Written by Thomas Mansfield
Edited by Claire Bradshaw
Fayiz crawled across the cliff, his black-and-red tabard scraping against the dirt and leaving long dusty smears the colour of rust. The sun blazed mightily in the desert sky, its radiance shining down upon the broken highlands and sudden crags of the Southern Laceration, causing sweat to trickle down into his dark black beard. He moved slowly and carefully, listening intently for any sign that they’d been found by an enemy.
“Fayiz!” his companion suddenly cried behind him.
Fayiz pushed himself to his knees, hand flying to his scimitar. “What?” he hissed, whirling around.
His companion, a young, dark-skinned youth by the name of Bulus, pointed a shaking finger towards the cliff edge. Fayiz saw only a large rock on which a sand lizard was bathing in the sunlight. He turned back, glaring daggers at his companion.
“They can see through lizards’ eyes!” Bulus claimed fearfully.
Fayiz growled in frustration and resumed crawling. What he had done to be saddled with such a coward, he’d never know. He approached the edge of the ridge, shooing away the sand lizard, then motioned for Bulus to approach. He did so hesitantly, and the two of them bore witness together.
Far below, where the steep crags and rocky hills met the road, a great camp had arisen, hundreds upon hundreds of tents punctuated by the lazy smoke trails of campfires. Banners were propped up in the gaps and the footpaths, and though it was too far away to see their insignia, Fayiz already knew it was the roaring dragon of the Bluebanes.
“Well, Bulus,” he said gruffly. “The captain was wrong. This is no mere skirmish force.”
“How many are there?” replied Bulus, his voice quavering with nervousness.
“Hard to say. My guess… At least ten thousand. Maybe twenty.”
“Gods,” Bulus whispered, rubbing the miniature iron dagger that hung from his ear in agitation. It was the same earring Fayiz wore, marking the two of them as soldiers of the Redblood Mercenary Company. “Twenty thousand dragonkin…”
“They’re not all dragonkin, if that stops your whimpering,” Fayiz growled, taking a spyglass from his belt. “Many of them are human, like you and me.”
“They say that one dragonkin is worth five grown men,” Bulus muttered.
“They’re worth two at best,” Fayiz told him dismissively. “They may be larger than us, and they may have dragonbreath, but put a spear through their belly and they’ll die the same as any man.”
“I’ve heard tales from the folk here,” Bulus said feverishly. “I’ve heard that they can grow wings, that they can turn invisible, that—”
“If dragonkin were so dangerous, the highborns of Ifenswalk would not be using them to serve drinks!” Fayiz snapped. “In fact, if they could do half the things that people say they can, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation! We’d both be dead, and they’d be ruling the world. Now grow some balls and be quiet.”
Without waiting for a reply, Fayiz turned his attention back to the Bluebane camp. They were miniature through the spyglass, but he could still see the dragonkin clearly, outnumbering humans three to one: giant, colourful lizards that stood like men, most of them clad in scale armour in addition to the scales on their bodies. They brawled over minor quarrels, feasted and drank… More than once, Fayiz saw a pair rutting behind their tent in broad daylight like wild dogs. By all accounts, they were an army of barbarians.
Dangerous barbarians, Fayiz had to remind himself. Who could spit fire, poison, and worse from their jaws.
Over the hour, Fayiz told Bulus what he saw, and the younger scout wrote it down. He noted the number of warriors, what they were armed with, and the cohesion of the forces. His total count came to thirty thousand, or close enough that it made no difference. He tried not to think about the Redblood forces at Hrulgut, just sixty miles down the road, which numbered fewer than five thousand. If he did, he might contract Bulus’s cowardice.
He frowned as he spied a particularly special-looking dragonkin. “This one looks important,” he muttered to Bulus. “White scales, blue armour. Riding a camel. It’s standing next to a… What do you call them, those boxes with the curtains?”
“I don’t know,” Bulus murmured.
“Well, it’s one of those. Coloured blue, like everything else. It’s being carried by a pack of kurtuks, those miniature dragonkin. They’re going inside a tent, same one we saw their commander going into before…”
“Man or woman, the white dragonkin?”
