The Dragon Bone, Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Myrion

Myrion hooked the great cloak closed and drew it tighter around her shoulders. She dipped her head against the mist of the night and reluctantly prepared to continue her cold vigil. A puddle of drizzle collected in a fold of the hood and trickled down her neck. She shuddered as the drip crawled between her breasts.

Hurried footsteps on the wet pavement echoed in the alley as someone approached from the city side. She stepped back against the door, into the shadows, and gripped her blade with practiced ease; a slight figure ran past her hiding place breathing hard. Myrion caught a glimpse of steel as the small runner glanced over his shoulder, looking for pursuers.

The runner stumbled headlong into a drunk staggering down the narrow way, and the splash as he slipped in a puddle was followed by a clash of steel hitting stone. From the tangle of figures thrashing about in the scummy water, something small and hard skidded across the cobbles towards Myrion. The small bruised and dripping runner cursed under his breath, picked himself up and continued his dash down the street. The drunk mumbled an apology to the retreating back, and turned to resume his way. A popular love song floated down the alley in off-tune snatches as the man reeled past her.

Myrion smiled in grim amusement, as she observed the scene unfold before her. Watching the drunk stumble through the street by her doorway and lurch unsteadily into the darkness, her mirth subsided. The man was foolish, or mad, to be out in this part of Pelicarus alone at night.

The slamming of heavy boots on wet stone and the jingle of weapons wrenched her attention from the tipsy stroller to three city guards pounding down the street headed her way. The drunk was knocked aside into the gutter, uttering a yelp as the pursuing men, hands clasped on swords and boots splashing in the puddles, hurried past. She gave a sigh of relief when they disappeared, and eased her back away from the latch on the door, which had been pressed uncomfortably into her spine. The guards never glanced her way.

A few curious citizens looked out of partially opened windows, then quickly retreated and bolted the shutters when they identified the runners.

Slowly, silence descended again on the alley and Myrion cautiously resumed her wait. Something shining in the wet street caught her eye. Guessing it to be the object dropped by the runner, she left her post to investigate.

Moving noiselessly and keeping to the shadows, she retrieved the object. In the absence of light, she could only identify it as a heavy dagger, but the hilt felt as though stones were set in intricate carvings.

“Interesting,” she murmured, straining to see the knife clearly. She shrugged her shoulders and, returning to her hiding place, turned the blade slowly in her hands, willing her eyes to see the design in the poor light. She stifled a yawn with a wet hand. It had been a long night.

“Curse that old man to The Sisters!” she thought to herself. “He said it would only take a few minutes, and it has been nearly two hours!” She never would get used to waiting.

A silhouette in the window of the house across the street she had been watching jerked her to attention; a stout, dark shape floated by the window towards the door. The old man was coming. Finally!

As she watched, the door opened noiselessly onto the night and a round, cloaked figure emerged. Looking neither right nor left, the man stepped into the street and crossed.

Myrion tucked the dagger away silently, after wiping rain from the blade.

The figure waddled down the street in the same direction as the runners earlier, seemingly too absorbed in thought to notice the hidden girl.

Myrion slipped quietly from the shadows and fell a few paces behind the portly man as he moved past her waiting place, chuckling pleasantly at something in his hand.

~ * ~

After loosing the city guards in the labyrinth of alleys and dead-end streets of the tailor’s quarter, Kril doubled back to Tent Street where he had dropped the stolen dagger only moments before.

The alley had been empty except for the drunken sot who had made him drop the knife in the first place, and he had certainly been in no shape to see it. If luck continued to be with him, the dagger should be laying a few feet from where it fell. Then he could be on his way to Karacitrius, where a smart lad like himself could sell it and make enough silver to keep himself warm all summer.

This dirty excuse for a city had fed and clothed him for all of his twelve years, but times were getting hard. It was said that a canny, nimble lad could make his fortune in the Capitol, and Kril had a mind to do just that. He now had the means to set up in style, if he could just retrieve the dagger without getting caught.

The faint scrape of a boot on pavement drew his attention from a vacant doorway as he made his way down the alley. He dashed into the shadow of an old building and searched the street for the source of the noise. As he watched, a shape detached itself from a darkened doorway and stepped quietly onto the wet pavement. The figure fell a few paces behind a cloaked man who had just emerged from one of the dimly lit buildings on the other side of the street. As the two figures made their way down the alley, Kril turned his attention back to his task. Likely as not, someone was going to be dead by morning, and he wanted no part of that business.

