Private Tales Of Sand & Dragonfire

[Chaceledon]

Chaceledon smiled pridefully, lifting his chin at her reaction. “From desert wastrel into beauty. This is what I miss doing, Seteta. This is my calling. To inspire perfection.” He looked at her a moment, and with a sigh shifted gears. “As far as I know the tracking is all through Rheinhard, but I can’t leave him behind. Without me as a buffer he’ll be forced to endure the worst sort of torture. Having sex with someone below his station. And women, no less. It would shatter any draconian child.”

Chaceledon snapped his fingers. The pins sliced off the extra fabric, enchanted to cut lines betwixt them. It cut down on time, and if the dragon had to do something manual...it wasn’t going to be without flair. He set about removing the pins and fixing the edges of the fabric so they wouldn’t tear. The robe had been transformed well to suit her. A little embroidery lost but...that couldn’t be helped.

“We could lie. Rheinhard has wintered over in the woods. I could say I was looking for inspiration, and buy us a few weeks time. Or perhaps searching for a mine nearby. He knows my weakness for a well-turned smoky quartz.” Chaceledon suggested.

Seteta

 

[Seteta]

Seteta bristled a bit at the term 'wastrel' but otherwise ignored the comment. She wasn't quite sure what it meant, but from the context she gathered it meant she'd been inferior. She'd survived nearly 50 years in the desert, living off the land with her tribe. If anything, it meant she was superior. Looks came second to survival.

"Do you suspect the wraith has any way of tracking you from a distance, whether through Rheinhard or otherwise?" Seteta asked, watching with more than a little awe as Chaceledon finished hemming the garment with a touch of magic.

"Maybe..." Seteta started thinking aloud at this point. "Rather than going to the opposite of where Oor would look for you, go somewhere... in between? I've seen slave traders and owners thrown off by that before. They look first at where the slave came from, and that is often where runaways try to go first. The smart runaways go the other direction, but it happens often enough most tracking them down know to look for them in the opposite place. What we want is someplace unpredictable. The last place in Arethil he'd even think to look for you. Take some time and think about it. You know the wraith best, and how he might think."

She looked around the shop, once again marveling at the stacks and boxes and piles of garments, things she realized now had probably all been handmade by Chaceledon. She worried about the human male, too. While Chaceledon's seemed to have been treated particularly cruelly, Rheinhard... to know that he'd been essentially born simply to serve the wraith in whatever way Oor wanted, with not even his sanity intact... it was sickening. But she also couldn't deny the risk that Rheinhard might pose if she were to take this risk herself, to help Chaceledon escape.

"You'll have to leave most of this behind." Seteta gestured around the shop.

Chaceledon

 

[Chaceledon]

Chaceledon shook his head. “It fades with distance. He can always go into the Well but that involves sleep, which can be difficult if one is stressed. Volker can just step into it as easily as closing his eyes, but even the Master of the Well has to keep himself separate from it. It requires a bit of effort and one he’s loath to use unless he has to. Would you step into a small area where six hundred men you’ve abused have full access to you? Fear only goes so far.” he said. “The last place he’d expect would be...well...his best friend and ally.”

Chaceledon looked at the clothing. Could he really leave all of this behind? Everything? He bit his lip, his eyes lingering on boxes that were important to him. Boxes full of memories. Not all of them good, but some of them were irreplaceable. He took a deep breath. “Not all of it.” he said quietly. He could place them in a pocket dimension for storage but...that spell had its limits and would be a constant drain on him.

The dragon gave her a hard look. “Don’t give me false hope, girl. We either do this, or we cease talking about it.”

Seteta

 

[Seteta]

"A wraith is capable of sleeping at all?" Seteta wondered, beginning to feel quite a bit out of her depth with this whole situation. There was much she didn't know about the world yet and the creatures that inhabited it. She knew of the undead, in theory, but had no practical experience with such matters. She would have to rely on Chaceledon's expertise with this particular wraith.

She waited silently as Chaceledon looked around the shop.

“Not all of it.” he said quietly.

"That's why I said most," she replied softly. It was easy for her to set aside material things. She'd grown up as a nomad, and even when the tribe did acquire goods, there almost always came a point when you had to choose between where you were going and what you could physically carry around. If pressed for the decision, Seteta would take the clothes she'd worn earlier and her knife, and be able to survive nearly anywhere for quite some time with little else.

But the clothes and gemstones and fabrics... this had all clearly been what motivated Chaceledon to survive over the years. She wouldn't dream of ripping it all away.

When the dragon turned back to her, Seteta knew she had to make up her mind.

The dragon gave her a hard look. “Don’t give me false hope, girl. We either do this, or we cease talking about it.”

"As much of a risk as it is for you, it seems the wraith has a reason to keep both you and Rheinhard alive, even if he's unhappy with you," Seteta answered. "But from what you've insinuated about Oor, I will be risking my very life if I help you. Why should I take that risk?"

Seteta had her own reasons and she didn't feel beholden to explain any of them. But she needed to know that if she was to help, that Chaceledon at least would commit to it fully. She didn't trust Rheinhard, and she didn't really trust Chaceledon either, but she was willing to take a chance simply if it was the right choice.

But she wasn't going to play the role of lone savior. Chaceledon had to be willing to save themself, too.

So she waited for Chaceledon to answer, meeting the dragon's gaze with a steady one of her own, hoping that the creature could sense she was willing to help, so long as the dragon was willing to actually make the choice. To give up the material things the wraith had used to buy some small amount of affection and dependence, and actually fight for freedom.

