There is a game the children in my village used to play—perhaps they play it still; it’s been too long since I left to say for certain—called “Don’t wake the dragon.” Like most childish games, it is fairly silly, and was likely started by an adult who was in need of a little peace and quiet. It goes like this: one child is the dragon. He stands in the middle of the chosen playing field with his eyes closed. One at a time, or in twos, the rest of the children creep by close enough to feel the warmth from his body. If the “dragon” hears their movement, or feels their presence, he can stretch out his arms and capture anyone in reach. These children are promptly “eaten” and have to sit out, and spend the rest of the game jeering and catcalling the dwindling number of survivors. The game lasts until either everyone has been eaten, or the last child is uncatchable.
I was a magnificent dragon. The others took to blindfolding me, accusing me of cracking an eye and cheating thereby. It wasn’t true; I simply had an almost sixth sense as to where people were. I was nearly uncatchable, too: creeping silently on cat feet and holding my breath until I was past.
Both skills serve me well in my current profession. But they may have gotten me into my current spot of trouble.
It started innocently enough: I was passing off a purse I’d lifted from an unwary visitor to our fair city. It wasn’t personal, and I didn’t really need the money at the moment—I just liked to keep my fingers limber and lifting purses was good practice. I figured it served them right. If they were naïve enough to wear their money in plain sight, they were obviously in need of a little (expensive) reeducation. And since I usually passed off the spoils to the street kids, I salved my grumbling conscience with the reminder that I was helping to feed hungry bellies and hopefully prevent the creation of more thieves down the road.
Did I have to steal? Well, I hadn’t started out as a thief. I’d left the village at sixteen when it was obvious no one was likely to marry the misbegotten daughter of a village priestess. Making my way to the big city, I’d had high hopes of finding decent work and a few friends. Little did I know there’s only one line of work readily available to young girls with no protection. I stole food that first week when my stomach would not be quiet, and found—quite by accident—a dropped coinpurse. Returning it was obviously out of the question. If I’d gone to the guardsmen I would’ve been accused of stealing it (never mind the fact that if I had, returning it would be the last thing I’d do) and likely beaten for my trouble. I kept it, and used the bulk of it to rent a tiny room in a rundown but decent part of town. I steal just enough to retain the room and keep my belly full (the odd extra purse notwithstanding), and try to stay out of sight of the authorities. It has served me well for the past six years, anyway, though it’s not the rosy future I had imagined.
I strolled down the street, glancing at the wares in shop windows and breathing deeply of the smells of candied pecans and pastries from the vendors’ carts. I traded a coin for some of the cinnamon-glazed nuts, and walked down the street munching as I went. That’s when I saw him.
He was tall, much taller than my own slight frame, with jet-black hair swept back into a tail, and his clothes had an air of subtle wealth—nothing too flashy, but well-tailored and expensive in cloth and design. He looked about him with the air of a tourist, gazing up at the shop signs and not paying much attention to what was happening near his feet.
It was too easy a mark to pass up.
I felt my fingers twitch in anticipation and brushed them free of sugar on my trousers as I angled my course to intercept his. I assumed a nonchalance I didn’t feel as we approached, and at the last moment, pretended to stumble on a cobblestone, taking care to fall into him. That cobblestone almost did me in; it rocked under my foot, and my ankle gave a faint twinge of protest, but that didn’t stop my fingers from sliding into his pocket and snagging the edge of the purse that peeped through the gap.
I gasped and apologized, sacrificing the last of my nuts in an attempted distraction, and tucked the purse into my pocket even as he righted me.
“I’m so sorry!” I gasped, using my now free hand to brush sugar and cinnamon from the sleeve of his tunic. Since my other hand was actively sprinkling him with what was left in the paper sleeve, this was an exercise in futility and he quickly pushed me away, preferring to finish the job himself.
“It’s no trouble at all,” he said, glancing up and offering me a grin that made my heart skip a beat. My, but he was handsome.
Sternly telling my heart to calm down, I offered an apologetic bow and quickly turned away. Which was when my pocket started wailing.
“Thief!” it cried in a high-pitched wail. “Thiiiiieeeeef!”
Spitting a curse directed at mages and mageborn alike, I took off down the street, yanking the purse from my pocket and flinging it away. Or, at least, trying to.
It stuck to my hand like spirit gum, clinging to my fingers and continuing to wail. Darn mages and their tricky spells.
I clenched the purse tightly in my fist and stuffed it inside my vest and under the other arm, hoping to stifle its cries. I put on another burst of speed, dodging the curious street vendors and passersby who looked at me strangely.
Rule number one of being chased is don’t look back. It doesn’t help, and only gives any pursuers that much of an edge.
Actually, I thought, rule number one should be don’t get chased in the first place. If you’re being chased, it’s because you got sloppy. Or you missed the signs of magic and robbed a thrice-cursed mage of his thief-proofed purse. Tourist he may have been; naïve he apparently was not.
Several alleys and shortcuts later, I risked a look behind me. No one was actively following, and this part of town was unlikely to raise a fuss about a thief. I slowed and put a hand on my racing heart. The purse was still whimpering quietly to itself, and I began to look around for something to silence it. A bucket of water would help, drowning the spell and limiting its effectiveness till it dried; but fire would be a more permanent solution.
As I turned another corner, I spotted someone’s pan of laundry bubbling over a fire. No one was in sight, so I quickly snagged a burning brand from the fire. Holding it awkwardly in my left hand, I brought my right hand with its clinging purse out and put it next the brand. This would be difficult to accomplish without burning myself, and I stuck my tongue out in concentration.
“I’d really rather you didn’t do that,” a voice said, and I nearly ran my hand through with the burning stick.