Fayiz shot him an annoyed glare. “How should I know? It’s a giant fucking lizard. I couldn’t tell you if one stripped naked in front of me.”
“Fine, fine,” Bulus relented. “What do white scales mean again?”
“I didn’t even know there could be white ones,” Fayiz replied. “I see plenty of reds, browns, and blues, though.” He looked down sternly at the younger soldier. “You know what those colours mean, don’t you?”
“Fire, fume, and lightning breath,” Bulus answered instantly.
The boy had paid attention to that, at least. “Blue ones are going to be the most dangerous,” Fayiz added wisely. “Fire, you raise your shield. Fumes, you hold your breath. Not much you can do against lightning.” He looked up at the sky, noting that the sun was lowering. “Another two hours. Then we’ll make camp.”
“Here?” Bulus protested weakly.
Fayiz scoffed. “We’re hidden, and far from their walls. We’d need to have extraordinary rotten luck to be caught in this place.”
Sundown was approaching as they started to set up camp. It was a simple one – no tents, merely a small campfire and a couple of bedrolls, with their camels roped up nearby. Fayiz knew that he and Bulus would have to keep watch for half the night each, to make sure that the fire didn’t fade. Dark spirits lurked in the night, but a well-lit fire would keep them at bay.
“How many days will we be out here?” Bulus asked worriedly, looking out toward the direction of the dragonkin.
“Until we see the army start to move,” Fayiz grunted as he got the fire started. “Like we were told.”
“And you’re sure we can outrun them?”
“Armies are slow, boy. They’re carrying supplies, siege engines, whereas we’ll just have a few days’ rations and paper. We’ll outrun them fine.”
“We can’t outrun the Blue Dragon,” Bulus mentioned quietly.
Fayiz looked up at him irritably. “Did you see a dragon down there?” he demanded.
“I heard Gharamax can turn invisible. Like a mirage in the desert.”
“What mirage is invisible? You’re letting your cowardice get to your head.” Fayiz stood, dusting down his trousers. “Besides, I doubt—”
A distant shriek from the sky cut through their argument. Fayiz’s hand went to his blade, while Bulus stumbled and fell in fright. Fayiz looked up to where the sound had come from, seeing a handful of dark shapes soaring above them from the mountains. Nightrocs, he recognised. After a while, the shapes vanished, flying all the way out into the desert.
Fayiz sighed, releasing his sword. “They’re gone.”
“Those were dragons,” Bulus whispered, his voice quavering. “They found us, they did!”
“They were not dragons. They were nightrocs,” Fayiz retorted, resuming setting up camp. “They’ve no interest in us.”
“To Nihil with you and your nightrocs!” Bulus took a nearby torch and lit it in the fire. “Those were dragons!”
“Dragons roar, you stupid fool, they don’t shriek!” Fayiz snapped, sick to death of the boy’s cowardice. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m moving camp. I’m not staying here to get burned by dragonbreath!”
“Don’t be such a—”
“I’m not staying, Fayiz!” Bulus cried hysterically. “I don’t care if I have to go into the night alone – I’m not staying here!”
Fayiz glared at the younger soldier. He didn’t care if the boy died, but it was suicide to sleep out here alone. “Fine. Fine!” he spat in frustration, snatching up his own torch. “We’ll move camp! But you’ll follow my directions!”
In short order, they had bundled the sleeping bags, unhitched the camels, and started to make their way downhill, their path lit by torchlight. The sun, impassive to their plight, continued to set, and Fayiz found himself growing agitated as the shadows lengthened with each minute. Yet everywhere he looked, the terrain was rugged and too steep to make camp. Fayiz feared that they might have to sleep on a cliff edge if something didn’t present itself soon.
After a half hour of walking, he finally saw something. “There!” he declared, pointing ahead to where the hills sloped down into the bowels of a crevasse. “We can make camp inside there.” Bulus offered no argument.
As they approached, Bulus’s camel suddenly howled in pain. The two mercenaries whirled around as the beast struggled and bucked, and Fayiz saw the flicker of some dark shadow disappear as Bulus’s torchlight touched the beast’s flank. Where it had been, the camel’s flesh was shrivelled and withered to grey, flaky skin.
