Witchbreaker (Dragon Apocalypse) (17 page)

“No.” She rolled her eyes.

“I think you’re hiding down here because you’re ashamed of your appearance.”

She crossed her arms. “I’ve been seen by half the Romers already. What do I have to hide?”

“It’s the only explanation I can think of for why you’re letting Slate run around the ship without you watching his every move. Considering you went to that graveyard digging for answers, I can’t believe you don’t have the biggest question you found under constant surveillance.”

“Slate’s... running around the ship?”

“He’s playing with Poppy and Cinnamon on deck right now.”

Sorrow frowned. What had she expected? That he would spend his journey lying in his bunk immobile as a corpse? She shouldn’t have been surprised to discover that Slate was interacting with the crew. He’d been quick enough to make friends with Battle Ox. After she’d eaten the rat, all thoughts of trying to figure out who and what Slate might be had faded in importance.

Sorrow sighed. “Let me get dressed and I’ll come up top. In truth, I’m feeling better adapted to the waves now that we’ve been under way for so many hours. I’d reached the decision to go to the deck on my own just before you knocked.”

“Right,” said Brand.

She dressed in her full armor. She knew that this was pointless attire aboard the ship, but she felt stronger when she wore it. She did modify the helmet, opening the faceplate to reveal her features from eyebrow to chin. When she was done, she slithered from the hold up the stairs to the deck.

When her torso rose above the edge of the hold she ducked, as she found herself in the midst of battle. Poppy was wearing a bucket on her head and lunging at Slate with a mop handle. Slate parried her blow with a mop handle of his own. Slate had shed his armor, and was dressed in the same white cotton uniforms sported by the Romers.

The mock sword battle between Poppy and Slate was being watched from the aftcastle by Cinnamon and a short woman that Sorrow didn’t recognize. She did a double take and realized that the woman was Bigsby. The dwarf had his platinum blonde wig piled on his head, where it was held in place by a dazzling silver crown studded with emeralds. He was wearing a cream-colored silk dress adorned with abundant frills. His face was powdered to the point that it almost resembled a white mask, with bright red lips, pink cheeks, and thin arched eyebrows penciled on.

“Glad to see you’ve joined us,” Brand said from behind her.

She turned around and asked, “Where does he keep getting these outfits?”

Brand shrugged. “He knows a seamstress in Commonground named Rose Thirteen. She apparently has a whole wardrobe full of outfits his size.”

Sorrow was confused.

Brand shrugged and said, “I didn’t ask questions. I had a million things to do to get the
Circus
ready. And Rose was a little too friendly for my taste.”

“You found a woman to be too friendly?”

“I didn’t think it was possible either, but she asked if I wanted to marry her about five minutes after we met.”

“That’s too friendly.”

Brand nodded.

Sorrow turned back to the sword fight between Poppy and Slate. Slate obviously had the upper hand, but Poppy was making up for her lack of experience with speed and agility. Slate parried every blow, but she easily tumbled and rolled away from any attack he launched. She ducked beneath his latest swing, jumping forward, rolling into a ball, then springing back to her feet only inches in front of Sorrow.

“Sorrow!” Poppy said. “Slate’s teaching me to be a knight!”

“Girls can’t be knights!” Cinnamon shouted from her seat on the aftcastle.

“Not true,” Bigsby answered. “Like my ancestor Queen Alabaster Brightmoon, I’m also a famous knight of the church.”

“Then why aren’t you down here training?” Poppy asked, placing her hands on her hips.

“My abilities are innate in my royal blood. Before I could even walk, my father placed me in the saddle atop his finest steed and I bested twenty men at jousting. I need no training.”

Poppy fixed her eyes on Sorrow. The girl circled her finger next to her skull as she silently mouthed, “He’s crazy.”

“Be that as it may,” Sorrow said, “your sister is correct that you can’t be a knight.”

“Ma says that a Wanderer can be anything she wants to be.”

