James Maxey - Greatshadow

She turns again in her slumber, moaning softly.

I’m sorry, I pray to her. So, so sorry.

Infidel returned to Commonground the following day, making good time as she bounded along the shore. In open terrain, she’s fast as a jack-rabbit, using her super-strong legs to propel herself in skips that cover a dozen yards a stride. Around mid-morning she found the wreck of a ship; it couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. She didn’t take long to explore it, but did manage to pull a damp, sand-covered yard of canvas from the wreckage. She wrapped the dragon skull in this — a wise precaution. Even with Infidel’s reputation, Commonground is full of thieves who would be tempted by the sight. It’s a lawless city, a bad place to call home. Of course, there’s not a lot of choice in addresses when you live on the Isle of Fire. Commonground is the only real city on the island.

Actually, there are a couple of things wrong with that statement.

For starters, the city isn’t on the island, but out in the bay. The whole place is up on stilts. Plus, it’s not really a city in the ordinary sense of the word. It’s a collection of docks. It’s like a city that exists entirely of streets where the homes come and go on a daily basis. Wanderers gather here, taking refuge in the sheltered bay, and on any given day you can find a hundred or so of their ships at the port, and several thousand of their ilk milling about. But, the Wanderers don’t live in Commonground. They stay only a little while, then move on, replaced by the crews of other ships.

The only permanent residents of Commonground are people who’ve come there due to the lawless nature of the place. The Wanderers don’t impose their codes on outsiders; they care nothing of the actions of others as long as it doesn’t harm them. So, over the years, Commonground has become a haven to men and women not welcome in the more civilized parts of the world. Along the docks you’ll find barges housing bars and brothels and blood-houses. These draw visitors from distant ports, mainly young, hedonistic men escaping the chains of morality that confine them in places like the Silver City. Also drawn to the place are criminals who’ve fled their homelands to seek out the one place on earth where no one ever asks about your past. It’s taboo even to ask a person’s real name in Commonground. Everyone goes by nicknames. It wasn’t like my mother looked at me in the crib and said, “I bet he’ll be a drunkard. Let’s call him Stagger.”

Commonground is just a lousy name. As noted, there’s no ground at all. And you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who’s common.

A few hours after she’d plundered the wreckage for the canvas, Infidel reached one of the boardwalks leading out into the bay. She strode purposefully through the maze of docks, ignoring gawkers as she passed. The sight of her in the colorful sarong was turning heads. Infidel normally dressed in a more masculine fashion, often wearing leather armor even though she didn’t need it.

Not that there were that many people out to gawk at her. The late afternoon sun was unbearable. The docks didn’t really come to life until darkness fell. The algae-green water of the bay was as smooth as jade in the windless heat. Fortunately, the tide was in. When the tide was out, a strong sea wind was the only protection against the raw sewage and fish-rot stench. With the water high, the stink wasn’t so bad, though I was left to ponder why I could smell at all, since I no longer had a nose. Of course, I was seeing without eyes, and hearing without ears. If I wound up near whiskey, would I be able to taste it?

Of course, the best place to put that to the test was exactly where Infidel was heading. Near the heart of Commonground, Infidel reached the largest barge anchored at the docks — the Black Swan. This was a saloon and gambling house that catered to the high rollers from the Silver Isles. Wealthy men could visit the Black Swan with little fear for their safety. Thieves knew that messing with a guest of the barge could result in a visit from the Three Goons. Not many people would risk that for a bag of gold. A dragon skull on the other hand…

Infidel stepped through the door of the bar, pausing as her eyes adjusted to the shadows. The bar was decorated with a level of opulence that stumbled across the fine line separating good taste from garishness. The walls were lined with dark, polished teak; large paintings of scantily clad goddesses hung there. The various gaming tables sported crisp velvet surfaces. Only a single poker table was fully occupied. Everyone else was likely sleeping in the well-furnished rooms above. The main room was at least twenty degrees cooler than the air outside. Behind the bar at the far end of the room was the reason why.

A first timer to the bar might mistake the creature who stood there as male, given the broad shoulders and looming height. Few people have ever seen an ice-ogre of either sex. Aurora’s nine feet tall, with pale blue skin mottled with patches of white, like a sky full of clouds. She’s bald save for a tuft of dark blue hair in a knot at the tip of her scalp. Tusks jut up from her lower jaws, reaching to her eyebrows. Her clothes offer no hint of her gender; she always wears a long sleeved, walrus-skin coat that hangs down to her ankles. Aurora exhaled as she spotted Infidel, her breath coming out in a fog. The ogress is in charge of security at the Black Swan. While most of Infidel’s visits are peaceful, she’s been known, occasionally, to cause a bit of property damage.

“Where’s your shadow?” Aurora asked, squinting at the doorway behind Infidel. Crystals of frost on her cheeks sparkled like diamonds.

“My shadow?” Infidel asked, walking toward the bar.

“Stagger,” said Aurora. “I never see you without him hang-dogging behind.”

“Stagger’s dead,” said Infidel, placing the sack onto the bar. There was no emotion as she spoke the words.

“Oh,” said Aurora. She shook her head slowly. “I’ll miss him. Most drunks think they’re funny and charming. He really was, sometimes.”

“He was more than just a drunk,” said Infidel.

“No offense,” said Aurora, in a tone that sounded as if she had, indeed, meant no offense.

Infidel looked directly into Aurora’s eyes. She knew about Aurora’s threat to sell my body for meat; Aurora probably knew she knew. Of course, Aurora was just the enforcer. If Infidel had come here looking for revenge, she’d be looking for the woman who really called the shots.

“I need to see the Black Swan,” said Infidel.

Aurora crossed her arms, her biceps bulging beneath the walrus leather. She and Infidel had never lit into one another; Infidel probably had an edge, but Aurora wasn’t going to be a pushover. Her strength was supplemented by a formidable array of ice magic; for a tropical town, Commonground has a surprising number of residents who’ve lost limbs to frostbite. “The Black Swan has a busy schedule,” Aurora said. “I’ll see if I can work you into her calendar.”

“I need to see her now,” said Infidel.

Aurora shook her head. “She’ll see you when she wants to see you.”

“She’ll want to see me now,” said Infidel, pulling the canvas away from the dragon skull. All the people at the poker table suddenly placed their cards face down and stared at the bar. Whatever stakes they were playing for, a dragon skull would trump it.

The ice-ogress let loose an appreciative whistle as she eyed the priceless object. “The lower jaw and everything,” she said, reaching out to touch it.

Infidel caught her by the wrist. Aurora tried to pull back, but Infidel held her arm immobile. I had my answer as to who was strongest. Then Aurora grinned, and Infidel grimaced as her whole arm turned blue.