The Dragonrider Heritage Second Series, page 58
So what could we do? Something I knew most likely went directly against what Jaevid would have wanted for his daughter. But we were running out of options, and Thatcher was running out of time.
It was time to see just how much power Paligno had given her.
I patted Maylea’s shoulder and took in a deep, preparatory breath. “Yes. But fair warning, it may require you to do something you’ve never done before. Something your father absolutely would not approve of.”
She turned her head up just enough to peer at me from under the hood of her cloak, giving me that candid perplexed and slightly suspicious look I’d seen her father give me probably a million times. Right. Well, I had to be vague about the details—for now, anyway. Once we got back to the others, I’d feel a lot better about explaining this to her. There, we stood less chance of prying eyes and ears figuring out who we were and what we were up to.
Honestly, the irony of it all made my stomach roll with a wave of nausea that nearly had me running for the nearest alley to throw up. Many years ago, her father had been the one to force my hand and help me channel my own divine power from Clysiros. He had taught me to harness it in a way I’d never dared to before, and together, we had toppled the empire of one of the most notorious tyrants in history. Now, I needed to teach Maylea to attempt that same thing.
Well. Never let it be said the Fates have no sense of humor.
I hated the idea of hanging our every hope on her very young shoulders, though. Yes, healing was sort of Paligno’s area of expertise, him being the God of Life and whatnot. He usually provided his chosen candidates with healing abilities. Surely that meant Maylea would be capable of that same sort of power now, too, right?
Only one way to find out.
Time to get back—preferably before the storm hit.
I stopped instantly, my pulse thudding hard against my ribs as Maylea gave a sudden, sharp tug on the sleeve of my tunic. Oh no. Crap. Seriously? Right now?
With every sense and muscle on edge, I panned my gaze around the foggy road where we stood. Nothing. No sound. No movement. Not even any lights burning in the shop windows around us.
Hmmm. If anything, it was too quiet.
A familiar little prickle of unease raced up my spine—the same sort of feeling I always got back when I was a scout in the jungles of Luntharda when a predator moved through the area. That sensation of being watched by something bigger and badder that made every hair on my body stand on end.
You know, like when Murdoc glared at me from across the room. Creepy.
“Where?” I whispered, chancing a quick sideways glance down at her.
Maylea stood eerily still, her face now mostly hidden by her hood. “Forty paces back,” she whispered, speaking quickly in the Gray elven language. Clever. It was bound to be less commonly spoken in this part of the world, so anyone listening in might not understand.
“You get a count?” I asked.
“Four.”
I reached down to the belt at my hips and let my fingers brush the hilts of my kafki blades. “Armed?”
“Yep.”
Ugh. Great. This could get messy. But there wasn’t time to second-guess. I had to trust that feeling in my gut telling me to brace for the worst.
“Break off and go quiet. You get aerial but hold your fire. Wait for my cue,” I murmured. “Might be thugs. Might be someone working for Arlan. Might be worse. Let’s see what these guys want.”
“Lethal shots?” I caught the tiniest hint of tension in her voice—uneasiness. Hesitation to kill.
Right. As skilled as she was, Maylea was still relatively new to fighting and killing people, even if they did mean us harm. She’d already gotten her hands bloody on the ships, and I hadn’t exactly had a chance to talk to her about that.
This was bound to make the fallout worse for her.
“That’s your call,” I replied as I stepped ahead of her. “Do what you feel is necessary. But if it’s all the same to you, and it’s obvious that they’re trying to kill me, I’d be much obliged if you didn’t let that happen.”
She made a sarcastic, snorting sound before she cut briskly to the right, vanishing down a small alley like a phantom in the night. No sound. No footsteps. Not a rustle of fabric or click of a boot heel.
Nothing but a quickly fading swirl in the thick white fog.
I smirked as I bowed my head and forged onward, slowing my pace so our pursuers could gain on me. I had to admit, as frustrating as that girl could be, she was handling all this very well so far. She kept a level head even when a battle-hardened dragonrider might buckle. It made me a little proud. Maybe that’s because I’d watched her grow up and trained her in some of those combat techniques.
Or maybe just because, once upon a time, I’d been that kid who ran away from home to prove myself, too.
When I heard the scrape of a footstep behind me, I quickened my pace. No doubt about it now. I was definitely being followed. With no idea who it might be—the Zenith’s Call, the Hands of Fate, or just a random batch of thugs hoping to rob me—I couldn’t afford to take any chances.
My thoughts went silent as I set my teeth against the swell of adrenaline that made every muscle in my body flex and tingle. That rush of heat in my veins kept every sense on edge, made my heartbeat slow, and my breathing deepen.
Time to work.
I cut to the left down a side street and quickened my pace, then ducked to the right along an alleyway that ran back out to the main road. If they were common thieves, I could lose them easily. But trained assassins? Or even mercenaries? They’d be able to follow.
Ducking around a corner, I put my back to the wall and listened, holding still as my fingers found their way to the hilts of my weapons. A second passed. Then two. Nothing. No sound. No voices.
Then I heard it—the faintest splash, as though someone had stepped in a puddle at the other end of the alley.
I smirked.
