Kal Moonheart Trilogy: Dragon Killer, Roll the Bones & Sirensbane (17 page)

Except that now she would never be Kalina Brown, village schoolteacher and woodcutter’s wife. That life was closed to her forever.

From this moment on, she would always be Kal Moonheart,
Dragon Killer
.

THE END

PART ONE

THE HEIST

I.i

War

Kal Moonheart surveyed the carnage from her vantage point up on the high ground. Things were not looking good. The men under her command were spread thinly across the field of battle, unable to either form a defensive line, or mass to press an attack. The nearby forts that once could have offered shelter had now been smashed, their stones scattered to the wind by powerful magic. From where she stood, Kal could see enemy wizards, led by black witch, stealing through the ruins and threatening her rearguard.

Her eyes scanned ahead through the dust and sought out her last hope: the two cavalry squadrons she had dispatched to the front line. She was gambling on them smashing through, but the enemy’s first rank was an unbroken wall of frightening trolls in black armour. Kal could make out their human commander, flanked by his personal guards. He looked up at the same moment Kal did, and their eyes met across the battlefield. Was it the satisfied smirk of impending victory that she could see playing across his thin lips?

The enemy commander issued his orders, and his right flank began to move, curving around Kal’s men and preparing to sweep in from the side. Kal was being pressed on three fronts now. She tried desperately to concentrate on her strategy, on laying the ground for a manoeuvre that would save the day; but when she looked across the battlefield, her thoughts were shattered by the sight of all the dead men surrounding her. They were strewn all about—a sea of bodies encircling the centre where the battle still raged. Most of the casualties were men who had fought under her banner, while the main strength of the enemy’s forces still waited patiently in the wings.

The sun shone down on the conflict, throwing the combatants into stark relief and casting deep shadows that split the world into a two-toned panorama of light and dark. It was as if the gods themselves had directed the sun’s rays so they could observe the bloodshed and sacrifice from whatever heaven they now resided in. Perhaps they were taking bets on the outcome, making a game out of this mortal struggle. Would anyone glance down at the battle lines and wager on Kal?
Not likely
, she thought.

She raised her hand high to direct her forces. The white-cloaked knights of the Senate Guard initiated a charge from which there would be no turning back. Kal had sent them galloping over the hard ground to exploit a weak point in the enemy lines, but what awaited them on the other side would make any man falter—or at least any man who did not have complete and utter faith in his leader. In the dark shadows of an intimidating black castle, a terrible beast lay in wait. Black wings, black scales … even black teeth: the dragon loomed over the rest of its bestial army like a mountain rising over the multitude of trees in a forest.

But Kal’s men were now committed. She could only imagine what her mentor, Ben, would make of the carnage. He would be stupefied, whatever the result turned out to be. He had been schooling her in strategy and tactics for years, but Kal had argued that she was still not yet ready to assume
this
level of responsibility. It was Senator Benedict Godsword who should have been directing this war in person on the field of battle, rather than plotting from the shadows. Under Kal’s command, half of the army had already been lost.

But at least for the moment it looked as though the dragon would be forced to retreat from the spear tips that preceded the knights’ charge. The enemy commander looked up and across at Kal once more, this time with an expression of uncertainty on his face.

Kal caught his gaze and held it. ‘Check,’ she announced.

She slouched back confidently in her chair.

‘And mate in two.’

I.ii

Blood Money

Kal’s opponent sighed and, with agonising reluctance, tipped his carved ebony dragon over on its side. ‘You …’ he began.

‘Won?’ Kal prompted.

‘You
lost
the last seven games!’ he seethed. ‘I won the last one in less than ten moves. You … you
hustled
me, Moonheart!’

They were sat opposite each other at a small table in the middle of a vast warehouse. Sunlight streamed in through wide skylights and picked out millions of dust particles hanging in the air above the chessboard. Kal tried her best to remain composed as she stared down the man she had just beat. His two tough-looking, leather-clad bodyguards glared back at her threateningly.

‘You owe me some money, Garrett,’ she said with a flash of a smile, trying to keep things friendly.

The merchant stood and tried to exert some authority over Kal by towering over her. ‘Well, obviously I don’t have that sum to hand right now,’ he said. ‘I’m a successful trader; my money is tied up in my business, not just lying around in treasure chests. You’ll have to wait.’ He gestured to the crates piled high in the warehouse: imported spirits from Zorronov in the east. ‘But you can take a few crates of zalka as an advance if you like.’

In a fluid motion, Kal stood up too. Her right hand went to her belt.

Garrett’s bodyguards fumbled clumsily for their swords. The merchant held up his hand to stop them, though. ‘Take it easy, lads,’ he said. ‘You remember what happened to Joban’s man last week.’

‘How is that poor guy?’ Kal asked politely. ‘Can he walk yet?’

‘Just about,’ Garrett replied. ‘Well enough to take his usual nightly stroll down to the Cathouse at least. He’s still in no fit state to
do
anything when he gets there though.’

