Page 38 of The Ballad of the Last Dragon

I ’m alone onstage at the Rusty Nail, but I bend in a deep bow, and straighten my cap as I’ve done many times before. Kingsley left my stool right where it has always sat, a fact that makes my throat tight. This time, when I approached my spot center stage, I let my footing find that creak he never fixed, reveling in the familiar sound. The same mismatched chairs, each crafted by Kingsley with leftover scrap wood, sit empty in the tavern. He hasn’t decorated for Winter Solstice—no surprise there, since we’re riding the tail of the last days of autumn—but part of me wonders if it’s because he’s been waiting for me.

Jaromir flashes me a knowing grin, my only audience member for the moment, and leans back in his chair, watching me with his intent gaze. He’s dashing with half his hair knotted back, sporting his new leather jerkin. The elvish design of intricate braiding and detailing was worth every penny. As was seeing the armorer, Adlanniel, rebuild her shop. We might have greased a few palms and commissioned enough armor to get her business going. And since the heroes who aided the great Aeron in slaying the last dragon choose only her wares, other merchants clamber to work with her.

The ballad of Aeron has followed us far and wide, but there’s something I need to do before we venture much farther.

This is the time of year when Kingsley shortens his tavern operations. Less folk travel to Hollowden in the cold season, so it doesn’t make sense to open his doors far before supper. But Kingsley should arrive at any moment, and anticipation curls in my belly. I haven’t seen him since the day I left, back when the summer season was in full bloom. Now, the sky darkens with night’s call, and the threat of the first snowfall hangs in the air.

I begin to pluck “While the Fisherman’s Away”, and I’m struck with a keen sense of nostalgia. It aches in places I’d forgotten I possess, this memory of what once was good and now is a little lost. But today is a happy occasion, and on happy occasions, we make room for the twinge of sorrow to commingle with joy.

The familiar jangle of Kingsley’s iron keyring sounds from outside, and I sit up taller, determined to stay put until the last moment. The door creaks open, carrying a gust of wind, and his massive form fills the frame. The torches and candles we’ve lit cast a warm glow about the tavern, illuminating his wide eyes and gaping mouth.

Kingsley blinks, frozen in place. “You’re… you’re here.”

At the sound of his gruff voice, I abandon all pretense and leap off the stool, running toward the giant oaf and throwing my arms around him—carefully so as not to damage my favorite lute.

Kingsley lifts me, hugging me tightly to his chest. The very real threat of suffocation further proves my theory that he’s killed a man with his bare hands.

“You utter terror,” he says in a watery voice. “We thought we’d never see you again.”

He and Brigitta. They once made my survival their personal mission and came to think of me as a form of family. But I force out a laugh through the emotion squeezing my throat.

“Petey missed my songs, eh? I can’t blame him. I am the best there is and the ambitious force behind themed events we’ll host here.”

Kingsley lowers me to my feet and all but drags me over to the bar. “You tell me everything, everything that happened, and I’ll pour the two of us a drink.” He glances over my shoulder, spotting Jaromir, and narrows his eyes in suspicion. “I suppose, I’ll pour the three of us a drink.”

“Deal,” I say, waving Jaromir over, “but you must promise not to interrupt. It’s a long tale, and you haven’t the time to listen to me all night, much as you might enjoy that.”

He gives a laugh with his whole body, reaching behind the bar to grab the shittiest wine I’ve ever tasted.

“It all began when that bright smiling fellow—you remember him? Aeron? When he invited me to ride along to witness him hunt a dragon…”

“There hasn’t been a dragon in over a century,” Kingsley says when I finally end my story. “And you’re telling me, you not only found a dragon, but a gold hoard?”

I pause, shooting him a half-hearted glare. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds rather ridiculous. Say it better. Use more adjectives.”

He lifts his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry, go on.”

I poke Jaromir in the shoulder, and he pulls the scroll from my pack.

“Here is your share. I’ve already paid off food and drink suppliers”—I scrunch my nose at the wine in my glass—“and I’ve commissioned a few carpenters and builders to follow your orders and expand the tavern however you wish.” A warm satisfaction falls over me as I drop the details into Kingsley’s palm.

His eyes bulge, and he rubs his jaw. “This is—”

“A good start. Part one of reciprocating all that you’ve done for me.” I hold up a hand to silence his arguing. “I wouldn’t have survived without your kindness. And now”—I gesture around the empty tavern, knowing part two is about to unfold—“I have a way to make sure you and Brigitta want for nothing.”

Kingsley swallows hard, pulling me into another crushing bear hug. “You owe us nothing. Nothing but a few letters and maybe visiting occasionally when the wind blows you our way.”

