FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

ORIGINAL DRAFT - PRE-EDITING

This story was written as part of the 2016 National Novel Writing Month. It was written without edits between 12:01am, November 1st and 11:59pm, November 30th.

This story was written by David J Rust, aka Sylvan Scott, and is in a pre-edited state. The characters, situations, and concepts herein are property of the author and may not be distributed or altered without express, written permission.

Skylands: the Scorpion Spear, Part Two - "Talvali", Chapter Twelve: Fragments and Perspectives

©2016 Sylvan Scott

"Hoi! Gryphon! Are you in need of assistance?"

The language was Trade but the accent was pure Trenland. Reita looked up and shaded her eyes against the morning sun. A galleon with metal banding along its hull, had hove into view from beyond the pile of trees The Seeker had uprooted upon crash-landing. Her shoulders, back, and wings ached with a continual dull throb that permeated her perceptions. The painkillers the dagdarra had concocted from local roots and frozen herbs did wonders for deadening everything: including clear thoughts.

Behind the dwarven beard, a concerned face looked down from over the railing of the raider vessel.

"Could use some, yes," she called back. "Got a healer on-board?"

"For a fee, yes," came the response. "Give us a half hour to find a smoother landing area than you."

"That's fair," she shouted. "We'll lower the gangplank and be waiting."

The dwarf, his hair showing a glimmer of red in the morning light, saluted and vanished over the railing. Moments later, his ship--labelled Göttremangun on its prow--banked starboard and began circling outwards and down, towards the northern edge of the frozen marshes.

"What was that?"

Reita looked towards Bennet's voice. "Dwarven raider ship, by the look of it. They've offered help."

She winced in time with the sharp pain as she turned to answer the thaylene scribe. Her wings were still in their make-shift braces. She'd never injured them this badly, before, that simple movement caused such agony. That it could pierce the numbing cloud provided by the dagdarra medicine meant she needed to see a physician, soon.

"Do we trust them?" the thaylene asked. He stepped up onto the frost-covered deck. His breath puffed in small clouds around his muzzle and left tiny vestiges of ice on his whiskers.

"I trust no one," she said.

She removed her spyglass from her belt and expanded it to watch the ship as it continued to descend. As she guessed, every crew member on the deck was dwarven. They resembled squat, muscular humans and, to her experience, were amongst the most trustworthy sailors in the sky. Not that some didn't become pirates--every one of the ensouled peoples of Talvali had the capacity for cruelty and wickedness--but, overall, their insular lands and cultures promoted a strong respect for honesty and forthrightness. Reita watched them toss heavy anchors into the snow and wind-felled trees some two hundred yards off. They would be here in about twenty minutes.

She swung her small telescope around the other way. Southwest, she could just make out Marek and Oben half a mile away. They were still gathering wood for planing into boards to help shore up their damaged hull. If she were at full strength, she could have flown to them and had them back onboard before the dwarves.

Just another limitation, she thought, levelled upon her by her own folly.

Bennet, on tiptoe, peered over the railing in the same direction. "Do you see them?"

She tilted back her head and shrieked.

A gryphon had the lung capacity of a lion, when they roared, and massive, powerful vocal cords that allowed for truly potent, eagle-like cries. Her voice could carry for miles. In the distance, she watched as both men put down the heavy logs they'd been dragging and started running back across the frozen marsh.

"They'll be here, soon," she said. "But not before our new friends." She turned and indicated where the dwarven ship had anchored itself.

Bennet nodded. "I'll prepare some tea, then."

"Add whiskey to mine," Reita asked. "I'll need it when I get back."

"Back?"

She nodded. "I'm going to meet them halfway; stall them for a bit." She walked midships and pulled the iron release that let the gangplank descend from the deck. It struck the mound of boulders they had built up near The Seeker's base.

Bennet strode up to her. "Be careful."

She didn't respond but paused before departing. Lowering her voice and bending to whisper in Bennet's ear, she whispered, "take care of my brother, little one. Okay?"

He nodded, whiskers bristling. "As I have, so shall I continue in my endeavors."

She gave a curt bob of her head in acknowledgement and departed the ship.

Every step in the snow made her taloned feet ache with the cold. She, like most of her people, rarely wore boots. A gryphon's talons were broad and well-protected from cold and heat. But they still could feel pain from small jabs of ice or jagged rocks. There were plenty in what the dagdarra had assured them was, come summer, a salty marsh.

But given Saeldrin had emerged from the storms into the harsh, high cold of the lightlands, it wasn't clear if summer would ever come here again.

The trek over felled trees and frozen water didn't take long but still gave her time to think.

Thinking was all she was good for, these days. After she had stupidly broken her wings, her greatest talents had gone to waste. All she could do was advise, observe, and take care of her brother.

It was galling. Keerg was the strongest person she knew. Her daily sparring with him was more akin to a religious exercise than anything born of competitive fervour. And to see him felled, even after Onid's failed attempt to revive him, made her heart-sick. Her closest friend, she had no idea what she would do if he never recovered. Onid had done her best, sealed his wounds, but his brain was clearly still damaged. It left them weak. But if these dwarven raiders thought to take advantage of them, weak or not, they would show them a thing about how dangerous gryphons could be when backed into a corner.

But her worries were not immediately confirmed. She met them, as intended, halfway between where Göttremangun set down and where The Seeker had been grounded.

They did have one non-dwarf with them. Their healer, a former commissioned Trenland Empire officer of the tahvic people, was more than willing to help for a donation that she assured them would go to help veterans from one of the empire's endless internal battles.

