Sakrattars hunched forward, chin in his hands, and watched the sun disappear beneath the rooftops of Barsicum. It was a boring end to a disappointing day. He pulled the string of his purse closed and tucked it into an inner pocket of his robes, noting its lack of weight with a miserable sigh. There was no helping it. Digging the tip of a walking stick into the ground, he hauled himself to his feet with a crack and a groan. As he gathered his things, the woman from the nearby dye shop began her evening sweeping. He felt her eyes on him, recognized the increasing vigor in her staccato movements. She was just itching to say something rude to him. It would begin in three sweeps, two sweeps, one—
“Why’re you always outside my shop?” she said with a huff. “Go sit outside that damned dressmaker’s place for a change. Better yet, why don’t you go to the Temple of Nargo? Help you find an honest job instead of whatever charlatanry you’ve got going on here.”
Sakrattars had heard it all before. “Sorry ma’am,” he said impassively.
“You make my respectable business look bad,” she complained, ignoring his insipid apology. “Drives away the customers! Stop folding that rag of yours and look at me when I speak to you. Aegis in Arcadia, lend me your strength. . . ‘Ey! Get back here!” But Sakrattars had already turned into the nearest alley. He was eager to be home and knew he would be treated to the rest of her grievances in the morning anyway.
Navigating the narrow path between the tall plaster and brick buildings, Sakrattars pulled off a gray wig, releasing a cascade of the short, black hair that betrayed his youth. He rubbed his ears and winced—the wig concealed their long, pointy tips well enough but not without some pinching. Distracted by the pain, he didn’t see the elderly woman pulling laundry off the line in front of him.
“Watch where you’re going, why don’t ya?” she cried as Sakrattars crashed into her.
“Apologies.” Sakrattars bowed sheepishly, re-bundling his blanket and checking to make sure his purse, pitiful as it was, was still secure in his pocket.
The woman eyed him—a young elf holding a wig and an old man’s cane—dubiously. “What are you, some kind of actor?” she asked contemptuously.
Sakrattars scoffed and continued on. Were the moons in shadow? The Abyss’s proximity would certainly account for the foul mood on the streets. Wiping his face as he walked, he haphazardly avoided slick puddles of dubious origin and stray dogs nosing through refuse. The only thing that could make his evening worse would be taking a tumble into something unsavory.
He was thankful when he reached the end of the alley without further incident. Pausing to tie his hair back into a messy ponytail, he took a quick look around the corner. There was a group of workers heading home, laughing at some shared joke, and a street cleaner scooping horse manure into a cart, but nobody who might recognize him. The way clear, he scurried across the road to his apartment building.
The landlord was in his usual spot: snoring under an open window in the foyer with an empty bottle by his side. Sakrattars wrinkled his nose as he passed by to get to the stairs. The walls were stained and waxy and the sconces burned out. Fortunately, Sakrattars could see quite well in dim light.
He disarmed the locking spell on the door to his unit, too relieved to finally be home to notice the rat that scampered into a hole in the baseboards. Collapsing back onto the bed with a heavy exhale, Sakrattars stared up at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the familiar patterns of greasy soot. His room was simply furnished: there was a desk and a chair, a shelf of neatly arranged books and spell components, and a small fireplace. It was the beginning of summer so there was no need for a fire. Quite the opposite, in fact. The air was already stuffy and oppressive.
Sakrattars stripped off his old-man robes in favor of a light shirt and trousers and threw open his only window. He didn’t know why he bothered, the window was nearly flush with the neighbor’s wall. But maybe that day would be the one where the wind blew at just the right angle to make it inside.
It was then that Sakrattars noticed a letter on the floor. His heart clenched as he recognized the thin paper and delicate wax seal. Tearing it open, he was greeted by the flowing, cursive elvish that his sister was so fond of.
Sakrattars,
Please consider giving up this foolish pursuit of yours. I know Father would welcome you back if you apologized to him and agreed to study a subject more fitting of an elf lord like yourself. Think of how he must feel. His son, gifted in magic, and choosing to study divination? Divination is utterly devoid of culture, lacking in any foundation, and associated with scammers and thieves—how could you possibly be interested in such a thing?
