Dragon Slayer 2_A Pulp Fantasy Harem Adventure Page 4

  I couldn’t help marveling at the intricate dance of the human-pulled carriages. It reminded me of those YouTube videos I’d seen of the nonstop ebb and flow of traffic in Indian cities. There was no coordination, stoplights, or turn signals, but all of the rickshaw runners wove a steady pace around each other. It was as breathtaking as it was complex.

  My gut clenched as I saw the inevitable collision coming a moment before it occurred. Two rickshaw runners tried to cut through the same gap in traffic at the same time, and the long carriage poles slammed into the drivers with bone-crushing force. A moment later, the wheels of the two rickshaws collided with each other. One of the wheels snapped free of its axle, and the carriage crashed to the ground. The young girl and older man within were thrown into the street.

  Right into the path of another speeding rickshaw.

  The driver managed to swerve out of the way at the last moment, but the iron spoke of the wheel caught the young girl right in the leg while the rim smacked into her head. She fell backward with a cry, and my heart leapt into my throat.

  I leaped forward and sprinted the ten steps to where the girl lay on the ground. As I approached, I saw that her eyes were closed, and blood leaked from a wound on her forehead. She was breathing, but it was shallow and faint.

  “Jian!” The old man who had been riding with her staggered toward me with a cry, and his eyes were wide with fear. He threw himself onto his knees beside the girl and clung to her hand.

  “Be careful,” I told him. “Let me take a look at her.”

  “My daughter is—”

  “Sir, I know what I’m doing.” I gripped his shoulder and turned him to face me. “I’ve trained as a healer, so I need you to get out of my way and let me help her.”

  The man’s face was white, but he nodded. “P-Please,” he sobbed. “Help her, please.”

  I knelt over the girl and examined her forehead. Her skin there bled a lot, but that was normal for head wounds, so I opened her eyes to check her pupils. Even though I didn’t have a penlight to shine in her eyes, her pupils dilated in response to the bright sunlight. I sighed in relief and continued with my examination.

  It seemed the head wound wasn’t too serious, but I felt a sick sense of dread as I saw the wound in her leg. The iron spoke of the wheel had cut a deep laceration in her thigh, and though the artery hadn’t been severed, the bleeding was bad enough that she would be in serious trouble if I didn’t find a way to stop it.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered as I tried to press the wound closed. I didn’t have anything I could use to stitch her up, so what the hell was I supposed to do?

  A desperate idea sprouted in my mind, so I tapped into the fire magic racing through my veins and summoned it to my hands. But I only used a tiny fragment of the power, enough to send a stream of heat through my fingers into the girl’s leg. The sizzling of flesh and the girl’s cry of pain told me it was working.

  But it was working too well. I wasn’t experienced enough with the magic to push out only a little, and I was going to need Irenya’s help to save the girl’s life.

  I turned to the older man, who now sat cradling his daughter’s head. “I need you to hold her still,” I told him in a commanding voice. “I need to stop the bleeding, but I can’t do that if she’s moving around.”

  “Stop the bleeding? How?” Confusion twisted the man’s face.

  I ignored the question. “Arieste,” I said to the platinum-blonde woman, “help him hold her still so I can do this. Irenya, come help me.”

  The red-haired woman gave me a curious look, but she knelt in front of me. “What do you want my help with?” she asked.

  “How much of your fire magic do you still have access to?”

  She stiffened as if surprised by the question. “You took my—”

  “How much?” I demanded. “Enough that you can burn the wound closed?”

  Her eyes narrowed in thought. “I believe so. But why won’t you just do it?”

  “I don’t want to risk using too much fire and doing more damage,” I told her. “This is something that’s going to take precision, and you’ve got more experience using it than I do.”

  Irenya hesitated a long moment before nodding. “It would be better if you gave me back some of my power. Just a little, just enough that I will be able to do this without straining myself.”

  Now it was my turn to hesitate. I knew she hated the fact that I’d taken her magic, and she’d only sworn to serve me to stop me from killing her. And yet, I could see a new earnestness in her eyes. This, at least, wasn’t a ploy to steal back the power from me. She truly wanted to help this little girl.