The purse stopped wailing and, when the man stepped forward and plucked it oh-so-easily from my fingers, positively purred.
I scowled, telling my heart that, good-looking or not, this man was about to make my life very difficult, so you may as well calm down, you stupid muscle.
I stepped back, brandishing my burning stick in a lame attempt to keep him away. If he had any more magical trinkets, hauling me off to prison would be a piece of cake.
“You’re really quite good,” he said, apparently deciding I wasn’t going to speak. “I didn’t even feel you take it. Though the distraction was a bit over the top. You didn’t need to douse me in nuts. Having you throw yourself in my arms was quite distracting enough.”
I felt a blush suffuse my cheeks and cursed my body for betraying me. I also dropped the stick, as I was in imminent danger of being burned.
“What are you going to do?” I managed to say, wondering if I had gotten my wind back enough to risk another attempt at flight.
He looked surprised. “Why, nothing. Nothing at all. You haven’t stolen anything from me,” he added, patting his pocket. “And, obviously, I merely followed you to make sure you didn’t injure yourself when you fell against me.” He glanced down at my ankle that was, come to think of it, throbbing faintly. It hadn’t appreciated my flight through the back alleys of Etherwind.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I managed, backing away another step.
“Don’t go!” he said. “You might actually be able to help me. I’m new to town”—I couldn’t contain a snort of derision—“and I’m a bit lost.” He smiled at me again, a blinding smile that made me wonder if that was how snakes were said to hypnotize their meals into walking down their throats. I had a sudden sympathy for the meal.
Almost against my will, I found myself replying, “What are you looking for?”
“A tavern.”
I silently pointed out the three that were in sight.
“No, a specific tavern.” His smile was starting to irritate me, and my sixth sense was buzzing that something was a little off.
“Stop that!” I cried, kicking the burning coals from the brand I’d dropped in his direction.
His smile faltered, and he looked at me with sudden intensity. “You felt that?”
“Yes.” I rubbed my arms. “It was creepy.”
“Amazing!” he smiled again, and this one had a depth that had been lacking in his previous attempts. “My first day in Etherwind and I meet a null.”
“A what?” I hadn’t understood the word, but it didn’t sound flattering.
“A null! You can sense spells in progress, even though you can’t work magic. It can be a very useful talent.”
I let out another snort. “If that were true, wouldn’t I have felt your purse before I stole it?”
He waved away this objection. “You’re untrained. That’s only to be expected. Anyway. I’m looking for the Spotted Sow. Do you know it?”
I gave him a wary look. “Yes. You sure that’s the one you want? I know several where you’re less likely to get a knife in the back, and the cider is better, too.”
“No, it must be the Spotted Sow.” He smiled sunnily at me. “I’m meeting someone.”
“Yeah, Lady Death,” I muttered, but I turned away and motioned for him to follow.
We wended our way through the poorer districts of town and into what could only be called the slums. It was the sort of place the noblemen preferred to ignore the existence of, until they needed a particular sort of problem solved. And then they came to places like the Spotted Sow, to make deals in the dim taproom after which people “mysteriously” disappeared. I stayed away, though I could’ve been in on the take of a number of lucrative jobs that had use for a small, silent sort of person. I preferred to continue breathing.
I stopped across the street and nodded in the direction of the tavern. “There you go.”
I turned to leave and felt his hand on my shoulder. It was uncomfortably warm and, I fancied, made my skin tingle.
“You should come with me. I think you’d be useful in the expedition I’m planning.” He smiled warmly down into my eyes, and I felt my feet still without my willing them to.
Narrowing my eyes, I asked, “What sort of expedition?”
“It’s a sort of treasure hunt,” he said, still not removing his hand. I shrugged it off my shoulder, not sure I liked the sensation.
“The take will be more than enough for you to open up any sort of business you like,” he went on. “It could be enough to buy you title and manor of your own, if that was something you wanted.”
I allowed myself to be swept up in sudden dreams of wealth. I could picture myself mincing down the cobbled streets in those perilously high heels, with a parasol over my head and two or three lackeys carrying parcels trailing behind. I would be so blindingly wealthy that my background could be ignored as an eccentricity, and all of the young men would fall at my feet adoringly. I banished these pleasant dreams with a wave of my hand, but another idea crept in. I could, it suggested, set up a home for the street children. Rather than sending the occasional stolen purse their way, I could instead create a haven for them, and give them some hope. I waved this image away as well, but I couldn’t deny that it was a temptation. It couldn’t hurt to at least listen to his proposal, right?
“Fine,” I said at last, but held up a forestalling hand. “I’m willing to listen. But no promises.”
“Excellent!” he cried, and, taking my hand, pulled me across the street and into the Sow.
It was worse than I remembered. Even now, in the middle of the day, it was packed with ne’er-do-wells and idlers who gulped ale from dirty wooden tankards. Women of questionable morality brought refills, sat in laps, or dodged groping hands as their whim led them. I found myself shrinking against my still unnamed mark, preferring the dubious protection of his presence to the alternatives.
One drunken man reeled in front of us, careening into chairs in his attempt to accost my companion. There was a brief scuffle that left the man on the floor with a bloody arm and a suddenly sober look on his face. Jostling for position in the sudden chaos, I caught a glimpse of my protector’s face, and drew back at the glittering smile. It was as hard and merciless as diamond, and I felt a wave of doubt at my decision. However, when he turned once more to me and offered his arm, my misgivings faded. We made our thereafter unassailed way to a table in the corner, where we sat, facing the room.
We had not even had time to catch a waitress’ eye before two men placed themselves in front of our table.
“You Ariel?” One of them asked, a burly fellow with a bushy brown beard and a scar that ran across one white, sightless eye. The other eye looked over my companion and then me. “You’re late.”