If you agree to switch, Father might even be able to get you in at the Academia Arcana in Aurea. I can certainly mention the idea to him (casually of course) if you wish. You know how he tends to listen to me.
It has been years and we haven’t heard from you. I know everyone here shares my sentiment when I say that we want you to come home.
Sakrattars snorted skeptically. He continued:
Please write me back. Your behavior is an embarrassment to the family.
Your loving sister,
Mira
Sakrattars had barely finished reading when he crumpled up the letter and tossed it into the ashy fireplace. How did she even find out where he lived? The school must have told her. He made a mental note to speak to an administrator the next time he was in.
He opened a cage on the desk and took out a fat toad with bulging yellow eyes. “So how was your day, Bartholomew?” he asked. The toad blinked in response, his eyelids slightly out of sync. “Not too eventful, I suppose.” Sakrattars laid down on the bed, absently stroking Bartholomew’s warty skin as his thoughts took him down the long road south, towards home.
*
*
The next morning, Sakrattars watched the crowds pass by without truly seeing them. Maybe his sister was right, in a way. He had been attending the University for a decade now and didn’t have much to show for it. A majority of his time was spent making enough coin to scrape by and not on his studies. But since when did his hardships ever matter to his family? He let out a frustrated groan and a passerby started, clutching her purse nervously as she hurried along.
“Pardon, old sir.”
Forgetting that he was currently dressed as an old man, Sakrattars ignored the deep voice at first. A throat cleared, then a large hand waved slowly in his line of sight.
“Old sir?”
This time, Sakrattars looked up to the giant form of a natiuhan. He used to see them on a regular basis in his hometown of Arvisian Bay but they were a far less common sight this far into the Empire. “Yes, ma’am?” he croaked in his false voice, mildly irritated at being distracted from his brooding. “Can I interest you in your future?”
The natiuhan fished through the purse on her belt. “Not mine,” she said. Waiting for an elaboration, Sakrattars noticed that other shoppers in the area were beginning to stare. As well as being an unusual visitor in Barsicum, this natiuhan in particular cut quite an impressive figure. She was tall and burly, with dark tiger stripes tattooed across her tawny skin and a wild mass of dark red curls swooped to one side. The gold jewelry adorning her body chimed softly with every movement. She either didn’t notice all the attention she was drawing or didn’t care.
The natiuhan finally threw some coins into Sakrattars’ sack. “Not my future. Hers.” She gestured to a young girl peeking timidly out from behind her back. Sakrattars hadn’t even noticed the girl at first. She was dressed in a long cloak that looked to be little more than a tattered wool blanket, the hood drawn up far over her head. He couldn’t be sure since her features were so well-hidden but, based on her diminutive size, she didn’t appear to be a natiuhan herself. Natiuhans were known for being a secretive bunch and, despite living and working among other peoples, they tended to stick with their own and it was rare to see one alone. But it wasn’t this fact that made Sakrattars think that there must be something odd about the pair before him. No, there was something more intangible to it. Something he might one day describe as “fate”.
“And what about your future shall I divine?” Sakrattars asked the girl. Without responding, she shrunk out of view behind the natiuhan’s massive thigh.
“Whether or not she will reach her goal,” the natiuhan said.
Sakrattars paused skeptically, wondering what kind of goals a child could even have, but he held out his hand all the same. “For this to work I need to hold your hand, my dear.”
The natiuhan nudged the girl forward. “Go on, he’s not going to hurt you. And if he does, he won’t get away from me.” To make her point, the natiuhan punched a fist into her other hand. The girl relaxed, apparently comforted by this idea. Sakrattars rolled his eyes then offered the girl his hand again. This time, she shyly reached out her own.
