He nodded slowly. “Yes, ma’am. That’s the reason I’ve lived so long, and I mean to keep it that way.” He pointed to the small opening again. “I ain’t never been down this way; a man who plays in the sewers isn’t a man who’s right in his head. I’m judging this to be the way on instinct, and the fact that you don’t have much else of a way to go unless it’s aboveground—and we both know that probably won’t end well.” He bent and squinted to look into the slot. Neither of them could see much of anything besides the shadows and the little of the exposed brick that was lit up by Maria’s magic. “I say, there ain’t much room for error in there. Looks to me like you can only crawl one way. You won’t need me, Maria Apple.”
Maria was surprised Castro had decided to give up so quickly.
“What about your family? What about getting revenge on those who’ve taken them from you?” Maria was pushing it. She didn’t want to bring up the man’s murdered family, but she also didn’t want to go about this alone. Castro had, so far, proven to be a fine companion. One who knew the ins and outs of the town better than Maria ever could. And she felt for him, too; the man whose family was killed in cold blood. She wasn’t much for revenge before arriving in Ashbourne, but the Dragon Tongue deserved much worse than death, as far as she was concerned.
“My family is gone,” Castro said. “Not much I can do about that, is there? If I go and do a boneheaded thing, like rush into a fight I’m not ready for, it ain’t gonna do much for them at all. I’ll just be another casualty. I got alotta life ahead of me. I may not look it, but I do. I think I’ll travel west until I hit the Kingdom of Virgo. Always wanted to see it…”
Maria saw there would be no convincing him, and she also saw that his nerves would cause him to talk until his tongue fell out of his mouth.
She raised a lightly glowing hand and put on her most professional leader voice, which was a new one she had found upon learning that she wasn’t a normal Earthling, but a witch from Oriceran. “Very well, Castro.” She stuck out her hand and looked the fisherman in the eyes.
Castro took her hand reluctantly, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. He looked at his wet moccasins instead.
“It has been a pleasure serving with you,” she said diplomatically. “I wish you the best of luck on your journey.”
Castro nodded. “Thank you, thank you.” Still, he wouldn’t look at her.
“Be safe, Castro, and know I will avenge your lost family for you, as well as avenge all those who have been lost from this fine town since the Dragon Tongue showed up.”
Castro’s lips parted as if he was going to say something, but all that came out was a wordless stammer.
She turned away from him, moving toward the opening, and took a shaky breath. She was nervous, wondering what kind of creatures lurked inside of that nook.
Can it be worse than rats? Can’t be worse than an undead Arachnid, that’s for sure, and you’ve bested one of those already. And now you’re even stronger than you were when Malakai fell to your sword. You have better control, you’ve seen a lot, and you’re Maria Fucking Apple.
Psyching herself up seemed to work initially, but a rational part of her mind kept reminding her that if she wanted to save her family before it was too late, she really didn’t have another choice but to travel by way of the tunnel.
She accepted that.
Then she went into the small space headfirst.
Hunter was in charge of the Dragon Tongue by default. No one had elected him, but no one had opposed him either. If he was being totally honest to himself, he knew he was, in fact, the best person for the job. Many feared him wherever he went, Dragon Tongue or otherwise, and ever since the long, dark night he’d suffered through almost three years previously when the Rogue Dragon, Odarth the Bright, had contacted him through a fever dream, he knew he was the only one who could actually raise the dead.
But how?
As if reading his mind, his second-in-command, Hex, spoke up. “We should’ve executed them, my lord. Odarth would welcome a blood offering.”
“Do not tell me what Odarth will and won’t welcome. Are you the one who speaks to her?”
“No…I—” Hex began.
“Besides, the blood spilt when we took this town did nothing to wake our dragon, did it?”
“I’m sorry, Hunter. I—”
“You’d better watch your tongue, or else I will cut it out and stitch it to your eyeballs, Hex.” A headache was brewing just below the surface of Hunter’s consciousness. It felt like it was going to be a big one; an almighty thunderstorm in his head. That meant Odarth might be trying to contact him.
How long has it been? Two weeks? A month? He could not remember. Ever since the headaches had begun, time was obsolete. Hours, days, and weeks blended together into one long, endless block of existence.
“What of the Gnome?” he asked Hex. “Has he talked?”
“If he’d talked, my lord, you would’ve heard of it by now. You would be the first person the interrogators would report to.”
“They are not doing us much good, are they?”
The two Dragon Tongue leaders walked from the town square, their dark boots kicking up the dust that covered the paved road. They turned left down a market district street. Crooked tents and merchants’ stands were scattered among the ruins and dead bodies, which they hadn’t yet moved from their spots—nor would they ever. Hunter liked to think of them as final resting places.
Good riddance to all those who oppose the Dragon Tongue.
As Hex droned on about the Gnome, Hunter tuned out—mostly