He had dropped the dagger over here, he thought as he moved to where the drunk had accosted him. The old sot wasn’t there anymore, but he was sure the man hadn’t seen or heard the knife fall. He had been too busy trying to stay on his feet. Looking around, Kril realized the spot couldn’t have been very far from the doorway from which the shape had just emerged.

Holding his breath, he sprinted to the place in the doorway and tried to find the dagger. Without a torch, his search could not be thorough, but Kril knew a dagger of that size wouldn’t be too hard to spot against the shine of wet cobbles.

He quickly hunted that area of the alley in a complete circle, widening his search to the distance he felt the knife could have slid. It wasn’t there! He had dropped it only five or six minutes before, but now it wasn’t there. Someone must have picked it up.

He found the drunk lying in a filthy gutter, not too far from the encounter. A quick check of his torn clothing revealed five coppers and a corpse. Dead men didn’t steal expensive daggers.

Kril glanced down the alley and watched the two figures turn a corner and take a side street. Daggers didn’t just up and walk away on their own. He pocketed the coppers and trotted down the alley after the two, a grim look of determination on his young face. This was turning out to be quite a busy night. It looked like he’d have to steal the dagger again; he was sure the figure from the doorway had it.

He followed the two as they traversed the streets to the outskirts of the city. They were making their way through the alleys to the oldest part of the city – Kril’s part of the city. He knew there was a little-used gate not far from here, which could provide fast access through the city walls. Were they headed towards this route of escape? He followed noiselessly behind his quarry.

The two forms made their way to a small rundown hut, and Kril watched as they went inside and shut the door. He crept silently up to the lone window at the back of the hovel, and tried to rub off some of the accumulated dirt obscuring his view. He pressed his ear to the glass and strained to hear what was being said.

~ * ~

“Well, did you get it, Thorlin?”

“Patience, child. Let an old man warm his stiff bones and catch his breath before pouncing on him with questions.” Thorlin rummaged through a small cupboard near the door. “Is there anything to eat? You’ve worked me long and hard tonight, but it was worth the effort.” He chuckled with glee.

His surprisingly strong voice belied the words, “old man,” as the cloaked figure flipped back his hood and bent over the fire smoldering on a cracked hearth. After touching a long twig of straw to the meager flame, he walked to the table where a candle soon glowed.

“I didn’t pay you to spend two hours doing the Mother knows what while I wait in the rain! Nor did I lay out my three gold crests just to watch you stuff your fat face with food! Now, where is the scroll?” Myrion demanded of the pudgy man as he turned from the table where he had found a hard crust of bread left over from an earlier meal.

The flicker of the candle and small fire illuminated a long, fleshy face, seasoned by a harsh life outdoors. A smooth, broad forehead lay beneath a clown fringe of black hair; a shiny smooth dome peeked above the encircling hairline like an egg in a nest. His thick, long nose seemed to have been placed precisely in the middle of his face, giving him a vague reptilian look, the yellowish-pink tinge of it glowing like a war beacon. Thin nostrils quivered as though searching the smoke-filled air for a fleeting scent of food.

“In due time, my dear, all in due time. Just let me catch my breath and quench my thirst. Would you be so kind as to get an old man a cup of wine?” He held out calloused hands to the fire, then turned to warm his backside, rubbing the palms of his hands on his ample buttocks.

His thin lips pulled back in an amused grin, and two dimples vied for room within the many folds of flesh on his cheeks. His quivering chin, clean of any whiskers, rested atop several layers of chalk-white skin.

Little black eyes sparkled and shined, catching the candle’s glow, all but lost in the expanse of his face. Small crinkle lines flared from the corners, giving his face an impish quality.

The black points followed the movement of the girl as she banged a bottle of red wine of dubious ancestry on the table and clanged two chipped mugs in irritation. Myrion looked up from her task and was caught in his glance.

His eyes, like glistening black pebbles, seemed to fill his face and she was unable to tear her sight away. They caught the glow from the fire and she had a fleeting thought that they were questioning her, soaking up her thoughts like a sponge and she couldn’t resist.