“But being a knight isn’t merely a profession,” said Sorrow. “It comes with a lot of religious baggage. Wanderers can’t be knights because they don’t believe in the Divine Author.”

“I’ll convert,” said Poppy.

“Please don’t let your mother hear you say that,” said Brand. “She’ll skin me alive for giving you that book.”

“What book?” Sorrow asked.

“When I took possession of the ship, I found a dog-eared copy of
Champions of the Book
tucked in behind the mattress in the captain’s cabin. It’s a history, sort of. Mostly its blood-drenched legends of knights battling monsters, witches, and dragons. I immediately thought of Poppy.”

“Why?”

“Did you ever see the books she read on the
Freewind?
”

“No.”

Poppy said, “I like reading about battles. The bloodier, the better.”

“Is that appropriate reading material for a child?” Sorrow asked.

“No!” said Cinnamon. “It makes her mean. She’s always hitting people!”

“I’m not mean,” Poppy grumbled. “You’re just a—”

“Poppy is rambunctious,” said Slate. “Full of energy and daring, but lacking formal training. She would make a fine warrior.”

Sorrow raised an eyebrow. “So... you believe it’s okay for women to fight? That’s not exactly a tenet of chivalry.”

Slate shrugged. “I suppose it’s not. But, somehow, it feels right to me that women should engage in combat. You certainly held your own in battle.”

“By the seven stars!” Poppy exclaimed as she bent over to look down into the hold at Sorrow’s serpent form. “It’s true!”

“Don’t be alarmed by my appearance,” Sorrow said. “I’m still the same woman you knew.”

“Alarmed?” Poppy said, dropping to her chest and stretching her arm down. “This is amazing!” She ran her fingers along Sorrow’s scales. “You’re like a dragon!”

Cinnamon was suddenly at the hold as well, bending over to stare at Sorrow’s tail.

“Come out into the light!” she said.

Sorrow was surprised by the reaction, but complied by slithering up the steps until she was completely on deck.

“I thought Jetsam was lying,” said Cinnamon.

“You look just like Avaris!” said Poppy.

“What?” Sorrow was bewildered. What could this girl know about Avaris?

Poppy ran across the deck and grabbed a bag lying next to the mast. She pulled out a book and ran back. The tome was leather bound and thick, with dog-eared pages and a spine that had seen better days. She flipped through the yellowed paper until she found the page she was seeking. “This is Avaris!”

An old woodcut portrayed Avaris as a demon with a serpent’s body from the waist down. Avaris also had fangs, and fins for ears, not to mention menacing talons in place of hands.

“Beyond the obvious, I don’t see the resemblance,” said Sorrow.

“Your scales are so smooth,” Cinnamon said. She was running her fingers along Sorrow’s hide so lightly that Sorrow hadn’t noticed until the girl pointed it out.

“It’s impolite to touch others without permission,” Sorrow said.

Cinnamon drew her hand back, looking hurt.

“They’re children,” said Slate. “It’s natural they’d be curious.”

“My scales are sharp,” said Sorrow. “She could injure herself.”

“You have to play with us!” said Poppy. “You can be a dragon, and Slate and I will be the knights that slay you!”

“I’m uncertain why I would find that entertaining.”

“It’s merely play,” said Slate.

Sorrow furrowed her brow. She hadn’t expected the dragon-slayer she’d allied herself with to play well with children. To possibly be a destroyer worthy of discussion in hell, Slate was proving to be unexpectedly...
nice
.

“Is something bothering you?” Slate asked.

“‘You’?” she said, noting the change in his grammar. “What happened to the
thous
and
thees
?”

“No one else speaks that way,” Slate said with a shrug. “I’ve adapted.”

Sorrow regretted wasting so much time below deck sulking. If Slate was a magical creation, it’s possible he was programmed to adopt the mannerisms of those surrounding him to better fit in. She should be the one shaping his personality rather than leaving him in the hands of children.

