Page 4 of The Ballad of the Last Dragon

Chapter Four

I jolt awake. A warm, solid body is pressed against my back, and the earth is moving.

Jaromir.

Aeron’s quest.

My aching back.

I stretch, wincing at the way my neck twinges. I must have drifted off as we rode. Serves me right for not sleeping the night before. Now my daily rhythm is going to be off kilter.

“You never stop speaking,” a deep voice growls in my ear. “Even as you sleep.”

I roll my eyes. He is not very pleasant to wake up to. “Did I say anything interesting?”

He pauses. “No.”

Prick.

“That’s it,” I say with a groan. “When I write Aeron’s ballad, I’m leaving you out.”

“That would be preferable.”

Would it now?

“You know what, I’m going to write you your own ballad. The song of…” My brain stalls. I’m barely awake and having a hard time forming a clever insult. “The grumpy one.”

To exactly no one’s surprise, he doesn’t quip back. He merely grunts in response.

I rub my eyes. The sun sits low on the horizon, barely peeking through the dense forest. We’re still on packed road, so at least the journey hasn’t taken any interesting diversions. Aeron leads the group, while Neith and Cadoc ride side by side, and we take the flank.

“Remove your hat.”

I half turn, not realizing how close Jaromir’s face is to mine. Up close, he’s almost handsome with an elegantly sharp nose and a strong jaw beneath his beard. But the perpetual scowl ruins it. A pity.

“What’s wrong with my cap? I’ll have you know this is the height of fashion in Lindale.” Probably. I mean, I like it.

“The feather keeps assaulting my nose.” He says it so seriously, that I can’t halt the laugh that erupts from my chest.

“ Assaulting you? My good sir, I apologize for the violence of my headwear.” I pull the cap from my head and run my fingers through my matted hair. The breeze feels good against my scalp and ruffles through my newly freed tresses.

Aeron calls back to us. “We should make camp while we still have the light.”

There isn’t much light left to be had. The ever-encroaching gloaming darkens the trees, and the shadows have long since stopped growing under the sun’s pass. But I can’t begrudge the sight of fireflies twinkling in and out of view among the ferns.

“We should have stopped when Cadoc noted the day’s end,” Jaromir answers. “It will be dark before we finish setting up camp.”

“We stop on my command, as you all agreed when I hired you.” For the first time since I’ve known him, which admittedly isn’t very long, Aeron sounds annoyed. “Come, now, off the road.”

Cadoc turns back and shrugs. Neith holds up a dagger as if she’s going to toss it toward Aeron’s back but puts it away with a sigh.

Jaromir urges his horse to follow, and I twist my fancy cap between my hands.

It would be wise to make sure I develop a good rapport with all of them and not rely on Aeron. Coin and social capital will only get one so far, but piss off the wrong person? Anyone can wind up with a knife in their back.

The heat from the fire stings my face and dries out my eyes, but I huddle closer, desperate to use the light. I’m chronicling our journey as we travel while everything is fresh.

Unfortunately, I slept through most of the first day.

The road-wary adventurers found a secluded spot to make camp. Unbeknownst to them, they weren’t the only ones in the shadowy forest that night.

Hm. I quite like that. It adds an air of mystery. Is it a threat? Will we survive the night? I add that last bit about surviving the night to my vellum.

A mosquito buzzes in my ear.

The creatures of the forest were curious.

No, too whimsical. I cross it out.

The creatures of the forest were drawn to the band of travelers like moths to a flame.

“What are you writing?” Cadoc’s voice breaks through my thoughts. His brow is raised, but a warm smile claims his mouth. He’s amused, but it doesn’t feel cruel so much as interested.

I hold up my scroll. “Just jotting a few notes. It helps me organize my thoughts and keeps my muse close by.”

Jaromir snorts, actually snorts. He reclines across the fire, propped up by his elbow. His considerable size seems ridiculously at ease, as if roughing it in the forest is his idea of a luxury retreat.

I’ve been to the finest bathhouses. Well, outside the walls. But I’ve peeked through. This is not luxury, though I admit, there is something soothing about spending the evening under the trees, leaves shaking in the wind, and stars glimmering in the expanse of sky between branches. Like a piece of me has nestled back into place after being locked away for so long.

Oh, that’s a good line. I should write that down.

“Ignore him,” Aeron says, ignorant of the fact that I’m doing just that as he studies his map with a frown. “He knows nothing of artistic pursuits.” He holds up a hunk of Bjovian cheese and shoves the entire piece in his mouth so it bulges out his cheek.

“But you possess such knowledge?” I ask, baiting him. I’m going to need this information at some point; might as well let him think it’s his idea to share his life story. He’ll embellish either way, but it’ll feel more organic if he volunteers it.

Aeron inclines his head, flaming-red hair tumbling over his shoulders. He tucks his map safely beside him, turning fully to face me. For once, he isn’t wearing his armor, only a light tunic and breeches. He’s left the strings untied, baring his smooth chest. I make note of the way the firelight dances over unblemished skin. Just in case it enhances his ballad.