The moment they touched, an unexpected surge of energy snaked up Sakrattars’ arm and he was thrust into a whirlwind of visions. He saw decades, centuries, flash by in the time it took for the girl to fully rest her hand in his. A burst of light blinded his mind’s eye, only to then be plunged into darkness as the shadow of a dragon, ringed by a halo of fire and ice, spread its wings. The magnificent creature turned its head, staring deep into Sakrattars’ soul, and roared. Sakrattars drew in a sharp breath as if coming up for air and then he was back in Barsicum, on his blanket, surrounded by the bustle of the morning marketplace, holding the pale hand of this strange girl.
Sakrattars marveled at the vision, his initial fear and surprise evolving into excitement.
He had an opportunity at last.
“So?” the natiuhan prodded impatiently.
“I have seen it,” Sakrattars said, coughing softly, “and you will succeed.” The girl brightened, turning to her companion triumphantly.
“I told you. Nothing to worry about.” The natiuhan nodded. “Thanks, old sir. We’ll be on our way.”
“But,” Sakrattars continued, putting emphasis on the word so that the two halted in their tracks. A thrill shot up his spine and he tried to keep the exhilaration from his voice. “You will need help.”
“What kind of help?” The natiuhan narrowed her eyes.
“The help of a diviner.”
“And where are we to find one of those?”
“Well I am a diviner, as you have seen,” Sakrattars said. “I can help you.”
The natiuhan’s demeanor immediately shifted from somewhat vexed to quietly lethal. It was nearly enough to make Sakrattars second guess his plan. “And what’s in it for you?” she asked.
Taking a brief moment to compose himself, Sakrattars folded his hands into the sleeves of his robes. He had to answer carefully. Her question was posed in such a way that he knew he only had one shot. “You are on some grand adventure, yes? Well, I am sadly quite weak and find it difficult to travel alone as a result. I only ask that you protect me on this journey with you so I can finally see all that I can see in this world . . . before I depart this life.” He coughed again, trying to be as pitiful as possible. The girl’s eyes softened in sympathy but the natiuhan remained unmoved. “In return, I will serve you well.”
“No thanks,” the natiuhan refused flatly, barely waiting until Sakrattars was finished.
“But you haven’t heard how I can be of service!”
“Don’t need to.”
Before Sakrattars could protest further, the girl grabbed the natiuhan’s arm and they exchanged a murmured conversation. Evidently, whatever she said was more convincing than Sakrattars’ plea. “Can you leave now?” the natiuhan grumbled.
“Meet me at this address tonight. Then we can go.” Sakrattars scribbled on a scrap of paper and handed it to her.
“Fine,” the natiuhan growled, crumpling the note into a clenched fist.
*
*
That evening, Sakrattars gleefully packed his meager possessions into a travel bag. “Bartholomew, things are finally looking up,” he said. “We’re going on a real adventure. There’s something very special about that girl and I’m going to find out what it is.” He threw the plain robes, the wig, and the blanket into a corner of the room and donned his wizard’s robes, made properly from rich fabrics and ornately stitched with elven design. The old man persona had outlived its usefulness. He was determined to impress his new benefactors tonight, to show them that he was going to be a valuable asset.
He took a moment to admire himself, then got quiet and slinked over to the toad. “What if she’s a dragon?” he whispered, hardly containing his excitement. “In a lot of the stories, dragons can take human form. What if I get to meet a dragon?” He gasped, a thought coming to him. “What if I already have?”
It was then that a heavy knock sounded on his door. He almost tripped while scrambling to answer it. “Come in, come in.”
The natiuhan, hunched over to avoid the ceiling, didn’t budge from the doorway. She crossed her arms. “Does an old man live here?”
“Yes, that was me,” Sakrattars explained, waving off the thought. He pointed to the heap on the floor that was once his fortune teller’s disguise.
“You’re an elf, a young elf. You tricked us.”
“What did you want me to do, reveal my identity to you in front of everyone? And nothing I told you was a lie, I do want to see all I can before I die. You just allowed my appearance at the time to . . . change the meaning a little.”
The natiuhan glowered in stony silence a few moments longer, then started back down the corridor. The strange girl scurried after her.