Chaceledon

 

[Chaceledon]

Chaceledon gave her a measured look. Now it came to the negotiation. That, at least, he was good at. He didn’t break eye contact with her, folding his arms over his chest and lifting his chin. “Because if this is what I can do in five hours as a slave...imagine what I could do with a month of freedom.” he told her. “Do you want to walk back to your people a Queen? I can make that happen. Do you want blades or armor that would make seasoned killers weep? I made Rheinhard’s blades. I made all of their weapons from bagh nakh to tridents. Name your price, and live to collect it, and I’ll be more than happy to fulfill it.”

The dragon broke her gaze to look around the shop, pursing his lips. “But neither of us are going anywhere dressed as we are.” He walked over to a pile of boxes and simply shoved them over. Silks of every color fluttered everywhere. Chaceledon pulled out the bottom box. It had a sensible travel robe, soft linen pants, a long over robe that was made of oiled leather, and a pair of decent boots. He set them on the counter, and began sifting through his things to find the most important pieces. Things he’d worked on with Volkers or had made for occasions. Those went into a pocket dimension.

That also meant the angry outfit had to go. He sighed dramatically and shrugged it down over his shoulders. He looked at it a moment, running his fingers over the soft rabbit fur. He set it carefully on the counter and shook out his travel clothing.

Like everything else, the travel robes were well made and sturdy. They were a beautifully dark green, with complex embroidery that brought to mind forest scenes and racing rabbits. Klaus’ work. He looked it over, but the stitching had held after so many years. He’d never had an excuse to wear it. Now he did.

Chaceledon heard footsteps on the stairs. Not the careful measured cat paw steps of Rheinhard. Tumbling steps like someone hadn’t quite gotten the hang of stairs yet.

“Oh my gods it’s true you did bring a lady in.” Rheinhard was carrying himself differently, and the wide grin his face split into was anything but characteristic. He flounced to the counter and leaned over it to look at Seteta. He whistled. “Cute.”

“Aluid Volker, Seteta. Seteta, this is Aluid. Rheinhard’s grandfather. Why are you out? We’re preparing to leave and I need Rheinhard.” Chaceledon said icily.

“Yeah I know, Yarel said something about the floor telling on you.” He snickered.

“Gods I hated that boy. You, back to bed. Please? I can’t have you messing around. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Oh. Rheinhard’s napping so I took control. He was upset about the whole...breeding thing. I don’t get it, it wasn’t so bad for me. I got to drink all the gin I wanted, and there were girls all over me, and-“

“And then you died, Aluid. Please stop taking control when Rheinhard sleeps. You know how much we both hate it. Now either help me pack or go back to bed.” Chaceledon glared at him, and Rheinhard flopped down like a tired child. The dragon rolled his eyes and offered Seteta another pair of decent travel boots. “Aluid Volker. Dead at twelve years old. He’s been in that Well a long time and hasn’t matured a day.”

“I have too.”
Seteta

 

[Seteta]

As Chaceledon made an offer, one that might have tempted most, Seteta found it... a little lacking. Not because of Chaceledon's intent, but nothing offered was... anything she desired. She had no wish to be a Queen, not for power's sake alone, and while dragon-forged weapons were not something one turned their nose up at, her knife was sufficient for the time being.

"Name your price, and live to collect it, and I’ll be more than happy to fulfill it.”

Those words, though, set her heart to pounding, and once more she found the memories of the shamaness overtaking her thoughts.

When the dragon says to name your price, you must be wise and patient, the shamaness had cautioned. Seteta had laughed in disbelief. When will I ever have a dragon at my beck and call? she'd scoffed.

The shamaness had said no more on that particular matter, though, and Seteta had nearly forgotten the moment from decades before.

Seteta fell oddly quiet, barely paying attention to Chaceledon's search through the shop. Some of what the shamaness had told her that day she'd engrained into her memory as if they were a map for her life. She'd thought the dragon might be a metaphor for something in her life, not literal.

I must be wise and patient, indeed, she thought, and became even more uncertain about what type of price she'd ask from Chaceledon.

As it turned out, though, she didn't have to make a decision quite yet, turning her attention to the practically-tumbling footsteps she heard on the stairs. What she saw was Rheinhard, but it was clear from his mannerisms and the way he spoke that this was no longer Rheinhard.

Seteta merely rolled her eyes when the child-man whistled at her, but nodded politely when Chaceledon introduced him. Aluid, she noted the name and relation to the body's true owner, relieved that at least it wasn't one of the more sinister ancestors Chaceledon had hinted at. For now.

Before the dragon and the child-man could devolve into petty bickering for too long, though, Seteta interrupted.

"I'm sure we'll get a chance to speak again, Aluid," Seteta smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. This was, in a way, even further confirmation that she couldn't trust Rheinhard. She didn't doubt that there were other souls within him that could mimic Rheinhard without a moment's hesitation.

Seteta turned back to Chaceledon. "I would like to continue our discussion in private, please," she requested. She was willing to take a chance on Chaceledon, but for now she wanted the dragon to be a buffer between her and this... Well. There were some ground rules that needed to be worked out.

Chaceledon

 

[Chaceledon]

Chaceledon gave Seteta a look. “Anything you have to say to me, you can say to my children. Look, I know you may not trust the Volkers. But they’re currently the closest thing I have to family.” he told her.

“Except whatever you say Oor can hear later unless we break the shards, and he always knows when we do that. So...” Aluid gestured vaguely from the floor. “...nothing personal.”

