Surfacing Ch. 14

"Mm, my mount, I presume?" I asked quietly.

He looked at me and hissed a laugh, his tongue—long as ever—flicking out to taste the air as he padded over to me. His shoulder blades nearly reached my chest and even if I didn't include his tail, he looked more than twice long as I was tall. He was about the same mass as before, just redistributed. Could he talk in this form? Was I really going to ride a Deep Dragon back to Yong-wen?

I was smiling. That was only fair, wan't it? He'd already ridden me, and I was still sore.

"Will your spines come up as you run?" I asked, clearly seeing that I was to lay flush on my belly along his spinal column; there were places on his harness for me to grip.

"Would threaten bargain," he said more gruffly and less distinctly. Maybe he wasn't used to talking much in this form. "Bundle shhhirt and boots in cloak and lie on them."

Not bad. A bit like a saddle for my chest and belly.

I secured his clothing as directed and didn't see reason to linger; I mounted him easily as I had many an Underdark lizard. Leaning forward I hooked my bracers through his harness, holding on and squeezing my thighs to him; I was pretty much horizontal and had one slider on the outside of each thigh.

"Mmm, nice ride," I hummed, and he chuffed.

I could feel that I was hardly any burden to him as he stepped around to face the nearest rooftop.

"Never panic," he growled. "You will throw us if you do."

"Check."

I settled myself down as I felt his muscles bunching, anticipating a very fast and very intense ride. Not at all like riding a horse, whose strength of running came only from evading prey, like the guarro. Riding a predator had a distinctly different feeling. The prime difference was that I wouldn't be steering the direction. At all.

Mourn surged forward and took that first running leap to the next rooftop, slowing and leaping to the next on in a way that I knew was to get me accustomed to leaning with his jumps, not against them. I was already getting the feel; it was almost exactly as I might imagine riding one of the mountain cats, but with the familiarity of a lizard mount and the precision and sure-footedness of the guarro landing on uneven rock.

"Fun," I commented.

He held back less on future jumps—if I didn't know better, I'd have said he was testing me, trying to throw me a few times or make me gasp in alarm.

Ha.

I breathed evenly as I could, held it through leaps, and avoided smacking against him during the landings. Soon enough he picked a place where we landed on the ground in the street, and that was where he took off. He ran faster than any horse, claws tearing up the dirt as one large shadow whipped through those around town.

No doubt this was where some of the demon tales about him came from. A few times we were glimpsed by a guardsman or street dwellers; we scared away a number of dogs, cats, and rodents. We were moving too fast for anyone to get a good look or a good shot at us, and Mourn did not stay on a straight street for long before changing to the next.

My heart pounded and wind sang through my ears as all my muscles worked continuously just to hold on and stay on through the turns. Grit and a few night gnats stuck to my teeth or tongue as I was probably grinning more than necessary, and I spat from time to time.

Mourn drew air into his lungs in deep rows, blowing and snorting a few times; soon it seemed his forceful heartbeat overwhelmed mine. The heat he emitted was not only intense enough to make my thighs sweat, but it almost tasted of magic. Augran swept by at a rate I had never expected to witness; it had never occurred to me, even on horseback, to imagine going much faster.

It did come to me during that ride that this is probably how he got Gaelan to the Wilder and made it back in time to confront us near the Warpstone cannibals. He could move very quickly when he wanted; if he'd had wings, I could well imagine him leaping up and soaring into the air at any point.

If he'd ever had wings, there would be less doubt in the stories about what he was.

My eyes could detect just the barest hint of fading darkness by the time Mourn carried us well over the wall into Yong-wen. He didn't bother being stealthy this time; two Yungian males on the wall both saw him, and one exclaimed a cry that I couldn't decide between fright and joy, but he'd called on the enclave's Dragon Spirit in welcome, for certain.

I was glad, at least, that Mourn didn't pause to return the salutation. My arms and shoulders especially were burning by now and I had had my fun. Time for the ride to be over. We took a few more rooftops on our way to the safehouse.

Mourn scared the road apples out of the horses in the stall this time. We only passed by on the way to the cellar, but their shrieks were distressed and I heard a few kicking at the wooden walls, waking the stable boys, no doubt.

