Sowing Dragon Teeth Page 3

  Looking to the old man, she said, “Your secret is safe. No one will hunt for your sacred mountain.” She then decided to bury him lest the buzzards come and gouge out his eyes rendering him blind upon his path to the afterlife. It was hard work digging in this rough, hard packed ground, so after she dug down a couple feet, she decided to call that good enough. She would pile stones over him as a marker and to keep jackals or anything more tenacious away, too.

  She dragged his body to the hole and placed him inside with his arms crossed. That was how you buried holy men wasn’t it? She couldn’t remember, having little company with holy men while a pirate these last ten years.

  “Be sure to keep enough space in there for yourself,” said a sneering voice from behind.

  Aisha wheeled, her hands instinctively went to her blades, but the half dozen men approaching already had drawn swords and bows. One even had a crossbow.

  “You slew the shaman, Zahur, so now we’ll have to kill you,” said the bandit chief.

  3. The Crown Rests Uneasy

  Aisha watched through slanted eyes, her acute perceptions took in everything. There would be blood. She calculated dodging to one side and using one of the bandit’s bodies as cover then being able to escape into the maze of hoodoo’s and pick them off one by one.

  There were at least seven of them. The wiry, dusky fellow who had spoken seemed to be their chief; he was almost as dark-skinned as Aisha herself. He had a trimmed goatee and wore fine silk clothing that had seen better days than out here in the desert, even his hat was a fine wide brimmed silk one, probably from Tolburn. He must think himself a dandy. For a weapon, he wore a rapier with a fine basket hilt of silver. No one would carry such a blade if they weren’t truly good with it.

  Behind the bandit chief stood a tall, sunburnt, yet pale enough Northman; golden locks tumbled down the sides of his serene, oddly beardless face. Aisha had never seen a Northman who had shorn his beard before. He wore a dirty tunic made of polar bear skins and well-oiled mail scattered about his titanic torso. He held a boarding ax in one hand and a broadsword in the other though crossed lazily over his massive biceps.

  Beyond the Northman were a pair of turbaned Avaran cutthroats. Their eyes were squinted and beady, flashing just as dark and angry as their faces were bearded and unwashed. They were armed with crossbows and scimitars. Around the other side of Aisha, creeping up quietly were three ebony skinned men, they looked like Umoja tribesmen. They still wore necklaces of tiger teeth and traditional kilts and sandals fashioned from of predator skins, but they also wore a few civilized amenities. One wore a bent tri-cornered hat from Tolburn. Another had a wide brimmed woman’s hat, that was a nauseating shade of pink and probably the height of fashion in Avaris or Dar-Alhambra. He looked absolutely ridiculous, not that Aisha would tell him that to his sneering tattooed face. An eighth man came up behind leading their horses. At least they were smart enough to sneak up on her without their mounts.

  “I didn’t kill your friend,” Aisha said at last, only after deeming she couldn’t run without being struck down.

  “My friend?” The bandit chief laughed, jumped down across from the grave and kicked dirt on the corpse of Zahur. “I suppose he fell on his own knife, then huh?”

  Aisha struggled with the words to sound plausible and sincere. “I meant, I didn’t kill him on purpose. He ambushed me and I retaliated. If I had known he was a crazy old man driven mad by the sun, shooting arrows at me, I would have avoided this.”

  Grinning wide, the bandit chief said, “Mad? Crazy? Whoever said he was crazy? Did you speak to him or something?” He looked back at the big Northman and rubbed his hands together rapidly.

  Aisha, still watching for her chance to act said, “I did. He was mad with sun exposure. Nothing made sense. He was delirious.”

  The chief looked to the three Umoja tribesmen. They searched the dead man’s corpse and bag. They clicked their tongues in their strange language and answered back to the dandy bandit chieftain in broken common speech.

  “Not there?” he shot back in sudden exasperation. He quickly turned his glowering countenance to Aisha. “Where is it?”

  “Where is what?”

  He shouted, almost frothing at the mouth, “The map! The map! We came all this way to get the map from Zahur and you stole it! Search her!”

