Though surprised to see the Warden still alive, Telos was feeling mighty pleased with himself—until he saw the look on Ylia’s face.

  “You... had... the... coins,” she whispered, looking as though she were experiencing battle-shock.

  “I can explain—”

  “YOU. HAD. THE. COINS!”

  She leapt at him, more like a felidae than a human woman. Her nails raked his face and he let out a yelp of alarm as they both tumbled backward. Jubal roared and launched forward, grabbing both of them by the hair and hauling them roughly back into the cart before they fell to the streets. Telos’s head spun, and pain lanced through his scalp. Ylia looked similarly dizzy.

  “Fools!” the theront roared. “We can settle your petty dispute later!”

  “Petty?” Ylia snarled, rallying for another attack. “Petty? The man has taken everything from me.”

  “I needed a contingency plan!” Telos snapped.

  She stared at him, incredulously.

  “You’re even more of a psychopath than the Warden!” she spat. “Or else just as bad. You really can’t think of anyone but yourself!”

  Telos felt the anger come suddenly, as though a wasp had stung him in some deep, secret place, inflaming a pain that passed through his whole body, but especially his aching brain. He was travel-sore, famished, sleep-deprived, hunted, and though he knew Ylia had suffered much on his account, he could not be fucking bothered anymore.

  “I just saved all our lives, yours included,” Telos roared. “I think that was pretty fucking empathetic of me!”

  “We wouldn’t be in danger in the first place if not for you, you idiot!”

  Telos paused. Was that really true? He supposed it was. Jubal would still be hunting. Qala would be leisurely selling her goods rather than racing a cart through the streets of Gorgosa with guards in pursuit. And Ylia would still be working at her House, untroubled and rich.

  Telos slumped. Am I the bad guy? He had never felt like an evil man. As a thief, he more often than not liberated money from those who never deserved it, or were actively using it for nefarious means. In that way, he saw himself as a form of esoteric justice in the world. He knew at times his decisions bordered on the amoral, but he’d never considered himself someone who made others’ lives worse—until now.

  He expected Ylia to continue the attack, but when he glanced up at her again, he saw a small degree of pity on her face. His mask had slipped, and he had shown her the remark had landed. Like all men, he hated to be pitied, but he was grateful at least that she had spared him another verbal barrage.

  “The Warden!” Jubal cried.

  They turned and saw a lone rider gaining on them. The Warden’s eyes shone even from this distance, opals of blazing fire. Telos had noted that he was no longer using his right arm; it hung limply by his side. Clearly damaged from his battle with the spider. Telos was impressed he had even survived. He really doesn’t give up. No matter how many times I humiliate him. I actually DO admire that about him, if nothing else.

  “How close—?” Telos began.

  “Here!” Qala cried.

  Qala steered their cart through a pair of tremendous wooden gates, into the enclosed area that housed the sky-scraping Dragonport towers. The towers were built of brick and wood. The shadows of the dragon’s wings rendered the enclosure dark. Men and women, mostly nobles, loitered in the open courtyard beneath the towers, and an air of consternation hung about them; clearly, something was amiss, even before Telos, Qala, Jubal, and Urgal hurtled into their midst. A row of tables had been set up at the far end, at which officials sat. There, men and women were haggling and shouting and gesticulating. Telos saw the flash of coin, but it seemed little progress or agreement was being made.

  “Gryll...” Telos prompted.

  Ylia nodded. He knew they were not done with their conversation, but she had decided to put it aside. She was as much as wanted person as him, now. He had inflicted that on the others.

  Qala brought the cart to a near-skidding stop. They disembarked in a flurry. Thankfully, Urgal seemed to have detected their urgency, and leapt down beside Ylia. Telos could hear the hooves of the Warden’s steed not far down the hill.

  A man in silks wearing a dragon-broach on his shoulder made to approach them. No doubt he was going to offer a tour, make enquiries as to their desired destination, but they had no time for that.

  Ylia bellowed.

  “Gryll! Gryll, you bastard! That secret I know is going to come out if you don’t get here this instant!”

  The window near the top of the nearest tower, one crowned by a scarlet dragon the size of a temple-building, slammed open and a pudgy face emerged, staring down at them in disbelief.

  “Gods, Ylia. You don’t have to damn yell it to the sky!”

  “We’re in a hurry!” Ylia screamed.

  “Alright, alright, just let me get my shoes!” Gryll bellowed back.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Jubal sighed, then he marched over to the wooden doors. A guard stood there, though not one of the city watch, for the designs on his armour were more ornate and fittingly depicted dragons soaring through cerulean skies. A private mercenary owned by the Dragonport Company, Telos thought.

  He clearly sensed something was up, however, for he saw Jubal marching toward the gate and stepped forward.

  “Sir, you cannot…” He frowned. “Wait, you’re a theront!”

  Before he could go for his sword, Jubal headbutted him with such force he was launched five feet through the air—armour and all—and collapsed in a heap by the door. Jubal then grabbed the gate, casting an amused eye over the shocked nobles congregating there.

  “Excuse me, one moment,” he said.