“I hail from the noble house of Fowler,” he proclaims.

I’ve heard that name before. They own half the Trevett countryside just beyond Lindale. What is he doing out here?

He must recognize my bewildered expression or have encountered it enough to know what I’m wondering. “I have to make a name for myself. I’m the youngest of five brothers with no interest in the family legacy. I don’t care for the dragon’s hoard, nor my own. But for my name to last the ages?” His blue eyes shine with such excitement, such fire. “Why, that would be worth everything I own. Down to the last copper.”

In a world so vast, it’s easy to get lost. To be swept away with the tide and blink out of existence as if you were never born. But to carve out one’s place? To demand immortality? This, I get.

“Which is why he’s using said wealth to pay us.” Cadoc lifts his cup before taking a deep swill. “Even to follow a useless map to a fabled hoard no one can locate.”

“Useless?” Aeron’s voice hits a high-pitched shriek. “How can you call it useless?”

“You can’t even read it.” Still holding his cup, Cadoc points to the map in question with one finger. “Like you said, it doesn’t make sense.”

“I know the path takes us through Marshwood Forest.” Aeron’s cheeks turn scarlet, and he glares at the ground. “I only said the margin notes don’t make sense.”

“The notes are the directions.”

Don’t tell me we’re following a faulty map. I’ll have to title his ballad The Time Aeron Led Us in a Circle. Curiosity and an inability to accept this could be a waste of my time fuel my words. “Mind if I take a look?”

With a shrug, Aeron hands the old parchment to me, carefully avoiding my gaze. I unroll the map and send a silent prayer to the goddess not to find obvious signs of trickery. A hand-drawn depiction of Targgein stares up at me. Mountains and valleys all called by names I don’t recall, but the layout is very much the same as the maps I've seen spread across tables and held down by mugs of ale when travelers came through Hollowden. I study every feature, detecting nothing amiss, apart from archaic names of known landmarks. My eyes snag the scrawled notes in the margin. Directions to find the dragon’s lair. It’s written in a combination of old Common Tongue, dwarven runes, and a language I’ve never encountered in Targgein: Ancient Elvish. Even in Smarighad, Ancient Elvish was a dead language. The language has changed, sifted through generations of hiding the written word, adopting some of the Common Tongue, and decaying morphology.

Not in my household, though. My da used to have me practice my alphabets before he’d let me play in the forest. I’d trace my letters in the dirt until he was happy with my progress. Ancient Elvish, Dwarvish, Common Tongue, even the forgotten human languages—I was required to master it all. And I loved knowing I gained access to even more stories this way.

But that seems like lifetimes ago.

“Everything appears to be in order.” I hand the map back to Aeron, taken aback by his wide eyes.

“How can you say that? Some of the words are utter nonsense.”

I snort, shoving down any hint of irritation at his ignorance. “No. Some of the directions are written in other dialects. Someone went through a great deal to make this map difficult to read. But it’s all right there.” It’s been years, but I haven’t forgotten how each letter appeared, carved into the earth.

“You can read this?” Aeron’s hero smile is back, wiping away any lingering shame. “Truly?”

“Of course I can,” I say with a laugh. “I’ll translate it for you.”

What would they have done if I couldn’t translate their map?

Aeron leaps up with a hoot of joy, running around the fire to hug me. I endure his attentions for a moment before shrugging away. My gaze finds Jaromir’s, and his thorough stare is difficult to read.

“I knew having a bard would be a brilliant addition to our group. Didn’t I tell you? I knew it!” Aeron is now forcing his affections on each member of his crew, pressing a sloppy kiss to Cadoc’s cheek before pulling Neith into an embrace she maintains at full arm’s length. When he skips over to Jaromir, not even the force of his scowl can deter him. Aeron leans his head on his shoulder, sighing happily while Jaromir pats his back.

I’m still trying to sort out the dynamics here. There’s a familial fondness and annoyance between these people, and I find it utterly fascinating.

“How did you all meet?” My question can’t be helped, not when my hands itch for my quill to begin jotting notes, but I leave it where it rests on the ground beside me.

Cadoc answers first. “I got a tip there might be a job that served my interests. When I got to the Rutting Goose, all I found was the bottom of a few bottles. But I saved Aeron from getting killed when he waltzed in announcing he needed skilled fighters and he was willing to pay handsomely.”

The Rutting Goose is the seediest tavern this side of the Jürden Sea. A place of black-market deals and unsavory ventures. Only two kinds of people survive a trip to that place. Those who are dangerous enough to be a threat and those who are invisible.

Aeron is neither.

“I suppose either luck or fate stepped in,” I say with a laugh.

“Fate? Blimey, I don’t know about that, but I will say he was lucky I was nursing a massive hangover that morning or I woulda been at the docks, prepping The Jaunty Loon for voyage.” Cadoc grins at Aeron and gives him a light shove. “And you woulda been gutted and hung in the market square, emptied of your full and fancy purse.”

“How else was I supposed to find the seasoned fighters I sought?” Even chagrined, Aeron manages to appear charming with only a slight flush high on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

“By parading your naivety and your brimming purse, clearly.”