“Wait, don’t go! Let me explain!” Sakrattars rushed out into the hall. “I can still help you!” Not sure what else to do, Sakrattars got a sudden, wild idea. He repeated himself in Draconic, the laden words rumbling in his throat.
The girl stopped dead in her tracks.
The corner of Sakrattars’ mouth quirked up into a smug half-smile. His suspicions were all but confirmed.
The natiuhan’s wary gaze shifted between him and the girl. “What did you say to her?”
“Come inside and I will explain.”
*
*
“My name is Sakrattars Mistwood. I came to Barsicum several years ago to study at the University, divination specifically. That’s also where I studied Draconic.” Sakrattars looked meaningfully at the girl.
“I’m Jo and this is Kaja,” the natiuhan introduced gruffly. “Draconic, huh? Planning to trade with some kobolds?”
Ignoring Jo’s snide remark, Sakrattars bent down to speak with Kaja. “You understood me, didn’t you? You know Draconic.”
Kaja nodded. Jo’s eyebrows shot up.
“So what were you doing disguised on the street?” Jo turned the conversation back to Sakrattars.
“My school forbids its students from behaving in a manner that might discredit them. That includes telling fortunes in the market.” Sakrattars smiled bitterly. “I’m trying to build some foundation for trust between us by telling you this. At any time you can turn me in for fraud and I will be stripped of my enrollment and wizard’s license.”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Wizards have licenses?”
“So now that you know who I am, tell me about yourselves,” Sakrattars continued. “What is this journey that you’re on? I still intend on helping you, if that wasn’t clear.” He leaned back, a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. He had been correct in his assessment of these two so far. If he played his cards right, this could be his big breakthrough.
The pair were silent.
“Haven’t I proven that we can trust each other?” Sakrattars sighed. “And there are many ways I can help you. I can divine, I can speak Draconic, I know a lot about dragons—”
“Dragons?” Jo snorted. “Who said anything about dragons?”
“I saw a dragon in my vision when I held Kaja’s hand. She understands Draconic.” He hesitated. “Is she not a dragon?”
Jo’s gaze lowered, her eyes darkened, and for the first time since their meeting, Sakrattars thought that he might be in real danger. “What’s wrong?” he faltered. “If she’s a dragon, I won’t tell anyone—”
“I’ll ask you this one last time: why are you so insistent on traveling with us?”
Sakrattars swallowed. Jo’s amber eyes were unblinking, almost cat-like in their intensity. “Truthfully, I find dragon lore fascinating. When I thought that she could be a dragon . . .” his voice trailed off. He hoped this would be enough for Jo. He didn’t want to go into his academic failures and his desperation for a win.
After a long pause, Jo said, “she’s a zmaj. You know about them?”
Though they had made some progress, the dangerous glint hadn’t left Jo’s penetrating stare and Sakrattars knew that his response was likely going to determine his fate. “A-a zmaj?” he stammered, feeling a bead of sweat forming on the back of his neck. He had spent thirteen decades reading everything he could about dragons and folklore and nothing had ever mentioned anything called a zmaj.
Kaja reached up and grasped the sides of her hood.
Jo shook her head in disapproval. “Don’t”
“I trust him,” Kaja said softly, pulling off the cloak. She had long white hair, an unusual sight, but more than that there were four twisting horns protruding from her skull: two large ones behind her temples and two smaller ones behind her ears. Now that she no longer had the shapeless cloak concealing her body, Sakrattars could see that her limbs and torso were long and lean, giving her an almost serpentine appearance. The tip of a white scaled tail with fish-like fins brushed under the hem of her dress.
“What in Kynara’s verdant lands—”
“We’re here looking for information on zmaj,” Jo said. “Kaja’s . . . lost. I’m trying to help her find her way back home.” At this, Kaja’s shoulders dropped and her eyes became distant.
