It was a hard landing, and as quickly as I fell under, the climb was a slower affair. Several times I gained a foothold only to slip back down when I opened my eyes. The world spun and swung, and I was more content to let it settle.
Once I’d built the courage to try again, I was confronted by a familiar feeling, both the stench wafting to my nose and the silken strands’ repeated whipping against my face. This time though, I could barely lift my head. My limbs were dreadfully sore—like each had been pounded with a mallet, and I was completely drained. For the time being, the rear of a horse wasn't so bad a pillow.
While resting, I cleared my throat, both to signal to Cordella and to rid the drool. When she didn’t say anything I took it upon myself to strike up a conversation, if only to distract from what swung a few inches my nose.
"What was it you told me?"
"Hmm?" She shifted at the sound of my voice.
"You said something to me before I fell."
"Ah, right. I told you it was a clever maneuver, but that you wasted a lot of time. After that, you hit the ground, and I believe I called you a...fool? Simpleton? Something to that effect."
Then I didn’t miss much. “Easy now, don’t strain yourself with the compliments.”
“That’s not fair. I called you clever! Reckless, but still clever.”
“And what about our progress? Are we close?”
“I think so,” she pondered. “Closer, at least. Things seem to move faster when we aren’t telling our little stories.”
“Ah, funny. And maybe we’d still be in Ethelburrow if I weren’t the only one telling them?”
Her neck tightened after the last comment—a slip of the tongue. I tried to keep my mouth shut, but her goading made that a difficult task given all that weighed on me. Silently, I’d been ruminating since the night before, and today’s events only solidified my concern. We rode in tandem, a lone steed and ten coins between us, but beyond that, all she’d shared was her name.
Distrust wasn’t the only welling feeling. I could still barely recall the events leading up to my collapse, but I remembered quite well the awe I felt when she single-handedly scorched a hole in the earth. And yet, I took an unequal share of the damage, unable to move an inch without fear of crashing to the ground. The cost of magic—the reason I condemned myself to caution—was the reason Cordella perplexed me so. I was a frequent practitioner, with access to a pool of ether that ran deeper than most, yet one too many spells were near lethal. Cordella's pool, on the other hand, appeared bottomless.
In the end, curiosity burned hotter than any muscle, granting me the strength to seat myself so that I could ask the questions first and foremost on my mind.
“I never asked, but what do you want with Chenglei? From what you tell me, I don’t see why you wouldn’t choose somewhere more appealing. Someplace with less notoriety.”
“Maybe I find the notoriety appealing.”
In asking, I’d hoped for a little more generosity. To make amends for yesterday’s lies, I’d loaned today’s goodwill, and now, by my account, she was overdrawn. What she gave me was short of an answer, and I found it hard to believe. After all, there was nothing I sought from there but seclusion, so unless she had a warrant I didn’t know about, she’d withheld her agenda. Judging by the brevity of the conversation, she knew it too.
So be it. If she wasn’t willing to lead me there of her own accord, I had my ways of cutting to the point.
"Why didn't you tell me that you could use magic? With such ferocity no less?"
Immediately, Cordella rose in the saddle, a nervous adjustment before playing out all of the familiar signs: the long, hanging sigh—reins drooping in her hands as her attention shifted from ground to sky. She tried her best to hide it, but she was no better at it than I. “If you knew, I didn’t think you’d have agreed to it.”
"You’d rather I find out like this and risk my leaving? And why should it make any difference to me? We already came this far."
"Don't play that game, Kaiser. You wouldn't be asking if it didn't make a difference. Dance around it all you want, but I know what you're wondering."
"Then tell me," I said simply. "You've done nothing but interrogate me since we left. I already played along. All I'm asking is for you to extend the same courtesy."
"You're wondering why you're here." Her words were impassive, but her act was paper-thin. Even with her head turned, I could feel her hesitance to answer the question she put forth.
“Why are we going to Chenglei, and why have you been keeping it a secret?”
“For the same reason you did. I wanted to know more, and Chenglei was the only place for me to do it."
“To learn more?”
She nodded once. “I’ve been traveling to find out all that I can about the wyvern outbreak. That's why I frequented that filthy pub, and it's why I believed your story."
"And the job posting?"
"They tell you academia is its own reward, but it doesn't exactly fill the pockets, does it? I needed a damn horse."
I scoffed. "You’re a stronger mage than me, but you're just as bad a liar. If a horse was all you needed, you'd find another way. There's more you're not telling me."
"You're half-right." She cocked her head left, and I saw a glimpse of her flushed cheek. "The horse was part of it, but I needed more than I was willing to ask for. On paper at least."
“What more did you need from me?”