I grin and extricate myself from his hold. “Occasional visits? I’m a world-famous bard now, and I will make sure to visit the finest establishments in my circuit regularly. Which is why”—I lean closer and offer him a conspiratorial whisper—“The Rusty Nail will be my favored stomping ground.”

As if on cue, all right yes, it was planned and I craved the theatrics of good timing, Cadoc and Neith sweep through the doors, followed closely by a crowd of revelers we may have swayed into joining us this evening with the promise of free drinks.

Kingsley stands, knocking his stool back. “How did you—”

“A bard never reveals her secrets!” I stand and clap him on the back. “Only everyone else’s.”

I sling my strap over my shoulder and adjust my lute into position. A quick touch of the feather in my cap, and I’m ready to begin.

My stomach hurts from laughing. Cadoc has just finished regaling us with stories of his acting duties as co-owner of the tavern with Tomas.

“How was I to know the room was rented out?” he demands between chortles. “We need a ledger of sorts. I've only just stopped visualizing the oldest arse I’ve ever witnessed, high in the air, every time I close my eyes.”

“Good on him for staying limber with age,” Neith says with a laugh.

I wave my tankard, sloshing ale over the side. “Exactly! Jaromir isn’t nearly that flexible. He’ll be a stiff old man in no time.”

Jaromir yanks me onto his lap, threatening to tickle me for such an affront.

“I’m working on the logistics of running a business. Remind me to chat with that Kingsley fellow later,” Cadoc says.

We all turn to find Kingsley leaning over the bar to plant an aggressive kiss against Brigitta’s lips. Her white-blonde curls spill over her shoulder, as she reaches across to hold him in place. They’ll be celebrating later in private. Goddess, I hope they wait for privacy.

“Did you change the ghastly name yet?” I ask, eager to wipe the image of old man arses and Kingsley’s robust marital bed from my mind.

“I did!” Cadoc stands, lifting his tankard high and propping his foot on the chair. “You are now looking at the co-owner of… The Last Dragon. ”

My chest fills, and it’s a bittersweet joy. I lift my drink. “Hear, hear. A fine name if I ever heard one.”

We all drink from our cups, and though none of us speak for the moment, we’re all thinking of Aeron.

“What are you going to do about all the goats?”

Cadoc snorts into his drink, wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. “I don’t want to talk about the goats. All you need to know is we came to an accord, and Tomas is working on adding the dragon detailing above the bar.” He returns to examining his cup, done with the conversation.

Tomas was the one to carve goats into the posts and beams throughout the tavern. But they appeared integral to the structure of the place. And if he spent all that time hand crafting those fine details—

“Whit was th’bargain?” Neith asks, connecting the dots quicker than I and fighting a smile.

A casual shrug accompanies Cadoc’s answer. “Some of the goats stayed. The ones in high places. The others were… relocated.”

Neith and I exchange a glance. Her mouth twitches.

“They’re in your home, aren’t they?” Jaromir doesn’t carry quite as much glee as Neith, but the way the muscle in his cheek feathers, he’s holding back a smile. Cadoc answers with a resigned nod, which only sends Neith into a fit of laughter.

Hesitantly, Cadoc begins to chuckle. “I know what you’re thinking of. You’re remembering the time—”

“Aeron insisted we observe th’mountain goats t’better understand th’way they leap from crag t’crag.” Neith wipes her eyes, a few broken laughs fighting free. “Failing t’realize yer intense fear o’ th’animal.”

“I’m not afraid of goats! I have a healthy respect for them, and just prefer to give them a wide berth.”

“Th’way ye shrieked each time we heard a bleat from th’cliffs suggests otherwise.”

“I don’t remember this,” Jaromir says with a befuddled expression.

Cadoc grins. “That’s because you spent the night tracking down a courier.”

“Remember when Aeron finally realized yer fear and decided t’bleat back even louder?”

Neith and Cadoc laugh and stare at each other, mentally exchanging more of the story than they’re willing to voice aloud, and I can’t find fault with that. Sometimes, the power of a story is in the telling, spreading it far and wide so it might take on a life of its own. But even rarer is the story protected, guarding key details from public consumption. Apparently, Aeron’s goat story is worthy of such protection.

It’s so ridiculously him.

“I heard from Arnorr,” Neith finally says. “They’re building a memorial, as I’d hoped. In a few months, I’ll mount a journey t’go see it and pay my respects.”

I reach over and grab her hand, even though mine is sticky from spilled ale. “And when you do, I’m going with you.”

