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  SOWING DRAGON TEETH

  James AldeRdice

  Sowing Dragon Teeth Copyright 2019 James Alderdice

  Cover design by: https://selfpubbookcovers.com/Viergacht

  Typography by: https://www.jcalebdesign.com/

  Map by Anna Stansfield

  Digital formatting by: Hershel Burnside

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owners and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  LOSTREALMS PRESS

  The Lands of our tale

  Chapters

  1. Iron Maiden of the Black Coast

  2. King of the Great Secret

  3. The Crown Rests Uneasy

  4. Blood Revelation

  5. Friends Close and Enemies Closer

  6. The Quicksand Gets Deeper

  7. Islands in the Sky

  8. A Crash of Kathulian Steel

  9. The Hyena’s Paw

  10. Waybills of Death

  11. Cities in Dust

  12. Thirsty Are the Damned

  13. Ride the River

  14. Never Say the Name of the Dead

  15. The Poison Tree

  16. The Courtship of Ole

  17. Trail of the Old Ones

  18. Temple of the Crocodile

  19. Wayfarers on the Storm

  20. War Party

  21. The Rain Queen

  22. The Vault of Mirrors.

  23. Visions to Come

  24. The Thousand Steps of Doom

  25. Through the Secret Door

  26. The Dragon’s Graveyard

  27. Tooth and Claw

  28. Musa Remembers

  29. Jokameno Awakes

  30. Iron Discipline

  For Maddie, who loves Dragons. Just not too much.

  Sowing Dragon Teeth

  1. Iron Maiden of the Black Coast

  A hot sun beat down like a gong, the brilliance shimmering across the bleak landscape in dizzying waves. Every few seconds the blazing orb seemed to flare a little more, drumming a new note of heat upon its long summer song. At first glance this was a dead land, a blasted place where the scorched earth would permit no living thing sustenance, but in the seven paces it takes a dying man to stumble from the road there was yet life. Vultures tore at ripe meats, squawking at one another like greedy dinner guests arguing politics. They feasted upon the remains of an unlucky traveler, pulling at his flesh and shredding his ragged clothing.

  They squawked at one another until the sound of a new traveler interrupted their feast and they paused to hobble about, brooding upon this lone intruder. Were they a threat, or tomorrow’s meal?

  From her saddle, Aisha cursed the carrion eaters under her breath. Like the traveler, she too was alone out here, but unlike the vultures’ meal, Aisha was both experienced and prepared for the journey. Driven by purpose and courage, she would not fall to the most basic of desert wilderness dangers. She removed the tarnished silver band confining her mane of black hair and wiped her brow. Powdery white salt instead of sweat clung to her cocoa brown forearm. “Sowing dragon teeth,” she said, to remind herself.

  Her father used to say, ‘A man’s character is his fate’. He certainly meant women by that too, even if he never said it. And that’s why she was out here. Sowing dragon teeth meant the same thing, though she had learned that expression from her former pirate crew. We get what we have coming to us, and she was compelled to change what she had coming. A legacy proclaiming her the most infamous pirate on the coast wasn’t how she wanted to be remembered. Funny, how time and experience change the dreams of youth. She had worked hard for that feared name, fought for her fierce reputation—and now she couldn’t get away from them. Everywhere she went, some slack-jawed bravo or mustachioed sword jockey daring to make a name for themselves challenged her to a duel, hoping to be the one who finally cut Aisha—Iron Maiden of the Black Coast—down, and in defending herself, she had only increased her infamy. A person needs a reason to change but it can’t just be dropped, leaving them with an empty slot. No, it must be replaced with something. Aisha was replacing it with duty and honor. Even if no one else would believe that or even care. She cared.

  She hunched in the saddle. Out on the blistering plain where the southern desert met the northern savannah, she heard only the creaking leather, the steady trotting hoof beats of her nag, and the lonely screech of a buzzard high overhead. The road sweltered, with waves dancing up from the hard-packed surface. Hot as a witches’ stewpot, her mother used to say. What she wouldn’t give for a breeze right about now. She still had ten leagues to go to reach that ramshackle excuse for civilization, Perkusi. A wart on the border of Valchiki and Seantum if there ever was one. But that was why she was out here in the oppressive heat wasn’t it? She had to change, had to show her mother—and more importantly herself—what she was made of. That she had noble character, like her father before her. At least she prayed to the nameless gods that she did.

  She was sowing dragon teeth still, though out here on the frontier, there were a lot less knives at her back and a whole lot more space to see those few coming. That sure didn’t mean she wasn’t a walking armory herself, though. She had taken her scale-mail vest off days ago but kept it handy beside the saddle bags. Her wide brimmed buccaneer hat would have been welcome out here, but she had sold it when first coming ashore. Her favored red silk breeches and high black boots might have been fine for a dashing pirate captain, but out here she went for less flamboyant attire, wearing a leather jerkin over her white cotton shirt and buckskins instead of silk breeches. Aisha always had her favored bastard sword within reach—presently on her saddle—a boarding cutlass at her side, and a big razor-sharp belt dagger to help balance out the weight. Three slim throwing knives, a hidden boot knife, and her eating knife were scattered about her person too. Father told her, and in turn she told her pirate crew, “If you’re without a knife, you’re without a life.” Even in the saddle she was comforted by the rhythmic slap of the heavy leather sheath on her hip.

