Dave Smeds - The Schemes of Dragons

I will never eat sinner's food again, he vowed.

When he didn't return, Geim came to find him. Toren was leaning against the outhouse, letting the cool twilight air calm the fierce heat in his neck and cheeks.

"You don't look like much of a dragon killer," Geim said.

"I'm not," Toren said stiffly.

"Don't be embarrassed. Strange food often does this. You'll adjust."

"Did it ever happen to you?"

"Of course. My first meals in three different ports. But that was when I was younger. Now I can eat anything."

"Then I look forward to my old age," Toren quipped.

"Come back inside," Geim suggested. "Perhaps if you ate bread only…"

"I'm not hungry anymore," Toren said, but he followed Geim inside, no longer nauseated. The tavern girl tried unsuccessfully to suppress a sympathetic grin as he passed. He blushed. His throat stung. He still felt queasy. A warrior should not have to feel so miserable in front of women.

Korv reassured him, and tore off a quarter loaf of pale brown bread. More sin, but what did it matter? Toren nibbled at it. He found it much lighter than the dense cakes of his homeland, and though the flour tasted of field grains rather than seeds and nuts, it went down easily. He supplemented it with ale, a light, pleasant brew, the first thing he had genuinely liked all evening. It cut the sour film at the back of his mouth.

A small, tousled head suddenly appeared over the table's edge. A young boy stared at Toren and Geim with bright, wide eyes.

The mayor chuckled and patted the child on the head. "My grandson, Pell. I apologize. He's never seen Vanihr before."

Toren's gaze lingered on his awed observer. "I have a boy your age," he told him, suddenly guilty. He had not thought of Rhi all day.

Made bold by the comment, Pell blurted, "Is it true that in your country, you sleep hanging from trees?"

Toren smiled. "Sometimes." But clearly the boy had the wrong idea. How to explain? He turned to Geim. "Do they have a word for immei?"

Geim told Deena the term. She translated it for Pell.

"Oh," Pell said, crestfallen. "Hammocks. We have those."

Toren could not face such disappointment. "One of my uncles was stolen from one by a mooncat when he was a baby," he added.

"Really?" Pell gasped. "Did he die?"

"No. Mooncats sometimes catch prey and don't make the kill until they get hungry. My grandfather found him in time."

Pell produced a dozen eager questions about mooncats almost before he took another breath. Toren patiently answered them, assisted by Deena when his vocabulary fell short. A pair of intrigued adult patrons shifted nearer the table. The topic evolved to other points. By the time the second pitcher of ale was empty, Toren felt a little less out of place.

He breathed thanks that his ancestors could not see him now.

Toren endured Deena's appraisal of his new clothing. He had chosen a peasant shirt, vest, and winter trousers, though, as she quickly informed him, in the warming weather the folk of Irigion would be shifting to kilts. He had also picked muted, neutral colors, though local fashion favored brighter tones.

"It will do," she muttered, obviously dissatisfied, but unwilling to argue further. Geim had arrived with the oeikani.

The animals shuffled near the entrance to the inn. Three bore saddles, the fourth complained about its heavy load of fresh supplies. Toren caught their scent on the late morning breeze. He wrinkled his nose.

Deena stepped forward and stroked her beast's nose. The creature did not seem to mind.

"These things are truly tame?" he asked.

"Yes. The doe you'll be riding is especially well-behaved."

Deer were meant for hunting, not transportation, Toren believed. No matter how big the species. He examined his from its long, flowing mane to the tuft of hair at the end of its whiplike tail, and down to its cloven hooves.

Geim showed him how to mount.

"Just hold on to the saddle horn," Geim said. "The oeikani will do the rest. You'll get used to it in no time. How does it feel?"

Toren felt much too high, but he was a modhiv. "Fine," he said too quickly.

Geim chuckled, mounted, and lashed Toren's reins to the back of his saddle. Deena took the pack animal's reins.

Mayor Korv came to bid the them farewell. They thanked him for his hospitality, and he in turn complimented them on a good evening of tales of distant lands. His final words were more subdued.

"There was a visitor at the portal earlier this month. He was only seen once, but I thought you should know. There's not much reason for a stranger to pass by the cairn by chance."

"What did he look like?" Deena asked.

"Tall and gaunt. Dark clothing. The shepherd only saw him briefly, from a distance."

Toren felt the beginning of an itch somewhere between his ears.

They began riding. Toren clenched the horn and tried to let his body roll with the oeikani's motion, as he had been instructed. Though the animals strode at a leisurely pace, they reached the outskirts of the town amazingly fast. It was, Toren had to admit, a convenient way to cover distance without taking a single pace.

Little Pell ran to the edge of the village and waved them on their way.

The road climbed into foothills. Pastures evolved into fields of wild grass and brambles. The trees thickened. Toren had not known this type of tree in the wood-oaks, Deena called them. The modhiv sighed as the boughs interlaced overhead, offering surcease from the afternoon sun; the shade made him feel at home. Oak wasp larvae hopped inside their tiny egg cases, bouncing across the forest floor in their struggle to escape; their birthing noise often resembled the babbling of a brook or loud whispers of raindrops striking brittle, fallen leaves.

The pleasantness of his surroundings made the itch in his head all the more noticeable.

"We're in danger," Toren said.

Geim and Deena reined up. "As with the cannibals?" the northern Vanihr asked.

"Yes. We should go another way."

Geim gestured toward the right. There was no road there, but the brush and trees left plenty of passage for the oeikani. "How about that way?"

"Perhaps. I won't know until we try it."

Hadradril frowned. His prey had left the road. He abandoned the ambush point he had selected, climbed back onto his oeikani, and parallelled the detour.

"No good," Toren said. He stared about. The trees here stood widely spaced, the ground free of brush as if a fire had come a few years before to clear the undergrowth. The sensation of danger pulsed only faintly, but it was growing stronger once again.

"You're certain?" Geim asked.

"Yes."

"I don't know what to do," Geim muttered. "I doubt Mayor Korv would have men to spare as an escort, and we must go on."

"Perhaps we could go back to Talitha for a few days," Toren said, aware that he sounded overly eager.

Geim shook his head. "Portals only go one way. To return to Talitha, we'd have to travel by ship, as Deena, Ivayer, and I did when we came south in search of you."

Toren was not sure which bothered him more, the premonition, or the realization that his home was now inconceivably far away.

"Let's go back to the road," Geim said. "If you still sense a problem, we'll go back to Greenfield for the night."

Hadradril's expression blackened. The pulse in his talisman of pursuit slowed and weakened. They had turned away again. Twice could not be chance.

The quarry had enough control over his power to sense a threat. Yet, surely, such an undisciplined talent could be thwarted. The wizard pulled a thin cape from his saddle bags, and draped it over himself. He pulled a blanket of the same material out and covered his oeikani's withers. He whispered the words of activation.