Page 9

9

CHARLIE

T he curtains in my bedroom were open, and a slant of morning light shone across the items laid on the table in front of me: the contents of Kitty’s oilskin flight bag. I’d begun my search hoping against hope to find a loose cigarette. I’d only given the bag a cursory search the first time, and I thought perhaps she had half a pack stashed away—but I’d found much more than that.

I’d known Kitty for a year and a half. I had been her fiancé—the word still felt strange—for only a month, but I felt I knew her pretty well. I’d expected to find make-up and chewing gum, nail polish and perhaps a magazine or two, along with the ever-present leather notebook she used to write her articles. And those things were there, along with the travel visa and photoless ID I’d already put to use. But what else I found surprised me.

There were two maps—one of the entire kingdom of Maethalia and another of the city of Issastar, where I now sat. On the back of the city map was even a detailed floorplan of the palace itself. I also found a strange, leather-encased box with a lens on one side and a button on the top. Perplexed, I pried a hatch off the back. Inside, I found film and realized what I held was a remarkable camera, so small it could fit in the palm of my hand. I could have used it to photograph targets and documents—no doubt that’s what it was intended for—but unfortunately in prying off the back like an idiot, I’d already spoiled the film.

Still, my curiosity was piqued. I searched the emptied bag again and discovered a false bottom. Beneath it were four more items. The first was a metal lighter which bore the unofficial insignia of the URA special forces: an elephant’s head wreathed in flame. The second item was a small flashlight. The third, a .38 caliber revolver. The fourth, a folded up, handwritten note bearing four words:

Report via the Prelate.

I set these items on the table before me and sat for some time looking at them and pondering what they could mean. I knew little about the newspaper business, apart from what Kitty had told me as we chatted together over dinner or lounged in bed. But it seemed to me these items pointed toward a mission somewhat removed from writing a simple news story, even one that involved a trip into enemy territory.

Could my Kitty be keeping secrets from me? Could she be a spy?

And who was this Prelate the note spoke of?

A sudden knock at my door made me start.

“Coming,” I called, sweeping all the stuff off the table and into the bag again, then shoving it under my bed just as the key turned in the lock.

I expected to find Rohree there when the door swung open. Instead, it was a pair of guards, different from the ones who’d been with me the night before but no less imposing.

“You’re to dress and come with us,” one of them said. He was a few inches shorter than me but twice as broad, with a crater of a scar over one brow. My eyes ticked from the sword at his waist to the other guard who stood behind him, his mail-clad arms crossed.

“Of course,” I said, forcing a smile.

After I’d dressed, they brought me down to a small carriage. One of the guards thrust a burlap sack into my hands.

“To break your fast,” he said, before swinging himself up to the driver’s seat.

“Don’t suppose you have coffee?” I asked.

The two guards exchanged a glance. “What’s coffee?” one of them asked.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” I sighed, climbing into the carriage.

I jounced along in the carriage for what must have been half an hour, nursing a caffeine headache and eating my sack-breakfast, which consisted of a sort of honeyed biscuit and a soft, mild cheese. There was also a drink in a stoppered glass bottle, which I sniffed suspiciously before finally deciding it would be much easier to kill me with one of the swords or daggers everyone carried than by poisoning. Whatever the drink was, it was oddly tasty, a mixture of lemon and lavender with a strong, herbal aftertaste. But I found it left me alert and well satisfied.

The boys back at the base will be eating their biscuits and gravy and those hockey-puck sausage patties and getting their morning briefing, I thought. Probably hatching a search plan for me. If they haven’t given me up as lost already…

The thought of everyone weeping into their coffee over me gave me a chuckle—which made my bladder ache. I’d rushed out the door without relieving myself. I winced as the wheels banged over another bump and leaned out the window.

“Excuse me, pal, where are we going?” I called.

“The Cauldron. Where the dragons train,” the guard grunted, pointing ahead. “We’re here.”