Beneath the ground and away from the rising Sun, Mourn blew rather loudly with flared nostrils, scratching the cool dirt with his claws. Heat billowed off him and his scent thick in the air as I got off stiffly and removed the bundle of clothing so he could start shifting back. He soon stood in an ill-fitting harness and sliders after he did, only readjusting the things on him and leaving me burdened with the rest.

"Going to blind me again?" I asked.

"Of course," he puffed.

He did have enough magic left to Call Darkness and shift us into his lair properly. Paying more attention this time, I would have said it definitely had something in common with the Drow transport circles, but wasn't exactly like it. Shyntre might have been able to explain the difference to me.

Warm light filled the underground library, and it smelled like someone had been tending to himself properly—mainly due to the lingering scents of a recent meal and less any particular body warmth. Gavin wasn't corpse-cold, but he wasn't exactly radiating normally anymore, like myself and Mourn.

We had only a moment to observe with our return. I was not surprised to see Gavin hunched over a book and several scrolls spread over one of the tables. What was a surprise—but also pretty cute—was Graul curled atop the back of Gavin's chair and reading over his shoulder, the white-whiskered chin not quite resting on the necromancer's robed shoulder.

It got even more amusing when the ancient drake blinked at us and slipped onto the table, doing well to avoid slicing parchment with his claws despite his aging gait, and yawned disinterestedly with his back to Gavin, his tail flicking across the papers as if to intentionally annoy the necromancer.

As if that hadn't been the image of a near-perfect truce between him and the scholar just then.

"Si ocuira batobot, Graul," Mourn said, still catching his breath as he showed his fangs in a smile, and the drake purred and blinked in mock innocence.

I looked at Gavin, who had his elbows on the table and fingers threaded thoughtfully as he looked at us. I could see more of his pale arms than usual, and was reminded of the many scars he possessed as I noted a purple line on the left outside.

"Have fun?" I asked.

"I would hazard a guess that you did."

"What makes you say that?"

"Just a sense of things." Gavin looked at Mourn. "My gratitude for allowing me use time down here, Mourn. It has been enlightening."

The hybrid had been setting a few things down in their places, his sliders among them, but now he looked more closely at his guest. I had noted the tone as well and tried to catch where Mourn was looking on the table but it was pretty quick.

Mourn focused on Graul. "Kii batobot ir?"

He hadn't raised his voice and did not express plain displeasure, but I was keeping one eye on his tail, and it was just flicking enough to suggest he was agitated. The ancient drake seemed to me to be smirking, puffing out his throat slightly in defiance, although I would have liked to think I could recognize maliciousness if there was any. I didn't think there was; it felt like a well-established balance, familiar and close.

"Tagoa'coi tawuraic ," Graul squawked impishly, his voice small like his chest and almost exactly how I'd imagine a particularly devious little gnome to sound.

Gavin and I both blinked, unmoving for a few moments as Mourn answered the little beast with an elegantly skeptical expression.

The death mage leaned back slowly in his chair, eyeing the smaller reptile. "Hm. So you can speak."

Graul turned an ear back and shifted his head only enough that I'd think he could see Gavin with one eye.

"Yesss," he hissed in Surface Common. "Thanks for the treatss."

I found myself snickering now, imagining some of the game that must have been going on in our absence. "He speaks two languages?"

"Three," Graul said to me in Drow, lowering his long neck slowly and bringing his tail about as if he were trying to be as menacing as a full-sized Dragon. "As far as you know, Baenar."

It would not do any good to take bait from the small drake; the creature was intelligent enough to wait for a good moment to speak, for whatever impact to us or benefit to himself. I smiled and decided to close my mouth and observe a little longer. His accent was odd in the way Mourn's was, but that was to be expected if he had remained a close companion to the hybrid for centuries.

"Well, at least that makes more sense," Gavin muttered; if he was cranky at having just found this out, I could not tell it from his normal demeanor. He looked at Mourn. "This is a drake from the Underdark?"

Mourn nodded an affirmative, moving toward the service elevator, presumably to prepare a request of the Yungian kitchen above. "A shadow drake. He began following me on my journey through and out of the Underdark. By the time I found a way out, there was no way I would rid myself of the sticky little thief, even in Sunlight."

