrus, Rickthicket, and Grimlohr. Marreth Stormwood was around for a while but he left to Andrlossen while Syrrus was teaching me magic.”
Amanda nodded in approval and collected the photos.
“That's it?” Joshua asked, incredulous.
“No,” Amanda said. She took a deep breath and steepled her fingers. “Joshua, have you been in contact with your sister?”
“Laura...? What does she have to do with any of this?”
“Solomon's Watch found her trying to sell a Ryvarran dragon scale in her local student newspaper. She's also been associating with a known Syrrellian.”
“Syrrellians...? Here? You do mean the gryphons, right?”
Amanda nodded. “So the scale...?”
“What about it? I haven't even heard from her since--” and then he realized why she was asking.
“Oh come on!” he blurted out, rolling his eyes. “You can't possibly think it's one of mine.”
“Are you saying that it isn't?”
“Of course it isn't! When would I have... For better reason, why would I do such a thing? Hell, half the nights I think the Watch might decide it best to come put a bullet in my brain while I'm sleeping. If you think I'm about to give anyone an excuse to do that, you're crazy! You think I want to get shoved back through the portal in exile? Tarus warned me about that. I know it's been done before. All the panthers know about it. What kind of 1984 garbage is this?”
“This is about safety,” Amanda answered calmly.
“What it's about,” Joshua snapped back, “is making people afraid that they're going to be dragged out of their homes at night and disappeared into another world without means of ever coming home again. My sister, who doesn't even live here does something you don't like a hundred miles away and your first thought is to come to me about it? Whatever happened to due process? You're assuming guilt by association.”
Joshua was standing by then, shouting and throwing his hands up in the air.
“There aren't many s
ources of dragon scales on earth, Joshua. That's why we came to you. Obviously you are still angry over this dragon slayer book. Perhaps we should continue this later?”
Joshua winced. He knew she was right. As far as he knew he was the only dragon on this particular world. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then sat back down. “I'm sorry, you're right. No, I haven't spoken to Laura in a year and I certainly haven't been handing out dragon scales.”
“Thank you,” Amanda said, taking a few notes.
Joshua grimaced, feeling ashamed of his loss of control. He considered blaming his fiery dragon blood but decided that was a line of thinking he didn't want Solomon's Watch considering. Red-cheeked, he lowered his head and rubbed his temples.
“One last thing. Have you seen this man around? Someone saw him in town and after the mess with the phonebooks we're just following up. The Town Council thinks they can restore Casual Fridays if we can make sure he's not still getting in somehow.”
Joshua looked up at the photograph Amanda was holding up. He would recognize that face anywhere.
“That's the man that killed me...”
Chapter 21
The Starless Sky
Fort Sundor, Fendiss
His foolishness is wiser than the greatest wisdom of mortal mind, His compassion deeper than the oceans, and His love as boundless as the sky. Praise be to He who is Holy, for all light flows from His Throne upon the Circle of Stars, and all the firmament and the heavens sing fealty to His Holy Name.
The Book of Storms, The Word of Light
Three days had passed since Morgen had last seen Marreth. The time before that it had been nearly three years. Hopefully it would not be so long this time. Perhaps after he returned from Andrlossen... He would have to come back through Sundor Tower to return to Arcamyn. The mountains more or less required it. The pessimistic side of her reasoned that mountains were far less foreboding to a company of dragons, by whom which Marreth was now employed.
“He didn't bring a dragon with him. Unless it was the horse, but I never heard of a dragon that had a horse as her alter. He's probably to Andrlossen by now,” she said to one of the Valor Square lamps. It was low on oil, but the wick was relatively new. She refilled the basin, not quite topping it off. The oilskin was almost empty and she wanted to conserve enough to service at least one more lamp. The square was nearly empty, so no one heard her musings. A little while later the pubs divested themselves of their patrons. The regulars were used to the lamplighter walking alone in the dark. A few of them even lifted a tired hand to wave and mumbled hello to her as they made their way home for the night. Panthers, it seemed, were just as ungainly looking as humans when they were drunk. They simply had twice as many legs to get tangled up in.
Near the Soldier's Gate, Morgen came to the old church. A few candles still flickered in the windows. The corner lamp's creaking hinges brought a young priest to the door, his golden faryian eyes sparkling. Morgen knew him from her rounds. He was a spry young faryian named Imre Faindlin, Brother Faindlin to his parishioners. In the faint lamplight his uncommonly pale fur looked almost white. He conducted himself in a warm and compassionate manner, ensuring that everyone felt welcome in those solemn stone halls. Morgen had always enjoyed his company.
“Morgen!” he called in jovial fashion. “I thought I heard someone out here. How are you this evening?”
“I can't complain. Yourself?” she asked, keeping much of her attention on the wick. It had to be trimmed just right or it would smoke and cast soot all night.
“It's a quiet night,” he said. He stretched both backs and stifled a yawn.
“You're here late tonight, Imre,” Morgen said, closing the lamp back up for the night.
“We had a few stay behind after this evening's service,” he said. “I've been writing a letter to St. Penathor's since they left. I was hoping to get it sent with the courier tomorrow. He won't be back through for several days.
“Well I'm sure you're eager to get back to it,” Morgen said. “And I have many more lamps to light so I'm afraid I can't stay tonight. I got a late start myself.”
“Take care,” Imre said. The door thudded softly behind him.