Kal laughed. The object that she took from her belt was a leather cylinder, about eight inches long. She popped the lid off one end and pulled out a rolled-up scroll. Kal swept the remaining chessmen off the board and laid the document out flat over the black and white squares.

‘I’m more than happy to take your word that you’ll pay me,’ she said, ‘but I’d like to see that word written down!’

Garrett sat back down and studied the scroll for several minutes, his face draining of colour as his eyes went down the list of clauses and subclauses. He remained frozen in position for some time after he had finished.

‘Do you need a pen?’ Kal asked him.

Garrett looked up at her. ‘For all the difference it’ll make,’ he said, ‘I may as well sign this in my own blood.’

* * *

Ten minutes later, Kal was escorted to the warehouse doors by Garrett’s two bodyguards, and ejected into the street. She hadn’t even had chance to secure the lid on the leather cylinder containing the freshly-signed scroll. Kal took a moment to compose herself and re-attach the cylinder to her belt. Her heart rate had been raised throughout the game and the subsequent stand-off, so she was glad of the chance to take some deep breaths.

It was cool in the shade of the warehouse’s walls, but Kal was conscious that any moment the guards would come back out and shoo her away, so she set off west in the direction of the markets. Although it was early evening, it was one day shy of Midsummer, and so the sun was still up in the sky, looking like it was balancing just above the city’s sixty-foot-high wall. With the sun in her eyes, Kal walked down the deserted street, going slowly to avoid breaking a sweat. The Florin Way was one of the widest thoroughfares in the city, and was usually bustling with people and wagons, but today’s business had wound down shortly after noon. The city was drawing breath for tomorrow’s festivities.

Kal’s eyes scanned the shadows between the buildings as the wooden warehouses gave way to brick-built chambers of commerce. She was carrying not one, but
four
valuable scrolls that she had won over the course of the day. A private one-on-one card game in a rich man’s townhouse; an illicit duel in the ruins of an old temple; a trade of secrets among the crowd at a matinee performance of
Banos and Oulia
; and finally a chess game with an importer of fine wines and spirits. But could Kal comprehend the meaning in the tangled script and arcane language each scroll contained?

No, she could not. All she knew, and all she cared about, was that each of these scrolls was worth one hundred crowns to her once she delivered them to her patron, Senator Benedict Godsword. Kal figured that Ben had more than enough money these days—maybe more money than sense—so if he now wanted to collect the immortal souls of his enemies, then that was his prerogative.

She laughed out loud at the thought. Kal had arrived at the markets, where thousands of stalls and shops packed the banks and islands of the river, the Cold Flow (known to locals as simply
the Flow
). Most vendors had shut up shop, but purveyors of hot food were still doing brisk trade. Kal handed over a shilling for one of her favourite dishes: kraken cooked in its own ink, served on a bed of polenta. She found a spot to sit and eat in the shadow of a giant verdigris statue of Whalo, the sea god, who was here portrayed wrestling with a lively sea snake.

As she ate, Kal watched a group of men atop the city walls. Like Whalo, they too seemed to be struggling to control a great wriggling serpent.
What was it?
The men eventually managed to tame the monster by stretching it out to its full twenty-foot length, so that it could no longer twist and swing about. Kal heard the men shout out, ‘One! Two! Three!’ and then hurl the massive snake over the edge of the wall …
so that it fell inside the city
.

As the snake descended, it unrolled. It was an enormous banner that, as it came down, revealed the forty-foot-high face of a stern, patriarchal-looking man. His judgemental stare gazed down across the market from beneath thick, dark eyebrows and white, close-cropped hair. Emblazoned under his chin, in giant capital letters, was one word: FELIX.

Felix Firehand
, one of the senators jostling for position in the forthcoming consular elections. Every year, Amaranthium voted for two new consuls: the highest rank in the Republic. Together, these two men or women would rule not only the city, but also the world—and the world was very large, extending for as far as the legions could hold the monsters back. And while the consuls were busy ruling, every other senator would be busy scheming and plotting for their next chance, when the whole circus rolled around again the following summer.

Kal got up and turned her back on Firehand’s omniscient gaze. What did she care about politics anyway? Kal had dealings with politicians on an almost day-to-day basis—she often ran into them in the gaming halls, and she had met a lot of them through her association with Ben—but their actual
politics
were of little interest to her. They were just rich people trying to get richer. She didn’t begrudge them; she just didn’t expect them to do anything for
her
.

But Kal could afford not to care. She had fought hard, using her skills and her wits, to carve out a good living. She was young, successful and had the world at her feet.

The sun finally fell behind the city walls, casting Firehand’s face into shadow. Soon it would be dark; and when the city slept, Kal came alive.

I.iii

Night Work

The Embankment was a paved concourse that followed the east side of the Flow; it was a riot of taverns, restaurants, shopping emporiums and theatres. Globular gas lamps sprouted in bunches of four from iron posts spaced every twenty yards along the river bank, and colourful bunting had been strung between them in advance of tomorrow’s festival. Kal swerved to avoid rowdy groups of revellers who were determined to start their celebrations as early as possible. The whole city was usually hungover by Midsummer Day itself, only to then get up at noon and start the party proper.