"We have a little but what we can spare will be yours," she promised.

The small woman agreed and the group, slowly, started making their way back.

Reita led them slowing, giving Marek and Oben time to return before them.

The tahvic were roughly twice the height of a thaylene--some three feet tall--and covered with dark brown, short fur marked with badger-like markings in lighter brown. Barrel-chested, tahvic had contrasting slender muzzles. They were build like contradictions.

Culturally, they were as fierce as any gryphon but as bad tempered as a terrmorah. They showed great respect for sacrifice and honor, though, which explained the healer's presence on a dwarven vessel. Family meant about the same amount to both peoples.

"I can look at those wings if you like," the tahvic offered. "But I assume you have other injured crew?"

She nodded. "Our navigator; my brother."

"I'll do my best. If he is in good favor with Versummus, I'll see to his recovery."

The dwarven first mate of the ship, a man called Bardge Lemmec, nodded in agreement. "Tath, here, is one of the finest bone-cutters I've ever seen. Your crew will be in good hands."

"Thank you," Reita said. She was still nervous about their rescuers but less than earlier. She spied Oben's antlers coming out of a stand of trees beyond The Seeker. "I must ask, though, what will you charge for your help? We have little and the stormwalls took much of what else we could offer."

"We carry plenty of supplies," he assured her. "Captain Meiter's policy is aide, first, payment: later."

"A good man."

The first mate nodded. "That, he is." His brows lowered in a concerned furrow as they approached the downed ship. "That's serious damage to such a little vessel. What made your captain risk the winds at all?"

Reita sighed. "I wish I knew; she ... didn't make it."

"Ah," Bardge said. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Not that it makes it any easier, Reita thought. After all, I agreed with her and even encouraged her plans. Damnation, Cyan: why did you act so rashly? Why did I go along with you?

Aloud, she said, "Thank you."

There was little else to say.

Oben watched the tiny creatures as they boarded the ship. Everything in this world seemed so small. The not-ramessin, Marek, was taller than Rith and even taller than most ramessin. But even then, he barely came up to Oben's abdomen. It made sense why the B?nor imposter would want dagdarra as servants. No others on this strange world could hope to match them in strength. He listened to their jabbering words and stayed still. The mouse-creature, Bennet, had been able to scribe magical runes that--for short spans--could convert speech onto parchment. He couldn't read the words, of course, but his sister could. Onid and Bennet had formed plans for how they should proceed just with writing, alone. But apart from that, none of the two camps had spoken in four days.

He watched the little bearded men and stocky, little ferret-badger-thing come aboard the damaged skyship. Marek and he had been gathering felled trees with which to repair the ship but come back, swiftly, when Reita had called to them. He would have to go back and fetch their bundles, soon. While it was rare for ramessin patrols to come this far west, there were likely more Iron Patrols out there. Additionally, now that the storms had faded, other dagdarra would no doubt be suffering in the thin air and colder weather.

He wasn't sure what he could do about it but he knew that if they came to him, he would be inclined to stay and assist.

He didn't want to and yet, he did.

It was like a compulsion: similar to how he had acted to save his sister when the ramessin attack had grown to its worst.

She hadn't spoken to him about that, yet, but he feared the inevitable conversation. Had he done as Ered commanded, Almara Balmyrra might yet be alive and the voices in his head wouldn't be so accusing.

He had started to hear them within minutes of her almara's symbol vanishing from Balmyrra's head and branding itself onto his. In the wake of whatever magic that snake-woman, Cyan, had conjured, it had left him confused and off-balance. He was a good fighter, a good defender, but with the strange, echoing words in his mind, he had become neither.

Worst of all, the voices in his head made no sense. Many times, their words seemed in another tongue: one he almost felt he could understand but, at the last moment before comprehension, would flee his conscious mind to the recesses of awake thought.

His head ached.

He told no one about the voices, especially not Onid. Those who heard voices were sick and had to be put down. But he didn't feel sick. If he had, he would have cast himself, willingly, into B?nor's arms before he could become a burden to the rest of the tribe. But his limbs were strong. He felt strangely acute and awake. There was merely too much distraction for him to be fully accepting of the strange voices.

He wished he were smarter like his sister. She had always been perceptive and insightful. He knew he should work on learning these little creatures' languages but it was so overwhelming. Marek, for his part, spoke slowly and clearly when they were together. Oben had learned a few words that way but it wasn't enough.

Nothing he did was enough...

Nothing would ever make up for his crime.

He could never return Orven, Tel, Balmyrra, and Ered to life. They belonged to B?nor, now, and unless blessed enough to return as an almara, they were lost all due to Oben's immaturity.

Marek finished talking with the little bearded men and started leading them below-decks. Raita stayed above with two of the strangers. They bore curved blades, sheathed in black leather scabbards. Like the ramessin, they used skin as a tool.

Barbaric.

He nodded to the broken gryphon and walked to the fore of the ship. From there, he could look out over the railing at the Dead Hills and entry to their twisting canyons. Somewhere, far within, there was a settlement of his own people. Somewhere, they were recovering from the massive storm that had taken them to this cold, thin, small world. They likely didn't even know, yet.

But they needed to.

Some of the words in his mind--those he could understand--sometimes seemed to encourage such a course of action. Sometimes, they spoke that he should leave The Seeker, its crew, and even Onid and go into the hills to see to the needs of the dagdarra, there.

