friends
whistled at Niu, who cut an impressive figure even beneath her shapeless traveling
robes. Simon had the sense to keep his eyes fixed on some imaginary
destination and to stride past with purpose.
It was more difficult for him to mind his own business when he and
Niu had to edge past a grunting soldier servicing an unresponsive woman whom
he’d crushed up against the walls of a protesting shack. Red-faced from
his exertions, the jowly guardsman shouted at Simon to move along. The
woman, her worn dress hitched up to her waist, was staring into the darkness of
the void above, her eyes vacant and unfocused. A cigarette dangled from
between two acid-splashed fingers. A strange red mark, a V within an O,
discolored her forehead. Niu had to tug at Simon’s arm to stop him
staring.
“Come,” she hissed as they picked their way over a jumble of toppled
barrels. “Do not attract attention to yourself.”
Simon made no response, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the flat
lifelessness of the woman’s expression. He’d heard tell of the
prostitutes of Vingate, and how they were marked, but he hadn’t expected the
sight to disturb him.
Of course, he hadn’t anticipated much of what had transpired since
that fateful moment when he’d shouldered the mantle of hopeful
dragonslayer. Less than a week had passed since that moment, yet it might
have been a decade. Simon himself couldn’t read the posters which the
king’s men had plastered across the common board outside the pub in Brand, but
his friend Jeb had translated them for him. Jeb had understandably
thought him mad when he’d announced his desire to participate, but Simon could
be stubborn; besides which, the rusted sword had bolstered his courage.
Little as he knew about the kingdom beyond Brand’s insular bubble, he’d always
longed to experience it. How hard, he’d reasoned, could a dragon be to
kill? He’d faced down an angry bull on more than one occasion, after
all.
As for the princess, he hadn’t foreseen any complications. The
village girls fancied him enough; that had been his simplistic rationale.
Traveler’s tales spoke of Tiera being a difficult young woman, but in Simon’s
imaginings he’d likened her to Bess, Brand’s no-nonsense publican, who would
box her customers about the ears if they got out of line. Until he’d set
foot on the palace grounds and seen that unnerving pathway of skulls, he hadn’t
given much thought to the possibility of any manner of life-threatening
unpleasantness.
All in all, Simon was learning that he had a lot to learn about the
world.
The nearer they drew to the lake, the sketchier the inhabitants of
the slum became; desperate, reckless men and women. As ragged shadows
shifted around him, Simon truly began to fear for his skin. Stumbling
across several fresh corpses, tossed unceremoniously in a gutter, didn’t
bolster his confidence. How could people live like this, in such violent
disharmony with their neighbors? Did no one here ever sleep?
A tattered old beggar, reeking of stale urine and sweat, began to
paw and clutch at him, demanding alms. Simon pushed the man away as gently as
he could, but the toothless old relic grew ever more insistent, pawing at
Simon’s pockets, plucking at his bag, his voice rising shrilly as his demands
intensified. Moonlight glinted off disturbingly pale, misted eyes.
Horrified by the intensity of the beggar’s insistence – to say
nothing of his stench – Simon retreated, hands raised. This proved to be
the wrong decision, as the decrepit old creature, sensing weakness, slipped a
vulture’s claw beneath his filthy rags and produced a knife. Lunging with
surprising swiftness, he pressed against Simon’s throat, hissing epithets while
his victim stood paralyzed. Niu kicked the beggar violently in the shins,
eliciting a howl of pain and distracting him from his quarry. Her second
target was his groin, which dropped him, and finally, as he rolled around
moaning and
whistled at Niu, who cut an impressive figure even beneath her shapeless traveling
robes. Simon had the sense to keep his eyes fixed on some imaginary
destination and to stride past with purpose.
It was more difficult for him to mind his own business when he and
Niu had to edge past a grunting soldier servicing an unresponsive woman whom
he’d crushed up against the walls of a protesting shack. Red-faced from
his exertions, the jowly guardsman shouted at Simon to move along. The
woman, her worn dress hitched up to her waist, was staring into the darkness of
the void above, her eyes vacant and unfocused. A cigarette dangled from
between two acid-splashed fingers. A strange red mark, a V within an O,
discolored her forehead. Niu had to tug at Simon’s arm to stop him
staring.
“Come,” she hissed as they picked their way over a jumble of toppled
barrels. “Do not attract attention to yourself.”
Simon made no response, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the flat
lifelessness of the woman’s expression. He’d heard tell of the
prostitutes of Vingate, and how they were marked, but he hadn’t expected the
sight to disturb him.
Of course, he hadn’t anticipated much of what had transpired since
that fateful moment when he’d shouldered the mantle of hopeful
dragonslayer. Less than a week had passed since that moment, yet it might
have been a decade. Simon himself couldn’t read the posters which the
king’s men had plastered across the common board outside the pub in Brand, but
his friend Jeb had translated them for him. Jeb had understandably
thought him mad when he’d announced his desire to participate, but Simon could
be stubborn; besides which, the rusted sword had bolstered his courage.
Little as he knew about the kingdom beyond Brand’s insular bubble, he’d always
longed to experience it. How hard, he’d reasoned, could a dragon be to
kill? He’d faced down an angry bull on more than one occasion, after
all.
As for the princess, he hadn’t foreseen any complications. The
village girls fancied him enough; that had been his simplistic rationale.
Traveler’s tales spoke of Tiera being a difficult young woman, but in Simon’s
imaginings he’d likened her to Bess, Brand’s no-nonsense publican, who would
box her customers about the ears if they got out of line. Until he’d set
foot on the palace grounds and seen that unnerving pathway of skulls, he hadn’t
given much thought to the possibility of any manner of life-threatening
unpleasantness.
All in all, Simon was learning that he had a lot to learn about the
world.
The nearer they drew to the lake, the sketchier the inhabitants of
the slum became; desperate, reckless men and women. As ragged shadows
shifted around him, Simon truly began to fear for his skin. Stumbling
across several fresh corpses, tossed unceremoniously in a gutter, didn’t
bolster his confidence. How could people live like this, in such violent
disharmony with their neighbors? Did no one here ever sleep?
A tattered old beggar, reeking of stale urine and sweat, began to
paw and clutch at him, demanding alms. Simon pushed the man away as gently as
he could, but the toothless old relic grew ever more insistent, pawing at
Simon’s pockets, plucking at his bag, his voice rising shrilly as his demands
intensified. Moonlight glinted off disturbingly pale, misted eyes.
Horrified by the intensity of the beggar’s insistence – to say
nothing of his stench – Simon retreated, hands raised. This proved to be
the wrong decision, as the decrepit old creature, sensing weakness, slipped a
vulture’s claw beneath his filthy rags and produced a knife. Lunging with
surprising swiftness, he pressed against Simon’s throat, hissing epithets while
his victim stood paralyzed. Niu kicked the beggar violently in the shins,
eliciting a howl of pain and distracting him from his quarry. Her second
target was his groin, which dropped him, and finally, as he rolled around
moaning and
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