Graul hissed in annoyed insult at the remark and chuckled immediately after. I heard the layered affection in Mourn's tone and by Graul's expression, I took it that the beast was far more pleased than not with the summation of his connection to the big mercenary. When the drake had been young and spry, he must have been quite the asset. I remembered how he'd blended in completely in the shadows, and I had only seen his red eyes first when he opened them.

"Interesting that he would suffer the Sun as you did," I commented to Mourn.

"Not so hard," Graul commented flippantly. Then he was looking down toward the floor as if contemplating jumping down.

"It did not scare you away?" I asked him directly, coming closer.

Graul blinked at me as I approached, fluttering the lavender pouch at his neck. "Surface has shadows, too."

"Uh-huh. Not nearly as many. Need a lift down?"

He puffed air out of his nostrils and into my face at the heavy sweetness of my tone, but didn't outright refuse me. His breath smelled of Yungian spice and well-aged meat.

"How heavy are you?" I asked, looking him over. "You are a bit large for a lap pet."

Graul's tail slapped briefly against the table leg as he raised his chin, and I could see that devious glint in his cloudy eyes. "Find out, female."

Mourn was leaning against the wall waiting for a response from upstairs; he had folded his arms and did not say one thing. He even kept his tail still as he watched the interaction.

"Well, if you are inviting," I said, then spoke to our host while keeping an eye on the resident. "Best way to pick him up, Mourn? You didn't recommend it to Gavin before."

"I still do not. Your choice, Sirana."

Graul grinned and adjusted his little talons on the wood of the table. He glanced toward the soft chaise, where he wanted to go, and the tip of his tail flicked playfully. I could detect that he was overall stiff and his joints probably pained him, but no matter how I attempted to lift him, he had the sharp points in the right places to cut me anywhere. There was no picking him up without risking my smooth skin.

Shrugging, I stepped over to the chaise and pushed that toward the desk instead, until it was beside the desk and a very small leap for Graul to the soft landing point. Gavin smirked and remained as he was at the desk.

Graul blinked again, his tail going still in disappointment, but I'd trade that for the almost cute grunt as he jumped, and the tiny coughs of air which spoke of contentment as he walked in a small circle on the chaise. Then I simply dragged both him and the chaise back to its original spot.

"I'd say you weigh about as much as a decade Drow child," I assessed, and Graul coughed in haughty defiance, lifting his nose up as he began to settle down in comfort.

"And how much is that?" Gavin asked, purely curious.

I shrugged. "Maybe as much as Elana's younger girl?"

"Ah." The necromancer nodded. "A six-year-old. Interesting."

"Who is Elana?" Mourn asked from across the room.

"The sorcerer's cook," I answered. "A mother of two without a mate. She's grateful to him for giving her work, food, and shelter."

Mourn just nodded, not giving away anything particular in his thoughts on that. Eventually, Graul yawned with his dark mouth and purple tongue wide open again, the most visible part being the tiny, off-white teeth; he turned around again and curled up into a ball on the velvet, apparently at his limit for playing games with me. I could imagine he might have been exhausting in his prime. Or perhaps he had tired himself out with Gavin already.

"Do you have any treats left?" I asked the necromancer with a grin.

Gavin deigned to smirk; did he actually have some fun with the beast?

"No. In the end I was required to give them all up, one at a time. But he served as the nose to lead me to texts that might have taken much longer to find, had I been browsing one by one."

Interesting. "Such as?"

"Those written in an older dialect of Manalar, not Common, but a script I have learned."

I perked up. "Really? Anything to help us now?"

Gavin touched dried fingers to the dried page; I would have thought it almost affectionate, if he was the sort. "Probably not directly. More giving me insight into the history of the Church, sometimes from the inside, as often from without." He looked toward Mourn. "I trust Graul was not supposed to lead me to an old journal detailing a Guild member's early involvement with Manalar?"

This was a surprise for me to hear in that first moment, and yet it shouldn't have been at all. The rivalry between the Guild's home base and the city of the Sun God was well-aged, I already knew that. I just wasn't thinking; too much sex now instead of too little, perhaps.

Still. Why would Gavin imply that he'd just uncovered a secret Mourn might not have shown us himself? I looked at the half-blood to see how he responded; the drake himself seemed to be only lightly dozing as his ear shifted in Mourn's direction when he spoke.

The mercenary shrugged. "Graul does as he likes. He wanted to show you that journal and I have no protest, what is done is done. It is a valuable document, I am sure you realize."