* * *

The Cauldron was a great valley, miles across and ringed with slate-gray peaks, like an open mouth full of broken off teeth, and the entire valley floor was comprised of a vast, round lake. At its edges, the water was pale and clear as a cut aquamarine, but as it deepened toward the lake’s center it got darker and darker, giving the whole valley the unnerving look of a giant eye.

And the dragons—my god, they were everywhere, soaring above in a great, roiling flock. Some darted and feigned and snapped at one another, others moved together in synchronized formations like massive starlings. I’d seen dragons aplenty, but I’d seen them from the air, maneuvering around me while I was flying at a hundred and twenty miles per hour. Watching them like this, from the ground, their grace and speed were astonishing. I watched one, a green one with an orange belly, turning flips and cartwheels in the air, changing direction with the agility of a bat. A gray one flew straight ahead with a speed that, I was sure, would have outpaced my trusty Sackman Comet handily.

They were so numerous I couldn’t count them, though I guessed there had to be a hundred up there, dragons of all sizes and shapes and colors, crisscrossing and wheeling, climbing and diving, roaring and whipping their tails. Occasionally, one would blow a plume of flame so powerful I could feel the heat from the ground.

The beasts weren’t only in the air; they were on the ground, too. Some lazed in the sun with their eyes closed. Others sat looking at their riders, conferring, I guessed, with the silent, telepathic connection the beasts and their masters were supposed to share. Still others lingered at the lake’s edge, extending their long necks to sip from the water. A mid-sized black dragon lay on its back while a female rider rubbed some sort of balm on its belly. It was the type the boys called scorpions, and I eyed its tail stinger warily.

All in all, it was an awesome and frightening sight.

I heard footsteps and turned to find Princess Essaphine approaching. She wore tight-fitting, gray riding leathers with metal plates at the shoulders and a short, sky-blue cloak. A helmet with a visor of glass or crystal sat atop her head. Her black boots came up to her knees, and a long sword hung at her waist. With her hair tied back beneath her helmet, her eyes seemed even more prominent than they’d been yesterday. Now they were a grayish green, and filled with intensity. She looked so striking my breath hitched in my chest.

“Shouldn’t you be writing, poet?”

I looked down at my empty hands. She was right. A reporter ought to be taking notes. My second day as a spy and already I was stumbling…

“Of course,” I dug into the oilskin bag for Kitty’s notebook and pen. I took them both out and waggled them at the princess. “Here we go,” I said, flipping the notebook open clicking the pen, poised to write.

The princess frowned. “You necros. Even your quills are machines… Well, I have some bad news. My mother has convinced me to be your tour guide after all. So, you’ll be stuck with me while you’re here.”

At her words, I felt an odd sort of relief—a blooming, giddy heat kindling in my chest—something I’d hardly felt since being a kid on winter holiday, though I had no idea why I should feel that way. Sure, she’d saved my life. She’d also kicked me, tied me up and abused me.

But it didn’t matter if I hated her. Having a princess and dragon rider for an escort could give me access to valuable information.

I gave a small bow. “I’m honored, Your Majesty.”

“You should be,” she said with a wry twist of her lips. “I don’t take in every handsome stranger I find on the side of the road.

“Just most of them,” Ollie muttered, sauntering up to us, and the princess shot him a glare.

“Let’s start your education then, shall we?” Essaphine said to me, tilting her head to glance over her shoulder. As she did, one of the dragons divebombed us from above. I was about to duck for cover when it pulled up and landed delicately behind Essaphine.

Steep dives and short landings. I should jot that down, I thought, but before I could, the dragon swung its long neck around until its face hovered inches from mine. The eyes it fixed on me were the size of cantaloupes and glowed orange like bowls of fire, but to my surprise, they didn’t look reptilian. They were almost like human eyes, inquisitive and full of intelligence. Still, I couldn’t help but notice the grinning mouth full of ten-inch long, knife-sharp teeth. The dragon’s face came closer until its muzzle was against my chest.

My god, it’s going to eat me . I held my breath. My full bladder ached, wanting to release. But the dragon did not bite. Instead, it inhaled, an impossibly long breath, as if it were trying to suck my soul from my body. When it was finished, it pulled back, looked at me one more time, then swung its huge head around to look at Essaphine.