Chaceledon rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll talk to you later. Would you please go prepare to get moving? I’d love a cart or a horse of some kind. For me, you and Seteta.”

“I hate horses.” Aluid complained, but scrambled up when a pair of fancy shoes with very hard wooden soles were flung at him. “Okay! Okay! Fine!” He hurried toward the back door.

“And supplies, Aluid. Ask Ferenzi for help.”

The dragon sighed and stripped off his other layers, neatly folding them on the counter. It was then she could see exactly what had been done to him. From the nape of his neck down his back were scars. Whip scars, claw scars, entire areas that seemed devoid of flesh and pulled when he leaned over to pick up the travel robe. There was a deep slash down one of his shapely buttocks that bled down into another old wound. It looked like some savage animal had torn half his calf muscle away. His front wasn’t much better. A nipple was missing, and a decently muscled stomach was marred by marks.

The dragon avoided looking at himself as he tugged the trousers on and fastened a soft lambskin belt. A linen undershirt, and the two layers of robe, swiftly hid the damage. Chaceledon had turned it into an art; after a few scant seconds he was back to perfect.

The dragon tugged on his boots and began hemming a set of travel clothes for Seteta. He knew her size now.

“If you want another outfit now’s the time to claim it. I’ve got a lovely midnight blue, and there’s a gorgeous lilac I originally made for...oh it must have been someone’s birthday. It’s hard to keep track with six hundred or so of them.” Chaceledon muttered as he hemmed a nice leather overcoat, linen shirts, and a few wool sweaters.

Seteta

 

[Seteta]

"But they’re currently the closest thing I have to family.”

Family. Seteta understood that, but sometimes family was not safe. The hierarchy among the Abtati was family and then tribe, and the tribe really functioned as a family overall, but that didn't mean it was wise to tell them all about a sensitive matter, especially something like a planned escape or rescue attempt.

Fortunately, Aluid understood her intentions, and she gave him an appreciative smile before child-man-who-was-not-Rheinhard left the shop.

Before she could resume their conversation, though, Chaceledon pulled off his clothes and began to change into more travel appropriate garb. Her breathe froze in her lungs, though, at the sight of his scarred form. Not because it was ugly or horrifying to behold, but because of what he must have endured. She noticed the way he avoided looking at himself, and recognized the feelings she'd felt herself when she'd gained her own scar. A particularly thoughtful lover had helped her regain her confidence, but she doubted any words or actions she tried now would have any effect on the dragon. His scars were far older, and likely far more traumatic, than hers. For him to heal, he would first need to be free.

“If you want another outfit now’s the time to claim it. I’ve got a lovely midnight blue, and there’s a gorgeous lilac I originally made for...oh it must have been someone’s birthday. It’s hard to keep track with six hundred or so of them.” Chaceledon muttered as he hemmed a nice leather overcoat, linen shirts, and a few wool sweaters.

Seteta looked around the shop at Chaceledon's words. "I honestly have no idea," she said. "I'm sure whatever you think is fine will be sufficient for now. I don't need much. If you have a bag of some sort I can use, though, something non-descript--" she wasn't sure that was possible for the dragon, but it couldn't hurt to ask "--then I can carry my own clothing, as well."

Seteta retrieved her knife and set it with her other clothes back on the counter, then carefully hopped up to sit on it as she watched the dragon work.

"I meant no offense earlier, about the Volkers," she began. "But Aluid is correct--even if you do trust them, if your captor can learn everything they know simply by accessing this Well, then the information we expose Rheinhard to should be limited.

"I know it will be impossible to hide the fact that you're making a run for it, but you should not speak of what our plans are if it is possible for Rheinhard to overhear or to deduce or next set of actions. If we must reveal our intentions to him, it should always be at the last moment possible."

Hopefully, he has not already heard too much, she thought, uncertain of what Aluid had meant by 'the floor telling on you.'

"But perhaps we can use it to our advantage," Seteta pondered aloud. "Would we be able to divert Oor, and send him to the wrong places by feeding Rheinhard false plans?"

Chaceledon

 

[Chaceledon]

Chaceledon eyed her. Well, he supposed he could make more clothing wherever they were going. Magic made things a little faster anyway. He offered her the sweater, trousers and coat he’d hemmed. “That should do for travel. About a bag...” He rose and looked around the room, and approached a larger box. He began pulling bags out of it. Small leather bags with gold accents, gem encrusted purses, small elegant affairs like a bronze rose on chains that opened as though it were blooming. He set them on the counter. There were a few serviceable bags for her purposes: a backpack of soft blue leather with toggles made of crystal and straps cushioned with fur, a larger satchel that could rest at her hip made of deep, supple cowhide and copper stitching, and another rucksack of embroidered oilcloth that had several dozen cleverly-hidden pockets.

“Any of these work?” Chaceledon asked, putting a red bag over one shoulder. It was another satchel, this time made from the skin of some great lizard. It had a ruby the size of a chicken egg that kept the top clasp closed. “Gods, Rheinhard hunted me some hideous water creature for this bag. It was so ugly but it took staining like a charm...”

Chaceledon packed the essentials. His nail box, several bottles of lotion, a scented mahogany box filled with rows of nails he’d no doubt used before, and several dozen pieces of jewelry. Then came the gemstones. Precious, precious gemstones. Emeralds, rubies, diamonds, bags of seed pearls that would have cost a king’s ransom, and a deep blue sapphire.