“I’ve never heard of a zmaj before. I doubt anyone here has.” He shook his head in shock. That’s when it dawned on him: he still had an opportunity here, one even greater than what he initially thought. If he could document these so-called zmaj, a race of people that no one had ever seen or heard of, he would be more than proving himself worthy—he could be famous. The debts he had racked up would be meaningless and he could forget about pleading with headmasters to enroll him on an IOU. Schools as distant as the Grand Madrassa in Thasrah would be begging him to attend. “But Barsicum’s school is small compared to the one in Aurea and they have a massive library there too,” he said. “If there isn’t any writing on the zmaj in their collection, I doubt there’s any in existence. Yes,” he nodded as the plan came together, “that’s where we’ll start.”
“This isn’t going to be some picnic, you know,” Jo said as she watched him throw together some light provisions and tuck a few books into his pack.
“I understand. I’ve been to Aurea many times,” Sakrattars replied absently. “But, if I may ask, if you’re looking for information on zmaj then why the cloak? Wouldn’t it be good if someone recognized her?”
Jo laughed derisively. “And get accosted by gawkers? You Imperials stare at me, what do you think they’ll do if they see her?”
“Alright, alright. . . I was just asking. Give me another moment and I’ll be ready to leave.” Sakrattars furrowed his brow and shooed Kaja, who was peering curiously into his bag, away. "And you don't need to keep looking at me like that," he added, glancing at Jo. "I'm a professional, a scholar"—a giddiness shuddered through him at the unearned title—"I'll find you the information you want."
Jo crossed her arms and, for a moment, Sakrattars thought she might change her mind about everything. But then her posture relaxed. “What a pain in the ass," she sighed.
With everything he cared to keep safely stowed away, Sakrattars placed Bartholomew in a special pocket in his hood and shouldered his pack. Ushering Jo and Kaja outside, he took one last look around the dark and empty apartment.
"Good riddance," he muttered, and shut the door.
*
*
One day passed on the southwest road to Aurea. Then two. By the third day, Sakrattars was certain that he wasn't the one who was being a "pain in the ass". Jo was neither talkative nor helpful and, try as he might, Kaja was not forthcoming about her past or her people. Sakrattars had found that she was more comfortable speaking in Draconic than in Imperial Common, a language she spoke with a heavy accent and awkward cadence, but despite this discovery she would fall deathly quiet whenever he asked too many questions.
“Look, I want to help you,” Sakrattars said one night as they ate supper at a roadside tavern, “but how can I do that if neither of you will speak with me about it?”
“Not here,” Jo said softly, her eyes darting to the other patrons in suspicion. She shifted her weight, her thighs crashing up against the bottom of the table. Dishes clattered and drinks sloshed. Kaja watched as her bowl danced around then sniffed its contents and turned away. “Hey barkeep!” Jo called, standing up. She instantly recoiled when her head impacted a ceiling beam. “Damn these Imperial buildings to the Abyss!” she swore.
The barkeeper appeared, wringing his hands, sweat pooling on his temple. His pointed ears were flushed to the tips.
“Do you have any cold food?” Jo asked, rubbing her aching head. “For the girl.”
The barkeeper glanced down at Kaja. “Cold food?”
“Yeah, the stew is warm. Do you have anything that’s cold?”
“I . . . I don’t understand.” The half-elf produced a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead.
“Nevermind,” Jo muttered. “By the time you get it, the stew will be cold anyway.”
“If that’s all then . . .” The barkeeper excused himself, tripping over his own feet to rush back into the kitchen. The cook and a couple of the barmaids met him at the threshold, whispering and sneaking glances their way.
When Sakrattars looked up from his meal, he realized they had been isolated, with all the other customers having drifted to the other side of the room. Growing up in the far eastern Imperial province of Taracosia, Sakrattars had lived around natiuhans all his life. There was even a district in Arvisian Bay where many natiuhans from the neighboring nation of Culacalli had opened businesses and settled down.
But in Aurelia natiuhan warriors, renowned for their intimidating size and battle expertise, were most commonly seen when they had been hired as elite mercenaries or bodyguards. When one saw a natiuhan in Aurelia, one could expect trouble to follow—big trouble. Sakrattars couldn’t exactly blame the Aurelians for being so nervous, but still he thought they were being a bit ridiculous.