“Shades!” Bulus screamed.
“Nine hells,” Fayiz snarled. “Run!”
Bulus didn’t argue. The pair grabbed their camels by the reins and ran down towards the narrow stone passage. Fayiz swept his torch around with deliberate wildness, hoping the erratic light would scare off the spirits. He knew shades by reputation. They drank a man’s strength with their touch, causing him to wither and die in a heartbeat. If they slowed down, they were dead. They rounded the corner, bursting through the natural stone passage.
Greeting them were two surprised dragonkin, sitting around an unlit campfire.
Fayiz had forgotten how large the dragonkin were. Both of the reptilians before them stood well over six feet tall, rippling with muscle. They were armoured, not just by the scales of their bodies, but by tough leather and scalemail. The red-skinned one leapt up, drawing a heavy axe from its belt and snarling, “Rauthyarlh!”
“You led us right to the Bluebanes, you fool!” Fayiz roared at his companion, drawing his scimitar. Bulus struggled to draw his own blade, but Fayiz did not wait for him. He whacked his camel on the rump, sending it charging into the dragonkin to scatter them. He then approached the second of the reptilian warriors, which held a torch like its companion and had just drawn a light axe.
Fayiz cursed. It had blue scales.
The blue warrior wasted no time. Lightning crackled between its bared teeth, and when they opened, a blast of burning light erupted forth. Fayiz dodged to the side by a hair, though Bulus was not so lucky. The lightning struck the younger soldier in the chest, sending him flying backwards into the dark. He skidded across the ground, dropping his torch.
The shades became visible then. They stood out in the torchlight like ink blots on paper, their bodies human in shape, but in warped, elongated parody. They were like voids, simultaneously with and without form, as if the light dared not touch them. They knelt next to Bulus, their long tendrils reaching down to touch him.
And then Bulus started to scream.
Fayiz watched in horror as the boy’s arms, legs, and chest began to contract and shrink, his very muscles rotting away at the shades’ touch. Bulus tried to pull away, but they swarmed upon him like flies to rotten meat, and whatever strength he could’ve used to flee was taken from him. His voice changed from the high-pitched yelling of a terrified boy to the low, rattling gasps of an old man in mere seconds.
Then the torch spluttered out, and his voice vanished as darkness consumed him.
Fayiz swallowed, his throat dry. He slowly turned around to face the dragonkin. Even the mighty reptilians had been cowed, it seemed. They quickly recovered, starting to advance towards him, and his hand immediately went to the clay flask at his belt.
“Not one step closer, lizards!” he snarled. “Not unless you want to be doused in mulukian fire!”
That gave them pause. Everyone who knew the Redbloods knew the power of mulukian fire. The liquid ignited when exposed to air, and the flames that would come forth were not easily extinguished.
The red dragonkin stepped forward, snarling in raspy Iliac, “My scales protect me from fire, human. I do not fear your yellow flames.”
“And yet you keep your distance,” Fayiz retorted.
“Don’t be a fool,” spoke the blue dragonkin, its voice a sandpapery growl. “You can’t flee with those things behind you. You should surrender and accept your death.”
“Perhaps… or perhaps all three of us are on borrowed time,” Fayiz argued, thinking quickly. “These torches will only keep the shades away for so long. When they fade, they’ll be upon us like jackals. If you want to keep them at bay, you’ll need to finish building your campfire. And I’m not letting you do that until I have your word that you’ll let me live – as your prisoner.”
The dragonkin looked at each other. Fayiz waited nervously for their answer. He couldn’t run away, and he couldn’t kill them both. This was his only chance of survival.
“How do we know you won’t cut our throats while we sleep, Redblood?” demanded the red one.
“Then take my weapons, damn you!” Fayiz snapped. “My camel has rope to tie me with, but unless I have your word that you’ll spare me, I’ll throw this flask and damn us all to the night!”
The dragonkin shared another glance. They said something to each other in raspy Draconic, then turned back to Fayiz to give him their answer.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he put the flask on the ground.