“Right, I’m ready.” Chaceledon told her. He looked like a noble that was temporarily inconvenienced by poverty. The gold and brass pins in his hair alone would attract every highwayman from Alliria to the Steppes.

“Feeding Rheinhard false plans would be a bit foolish. Not because of Rheinhard, I’m sure he’d play along. But there are those in the peanut gallery who won’t approve of me leaving. Klaus will spot any gaps in it for sure. We’ll just gently ask him to step out of the room for plausible deniability.”

Seteta

 

[Seteta]

Seteta took the travel clothes that Chaceledon offered her, carefully slipping out of the very fine robes that he'd just put her in and folding them gently. She set them aside on the counter next to her other set of clothes, and donned the travel clothes as the dragon began retrieving various bags. The sweater was soft and warm, and she couldn't help but smile as it settled over her shoulders.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the various different bags, though. The blue leather one was... far too gaudy, and she immediately passed it over. For a moment, she was torn between the embroidered rucksack with all its pockets and the cowhide satchel, but after a moment's thought, she chose the satchel. She folded her now spare garments as small and tightly as she could and managed to fit them all in the satchel, then put her own leather boots back on, lacing them up over her trousers. She fastened her knife back on her thigh, then turned back to Chaceledon.

Her eyes widened again as she watched the amount of gemstones that the dragon packed away. She'd heard of dragon hoards, and wondered if this was similar. Even from across the room she could feel the different energies each was imbued with, and earth affinity within her itched to hold even just one of those gems and soak up everything she could from it--where it came from, the earth that had shaped it, what had been around it when it was formed--but she didn't want to be rude again. Chaceledon turned back to face her then.

“Right, I’m ready.” Chaceledon told her. He looked like a noble that was temporarily inconvenienced by poverty. The gold and brass pins in his hair alone would attract every highwayman from Alliria to the Steppes.

She ran a critical, dubious eye over him. "I sincerely hope that, wherever we are going first, we will not be mugged because of you," Seteta spoke honestly. "Is there any way you can... tone your appearance down, just a little... more?"

She pursed her lips when Chaceledon said that feeding Rheinhard false plans would probably be futile, but deferred to his judgement for now. "If at some point we need to outright lie to him, I suppose I will need to be the one to do it," she stated decisively.

"Have you decided, then, where we are heading first? If you really want to head to the sands, we can try, but I do think it would be unwise to head there straightaway. You mentioned Oor's best friend and ally earlier, though. If we go there, where would be going, and what would we be walking into?"

Aluid-Rheinhard had not returned yet, and Seteta cast her glance around the shop once more. "Do you have somethings that I could use for headscarves?" she asked, then bit her lip a little nervously. "I feel practically naked without one."

Chaceledon

 

[Chaceledon]

Chaceledon examined her, frowning slightly. Tone himself down a little more? He looked liable to fight with her for a moment, then rolled his eyes and reached up to pull the brass pins out of his hair. His copper hair, perfectly trimmed, cascaded like water down his back and over one shoulder. He shook it out with his fingers and looked at her, brushing it back from his forehead. “Does that satisfy you?” he asked, tucking the bronze pins away in his bag.

“The makeup too, Mom, you’ll attract every brigand from here to Pedeo.” Rheinhard said as he walked through the door, back to his old self. “I warned Aluid about taking me places. I assumed you wanted the wagon outside and that fleabitten gray mare tied to the back. She tried to bite me.”

“Horses don’t like madness dear.” Chaceledon told him affectionately, and turned to Seteta. “We’re headed to Pedeo. A city far from here on the sands, but Oor wouldn’t expect us there. He’d check in with Persian first and by the time we’ve arrived he’ll not suspect a thing!”

Volker sighed and nodded at Seteta. “You will ride, I will drive, and mother will be in the back. But first...” he set down a water pitcher and basin on the counter, with a clean rag. “...makeup.”

Chaceledon pursed his lips for a moment. He’d done his eyes perfectly today. Rheinhard tapped the basin and the dragon sighed, washing his face. He had a scar down his lip hidden by that complex lip paint, and one of his cheeks was badly pockmarked, as though burned. He ran a hand over it as it was cleaned and revealed. “Fine. I’m ugly now.” he snarled at Rheinhard, thrusting the dirty water basin at him and storming out the back door.

Volker sighed and set it down. “Come. We should be leaving.”

Seteta

 

[Seteta]

Seteta had to admit, albeit silently and only to herself, that Chaceledon's copper hair falling loose down his back was a rather lovely sight. She felt her face start to heat just a bit again and softly cleared her throat, glancing away when Chaceledon asked if she was satisfied.

Volker returned then, and so far as she could tell it was Rheinhard in control once more. Pedeo. She noted the name of the city, and murmured a quiet agreement when Rheinhard said she'd be riding the horse. As Chaceledon cleaned off his makeup, Seteta poked through the remaining clothes in the shop and found a few lengths of silk and linen that would be suitable for headscarves. The act of removing his makeup--clearly something used as a shield--seemed to be difficult for Chaceledon and her request had gone unanswered.

She folded up all but one length of fabric, leaving out a silk length that was such a dark, deep blue it was almost black, and placed them in her satchel. It was quite full now. Just as she finished wrapping and securing the blue silk around her head and face, Chaceledon snarled at Rheinhard before exiting the shop.

Volker sighed and set it down. “Come. We should be leaving.”

Seteta nodded, quickly shrugging on the coat Chaceledon had provided, and securing the satchel over her shoulder before following behind Volker.