It felt ... right.

But the other words, those he could not understand, seemed to disagree. They urged him to follow his sister, protect her, and--by extension--protect the world.

Grandiose feelings; not very dagdarra, at all. A dagdarra's life was one of preparation for the final moments. Everything they did was to prepare for the ultimate end. To stand tall and apart from one's fellows was, if not a crime, highly anti-social.

So why, then, did so many of the words in his head want him to lead the dagdarra?

"Oben?"

He turned as his sister placed her palm on his forearm. He smiled and nodded, slowly, to her.

"Are you feeling well?"

"Yes," he lied. "And you?"

"I have been better," she admitted. "But then, so have you. If you were fully well, you would not lie to someone who can easily tell."

He snorted and turned his attention back to the distant hills.

"Oben: don't ignore me. I'm the eldest and you need to be honest."

"How can I be? I was honest, before, and look what my honesty produced."

"What do you mean?"

"Honestly?" He couldn't bring himself to look at her. "You are my sister and I should have followed Ered's commands. I should have protected the almara. Now, because I chose to defend you, both of them are dead."

"The dead are dead," Onid stated. "They do not matter anymore. You learn and you move on. In the end, we will all come to embrace B?nor: you know that."

He turned and looked her in the eyes. A fire was there and he felt it burning in his soul. "I'll kill her, if I ever meet her," he snarled.

Onid looked shocked. "What?"

"B?nor. She took everything from us; everything!"

"And she also gave us everything," she reminded him. "You know this, brother."

"But why? Why would she make everything only to take it away?"

Onid sighed but it didn't sound like it was in frustration. "Again, Oben: you know the answer to this question. Creation was empty before her. She crafted it so it would create and perfect us. In the end, our spirits will join her in great oblivion. Creation is an unnatural state; a mere fluctuation in a vast tapestry of empty, quiet slumber. B?nor only changed things so that the imperfections of her tapestry could be remedied by the presence of others. Even our great goddess needs the company of others."

"I don't believe it," he said. "That makes no sense."

"It's what all dagdarra society is built upon," she reminded him.

"Then its built upon a lie!"

She drew back, eyes wide.

She didn't say anything, not as each minute stretched uncomfortably into the next. But, in the end, she shook her head, turned away, made her way down from the fore of the ship, and below decks to join the others.

Oben felt terrible.

He turned back to the hills and contemplated their unseen settlers. There were many, there.

There, and beyond, dagdarra beyond number wanted him to save them. That's what those words said.

But if it was all a lie, what did they matter?

He turned away.

He answered his own question.

If everything B?nor taught was a lie then there was nothing left, here, for him. His sister, knowing it or not, held the right course of action. They needed to track down the false B?nor.

Fake or not, it had to die.

It deserved at least some complicity in the death's Oben had caused. He would see to it that, like the feeling in the strange, alien words, he rose above where B?nor wanted him and, instead, strike out and bring balance to the world.

The dwarves were geniuses. Bennet had always appreciated their deep, underground cities and brilliant engineering feats. Theirs had a symmetry that reflected both need and aesthetic. Dwarven creations were the middleground between solid reliability and ethereal artistry. Goblins, trolls, and orthoc--the other subterranean races--never build as grandly as the dwarves. Trolls could construct things that lasted. Goblins were masters of steam and fire. Orthoc were artists in the deepest, darkest places. But what dwarves created was innovative, lasted centuries, and looked good every second in existence. To have their craftsmanship applied to the repair of The Seeker was a boon and blessing.

The fee was reasonable, too ... at least to Bennet's thinking.

They had been impressed by the runic incantations the thaylene had scribed into The Seeker's sails. Although he was lacking the full range of alchemical ingredients to scribe much more of the ink required, in return for their repairs, he would make what he could and give them detailed instructions on how to replicate the process. True, there weren't many alchemists or arcanists who had the kind of training Bennet did but eventually they would find one.

Few people respected thaylene. They were the most common people in Talvali but seen as weak and little more than jokes insofar as their authority went. And Bennet liked it that way. The low expectations of others meant they left him alone to fail in peace. It gave him time to think and consider. Often, he could finish a special arcane scribing task days before any deadline and would use the rest to casually double-check his work and do a little research on the side.

And, every now and then, he enjoyed seeing the looks on the faces of others who didn't appreciate his skills when, suddenly, having them displayed.

The looks on the dwarven faces had been particularly priceless.

Repair efforts were not steady, but they were fast. The Göttremangun captain left three or four of his crew with The Seeker while the rest would go on scouting forays into the Saeldrin interior. As long as Bennet provided them with translation scrolls to communicate with Onid, they were more than happy to have her insight into the land and contents of the chunk of frozen continent.

Bennet sketched as the dwarves and fellow crewmates worked.

According to Oben, the dagdarra had lived on their land since the dawn of time. The world and skies spun about Saeldrin. Their vast land, from side to side, was over a thousand miles. According to the dwarven explorers, only about a quarter of it had been spirited away to the Talvali skies. Based upon what they had told him, the full scope of what remained of Saeldrin was roughly oblong and about the size of a dayland: some six hundred miles east-to-west and a bit less, north-to-south. In thickness, it was about seven miles.

Another interesting bit of knowledge they shared was that the vast continent was sinking. It had vast air crystal deposits on its underside but not enough to keep it aloft. The tremors that still shook the vast land came from the relatively thin layer of rock bending, cracking, and re-solidifying with respect to Talvali's planetary curve, below. Its amount of earth crystals keeping it together had to be massive.