“I’m Ariel,” my companion affirmed, ignoring the comment, and both men sat down. The bearded fellow flipped his chair around and straddled it, making room for his sword and the buckler on his back. The other sat in his chair normally, but his eyes never stopped roving over the inhabitants of the room. He was clean-shaven, but I rather thought that was through lack of facial hair rather than any personal penchant towards cleanliness. His long, greasy hair was pulled back in a tail and his nails were dirty as he fidgeted with a sheathed knife.
“I am Ariel,” he repeated, “but I’m not familiar with your names.”
“Hendar,” said the bearded one, and, “Ivis,” said the other. All three turned expectantly to me.
“Lily,” I said, returning their belligerent gazes as well as I was able. I’d heard things about Hendar, and they hadn’t been nice things. I wasn’t sure about Ivis, but if he was hanging out with Hendar, that wasn’t a mark in his favor.
“Lightfingered Lily?” Hendar grunted. “I’ve heard of you. Just an ordinary street thief.”
I shrugged, unwilling to return the compliment.
Ivis looked at Ariel. “Is she in on the take? I wasn’t planning to split four ways.”
Hendar pinned a gaze on him as well.
“Gentlemen,” Ariel said, and I rather thought that was using the term generously, “if we are successful, one more split will not make a difference. And if we are not,” he shrugged. “Well, if we are not, one more member might mean one of us survives to tell the tale.”
Even more nervous now, but a bit intrigued, I leaned forward. “What is this job, exactly?”
Ariel beamed. “We’re going to rob a dragon.”
“No. Absolutely not.” The voice cut through the bedlam of the tavern, causing a moment of silence. It wasn’t until Ariel pulled me back down into my chair that I realized the voice had been mine.
“Shut up, you fool,” Hendar whispered. “You want the whole city to know?”
I gave him my most derisive snort. “Know what? That you’re a pack of fools?” I’d abandoned caution at some point, and didn’t exactly regret it.
Ariel raised placating hands. “It’s not such a fool’s errand as you think. I have a few… trinkets”—he patted his pockets and winked at me—“that should allow us safe passage into the dragon’s cave. After that it’s merely a matter of sneaking past without waking him up. The treasure is in the cave beyond.”
“Oh, is that all? I needn’t have worried.” I rolled my eyes. “Where did you get this inside information?”
“I had an… associate who went with me before. He was able to get past the dragon and reported what he found.” His smile slipped slightly. “Unfortunately, he didn’t make it back out.”
“How did he report if he didn’t survive?” That was Ivis, as skeptical as I.
“Communication stones.” Ariel flourished the ring on his hand. “If we all wear these, we can stay in constant contact.”
“I’ve already said I’m in,” Hendar growled. “I don’t need your baubles.”
Ivis had gone back to darting glances around the bar, but said, “If the take’s what you said it is, I’m in.”
“Excellent,” Ariel beamed. He turned to me.
I was still undecided. While fabulous wealth was a definite draw, I kept reminding myself that we were stealing from a dragon. A dragon. You know: sharp teeth, breathes fire? Stop gazing into his beautiful blue eyes, you ninny!
Ariel placed a hand on top of mine. “We need you.”
I thought I heard Hendar snort, but I was drowning in blue and couldn’t be bothered to care.
“Fine,” I said. “I’m in.”
“Good.” He smiled at me, a warm, personal smile that made something flip over in my stomach. He removed his hand and turned back to the others, and I felt suddenly bereft.
Easy does it, I cautioned myself. You don’t even know him. Caution warned me to slow down and consider what I’d just agreed to; a reckless urge fed by my flip-flopping stomach said, why not? It’ll be fun.
Travel plans had been made while I wrestled with myself, and next thing I knew, I was promising to meet them all at the north gate at dawn in two days’ time.
The next morning, I woke up and stared at my watermarked ceiling for a very long time. Had I been ill yesterday? A brief fever that turned off my brain? What had I been thinking, agreeing to this sort of expedition? I rolled over with a groan. Stupid, stupid. There was nothing for it; I’d have to hunt down Ariel and tell him I’d changed my mind. I’d look like a fool, but at least I’d be a live fool.
To that end, my first stop for the day was going to be the Spotted Sow. I didn’t know where Ariel was staying, and the Sow had a couple of rooms they occasionally let to customers. It was as good a place to start as any.
I stood across the street, staring at the entrance to the tavern and rethinking my plan. While it was fairly quiet, relatively speaking, I didn’t really want to go in the front door without even the dubious protection of Ariel. I’d heard too many stories, and my experience of yesterday was fresh in my mind. I didn’t even own a knife; I’d be totally defenseless.
All right, problem-solve: I could stand here and hope he came out. I laughed at myself for this one. I could peer in the door and see if he was in the taproom. Possible, but I could still get drawn into an altercation that I’d rather avoid. I could ask the kitchen. They’d know if anyone was staying over, as they’d be the ones waiting on him. Done.
I wound through a couple of noxious alleys, giving a wide berth to the sleeping humans mixed in with the refuse, and eventually found the backside of the Sow. It was about as attractive as it sounds. The door stood open, and when I peered in, I could see one very large woman stirring a pot over the fire. It smelled of burned porridge, and my nose wrinkled in distaste.
“Mistress,” I called, standing in the doorway.
She glanced up at the sound, and waved me away. “Shoo. No handouts. Get out of here.”
Stifling the urge to tell her I wouldn’t eat her swill anyway, I put on a polite smile and said, “I’m just inquiring about your current guests. I’m looking for a man—tall, black hair? Is he staying here?”
She advanced toward me, brandishing her porridgy spoon. “No, no, no one is staying here like that. Now get out.”