After they had bound him, tying his hands behind his back, the dragonkin set Fayiz beside the campfire. The blue-scaled dragonkin watched Fayiz from the opposite side of the fire, his bright yellow eyes staring unblinking. A single horn jutted out of his snout like a thick, pale hook. Fayiz kept his expression dour, trying to hide his discomfort.
“Do you still see them?” the blue one called to his red-scaled companion, his gaze remaining on Fayiz. His voice was lighter than the other warrior’s, but it still had that rough edge to it, like two small stones scraping together.
“Aye,” replied the red-scaled warrior, holding a torch and watching the shadows beyond the camp. This one’s voice was raspy and harsh, like a burn mark that had learned to talk, and he had two horns instead of one, curving upwards and as black as onyx. “They’re just on the edge of the firelight… They’ll lose interest soon enough. We just need to wait.”
“No, they won’t,” Fayiz told him. “Shades hunger for warm flesh. They won’t—”
“Was I speaking to you, Rauthyarlh?” the red dragonkin snapped, directing a glare at him.
Fayiz glared back. “What in the hells is a Rauthyarlh?”
“A Redblood.”
“Well, you can say it just as well in Iliac, can’t you?”
The lizard stepped towards Fayiz and struck him across the face. Skin tore as scale scraped across flesh, and Fayiz felt a tooth break in his mouth.
“He’s a prisoner, Shedinn,” the blue warrior told his companion calmly. “Let him talk all he wants.”
“Then he can tell us about Hrulgut,” snarled the one called Shedinn. “That’s where you came from, isn’t it, human?”
Fayiz spat out his broken tooth. “Mayhaps,” he grunted.
“How many men are you at Hrulgut? What defences do you have?” Shedinn demanded. “I know you Redbloods are fond of your little tricks.”
“Ah, that’s a conversation I should have with your commanders, isn’t it?” Fayiz replied through a bloody smile. In truth, he knew only the bare necessities about Hrulgut’s defences, but he wouldn’t live much longer if he told them that.
The blue dragonkin spoke to his companion again, this time in Draconic. It was a strange language, simultaneously guttural and elegant, like the rasp of a snake. Though the exact meaning was lost to him, Fayiz surmised that it was some kind of argument, one that the red warrior was losing. Eventually, he gave up and retreated to his tent, grumbling. The blue warrior remained, silent and watching.
After a long silence, Fayiz spoke. “So… you have a name?”
The warrior glowered at him.
“You’d prefer I called you lizard?”
“I’d prefer you didn’t speak at all,” his scaled captor said coldly.
“I thought I was free to talk?”
“You are. But names are for friends, Redblood, and you are not one of mine.”
This was one of those honourable types, Fayiz decided with disdain. “Suit yourself, lizard,” he grunted, leaning back against the rock they’d set him beside.
“You don’t seem too concerned about the death of your brother,” the warrior remarked after a minute. He said it like an accusation.
“Brother?” Fayiz laughed when he realised who the dragonkin was talking about. “You think that idiot was my brother?”
“All warriors are brothers,” he replied sagely, like he was reciting something. “Bound not by the blood we carry, but by the blood we spill.”
“Is that the nonsense they put into your head?” Fayiz sneered. “He was no brother of mine, lizard – just another coward of the Redblood Company. I wouldn’t even be in this mess if it weren’t for him.”
The warrior looked affronted. “He still wore your colours, fought for your cause! Does that mean nothing to you?”
“Redbloods have no cause, lizard.”
“Oh, of course,” the warrior muttered darkly. “I’d forgotten that a Redblood’s loyalty is to a purse full of coins.”
“As is the loyalty of any soldier,” Fayiz argued. “Spearman, archer, general – it’s all anyone fights for.”
“You’re wrong. The Bluebanes fight for honour.”
“Honour?” Fayiz spat. This lizard infuriated him. “Is that why you’re invading the Red Sands? Because you’re so bloody honourable?”
“We are fighting to free our brethren! Brethren that you have enslaved!” the dragonkin snarled. “We follow warriors like Allira Veranus—”
“That I’ve enslaved?” Fayiz laughed incredulously. “Do I look like I can afford slaves, lizard? I could barely afford my own armour!”