It was fascinating.

Bennet had worked mostly alongside religious scholars in his time but there had been a few more academic researchers in his various postings. He knew that one theory about how the vast range of skylands came to be was that, bit-by-bit, their ten- and twenty-mile-wide lightlands would collect, collide, and merge, fused by sufficient earth crystals.

Saeldrin, or what was left of it, had arrived in a single, mostly-coherent chunk. The pieces that had broken off had caused untold calamity, below. There was no telling when it would stop its descent. Directly beneath it were three cloudlands, the Derrith dayland, and--while none of the nine dusklands were in its wake--much of the shadowlands' Trenland Empire was below. Where it would stop descending, no one was sure. Bennet could only imagine the calamity, below.

The storm may have ended but its repercussions were going to last decades.

But he couldn't let that interrupt, now. He had information to log; theories to posit and observations to record. The only really pressing part of it all was his lack of writing materials. He had brought quite a bit but the damage to the ship had also cost him the bulk of his supplies.

He found he could make ink with some thawed and pulped berry residue Onid had shown him how to collect. But for writing surfaces, he was drastically under-equipped. In the end, he had to resort to taking unsalvageable planks that had been ripped from their hull. He knew two enchantments for the rendering of wood into paper but he lacked the ingredients to make the enchanted inks that would allow it. So, for the time being, his writing had to be very small and on very heavy, wooden tablets.

Time passed and the repairs went on relatively smoothly.

Six other galleons passed by, but none offered their services. One, he was sad to see, flew the crimson sails of the Boneyards Guild: slavers and pillagers.

He almost told Onid but, in the end, decided against it.

What could she do but worry?

She and her brother, although their conversations with Bennet were few, seemed mired in a deep depression. And he couldn't blame them. They were newcomers, after all. There was a whole world, below, who would fear their physical forms and alien ideas. At least the ramessin (what few there might have been on the Saeldrin continent) resembled Talvali's wolfen to a fairly large degree. They would find it much easier to blend in than the titanic dagdarra.

And so, he kept his own counsel and did not bother them with things they could not change.

A week went by and, then, another half.

Keerg finally came awake, much to the relief of Reita, but still seemed dazed and slow.

The most curious thing was their physician: Tath.

Also a priest of Versummus, she found rite after rite failing her. A flustered tahvic could be terrifying and after each failure to purge Keerg's inner wounds, Bennet had thought her ripe for a rampage across the deck.

But, then again, that was just a stereotype.

Kaelek Tath may have been stymied but after the first few invocations to the god of creation and life failed, she turned to her more mean and less-subtle tools of metal, bone, and wood. Bennet watched her work while others left.

She actually drilled a small hole into a very specific place in his skull. Blood and a yellow, viscous fluid flowed, free. She treated the wound with several ungents and oils while keeping it inundated with light from an oil lamp.

Keerg showed signs of consciousness within a few minutes, although lucidity was slow to follow. She poured water and whiskey over the wound and sealed it after rubbing the area with salt and various powdered herbs. Then, she entrusted Bennet with an alchemical elixir she had been saving for emergencies.

"Keep near him at all times. If he starts getting dizzy or loses the ability to speak, feed it to him."

Bennet did not go into detail for all the ways this could go wrong for someone his size. But he thanked her, waited for her to leave, and quickly fed the elixir to Keerg's woozy form.

Alchemists, both in the employ of a temple or on their own, were known for tasking arcane energy to transformative and healing properties. If Tath's religious rites were failing it seemed not to bother the elixir. Keerg was conscious and talking within the hour. He slurred his speech, though, and couldn't stand for some time.

Bennet had planned on consulting, further, with Tath but she had been called back to her ship and needed on an emergency.

Sadly, he didn't get a chance to talk to her, again.

Their own repairs were done much faster than even he had expected from the dwarven shipwrights. Within two weeks of their crash landing, they were ready to attempt piercing the Slip that surrounded the vast, new land.

They thanked their helpers and bade them farewell. Keerg had to admit he was in no shape to pilot the vessel through the Slip but his sister took the helm, instead. Much easier than passing through the stormwall, the bubble of protective winds around Saeldrin was actually less fierce than that surrounding Erryth. And although Marek wanted to return there, immediately, Bennet convinced him, otherwise.

The dayland of Ven was but a three week voyage from where they were. They had purchased twice that amount in stores and food from the crew of the Göttremangun. Ven was neither directly below Saeldrin and moving more slowly, west to east. There, Bennet assured him, they could visit the oligarchic regime of Sahven. In the city of Terra'tol, Bennet had friends from his time working at the School of the Golden Rose. It would not only keep them out of immediate danger from the slowly-descending island but also allow Bennet to re-stock his arcane supplies and, perhaps, help Onid and Oben find where the ramessin had gone. Marek, after much arguing, had reluctantly agreed.

Bennet was satisfied. It had been the only reasonable conclusion the wolfen could have made.

Legends of dragons were nothing new to Onid. There were tales of fearsome, flying reptiles that breathed fire or acid. But unlike the ramessin, they were one of B?nor's terrors left to monster stories and old parables about the meaning of life. But, here, to know that such beasts were not only real but were often responsible for drawing portions of other worlds into the skies, was terrifying.

She had been told that ships like The Seeker could fly, but until the final moments before it did, she didn't fully believe it. Then, after a bumpy take-off, she had felt gripped by terror and started screaming for Reita to turn back and land.