“Well, I'd been pursuing this for quite a while and never made much progress. So, after you brought me to Chenglei, I—I was hoping you'd be willing to stick around. For a short time, that is."
So that was her angle? Not for her to follow me, but just the opposite?
“It wouldn’t be long, I just thought—”
"Why?" I asked as the thought passed. "What help would I be when you can send your problems to hell and back with a snap of your fingers?"
“Ugh. Kaiser, don’t make me explain it. I may be strong, but if you haven't noticed, planning isn't one of my strong suits. If I came face to face with a wyvern, I'm not sure I'd be able to walk away on my merit alone. But you—you're different. You're accustomed."
I may have not read the paper, but I was certain that Slayer of Wyverns was not among the qualifications. Accustomed or not, the thought of willingly facing one made my teeth clench; if in following her that became a real threat, then I would rather stay as far away as possible.
“You make a big claim with little evidence. Just because I saw a wyvern doesn’t mean I faced one. Thing had me scared shitless.”
“You know that’s not what I meant. You didn’t fight it, but you’ve fought before, and you know how to end one without brute force. Of that much, I’ve plenty evidence. Even if it took some effort, you were the one to fell the golem, not me.”
Her flattery wasn’t swaying. There was at least a marginal difference between a lumbering rock and a barreling mountain with wings, and it wasn’t lost on me. But, I’d be lying to say I wasn’t curious all the same. That day and every night since, my mind would wander from the split-second silence back to where it started. Back to Crodmill and Ethelburrow. I had the same questions she did, and I’d be remiss to reject the help of someone with her skill, even if it presented the odd hazard.
"As much as I want to tell you no, I can't find a good enough reason to. For the time being, I'll do what I can to help you in Chenglei, so long as we don't start chasing smoke looking for a flame."
Cordella was silent, bringing the reins down to her thighs and causing us to slow to a stop. At first, I feared we had encountered another obstacle, but then I saw from the corner of her face the smile spreading to her cheeks. Out of nowhere, she twisted in the saddle and grabbed my hands, bouncing giddily as she tore my limbs from their sockets. "Thank you. Thank you! You have no idea what this means to me. I'll never be able to repay you for this."
“By my count, that makes us even. I've caused you enough hell to get my due. That said, I think we could both stand to be more direct.”
Little did I know the levee my words would open, sparking Cordella to detail the events of her upbringing with even more scrutiny than I. Now I understood her passive listening. I hadn’t a deep a bucket for the outpour of intricate detail—people, places, and events the likes of which she started to name offhandedly. She’d gone from tight-lipped to treating me like her oldest friend, and although I couldn’t really fit that role, I enjoyed being given the chance.
Beyond an average childhood, she recounted an early affinity for magic. Some lessons from Mom, a few from Dad, but it didn’t become an obsession until their passing. “Losing them at that age, magic was something to get lost in." From there, it was her aunt that fostered her and her ability both. With ample resources and little to distract her, she quickly became a savant, skilled beyond even what my old man was capable of, but she was unpracticed. She had little experience in applying her skills, preferring to stick her nose in books over combat.
As far as I was aware, she was a blank canvas before beginning our trek, but now, as she jotted it down, I realized the overlap in our chronicles. More than just our fostered upbringing, I saw much of myself in her. She was bolder than I, certainly, but also curious and passionate—possessed by the same insatiable spirit that now drove her east for more information on the wyverns. She had her aunt to thank for that too, a fact she made certain that I was well aware of. Her aunt it seemed had filled a role much in the way that Israfel had in mine: a quiet, studious figure to guide through the unknown. She had nothing but praise for her, talking more of their shared misadventures than any of her own.
“So what happened? How did you end up at an old crossroads? It sounds like you had an awful lot to leave behind.”
“Don’t I know it? I guess I just got too fixated—spent so much time in pursuit that I didn’t realize I’d gotten lost.”
“What is it you’re looking for, exactly?”
“Answers, mostly, but all I find are questions.” Her words drifted as she answered. That was a conversation we’d have to revisit. “Enough about me though, I’m starting to get sick of my voice.”
“And here I thought the day would never come...”
She snickered. “Like you don’t love talking my ear off. Tell me again where you learned to swing a stick. The circus?”
“Why? Is it that obvious?”
“You do have a knack for parlor tricks,” she added, laughing again before stopping herself. “I joke, but under the sarcasm, I meant what I said before. You’re no amateur with that. Like that stunt with the golem—I’d certainly never thought to use ether without refining it. How did you figure that one out?”
“I’d rather not reveal all of my secrets.”
“Oh ho! A showman too? The festival just hasn’t been the same without you.”
