The Price of Faith (11 page)
Her dress, now brown from the mud tore beneath her as she struggled to stand and stumble away. Watery blood leaked from her nose and eyes. She looked like nothing so much as a pathetic drowned rat but Thanquil couldn’t let pity stand in the way of judgement. He forged forward, reaching out and grabbing the witch by the hair at the back of her head.
As Thanquil raised his sword to strike he saw from the corner of his eye Naarsk leaping from the gallows into the mud and running towards him. Then he felt the impact of something impossibly large and heavy hitting the ground behind him and mud splashed up and covered the back of his coat.
Thanquil let go of the witch and turned slowly, already knowing and dreading what he would find. Through the pouring sheets of grey rain the dragon towered over him, its massive head lowered but still a good eight feet from the ground and its beady eyes glowering hatred at him. Thanquil felt his arm shaking and knees go weak but he held his ground and stared back at the beast, his grip tightening on his sword.
He had no idea how to fight a dragon, even his not-insubstantial reading on the subject area had provided him with no real knowledge of how to defeat one of the creatures without a very large arbalest and exceptional aim, neither of which did Thanquil currently possess. The only thought that raced through his mind was a simple piece of advice Kosh had once given him when fighting a man bigger than himself:
Go for the eyes
.
From somewhere nearby Thanquil heard Naarsk shout an order for the dragon to stop. The creature’s eyes flicked sideways to its prince and Thanquil ran. He had no idea where to go but he turned and fled.
The dragon was faster.
Its huge head lunged forward and its mouth snapped shut around the tail end of Thanquil’s coat. He heard the leather tear but Arbiter coats were made of sturdy stuff and the garment unfortunately held together. With a violent shake of its head the dragon threw Thanquil across the mustering yard.
Air, rain and mud all passed before Thanquil’s eyes in a dizzying blur of motion accompanied by a crack of thunder so close it sounded like an explosion. Then he hit the ground and rolled to a stop, inhaling mud and attempting to cough it back up all in one motion. He retched up a mouthful of the foul brown muck and, with the back of his hand, wiped away the mud from his eyes just in time to see the dragon ignoring its prince again and lumbering towards him.
Thanquil lurched to his feet. The mud may have broken his fall and stopped him from breaking anything but now he was covered in it, soaked in it. Miraculously he found he had kept hold of his sword and said a quick prayer of thanks to Volmar for what little good it would do him.
The dragon skidded to a stop mere metres from Thanquil and again lunged at him with its mouth. Thanquil lurched to his right and impossibly sharp teeth snapped together around what had almost been his head. He thrust with his sword and the blade struck home. Sharpened, enchanted metal connected with wet, scaly hide and did what Thanquil could only describe as nothing.
The beast launched itself onto its back legs and flapped its massive wings at him and the blast of air once again knocked Thanquil on his arse in the mud and the pouring rain. He was just about to struggle to his feet again when the dragons head appeared above him, staring down at him with its mouth open. Hot, rancid breath hit him and Thanquil gagged at the smell but then a part of him realised that bad breath was currently the very least of his problems.
A roar tore into the mustering yard and Thanquil glimpsed another dark shape land on the battlements far behind the dragon peering down at him. The beast stopped and turned, craning its head around to look at the new arrival. Thanquil let himself hope the fort was under attack by another Dragon Prince. The alternative of having to fight two dragons when one was clearly enough to best him did not even warrant thinking about.
Prince Naarsk’s dragon let out a challenging trumpet noise and the new dragon again answered with a roar. Without warning the beast that had almost killed Thanquil backed away from him, lowering its head in a posture that looked much like submission.
Thanquil pushed himself to his feet, using his sword as a cane and peered through the pouring grey sheets. He saw Naarsk, holding both his witch and his daughter in his arms down on one knee with his head lowered. Thanquil knew there were only two people in all the Dragon Empire that could command such respect and obedience from a prince and he was all but certain the Dragon Empress hadn’t left the capital.
The new dragon lowered its head and allowed its rider to dismount into the muck below. The newcomer was dressed in a suit of dragon bone mail with plate leggings and boots and wore a cape of the deepest scarlet though it was soaked through and dragged in the mud turning it a nasty brown colour at the hem. He was no taller than Thanquil, being a native to the empire, and his dark hair had a shock of grey running through it. He strode towards Thanquil, heedless of the mud sucking at his boots and stopped just a few feet away.