Oben had had to calm her.

It had been humiliating. She was not one to lose her composure. But the feeling of the ship swaying and lurching beneath her hooves combined with the sight of the frozen saltmarsh dropping away beneath them to fuel an irrational panic.

She couldn't even remember her brother's words as they soared to the south, heading for the edge of Saeldrin. In fact, all the recalled was that he tried to provide her with reassurance.

It hadn't been his words, though, that helped.

In the end, she saw his own stability and felt shame that she was showing more fear than him. He had never been fearless but he was the younger sibling. To show fear in front of him was, for her, deeply embarrassing. And, so, she swallowed it.

Even during the terrifying time that seemed eternal during which they passed through the winds that now surrounded their land, she forced herself to remain outwardly intact.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the shaking had stopped. Behind her, she could see the vast stretches of ice and snow that made up a portion of Saeldrin's southern edge. She could even see where rivers had been--now drained and barren--departing the saltmarsh through the forests that ran down to where, once, there had been ocean. She stared at the aft of the ship for a long time. She watched the slender arc of Saeldrin vanish into the distance. Even after it was gone, she stood there and stared into the skies. And, for the first time since leaving home to join the temple, she felt fully and truly alone.

Bennet occasionally came by and spared one of his precious pieces of parchment to scribe one of his magical runes upon it so they could communicate. She tolerated it and did what she could to learn this "Trade Tongue" they all spoke. Magic such as his, she had been taught, was only for priests or B?nor. There were countless tales of those who tried to usurp their goddess' power for themselves only to find ruin and pain in the end.

And while most dagdarra tales ended in death, those who angered B?nor did not experience was the happy death of going into eternal sleep and dreams their teachings taught them, awaited a just person.

The little mouse, the "thaylene", seemed quite learned. But he did not show the sort of respect that scholars should show. In that regard, she reminded him of a less tactful version of herself. She found it refreshing and reassuring. But while he spoke of working in various temples and holding great knowledge of religious practice and belief, his were alien gods. Like the ramessin, there were so many; so varied. His life seemed full of hubris which also frightened her. What if he was B?nor's way of teaching her, humility?

She displayed respect to her elders and temple colleagues but, in truth, held herself above them. Her mastery and modification of B?nor's rites and rituals was a source of secret pride. But nothing was hidden from the goddess. She would know what was in Onid's heart.

A tiny part of her mind screamed that this--the storm, the ramessin, the strange creatures of Talvali ... all of them--were part of her goddess' lessons to teach her true humility.

And then there was Oben.

Had he been blessed somehow? What of the mark on his brow? If so, why him and not her?

Her world had literally been pulled out from under her.

She spoke, little, with Bennet and even less with Oben. Mostly, she spent her time looking out over the aft bow of the ship, noting islands in the sky and, occasionally, one of those much larger ships soaring from places unknown to places even more unknown.

A week into their voyage, though, she saw it.

At first she wasn't sure, but as she stared, it resolved itself into a single, terrifying shape.

Out of all the words she had learned in the trade tongue, the one she had picked up the fastest came to her lips.

She turned to the rest and shouted the word.

"Dragon!"

Keerg heard Onid's booming voice and immediately ran aft to join her. The giantess stood by the railing. She pointed into the distance. His vision was still blurry but, even so, he could see she was right. The world became tunnel-shaped as he focused. He couldn't see every last aspect, but he could tell it had black scales and was enormous.

"Dragon!" he called. "Aft; five-o'clock!"

"Storm! Storm!"

Onid's broken Trade was annoying but Keerg thought he understood.

"No; not a storm dragon. A regular, uh... Damn. Never mind." He staggered back to where he had stored some of his weaponry in a deck-fastened long box. He ignored the booming her crescent-shaped hooves made against the wood as she followed. He threw it open. Inside, his rifle lay disassembled, ready for cleaning. Reita must have been cleaning it for him. "Double damn," he muttered. Deciding quickly, pulled out his bow and strung it. It threw off a pale blue illumination, briefly, as the string pulled taught. He grabbed his quiver and stood. "Get back," he chided Onid.

Rising, he strode to the prow and nocked an arrow. Its red feathers fluttered in the fluyt's faint, enveloping winds. Sighting along the shaft, he tried to focus more clearly. His vision wasn't cooperating. The dragon could be a few hundred yards away or a quarter mile. He couldn't be certain.

"Damn, damn, damn..."

He didn't pull back.

"Keerg! Is it coming?"

"Can't tell! Vision's all messed-up!" He thought for a moment and added, "try taking us in an arc, starboard! Maybe I can get a better view."

"Got it," his sister shouted back.

The ship slowly tilted and began to turn. The flutter and crisp snap in the winds from the sails almost hid the sound of the door to below decks, slamming open.

"What's going on?" Bennet demanded.

"Get below," Keerg shouted, keeping his eyes on the dragon, "we've got a dragon!"

"What?"

"You heard him," Reita shouted. "Now unless you can scribe him out of the sky, get below!"

He tried to focus; he tried with all his might. The edges of his vision tunneled but the center became blurry. Changing angle usually gave Keerg much better perspective on things. What ever had happened to his brain, though, had impacted his vision.

Closing one eye, he squinted as the ship's arc came about to ninety degrees. "Keep going," he shouted. He began to feel dizzy. His heart was racing and a nervous energy ran through his body. He switched eyes and noted the flying reptile was larger. It was approaching.