Assassins or mercenaries it was, then.
Slowly sinking down, I picked up a small rock from the side of the street and waited. Clothing rustled nearby, probably not even ten feet away from me back inside that alley. They were coming. They’d emerge and find me hiding there any second.
I smirked and hurled the pebble off into the dark on the other side of the street, pinging it off a few barrels with a clatter.
Immediately, someone whispered something in the Sokraal language, more fabric rustled, and three figures ran from the alleyway out into the street to investigate. Heh. Well, looks like Maylea’s count was off, but still … too easy.
They sprinted right past my hiding spot, and I held perfectly still with my back to the side of the building. They never even noticed me or took a second glance in my direction.
As soon as they were across the street, I whirled around and started back down that same alley, the way I’d come, and pulled the hood of my cloak up to hide my hair. That tended to be my biggest giveaway, after all. It made me a lot more recognizable in a crowd.
I doubled back the way I’d come, crossing back out into the side street on the other end of the alley. So far, so good. No sign of them. These had to be Zenith’s Call. The Hands of Fate had gotten a jump on Violet and wounded her, and these guys were nowhere near that level of skill, apparently. I’d have to ask her about it whenever I got back to the—
Something cold and sharp pricked against the side of my neck.
Oh no. I stopped suddenly, staring straight ahead across the small, heavily shadowed intersection before me. Here, four of those side streets met in the gloom. None of the shops or buildings around had lights burning in the windows. There were no signs of life anywhere. Not even the street lamps were lit.
Curse it.
“You are a clever one, I will grant you that,” a heavily accented voice chuckled from behind me. “But not clever enough, it seems. Hands up, if you do not mind, Your Highness.”
What? They knew who I was? Fates, this wasn’t good.
I licked my teeth behind my lips, tasting the coppery flavor of fury fresh on my tongue. “I do mind, actually,” I growled as I slowly turned to see who had a blade to my neck.
The man on the other end of that sleek, glimmering rapier wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting. He made no effort to hide his face, wearing a faded blue coat over casual, Rienkan-styled clothes. He stood about my height, maybe a little taller, with his dark brown hair lengthy on top but shaved close to his scalp on one side.
In a swift glance over him, I counted at least two more daggers tucked into the wrap around his waist and what looked suspiciously like one of those exploding metal contraptions Malina had used resting in a leather sheath under his left arm. His chiseled features tugged a half-smile when he spotted me eyeing that weapon. “I see you know what this is,” he tapped the weapon fondly with his free hand, “even though no one uses a blunderbuss in Maldobar.”
I didn’t reply.
His smile faded some, his squared features sobering to a more distrustful, scrutinizing stare. He kept that rapier’s point right at the base of my throat as he clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “And where is your companion? Nearby, I’m certain. Call her out.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Not a chance.” If this guy really meant to kill me, he would have done it already. Clearly this wasn’t about robbing, murdering, or even kidnapping. He had a different angle—one he needed me alive for.
I just had to figure out what that was.
He narrowed his eyes, too. Rubbing at the heavy stubble on his squared jawline, he chuckled under his breath. “I see now what they mean by Maldobarian stubbornness. I am curious, Your Highness, how do you see this ending for you?”
“Usually I carve my way out in a path of blood, gore, and corpses. You could say it’s my specialty,” I muttered, my gaze catching on something tattooed on the top of his hand that held that rapier. It almost looked like the symbol of a sword through a crescent moon. Ahhh, so he was Zenith’s Call.
He stared at me for a moment, eyes wide in shock. Then he bent forward and burst out laughing. “May the gods have mercy, you do speak the truth. Well then, if you will not cooperate, I have no choice.”
I tensed as he stepped in closer, his grip on that rapier tightening and his bemused smile snapping into a maddened scowl. He opened his mouth, probably to threaten me, but he never got a word out. Something zipped through the air and hit the slender blade of his weapon, knocking it away from me.
Instantly, I stepped in, ramming my fist into his stomach as hard as I could. He barked a wheezing breath and doubled over, and I seized his wrist to try and disarm him.
The man moved faster, though. I spat a curse as he whirled back, hitting me upside the jaw with his elbow and sending me reeling back. He grabbed my arm and twisted it back, ducking down and using me like a human shield from Maylea’s aerial assault. With the steel of that blade back against my throat, I stiffened and cursed through my teeth. Fates, he was fast. Maybe even as fast as Murdoc.
“Now then, let us try this again,” he snarled right against my ear, gripping me so tight I felt the slow, burning pain of my shoulder starting to dislocate. Gods, he was strong. I couldn’t even twist my body to relieve that pressure. “I have not come to kill either of you tonight, but I very well may slip and make a terrible mistake. Call the girl down or I will have my men do it by force. Do we understand one another, Your Highness? Or did you assume I only brought a small force to take you in?”
I growled a few Gray elven profanities as I gave one more desperate pitch against his hold. “If you think I’m calling anyone down right into your hands, you’re dreaming. You’ll have to kill me, because I can assure you, I’ve been tortured by the best already. It won’t work. I don’t compromise. I don’t cooperate. I’m a dragonrider of Maldobar, and I’ll take you to the abyss right along with me before I betray my companions.”