  The two Avaran cutthroats moved to grasp Aisha’s arms when the Northman spoke. “Boss, its here.”

  The bandit chief’s face exploded in a joyful smile again. “Let me see, let me see.”

  “Problem, Boss.” The Northman grasped a chunk of blackened vellum from the dying coals. The scroll retained its shape for a half second, then crumbled in his hand and fell, never touching the ground as the wind caught and spirited it away.

  The bandit chief cried in anguish, then whipped about saying matter of factly, “Kill her.”

  The Avarans readied their crossbows, the three Umoja drew their bows or spears.

  Aisha whipped out her blades and shouted, “I read the map!”

  The sudden inevitable violence froze as sweat ran down their faces and everyone looked to the chief for his answer. He ushered his men to lower their bows and weapons, then asked, “You read the map? Do you know to where it leads?”

  “I do. I thought it couldn’t be real, so I burned it.”

  “Foolish woman!” he shouted. He spat and kicked the dust before pacing back and forth. Then his mood changed again. “But do you remember it? Could you draw it again for me? I will spare your life. Draw it for me and you can be on your way,” he said, in a rapid-fire burst of excitement.

  Aisha put away her blades and stepped out of the hole. He smiled big, a golden tooth glinted in the sunlight.

  “My life is not for you to give or take,” she said, with some menace.

  The chief moved to slap her, but she caught his hand in her own firm grasp.

  “I could beat it out of you,” he snarled, trying to slip out of her grip, but Aisha’s weathered hands were strong as a steel trap. The Avarans and Umoja tensed, ready to pounce at his command.

  “Boss,” interrupted the Northman. “There are better ways. Let her tell us. In her own way.”

  The chief stopped fighting her and she let go. He then wheeled away saying, “You always have a soft spot for the ladies, Ole. But I do not think that this one is a lady. Look at her weapons, look at her eyes! She looks more like a demon hell-cat to me. Who are you anyway?”

  “Does it matter?” Aisha said, with venomous disdain.

  “No,” responded the chief.

  The Northman, Ole, brought his broad hand up in a gesture of peace and truce saying, “I am Ole of Vjorn. This is Catlo, he is the boss of this venture. I owe him a blood debt and will die to protect him until I can fulfill it. These others, Arman, Feroze, Nyo, Hodari, and Musa; are our confederates in the enterprise, among others. Now, tell us who you are and I will listen and respect that. Then perhaps we can come to a mutual agreement on our dispute.”

  Catlo laughed, saying, “Ole, I don’t know how you learned to talk like that up in the frozen north. It’s like you grew up in the fancy marble courts of Avaris or between the pillars of Irem. You should have been a lawyer not a brawler.”

  Ole nodded at that, but gestured for Aisha to speak.

  Aisha thought he looked much more at home in polar bear skins with an axe in hand than he would wearing a toga with a scroll of law at his side. So she waited a moment to be sure this was no trick to lower her guard. She reluctantly answered, “I am Aisha. I was patrolling, watching for the Kathulian invasion. The crazy old man shot arrows at me, and not knowing who he was… I killed him. I am sorry for what I have done.”

  Catlo barked, “Blah, blah, blah. I don’t care about any of that. I want the map!”

  Ole raised his bear-like hand again. “Please, Boss, let her continue.”

  Catlo cursed under his breath and stalked away before wheeling and pacing back again.

  Aisha was leery of su
ch a temperament, but grateful that the Northman, Ole, was a voice of reason. “As I said, I destroyed the map thinking it false. The dragon’s graveyard is a myth. It is legend. Nothing more.”

  Ole shook his head. “You don’t know that.”

  “No one has seen a dragon in a hundred years they say,” said Aisha. But even as the repeated dictum left her mouth she found herself doubting, thinking on her own nightmares, and in a rare instance the lie masked her face so broadly any one of them could read it. “No such place could be real.”

  Ole answered, “That is what they say, but dragons are notoriously long-lived and that doesn’t matter when it comes to a legendary graveyard does it?”

  “I suppose not,” she murmured.