I laugh and hug my knees. “So, you saved him from an assured death?”

“Indeed. I pretended he was my drunk cousin and led him out of the tavern. He needed blades for hire. I get antsy staying in one place too long, and I’d already missed the ship’s departure, so it was an easy decision to make.” Cadoc offers a shrug as if agreeing to help slay a dragon, real or metaphorical, is a typical appointment.

Fascinating. Utterly fascinating. I turn to Neith who is drinking straight from a filmy, brown bottle. “What about you?”

She takes another gulp before wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “Cadoc dragged me along. Said it was easy money and time on th’road.” She tilts her head, so the light catches the scar slashing down her face. “I always enjoy an extended trip that pays for travel.”

“How did you and Cadoc meet?”

“On a job a few years back. I got him out of a nasty scrape.”

“That’s a kind way of putting it,” Cadoc says. “She saved me from the noose when our transport mission landed me in a dungeon.”

Neith shrugs. “He’da done th’same for me. After that, I kept a correspondence at The Oak and Leaf Inn. Cadoc doesn’t stay in any place for long, so it was the only way t’stay in contact if he found a job I might be interested in. Or in case he needed another jailbreak.”

“And Aeron?”

“I knew Aeron afore all ‘is.” A strange look comes over her, but she smothers it with another deep pull from the bottle.

Aeron glances over at her, biting his lip like there’s something he refuses to share. Strange, since the man seems keen to shout his business like a town crier.

Neith trusts Cadoc but doesn’t trust me with the details of her and Aeron’s meeting. No matter, I’ll get them sooner or later. Or I’ll make some up.

Jaromir still hasn’t spoken, not that I’m surprised.

“And that leaves you.” I turn to him, stunned to find he’s watching me with razor sharp focus. But as soon as I catch his eye, he’s turning away.

“What about me?” The rough scrape of his voice rings harsh against the quiet night.

“How did you land this job?”

“Heard about it.”

“Articulate as always.”

Jaromir blinks at me before glancing away to stare at the trees. It’s a dismissal; I’ve faced enough of them to recognize it as such, but I’m not so easily dismissed.

“Let me guess”—I hold my hands out as if sensing the air—“you owe a substantial debt to your local gamemaster, and he threatened to turn you over to the guard.”

Jaromir exhales an exasperated sigh, refusing to answer.

“No? Let me try again. You’re trying to prove yourself to a lady far above your station, but so far, you’ve only been able to communicate with grunts and beating your chest, so you thought a big jewel-shaped gesture would bring you together!”

He scoffs his distaste at that particular guess.

Aeron laughs, loud and bright. It echoes in the night, rupturing the stillness and calm of the evening. “That would be quite the tale! As it is, I’d already hired him for a separate venture. He spotted one of the advertisements I placed on the noticeboard and found us the morning we embarked!”

Cadoc shakes his head. “I told you not to post those.”

“Well, I was right in doing so! If I hadn't, Jaromir might have left for Kalinia before he realized what a clever opportunity awaited him. Now we have a merry band of adventurers.” Aeron gestures to me. “And a real bard to sing of our exploits! This is coming together better than I planned.”

I smile as warmth spreads through my chest.

“Would anyone care for a song?” I’m already reaching for my lute, so it’s happening whether they want it or not.

“Splendid!” Aeron claps his hands.

Neith shakes her head and settles back, amusement curling her mouth. Cadoc shifts to get comfortable.

I begin plucking a soft tune, one I haven’t named but I play to keep my hands busy while my mind roams. A red fox scurries out from the underbrush, pausing to watch me. Neither the fire nor my companions deter him as he creeps closer. When he’s close enough to touch, he rasps out a bark before scampering off into the woods.

I’ll take that as a sign of good fortune.

I continue playing, letting the notes wash over me. Cicadas hum and peeper frogs call. I almost forgot how loud it is in the forest after dark. I keep plucking, harmonizing with the night. There’s freedom in this, playing with no thought as to how many coins may or may not rattle around in my cup at night’s end. I can give way to music without pressure—apart from the pressure to craft an epic ballad that is assured to launch me to fame. As excited as I am for this opportunity, a constant dull ache resides in my gut. When my thoughts drift to the Rusty Nail, to Kingsley and Brigitta, my throat gets tight.

My gaze travels over my temporary companions. Over Neith, who stares up at the pieces of sky between the trees. Cadoc, who even relaxed looks like his mouth could break into a smile at any moment. Aeron, who keeps his chin up in his “heroic expression” at nearly all times.

My stare wanders over Jaromir, who now lies on his back, hands tucked behind his head, eyes closed. His dark hair hangs out of his face for once, and I can appreciate the full scope of his profile. He really does have an elegant nose, both strong and straight, like it was carved from marble. His short black beard does nothing to hide the strong jaw beneath, and from here I can see his pulse jumping in his neck.

As if he can feel my gaze, he opens his dark eyes and turns. We stare at each other for half a stanza before he turns away and closes them off to the world again.