Just as panic seemed about to overwhelm her, he turned his gaze away, leaving her feeling drained and exposed. She floundered for a second before the world came back with a jolt. Trembling, she blindly found a stool and sat, exhaling the breath she had held for what felt like centuries.

He walked over to her and took the wine and a cup from her limp hands. She looked up at him and the grin on his long face cleared the daze from her mind.

“What did you take âÂ?¦ what did you find, Thorlin, there in the depths of my mind? I feel as though you’ve stolen my soul,” she said with a trace of fear in her voice.

He chuckled, filled his cup and pulled up another stool opposite the frowning girl.

“I found nothing more interesting than your opinion of me, which is easy enough for all to see. I have stolen nothing. I am only a poor old man trying to earn his living as best he can. Do you believe me to be a monster, or have the powers of the Mother? Come now, I thought you a sensible young woman or I should never have entered your employ.”

Myrion blushed, lowering her brown eyes from his face. Turning reluctantly as if to dismiss him, she filled her cup with wine and relaxed on the stool. Staring into the glowing coals of the meager fire, she gave a sigh and resolved to wait patiently until he was ready to tell his tale.

Thorlin pondered the profile sitting before him, as he reached into his greasy vest and pulled out a half-chewed mutton bone.

Observing the tiny hut and its occupants from outside, Kril mistook the girl earlier for a youth. Her great cloak, now thrown back from her shoulders, hid well any betraying curves, and the tunic and leather pants were those worn by most young men in Pelicarus. He was a bit ashamed that he had initially missed such an important fact as gender, but to be fair, his mind had been on other things.

He was impressed at the show of weapons the girl carried; a silver hilted short sword at her left hip, and two long daggers, one on each hip, showing well-used scabbards and hand grips. They were worn with an air of nonchalance, which could only have come from frequent use. Then his eyes alighted on the jewel-hilted dagger tucked in her belt, obviously forgotten by its current owner.

The flickering fire threw golden lights into the room and highlighted the thinking girl, picking out short, cropped brown hair, worn in a boyish style. Her face reflected the fire’s glow, and Kril watched Thorlin contemplate her smooth skin, tanned almost as dark as mahogany, and the delicate nose and firm mouth, as he nibbled contentedly on the bone. She cupped her chin in her right hand, propped up with her elbow on the table. The boy realized these two were not long time friends or companions.

A burning log rolled, sending sparks flying in the hearth, breaking the silence and the girl’s concentration. She stretched and took a sip of her neglected wine.

“Have your old bones been warmed enough, or must I wait longer still for what I have already paid? I grow weary of watching you eat. Where is the scroll?” she asked with suspicion.

Kril watched intently as Thorlin drank deeply from the cup before reaching into the folds of his cloak. He saw him withdraw a ragged piece of parchment, water stained and brittle with age. Kril shifted his weight from right foot to left and held his breath as Myrion slowly put her cup on the floor and watched the man carefully hand the document to her.

“He was a bit reluctant to part with such a valuable piece of parchment, but when I explained to him how much it meant to a certain young friend of mine, he was persuaded,” the old man said with a smile before resuming his meager meal.

“I’m sure,” she said dryly. “Did you leave him alive?”

“Child, you under estimate me,” said the man with upraised eyebrows. “As a matter of fact, our meeting was quite enjoyable and we played several games of chance before we parted company.” Thorlin took another sip of the red wine and glanced at her over the rim, as a think red trickle crawled down his chin. “But I fear our tenure in this city must be cut short. He was not a happy loser.” He coughed a delighted chuckle.

“As long as I have the scroll, for which I paid you handsomely, I care not what you do.”

She stood and leaned over the table. Carefully unrolling the parchment, she spread it out and brought the candle closer. She was unable to resist a muffled curse as the light revealed not at all what she had expected.

“This is only a piece of the scroll I sent you to get,” she said in surprise. “Where is the rest of it?”

“My dear Myrion, are you displeased with your goods? Is there some small problem that I, humble bumbler that I am, can rectify for you?” the man asked, smiling at her back.

Myrion straightened quickly and frowned at the round man in alarm. “Is this some sort of trick? I need the whole incantation in order for the spell to work!”