  Catlo cursed again, louder.

  Aisha frowned at him. She was not used to this type of behavior. Aboard her pirate ship, The Raven, she would have had a crewman flogged for acting such as this, and if he had been a captain of another pirate ship during parlay and bearing such an attitude, she would have found a way to insult him into dueling with her—and then truly humiliated him permanently with blades. But now, she was at their mercy.

  “Fine,” she snapped. “You want the map and I want to leave. I have important work to attend to, I will draw you a map of what I saw and I will leave. You won’t follow me and I won’t follow you.”

  Ole nodded but looked to Catlo for the final word.

  Catlo scratched at his chin before shaking his head. “I don’t think so. We cannot just take your word for this map and let you gallivant away. It’s too important to leave to your word. You might tell us false then come back for the treasure yourself.”

  Aisha put a hand to her hilt. “Call me a liar again and I’ll cut your tongue out.”

  Catlo laughed and gestured toward the men holding crossbows. “My men have their crossbows at the ready and you could never reach me before they could stick you full of arrows. No, I think you are our map.” He pointed at her. “That is, if you are speaking true and you read it and can remember.”

  “I remember just fine,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “All right then,” Catlo continued, “you will guide us to the dragon’s graveyard and get a share of the treasure. Agreed?”

  Aisha shook her head. “You said, and I quote, ‘You can draw it again for me? I will spare your life. Draw it for me and you can be on your way.’ You said that. If anyone is a liar, it’s you. And if you wish to contest it—duel me.”

  Catlo’s smirk vanished. He looked at Ole, who nodded, answering, “She’s right. You said that.”

  “I suppose you think I should take that insult from this hell-cat and maybe even duel her, eh? But I don’t fight women.” He thumped his chest.

  “Neither do I,” said Aisha.

  The men laughed and Catlo’s face darkened again. “It’s not funny. Take her weapons and then we will talk.”

  Aisha drew her blades. She calculated how many she could strike down before the arrows took her. Ole would be difficult and Catlo too, if that rapier was any indication. She had to kill the bowmen first. She thought the Umoja were likelier better shots than the Avarans, she would kill them first.

  Ole spoke again. “Not like this.” He put himself between Aisha and the Umoja bowmen. “You have my word, you will not be slain for talking with us and drawing the map.”

  Aisha spat. “I’ll not be disarmed and dishonored. Better to die fighting.”

  Ole nodded. He undid the clasps on his left side armlet. For a moment Aisha wondered if he wanted to take off his armor and fight her as she wore no armor at the moment either.

  Ole dropped the vambrace from his arm and held his left forearm out for her to see. Beneath the leather and steel was a tattoo of the Pirate Brotherhood. He said, “I know who you are and I give you my word as a Brother in the Union of the Snake.”

  Aisha looked down at her own tattoo. The red brown ink was almost invisible against her cocoa skin, but it was there. Here was a Brother of the same order, despite their being born on opposite sides of the world from each other. She was obligated to take him at his word.

  “I need your oath, before I let my swords down,” she said. “A blood oath.”

  Catlo looked from one to the other, confused. Ole acknowledged her request and drew his knife. He cut his palm. Aisha did the same.

  “Now, swear you shall not let harm come to me from these men and—”

  “She can’t make you swear that!” Shouted Catlo. “You are obligated by blood to me alone!”

  Ole’s face reddened and twisted like a volcano about to explode in fury. He growled through his teeth like a bear, “I can make all the oaths I can keep. You will be silent and let her finish the request and then—then I will decide if I accept it.”

  Catlo was visibly taken aback at the Northman’s stern words. He raised his hands and backed away. He looked to his other men and made a gesture of ‘he’s crazy’ at Ole behind his back.

  Aisha nodded at Ole and said, “Swear that no harm shall come to me from these men unprovoked, and I also swear that I shall not attack them unprovoked. Only then will I put down my blades. Together this binding is our oath and needs no paper and no witnesses but we two.”

  “But we two,” Ole repeated, clasping her hand in his. Their blood mingled and dripped from their sealed handshake. Once the blood struck the ground, or the sea if such was the case, the oath was binding.