Chaceledon was sulking, and she quietly approached him. "You are not ugly," she whispered. "But I understand that sometimes scars are reminders of the wounds, instead reminders of the strength we had to survive them."

Carefully, she reached up and smoothed a path over his cheek and lip with her thumb, a gentle heat radiating out from her touch. "There," she whispered. "It'll last maybe a day before I have to redo it, but I do have a small talent with illusion. No one will even notice those scars now."

Seteta pulled away then and untied the gray mare from the wagon, mounting the horse smoothly. A keen eye might have noticed a small wince as she took the mare's reins in hand. It wasn't unbearable, the price she paid for her illusion magic, and perhaps if she practiced it more it would sting less. For 'fixing' Chaceledon's face, it merely felt as if she'd stuck her hand with a cactus needle or several. The sting would dull soon. For larger, more difficult illusion magic, she'd sometimes felt as if her hands were on fire.

"How many days of travel do we have ahead of us?" she asked as she waited for Rheinhard and Chaceledon to finish settling.

Chaceledon

 

[Chaceledon]

The shop was abandoned, and Chaceledon was clearly having a difficult time with it. Who knew if this would work? Were they really leaving an entire store open for anyone to walk into? Selling his clothing he could stand. Having it torn apart by mischievous children, stolen by farmhands, and used as rags by inventive beggars was not how art should end up. He put a hand on the door as Seteta came through. If anyone entered the property now, they’d feel as though their feet were afire. That would deter most. An insurance policy.

Volker gave him a hard look, but ultimately said nothing. The cart at least was hardy and he’d picked up a month of supplies. It was nothing Chaceledon would like...he’d be hunting fresh game where available. They would need Seteta once they reached the sands. Getting there was the hard part.

Chaceledon resisted the urge to grab her by the wrist. He didn’t like being touched without his permission...but she did smooth out the scars on his cheek. He climbed into the back as elegantly as he could, noting that Rheinhard had set down a small rug and cushion. A small creature comfort but it meant the world to him. He gave no indication of it, however. He settled down and sighed. “Pedeo is two weeks from here. Maybe less with hard riding. It isn’t the easiest city to get used to. Persian De Soto is a clever man with little scruples, but he’s quite possibly done the most moral form of slavery. Ride behind, I shall explain.”

Rheinhard took up the reins, ignoring the cart horse nervously dancing in the traces. Horses hated him. Most animals did. It was like they could smell the Well and how wrong it was. He got them moving, and let Chaceledon talk.

“Pedeo operates on slavery. Pet slavery. People are taken, but not beaten or starved. They’re cleaned up, fed, educated, and sold as useful tradesmen. Not just bed slaves but musicians, translators, accountants, protection work, glaziers and smiths. I always wanted a few but Oor told me the Volkers would eat them. Anyway. They’re like prize horses. Persian’s been after Volker genes for years. He’s always had supervised deals with Oor, but with the wraith present he can’t pull anything. Once an inheritor to the Well is born, Oor has a connection to him, and that’s that.”

“Am I to understand I am the bait here?” Volker asked coldly.

“Yes love. Just for a little while until I can make contact with my family.” Chaceledon told him, and turned back to Seteta. “Don’t worry, I’ve been to Pedeo several times. It’s the height of desert nobility to have a house in Pedeo. Property there is disgustingly expensive. I’m sure my parents must have a home there.”

Seteta

 

[Seteta]

Pedeo... Seteta pondered. The name seemed faintly familiar, though she was certain it wasn't a city she had traveled through either on her journey here, or any of the caravan routes she'd guided through the desert. But something about it was nudging the back of her mind.

As Rheinhard drove the cart out of Fal'Addas, Seteta followed closely behind, listening as Chaceledon spoke, and still trying to figure out what it was about Pedeo that was bothering her. She had little comment on the politics of slavery. It was a lucrative trade in the desert, and she knew that sometimes people--both human and Abtati--sold themsleves into slavery to gain something they would not otherwise be able to attain. She'd only seen the cruel side of it, though.

One thing Chaceledon said caught her attention, though.

"Once an inheritor to the Well is born, Oor has a connection to him, and that’s that.”

“Am I to understand I am the bait here?” Volker asked coldly.

“Yes love. Just for a little while until I can make contact with my family.” Chaceledon told him, and turned back to Seteta. “Don’t worry, I’ve been to Pedeo several times. It’s the height of desert nobility to have a house in Pedeo. Property there is disgustingly expensive. I’m sure my parents must have a home there.”

"So for the Well's existence to end, does that mean that an inheritor must not be born?" she asked. "And how are you planning to use Reinhard for bait?"

In the moment of pause before the dragon answered her, Seteta finally realized where Pedeo must sit in the desert. Her tribe had predominately wandered the sands north and east of what travelers called The Forbidden City. If Pedeo was only two weeks of travel away, then it must surely sit on the very eastern edge of Amol-Kalit. But that didn't fit with the merchant and slaver routes she had memorized.

"Is Pedeo in the sands south of the Baal-Duru river, and east of the Baal-Asha?" she asked again. "If so, then we have far more than a fortnight of travel ahead of us."

Chaceledon

 

[Chaceledon]

Chaceledon shook his head. “The most likely result of Rheinhard passing without someone to inherit the Well is...not good. Nestor has been studying it from the inside. He estimates the resulting implosion of sheer magic, the souls of the men involved, and the structure needed to hold it together would be...big.” he shook his head. “Likely ending thousands of lives and flattening any city unfortunate to be close when it happens.”