"Indeed, I do," the mage agreed, reaching to lift an ordinary, unmarked, leather bound handbook laid at his left.

He opened carefully to a page, resting it flat on the table and minimizing his handling. He was clearly accustomed to archiving and preserving records; his hands were kind of like Shyntre's that way.

"Which member?" I asked him, deciding to sit on the opposite end of the chaise with Graul and get off my feet. "How 'early' are we talking about?"

"It doesn't say." Gavin reread a few sentences, his brow wrinkling a bit in concentration as he translated words in his head. "The chronicle is as if he—or she—is speaking to a scribe, and the scribe is recording it exactly, in an old Manalar dialect. The speaker's name is not given. It is the context alone that tells me it is likely a member of the Guild, and our host just confirmed it for me."

The hybrid did not look at all chagrinned hearing that; I was suspicious. Either Mourn was good at covering a gaffe, or he knew exactly where he was leading us.

In this case, I thought either was possible; the hybrid was extremely intelligent and good at planning, but not all-knowing, nor could he anticipate everyone all of the time. It would be a folly for me to start believing that, especially as I really did think that first interaction between half-blood and drake when we first arrived was genuine—Mourn had been questioning him, Graul had been defiant.

For all I knew, Mourn had also had too much sex to be thinking with clarity around someone like Gavin, from whom we weren't used to expecting sleights of hand in his own wording. Perhaps the mage was learning from me as well; he was cunning in his own way.

Mourn's meal appeared then and immediately filled the library with that wonderful, exotic smell which made my mouth water. I looked over to judge whether he had enough to share, as it wasn't until I smelled it that I realized I was hungry.

He had a large pile of food on a tray, which he lifted to carry over to the second, unoccupied table next to Gavin's. I didn't doubt that he might be able to finish all of it himself, especially after that intense run, carrying me all the way from the Great Lake's edge in a few hours. As when he had caught and devoured the pig by the river, he needed to replenish what strength he'd used.

However, Mourn looked up now and needed no request from me; he gestured for me to come retrieve the two, generously-sized hand pies—my favorite—and I did not need further encouragement. Gavin watched us eat for a few minutes then focused on me.

In between bites, I gave him direction. "So how early? Even if not exact."

"Starting before Manalar became a theocracy," the former monk murmured, though it sounded like he had been waiting to say just that. "Historical details are frustratingly vague. This was written as a reflection, not a record, but I know well the name of the first Archbishop of Manalar, Iarmod Tefornin. In this recounting, he is a mere cleric in service to Lord Nikro Rophan."

I couldn't quite read Gavin's expression here. My mouth and hands full of pie, I glanced at Mourn. He was eating with his sticks—I wasn't sure why, no Yungians were watching—and he was listening but felt no need to contribute, it seemed.

I finished my current bite. "You had an odd look about you, Gavin, mentioning that Lord. Who was he?"

"In the scriptures I was taught that he was the failed sinner, who in his hubris brought down the 'final wrath' of Musanlo and allowing the priests to show his people the 'true way.' Lord Nikro's purported level of debauchery and cruelty to his people included inviting in demons and challenging the Lord Chaos itself. Frankly I thought it exaggeration to make the current believers think life is better now than it had been." He shrugged. "Either that, or Lord Nikro truly was one of the largest threats to the fabric of our existence."

Mourn chuckled softly. Gavin paused, but continued speaking to me.

"In either case, he was never seen dead, and though it was presumed by some, others thought it evidence that he walked right into the levels of Hell to take his reward for bringing such threat to Musanlo's land."

"He was a man," Mourn broke in gruffly. It was said with such finality that I believed he had likely spoken to the long-dead Human Lord at one point. "He was a leader who made some mistakes."

"Yes, so I have read now," Gavin responded. "This is much simpler and, to me, rings truer for it."

"What does it say of Nikro?" I asked, finishing up my first pie.

"In essence, that he ran afoul of some ambitious and unforgiving members of the Guild, and publicly challenged this new, unseen influence in his city in an early attempt to drive them out." Gavin was careful as he turned a few more of the softly crinkling pages. "The Guild did not have the reach it has now, and Lord Nikro saw it then as an unwelcome, illegal operation skimming riches from his people and causing unrest and fear in his lands. He was responsible for their security, and in that he was failing them."