I retreated quickly, disappointed. Short of knocking on the door of every inn and posting-house in the city, I had no way of finding Ariel except by chance. With this vague notion in mind, I made my way back to the wealthier parts of town.
Wandering the streets that grew more crowded as the day progressed, I saw no tall, dark haired forms that could be Ariel. I did lift a couple of purses out of habit, and nearly gave myself away when the unexpected weight of one caught me off-guard.
Heart racing, I ducked my head and hurried around several corners so I’d be out of sight when the man I’d lifted it from inevitably noticed its loss. Slipping into a shadowy doorway, I opened the drawstring and gasped. It was almost entirely gold. I quickly closed the purse and tucked into an inner pocket. And then I stood and thought.
While not enough money to set me up in a trade of my choosing, there was definitely plenty to make me think seriously about my life. I didn’t want to be a thief forever; the risk of getting caught and ending up on a ship to a prison colony would only increase as I got older. And I would, eventually, get caught. I nearly had yesterday. It had only been Ariel’s strange whim that led him to hire me instead of handing me over to the city guards. Speaking of Ariel’s strange whims, a percentage of a dragon’s hoard would definitely be enough to change my life. And with a little bit of preparation, I might actually survive the attempt.
I set out again, but headed now for the mage quarter. I had enough cash to make some specific purchases, and the first one was accomplished at a weapons dealer at the edge of the mage quarter. A few minutes in the shop left me lighter in the purse but with a serviceable dagger at my belt. There was a green stone in the hilt that tingled when I rubbed a hand over it, which hopefully meant the shopkeeper hadn’t lied.
My next stop was a bookseller, but I had no luck at the first three I tried. The fourth one was owned by a tiny old man whose face was a mass of wrinkles, but he was extremely knowledgeable and picked out two books for me. One was called Meditations on Magic and the other had no title at all, but was bound in dark, supple leather that held together an assortment of hand-written notes that contained—or so the shopkeeper promised—exactly what I was looking for. Since I hadn’t been able to tell him what I was looking for, I had to take his word on that.
Feeling slightly better about the fool’s errand I’d agreed to, I spent the rest of the afternoon purchasing improvements to my wardrobe, along with a leather pack and a map of the northern lands. I wasn’t entirely certain where the dragon’s cave was, but rumor had always placed it somewhere in the northern mountains. I added thick, woolen socks and fur-lined pants to my pack, and laid in a supply of jerked meat and dried fruit. While I assumed Ariel would be providing food, it didn’t hurt to be prepared.
Between the books and my new, warm clothes, the pack was nearly full, but I only had one more stop to make. One of my last purchases was going to be a cloak. I would have loved to be able to afford a wyvern-skin cloak; they were practically indestructible, even to dragon fire. But since that would have taken five or six bags of gold, I was going to have to opt for what my last few golden coins could purchase—a simple woolen cloak imbued with fire-proofing spells. The clerk could make no guarantees about dragon fire, but swore I could sit in a furnace for at least an hour before the spells would burn away. It would have to do.
I walked home, self-conscious in my newly acquired wealth. I avoided the seedier parts of town, not wanting to lose any of it, and reached my rented room with a sigh of relief. Dinner was easily obtained from one of the taverns on my road, and then I went to bed early, anxious for dawn.
Sleep eluded me for a while. I’d never owned anything bespelled before, and the cloak and dagger’s presence buzzed at the edge of my mind in an unfamiliar fashion. Fully conscious that I’d be traveling most of the morrow, I sternly banished the sensation and shut my eyes. Eventually, I slept.
Dawn found me at the north gate, stickily eating a fruit pastry as I awaited my companions. Ivis appeared first, scuttling into sight sideways, darting glances everywhere. I rolled my eyes. If he continued to act like that, he’d attract the attention of everyone from here to the dragon. Studied nonchalance, that was the key. I wandered over to a water trough and rinsed my fingers clean. As I was topping off my water flask, another recent purchase, I noticed Hendar lurking in an alley and couldn’t repress a shiver. That man knew how to lurk properly. That was three of us; where was Ariel?
At the sound of approaching hoofbeats, I looked up, expecting guardsmen or the like. Instead, I saw a magnificent black stallion, and I had a sinking feeling in my chest as I looked up to see its rider. Ariel. Of course.
He was leading three others, already saddled and ready to ride. Hendar and Ivis approached, and each chose a mount without hesitation. That left one for me, but I made no move to take the reins.
“Lily?” Ariel said, and I looked up into his eyes. A day apart had done nothing to lessen the force of his presence; if anything, it intensified it.
I gulped. “I don’t know how to ride,” I whispered, ashamed.
“I should have thought of that,” Ariel said, and smiled warmly. I felt a tingle all the way down to my toes, and curled them inside my new boots.
Swinging a leg over the stallion’s neck, he dropped easily to the ground. Working quickly, he transferred the pack from behind his saddle to the other horse. He held out a hand for my pack as well, which I gave up reluctantly. It made me nervous to put my belongings out of reach. He attached the reins to his horse in some fashion I didn’t see, and then laid out a piece of fur behind his horse’s saddle.
I watched all this skeptically, not sure I liked where it was leading, but I didn’t see that I had much choice. Ivis and Hendar were already mounted, packs in place and turned toward the gate.
Ariel remounted as smoothly as he’d dismounted, then extended a hand to me. I took it uncertainly, then gasped as I was pulled suddenly into his lap.
“Here,” he said, “put your foot on mine and then swing around behind me.”
I was no doubt beet red, but I did as he instructed and in short order found myself perched behind him.
“All set?” he asked, smiling over his shoulder.
Confronted with the vast expanse of his back, I looked in vain for a handhold that wasn’t extremely personal and eventually settled for clutching his jacket at the sides.