Volker didn’t look pleased with the direction of the conversation, but Chaceledon shrugged. “Well dear, Volker genetics are quite powerful. Each man is born talented with weaponry. It’s a bit like those baiting dogs men use to fight bulls; he’s bred for it. Violent man to violent man as far back as one can think. If I hint that Volker will essentially stud for him, Persian will allow us to stay. And no, Hardy dear, you’re not doing anything. The point of this is to be free. De Soto doesn’t know that.”

The other man did frown and turn around in the seat slightly. “If we keep a swift pace, three or four weeks. But that requires constant movement. We will not be able to camp for days on end. Only at night, and only as long as the roads are not well lit enough by moonlight.”

Seteta

 

[Seteta]

The thought of Rheinhard's death alone triggering a magical cataclysm that powerful was... concerning. Hopefully this Nestor was mistaken, but Seteta, while skilled with some limited magic, was not an expert on all the different types of magic by any means. She wasn't even sure she knew of every type of magic that existed, especially not after today.

At Rheinhard's clarification of the time frame it would actually take to reach Pedeo, Seteta nodded. Three or four weeks fit better with her knowledge of where Pedeo might be. "Constant movement will not be an issue for me," she reassured Rheinhard. "Nor do I suspect it will be an issue for you. Chaceledon, though..." Seteta eyed the dragon with more than a little dubiousness and some small amount of teasing. "Will you be able to maintain the pace?

"As for traveling at night," the corners of Seteta's eyes crinkled a little as she smiled beneath the covering of her headscarf, and she shifted the mare's reins to one hand as she lifted the other up to gesture at her face, "don't forget these are elven eyes. We should be able to continue traveling for longer than most would dare even on the darkest nights."

They progressed through Fal'Addas fairly quickly, and Seteta took the opportunity to look around at their surroundings. She'd barely arrived and she was already leaving, heading back for the sands she'd thought to leave, perhaps even for good. For a moment, her eyes wandered back to Chaceledon sitting in the back of the cart, and while she felt a little regret at cutting her explorations short, this felt... too important to avoid. She just hope she survived to see how it would all fall into place.

Chaceledon

 

[Chaceledon]

Chaceledon made a small noise of derision. “I’m not about to break. If I may remind both of you, we dragons were writing poetry while you lot were gibbering in camps around small fires. I will be perfectly fine.” he sniffed. Rheinhard shook his head a bit. Chaceledon loved his creature comforts and he despised camping. A week without a bath would turn the normally superior dragon into a dramatic mess.

Chaceledon napped in the rear of the cart as they headed out of the city, sighing and curling his slender body up next to the supplies. Rheinhard was silent, and kept up a stern pace with their cart horse. “Do you regret agreeing to help us?” Rheinhard asked her quietly as they left.

Seteta

 

[Seteta]

Seteta wasn't sure how Chaceledon was able to relax enough to actually rest in the back of the cart. Surely the jostling was excruciating, and she was very grateful to be on horseback instead. When they got to the sands, though, she'd have to have a discussion with the dragon about parting with a gemstone to acquire camels instead of horses.

“Do you regret agreeing to help us?” Rheinhard asked her quietly as they left.

With Chaceledon snoozing, Seteta nudged her mare up to keep pace with the cart and at a comfortable distance to where she and Rheinhard could speak.

"I try not to make a habit of regret," Seteta answered after a moment's thought. "And while I feel that with this situation, I've probably dived into something half-blind and uninformed... every person will always find themselves in a situation, at some point, where they can choose to help or choose to walk away. And I will admit, there are some pleas for help that I have walked away from, and I've come up with a myriad of excuses why I wasn't the best one to help at those times. And perhaps I was right--I'll never know.

"But... Chaceledon..." There was so much she could say here, but she was also still speculating so much, based off the barest hints and foretellings she'd received from that shamaness all those decades beforehand. "He strikes me as someone who doesn't give up... especially if he's truly been enslaved for 16,000 years. But everyone has a point where they break, and I think he's near his. There was... a quiet, hopeless despair around him, and no one ever deserves to reach that point."

The gates of Fal'Addas were before them, then, and Seteta dropped the mare back to a walk, and drew as close to the cart as she dared as other travelers and pedestrians crowded around them.

"But I won't deny that I have other reasons for helping him," she murmured. "Perhaps even selfish ones. But that isn't really relevant at this moment, because I have to survive this venture first. What can you tell me of Oor? What do I need to be prepared for?"

Chaceledon

 

[Chaceledon]

Rheinhard nodded. “He is near his breaking point. If this fails...then it is likely over for him. And for me. Oor will find another to raise his killers and I will be shoved into the Well to live out eternity in blackness.” He said. “As for Oor...wraiths are creatures of shadow who specialize in memory magic. His soul is affixed to the body as one does pinning a piece of paper to a wall; they are separate yet together. Break the seal that holds them, and he will die. Do not worry yourself about preparing for Oor. He will either destroy every memory of us, or he will command me to eat you alive for the inconvenience.”

Rheinhard drove the cart through the entrance, relieved to be away from people and out on the road. “Fortunately for you, it is likely he’ll see you as some stupid girl who was entranced by Chaceledon as he was. He might not do anything to you. But I know Mother would rather die than return to him.”

He drove in silence, content to keep his eyes on the road. Evening fell, and Chaceledon woke and opened his bag to brush his hair. He gave Seteta a small smile. “It feels strange finally shaking the bastard’s leash off.” he told her. “Tell me more about your people. Dragons don’t usually interact with men if they can help it.”