She nods, a small smile forming on her mouth. The tavern is bright and loud, and through it all, a glimmer of sadness remains. We will always be one man short—strange, since we were without Aeron for most of our journey.

There’s also the question of when we will all be together again. This plan was set in stone from the moment of our parting, but now… the future is a wide expanse of the unknown.

“What’s next for you?” I ask, needing to know to which corners of the world my friends are venturing.

“I was going te talk t’ye about that,” Neith says examining her ale. “I’ve signed up t’be a member of Cinna’s crew. She captains The Sea Harpy and offered me an interesting opportunity. She’s putting together an elite crew for extractions.”

My heart thuds along my ribs. “Where are you extracting from?”

“A few neighboring countries, but namely”—she takes a deep breath—“Smarighad.”

“You’re rescuing elves?”

She nods, a solemn expression on her face.

I try my best to rein in my emotions, the dizzying tangle that accompanies the news. Weighing my words carefully, I continue. “What are you charging them for transport?”

Her face softens. “Nothing.”

Staggering relief courses through me. They aren’t taking advantage of people trying to escape death and dismemberment. They’re helping.

“And what safeguards are in place for those who disembark and start their new lives here?”

Neith gives a short shake of her head. “Our goal is extraction and transport. The rest is up t’them.”

I nod, head spinning and stomach threatening to revisit the shitty ale I drank. It’s a noble goal—one I admire in my friend.

“That’s amazing, Neith.” I mean it, but too many thoughts and memories duel for dominance.

Jaromir’s hand finds my neck, giving a gentle squeeze. “Do you need some air?”

“Yes,” I say, standing and shifting the table with my abrupt movement. I dart out the front door into the cold night, not pausing to see if Jaromir follows me.

I know he will.

The air is sharp and still, and a heavy quiet has settled through the trees. The noise from the tavern is muffled, but warm light and soft rumbles of laughter spill through the cross-hatch windows and into the night. The sky above hides the stars from view. My nose stings as I breathe in the fresh air and exhale wisps of steam.

Jaromir’s hands find my shoulders, rubbing a soothing path and anchoring me.

“Tell me your thoughts.” The rumble of his voice is my safe harbor, and between the fresh air blasting me in the face and the comfort of his presence, I find the thread I wish to follow.

I can do anything. Be anything. The coin and the status I’ve acquired give me more freedom than I’ve ever had. I could go to Lindale and continue building my name. I could travel the world, exploring all it has to offer.

Doors that have always remained locked are now wide open.

I glance up at Jaromir, at the man who has given me home no matter where I go. His dark eyes are awash with concern. I lift up onto my toes and press a kiss to his lips, losing myself for a moment in the way he tastes. Something cold lands featherlight on my nose, on the tips of my ears. When I open my eyes, the first snow is falling, and the hush of the forest is like a heavy blanket.

I remember the first time I saw snow in Targgein. It was such a magical, wondrous thing. I’d been on my own for a few months, and already been plagued by fear and hunger of living on the streets as a child with nothing. But that first snow, heavy flakes falling and landing on my eyelashes and coating my hair, was a glimpse of hope. Of magic found in the longest of nights.

Of course, then I had the bitter cold to contend with.

I’d arrived with nothing. Been prepared for nothing. And no one was waiting for me.

I cup Jaromir’s jaw, kissing him again out of sheer joy for all I have now. “You said you’d follow me anywhere; do you mean it?”

Jaromir presses his brow to mine, inhaling deeply. “Of course, I do. Always.”

I nod; I knew that would be his response. Neith is rescuing elves from the life I escaped, but who will guide them and help them to land on their feet in a foreign country with nothing but the grace of the goddess?

And what if… do I dare hope… could I receive news of my da and mama?

“I’ve been thinking about where my talents would be best utilized.”

“Oh?” He bundles me tighter in his arms, his mouth twitching. “Enlighten me.”

“Hmm… I do believe a bard such as myself would do quite well in all the major port cities. Perhaps Neith could help me comprise a rotational schedule.”

Jaromir grins against my mouth, lifting me off my feet and holding me close to his chest. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

“Only wonderful? Not brilliant? Or genius? Or putting all other thoughts to shame?”

He laughs, and I bask in the sound. In the rich timbre of our shared joy.

I’m home. I’ve made that impossible dream my reality, and while there’s still work to do, and many more who need my help, I can think of no greater purpose than to offer my services to any and all who come searching for refuge. With this wonderful, ridiculous, amazing man by my side.

There’s a ballad in this moment somewhere, I’m sure of it. But if I write it, I might just keep it for myself.