"It's coming for us," he shouted to Reita.

"I'll dive; you get ready!"

"I can't--" Keerg cut himself short before he could shout the word "aim". He couldn't say it. Even if he could, it didn't matter. This was his job. He had to take responsibility. No one else could do it. "Keep it steady as possible!"

"Aye!"

As The Seeker dove and its sails abruptly furled with newfound winds, Keerg could tell the dragon was definitely gaining on them. He slowly drew back the arrow, saying a prayer to Obarra. He kept one eye closed. The blurriness in the center of his vision was worse than not having depth perception. He could gauge distance with other factors. He listened to the constant, soft whoosh of air encircling the ship and tried to hear past it. The air, beyond, was thin but as he concentrated, he thought he could hear a steady beating...

A series of heavy, subtle beats.

Wings.

A fully grown adult dragon was about fifty feet long from fire-breathing nostrils to the tip of its tail. Its wingspan was three times that. If this was an adult, and he could hear its wings as he did, then that would mean it would be about--

Keerg leaned back and fired.

The arrow shot from the bow as if guided by a gryphon with two good eyes. It broke through the wind barrier around the ship just as he had hoped it would and changed angle, just enough. The beast was within two hundred yards.

It had to be.

The arrow had to--

It missed.

The dragon wheeled in the sky with a snort of green mist from its nostrils and, banking, dove down below the eyeline of the ship.

Onid shouted something, again, and Keerg had to shriek to be heard over her. "It's below us!"

"I saw!" Reita shouted back. "Damn it, how can you miss something so big?"

"I was trying to scare it," he said. "Next time, it won't get a warning shot!"

Sarcasm aside, he already had his next arrow nocked. The bow glowed again as his finger talons contacted the string. It wasn't a powerful enchantment, but his weapon aided aim. He had taken it from the corpse of a pegasai raider near Longmont, shortly after meeting Cyan. He supposed, at the time, the winged equine had used it to make up for their notoriously poor vision. He never thought he would need such enchantments to help himself but here he was.

His stomach nearly went out of him as the ship leveled off and abruptly rose, banking port. He heard Onid tumble to the deck while he crouched and kept his balance as best as he could. Leonine tail lashing, he extended his wings to keep himself stable. His world began to spin, again.

With a roar and cloud of green, the black dragon erupted in front of him. Its breath blasted forth from its red maw. The column of green fog and spittle broke against the ship's wind barrier. It continued to arc and dive back, head over tail. As its belly presented itself, Keerg fired his next arrow.

This one, like the last, pierced the air bubble around The Seeker cleanly and tilted in its arc. This time, though, the dragon had been close enough for the projectile to find its target. He couldn't see if he had hit its heart or not, but the arrow definitely struck the thick hide, underneath. The dragon bellowed and continued its dive, although less than gracefully.

Keerg drew another arrow and nocked it as the dragon, again, dove out of sight.

"Where is it?"

"Where do you think?" he shouted back to his sister.

He felt the deck turn and heard the snap and flutter of the sails as she tried a counter-maneuver back to starboard. She didn't drop or dive this time, though, and Keerg ran to the railing and looked over.

He could just see it: far below. There was a land, there; some uncharted, lightland-sized rock only a few miles across. But the dragon wasn't in freefall. It was gliding towards the miniature skyland.

"I think it's retreating," Keerg declared.

"After one shot?"

"Two," he said. Honestly: it was as if his sister couldn't count.

"Only one hit it, though, right?"

He didn't snap back. It didn't matter. The giant beast was retreating. But as much as he liked to pride himself on his skills with firearms and bows, it gnawed at him that his victory was not justified. The creature had fled. He was certain he hadn't done more than the tiniest of scratches to the beast.

So why had it fled?

"I'm not seeing it from here," called Bennet from below.

"Looking out of portholes isn't going to--"

"Check the other side," Keerg shouted, interrupting his sister. He, also, ran to the other side of the ship and peered over. Reita was still level but had slotted the ship into a rush of wind. It filled The Seeker's sails and bore them along at an increasing rate.

The small skyland, below, was rapidly fading into the distance behind them. Interstitial clouds, trapped between the denser layers that held the cloudlands, above, and the daylands, below, began to grow thicker. Soon, there was no seeing their attacker or the roost it had sought.

The dragon was gone.

"We're clear on this side, too," called Bennet.

Keerg didn't answer. He didn't put the bow away. Keeping it strung, he shouldered it. Still dizzy, he sat down on a coiled rope that, somehow, hadn't gotten strewn across the deck during Reita's maneuvering. His head started to pound.

"Keerg?"

Onid's thick accent again.

He looked up into her blurry face and thought, for a moment, he saw concern there. Then again, he didn't know dagdarra that well. It could have been any expression.

"I'm ... okay," he muttered. His left eye started to go dark. He felt a trickle of blood and smelled it, too. Trying to stand, he pitched to one side and fell. As he blacked out, he heard Onid calling his sister again and again. He wished she wasn't so loud.

Twenty days in a warm ship with only rags for a bed was better accommodations than Rith had encountered in a few years. It had taken him a few days to get used to the subtle pitch and sway of the wood beneath his feet but, eventually, he stopped feeling ill. The large dagdarra spending most of his time beneath decks with him, hadn't been so lucky. Oben sat, head resting on his knees, miserably.