Not wanting to cause any more problems, Kaja picked up her spoon and scooped some of the hot stew into her mouth. She made a face but kept eating it.
But Jo didn’t relax. Her piercing gaze appraised each and every person in the tavern, her finger tapping anxiously on the side of her mug. “I’m going outside for some air,” she said finally. Kaja immediately dropped her spoon and stood up to follow.
“Kaja, you barely ate anything—” Sakrattars protested. But it was no use. He was alone. He spent a few moments fidgeting in place, looking this way and that, avoiding the curious eyes he knew were on him, before he too rose and took his leave.
He found Jo and Kaja loitering across the road, by the dark edge of the woods partially illuminated by a nearby lantern.
“You left too?” Jo asked.
“You made a scene. Everyone was staring.”
“Sorry,” she grumbled, running a hand through her hair, “I’ve just . . . got a bad feeling.”
“About?”
Before she could answer, an arrow whizzed past her head, ricocheting off the stone lamp. “Being followed.” She threw her pack to the ground. “Get Kaja back inside.”
“But—”
“Now!”
Sakrattars hesitated. Kaja clung to the sleeve of his robe, her eyes wide with fear. Would splitting up be the wisest choice? What if something happened to Jo—what hope would he have alone? Before he could act, his attention was drawn to shifting shadows between the trees. “There’s two of them!”
“Three!” Jo corrected as a man charged her from behind. She dodged the swing of his warhammer, grabbing the head of the weapon and yanking it from his grasp. Her other fist made contact with the man’s gut and he slumped onto the road.
“Get Kaja out of here!” she ordered.
“But I can help you—”
“Can you zap them with magic?”
“No but—”
“Then you can’t help me—ugh!” Another arrow whistled out of the woods, tearing through the flesh of Jo’s forearm.
Though stunned by the sight of blood, Sakrattars’ ears perked to a whisper from amongst the trees. “Kill the natiuhan, the girl stays alive.”
“What about the elf?”
“Client didn’t mention him. Kill him too.”
Tendrils of fear wormed into Sakrattars’ heart. What should he do? These people meant to kill him and Jo and one of their arrows had already found its mark.
Jo snapped off the fletching and tore the rest of the arrow from her arm, tossing it away with disgust. If the blood or the pain bothered her, she didn’t show it. “Come out and face me!” she cried. “Three against one and two of you are hiding? I’m insulted!”
Kaja grabbed Sakrattars’ hand and squeezed as hard as she could. “Please . . .” she begged, her voice trembling. “Help her.”
But how could he? What spells did he know that would help? Would he even be in the right state of mind to cast them? Sakrattars scanned the woods again and saw something move, followed by the nearly imperceptible yet unmistakable hiss of an arrow being drawn. “To the right, about twelve paces ahead of you!” he called out.
Jo barreled into the brush with a speed wholly unexpected from someone of her size. There was the twang of a bowstring and a shout, followed by the sounds of a scuffle and then silence. The bushes suddenly burst outward as the third attacker broke into the open and tried to flee. A rock sailed out from where Jo had vanished among the trees, striking him so hard in the back of the head he face-planted into the packed dirt road.
Moments later, Jo emerged from the woods, hastily wrapping her wound in an unfamiliar piece of ragged cloth. Sakrattars didn’t ask where she got it. She picked up the unconscious man in the road by the back of the collar and his belt, tossing him into the bushes and out of sight, like he was a sack of barley.
“Were those bounty hunters?” Sakrattars asked, his heart still pounding.
Ignoring his question, Jo gave him a severe look. “We need to leave. Now.” She retrieved two cestuses from her pack and strapped one onto each fist. She winced while tightening the strap on her injured arm.
“But we paid for the rooms already—”
“Kaja isn’t safe here. None of us are.”
“You are being hunted,” Sakrattars said. “What did you do? Who are you?”
“Look, elf.” Jo stood to her full height. Sakrattars was tall, but Jo loomed over him like a giant. “Walk now, talk later. We need to get off the road.”