Seteta

 

[Seteta]

Then I shall play up the appearance of the stupid, bewitched girl, Seteta thought, hoping that Rheinhard would be able to keep some of these memories from being leaked fully into the Well. So far, she didn't think she'd done anything in front of Rheinhard or Aluid that would make her seem... too cunning. She hoped.

Silence fell, then, as they left the city, and it stayed quiet between them all until dusk began to settle over the land. Seteta was still unnerved by how early and quickly the light faded with all the trees blocking it. In the desert, it was light, and then less light for a short while, and suddenly no sunlight at all.

From time to time, she would let the mare's head loose, and they would gallop out ahead of Rheinard and Chaceledon before turning back, at least until it was too dangerously dark for the mare. The crowds on the road had thinned as the day drew to a close, most going into Fal'Addas for the night, rather than out.

Before the last light of day faded, though, Seteta saw Chaceledon stir, and she gave a friendly nod when he smiled at her.

“It feels strange finally shaking the bastard’s leash off.” he told her. “Tell me more about your people. Dragons don’t usually interact with men if they can help it.”

"There's not much to say," she answered. "I'm Abtati, obviously. My tribe was small. We roamed the sands north and east of what most now call The Forbidden City, but we didn't go so far north as to delve into the Seret mountains. Several of us would travel further south throughout the year in rotations, taking turns leading caravans through the desert.

"I left Amol-Kalit when my tribe dissolved, rather than joining one of the other tribes. The oases we'd relied on for generations could no longer sustain our numbers, and some had been fully depleted. I decided to test my fate outside of the desert," she cast an amused glance at Chaceledon here, "though clearly that didn't last long.

"What of you?" she asked. "You're not the first dragon I've seen, though you are the first one I've spoken with. The first was more what I expected of the legends of old, bursting forth from the desert with earthquake and thunder. You, though... you are... intriguing."

Chaceledon

 

[Chaceledon]

Chaceledon sat up properly to watch her. Volker would make camp soon; he saw his adoptive son looking along the sides of the road for a good spot to make camp. He brushed his hair as he listened to Seteta. “Oases usually don’t just...dry up. Was there some terrible shift in the sands? Did the oasis get buried?” he asked. “I know you must be loath to return there, but I owe you a favor. That means the dahn, my family, owes you a favor. My family is...or at least was rich. I’m sure they’d have no problem outfitting you like a traveling prince.”

Volker pulled them over to the side of the road and hopped down, keeping a stern hold on the reins. The horse rolled its eyes toward Volker, flaring its nostrils and beginning to dance in the treads. Volker interrupted a flighty rear with a sharp jerk of the reins, and staked out the animal while avoiding shyness and terrified strikes to his shoulders. The horse only calmed when Volker moved to start unpacking a tent.

“I will go find fresh game. We will need all of our dried food for the desert.” Volker told them. “There is enough here.”

“I suppose Seteta and I will make camp.” Chaceledon hopped down. It was a small clearing, and little more than saplings hid them from the road, but Fal’Addas was fairly safe. They were only ten or so miles from the city. Chaceledon gingerly picked up sticks in his thumb and forefinger and began assembling...what could vaguely be called a campfire. Chaceledon groused about his fingers getting dirty as he set about making one, but he proved to be quite an efficient fire starter. A soft plume of violet flame, and a crackling fire was born. It soon lost its color, and faded to simple yellow fire, but Chaceledon looked proud enough.

He stared at the tent. “Where in the gods’ name...what do we do with this thing?” he looked at Seteta.

Seteta

 

[Seteta]

"It's possible that the aquifer which fed the oases was damaged when the other dragon ascended from the sands, but some of the oases had been slowly drying up over many years, since long before I was even born," Seteta answered as she shrugged her shoulders. She had some other suspicions as well, things she and others of her tribe skilled with earth magic had determined, but for now she felt it best to leave the extent of her skill in that area a secret. As for Chaceledon's mention of a favor, she ignored it for now. She would name her price afterward, if she was alive, and had a better idea of what a fair price for all of this might be.

When Rheinhard pulled over to the side of the road, Seteta brought her mare over as well, and began to dismount. She watched as Rheinhard struggled to control the horse hitched to the cart, finally getting it staked out. "Why don't I tend to the horses from now on?" she suggested when he walked past her, going back to the cart to unload the tent. As much as the Well might disturb them, she had a feeling the predatory presence of a dragon was also not helping. "And yes, dried food for the desert. There will be some fresh game there we can hunt, but it won't be nearly as abundant as here."

Seteta set to work tending to both the horses--unsaddling the mare and unhitching the cart horse, swapping out bit and bridle for halters, and grooming both of them before hunting for feed in the cart--while she watched, with some amusement, as Chaceledon started on a campfire. While it was... more than a little haphazard, she had to admit that he at least had a knack for setting the actual blaze roaring.

Chaceledon was thoroughly helpless when it came to the tent, though, and while she did her best to direct him and have him help her since setting up a tent really was, at minimum, a two person job, they'd barely made progress by the time Rheinhard returned with a kill of some sort, and Seteta was ready to throw her hands up in frustration.

"The weather is fair tonight," she ranted with exasperation. "We can just sleep under the stars, and tomorrow make camp a little earlier while there's still some daylight so we can see how this thing actually goes together."