It carried on much the same from there. We’d already taken turns sharing our stories, so we moved on to our shared interests—little techniques the others may or may not have learned from their respective tutor. I hadn’t as much to lend her, and though she mocked me enough for it, I still enjoyed myself. It was several days now since we’d met, and I’d started feeling a deeper kinship with my new ally. I didn’t know what fiery demise she’d lead me to, but I was content knowing I didn’t march there alone.
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Somewhere amidst our banter, the chattering wind calmed, and the terrain flattened as we came to enter the mountain's saddle. Its ridges rose like a great wall along either side—a stone wreath—and within it, a metropolis chiseled into the mountainside. There waited the land in the alps. We had finally arrived.
"This is Chenglei?" I gasped, holding back awe at the village that filled my view. It was a foolish question, but one I was nevertheless compelled to ask when I saw how my meager expectations compared to the towering reality.
It was huge, at least as large as Abdera, and unlike my home kingdom, its front gates were open to travelers and residents alike. From what I’d gleaned of Cordella’s history lecture, Chenglei was constructed by a wealth of miners. Today, they were the world's largest suppliers of coal and ore, and no other lands dared threaten its tranquility and risk losing access to its exports. Moreover, cradled in the mountains, only a few creatures were equipped to deal with the harsh conditions. Counter to every rumor, it was a haven—the perfect place for a redemption seeker to make their new home.
Whereas I was struck with wonder, Cordella was notably subdued, riffling through her saddle bag and sprawling a map along the horse's back. "Now that we've arrived, I want to search every outlet for information on the wyverns." She brought her finger down center of town, a small star scratched into the parchment where she'd pointed. "This will be our first stop."
"First stop? We've ridden days on end, Cordella, and I've traveled longer still. If it's no bother to you, I'd like to rest for at least the evening."
"Haven't you rested plenty back there?"
The idea of beginning our hunt for leads so soon after arriving was wholly unappealing, and I wouldn't be dissuaded. "Just because I've gotten used to the smell of shit doesn't mean I enjoy it. I say we find the nearest tavern, and if after a few drinks, you want to start your search, it's the perfect place to do so."
She fidgeted in the saddle, and her neck tensed; she was none too keen on my suggestion, and though she wouldn't dare say so, it showed clearly in her demeanor. "Have it your way, then, but I'd rather not waste all of our time lounging."
In that sentiment, we diverged, for I could think of no better way to spend our time. Regardless, we rode into the packed town under dark gray sky and cloud, and, fearing that they spelled out an impending storm, we thought it best to tether our horse before setting out on foot. It was a brimming cedar that I decided would do the trick, packed with foliage that would provide cover from any snow flurry. Fingers numb from the cold, I was having trouble tying a strong enough knot when Cordella tapped at my shoulder.
"Kaiser," she whistled into my ear. "What do you think is going on here?"
"Well, back home we call this snow."
She gave me a hard shove, causing me to lose my grasp on the half-frozen lead. "Dammit, not that! Look around."
I heard nothing out of the ordinary as I finished working at the reins—no screams, cries, or anything else of note, but, as instructed, I swiveled on my feet. There behind me was a nothing but a peaceful town cloaked beneath a light snow. "What are you talking about? There's no one there."
"Exactly," she said, calm but with a hint of urgency. "This is a mercantile village, so where are the merchants? Or anyone for that matter?"
She was right. In our time here, we had yet to see a soul. Upon ingress, the gates were bereft of sentries or townsfolk, and the streets were terribly still. Outside of the winds that scraped the mountainside, the town was quiet—eerie even. "Maybe they don't like the weather?" I mused, though I knew a town like this would be well accustomed. Or maybe it was all just another nightmare.
“I don’t know, but I don’t like it. It’s been a long time since I was here last, and I barely recognize it with empty streets.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. If they aren’t in the streets, then they’re in their houses. Simple as.”
Despite my outward disregard, the familiarity of the situation made me anxious. With Cordella following, I approached a nearby dwelling made up of stone and mortar. I rounded the property, and at its sturdy wooden door, I wrapped my knuckles, hoping to bring attention to its residents and show Cordella that her fears were unfounded. No answer.
"Maybe they didn't hear it?"
I knocked again with more force, rattling the planks such that even their neighbors would be alarmed by the racket. The same result, only that time, I’d pressed my ear against it to be sure we weren’t just ignored. Finally, I brought my foot to my waist and kicked hard, causing the hinges to groan under the stress.
"What in God's name are you—"
The poor door yielded under brute force, clicking free of its bolt and slamming against the inside wall of the abode. I offered my shaken comrade a sly grin, for which I received a nod of disapproval as she followed in after.
