Cinders and Ashes
The dragon trotted a few paces down the river, sending boulders splashing and tumbling, and then stopped and watched them. The air stank of damp charcoal. Here and there, as they dashed for the shelter of the forest, Sollos had to step over charred remains that had once been men and women. Outsiders burned by a dragon. The sight brought back too many memories. It set him on edge.
'Bastard,' grunted Kemir.
Sollos shook his head. 'There has to be a rider. I told you, dragons don't flamestrike unless someone tells them to, and they don't burn their prey. They like their meat fresh.'
They peered through the trees. 'Should we go back and tell Rider Rod?' asked Kemir. 'Or would it be more fun to lurk here and see what happens?'
'No point.' Sollos clucked his tongue. 'It's leaving.' he ran back through the trees to the river. By the time he got there the dragon was already airborne. He watched it go, skimming along the bottom of the valley, barely above the treetops, until it vanished around a bend. South, he thought. It went south.
He looked behind him, back down the river. He could see the riders and their alchemist now, picking their way through the stones.
'Sollos!'
He couldn't see Kemir through the trees but he heard the urgency. He darted back into the shelter of the trees. 'What?'
'Survivor. Sort of.'
Kemir, when Sollos found him, was kneeling beside a tree. Propped up there with him was an Outsider. Given how badly the man was burned, it was a miracle the man wasn't dead.
'Shit! Give him some water!'
Kemir grunted. 'Done that. He's not going to last. His mind's already gone. He keeps wittering about the dragon talking to him.'
The man groaned and nodded. 'The dragon spoke. It spoke in my head.'
'See.' Kemir shrugged. 'Gone.'
'Go and get the alchemist. He might be able to do something.'
'You go and get the alchemist.'
'Get the alchemist!' Sollos pushed Kemir away and crouched beside the dying man. 'We saw the dragon. A white dragon. It left when we arrived. Did it do this?'
'No, it was a careless bloke with a pipe,' muttered Kemir. 'Daft bugger.'
Sollos stood up. This time he shoved Kemir towards the river, screaming at him. 'Go and get the fucking alchemist!'
Kemir jogged off grumbling. Sollos sat down beside the man again.
'We're getting help. Did the white dragon do this?'
The man nodded. He whispered something, too quietly for Sollos to hear, until Sollos bent over and almost pressed his ear to the burned man's lips. 'It spoke. I heard it speak.'
'Who was riding it?'
The man shook his head.
'Was it a dragon-knight?'
The man shook his head again. 'No rider,' he breathed.
'A man then. Not a knight but a man.' The Scales. We never found the body.
Another shake of the head. 'No… rider… just… dragon… on… its… own.'
Sollos had never heard of such a thing. Maybe Kemir was right. The man had to be in unbelievable pain judging from his burns. Maybe his mind had already gone.
'It spoke.' The man sighed and closed his eyes, and for a moment Sollos thought he was gone. Then his lips moved again. 'It spoke in my head. I heard it. It came for Maryk.'
'Maryk? Who's Maryk?'
The man didn't answer. His chest was still rising and falling, but his breaths were fast and shallow and ragged. Sollos stood up. 'Kemir!' Where's that cursed alchemist?
The alchemist was too late, of course. Sollos watched the man's chest heave one last time and then he was still. He'd been gone a few minutes by the time Kemir returned with the alchemist and the dragon-knights.
'He's dead,' said Sollos. He looked at Kemir. 'You told them what we saw?'
'I told them they owe us a bag of gold.'
Semian sneered. 'All we've seen is the aftermath of a fire. For all I know you're lying and the white was never here.'
'If you'd been a bit quicker,' snapped Sollos, 'this man might have told you the same story.'
Kemir pointed up through the trees. 'If your dragon-riders up there didn't see it, they need new eyes.'
'Urn… how long has this man been dead?' asked the alchemist.
'Our dragon-riders are elsewhere, as I'm sure you noticed. And as for this man, perhaps I should look him over for wounds, in case you slid a knife into him to make sure he couldn't contradict you.' Rider Semian cocked his head.
'So there's no one watching to see what happens to you?' Kemir looked ready to hit him. The alchemist was kneeling down beside the burned man now.
'Tread very carefully, sell-sword. Before you raise your hand against me, I would remind you that there are six of us and only two of you.'
Kemir gave him a nasty look. 'I wouldn't dream of sullying my sword with you, Rider. Why would I, when all I need to do is nothing at all?'
The alchemist picked up the dead man's hand by the wrist and held it to his cheek.
'You're a long way from your eyrie here, rider. All I need to do is watch and laugh from a distance while you-'
Sollos tugged sharply on Kemir's arm. 'Enough. Leave them.'
Kemir snorted. 'I'd like nothing better.'
'I require an, um, assistant,' said the alchemist. He was squatting by the dead man now, and was pulling things out of his pack.
'You would, would you?' sneered Rider Semian. 'Then let us part ways. You clearly have nothing to contribute after all. We will simply return to our search from the air. It'll be us watching you.'
'Your, um, help, sell-sword.'
The alchemist was offering Sollos a short curved knife, the sort he might have used for paring fruit. Sollos took it. 'What do you want?'
The alchemist tore open a square of waxed paper. Inside was some black powder, which he sprinkled into small clay cup. He held it out to Sollos. 'Knife.'
Sollos took the cup and gave him the knife. With a grimace the alchemist drew the edge along the flesh of his arm.
'Hold the cup so that it catches the blood.' The alchemist clenched his fist. Blood ran down his arm to his elbow. When it dripped into the cup, the powder hissed.
'What is this?' Sollos frowned.
'None of, um, your concern, sell-sword, that's what.'
'Looks like witchcraft to me,' muttered Kemir. He took a step away. Even the dragon-knights had fallen silent.
'He's dead,' said Sollos. 'Potions can't help him. If you'd come sooner…'
The alchemist glared at him. 'Where did you get your name, sell-sword? Sollos. It's an, er, alchemist's name, not a soldier's. Clearly a, ah, mistake. Or did you choose it yourself?' Inside the cup the powder and the blood had mixed into a paste. The alchemist lifted his arm and wrapped a strip of white linen tightly around his wound. 'Um. You're right that it's too late to help him live. But not too late to help him talk.'
'Master Huros?' Semian sounded edgy. 'I am not easy with this. Blood magic is-'
'Is what?'
'The queen does not favour such practices. They are outlawed.'
'In, er, her realm perhaps. Not here.' The alchemist gave a little sigh. 'If I smear this on his tongue, he will speak. Um… if my means don't please you, rider, I am sorry.' He tugged the cup from Sollos's fingers. 'Take this and burn it, if you prefer.'
Semian fidgeted. After a few seconds, when he didn't take the cup, the alchemist shrugged. He dipped his finger into the paste and, before anyone could stop him, smeared it in the dead man's mouth.