  A cooling breeze suddenly swept over Aisha accompanied by a dark shadow racing. Panic gripped her in a choking embrace. She dropped from the saddle and rolled away from her horse. Her eyes shut tight as she waited, silently curled into a ball, feeling the wind and cool shadow cover her like a blanket.

  Then it was gone.

  She looked up, blinded by the glaring sun. Her horse stood and stared down at her. Glancing into the sky, Aisha watched a small lone cloud moving swiftly against the expansive blue. She cursed herself for a fool. If her old crewmates could see her now they would be dying of laughter.

  Why had returning to her homeland brought all the forgotten fears back? Everything that haunted her as a little girl had been waiting patiently here to prey upon her once again. Was it all bad dreams or her own bad luck to jump at passing clouds? Was this cruel punishment for past sins? Something that couldn’t be atoned for? She cursed and finished her skin of water before remounting the nag.

  Despite being a full-grown fighting woman now of legendary renown, the Valchiki wind and shadows still transf
ormed her into that quivering little girl her mother had comforted. On the roiling seas she had faced warriors and beasts, deep demons even; she had fought sailors, scoundrels and even war mages, she had stolen from alchemists, noblemen, even kings—yet the wind and shadows of home forever revealed, nay betrayed, her very edge. She wasn’t convinced the recollections, the fleeting images, were real memories, likely just nightmares meant to replace the awful yet simple horror of what had happened to her father. Terrible visions to explain to a child why he was gone. She knew it couldn’t be real. Yet, the shadow overhead had done that to her all through her formative years until she left this cursed land. The flying shadows forever reminded her how easy life could be snatched away in an instant.

  Aisha rode on, feeling herself a fool and grateful that no one could have seen that embarrassing display of cowardice. It was bad enough she had to live with it. If she could cut that fear from out of her black heart she would do it. Instead she swallowed it and let the bitterness settle into her stomach. She would need a stiff drink when she got to town. She would do her damnedest to forget once again.

  The town of Perkusi had only a dozen buildings and a small squared fortress made of crudely fit red stone. It would house a garrison of troops. Aisha guessed no more than a score could be quartered inside. She rode straight for the fortress. Outside a thick doorway, a bare-chested man stood watch in a kilt of leopard skin and sandals. Sweat cast a bright sheen upon his deep black skin. He was armed with a tall reed shield, a long Valchiki hunting spear perfect for lion yet poor for fighting the Kathulians.

  “Where is your commander?” she asked.

  The watchman held a hand up, shielding his eyes from the indomitable sun. “Captain Ootuka is busy. What news do you bear, woman? Tell me and I shall tell him.” He jutted his chin forward.

  Aisha smirked, guessing she didn’t look as intimidating as she used to. “I asked where he is.”

  The watchman’s disdain was apparent. He scowled and looked away from her, making as if to grab her reins. Her boot swiftly met his jaw for the ill-advised attempt. He leapt to regain his fighting stance, shaking the dizziness from his skull but she was quicker out of the saddle than a panther and more importantly with her sword tip at his throat. She was as strong as any man, even if she didn’t look it, but in her experience, speed won a lot more fights than strength.

  Aisha growled, “I asked you a question.” She let the steel pierce his dark throat until a pinprick of blood welled behind it. “Where is he?”

  The watchman, easily twice as big as her, gritted his brilliant teeth in defiance. He wilted not a bit at the further prick of her blade but only when he met her baleful yellow eyes—inhuman bright yellow orbs surrounding piercing ebony irises. This was not the first time someone thought her a demonic killer just for possessing this most unusual eye coloration. She didn’t know exactly why they looked like that, why they were different from her family or anyone else she had ever met, let alone heard of. She could see only so well as anyone else so far as she knew. But she also didn’t mind them being alarming, unnerving, even terrorizing for her opponents, like right now.

  There were drawbacks however, everyone would forever know her name by her eyes. There would never come a time she could avoid that infamous name and settle somewhere without being known for who she was. They would never let her forget, never let her look away. Back to ‘sowing dragon teeth’ and why she was out here in the hinterlands.

  “Where is he?” she asked, pressing the sword tip again.

  He gulped against the point. “He is in the cantina.”

  Aisha nodded. “I expect a fresh horse from the stables. You will fetch it for me.”

  The watchman wiped the blood from his neck. “Who are you? That I should obey? Do you know who I am?” He beat his bare chest with his fist to emphasize his supposed worthy name.

  Impossible, she thought, he doesn’t know who I am! She thumped her own chest lightly in mockery. “I am Aisha,” and pointing at him with her sword, she continued, “and you are the dead man I gave a second chance at life to.”

  His head bobbed and eyes widened in recognition of the name. He pointed at the cantina then ran toward the stables.