"We're almost there," Rith wanted to say. He knew quite a bit of the dagdarra tongue but was scared to let on how much he knew. Secrets, he found, had their value diminished the more they were shared. Instead, he rose and dragged his ankle chains with him as he walked to the nearby porthole and looked out.

The view was breathtaking.

Wind-carved hills revealing striations of orange, umber, red, and brown rose like stairs to a hot, blue sky. Coiled and twisted trees with no leaves but tufts of needles at the ends of their branches studded the landscape. Growing less common higher up on the hills, they became replaced with bulbous, green plants that had flat, thick arms growing from the base. Shrubs, as twisted as the trees, dotted the spaces inbetween like balls of interwoven, stiff twine. In a few places, flat plants bigger than dagdarra spread their enormous razor-edged leaves out across the rocky soil surrounding enormous, pink flowers.

The smells--the sights--were completely unknown to him. Occasionally, he would spy swift movement. A large, mouse-like rodent with vulpine features would jut its head from between gnarled roots of a bush to sniff the air. Then, with a flurry of motion, it would dash between sparse plants to a hidden hole: vanishing underground. It seemed the tall-eared, tufted-tail animals had an underground colony.

Above them soared birds with vast wings. They called, periodically, in a raptor's cry and--once--Rith saw one dive upon one of the rodents who hadn't been fast enough.

But the warm, dry vista had less impact than the city that emerged before them.

"Come," he said. He beckoned to Oben and indicated another porthole. He didn't know why he spoke. Within him, over the past few weeks, had grown a strange, welcome feeling. He hadn't felt anything like it since childhood ... since before he had known about his mark and his fate. The sights only augmented the feeling. He felt as if a burden were lifting from him. Maybe that was why he spoke. "Please," he repeated, "come see."

Oben, if he heard, didn't respond. He just sat in the corner, arms wrapped around his legs.

Rith felt sorry for him. There might have been a translation problem, though, or the big man might be too ill to be paying attention. Either way, there was nothing for it. He turned his gaze back to the world outside.

Terra'tol was nothing like the Bronze City.

As The Seeker rose above the buttes, the tallest buildings rose above their dusty, wind-blown plateaus. Three canyons met between the rocky heights. In their shadowed recesses, with a river flowing broad and deep through it, a bustling settlement had been carved. Fan-leaved trees grew along the water's edge while docks and jetties stuck out into the slow current. In parts, some buildings had been carved into the sun-baked rock, itself. Others towered eight or ten stories from the ground, below. At the confluence of the three canyons, where the waters widened and swirled into the semblance of a constantly-moving lake, six towers of red-painted brick rose even taller than the rest of the city.

Built into the canyon walls, the towers rose over a hundred feet to their tops and, then, extended another sixty. Their tops were bowed towards the central lake with scallops of white stone serving as shingles. The inner arc of each held two windows, a door, and a balcony. On two, Rith could see people talking while looking out on the view, below.

The city center was a riot of activity, even as the sun rose behind them.

Whitewashed buildings were interspersed between the red and orange. Most were brick but a few had walls that looked like bundles of thick reeds, hardened and merged into solid sheets of wood.

At the top of one of the plateaus, scattered from the edge and the base of one of the crescent-topped towers, sprawled activity resembling the biggest market Rith had ever seen. Four towers rose from the center and, as The Seeker arced towards them, he could see other skyships tethered to the ends of long piers jutting out into open air.

This, was their destination.

As the ship docked, the small mouse creature, Bennet, came down into the hold with Marek. They tried to minister to Oben who, blearily, drank some strong-smelling tea they offered him. Then, they busied themselves gathering packs and personal belongings. They paid little attention to Rith until they were ready.

Bennet approached and produced a key. With eyes never leaving Rith's, he opened the catch on his manacles. Standing back, he gestured for the ramessin to rise.

"You aren't going to sell him, are you?"

Marek's question was simple and Rith understood every word. He had paid attention during his time in the hold. Languages were something, perhaps, he was good at. This was only his second exposure to a tongue other than his own. Perhaps they were this easy for everyone. He didn't know, so he stayed quiet.

"Sahven may permit slavery," Bennet said, "but I do not."

Rith wasn't sure if "Sahven" was the name of a person or a place but he guessed the latter. He knew the city to which they were traveling was called "Terra'tol" so he supposed it must be located in a country or state called "Sahven".

"Then why take him with?"

Bennet looked at Marek and stroked his whiskers. "Because, like it or not, he has no home other than with us. He needs to see the world."

"Can we trust him?"

"Yes," rumbled Oben.

Rith blinked, unable to hide his surprise. The affirmation was in the Trade Tongue. The big dagdarra was looking right at Rith when he said it.

Both other men looked a bit surprised with Marek nodding.

"Are you saying you'll take responsibility for him?"

Oben, though, did not answer. He merely got up and lumbered to the stairs that led to the deck. Rith wasn't sure if he understood Marek's question, having exhausted his knowledge of the language, or if he was merely stating "no" by not answering.

"I need to get to the..." Bennet said, followed by a word Rith did not know. "You take him when you go to the market."

Marek nodded. "He looks wolfen enough that the two of us would attract less attention than he would with you or others."

At least that's what Rith thought they were saying. Some pieces of each sentence could have multiple meanings and he wasn't certain of all interpretations. There had been many conversations in the hold during the weeks of their journey. As such, he had heard many examples of their speech. On two occasions, Bennet had even scribed a special mark on his throat, using the last of his inks, that allowed him to speak dagdarra to Onid. That had helped bridge the gap for quite a few meanings.

