Dragonbond

Chapter 2

Koragi was glad for the spare cushion she had brought. By the time the sun began its descent in the sky, she was stiff and sore from being cramped between a dozen crates and barrels. With the cushion, at least her backside didn’t suffer the scratches and bruises the rest of her body sustained from the uneven road. She tried to find a better position, but that only resulted in a bump on the side of her head when the wagon hit a rut and tossed her against the rear wall. She opted to stay there against the wall, stuffing her cushion between herself and the wooden planks. The wagon jostled her less in the corner by the smaller crates of salted beef, and she could see out the back to where Tebanis and his horse kept pace with the caravan. His dark, watchful eyes peered out over the plains surrounding them.

They had traveled a few hours north of Cordak and the unusual heat had not abated. With little movement of air where she sat, drowsiness came over her. As she relaxed, she imagined that she was in a pleasant place, the jerking beneath her becoming the rocking of a small boat upon a lake. She looked out at the sprawling land around her, and it transformed into a river carrying her beneath a canopy of tall trees. A man stood near her, shrouded in a black cloak and bearing a long pole which he used to steer the boat as the easy current pushed them forward. Koragi smiled, relaxed, and peered out at the imaginary line of trees. The large cedar trunks began to dwindle until they reached a part of the river surrounded only by grass.

Koragi squinted when she saw dark shapes on the horizon. They were small, but they seemed to move quickly, coming toward the river. As she stared, she realized abruptly that her daydream had already ended. She jerked forward and placed a hand on the crate next to her, pointing out at the horizon where the black shapes looked much closer than they had a moment ago.

Before she could call out a warning, the wagon pulled to a stop and the oxen stomped and grunted. The militia men on their horses shouted, and she drew away when Tebanis approached the back of her wagon and lowered the canvas in front of her. Gerian ushered the children into the back from the driver’s seat. Koragi shifted to the canvas and pulled it aside to look out at the clamor of shouts and drawn steel. Two archers among the militia guards nocked their arrows and aimed in the direction of the approaching creatures.

Following the direction of their gazes, Koragi released a quiet gasp and her stomach clenched. The unformed shapes melted into a pack of snarling wolves and yapping goblins. The small humanoids were about three feet tall, with grotesquely green skin protected by deer pelts. Each brandished a sword or spear. Deep red grease streaked the wolves’ fur, marking them as goblin-trained beasts. Their beady yellow eyes glinted with intelligence, filling Koragi with dread when she thought one of those sets of eyes locked onto her.

The militia horses were work animals and did not have the stomach to face the wolves. Tebanis dismounted first. Drawing his thin-sword, he rushed the pack of beasts and swung rapidly. Koragi stared in wonder as the blade effortlessly cut down two of the goblins in moments. The other villagers cheered from the front of the caravan as two arrows whistled through the air. Only one struck the wolf that had made a break for the rear wagon.

Koragi’s fingers clutched the canvas tighter when Tebanis lunged after the unrelenting wolf with a speed that seemed almost unnatural. He tackled the beast to the ground and sliced the animal’s throat with his sword before they had even stopped sliding through the grass. A sharp yelp announced the quick death of the wolf. Tebanis moved again with a billow of his cloak, his boots kicking up a tuft of dirt as he pivoted to meet the next wolf that darted forward. Three goblins remained, but the speed at which the caravan guards had killed their fellows gave them pause. The guards ran to meet them, causing the goblins to squeal commands in their harsh tongue. They sent the last two wolves to attack the guards and fled the scene to save their own hides.

By the time Koragi’s gaze shifted back to Tebanis, he had already turned to help the two militia guards. The young seamstress felt her pulse race, unable to look away. Tebanis moved fluidly through the tall grass, as if accustomed to the trials of the terrain. The grasping grass did nothing to hinder his movements as he hurried to his companions, who had drawn long knives. They met the fierce wolves while the creatures’ terrifying growls chilled the onlookers.