  Aisha wiped their blood upon her pant leg and reluctantly took off her belt and laid her swords and knives down. One of the Avarans gathered her tools and backed away swiftly, like a dog used to being kicked.

  Catlo said, “All right, now that the hell-cat has been declawed. I will lay out the conditions. You will guide us to the dragon’s graveyard and in turn you will be given a full share of whatever treasure we shall gain there. Agreed?”

  “No,” she said.

  “I’m not giving you a choice, I’m just talking. You don’t know me very well yet. You might not have been able to tell, but I like hearing myself talk. Aha, see what I did there? I said it before you could!” Catlo laughed a little too hard at his own joke.

  “I’m not going with you. You won’t make it. You don’t have enough men to make this journey and face the dangers along the way and more importantly, I have other things to do. I could draw you a map but you’re starting to wear down my generosity,” she said. “Ole, I want my weapons back, I’m leaving.”

  Ole shook his head. “You’re not a captain anymore Aisha. And the oath was only that I would not let them harm you unprovoked. Don’t provoke them. You will need to do as Catlo commands in any other capacity.”

  “Unprovoked? I’m provoked! You bastard!”

  Ole visibly shrunk from that as if he was truly disappointed that she was upset at him.

  “Captain?” asked Catlo. “You’re telling me she is Aisha, Iron Maiden of the Black Coast? And you weren’t going to let me duel her?”

  “You didn’t want to duel her; besides I probably saved your life… again.”

  Catlo sneered at that. “Doesn’t matter. Aisha, you will lead us to the dragon’s graveyard and then get a share like any man, but don’t double cross me and don’t try to escape.”

  “I do not agree to this.”

  Catlo screamed in her face, “Doesn’t matter! This is what we are doing, and you are coming along! Only you know the secrets of the mountain and only you can guide us there. You are the map! Whether you know it or not, you accepted the challenge the Umoja prepared and killed their sacred king, thusly becoming the new sacred king yourself, until someone kills you and they become the next king and so and so on. The smartest thing you ever did was burn the map, otherwise one of the Umoja would kill you right now to become the sacred king! But they can’t because you would never tell them the secret. Would you?”

  “I said I would draw you the map. Let anyone be the sacred king and let me go free. I have an important mission for my nation, the Kathulians—”


  Catlo cursed, “Damn the Kathulians. This is so much bigger than their damn book! Their goddess, their prophet, and their damn crusade! Can’t you see that? I will not let you go until we are at the mountain. You understand?”

  “What if it’s not real? What if it’s all lies from a sun-crazed old man?” she asked. “I’m not responsible for that.”

  “No, you’re not. But ask them.” Catlo pointed at the three Umoja tribesmen.

  Hodari, Nyo, and Musa, two stood and one was squatting. Aisha wasn’t sure which was which yet. They gestured to the body of Zahur and then pointed southward, speaking in their clicking language that she could only just capture the tiniest hint of.

  Catlo understood what they said. “They knew this was the place of the king of the great secret. Their tradition holds that only one man at a time, is it once a day?” Catlo looked to either Musa or Nyo and one of them nodded, holding a single finger up. “Only one man may ever come against the king of secrets so that he may inherit the blessing. Which we all know is also a curse. To remain here as the guardian of the great secret, the dragon’s graveyard. Like all that potential wealth belongs to the tribe, but they can’t spend it! It’s stupid, really. But it’s sacred to them. And I convinced them to betray their own people, to come with us, and gain the rich reward. Look at them, they are so sure that it is real and that we can get it. It is true and you are the map, Beautiful,” he said, running a hand along her cheek.

  She jerked away, looking for a stone, anything to use as a weapon.

  “No, no, no,” said Catlo, anticipating her actions. He put up his hands and backed away slowly but gestured back at her and said, “Ole, please.”

  Aisha turned just in time for the massive hands of Ole to grab her and slip a noose upon her hands. He tightened the noose with stout cords of rawhide. He then picked her up like a child and set her on a horse. “I’m sorry,” he said.