Mike Wild - The Crucible of the Dragon God

The world disappeared around her.

Reappeared.

Horse impacted with the ground so hard that his hooves shattered the stone flagging.

But they were down.

Safe.

Almost.

"Thanks, Slowhand," Kali said, and leaving a stunned and naked archer behind, began to run off along the street.

"Where the hells are you going?"

Kali produced the prism from her equipment belt, waved it in the air.

"Have to see a man about a god!"

The sky above the Here There Be Flagons raged with a storm unlike any heard or seen before — a storm of turbulent, clashing clouds and roaring thunder, green forked lightning and a strange syrupy rain. The same storm as raged over Tarn raged over the rest of Pontaine and over the Anclas Territories and Vos too. Coast to coast as far as the Storm Wall, reaching every edge and every corner of the land to cleanse it of those who would have destroyed it. There was nowhere for these things — for the k'nid — to escape, because this was a storm visited on the land not by nature but supernature. A phenomenon born somewhere between the ancient magics and the final, doomed technological achievements of the Old Races.

The storm had raged for three days now, and would rage for three more. It was not a time to go out.

Watching the tumult at the windows of the Flagons, its violence muted by the thick glass and offset by the warm glow of the fire, Kali sipped from a tankard of thwack and reflected that the contrast between where she stood now and what she had seen and done in recent days couldn't have been more dramatic.

The crackling of the fire, the whinnying of horses from the stables and the simple talk around the bar — of work needed to repair the fields, of blacksmithing new tools and of the coming harvest — only served to heighten the difference between her world and that of the Old Races. There were no damned airships here, no damned mad scientist laboratories and, most importantly of all, no damned race against time. The pace was slower, gentler, and she realised how much she appreciated that right now. How much she needed it. That wasn't to say that she might not be off on her travels once again when the storm died down, but for the moment she needed time to think.

And, of course, to drink.

Kali downed the remainder of the thwack in one and went for another, squeezing in at the bar. She found one waiting for her, already poured by Red, who had volunteered to play host for the festivities; giving Dolorosa and Aldrededor a break from their usual duties, a break which Kali felt they had wholeheartedly earned. Red's displacement from barstool to his position behind the bar seemed to suit him, and despite the fact that the Flagons was jam-packed, he was doing sterling work.

Kali wandered through the crowd, nodding to those she knew and those whose acquaintance she had made in the past few days, pleased that she had invited them all here. The fact that the storm effectively stymied any normal outside activity had, to some, presented a problem. Namely, how to occupy themselves while it lasted, but the solution had seemed obvious to her.

Let's get betwattled.

At the Flagons.

On me.

Kali smiled. Her unusual tolerance for alcohol had, of course, given her the advantage in this prolonged session. Looking around now, it was clear that some of her guests were becoming somewhat the worse for wear. Sitting by the temporary stage, Jengo Pim and his lieutenants were waiting patiently for the appearance of the night's cabaret — if the slumped and, in some cases, face down on the table positions they had gradually adopted could be called waiting patiently. Still, they weren't completely out of it yet, stirring with a groan every time there was a creak on the stairs, only to collapse again despondently when the objects of their affections — Pim's, in particular — failed to appear. She could hardly blame the Hells' Bellies for taking their time in getting on stage. After all, they had been nowhere else for a week and they had only agreed to one final performance when, on his behalf, she had told them that Jengo Pim was their greatest admirer and fan. It hadn't hurt that the Grey Brigade's leader had personally agreed to treble their fee too.

Kali looked towards the crowded bar and smiled again. At first she had thought Poul Sonpear and his friends from the League were holding up — somewhat surprisingly — better than the streetwise, heavy drinking thieves, but now she saw that the mages were hardly playing fair. Sonpear himself appeared to be handling his drink naturally, standing tall amongst them, downing shot after shot, but his companions were clearly using a couple of old tricks to maintain the illusion that they were still one of the boys. Kali noticed the giveaway pink puff of smoke following a belch that denoted a sobriety spell and, further along the bar, two mages who were taller than when they had arrived, due only to the fact that they were hovering a few inches above the floor so as not to betray any unsteadiness on their feet. Kali moved past them, gave them both a nudge and they rose like balloons, crashing back to the floor when their heads hit the ceiling. She noticed as she did that Sonpear appeared to be muttering to himself between slugs. Ah, so that was it, she thought. He wasn't handling his drink naturally at all, it was the old Hollow Legs invocation.

Kali turned and crashed right into Dolorosa, who was weaving her way back from the bar with two more 'stalkers' for herself and Hetty Scrubb. The two women had been hitting the lethal cocktails — so named because they lurked before hitting you from behind — since the morning, and even the fact that both umbrellas flew out of the drinks in the collision didn't stop the Sarcrean making a narrow-eyed and dedicated beeline back to her seat, where she and Hetty continued cackling as if Kali had never been there. Kali shook her head, hoping that Aldrededor served up some food soon, not only because it might help to sober the old bat up but also slow her down so that she and the herbalist didn't bankrupt the Flagons with their drinking.

Kali nodded to Merrit Moon at a table further along the bar and then popped her head into the kitchen to see how Aldrededor was getting on. The Sarcrean had volunteered to cook, as everyone was heartily sick of Dolorosa's Surprise Stew after the batch she had prepared for Kali's memorial drinking session the week before.

"How goes it, Mister Pirate?"

Aldrededor looked up at her from the stove as he stirred, then bent, inhaling deeply from the cooking pot. "Ahhh, sproing, crackfish and limpods, everything the stomach of a true mariner could desire."

Kali smiled, and dipped a spoon for a sample. "At least you're willing to admit what's in it."

"Indeed. And in honour of these ingredients, I name it Seaman Stew."

Kali's smile froze, as did the spoon at her lips. "You know, Aldrededor. I might be tempted to have another think about that…"

"Oh?"

"You know. Think about it."

"Why should I think about it, Kali Hooper?"

Kali stared at him as he stared at her, wondering whether he was going to crack a smile. "Well, because…" She shrugged when there was no response. Maybe pirates had a different sense of humour, she thought. Or maybe, more worryingly, it was just her.

"I'll get Slowhand to explain it. See you later."

She returned to the bar, noticed that Pim and his men were once more staring in expectant hope at the stairs, and looked up herself to see what had caused the creak this time. Still no Hells Bellies but, as the thieves slumped once more, she smiled, seeing the one person who had so far been missing from the festivities. Though she had given Slowhand Jenna's bracelet in the yassan caves the night before they had left for the Crucible, the archer — perhaps so as not to be distracted from the task at hand — had decided not to activate it until now, and had spent the best part of the day watching his sister's recordings over and over. She had, every now and then, gone up to check on him, but had never made it through the door, Jenna's voice speaking so gently to Slowhand — of their childhood together — that she had felt it improper to intrude.