Some silent exchange seemed to take place between them, then the princess said, “Oh, stop.” Then to my surprise, she bopped the dragon on the nose like a naughty puppy.

Legend said riders could talk with their dragons telepathically, but I’d never really believed it—until now.

“What did it… say?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as adrenaline pumped in my veins.

“She says you’re handsome and prime for mating.” Essaphine said, arching an eyebrow. “Is that true?”

“Uh…” I glanced at Ollie for some cue as to how I should respond, but the eunuch only watched, amused.

The princess laughed. It was only a small one, but it was a lovely sound. It felt real, somehow, very different from the braying of the dance hall girls back in Ironberg, and from Kitty’s bored giggles.

The laugh of a dragon rider is a real laugh. Perhaps I’ll write that down, too, I thought, though it didn’t seem a proper observation for a news story.

“Essa!” someone shouted. A trio of riders strode toward us. For a second, I was on guard after what had happened last night, but one glance at their faces told me they were friendly. The impression was confirmed when one of them—a short woman with curly red hair, swept Essa into a hug.

“So sorry about your sister, love.”

“I’m not,” Essaphine said with a bitter smile. Then added, “I mean, of course I am , but…”

“But she was a mean ol’ cooter,” a tall gangly rider said. The female rider slapped him on the arm, but I could see she was repressing a smile.

Mean or not, I killed her, I thought, with a glance a Essaphine’s dragon. The beast continued to watch me with those huge, unnervingly thoughtful eyes. Would it tear me apart if it knew? The thought sent a tingle of fear through me—which made my bladder ache again.

“And who’s this?” Essa’s red-headed friend strode up to me, nearly nosing me like the dragon had. She was no more than five feet tall but strongly built, with pixyish features and dark blue eyes. “Is this the necro everyone’s been talking about?”

“Yes,” Essaphine said. “He’s a famous poet.”

“Uh—reporter, actually.” Ace, my inner voice corrected.

The dragon cocked its head at me.

My god, I thought. If it can communicate telepathically with its rider, what if it read my mind?

I supposed I’d find out soon enough. If any dragon here knew I was the Silver Wraith, no doubt they’d bite me in half without a second thought. But the beast made no move to attack. It just kept watching me.

Essaphine was talking. “…Hoatan sent for him. I’m to show him around so he can go back and tell the enemy how grand our kingdom is.”

“They have Essa doing diplomacy now? Gods, we’re all pegged!” The tall, awkward fellow joked. He was an interesting character. His hair looked as if he cut it himself with dull scissors and the hem of his uniform tunic was tangled up in his belt. He must be the lovable cutup of the bunch. Every squad had one.

They all laughed at his joke except the third friend, who crossed their lean, muscled arms. I couldn’t tell immediately whether this one was male or female. They were of average height, with dark caramel skin, a shrewd, high cheek boned face, a coif of black hair slicked into a ponytail, a single dangly earring, and charcoal smudged around their eyes to create a rather menacing look.

“You’d best behave yourself while you’re with us, poet,” they said, one hand on the hilt of their sword. “Dragons devour their meals bones and all. If one took a fancy to you, there’d be nothing left for Hoatan to send back to your kin.”

“Stop it,” Essaphine chided. “I’m protecting him, not feeding him to dragons.” She glanced at me, “Unless I absolutely have to…”

Essaphine made formal introductions. The tall, awkward fellow was Dagar, the short, fiery young woman was Pocha, and the one who’d threatened to feed me to a dragon was Lure. Ollie I already knew.

Behind the princess, the gray dragon chuffed. “And you’ve met Othura,” she added, stroking the beast’s head.

Somewhere, a horn sounded, ringing off the peaks around us, and the dragons answered with a roar so loud it seemed to shake the ground beneath my feet. Deftly, the princess jogged up her dragon’s tail as if it were a ramp and dropped into the saddle.

“We’re about to begin.” she said. “Watch closely, poet. You’re about to witness the might of dragons.”