Morgen returned to her nightly duties, continuing down the road to the Soldier's Gate where the Shankari kept their nightly watch. She expected to find the lamps lit when she arrived. The flames would be flickering and choked with smoke for want of a properly trimmed wick. But the lamps had not been lit, nor had the gate been shut. Squinting into the darkness she could make out the dim outlines of Shankari guardsmen lying on the ground. They were not moving.
The lamplighter disappeared into the darkness. She dismissed her staff's enchanted flame, replacing it with a thin strand of smoke. The lamplighter's staff felt as comfortable as an archmage's staff in her hand and for a moment it seemed as though only days and not years had passed since she fought King Isaac's men on the frontiers. Morgen stole a glance up the road, then crept toward the gate with grim resolve. She felt an old strength flow into her, distantly familiar but at the same time so close that it seemed as though it had never gone.
Just shy of the gate, still sheltered by the wall's umbrage, Morgen knelt by a fallen Shankari and put her fingers to the man's throat. His pulse was steady but slow. He was alive, knocked unconscious by some alchemic concoction. The toxic aroma still hung heavy in the air. Morgen brought her sleeve to cover her nose, the smell of lamp oil and soot overpowering and helping her to stay awake despite the lulling apparatus. Through the archway she could see the silhouette of a man. He was standing alone in the center of the road with his hands lifted to the sky.
The lamplighter recognized the language of Ralia, but understood none of the words. The warlock murmured a soft prayer as he lifted his hand to the sky, then drew a sharp knife across his palm. Droplets of blood flickered and flashed into flame as they spattered to the ground, covering his altar in a pungent black oil as thick as tar. In all of Fort Sundor, the warlock could not haven chosen a more unfortunate audience for his dark arts. He barely had time to consider the sound of footsteps running toward him. He turned in time to see Morgen Dekker bearing down on him with all the rage and passion the Emberfall Circle had to offer.
Morgen carved a white-hot arch through the dark sky, forcing more magic through the lamplighter's staff than the simple tool had ever been meant to bear. The imbued crystals inside it sang in protest as a fireball erupted forth, careening toward Morgen's prey. The warlock cried out as the spell crashed into his back and burst, pitching him to the ground beneath a flower of smoke and fire. Desperately he scrambled across the road to his weapon, but Morgen was already upon him, and she brought her staff down hard into the charred flesh of his back. He screamed in pain and convulsed, rolling to the side to avoid a second blow. He started to rise and Morgen buried her foot into his gut right beneath the floating rib, dropping him back to his belly. His second attempt was brought to a swift end by the butt of Morgen's staff striking sharply against his head.
Morgen planted her foot on his back and brought the fiery crown of her staff just a few inches from the warlock's face. He turned his face away, squinting from the flame's brightness.
“Talk!” Morgen commanded.
“Praise to the flame. Praise to the Forgemaster!”
Morgen bobbed the flame closer to the warlock's face, singeing his eyebrows and starting the shoulder of his shirt smoking.
“Talk!”
For a moment he fixed baleful eyes upon her. He panted for his breath, the fire illuminating the sweat of his reddened face. He spoke again, his voice trembling with barely contained rage.
“And they anointed themselves with ash and dressed in sackcloth and came to where their king had imprisoned Khalen Morduul, and they said to him that he should end the sorrows visited upon them. He spake to them saying to go forth to the Rilrath River, that they might wash themselves in its holy waters, and then give offering to Kalthiress on the banks and praise him for they,
like iron, are reforged by these hardships and made new. But they did not, and cut his eyes from his head.”
The warlock surged toward her like a thing possessed, screaming his scriptures as he drew a ceremonial dagger still dripping with his own blackened blood. Wild, frenzied swings cut through the air as Morgen danced back, quick as a fox on her feet.
Morgen forced power through the lamplighter's staff again. A searing conflagration erupted from the crown and swallowed the warlock. Morgen held it there in a white-knuckle grip until the thrashing and screaming had long ceased. She stopped and took a deep breath, then pointed the weapon skyward and fired three glittering silver comets high into the sky. The alarm was sounded.
Beneath the reassuring glow of the soft silver light, Morgen found the curse laid out by the warlock's corpse; a carefully arranged pile of human bones, splashed with the warlock's own blood. They were encircled by a rune of ashes, marred by the struggle. Morgen withdrew to the gate. In the distance she could hear alarm bells ringing in answer to her flares.
The wind had stopped. Morgen became vaguely aware of it as she stood beneath the archway. The smoke rising from her weapon straightened into a column as though it were coming from a candle deep in the heart of a church where no wind or breeze could reach it. Morgen watched it rise up into the night sky, never wavering.
Unnatural...
She stepped out onto the road and held the staff up to test the air again. Again a smooth, unnatural column of smoke rose until she could see it no longer. The air hung still for a moment all around her, as though hesitating. The alarm bells rang in the distance, but the sound was muffled, as though it could not travel through the dead air.
All at once the stars winked out. The landscape dropped into utter darkness as though Morgen had shut her eyes and could not open them again. The world was reduced to the dim circle her staff afforded her.
Next came a great roar. Hot wind rushed past her like dragon's breath. It left a biting chill in its wake that gnawed at her bones. The lamplighter's staff was blown out. Smoke fell from it, roiling around her and spreading across the ground in strange puddles of misty grey. Now everything was still, even the bells fell silent. Morgen swallowed hard, looking up into the bleak and starless sky. Her breath came in misty puffs. She knew this dark place. The Cold.