That gave the warrior pause. “You had to buy your armour?”
“Of course. You didn’t?”
“My armour was given to me when I swore myself to Gharamax,” he murmured in reverence. “My weapon was forged by the smiths of Clan Akambrelax, as a gift to the clanless warriors of el-Djehara.”
“Well, lucky you,” Fayiz scoffed. “I had to buy mine from a tannery that smelt of goat piss. And my sword, I picked up off of a dead man at Quzabi.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter.” The warrior shook his head. “It’s your masters who forced my people into servitude. And not just mine – the khorguls, the parvumites, the azaelites… Even the greatest of our warriors, like Allira Veranus, have suffered at Redblood hands.”
That was the second time he’d mentioned that name. Somewhat intrigued, Fayiz asked, “And who is he, exactly?”
“She is the champion of the Bluebane Alliance,” the warrior told him. “She was born here, in the Red Sands, a child when your people took her parents as slaves. She escaped to the Black River, a clanless dragonkin with nothing to her name, and through strength and honour, she became our hero.” He spoke fervently, like this woman was a god to him. “She retrieved the Bust of Helbus, slew Badr the Beastman, and now she is the trusted shield of Dragon Prince Gherrexxinon. Her suffering at Redblood hands is greater than that of anyone else I know.”
Deciding to hazard a guess, Fayiz asked, “She wouldn’t happen to have white scales, would she?”
The warrior recoiled, eyes widening.
Fayiz allowed himself to chuckle. “So that’s who I saw. This army has a champion riding with it, eh? And it’s a prince she guards?”
The warrior was silent. Perhaps he realised he’d said too much.
Fayiz laughed again at the lizard’s foolishness. “Well, she sounds like a beast of a woman, to be sure. But she was lowborn, yes? That’s what clanless means?”
“Yes…” the warrior replied uncertainly.
“What about your highborn?”
“Our… highborn?” He sounded confused.
“Aye, your highborn,” Fayiz said mockingly. “The ones who started this war. Your high clans, your mighty King Gharamax – how many of their kin have been taken by slavers, do you think?”
The reptilian stared at him blankly, like the thought had never occurred to him. “I… I don’t know.”
“You’d imagine it would be next to none of them, wouldn’t you?” Fayiz interrogated. “Like all highborn, they hide behind castle walls and legions of armed guards. No one would brave all of that just to capture one or two slaves, would they?”
“I suppose not…”
“Then why do they fight?” Fayiz demanded. “What’s their stake in this war?”
The warrior didn’t have an answer, as Fayiz had known he wouldn’t. Smirking cruelly, he told his captor, “I’ll tell you what they fight for, lizard – silver and land. That’s what this war is about. That’s what every war is about. You and I, we’re just pieces in a game played by men more powerful than we could ever hope to be. And when the war is done and the bodies are in the ground, it’ll be those men who reap the spoils, not us.”
“That’s not true,” the warrior muttered.
“Oh, but it is, lizard,” Fayiz told him with a dark chuckle. “That’s a soldier’s lot – fighting and dying to make rich men richer. It’s your lot too. You just don’t see it yet.”
For a moment, the warrior said nothing. Then he looked up at Fayiz, frowning. “If you believe this, why do you fight? You’re a mercenary. Couldn’t you just leave?”
“Oh, could I?” Fayiz laughed again. “Do you want to know what they call a Redblood who turns in the black dagger, lizard?”
“What?”
“A corpse.”
The warrior did not reply.
Fayiz leant against his rock, falling silent. He was done talking. He looked down into the campfire burning in front of him, watching its orange flames flicker and dance. He wondered how much time he had actually bought himself.
“Valorean,” the warrior murmured. When Fayiz looked up, he clarified, “You asked my name earlier. It’s Valorean.”
“Valorean…” Fayiz looked out to the darkness. “You’ll keep your word and take me to your camp, Valorean? Alive?”
“I will… though I don’t think I’ll have a say in what happens next,” Valorean replied regretfully.
Fayiz’s laugh was bitter and empty. “We never do.”
The End
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