“Yes,” I managed to say, and we started off with a suddenness that made me squeak in fear and clutch at his waist.
He chuckled and patted my arm, and we headed out.
I repositioned my hands and tried to forget the feel of firm muscles under my fingers.
He’s not for you, I told myself, but I didn’t want to listen.
The day was an exercise in patience as my nerves were rubbed raw by his proximity and the rain that started to fall midmorning. I huddled under my cloak, wishing I’d added waterproofing spells as well. Ariel steamed gently, and I suspected he had some sort of water-repellent spell in progress. My hands itched occasionally as I clutched his coat, adding one more discomfort to my misery.
We called it quits early, stopping at an inn midway through the afternoon. As the only girl, I got a room to myself and huddled in front of the small fire with a cup of tea. Eventually I warmed up, and pulled out my books to read until suppertime.
They were not what I expected.
The first one, Meditations on Magic, was a series of essays about what magic is—and is not. It was interesting, but not particularly helpful as I had very little background in magic to draw on. I gave up reading and started flipping through the pages, pausing when a word or phrase caught my eye. About midway through the book, a title caught my eye: “Nulls and other Nonsense.” I read eagerly.
It has been posited by some, it began, that there are in existence so-called ‘nulls’—people who can sense magic being worked, but cannot touch it themselves. This is, of course, balderdash, as anyone who can sense magic can work it—at least to some degree. The author has never met any such person, and finds it doubtful that there is in existence a person who possesses the magical sensing ability but is unable to use it to touch magic. It would be like expecting a person who can sing to be unable to speak. The abilities are intertwined, and though they may vary in degrees of training and talent, one never finds one without expecting the other.
I turned the page, eager to learn more, but the author began talking about soulstones, whatever those were, and unless I wanted to know the easiest (and most commonly overlooked, in the eyes of the author) way to free a captive—break the stone—the essayist was not particularly helpful. I read to the end of the essay in the vain hope he’d return to the topic of nulls, but eventually closed the book in frustration.
At this point, my stomach growled, reminding me I needed supper, so I made my way downstairs to the dubious companionship of my fellow travelers.
The days repeated in a similar fashion as we worked our way further north. Every morning I woke up, frequently with a groan from an uncomfortable pallet or—on the worst nights—a bed of grasses or ferns, and cursed whatever crazy notion had gotten me out on the road and into this adventure. By the time breakfast rolled around, I started to feel more at peace with the world, which may have had something to do with the scenery. I cursed myself for a fool, but found my eyes pulled back like a needle to true north. Ariel’s shapely form held my gaze, and I watched him like a moonstruck teenager with her first crush.
After about a week of this, I decided enough was enough, and asked him to show me how to mount the horse and hold the reins. This put some distance between us, and made me more comfortable. So much more so, that I put a hand on the hilt of my dagger and rubbed my thumb across the stone. It prickled at my touch, and I dropped back to the end of our train so I could draw it unnoticed.
Looping the reins around one arm and hoping the horse wouldn’t take it into his head to bolt, I drew the dagger and held it in my right hand. With my left, I drew a finger across the flat of the blade, trying to remember what the swordsmith had said. Yellow for spells of healing and growth, blue for spells of confusion or misdirection, red for emotions, and black for harm or death. The dagger turned slightly purple under my finger’s path, and I scowled. Still, it was better to know. I sheathed the dagger, picked up the reins again, and tried to convince the horse I wanted him to speed up. I had only marginal success, which was about what I had in my attempt to look at something other than Ariel’s back. I gave up with a shrug, and decided to simply admire the view.
We camped out that night, being unable to reach another village before nightfall. We were passing through an area that was mostly grassland dotted with herds of sheep and the occasional copse of trees. It was near one of these we stopped, built a fire in the remains of previous travelers’ ashes, and cooked a simple stew. I say we; it was Ivis who did the actual cooking. He was a surprisingly good cook, and we generally deferred the cooking duties to him when we camped out. He’d settled down a fair bit once we’d left town, and no longer let his gaze rove suspiciously about. I offered what help I could, preferring, at this point, his company to either Hendar or Ariel’s. I fetched water, gathered firewood, and gathered bowls at his grunted directions.
After dinner, I took the bowls down to the stream that ran through the trees and scrubbed them out with sand, then sat with my feet in the water and watched the sunset. The water was cool, and I wondered how much colder it would get before we reached our destination. It was early September, and the rains were already cold. The further north we went, the colder it would get. Would we finish our quest before winter closed in in earnest? I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to ask. I sighed, wondering not for the first time if it was too late to turn around and go home. Except—I would go back empty-handed, and there was nothing much waiting for me in Etherwind. I sighed again. For better or worse, I was committed to this adventure.
I returned to camp to find the three men laying out their blankets.
“You have first watch,” Ariel said, softening the blow with a warm smile.
I felt myself responding to the smile even as I sighed a third time. I’d forgotten it was my turn for first watch. On nights we camped out, we took watch in turn, three hours at a time and three people per night. That meant at least one night I’d get an uninterrupted night of sleep, and the others I’d get enough to survive on. I threw a couple of sticks on the fire to keep it alive, then turned my back on it to gaze out over the grasslands and towards the road. After about an hour I began to get drowsy, and stood up and walked the perimeter of the camp for a while. I checked the horses, watched the stars move across the sky, then went and stood by the fire to banish the chill that had crept over me. Another hour crept by, and it was nearing time for me to wake up Hendar, the next one on duty.
As I waited, the hairs on the back of my neck raised as though I was being watched. I looked at each of the men in turn, but they were all obviously asleep. The feeling grew, along with the sense of general wrongness I get sometimes when someone is doing magic. I glanced again at Ariel, but he was deeply asleep, moving restlessly in the grip of some dream. The sense of pressure increased until I wanted to scream, but I could see nothing wrong. I spun around, but saw nothing. There was no moon tonight, only the vast expanse of stars and the smoldering coals of our cook fire.