  “I’ll do it,” I told her. “Just tell me how.”

  “Place your hand over mine,” she said as she rested a hand on the girl’s leg. “Think of passing some of the magical power through your skin and into mine, not as fire, but in the form of magic before it manifests in its physical form.”

  I drew in a deep breath and closed my eyes as I tapped into the magic. Fire surged through my veins, like lava coursing through every fiber of my being. The burning heat brought a tingling sensation, like spikes of electricity but without the pain. I focused on pouring the fire magic through my fingers and into her hand, but the magic proved difficult to control. Like fire, it wanted to be unleashed, to devour everything in its path. I gritted my teeth with the effort of keeping it from manifesting as fire, instead trapping it as a force of magic.

  Irenya gave a little gasp of pleasure as the heat passed from my hands into hers, and I could feel the magic linking us in a way more than any physical connection ever could. At that moment, it was like we were two beings fused into one, joined by the power of the fire roiling through us.

  “Do it!” I told her. “Quickly. But don’t burn too much, or else you could damage the blood vessels. Concentrate on the layers of skin and muscle.”

  I heard the sound of sizzling flesh, and the little girl screamed and squirmed as Irenya cauterized her wound. Arieste and her father fought to hold her down until I finally pulled Irenya’s hand away.

  “That’s good.” I summoned a small ice shield to form over my hand, which I pressed to the girl’s wounded thigh. It took a moment of concentration to will the layer of ice to cling to her skin instead of mine. The girl’s cries quietened to muffled sobs as the pain faded.

  I sat back on my heels and was surprised to find my heart hammering against my ribs. I felt the rush of the magic coursing through me like the finest scotch in the world, and I smiled at the sensation.

  I glanced over at Irenya, who was staring at her hands with a strange look on her face, and her words from the road outside Windwall returned to me.

  “Sometimes,” I told her in a quiet voice, “delicate human hands can prove a lot more powerful than even the sharpest talons. As Riamod, you destroyed. As Irenya, you can heal and build. Maybe it’s not so bad being human after all.”

  She fixed me with an unreadable expression but said nothing.

  “Get her to a healer,” I told the girl’s father. “There will be a scar, but she will recover from the wound.”

  “Thank you!” the man said, clutching my hand. “Thank you, kind stranger.”

  “It’s Ethan,” I told him with a grin.

  “Ethan…” He looked at Irenya as he gathered his daughter into his arms.

  “And Irenya,” I said as I gestured to the beautiful woman.

  “Irenya,” he said as he bowed to her. “You have made yourself a friend this day. I shall never forget what you both have done for me. Thank you”

  “Uhhh… You are welcome,” the woman who had once been a red dragon seemed startled by the man’s expression of gratitude.

  “Don’t mention it,” I said. “All in a day’s work. Now please take her to a healer.”

  “Yes,” he said quickly as he turned away. “Thank you both again!”

  Only once he’d gone did I realize that people were staring at us. The flow of traff
ic had come to a dead standstill, and the hundreds of men, women, and children standing in the street watched us as if we were circus performers. I saw curiosity and disbelief in every set of eyes, and it was clear they struggled to comprehend what they just saw. As King Obragar said, magic had been lost to humans for centuries, so it made sense that they tried to come up with a more mundane explanation.

  “Let’s go,” I said. I wanted to get out of there quickly. Something about the strange way King Obragar had looked at me last night told me it was better to keep the knowledge of my magic abilities as closely guarded a secret as possible.

  We strode through the busy streets of Windwall until we reached a bustling marketplace filled with noise and activity. Merchants shouted their offers of fresh produce, meat, trinkets, fabric, clothing, and tools. Musicians played on one street corner, and their strange-looking stringed instruments and pipes filled the air with a pleasant melody.

  The smell of cooking meat set my stomach rumbling. Chicken roasted on skewers over a charcoal fire filled the air with a fragrant scent that reminded me of my favorite dim sum restaurant in Chicago’s Chinatown. My mouth watered at the smells of a dozen unfamiliar dishes, and my stomach grumbled nonstop.