The militia men struggled. One shrieked as a wolf closed its jaws over his wrist. The man began to strike the wolf’s head with his other fist in his panic. Tebanis brandished his weapon before him while he shifted his feet and skidded across the ground. His sword slid through the first wolf’s rib cage and burst through the other side with a sickening crack of bone. The second wolf dropped after two arrows struck its neck and the uninjured militia soldier buried his knife to its hilt in the animal’s neck.

Tebanis turned his blade down and thrust the tip into the dirt to make the weapon stand upright. He drew a kerchief from a pocket and approached the guard who had knelt to nurse his wounded wrist. As the caravan prepared to continue the ride to the city, with children excitedly reenacting parts of the fight and the women whispering about the bravery of their guardians, Koragi settled back into her seat between the crates. A guard opened the canvas again, giving her a clear view behind the wagon.

The militia men were far enough away that she could not make out their words, but it was evident, even from the distance, that the injured guard’s wrist had been broken by the powerful jaws of his wolf assailant. Once the others wrapped and placed it in a makeshift sling, they clapped him on the shoulder and went back about their watch. The injured guard stepped up into the back of the wagon with Koragi while the rest mounted their horses and urged the caravan forward.

Additional company in the wagon seemed pleasant at first, but the man could speak of nothing other than his injury and the short battle that had taken place. Koragi reluctantly listened to every word, offering fitting reassurances that he would be in fighting shape again in no time at all. He was friendly, but he made a few inappropriate suggestions that made her turn her attention elsewhere. Injury or not, he had certainly not been the most impressive thing about that fight. He had a bottle of whiskey to stave off the pain until they reached the city, so she did not begrudge him his candor. As long as he remained on his side of the wagon, she had no trouble letting him talk to the crates and barrels.

The sky began to grow dark, with dull clouds rolling in from the west to cover the sun long before dusk. A chill settled on the wind that made Koragi grateful for her long sleeves, which she unrolled down her arms. With the threat of rain, the excitement of the coming night in Eiskre faded. They expected fewer potential customers in a storm, and Koragi heard talk of waiting until morning to set up their stalls. She did not mind either choice. The city had tall hooded lanterns with brilliant white fire that illuminated the streets enough that the visitors could set up their goods if they wished. Only a terrible storm would prevent Koragi from displaying Myra’s stock.

The breeze was still gentle and there was no lightning to indicate a bigger storm, but Koragi knew that some of the others were simply eager to get to the Commons Hall in the city. There, she and the others of the proper age would put their names forward for the drawing that determined who would receive a formal invitation to attend the Festival Ball. The rest of the villagers could remain where it was warm while they awaited the results of the drawing. They had never traveled to the inner city to attend the official reading of the names drawn, but the officials of Eiskre also announced the names in the Commons Hall in the South District. Now sixteen, Koragi was old enough to place her name in the pool, but given the great number of young women who clamored for a spot on the list, she decided she had no real cause to think she might go.

And while Koragi was not one to partake in the all-night festivities of song, dance, drink, and feasting that followed the reading of the names, she had no qualms about doing business with those who did. Pockets tended to be looser following a night of merriment.

The noise of the city reached Koragi’s ears before she saw any visual signs. Eiskre was alive with excitement even as the sky grew darker still and the chill remained on the breeze. There was no moisture in the air. The clouds were thin enough overhead that an occasional star shone through them and it seemed that their night would be busy with the setup of their corner of the markets after all. Tonight the two moons of Camriiole were not visible, clouds or not. The Festival marked the beginning of Joma, the first of the spring months, and this was the first night of the new moon cycles.

The caravan exuded an anxious buzz as it approached the tall white walls of the capital city. A short line of wagons and horses rested ahead of them, each amidst inspections of goods and belongings. The guards of Eiskre subjected all Festival attendees to a thorough review prior to entrance to the city. Many of the guards present for the Festival bore the red and white of Raitom to the west. Each year the great military city of Raitom sent small detachments of guards to assist with security. It was...