Page 82 of Dragon Fight

“Many a tall tale is being passed around the docks,” Roland said. “The taller the better by most people’s standards. I’d heard tale of a woman with the claws of a dragon or the wings of one, of a girl too plain to turn the prince’s head.” His focus settled on me. “Though I can see that isn’t true, even under that boy’s garb.”

“Pretty or not, that’s not why we’re here, is it, Ged?” I stared at the side of the rider’s face and he nodded slowly. “You wanted to ask about the lads.”

“What lads? What’ve you got yourself mixed up in now, son?”

Ged filled his father in, skimming over many of the details, focussing on the more tangible shifts in power within the city. Roland listened with obvious intent, smoothing his hand over his beard as it all came out.

“So you need to get these boys back in order to settle things down and cool some heads,” Roland said. “Andyou want to discredit the queen? That’s a tall order, son, and it marks you as treasonous for even thinking about it.”

“If there was another way—”

“No, I don’t s’pose there is.” Roland took a long look at me. “And why do I think that this has less to do with saving the country, and more to do with impressing a fine lady?”

“Not needed,” I replied crisply. “I’m already thoroughly impressed with your son.” Heat flared in Ged’s eyes when I turned my gazed toward him, and I saw something else there as well, something sweeter. “He’s a fine man, a fine husband.”

“Husband…?” Roland’s eyes widened. “Gods above, son, you’ve gone and done it now. A rider eschews all others but the corps. I heard the oath clear as a bell when you bonded with young Cloudy, the moment those pricks took my son away from me.”

“Well, as Pippin is a member of the corps, I am not foresworn, am I? Now, these lads. The queen has to have stashed them somewhere out of the way, somewhere where people are unlikely to look.”

“Like the fucking docklands,” Roland replied, stroking his beard. “Who comes down here but those that have to?” He nodded slowly. “You need to talk to Marcus.” Ged groaned at that. “You know you do.”

“No one willingly talks to Marcus Lighthands,” Ged replied.

“And yet so many do. All that is known trickles down to him, you know that. He’s your best bet,” Roland assured us.

“And what’s the chance of getting him to meet us here?” Ged asked.

“Less than none. Hope you brought some of that good rider gold with you, because you’ll be needing it. He holds court in the Pickled Parrot now, I believe. Go in and have a pint and he’ll find you, but only if he’s a mind to.”

50

The Pickled Parrot was considerably less colourful than the name suggested, but it smelled a lot better than the area immediately around the tanneries. With some relief, I moved my hand to pull down my kerchief but Ged just shook his head. As we got close to the pub, we saw people stumbling out into the morning light, some were pissing up against the wall, others were vomiting in alleys. I wasn’t sure if it was because they were still drunk from the night before or had started early on the day’s business. Before we reached the door, Ged turned to me and in a low voice gave me a warning.

“Stay close. Do not, for any reason, allow yourself to be separated from me. If anyone tries, scream like the Devil’s on your tail.”

“Of course, but—”

“And keep your mouth shut,” he told me, not unkindly. “Your accent gives you away as soon as you speak. So don’t.” He eyed the pub suspiciously, as if the rundown building might rise up on its foundations and lumber after me. “I don’t know what I’ll fucking do if the bastards in there realise I’ve brought a noble-born lady in with me.” His breath came out in a sudden rush. “Maybe I should take you back, come back later.”

“No.” I realised I’d just done exactly what he asked me not to: talk when anyone could hear me. I’d been creeping closer, itching to reach out and touch him, but I managed to control that impulse as it wouldn’t look right with the way I was dressed. “We go in and get the information we need, then leave. I’ll stay quiet.”

“Yes, you will.” He nodded sharply to me and then marched forward to push open the door, leaving me to scramble to catch up.

Pickled was right. It was hardly gone eight in the morning, and yet the rum was flowing. A slender young man in raffish attire was playing a wild jig on a fiddle, with many drunken men clumping around the pub floor in a dance. The beer from their tankards splashed on the floor, but Ged paid that little mind, skirting the chaos and walking past the crudely constructed booths, searching for someone. I moved swiftly, dogging his heels all the way to the door of a private room at the back. The roar of the drunks, the music, the dancing seemed to fade away as we stepped inside. Many men were clustered around a massive table, but I only noticed one.

He was a glorious creature, looking like the pirates I’d heard tales of, those who dared to cross the strait between Nevermere and the mainland on boats swift enough to outrun a dragon. His long, light brown hair was clean, amazingly, and scrupulously scraped back in a neat queue. But that wasn’t his most striking feature. He had one green eye, bright as an emerald and twinkling like a freshly polished gemstone. A long scar ran across his face, broken only by a leather eyepatch that hid what remained of his other eye.

“Will Rolandson?” The man’s lips quirked into a wicked smile, throwing his sharp cheekbones into stark relief.

“Marcus Lighthands,” Ged replied with a slow nod of acknowledgement.

“Well! It’s been a bloody age since you’ve trod the Parrot’s boards.” He turned to his cronies. “Out, the fucking lot of you.”

“Marcus…” one grumbled, though not for long. A vicious-looking knife was produced and pressed against the complainant’s throat, cutting off anything more he might have to say. The others chuckled, having already risen to their feet.

“Fucking idiot,” one of the men cursed him, shaking his head. “I’ll get you another bottle of rum, sire?”

“That, and a round of drinks for everyone,” Marcus replied mildly, pulling away his knife, but not before a small bead of blood rolled down the man’s neck. The complainer got to his feet with a scramble, pushing past others to get out the door. “Not you two,” he commanded the only other people in the room.

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