“W-what’s going on out there?” The barkeeper had dared to venture outside. A gaggle of onlookers lurked in the doorway behind him, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the action.
“Let’s go. Hurry.” Jo disappeared into the overgrowth.
Sakrattars grudgingly agreed. What else was he supposed to do? But as they walked through the mud and clouds of biting insects, he began to weigh in his mind whether his chance at success and recognition was worth . . . whatever this was. After his robes caught on the second set of thorns, his blanket back in Barsicum wasn’t looking so bad after all.
“I don’t know, Bartholomew,” Sakrattars murmured, reaching up to stroke the toad. “Maybe we should go back.”
Jo glanced back. “Who are you talking to?”
“Bartholomew. My familiar.”
“That toad?” Jo squinted at the creature in Sakrattars’ hood, then frowned. “I think we’re far enough away to make camp,” she said, changing the subject. “No fire.”
Sakrattars plopped down and stretched his legs. He wasn’t used to traveling on foot and they had already walked all day and then half the night. As he set out his bed roll, he tried to make conversation once more.
“Who were those men? And who are you?”
Jo’s gaze flickered up to him. “Are you sure you want an answer to those questions?” she asked as she unraveled the soiled cloth around her arm, exposing the oozing wound beneath. “If I’m a wanted criminal, do you really think I’d let you leave with that knowledge alive?”
Sakrattars paused, noting how Jo flexed her fingers and rotated her wrist, methodically checking the damage in the cold, detached manner of someone used to violence and its aftermath. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said at last, “but I almost died back there too and I think I deserve an explanation as to why.”
“Almost died? I must have missed the part where you got stuck with an arrow.”
“Don’t be obtuse. You know what I mean.”
There was a long silence as Jo rinsed her wound and Kaja handed her clean bandages from their pack. Just when he thought that the conversation must be over, Jo finally spoke.
“The truth is, I don’t know who they were.”
Sakrattars raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know? Sorry if I find that difficult to believe.”
Jo’s usual gruffness softened into pensive reflection. “I think someone is looking for Kaja but I don’t know why.”
“For Kaja?” Sakrattars was taken aback. Out of all the wild things he imagined, he never even fathomed that Kaja might be the bounty. His mind cycled rapidly through the implications before settling on the most disturbing:
Someone in the Empire knew who—or what—she was, and it was worth killing over.
“So do you know those men?” He turned to Kaja, who immediately looked away. “Do you know them?” he repeated in Draconic, his frustration mounting. Kaja’s lip quivered but she stayed silent.
“Don’t push her,” Jo said. “Look, I don’t know the real reason why you’re here but I have trouble believing it’s out of the goodness of your heart. I’m here because I care about Kaja. I’m going to protect her. And next time, if you’re going to stick around, you better help protect her too.”
No one else spoke for the rest of the night. As Sakrattars crawled into his bed roll, he was plagued by racing thoughts. Everything about the situation screamed for him to take his leave in the morning and never look back. But a small, irrational part couldn’t resist the call to danger, to the promise of uncovering its secrets.
What was Kaja hiding from them?
He couldn’t help but think that the answer to that question would make him famous.
*
*
A hand slid over Sakrattars’ mouth. His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the soft morning light. Jo was crouched over him, holding a finger to her lips, her gaze fixated on something in the surrounding trees. She stood up slowly, adjusting the cestus on her fist. Sakrattars rose to a sitting position, sliding his legs underneath him so he could stand quickly if need be.
“Defend Kaja,” Jo said. Sakrattars barely had any time to think about how he was going to do that before Jo charged off through the bushes. Not knowing what else to do, he grabbed the knife that he used to collect herbs and spell components from his pack.
“Stay close to me.” Sakrattars said, just as shouting erupted from the direction Jo had gone. Kaja jumped at the noise, then nodded and huddled at his back.