Bennet may have been small but he was clearly a possessor of great powers.

The hot, dry wind that swept the deck was laced with the aroma of cooking meat and strange, foreign spices. He salivated at the sense.

Marek and the rest departed the ship leaving only Reita behind to deal with the dock masters. They had little coin but, apparently, enough to pay for a short-term docking. Then, they walked across the wooden platform to the landing tower, entered, and walked down the spiraling stairs, within. Coming out onto the plateau's top, they were immediately accosted by a vast menagerie of shopkeepers hawking merchandise out of their tents and lean-tos.

Rith found their offerings strange and enticing. They were even more diverse than the number of races he spied. There were a few who looked like ramessin, but with reddish fur. But so many more were of a variety he could never have imagined. Most of all, he was amazed at how he fit in. No one gave him a second look even though his white fur was decidedly unique. Plus, as Oben and Onid walked out amongst the throng, more eyes were on them, anyway.

"Meet me at my old," some word that Rith didn't know, "by sundown. You have the key."

Marek nodded in response to Bennet. "I'll sell what I can and," something-something-something.

The surroundings were too chaotic for Rith to focus, sufficiently, on what was being said.

Keerg, slow and staggering every few steps, followed Bennet.

Marek led the newcomers to a broad stair which, clinging to the inside of the canyon wall, led down to the main city, below.

Rith saw that each canyon wall had multiple stairs and ramps like this. Each was anchored in the stone walls and carried hundreds of people of all sizes and shapes. He followed quietly as they descended to the canyon floor, below.

Near the bottom, a serpent woman like the one who had died in the saltmarsh, approached them. She wore white, voluminous clothing including a hood to shield her face. Beneath it, Rith could see golden piercings and chains along with blue and red swaths of skin paint.

"Your whimsies," she said to Marek, "where did you buy them?"

The wolfen waved her off and continued his descent.

Rith had heard the term before. He wondered exactly what it meant. He thought the snake-woman had been referring to Oben and Onid. It was difficult to tell.

Such questions, though, were quickly dashed from his mind: scattered by such new sights and smells that Rith soon found it difficult to concentrate on any one thing. But as it went on, he began to feel increasingly nervous. There was so much, here; so many people of so many different shapes. He didn't know how to address it.

To one side, a towering being--dagdarra-like in its build yet shorter--bellowed something about smoke and meat. His dark brown fur was shaggy and his portly form looked uncomfortably hot, even in the canyon shade. His twin, enormous horns resembled those of an aurochs. In fact, were an aurochs able to stand on its hind legs and possessed arms like a ramessin, that might be close to what Rith was seeing.

Onid said a word, "terrmorah", in quiet of Oben. Both he and Marek, however, had sharp enough hearing to pick up on it. Marek nodded and said "yes" in return.

Marek stopped and looked at the various meats.

Rith examined the towering terrmorah from sly glances. He wore a crimson tabbard with blue trim that ended in a leather belt. Beneath that, he wore a short dress criss-crossed with lines in the fabric, making a grid. It terminated just at the knee. Like the dagdarra, the aurochs-man had large hooves instead of feet but they were more solid and heavy. He wore a brass ring in his large nostrils from which an ornamental chain descended before rising to connect to a piercing in his left ear.

The merchant then started to talk to Marek in a deep, resonant voice and their patter quickly turned to incomprehensibility.

The oddest thing was, despite resembling an aurochs, the teeth of the giant were an even mix of herb-eating and flesh-rending. No aurochs was like that; the terrmorah were clearly alike to the grazing animal on surface details only.

He glanced after Oben and Onid who stayed near Marek but were inspecting a neighboring building. Through its warped, thick-glass windows could be seen more of those small mouse-creatures like Bennet. They worked at tiny forges with miniscule tools crafting jewelry and other such items. There was a sign over the door carved with a representation of a golden ring set with a red stone.

"Do you think they're working for a temple?" Onid asked.

"They must," Oben replied. "Or a king."

Rith doubted it. He knew the dagdarra used jewelry in ritualistic and status-based ways but what he saw the thaylene doing was in mass production. The hammering of their tiny tools rang like bells and, after a while watching, he felt himself almost finding musical melodies in the sound.

Marek eventually arrived on an arrangement with the terrmorah. The big man took a swath of burlap and laid it on a small table. He laid several handfuls of smoked, spiced meat on it and, then, from beneath the counter withdrew some flat, ivory vegetables cut in disks. He placed these, along with some roots that resembled carrots along with some wrinkled, dried berries, atop the meat. Quickly, he folded the rough cloth into a bundle and tied it, closed, with twine.

Marek was just paying the man with a handful of copper coins when a roaring shriek echoed between the canyon walls. It resolved into a booming voice as a darker shadow than the surround shade passed over them.

Rith looked up, abruptly terrified, at the broad wingspan of a black dragon. It bore markings on its underside that looked snake-like. Its long tail swished in the air as it passed.

"All: take heed," it rumbled. "You shall turn over the ramessin to me by nightfall upon the highest plateau. Do this and I will not melt your city to slag."

With that, it breathed a billowing cloud of green acid that enwrapped the upper heights of a shining, peaked building. The metal tiles making up its decorative roof bubbled and scorched. A smell like burning copper filled the air. Screams came from within as the wooden superstructure blackened and, in places, started to burn.

"You have two hours and, then, I return," the best roared.

The feelings of hope and freedom Rith had been feeling up until now melted and burned like the tower, above.