  “Mmm, that smells amazing,” moaned Irenya as she turned to me. “Can we stop and taste some more of this human food?”

  “No,” Arieste retorted before I could reply, “we’re here on an important mission for Whitespire. We can eat later. Isn’t that right, Ethan?” The look she gave me was full of meaning. I guessed she wanted me to agree, which would give her the “one-up” over Irenya.

  The problem was, I was really hungry. I’d eaten enough at the feast the night before, but we’d left Whitespire without breakfast. Using the fire and ice magic had taken a lot of my energy, and I could use a meal. But I knew Arieste would not like it if I agreed with Irenya.

  “Screw later,” Irenya snapped. She folded her arms over her ample chest and stomped her foot. “I’m hungry now. The food is right there, and it’s not like a few minutes’ delay is going to make the situation any worse.”

  “It can wait,” Arieste said with equal intensity in her voice. “The mission--”

  “The mission will still be there in five minutes after I’ve had some of that delicious-smelling soup!” Irenya stabbed a finger toward the pot.

  “Have you no self-control?” Arieste snarled.

  “Why should I?” Irenya rolled her eyes. “When I was Riamod, I took what I wanted when I wanted it. And that should change just because I’m human now? I know what I want, so why shouldn’t I get it?” She turned to me with an exaggerated wink that made her intentions abundantly clear to both me and Arieste.

  “Because that’s not the way humans do it,” Arieste replied in a tight voice. “During my time among them, I have learned why they hate dragons, and it is because of that very attitude. As Ethan said, there are rules that govern their civilizations. You don’t just get what you want when you want it. You cannot take something that doesn’t belong to you.”

  I knew she wasn’t talking about the soup anymore. It felt kind of awesome to have the two women fighting over me, but I couldn’t have them actually fighting when there were bigger enemies to face.

  The growling of Arieste’s stomach settled the argument right there.

  “Look, I get it, we’re all hungry,” I said as we stopped in front of a stall that served soup. “I need to eat, too. We’ll all feel better once we’ve had some food and can get back on track with the mission.”

  Arieste’s face hardened, but triumph sparkled in Irenya’s eyes as if she’d won some sort of point over the platinum-blonde woman.

  I motioned for the women to sit at a small wooden table outside the stall and then went to get three bowls of food. The woman stirring the pot eyed my Whitespire copper coins with suspicion and actually bit into one. Evidently satisfied that the copper was real, she quickly ladled soup into three bowls and dropped a handful of thick white noodles into each.

  I brought the food over to the women and sat down to enjoy it. The people of Windwall ate with chopsticks but they had forks and spoons as well. My stomach growled as I took my first bite of the thick noodles. They were a lot like Japanese udon but with a chewier texture and a stronger flavor that reminded me of nuts and mushrooms. The soup was spicy and rich, with a hint of sesame and chili oil.

  Irenya studied me as I ate, then reached for her own fork and spoon to imitate me. I had forgotten about Arieste’s struggles to eat like a human at our first banquet, but thankfully this meal proved a bit easier for both of the women. Arieste lifted spoonfuls of soup delicately to her mouth, then sipped the steaming liquid, but Irenya’s eyes went to the man at the next table who was busy slurping his noodles the way Chinese and Japanese did on Earth. She took a huge mouthful of noodles and sucked them into her mouth noisily. Arieste stiffened and turned a scowl on the red-haired woman, but that only made Irenya slurp even more loudly.

  “I’m surprised to find the people of Windwall eating so well,” I said, more to stop them from arguing than anything else. “I’d expect a city under siege by a dragon would be a bit harder off.” Judging by the unhurried movement of the people around me, things seemed absolutely business as usual, like no one cared that a horde of ghoulins was attacking less than a mile away.

  “It seems Emroth is confining her attacks to the canyon, for some reason I cannot fathom,” Arieste said.