  The gate was clearly meant to be opened and closed by teams of three or four men, but Jubal’s strength was obscene. Even though he had lost some motion in his bow-arm, he could still make even hardened soldiers look weak. He grabbed the gate and dragged it shut with a single, immense heave. He then grabbed the huge deadbolt—which was taller than Telos and nearly as thick as him at the waist—and slammed it down into position, barring the door from within.

  Telos grinned ear to ear.

  Jubal dusted his hands off and returned to them.

  “That ought to hold off the Warden for a few moments more while your friend ‘puts his shoes on’.”

  Telos clapped Jubal on the back.

  The silk-robed official with the dragon-broach had now scampered off to get help, though it seemed there were precious few dragon guards, and those that were around had just seen one of their contemporaries headbutted into next week.

  A door at the base of the nearest tower burst open and the man Ylia had been shouting too—evidently Gryll—came hurrying across the courtyard. He wore voluminous robes, dyed purple. The combination of his wobbling jowls, fiery red hair, and pointed sideburns gave him the impression of an overfed fox. He was red and blustering by the time he arrived.

  “What’s all this then, Ylia? Why are you yelling about secrets and all that nonsense?” He stared at Jubal. “And is that an actual theront?”

  Ylia looked at him levelly.

  “His name is Jubal. And you need to take us, all of us here, out of Gorgosa right now.”

  There was a booming sound as something heavy slammed against the gate of the Dragonport.

  Gryll looked at each of them.

  “I’ll have you know the Dragonports received notification from Captain Mordred we are to allow no flights in or out. Hence why all the dragons are roosting.” He pointed up. Every tower housed a massive dragon, their tails curling around the pinnacles like colossal, bejewelled ivy. The dragons glowered down at all the people below, as though annoyed to be grounded. Gryll pointed to the milling nobles who were shooting their ragtag band the occasional terrified or enraged glance. “And hence why there are so many dissatisfied customers crowding our courtyard.”

  “We can make it worth your while to defy your orders,” Qala said. She opened one of the bags in the back of the cart. Something gleamed there. Telos did not really see what it was, but Gryll’s eyes went wide.

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  Qala nodded.

  Gryll stared a moment longer, then his eyes shot to Qala, looked deeply in the hood. His nose wrinkled in disgust. Oh boy is he a racist, Telos thought. It was a bizarre to think a man who was presumably well travelled—given his profession—could be that way, but the world was full of contradictions. Telos had learned to live with them rather than try and figure them out.

  “No, no,” Gryll was saying, his prejudice having outweighed his greed. “Tempting, but no. Mordred will shut me down. I’ll be banned. I’ll lose all my business.”

  “Can’t you set up business anywhere?” Telos said, speaking more hastily and with less charm than he meant. Another thunderous blow had splintered the thick wooden gate. The Warden was coming—and he was pissed. “Isn’t that the point of owning a dragon?”

  “So I should just leave it all behind because…what? Because you tell me to? I think not.”

  “He does have a habit of asking people to do that,” Ylia said, and there was a dark fire of confidence in her Telos had not yet seen. Urgal punctuated her words with growls and hisses, as though the two were of one mind. “But no. No you will do what he says and take us out of Gorgosa. Not for the rewards Qala offers. Not because you can. But because I tell you to. And if you don’t, I shall tell everyone about what transpired ten years ago, on the eve of Talonfest.”

  Gryll turned white.

  “I trusted you with that tale! You would not...”

  “I would. Mordred might shut you down if you help us, but if I tell, then all of Gorgosa will know what you did with—”

  “No, no!” Gryll shrieked. “No need to elaborate.” He gave a panicked look at the gate. Boards splintered as something massive crashed against it. A voice roared.

  “OPEN IN THE NAME OF THE KING! IN THE NAME OF OB-KORON!”

  Gryll gulped.

  “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it.” He stared at Ylia and Telos saw a mixture of betrayal, hatred, and longing there—he looked ready to cry. “Ah, curses! Curse you, Ylia!”

  Ylia shrugged.

  “I am not sure it’s possible to curse us any more, Gryll. Now will you help us or not?”

  Gryll looked again at the gate. Telos knew he was wondering what would happen if he played for time, if he let them get taken. No one was likely to care about Ylia’s tale if she was in jail.

  Telos raised the sword he’d acquired from Captain Mordred. It was a fancy piece with golden wolves on the crossguard and an emerald in the pommel.

  “Listen, I don’t like hurting people. Genuinely. But I really, really can’t get caught by the man on the other side of that gate. So I guess what I am saying is, help us now or die.”

  Gryll stared at him. Then he laughed.

  “You need to work on your act, friend. I can always tell when a man is bluffing!”

  Telos gritted his teeth.

  “Alright, I actually was bluffing in that instance. Normally, I’m a bit better at it. But I really, really don’t like—”

  “I’m not bluffing!” Jubal snarled. He grabbed Gryll by the scruff and lifted him off the ground.

  “Alright, alright!” he shrieked. Jubal put him down. “Gods, you people are evil!”

  “Not as evil as the man coming through that door,” Telos said. And for once Ylia shot him a look of approval.