Legacy of the Unborn Dragon - Draft Preview

Chapter 4 - Cursed

Walloz gave Bagelis a decisive shake. "Wake up, it's dawn."

"Huh? What?" He squinted and rubbed his stubbled face. He was tucked into a corner of the abandoned building they'd taken refuge in the middle of the night.

For hours, they had skulked through back alleys, leaped between rooftops, and pressed through revolting sewers, as more and more people hunted for Moncus' murder.

With only minor altercations, Bagelis and Walloz had managed to make to the next district, the North-Western Market District, which was under the purview of a powerful rival of Jazco's.

"Did you get enough sleep to be able to fill your head with some spells?" Walloz' voice had more bass than usual, revealing that the few hours of sleep she'd gotten had been more symbolic than helpful. She returned to stand at the open archway to the outside, like a sentry, the marketplace gradually coming to life before her.

Bagelis leaned his head back against the concrete wall. His tired gaze swept over the carcass of the once-great Davis and Hills Trading Company headquarters. One of the three original founding organizations for the city-state, they had built up the market and adjoining port. The Marshalls were the top brass of the trading company and represented every race, profession, creed, and gender. They would watch from the balcony, or stroll the streets, ruthlessly enforcing the company's mercantile oath of fairness and the sanctity of a deal. For two centuries, their name was law, but all empires crumble.

"You know, this was the biggest magic-free structure of its era." Bagelis hid a yawn with his hand. He banged on the concrete. "Gnomish or Dwarvish engineering at its finest."

"Where'd you learn that?" asked Walloz, her words laced with mild curiosity.

"It's written into the wall over there." Bagelis pointed at a sunny patch of wall, then looked up to see the nearby empty window.

"Huh. Sometimes things are right in front of us."

"Yeah." He gazed about. "They really ravaged this place. There's probably not a single floorboard, doorframe or window left intact. When empires fall, I guess the vultures and hyenas come to pick at absolutely everything."

Walloz groaned and pushed her hair out of her face. "This is one of those times where you're so tired that you're just talking to talk, and I'm so tired that I don't have the effort to listen." She picked up an abandoned strip of leather on the floor and tied her hair back.

"Yeah." Bagelis rubbed his eyes.

Her stomach growled loudly, and Bagelis' shoulders rose in guilt.

"Maybe you should go and see if you can find us something to eat," he said.

"About that. You never gave me my coin purse back. It's been a week." Walloz stared out at the merchants carrying, pulling, or dragging their wares in crates and sacks to their designated areas.

"Excuse me?" Bagelis scratched his cheek. "What are you talking about?"

"After the bar fight a week ago," she paused, her face tightening as she forced herself to continue. "I took that punch to the chest from the drunk human with the immense strength. The one that sent me flying like a rag doll. I crashed into the tables, and some of my things went flying. When I dragged myself to my feet, I saw you pick up my coin-purse."

"Ah, that." Bagelis patted himself down. "I think I have it." He stood up and searched his pockets, finally drawing it out. "Here you go." He tossed it to her.

She caught it and then held it in her palm. "Tell me that this isn't too light. Tell me I'm remembering it wrong, please."

"That's everything. I swear." He avoided her gaze, looking out at the passersby instead. "Does no one even care that we're squatting in this building?"