“If you need a sparring partner to hone your skills in combat, you shouldn’t battle these girls,” she said. “As it happens, I’ve spent much of my life avoiding hand to hand combat, but suspect that will be more difficult from now on. I can craft swords of unnatural sharpness. You can teach me to use them effectively.”

“It would be my honor,” he said, bowing toward her. “But I shall continue training Poppy, as she continues to teach me.”

“He’s forgotten a lot about being a knight,” said Poppy. “He didn’t remember the code.”

“The code?” Sorrow asked, thinking of the letter she couldn’t read.

“The Code of Knighthood,” said Slate. He straightened his spine and pulled back his shoulders, placing his hand over his heart. “A knight shall be brave, courteous, and kind, obedient to his king, a defender of his faith, and a champion to all men of virtue.”

Sorrow crossed her arms. “That might mean more if you could remember your king or your faith.”

“Aye,” he said, wistfully. “I mean, yes.”

“Even if he’s lost his memory, he’s still brave, courteous, and kind,” said Poppy. “You can see it in his eyes.”

Sorrow looked at his face. His dark eyes still reminded her of cold, hard stone. Despite his newly revealed gentleness, she could still see in his visage that Slate was a man capable of remorseless violence. Perhaps Poppy saw in his eyes only what she wished to see.

“I think his eyes are dreamy,” Bigsby chimed in. He gave Slate a dainty wave with his gloved hand.

Slate looked uncomfortable as he turned his back to the dwarf and said to Sorrow, “Let’s go below and examine your swords. If you wish advice on how best to use them, I should be familiar with your weapons.”

They headed down the stairs. Once they were out of sight of Bigsby, Slate whispered, “I’m told that the short, portly woman is a princess. But I’m beginning to suspect she may not even be female!”

Slate looked bewildered as Sorrow laughed so hard that tears came to her eyes. It was a relief, of sort, to discover she still had the capacity to find something funny. When she wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks and caught her breath, she realized her ribs were now sore. She had a lot of ribs.

H
ER RIBS CONTINUED
to suffer abuse in the coming days as Slate made good on his promise to train her. Her strength and speed were better than ever, but he still had no trouble slipping past her best defenses and whacking her flanks with the flat of his wooden sparring sword. After nearly a week of training, she grew frustrated, and threw down her blades.

“I give up!” she said. “I don’t know why I thought I could do this.”

“You can do it,” he said. “You’ve learned a great deal in the last week. Once or twice you’ve actually turned my sword aside.”

“My ribs are black and blue. I thought that one of the virtues of a knight was to be kind. What’s kind about beating me to a pulp?”

“Do you enjoy pain?”

“No!”

“Then you definitely wouldn’t enjoy having a real sword cut into your flesh. I tap you just enough to provide you with an incentive not to get hit.”

“But the problem is that this isn’t real combat,” she said. “When I do engage in violence, I always strike to kill. I’ve never been in a fight that lasted more than thirty seconds. I can’t really attack you with the full force of my powers. I’ve no desire to hurt you.”

“Perhaps I need to hit you harder. You need not hold back against me.”

Sorrow clenched her fists, thinking of the entropic forces she’d managed to suppress so well for the last week. Her body hadn’t changed since she’d stopped using those powers. She said, “Let’s hope, for both our sakes, I continue to hold back.”

Before their conversation could go further, Sage shouted from the crows nest, “Ship!”

Sorrow rose to twice Slate’s height and scanned the surrounding sea. She saw no ship, but Sage’s abilities allowed her spot a ship many miles away.

“Where? How many?” Gale shouted from her position at the wheel.

“Only the one. Just beyond the horizon, dead ahead.”

“What flag do they fly?”

“The flag of King Brightmoon, but it’s probably a deception,” said Sage. “I know that ship. It’s the
Seahorse!
”

“Wonderful,” said Gale, with a sigh.

Sorrow slithered back toward the wheel where Gale stood. “Is there a problem?”