  “I always thought she was the smart one,” Irenya said around a mouthful of noodles. “She had a way of sending her minions to precisely the spots where I was most vulnerable. Doesn’t really make sense, her throwing them at the wall like this.”

  “The dragons seem to all have different personalities and temperaments,” I commented.

  “Of course!” Irenya frowned.

  “I believe it is because of the magic, to a certain extent,” Arieste put in. “The magic shapes our minds and personalities. Yet there is more to it than that. Almost like… well, I’m not sure. Perhaps we are suited to our elements.” She seemed puzzled by the idea.

  “That is probably it,” Irenya said. “Frosdar was always calculating and cold. While I was passionate and powerful.” She shot a too-sweet grin at Arieste. “Emroth is patient, the builder. She knows that a direct assault wouldn’t work, not with all those pointy stick-shooting things.”

  “Ballista,” Arieste put in.

  Something about Irenya’s words made me pause.

  “You say ‘she.’” I pointed to the two of them. “That’s three dragons that are women. Are all dragons female?”

  The two women stared at me as if confused by my question.

  “Of course,” Arieste said, a note of surprise in her voice.

  “Why?” I asked.

  Again, they seemed to be unable to comprehend what I was asking.

  “Why what?” Irenya asked.

  “Why are all dragons women?”

  “Why wouldn’t they be?” Arieste put in.

  “So, you all came into existence five hundred years ago, you all are women, and you all desired to stay in your lairs next to your altars?”

  The two women stared at me for a few moments, but then Irenya let out a short laugh and smirked.

  “You are looking too much into this, Ethan. There are no male dragons because women can do the job much better.”

  “What job though?” I asked.

  “Guarding our lairs and building our empires, of course!” the redhead laughed again and then she winked at me.

  Arieste shrugged at the other woman’s words, but our eyes met briefly, and it seemed as if she was pondering my questions. She didn’t say anything though. Instead, they returned to their food. I was just glad they didn’t break out into another argument as we finished the meal and resumed our journey to the palace. My stomach no longer growled, but I could have eaten another bowl or three of that delicious food. I’d definitely have to pay a visit to this marketplace again to enjoy more of
Windwall’s unique cuisine.

  After I finished dealing with Emroth, of course.

  The massive black stone palace loomed high overhead as we approached, and it looked even larger than its four-story height up close. Perhaps it had something to do with the way the black stone seemed to ripple in the sunlight, or maybe it was just that the other buildings seemed to shrink in height as our steps took us nearer.

  Unlike the palace in Whitespire, this building had no fancy ornaments, statues, or adornments on the outside. It looked like one solid block of black stone, with windows, balconies, and doors cut into the side. More like a fortress or a municipal government building than a palace.

  More of the black-armored guards stood at the nearest entrance. They stared at us with suspicion as we approached and lowered their spears to block our passing.

  “I’ve come to speak to your king and the Council of Four,” I told them as I drew out King Obragar’s letter. “I am Sir Ethan, knight of Whitespire, sent on an urgent mission for the king.”

  The guard studied the scroll and its wax seal for a moment and then nodded and motioned in silence for me to follow. Two more guards fell in behind Arieste, Irenya, and me as we entered the palace behind the first guard, and the redhead gave one of them a glare when he stepped too close to her.

  The interior of the palace was much less forbidding than the exterior. Colorful paintings of birds, trees, flowers, and pastoral scenes hung next to bright woven tapestries. Ornamental urns, vases, and other pottery in every conceivable shade adorned wooden tables and shelves along the walls. The carpets beneath our feet were a rich velvet that showed none of the signs of age or wear I’d seen in Whitespire. The people of Windwall might be eternally at war with Emroth, but their economy hadn’t suffered for it.

  Instead of the grand halls and high-vaulted ceilings common in Whitespire, every room in this stone building was compact and low. It was almost like the architects that designed the building wanted to make use of every nook and cranny, with not an inch of wasted space.

  The guard led us through long, perfectly straight hallways, up a flight of blue-tiled stairs, and into what looked like a waiting room. It was small and sparsely decorated, with about a dozen stiff-backed chairs lining the walls of the chamber.