“Our cities are constantly at war, but pilgrims must travel safely,” Lissa said.
“So your city is at war with the one back there on the river?”
Lissa nodded. “Rav Dolorr. We’ve fought them for generations.”
Gaven wondered how long a generation was for these draconic people-were they as long-lived as dragons? “How far away is Rav Magar?”
“Twelve days’ march.”
“Twelve days!”
“For a marching army, yes. Eight for us, if you can keep up with us.”
“So that explains why farm laborers had weapons close at hand, so ready to give chase,” Gaven said. “Ah. They were chasing you.”
“They saw us at the edge of the forest. They must have assumed we were scouts from your city.”
“That is unfortunate,” Lissa said. “That means Rav Dolorr is already alerted.”
“Yes. When they spotted us, one ran into the city when the rest pursued us.”
“That’s important news. I have to consult with my takarra.”
Consult her wings? Gaven wondered. Then he saw Lissa call two other dragonborn to stand beside her-one on either side-and speak with them. Her “wings,” then, were something like lieutenants or advisors. The ones who keep her aloft, he thought.
Gaven looked around. He’d been so intent on the conversation with Lissa that he’d all but forgotten about the other dragonborn, who were tending to their wounded and the scout who had fallen. And about Rienne, standing still but expectant beside him. She arched an eyebrow at him.
“They’re scouts from another city,” he explained, “at war with the one we saw first. We might have ruined their mission when those farmers spotted us.”
“What’s the destination of our pilgrimage?” Rienne asked.
“I don’t know. Didn’t think to ask. I know they’re planning to escort us back to their city, Rav Magar. I have no idea what there is to see there.”
“What did you tell them of our purpose?”
“I don’t know,” he said, annoyed. “I kept us alive, didn’t I?”
“So far. I hope we’re as lucky in a city full of these people.”
Lissa and her takarra decided to head back to Rav Magar, their mission a failure. Drawing near to Rav Dolorr would invite disaster-the city was alerted, and the first group of dragonborn to chase the intruders wouldn’t return. Before long, the forest would be crawling with soldiers from Dolorr, better armed, better trained, and in greater numbers than the laborers they’d defeated so easily.
They sped through the forest for the rest of the afternoon, across ground that rose steadily toward the feet of the mountains. Traveling with the dragonborn confirmed the impression Gaven had gleaned from the fields they’d passed-these people ate bread and drank wine, as well as dried meats Gaven couldn’t identify and exotic fruits they gathered as they walked. They shared their food with Gaven and Rienne, a welcome respite from their diet of dry journeybread. They stopped traveling when the sky fell dark, set up camp and told stories around their fire, then slept until dawn. Camping under the trees and relieved of the responsibility for keeping watch, Gaven fell quickly into the deepest sleep he’d had since their arrival in Argonnessen.
As much as their eating and sleeping habits seemed familiar, the way the dragonborn interacted with each other was totally foreign to Gaven. It was Rienne, despite her ignorance of Draconic, who observed that their behaviors seemed to be based on relative social status. Lissa was the dominant member of the band, clearly, and each other member made varying gestures Rienne interpreted as marks of submission each time they approached her. There was a clear second tier, the ones Lissa had identified as her takarra, who made submissive gestures to Lissa but received them from the others. Once Rienne pointed these out, he could make sense of what were essentially military ranks. She seemed to perceive nuances even in the lower ranks that were beyond him, though. Rienne surmised that they were related more to family status than individual status-and, of course, being a member of Aundair’s nobility, she would be sensitive to that sort of thing. Gaven never had any patience for it.
The next day, they emerged from the forest to the bank of a wide, slow river, the opposite bank barely within bowshot. Gaven guessed, and Lissa confirmed, that the river flowed past Rav Dolorr and emptied into the bay. For seven more days they traveled upriver, scrambling up past its rapids and cataracts. Before long they were walking in a narrow gorge that cut through the mountains. Then, at the end of the eighth day, the gorge opened into a wide valley cradling a large, still lake-the source of the river.
Fields spread along the nearer sides of the lake, and herds scrambled over the valley’s steep sides-probably goats or sheep, but just shadows on the darkening hillside. The city of Rav Magar grew around the far end of the lake and up the back of the valley. A high wall surrounded the city, spiked with jagged blades reminiscent of the dragonborn’s weapons-they might even have been halberds and glaives propped against a battlement. Torchlight flickered through arrow slits cut through the wall, and great watchfires blazed in towers spread along the wall. Similar towers flanked the head of the river where Lissa’s band emerged from the gorge.
Gaven glanced up at the sky as they approached the gates between the towers, then stopped, staring. A row of bright disks shone like a strand of pearls stretched across the Ring of Siberys-ten moons all rising full on the same night. Ten eyes gaze brightly upon the City of the Damned, watching as the pilgrim arrives. He was the pilgrim, he was sure of it-it was just the echo of a memory, but the verse that had sprung to his mind went on to speak of the Storm Dragon.
Rienne and Lissa stopped together to look back at him, and Gaven hurried to catch up.
Guards challenged them at the gates, but let them pass as soon as they recognized Lissa. They gawked at Gaven and Rienne as they followed Lissa through, and two of them speculated aloud about what they could be, apparently not considering the possibility that Gaven could understand their words.
“They wear clothes like people,” one said.
The other snorted. “But they have fur like-” What was that word? Meat-animals. Livestock.
“Not much meat on them.”
The second guard gasped and pointed at Gaven. “His skin, look!”
His dragonmark. Gaven hadn’t thought about how the dragonborn would respond to the mark of the Prophecy on his skin, but Lissa hadn’t seemed to give it any notice. He was curious to hear what the guards would say about it, but they just gaped and pointed, and then he was past the guardpost and walking a rutted dirt road along the lake shore.
Lissa noticed the attention his dragonmark drew, and took off her cloak when they were out of sight of the guardpost.
“Better put this on,” she said, “and cover it up.” She gestured at his neck and arm, apparently at a loss for words to describe “it.”
“Why?” Gaven asked. “My mark didn’t seem to disturb you or your scouts.”
“Disturb is perhaps not the right word. Interest would be better. And it did interest me.”
Gaven gathered the dragonborn’s cloak-made of linen, apparently woven from flax just like in Khorvaire-around his neck. He let its folds drape over his left arm, where the dragonmark extended down past the half-sleeve of his chainmail coat. For good measure, he pulled the hood over his head, hoping it might reduce the number of casual observers who stopped in their tracks to gawk at the unfamiliar creature. Rienne had the same idea. She had unwrapped the long silk cloth she wore around her waist and was carefully draping it over her head and around her shoulders.
As they drew closer to the city, they fell in among a steady stream of people-dragonborns, entirely-making their way both in and out of the city at the end of the day. There were farmsteads dotting the sides of the valley, hearthfires springing to life inside them as the sun went down, and some merchants and farmers were leaving the city walls to join their families at home in those dwellings. Laborers and travelers were shuffling in, returning from their work as farm hands, masons, or carpenters to their homes safe inside the walls. Like Lissa’s band, every one of the dragonborn made or received some gesture of submission while passing another. Gaven tried in vain to make sense of it, then finally resolved to ask Rienne about it later.