“Arbiter Darkheart.”
Thanquil gave the man a half-hearted smile and waited for another peal of thunder to subside. “Dragon Herald. I assume it wasn’t the weather that brought you to this neck of the woods… or jungle,” he shouted over the sound of the downpour.
The current Dragon Herald was a man called Travine and he was the one man in all the empire who could command the princes with the empress’ voice. He was a hero of no small regard having quashed a rebellion back in his youth and was essentially the supreme commander of the combined forces of the empire. Though he was no prince and therefore had no dragon of his own it was not unheard of for him to
borrow
a prince’s dragon when the need arose. His current mount was a beast with green eyes and silver scales that glittered in the muted light.
“The empress commands your attendance,” the Dragon Herald shouted in a clipped tone.
Thanquil stood in the mud and pouring rain and found himself lost for words. “I… um… can’t. Not right now. She’s, uh, a very long way away and I have business here.”
The Dragon Herald looked Thanquil up and down and then turned to Naarsk’s dragon, seemingly noticing for the first time that the beast had been trying to eat the Arbiter. “What is happening here?”
Naarsk walked forwards through the rain, his wife and child behind him. “He is trying to kill my wife,” the prince shouted and his statement was punctuated by another blast of thunder.
The Dragon Herald turned to Thanquil who simply shrugged. “She’s a witch.” Lightening streaked across the sky.
The Herald turned back to Naarsk. “It is his right.”
Naarsk’s jaw clenched so hard Thanquil thought his teeth were sure to snap. “She is my wife,” he screamed.
The Dragon Herald stepped toward Naarsk and backhanded the prince across the face in an almost casual motion. “The empress herself gives the Inquisition right to operate in the empire. Would you disobey her, Prince Naarsk?”
Thanquil felt the balance of power shift as the prince lowered his head in resignation. He allowed himself a smile of victory and stepped forward.
“Then it is settled,” the Dragon Herald shouted, turning to Thanquil. “You will come with me to Soromo to attend the empress. Afterwards you may return to carry out your judgement.”
“No!” Thanquil said, the smile slipping from his face. “I will carry out my judgement now. Whatever your empress wants can wait until I am finished. I’m sure it won’t take too long to fight my way through both dragon and prince to the witch and besides, Soromo is many weeks travel away. What harm could another day do.”
The soaked Dragon Herald positioned himself between Thanquil and the witch. “My empress commands your presence, Arbiter,” he shouted in Thanquil's face. “For the trial of Jezzet Vel’urn.”
“What?” Thanquil asked without thinking. The question was too broad, too unfocused and the Dragon Herald merely shook his head and grunted as though shaking off a dizzy spell.
“Do not use your magic on me again, Arbiter,” the Dragon Herald warned in a thick voice that stemmed the next question before it formed. “You will come with me to Soromo now.” He gripped hold of Thanquil’s arm and began dragging him away. Before Thanquil knew what was happening he found himself standing before the great silver dragon the Herald had arrived upon. The beast was as large as a house and regarded him with calm, intelligent eyes. “Climb on,” the Herald ordered.
Thanquil looked up at the big winged lizard with something akin to fear but a peal of thunder drowned out his curse.
Jezzet
The city of Soromo, capital of the Dragon Empire, was a city like no other Jezzet Vel’urn had ever seen. Built upon the Emerald Sea, a lake in the mainland of the empire so large it was impossible to see from any one shore to the opposite no matter how clear the day, Soromo half-floated and was half-supported by giant stone pillars that ran deep below the turquoise water to the rocky bed below. That was the true marvel of Soromo, Jez decided; it was a city as large as any other she had been to but it was a floating city.
It had taken her months to get accustomed to the strange sensation of living on what felt to her like a city-sized boat. Even the Empress’ palace and the richer districts built upon the stone pillars had a distinctive rise and fall when the waters were at their most turbulent. Jezzet had once asked how such a thing was possible and it had been explained to her that the pillars were actually formed from a strong inner core of hard, unyielding rock and thousands upon thousands of giant, buoyant stone rings, the city rested upon those rings and, as such, had a certain amount of leeway to cope with the waves of the Emerald Sea. Who had designed such a thing and then who had subsequently built it was a question that left Jez’s head spinning.