It was quite the lavish kitchen we had entered, larger than the hole I had lived out of in Abdera, and it was stacked with jars of many different sizes and contents. "Beets, carrots, stew," I said as I ran my fingers along the glass and ceramic, pondering if we should add it to our eternally depleting stash. Even better, sheltered from the elements, this was the ideal place to wait out an impending blizzard. I turned from my rummaging to see that Cordella remained stiff in the doorway.
"This is wrong," she said in a hush. "These things aren't ours to take."
"Normally, I would agree, but unless you see someone objecting, I think it's perfectly fair given the circumstances. Besides, all of the food will spoil if it just sits here; it's better that it come under our care than go to waste."
She tucked her arms into a tight cross. "And why would the doors be locked if nobody was home?" I threw out my own before turning back to the menagerie, concerned only with building our reserves. Frustrated by my nonchalance, she stormed down one of the narrow halls and left me to forage.
Without distraction, I was quickly able to categorize the contents of each of the chests and cupboards. Next, I just had to bind it all and neatly pack it away. Twine in hand, I made a loop and began wrapping with fervor; however, I didn't get very far before my conscience came to beseech me just as Cordella had. As unlikely as it may be, I would hate for these poor souls to return to robbed home. I sighed, putting away the string and deciding instead to explore the house for myself.
"Find anything?" I called out to no response. I followed the same hall as my companion before me, unsure of where she had stowed herself to sulk. Around the first corner was a bedroom, tidy and simple. The cot was squarely tucked with fleece; whoever left it hadn’t done so in a hurry. A long creak drew my attention back to the hallway.
"Look, there's no need to be angry. I already put it all—" My words drifted off as I poked my head into the next room, mostly empty save for an opening in the middle of it, a gaping hatch between the floorboards. The door was unlatched, and in the hazy light, I could see a shallow staircase leading into the bowels of the building.
"Okay, you were right. We shouldn't have come here. You can come out now," I plead with the empty edifice, smart enough to know that nothing desirable lay beneath the floor It was then that the figure slunk past me, casting a shadow that stretched the room, but I was too late to react. My arms were locked behind my back, and a cold metal pressed against my nape.
"Don't make another sound!" the voice hissed—a man's voice. Then, with a yank and a shove, my knees fell out from under me, and I was brought face-to-face with Cordella. She was put in a similar hold, but rather than fear on her face, she wore a wretched scowl—one intended not for her captors, but for the fool who alerted them. The same intrepidity was absent from the woman restraining her. The knife trembled under a timorous grip, and her frantic breathing betrayed her unease.
"The town is in peril, so you think to rob us? You cowards picked the wrong house."
"We meant no harm," I told him, quickly and calmly as to defuse the situation. "We come from afar. We merely sought refuge from the cold." When his grip faltered, I fought the urge to disarm my assailant, instead keeping my arms together to show compliance. These were townspeople, not killers; they didn't deserve violence.
"I already saw the kitchen," the man declared. "You would have let us starve!"
I didn't acknowledge Cordella's lasting glare. "We wouldn't. Not without knowing the house was uninhabited. All is where I left it, you can check for yourselves."
The woman dropped her silverware and vanished into the house, returning a short time later with a nod. Begrudgingly, the man followed suit, giving me Cordella much-needed breathing room after letting us go. Now that I could see more than the man's hands, I could see he was middle-aged, just as his presumed spouse was. His countenance was drained of the spite I had imagined and was left only with an exhausted glaze.
"We're sorry to take these kinds of measures," he admitted, "but we can't be too careful. Crisis does bring out the worst in folks."
"Careful of what?" Cordella asked.
"The wyverns. They've surrounded the village for days on end. Any commotion could get us all killed—that's why we've been holed up in that blasted cellar."
"Mercy," chimed the wife, as weary as her husband. "What an awful time for you souls to visit Chenglei. It's been a week that we've been hidden away, and what with the researcher missing, we've no way of dispelling them all."
Cordella perked at the comment, but its significance was lost on me. "Researcher?" I whispered curiously.
"She's the local expert of these parts, out studying the behavior of these very scoundrels. I'm afraid that, without her, we may never be able to leave."
Someone devoted entirely to the study of the draconic? Chenglei must have been teeming to necessitate such a niche role. Still, they could prove useful to our cause, a fact Cordella was undoubtedly aware of.
The man broke the short-lived silence. "Please understand, we don't want to force you two to face the elements alone, but we haven't the food to sustain the four of us for long. We'd appreciate if you stayed no longer than a day. That should more than make up for the fright we caused you both."
I had more questions, but after our intrusion, I thought it rude to press them for too many details. The both of us nodded and solemnly followed the couple into the undercroft.