Chaceledon

 

[Chaceledon]

Volker was happy to let her tend to the horses. He didn’t like horses, horses didn’t like him. He slid into the woods after game, disappearing into the black, and Chaceledon was left with Seteta to figure out the tent. It was a complete disaster. Seteta seemed to be just about as good at putting up tents as Chaceledon was. When it collapsed for a fifth and final time, Chaceledon threw his hands up.

“How do people put these damned things up?!” Chaceledon flopped down on a log he’d spent a good twenty minutes charring the dirt off of. He glared at the awkwardly shaped tent collapsed in the dirt.

Rheinhard came back with a deer over his back, a knife buried neatly in its lungs. He stared. Collapsed tent, no fire going, no water boiling, no one had bothered to unroll the bedrolls. He sighed and dumped the deer next to the fire. “Clean it.” He told Chaceledon, who awkwardly removed the knife and set it aside.

Volker fixed the tent. He obviously had experience doing such a thing in low firelight, and had the tent up and sturdy in ten minutes. He set their bedrolls inside, and grabbed a pot he’d bought off the wagon. “There is a stream near here, a hundred yards that way.” He offered the pot to Seteta. “You should be able to see it with your night sight.”

Volker took the deer from Chaceledon, who was looking rather cluelessly at the dead animal. He spread its back legs, cut around the rectum, and slit up the belly to remove the offal. Chaceledon distanced himself, covering his mouth.

“Liver, kidneys, and heart are edible. Lungs are not; deer get worms in them.” Rheinhard told them. “Bury the offal to keep wolves from the encampment, or toss them in a river.”

Chaceledon definitely looked a bit green as Rheinhard reached into the chest cavity and cleaned the rest of the organs out. “Do...we have anything...vegetarian?”

Seteta

 

[Seteta]

Abtati tents were different. Much larger, for one thing, almost like multi-room houses, and much sturdier. But the required several people to assemble them, and drape the tent cloth over. This thing was... constructed differently, and while her night vision was excellent compared to most, Chaceledon was apparently half-blind in the dark, and between trying to figure out how the tent poles were supposed to be configured and then getting Chaceledon to actually do what was required... well. It hadn't gone well.

“How do people put these damned things up?!” Chaceledon flopped down on a log he’d spent a good twenty minutes charring the dirt off of. He glared at the awkwardly shaped tent collapsed in the dirt.

Seteta could only stare at Chaceledon in a strange mixture of disgusted disbelief and impatience. When Rheinhard dropped the deer next to the dragon and ordered it to be cleaned, she couldn't help but snort.

Rheinhard made quick work of the tent, though, and while Seteta was tempted to take over gutting the deer, she honestly was amused watching Chaceledon just... stare at it. In horror.

“There is a stream near here, a hundred yards that way.” He offered the pot to Seteta. “You should be able to see it with your night sight.”

"I can hear it," she said, taking the pot, then silently padding away into the trees. Retrieving the water took only a few minutes, but Rheinhard was already making quick work of the deer by the time she returned. Seteta began to tend to the fire as she watched. She'd not hunted deer exactly like that one, but most four-legged grazers were similar when it came to gutting and skinning them. At the least, it looked far easier than a camel.

“Liver, kidneys, and heart are edible. Lungs are not; deer get worms in them.” Rheinhard told them. “Bury the offal to keep wolves from the encampment, or toss them in a river.”

"I'll take the offal and bury it," Seteta said when she had the pot of water situated over the fire. When she turned back to the men, she couldn't help but laugh softly under her breath at Chaceledon's expression.

Chaceledon definitely looked a bit green as Rheinhard reached into the chest cavity and cleaned the rest of the organs out. “Do...we have anything...vegetarian?”

"Vegetarian?" Seteta repeated the strange Common-tongue word, parsing out the meaning of it after a moment. "Well... there are plenty of trees you can eat. Lots of grass. Maybe I can find some berries. I don't know which ones around here are poisonous or not, though."

Seteta scraped up the offal with a piece of bark, then eyed the cart. "Is there something to dig with in there? I can use my knife, but I'd rather not."

Chaceledon

 

[Chaceledon]

Chaceledon looked ready to retch as Volker cleaned and skinned the deer. He draped the skin over Chaceledon’s log. “We do not waste. We will stretch that, your flame will dry it, and urine will do the rest. Once we have waterproofed it with oil, it will carry emergency water.” Volker told Chaceledon. He looked at Seteta. “Small shovel in the cart. We will use it to bury waste.”

Chaceledon looked completely green at this point. “I’m sorry dear are you proposing pissing on the deer skin we use to hold water..?” he asked, sounding a bit distant, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Ash from the campfire, mixed with a highly concentrated form of salted water. Urine.” Volker told him as he broke apart the deer and began cleaning sticks with the blade of a knife to hold the meat over the campfire. He had the ribs butterflied and propped over the campfire, cut the longitudinal muscles into strips, and began stripping green bark to build a rack for drying meat. “Increase the heat of the fire and we will have jerky and leather.”

Volker was tireless. The second a small triangular rack for jerky was erected, he worked on making a crude but sturdy stretching frame. Chaceledon couldn’t help but feel useless. He turned the meat so it wouldn’t burn, being immune to flames he didn’t have any problem hiking up a sleeve and reaching in to the fire to turn their dinner.

“Where did you learn all this..?”

“Oor forces me to overwinter in the wilderness to prevent getting soft.” Volker said. “You move quickly, and you camp quickly, or you fade.”

“Well...I was fond of that pine tea you made a while ago.” Chaceledon rose and began gathering the soft yellow green nibs of pine trees around their camp, adding them to the pot of warming water.

Seteta