To say Jezzet was in awe of the city’s architecture would be a gross understatement but as she knew no other word to describe her amazement she settled with awe and simply tried not to think about it.
The poorer districts of Soromo were no less wondrous. Built upon monstrously large wooden rafts multiple layers thick and treated to withstand the rigours of age and rot, the poorer districts were lashed together and secured by giant walkways that stretched out over open water and connected each district to its neighbours. These districts were built lower, able to carry less weight than their stone counterparts and surrounded the richer districts in concentric circles growing ever smaller as they spread outwards.
Giant bridges of wood or stone able to support a host of people and all at least four carts abreast connected the separate districts allowing an easy, if a little constricted, method of travel. Boats were the other frequent method of travel: from small, passenger-laden gondolas to the larger pleasure barges to heavy cargo boats sitting low in the calm waters, wallowing from destination to destination. Boats were the key to transport in Soromo and they were heavily taxed by greedy officials eager to secure their own advancement by pulling in more money than their peers. Boats were also the key to many a merchant’s wealth and where there were merchants there was competition and where there was competition there was work for people like Jez.
Of course Jezzet knew she didn’t need to work, the money Thanquil had left her was more than enough to sustain her for many months and many more but it was the Inquisition’s money and Jez didn’t like being beholden to anyone, least of all the same damned organisation that held Thanquil so tightly by the stones. There was ever work for folk with her particular skill set and especially so for folk willing to use those skills without scruples and scruples were something Jez had abandoned long ago. So it was that she found herself working, and not for the first times, for a fat merchant by the name of Gok.
Guards were not strictly necessary on the cargo boats but then if merchant Gok was paranoid enough to hire guards as experienced as Jezzet Vel’urn, and she was not the only veteran on duty, then she supposed his cargo must be valuable indeed. Either way she was not of a mind to argue with her employer’s decision.
A small, heavily-laden fishing skiff floated by at a leisurely pace. The fisher, a thin man baked dark brown by the sun, stared at Jez in open wonder even after she returned his gaze. She assessed his threat level in an instant and put it at non-existent before going back to scanning the jade-coloured waters ahead of them.
“You cut a damned imposing figure up front like that, Vel’urn,” said Sally from behind. Big and brutish with a neck as thick as one of Jez’s thighs Sally never stopped smiling. He claimed to be Five Kingdoms born and bred and she could well believe it. Jez hadn’t spent long in the Five Kingdoms but she had seen how large the northerners grew over there and he certainly spoke like a Five Kingdomer, always referring to people by their family names.
“Kind of the point ain’t it, Sal,” Jez said without turning to look at the big man. “Better to scare them off than fight them.”
Sally chuckled. “Not sure I agree with that.”
Me either
, Jezzet thought.
She glanced down at herself then and smiled. Sally was right about one thing and no mistake; she did make for an imposing figure with her right foot on the stumpy railing that surrounded the barge.
Jezzet no longer wore leathers, long since having decided the merciless sun in the Dragon Empire was too hot and, as Thanquil had pointed out on multiple occasions, she didn’t need the protection. Instead Jez wore a set of flexible lightweight boots laced firmly around her ankles and calves, a simple pair of brown, cotton trousers than ended just below her knees and a bone-coloured linen shirt left sleeveless to bare her arms. Over it all she wore a light tabard dyed a dark, royal-blue that stretched from neck to calf on the front and back while being open at the sides. She belted the tabard at her waist with a red sash. The cloth merchant who had sold Jez the tabard had asked for her crest but she had been forced to admit she didn’t know it. The Vel’urn name was not truly hers but had belonged to her old master, she had decided to take the name after killing the old bastard to complete her Blademaster training. Jezzet completed her attire by tying her jet-black hair into a small tail with a red strip of cloth the same colour as her sash. It was rare she let her hair grow long enough that it needed tying back but recently she had been feeling the need for a change so she had allowed it to grow unmolested.