Sakrattars’ ears pricked. This sound was softer but much closer. He raised his knife, breath caught in his lungs, as a man emerged, then another behind him. Kaja clung tighter to his back, burying her face in his robes. The two men circled them, working out how best to capture their prey without getting stabbed.
“Jo!” Sakrattars yelled, his voice cracking. One of the men drew a sword, the other drew two daggers. “Jo!”
The man with the sword charged forward, intending to run Sakrattars through with it. Kaja screamed. Sakrattars could see Jo out of the corner of his eye but she wouldn’t arrive in time to save him. He tried to conjure the words to a spell, any spell, but everything he ever knew evaporated from his mind. There was only one thought, one thing, that existed in the void of that moment: the knowledge that he was about to die.
Sakrattars raised his knife, intending to stab his killer as his final act. But before either made contact with their weapons, a beastly snarl startled them. There was a flash of russet-orange fur and a blood-curdling scream as a huge animal tackled the man. Not fully realizing he was still alive, Sakrattars stared at the scene before him, frozen in shock. A giant sabercat had pounced on the swordsman, raking sharp claws across his flesh. The second man, wide-eyed in terror, fled. The sabercat’s ears twitched. It abandoned the mauled corpse of the swordsman and pursued his accomplice with alarming speed. His fearful cry was cut brutally short as the sabercat latched onto the back of his head and pushed him down face first into the mud.
Sakrattars watched the grisly sight in horror, his whole body shaking. Kaja tugged at his sleeve but he barely noticed. The sabercat was coming back towards them now, long fangs dripping with the blood of the men it just killed. Sakrattars held his knife up impotently. How could he stand a chance against such a monster?
But to his shock, Kaja stepped forward. The beast was taller than her and could easily kill her with one bite, but she approached it with confidence and familiarity. She reached out her hand and the cat pressed its nose into it with a gravelly chuff, its ears relaxing and eyes closing. “Thank you, Jo,” Kaja said softly, petting the creature’s fluffy mane.
“Jo? Where—” Sakrattars’ voice died in his throat. His eyes rested on what appeared to be Jo’s clothing on the ground. The cat was favoring its front leg, the very same limb that Jo was shot in the day before. Sakrattars felt weak, like his knees would give out on him any moment.
The sabercat shifted form, rising up on two legs and shedding its fur. The stripes on its pelt settled into the dark brown stripes on Jo’s skin. Naked and covered with blood, Jo calmly recovered her clothing and started to dress herself.
“You—you—” Sakrattars gulped, his heart pounding in his ears. Everyone in the Aurean Empire had heard the tales as a child: the bedtime stories about people who could change shape. In some tales, the beasts would attack Imperial soldiers without mercy, in others they would safely guide a lost child out of the woods.
Jo barely looked at him as she pulled her undershirt on. Sakrattars caught a brief glimpse of a massive burn scar on her back before it vanished beneath the fabric.
“You just—”
“If you tell anyone, you will die.” Jo locked eyes with Sakrattars. “We both will,” she added, turning away.
Sakrattars was dizzy and overwhelmed, and his stomach lurched. He was thankful this all happened before he had a chance to eat breakfast. “Can all natiuhans do that?”
Jo’s jaw tightened for a moment. “Yes.”
Sakrattars struggled to process this information. In the pursuit of one mystery, he had discovered another. But he knew better than to push the subject any further. “Thank you,” he said quietly, “for saving my life.”
Jo nodded once in acknowledgment and grabbed her pack. “Thank you, too.”
“For what?”
“For defending her.” Jo placed her hand on Kaja’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” Kaja repeated shyly. Sakrattars flushed at the praise.
“Well let’s get going,” Jo urged. “And keep that knife handy, elf. I have a feeling that you’ll be needing it.” Sakrattars nodded and tucked the sheath into his sash. He had survived his first adventure and, now that the heart-pumping adrenaline was subsiding, was feeling pretty good about it. Yet the tiny voice in the back of his mind nagged at him, told him that if he didn’t turn back soon that he’d live to regret it.
But who has achieved greatness without facing a bit of danger? he reasoned, then ran to catch up with his new companions.