“But in the meantime?” I shake my head. “You saw how sparse the market was earlier. Fewer and fewer merchants are making their way into the Burn, and the ones that do are charging us more and more—we’ll need to be able to keep affording their prices, somehow. At least until we figure out a better solution.”
Neither of us makes any attempt to guess at what that better solution might be. Nor do we mention how Grier has had ‘promising recruits’ before that haven’t panned out. To be an Ashwalker is to bet your life on every run, and it’s only gotten more dangerous as of late. Few end up truly committing to the job, and I can’t really blame them.
It wasn’t Briar’s vocation to end up here, either; she started mostly for my sake, I think, and because there were so few able-bodied others to help. She wanted to be a teacher—to establish the first proper school within the Burn.
But this world has a way of taking away choices, ripping them from one’s hands as violently as a dragon ripping apart its kill.
The silence stretches between us, interrupted only by Koen’s occasional snores.
Finally, Briar sighs and says, “I don’t like it. But you know I’m with you, whatever you decide to do.”
“Is that the alcohol talking?”
“A little bit, yes.” She gives me a sleepy grin. “But I agree with the alcohol, in this case. Although…” She trails off, her lips curving downward. “No attempted dragon slaying this time.”
Images of bloody water and broken wings flash through my thoughts, but somehow I manage to push the dragonhatchling’s face from my mind. “I’ve had my fill of close encounters with those demons.”
“Swear it?”
“I’ll swear it on our last remaining tin of tea leaves.”
She puts a hand to her heart in pretend shock. “Few things are more sacred to you than that.”
“Which is how you know I’m serious.”
She returns the wry smile I give her. “I guess we’ll leave first thing tomorrow, then.” She looks at Koen and sighs, as if to say,so much for that. I think of telling her to enjoy the rest of the night with him if she wants, but she raises her cup and gets to her feet. “A toast to the baron’s gold before we leave.”
“Hear hear,” I agree.
But when I crawl back into bed later that night, it isn’t his gold that I dream of.
Instead, it’s the gold of that dying dragon’s eyes watching me through layers of smoke, following my every movement, as if waiting to see what I’ll do next.
Chapter Five
The city of Meridian smells like sulfur and dust, a choking, miserable stench to go along with its miserable appearance.
It's a different sort of misery here, compared to Halvgate. I guess because it faced a different kind of destruction. There was no single attack that destroyed this once thriving city; instead, it was a series of smaller ones. A slow, seeping decay that took decades, supposedly beginning after a cluster of dragons took up residence in the mines just to the east of here.
All dragons affect their environment in one way or another, regardless of their species or nature. Older legends claim most of them used to shape our world in only beneficial ways—that their fire blessed entire kingdoms with warmth; their shedding skins and fallen scales strengthened any structure they were built into; that their songs could coax plants into growing.
Even the larger features of the empire—from the mountains to the seas—were supposedly formed by the beasts. TheEvendell Range is the spine of a long-dead dragon, for example. The Veil Sea formed when an ancient dragon's tears filled the basin over centuries. The Great Tangled Forest is said to be the product of two mated dragons who were buried together beneath the earth, and the first trees that grew there sprouted from their decaying, interwoven bodies…
I don't know how much truth there is to any of it.
All I know is that the dragons ruling our skies these days spread only ruin and wreckage.
Their breath always destroys, whether it’s tinged with fire, ice, or other elements. It also frequently contaminates, and this is one of the main reasons Meridian is completely uninhabitable now—because its groundwater is poisoned, a byproduct of the nearby dragons scorching the land around their stolen territory in an effort to mark it, to protect whatever they're hoarding within the usurped mines.
It's only been five years since Emberfall, but there have already been signs that similar poisons might be seeping into Halvgate's soil. One of the many things we need to find a way to fix before it's too late, and yet another reason we need to keep earning enough money to not only survive, but to somehow rebuild. Refortify.
The air here in Meridian isn't completely unbreathable. Yet. But Briar and I still wear thick scarves wrapped around our noses and mouths, just to be on the safe side. Specially-made masks with filtering mesh join our horses' usual equipment, too, and we ride as quickly as we dare over the broken streets, trying not to linger in any one spot for longer than necessary.
Our target sits at the city's center, a crumbling building with columns that lean at precarious angles. Wide stepssweep up to a pair of doors hanging from broken hinges. There are gaps along the facade, empty pedestals where statues likely once stood. All of the windows have been taken, too, carefully removed rather than being left to crack and shatter like so many of the windows in nearby buildings; they were likely made of ancient dragon-blown glass, which can fetch a high price in the right marketplace.
Inside, the trend continues; nothing glitters, nothing shines.
Nothing of obvious value is left.