Thorlin took a step towards her and put out his hand in a comforting gesture.

“Peace, my young friend,” he tried to soothe her. “My gambling partner informed me where the other piece was located. We need to get to the House of the Ancients in Karacitrius. A scribe by the name of Melvon has what we need, and he will sell it to use for a small price. All is well.”

“Karacitrius,” she bellowed in dismay. “All is not well, Thorlin! I don’t want to go to the Capitol. I have to get back to my people immediately! They’re counting on me to bring back the scroll. Lives depend on me getting the scroll and bringing it back to them! Don’t you understand?”

“And you will,” Thorlin assured her. “It is only a short journey of four days and then we shall procure the rest of the scroll. Then you will be off to âÂ?¦ where did you say you hailed from, my dear?”

“Nonsense!” she cried and batted his outstretched hand away. “You promised to deliver the scroll to me tonight. That was our contract, and since you have failed to deliver your part of the bargain, our contract is at an end. I will be traveling without your dubious aide.”

Her eyes held a wary look as her right hand hovered close to the hilt of her sword.

“I feel duty bound by the agreement we made. My job is not done until you take possession of the entire scroll. Satisfaction of my work was guaranteed, and if you are the least bit unsatisfied, then the contract is binding and I am still in your employ.” He smiled sympathetically and moved towards the table. “We will journey to the Capitol together.”

She braced herself against the table, watching his every move.

“We will not travel together,” she insisted between gritted teeth. “Our association is at an end. I have paid you well for services that are not all together satisfactory, but I shall take my loss and find my own way to this Melvon and the other part of the scroll. I do not have time to be burdened down with a fat old man.”

“Ah, but the frown on your pretty fact says to me that you are not happy with poor old Thorlin’s efforts. It is not my fault that only part of what you seek was to be found here. It is a shame our business has not concluded as you wished, but we will rectify that in Karacitrius. Never let it be said that Thorlin did not fully satisfy a paying customer.”

“This is the scroll I paid you to purchase,” she growled in frustration. Her left hand anchored the parchment to the table, obscuring any attempt Thorlin might make to look at it. His eyes never left her face. “I do not have time to argue with you, old man. I need to get back to my people quickly. Which means I need to leave for the Capitol now. Do not attempt to hinder me, Thorlin.”

“Child, I know you were expecting to conclude your business tonight and be on your way, but that doesn’t seem to be working out very well,” the man said with a grin. “Let me help you find the rest of the scroll you need. I am a very versatile individual and could prove invaluable.”

Myrion kicked her stool out of the way as she drew her sword with a fluid and graceful motion.

“The only way I’d let you come with me is if you sprouted wings and flew us there over night. You are not going to slow me down. Do you hope to bog me down and milk me for all the money I possess? Either way, you have a rude lesson to learn.”

The sword flashed red in the firelight as she balanced on the balls of her feet. Her face was flushed with heat, not all of which was from the fire. She bit her bottom lip in concentration, swallowed once and advanced on the man.

“The Mother teaches, ‘Many joys come to those who learn the meaning of patience,’” Thorlin quoted as he quickly moved behind the table. “Let me explain to you, child.” His left hand clasped the table in a firm grasp while his right hand strayed to the worn leather hilt of his sword. When had Thorlin acquired a sword, Kril wondered?

Myrion sent the other stool flying in the direction of her own and continued to advance. “The Mother also teaches, ‘Trust not a thief to do a job best done alone.’” Her voice wavered a trifle as she continued, “Are you a thief, Thorlin? Have you stolen my money and given me false merchandise for good? I am not some Pelicarian whore to be used and taken for all she has. I can defend myself against thieves like you.” She lunged for his chest.

Thorlin flipped the table over and drew his own sword. The scroll rolled off and landed at her feet. The movement extinguished the candle, and the meager light from the fire threw ghostly shadows around the room. He looked to be an incredulous bumpkin of a man; thick legs spread wide, face flushed with emotion as he gripped the sword in what seemed to be an awkward position.

At that moment, Kril saw the door burst open and six city guards rushed into the tiny room. Behind them followed a short thin man, dressed in the robes of a scribe. He pointed across the room and yelled, “That’s him! That’s the thief! Get him!”