A faint scuffle from another alleyway to my right made me turn, just in time to see the other three individuals who had been chasing me earlier. Two had crossbows drawn and leveled at me. The third held a shortsword in each hand. Crap.
I had no doubts that Maylea could have killed all of them. She was an excellent marksman with a bow. She probably could have even killed the guy holding me. But she’d never dealt with a hostage situation before. I had no idea how she would react to a situation like this, but I absolutely did not want her firing off high-risk shots if she was second-guessing herself.
Not with my head so close to her target.
“What do you want from me?” I demanded, still growling every word through gritted teeth. “No one will ransom me here. You know that.”
“I do,” he seethed. “I did not come to abduct you. The Mistress of the Call wishes an audience with you.”
What? Mistress of the Call? What did that even mean? Was I supposed to know who that was?
“Your little Pitathi friend has tried to contact us many times, but your dealings with Sulam have not gone unnoticed. Tell me, prince, did Kinslayer send you here to eradicate him?” the man questioned. “The Mistress wants to know, and so you will answer to her.”
My mind spun, piecing together what, exactly, was happening here. I could only assume that this Mistress of the Call was some sort of leadership figure to the Zenith’s Call. She’d obviously heard about what happened with Sulam in his arena. Since he was also a member of this organization, they must want answers. That’s why they weren’t giving Violet the time of day now, since they knew she worked directly for Arlan.
Great. Now I’d basically become a middleman between international crime factions. Fantastic. Super qualified for that. But maybe, if I played my cards right, I could make this situation work for our benefit. After all, Violet had been trying to contact these people for days without any response. We needed their help to get our mission back on track. We needed resources. A way across the desert. Hopefully, I could negotiate some of that.
Uggh. Gods and Fates, why did stuff like this always happen to me?
“Fine,” I agreed. “Let me go, and I’ll talk to this Mistress. But I think she’s going to be pretty disappointed when she hears what my motives are.”
I could hear the sly grin in his voice without having to see it as he suddenly gave me a shove forward and snapped his fingers to his men, ordering them to drop their weapons. “Oh, I very much doubt that, Your Highness. I’m sure she will be extremely interested in whatever has brought a Maldobarian prince and dragonrider to our lovely doorstep. Now, call off your girl. We must move quickly, lest we alert the city guards.”
10
CHAPTER TEN
The rapier-wielding man looked genuinely surprised when a fourteen-year-old girl strode proudly from the shadows, the stormy wind blowing through her hair as she carried her Lunthardan-styled bow and glared at him defiantly. I had to give her credit, Maylea kept a cool head under pressure. She didn’t even bat a lash as she prowled through his line of armed mercenaries, each one glaring at her like a pack of ravenous jackals.
The man glanced her up and down, eyebrows raised, and finally spoke. “Well now. Not quite what I was expecting. How old are you, girl?”
“Old enough to know where every one of your major arteries are and ten ways to sever them before you know what’s happened,” she snapped.
I had to bite back a smile. Murdoc might have even cracked a grin at that—since he was the one who’d taught her all that.
“And my name is Maylea, not girl, thank you very much.” She crossed her arms as she stopped right next to me. “Who are you?”
It seemed to take the man a moment to recover after that answer. He blinked a few times like she’d slapped him across the face. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he shook his head and turned away. “Varren, at your service,” he muttered sourly and gave another signal to his men. “Come. We must be swift. I do so enjoy standing around in dark alleys in the middle of the night, but I’d prefer not to be caught outside when the storm hits.”
I had to agree. Giving Maylea a reassuring nod, I walked ahead right behind Varren as he led the way through the darkened streets. Somewhere along the way, two of his three companions broke off to take separate paths, while the last one kept right at our heels. None of them spoke, however, and I wasn’t feeling especially chatty either.
Mentally, I had enough to chew on. This meeting with the so-called Mistress of the Call, might be the ticket we’d been hoping for. I had to keep a cool head and trust that if she really had any ill-will for us, we would be dead already. Then again, maybe she only had dislike for Violet because of who her employer was? Hard to say.
This could get tricky. I’d have to watch my mouth more closely than usual.
And apparently Maylea’s, too. Good grief.
Making our way along an indirect route, keeping to alleys and side streets that weren’t as well-lit as the main avenues, Varren guided us back toward the docks. There, he finally stopped at the entrance to what looked like an old sailor’s tavern and inn that stood only one street back from the dockside. The narrow building seemed to be squished between the ones on either side, like ham mashed into the middle of a sandwich. The clay tiled roof was slumped in the middle, and I couldn’t see any signs or insignia anywhere that gave the place a name. Just a big carved statue of a, uh, mostly naked woman with the bottom half of a fish. A siren?
The smell of sour ale, sweat, and stale wine hit me like a hammer as we stepped inside. I cringed, squinting as my eyes watered a little from the thick cloud of pipe smoke that hung in the air like fog over a swamp. The place was packed from front to back with sailors, dockhands, and fishermen. They sat in big crowds at the round tables, playing cards, puffing on long pipes, and swapping stories with loud bursts of laughter. None of them even looked up as we ducked inside.