  A faded sign hung over the adobe building proclaiming the establishment as ‘The Rhino’s Horn’. Aisha pushed open the door to the cantina. Dim light filtered through swirling dust and she could see the furthest extent of the rectangular room. A couple dozen chairs were scattered haphazardly about the place filled with half so many tables and folk. The stink of drunkards slapped her nostrils, both their rum and their sour bodies. Those that were sober glanced at her in surprise and appreciation, those that were not—kept inside their cups.

  She lamented that the cantina was a sad wayside on the old ivory road. Adventurers and merchants from all over the world might be inside, but Aisha saw only folk who had no spirit left. Broken down travelers; a blind man and boy, a harlot well past her prime, and a few elderly card players. Captain Ootuka was apparently one of those still inside his cups.

  Aisha recognized the golden brocade cord about his bicep marking him the commander. “Is there a competent man among the garrison?” she asked, above the snoring Ootuka.

  The barkeep laughed and shook his head, saying, “He is a good man—when he isn’t drunk.”

  “Then why do you serve him?”

  “I’d have no business otherwise.” He shrugged.

  Aisha glanced about the room again and saw more men in the shadowy corner who did look capable. “Are any of you with the garrison?”

  “No,” came a hissing reply, the accent belying someone from the east, and the city of Avaris. “Not like there’s a point to Valchiki having a garrison. You couldn’t do anything about the revolution anyway. It’s inevitable.”

  Revolution is what those who sided with the Kathulian crusade called the invasion. It was not polite wording on the frontier, but Aisha retained a stoic if not pointed demeanor, saying, “The free people of Valchiki would argue that point. I can tell by your accent that you come from the conquered city of Avaris. Perhaps your people have forgotten their pride.”

  The man, a tall slick-haired rake, bolted upright from his chair, but another hand took his shoulder with a stern order. “Sit, Gamal, it will do no good to argue with this country’s guardians. Forgive my servant, but the sting of the Kathulian absorption still burns us,” said the man, with a deep and booming but not unfriendly voice.

  He appeared to be a fat wealthy merchant of Avaris, dressed in a fine white turban and ornate yellow robe with intricate designs cascading across the trim. His white beard curled at the edges in a dozen fancy braids lying atop a band of silver and turquoise necklaces. There was a time she would have enjoyed robbing him, but that was in the past.

  “You call it absorption?” asked Aisha in surprise.

  Indignant now, the merchant replied, “My servant was correct in one word he used—inevitable. I can respect your ferocity and pride but the dark crusade the Kathulian prophet brings will sweep the entire world and—”

  “Let them come,” growled Aisha, cutting him off.

  “Perhaps in your country, women are permitted to hold weapons and fight beside men, but you are very rude and I am glad that I do not reside here.”

  Aisha spat. “Then go back to your absorbed cities in dust.”

  Gamal stepped forward, drawing his scimitar in a smooth fluid motion as courtly as if he was asking her to dance. And he was in a way wasn’t he? Too bad Aisha was no courtly lady though, she only knew the blood dance.

  Another man behind the merchant grunted and stood up. He was even taller than Gamal and far wider, he had to duck beneath a hanging lantern. His bullet-like head blended in with his shoulders as no neck was apparent. Muscles strained beneath his taut skin as he wore only leather breeches and thick buckled straps over his shoulders to hold them up. He carried what looked more like a hammer than a club in his massive fist.

  The merchant spoke. �
��Gamal, Neith, teach this trollop some manners. But do not mar her face, I find it comely for a dark-skinned Valchiki.” He then sat back down to drink his tea. “This should be an entertaining show.”

  Most of the folk in the cantina shot up and backed away to the corners or better yet out the front door. No one wanted to be caught in the middle of this.

  “Please, not my establishment,” pleaded the barkeep. But Neith tossed him aside like he was swatting at a buzzing insect.

  Aisha stepped to the side, keeping her back to the wall. It was obvious to her trained eye that the two opponents were skilled enough to deal with average bandits and thieves, there was no doubt they were experienced fighters, but she was an experienced warrior and reaver.

  They tried to catch her between them, each going around the table, straight into her trap.

  She kicked the table over toward Gamal, then swept inside Neith’s attack, slicing him across the exposed thigh as he raised his weapon. She side-stepped as Neith’s hammer came down, cracking the tiles where she had been. She sliced across the tops of both his extended arms. She kicked his bad leg, dropping him. She leapt and vaulted off Neith’s back toward Gamal who held back his own strike for fear of hitting his partner.

  Aisha crashed her blade against Gamal’s and sent him staggering.

  Gamal pushed back. He was quick. He flicked his gaze toward Neith and back, clenching his teeth so that his jaw muscles bulged. “I won’t save your face now,” he growled.

  Aisha didn’t speak when she was fighting. She concentrated on her breath, keeping it even, relaxed, and always ready to strike at exposed weakness.

  “I’ll cut your—,”

  She sliced him deep across the face and cheek. A flying piece of tongue might have been in the way there too.

  He went wild, thrashing his blade everywhere in a mad attempt to catch her. But an enraged fighter has no direction. She stepped back and let him vent.