Feeling like a fool but unable to take it anymore, I crouched by Ariel and touched his arm. He roused instantly, drawing a knife and putting it at my throat before I could even squeak in protest.
“Lily,” he said, removing the knife but not smiling his customary smile. It made his face unusually harsh in the dim light.
“Something’s wrong,” I managed to whisper once my heart had slowed. “I can’t see anything, but there’s something just—wrong.” I couldn’t explain it any better than that.
Ariel looked around for a moment, and then breathed deeply of the night air.
Scrambling out of his blanket, he swore loudly and impressively. “Up, up, you fools!” he shouted to the other men. “Up or die in your beds!”
I sat in the dust where Ariel had knocked me, shocked and unsure what to do. Figuring that more light couldn’t hurt, I threw a few more sticks on the fire. Hendar and Ivis were up and moving, throwing aside blankets and drawing weapons. As the branches caught, providing more light, I saw Ariel by the horses. He had his stallion saddled and bridled already, and tossed his pack over the back, strapping it down with a few quick moves. I gathered my own pack, still intact, and slung it on my back. If we were going to make a quick getaway, I wanted to be prepared.
There was still nothing in sight, but the feeling of being watched was still there, as well as the itchy feeling of magic in progress. Hendar and Ivis were circling the fire, staring out into the night. Ariel rode back through camp, and paused to reach a hand down to me. I took it unthinkingly, and found myself in his lap again.
“Hold on,” he murmured, and I wrapped my arms around his chest. Wheeling his horse, he said over his shoulder, “Don’t look it in the eyes.”
“What is it?” Hendar grunted.
“Basilisk,” Ariel said, and jabbed his heels into his horse’s flanks.
Hendar started screaming profanities and cursing Ariel as we galloped away. Looking back towards the fire, I saw a large, thick shape rise up. It was like a snake, if a snake could be as thick as a man was tall. Its head had a frilled crest and a mouth full of teeth that glistened in the firelight. Hendar and Ivis stood immobilized before it, and then we were too far away for me to see clearly.
We galloped at first, then slowed to a canter, then alternated between a canter and a trot for some time. The moon finally rose, a thin crescent that illuminated the lighter track of the road, and we finally slowed to a walk. The horse’s sides were heaving and flecked with foam, and I patted its neck in sympathy, trying not to think of the events of the night and failing.
Ariel had abandoned them. He’d saved me, and abandoned them. Was I sorry for their deaths? Not really, but they had been companions, and Ariel had left them behind without a moment’s thought. What did that mean? And more specifically, should I be worried?
For the moment I cherished the illusion of safety, tucked in his arms, but while my body rested my mind worked faster than ever.
“Are you all right?” Ariel murmured, the first words either of us had spoken in a while.
“Hmm?” I asked, startled from my thoughts. “I’m fine.”
“Do you feel the basilisk anymore?”
I shook my head, but couldn’t suppress a shudder.
“It’s all right,” he said, giving me a one-armed hug. My arm pressed against my dagger, which tingled against my skin, and I felt tears start to my eyes. I turned my face into his chest and cried while he held me.
Eventually, we stopped for what little was left of the night, and I fell asleep, too exhausted to care whether Ariel was keeping watch or not. The next morning, we came across a walled city, which was most likely Tressa if I was reading my map correctly. They had a substantial garrison, where we stopped first to report the basilisk. The commander seemed a bit skeptical at first, but Ariel’s word as a mage was persuasive.
“You should be able to catch up to it today,” he said. “After a meal of that size it won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
My face blanched with remembered horror, but I found myself nodding in agreement. Three horses and two men would gorge even so large a creature as the basilisk.
“You were lucky to escape,” the commander said.
Ariel smiled faintly. “I was lucky to have been awake to sense its approach. It’s not like they make a lot of noise.”
I frowned a bit at this, but bit my tongue in confusion when Ariel glanced down at me with a conspiratorial wink.
And then we were out of the garrison and down the road before I could think. I followed behind Ariel, rubbing my prickling dagger hilt thoughtfully.
We spent the rest of that day in Tressa, resting at an inn and taking the opportunity to bathe and launder our travel-worn selves. I spent the day curled up with the second of my two books, which turned out to be a series of journal entries by a mage in training as he navigated the various pitfalls of magic and school. It was comedic and serious by turns, and by the end of its pages I felt like I had a much clearer sense of what magic was, and what I might someday be able to do with it. I also felt able to set the horror of yesterday at a distance, and slept that night untroubled by dreams.
We were back on the road early the next morning, Ariel having found a new horse for me, and we fell into a new routine fairly quickly. Another week of travel brought us to foothills, and two days after that we were in the mountains proper. It was cold at night, and I was grateful for my new clothes. I sent a mental thank you and apology to the man who’d inadvertently blessed me with them.
I also took some time each day to practice sensing spells. This was the first thing the unnamed journal writer had learned, and he offered several tips in the course of his entries—things he’d tried, things that didn’t work, and so forth. After a few days I was much more in tune with the magic going on around me, and could feel the difference between the simple spells in my cloak and the more elaborate one at work in my dagger. I also started isolating the various bits of magic I felt from Ariel, and was both amazed and shocked at the sheer amount of magic he used in the course of a day. There was magic in his jacket, which felt a bit like the spell on my coat, so I assumed it was some sort of weatherproofing. There was magic in at least one of his rings, and in the jewel I hadn’t even noticed in one of his ears. There was magic in his horse’s saddle, and magic in Ariel’s smile whenever it was turned towards me. That one, at least, I could gauge using my dagger, but I grew more adept at spotting it when it happened, which helped lessen its effect. He used magic to start the campfire; he used magic to hobble the horses at night. I’m pretty sure he used magic to convince the various innkeepers to give us a discount when we stayed in a village.
