THE DRAGON'S RETURN

Blood in the Market

A hound with no eyes was sniffing the mud three paces behind Thorn.

The black market of the lower district smelled of dead fish, stale beer, and roasted meat. Crowds of poor workers and low-level mercenaries shoved past each other under the dripping canvas tents, screaming over the price of dried roots and iron knives.

Thorn kept his head down, pulling his damp hood low over his brow. His left arm was pressed tight against his ribs, heavy and dead under the thick cloth.

"It is still tracking us," Lyra whispered from inside his cloak, her faint ghost light barely visible in the dark folds of his collar. "That beast is not smelling your boots. It is smelling the chaos stone in your chest."

"How far behind us is the handler?" Thorn asked, his lips barely moving as he stepped around a pile of rotten cabbage.

"Twenty yards," Lyra replied, her voice trembling. "He wears the gray cloak of an imperial scout. He has two long daggers on his belt and a copper horn around his neck."

Thorn slowed his pace near a stall selling medicinal herbs. A hunchbacked old woman sat behind wooden trays filled with dried yellow leaves and ground roots.

"How much for the winter-bark powder?" Thorn asked, pointing a finger at a small clay jar.

"Two copper pieces for a pinch," the old woman croaked, squinting up at him through one watery eye. "Good for lung rot and fever."

"Does it hide the smell of stone?" Thorn asked softly.

The woman frowned, leaning back into the shade of her tent. "I sell medicine, stranger, not magic tricks. Pay or move along. You are blocking my light."

Thorn dropped three copper coins onto her wooden tray, grabbed the clay jar, and ducked into a narrow side passage between two tall wooden storehouses.

The alley was pitch black and reeked of stagnant water. Green moss covered the brick walls, and dead ends blocked both sides with stacked crates of spoiled fruit.

Thorn turned around and stood in the center of the muddy path, resting his right hand on the leather hilt of his short sword.

A second later, a low growl echoed from the entrance of the alley. A huge, hairless dog stepped into the dark. Its gray skin was stretched tight over its ribs, and thick black liquid dripped from two empty sockets where its eyes should have been.

Behind the beast, a tall man in a plain gray cloak stepped over a puddle. He pulled two narrow daggers from his belt with a quiet metallic slide.

"You picked a dark spot to die, boy," the scout said, his voice cold and raspy.

"You should not have followed me," Thorn said, taking a small step back toward the wall.

"The Radiant Sword Sect pays fifty gold pieces for anyone carrying a gray arm," the scout said, a sharp smile touching his lips. "That is enough money to buy my own farm down south. Drop your cloak and lie on your stomach."

"The hound will die first," Thorn said.

"This hound does not feel pain," the scout laughed, raising one dagger and pointing it at Thorn's chest. "It was born in the imperial breeding pits. It smells magic, and it eats flesh. Kill him, boy!"

The blind hound opened its wide jaw, showing rows of yellow teeth, and leaped through the air straight for Thorn's throat.

Thorn did not draw his short sword. He stepped forward into the leap, bringing his wrapped left forearm up to catch the dog's jaw. The heavy teeth clamped down hard on the linen bandages, but they made a dull cracking sound against the stone-like skin beneath.

The scout gasped. "What is under those rags?"

Thorn ignored the sharp pressure on his left arm. He reached out with his right hand and grabbed the blind dog by its bloody snout.

He did not target the beast's bones or muscles. He focused his mind on the magical bond tying the hound's sense of smell to its master.

"Unmake," Thorn thought.

A faint purple spark flashed between Thorn's fingers. The blind dog stiffened instantly. Its jaw let go of Thorn's wrapped arm, and its empty eye sockets turned bright white. The magic thread connecting the beast to the scout snapped like a dry twig.

The hound landed on the muddy ground, thrashing wildly. It let out a horrific shriek, swinging its heavy head back and forth as if its brain was on fire.

"What did you do to my beast?" the scout screamed, taking two steps forward with his daggers raised. "Release it!"

"It cannot smell me anymore," Thorn said, stepping over the writhing dog. "Now it only smells the man who trained it."

The blind hound snapped its head toward the sound of the scout's voice. A deep, wet growl rumbled in its chest. It lunged across the mud, sinking its yellow teeth directly into the scout's right thigh.

The scout howled in pain, dropping one of his daggers as he crashed hard into a stack of wooden crates. "Get off me! Down, you stupid brute! Down!"

The dog ignored the commands, ripping through the scout's heavy gray cloak and tearing at his leg with wild fury.

Thorn walked over slowly, picking up the dropped dagger from the mud. He pressed the sharp tip of the blade against the scout's exposed throat.

"Call off the dog or I cut your windpipe," Thorn said.

"I cannot!" the scout choked out, tears of pain running down his bloody cheeks. "The bond is broken! The magic is gone! Kill it! Please kill it!"

Thorn drove the dagger straight down through the hound's skull. The beast went limp instantly, collapsing across the scout's bleeding legs.

The scout panted heavily, staring up at Thorn with wide, terrified eyes. "You are the prince. The one from the fallen palace."

"Who sent you into the black market?" Thorn asked, leaning his full weight on the dagger blade.

"Nobody sent me!" the scout begged, clutching his torn leg with both hands. "I saw your gray wrist at the herb stall! I was just hunting the bounty!"

"Who holds the bounty list in the lower district?" Thorn demanded.

"Captain Julian!" the scout yelled, coughing up a spatter of red blood onto his gray cloak. "He put up five hundred posters this morning! He knows you crossed the gate! He has guards at every bridge!"

"Is he in the lower district now?" Thorn asked.

"He is at the river guardhouse!" the scout wept. "He is waiting for the sect elders to arrive at sunset! Please, let me go! I will tell him I found nothing!"

"You will tell no one," Thorn said flatly.

Thorn placed his stone-gray palm over the scout's mouth, blocking his scream. He pushed a tiny drop of chaos energy into the man's chest, targeting the life in his lungs.

The scout's eyes rolled back into his head. His breathing stopped, and his body went completely still in the mud.

Thorn stood up, wiping his bloody dagger on the scout's gray cloak before tossing the weapon into the dark alley drain.

"That was brutal," Lyra said, floating out from his collar to look at the two corpses lying in the mud. "Julian knows you are in the city. The whole guardhouse will be hunting this alley in ten minutes."

Thorn opened the small clay jar of winter-bark powder and rubbed the yellow dust over his wrapped left arm, hiding the sharp metallic smell of the relic.

"Let them hunt," Thorn said, stepping out of the alley back into the noisy market crowd. "We are going to the river guardhouse."