It was still easiest to sense the magic by touching the object in question, though even with that I got to the point where I could reliably sense a spell simply by being in close proximity. I practiced this with my dagger as we rode, trusting my horse to stay close to Ariel’s with minimal guidance from me, and pulled my hand back in tiny increments to see at what point I lost the sense of the dagger, then starting over.
I think Ariel had some idea of what I was doing; at least, I found myself at the receiving end of his smile more and more the closer to the dragon’s cave we approached. Since I couldn’t contain the blush that this produced, I used it, smiling in confusion whenever it happened. He also started touching me casually at every opportunity—on the shoulder, on the head, at the waist, and each contact tingled with magic. I began to feel like a rabbit who sees a fox in every bush. No, worse—a fox who claims to want to be friends.
It was in this state of persecution that we arrived in the dragon’s valley. His cave, so Ariel informed me, was at the far end of the valley and partway up the mountain. We would need to hide at night and approach during the day, when the dragon was more likely to be sleeping.
“More likely?” I asked. I wasn’t having second thoughts—by this time they were more like twentieth or thirtieth thoughts. “You mean you don’t know for sure?”
Ariel shrugged. “Dragons hunt at night. It only makes sense that they’d sleep during the day.” He smiled, and I still wasn’t proof against it.
“Fine,” I said. This was why I’d come, after all. It seemed silly to back out now after coming this far.
Ariel grinned, a much more genuine expression. “We’ll cross partway across the valley today, and camp until tomorrow. No fire, I’m afraid; that’d be a dead giveaway.”
I nodded tersely, and followed him down into the valley. We set up camp in a pile of boulders, and from the signs of previous use I guessed he’d used this spot before. That evening, at his suggestion, I went down to the creek and scrubbed all over with a strongly pine scented soap. It made my skin tingle, though not from magic this time, and by the end of it I smelled more like a mountain forest and less, I hoped, like a tasty human.
Dinner was a simple affair of dried meat and a bit of bread from the last town we’d passed through, and I retired to the top of a rock to catch the last sunlight and see if my magic book had anything to say about dragons. It didn’t, at least that I could find, and I reread the essay on nulls for the hope it gave me. If the author was right, I could learn to do magic, and my life would never be the same again. Assuming I survived the dragon, of course, I could attend the mage school and have my pick of jobs. Nobody cared if a mage was of humble birth; magic covered that ill, too.
Get through tomorrow first, I cautioned myself. Then make plans for the future.
We started at dawn, leaving the horses hobbled among some pines and leaving most of our supplies behind. I carried my water flask and a handful of jerky. Ariel had a small satchel slung over one shoulder and nothing else.
The climb was steep, and several times I needed Ariel’s assistance scrambling up rocks his long limbs had taken in stride. His hand was warm in mine, and for once did not tingle with magic. I braved a glance at his face, and found it as warmly smiling as always, though again, without the prickle of magic. I felt a wave of vertigo that had nothing to do with the distance down to the rocks below, and let him catch me close for a moment.
“Are you alright?” he asked in concern.
“Just a little dizzy,” I said breathlessly.
“It’s probably the elevation,” he said, and helped me sit down. “Rest for a moment and have a drink. We can slow down, too.”
After a while the dizziness passed, leaving me a little lightheaded and a bit confused.
We finished the climb shortly before noon, and found ourselves on a protruding lip of rock that marked the entrance to a long, dark slash in the face of the mountain.
“This is it,” Ariel said quietly. He pulled several things out of his satchel. One was a ring that he slipped onto my finger. “Communication stone. Speak into it and I’ll hear you.” He slid a pendant over my head. “This one is a light. Once I activate it, it will stay on, so tuck it under your shirt if you don’t need it.” It started glowing as he spoke, and I slipped it under my collar. The last thing he offered was a velvet sack, which he put into my hands and then held.
“This last one is the most important,” he said, looking into my eyes. “Once you get past the dragon, you’ll pass into another cavern that’s full of treasure. Don’t touch any of it—some of it is bespelled, and touching it could wake the dragon. Somewhere in there is a large, polished stone about as long as my hand. It will be quartz, and may be slightly greenish in tint. Put the sack over it and pick it up, then bring it out to me.” He squeezed my hands. “It’s very important you do this first. Once I have the stone, I can keep the dragon asleep, and then we can collect as much treasure as we want. Understand?”
My heart was pounding and I rather thought my hands would be trembling if they weren’t being held so tightly, but I nodded. “Don’t touch anything, get the polished stone, bring it to you first. I understand.”
“Good.” He smiled, searched my face for a moment, and then kissed me very gently. It was a sweet kiss, full of promise, and made my heart race for an entirely new reason. “Go,” he said, pushing me towards the entrance. “Be safe.”
I stumbled away in a daze and had to pause in the entrance to shake myself firmly. I still had to sneak past a sleeping dragon and retrieve a stone before we were home free.
Slowly easing one foot forward at a time, I crept through the long, narrow entranceway, wondering how the dragon fit through, or if he could, catlike, fit through anywhere his head could pass. The light from the entrance faded, but I hesitated to pull out the pendant that glowed faintly beneath the cloth of my shirt. I had to pass the dragon first, and I didn’t want a blinding light to give me away before I’d even started.
I had a sense of the walls on either side retreating, and felt that I’d entered a large chamber. The air was cooler here, and I could hear the drip of water echoing from a long way off. I paused there for a moment, and had a sudden memory of playing “Don’t wake the dragon” with the village children at home. There was, I thought, a large, warm mass somewhere ahead and to the left. I angled my slow, cautious steps towards the right, and found a wall to follow. The floor was smooth and free of stones, and I stepped out a little more confidently. My awareness of the dragon grew until I imagined I could see him. His head would be turned away from me, resting on his front claws, and his tail would be wrapped around him like a cat’s. He was beautiful in my imagining, and I stopped and silently scolded myself for feeling guilty towards a product of my imagination.
Under my hand, the wall took an abrupt turn, and I guessed that this was the passage to the second cavern. I walked slowly for another minute, and then decided I could risk a little light. Clenching the pendant in one hand, I removed a finger at a time until I simply removed it and held it aloft like a lantern, staring around me in wonder. The cavern glittered everywhere. Every surface, every wall was covered in gold and jewel-studded finery. I wanted to run my fingers through it just to feel the sensation, but jerked my hand back when I remembered Ariel’s warning. Remembering his words prompted me to look for the stone. I found it easily enough, standing on a pedestal in the center of the cavern. I approached it slowly, sensing the power pulsing from it. I held a hand next to it, and wondered if I was imagining the warmth that seemed to be emanating from it. Putting the pendant back around my neck, I pulled out the velvet sack and prepared to pick it up. A careless finger brushed the stone, and sudden power pulsed through the cave, bathing it in greenish light.
Mageborn, a voice whispered.
Who, me? I wondered, and the voice concurred.
What is it you wish of me?
I had no answer to this, and stared at stone for a moment. “Who are you?”
I am the dragon tied to this stone. If you possess the stone, you possess me.
Without quite knowing why, I pulled the ring from my finger and dropped it into my water flask. When that was done, I said, “I didn’t know that. Why are you tied to the stone?”
Because a mage wished to possess my power. The voice had turned curious, and the light from the stone took on a swirled pattern. It is strange. You have no wish to possess me.
“Not particularly.”
Yet you are here. Have you given your will away? You are entangled in magic.
“Entangled?”
The light pulsed again, and I could see sticky, cobwebby threads of power trailing from me back outside.
“Yuck,” I said, and swept them away with my hands. Surprisingly, they dispersed as soon as I touched them. I shook my head, shocked at how clear it felt. A lot of the events of the past few weeks took on new clarity, and I grimaced.
Who is it whose bidding you obey?
I didn’t like the wording, but couldn’t argue with it. “His name is Ariel. He offered me gold if I would bring the stone out to him.”
The power pulsed angrily, and the light spun crazily, making my head spin. I shut my eyes.
I would rather be bound to you than this ‘Ariel.’ I can reward you greatly.
I stood there a moment longer, thinking, hand unconsciously on my dagger. For the first time since I’d purchased it, I felt not a trace of reaction when I touched the jewel. I drew it, and ran a finger down the blade. It stayed cold and inert under my touch, and I sighed.
Picking up the stone, I slid the velvet pouch over it, but kept a hand underneath. The cavern was plunged once more into near darkness, lit only by my pendant. Retracing my steps, I quickly passed the still sleeping dragon and emerged, blinking in the sunlight. My silent approach allowed me to surprise what may have been the first honest expression I’d seen on Ariel’s face. It was a smirk, and a self-satisfied one at that. He was tossing his ring in the air and catching it, chuckling quietly to himself all the while. He was, I thought, not so handsome as when he smiled.
“Was any of it real?” I asked.
He dropped the ring, but fixed his expression so quickly I could have believed I’d imagined it, if it weren’t for the sticky trails of magic that were already creeping toward me. I brushed them away impatiently, and had the satisfaction of seeing his smile falter.
“Lily?” he said, attempting to recover. “Did you get the stone?”
I sighed. “Have you said one real thing to me? Ever? Or was everything a lie?”
Ariel didn’t respond, which was answer enough.
“Do you want to wake up?” I asked, and Ariel’s eyes widened.
Oh, YES.
In one smooth motion, I removed the velvet bag and tipped the stone out of my hand. It shattered spectacularly, and the mountain shook with the dragon’s mighty roar. I’d done it. I woke the dragon.
I owe you a great debt, small one, the dragon said. He was as beautiful as I’d imagined, especially under the light of the sun. Here on the valley floor, his scales went from dark emerald to pale green, with tints of purple on his wings and claws.
“I owe you one, too,” I responded. “I’d like to think I wouldn’t have given the soulstone to Ariel, but I don’t know if I could’ve broken free without your help.” I blushed. I’d felt bad for Ariel to the last, but my regrets were mostly for myself. I’d wanted it to be real, but suspected all along that it wasn’t. I was ashamed and glad and sad all at once.
Regardless, should you ever need help, you know where to find me. He held up a claw and dropped a small velvet bag in front of me. It spilled gold coins and an amethyst ring set in silver across the ground. I scooped these up, and felt the tingle of magic from the ring.
“What’s this?” I asked, picking it up.
There was hint of a laugh in his voice. Should I ever need you, I will find you, as well.
I smiled and slipped the ring onto my finger. “Deal.”
With that, the dragon launched himself into the air and vanished from sight. I saddled Ariel’s black and headed out, leaving the valley behind me.
About the Author
M.C. Dwyer grew up in a small town in Nebraska, has circumnavigated the globe at least once, and ended up back in Nebraska. She has been a student, a librarian, a store clerk, a teacher, a student again, and an occasional world traveler. Some day she might figure out what she wants to be when she grows up, but she isn't holding her breath. She enjoys binge-watching kdrama, learning new languages, and creating new fantasy worlds to escape into. M.C. is the author of the short story “Of Grief and Griffins” published in the anthology Still Waters, as well as the forthcoming novel Bleddynwood.