Dragons of a New Age

24 Blister’s Gloves

Dhamon led three dun-colored mares, two of them saddled, to the western gate of Palanthas. The largest carried packs that bulged with dried meat, cheese, and waterskins.

“Three horses. Four of us,” Blister dryly commented. “And I don’t see any pony.”

“I didn’t have enough coins. I couldn’t even buy a third saddle.”

“Well, you could have asked us to help,” the kender said huffily. “I’ve some coins left—and Raph’s spoon collection.” She demonstrated by jiggling one of her pouches and the coins inside clinked together.

Dhamon offered her a weak smile. “Maybe it’s better if we have a few coins to spare among us, Blister. Just in case other expenses arise,” he said. “You’ll have to double up with Shaon or Feril. Sorry.”

He vaulted onto the saddleless horse.

“You’re used to riding,” Blister observed caustically. Her eyes narrowed, and she said more softly, “I’m used to riding, too—at least I could’ve ridden a pony bareback.”

Feril took the smaller of the two remaining horses, and settled the kender in front of her. The Kagonesti ran her fingers along the horse’s flank and made soft clucking noises. The horse responded with a whinny.

“These horses are old, Dhamon,” she said.

“They were all I could afford,” he replied testily.

Dhamon’s gaze drifted to Shaon. The sea barbarian was staring at her mare, looking from the saddle to the stirrup to the bulging pack. She shifted her weight back and forth on the balls of her feet and toyed with the reins.

“I think I’d rather walk for a while,” Shaon said. “If the horse is old, it doesn’t need me weighing it down. No need to hurt it. Besides, I could use the exercise, and—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Feril was quick to interject. “These horses might be old, but they are in very good condition. They’re strong, and they’re happy to be out of the pen. They’re definitely used to riders. And I’ll make sure that they’ll tell me when they’re tired.”

“Still, I think I’ll walk.”

Dhamon slipped from his horse’s back and walked toward her. “Haven’t ridden before?”

“Of course I have,” Shaon replied a bit too quickly. “I’m just not in the mood right now.”

“It’s not difficult,” he said softly. “Let me help you up.”

“I don’t need help—see!” Shaon put her right foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself up and over. It was an expert maneuver but she was facing backward. Frowning, she tried to change stirrups and turn around, but the horse balked, and she was thrown to the ground.

“Ouch! Damn horse! See, it doesn’t want a rider. It wants me to walk.”

Dhamon bent to help her, but Shaon slapped his hand away and jumped up. “I don’t need help.”

“But we need to get moving.” Dhamon’s voice was tinged with annoyance. “And I’m not planning to be slowed down by your walking.”

“Maybe I’ll just stick with the ship. Then Blister won’t have to share a horse.”

“And tell Rig that you changed your mind because of a horse?” Blister asked. “Besides, my feet wouldn’t begin to reach those stirrups.”

Shaon looked unmoved.

“Suit yourself,” Dhamon snapped, striding away.

Shaon brushed the dirt from her clothing. She cursed when she saw that Rig’s shirt had been soiled, maybe ruined. He’d be upset. Drawing her lips into a thin line, she grabbed the reins and hoisted herself up properly this time, easing into the saddle. “See, I told you I don’t need any help,” she called to Dhamon.

He gave her a smile before mounting his own horse. A moment later, Dhamon was leading the small procession away from the city.

Feril clucked softly to Shaon’s big horse, and it neighed in response. The Kagonesti seemed engrossed in communicating with the horse, listening attentively to its noises.

“What’d you tell her?” Blister whispered.

“That’s between me and the horse,” Feril whispered back.

“Oh, come on, Feril,” Blister encouraged.

“Ask Palla if you’re that curious,” the Kagonesti returned, cocking her head toward Shaon’s mount. “I don’t spill any secrets.”

Blister glowered. However, as the miles passed, the kender noted that Shaon’s horse was providing an especially gentle ride. Blister suspected the Kagonesti had told the horse to go easy on the sea barbarian.

They spent the night in a small barbarian village called Orok’s Clay. They learned it was named after a long-dead chieftain who was determined to build homes out of the earth. Indeed, many of the homes were domes shaped of clay and dung, and they were cool inside—at least compared to the uncomfortable heat of the barrens. The people were guardedly friendly, and after sharing their food they admitted they hadn’t heard much lately from the nearest village, Dolor. It was several miles to the northwest, and a report from the elder there was long overdue. They hadn’t sent someone to the village to investigate. There were reports of brown lizards flying across the sand—lizards with very large wingspans.

A few of their own hunters had disappeared—why or how, they couldn’t say, though they feared the brown lizards or the Blue might be responsible. And because of the mysterious disappearances, they suspected something bad had happened to Dolor—and perhaps to other neighboring villages farther north.

The quartet left shortly after dawn, Blister riding with Shaon this time. The dark-skinned woman groaned as she planted herself in the saddle. Her legs and back were sore from the unaccustomed position of riding for so many hours.

“Why the gloves?” the sea barbarian asked Blister. Shaon was trying to take her mind off her aching thighs. “I’ve never seen you without a pair, and you must have at least a dozen.”

Blister wore a pair of tan leather gloves this morning. Surprisingly, they bore no attachments or odd decorations.

“Did you ever ride a horse before yesterday?” the kender countered.

“No,” Shaon said with a groan.

“Then I’ll tell you why I wear gloves.” Blister decided to be honest with her riding companion. “I had an accident about thirty years ago,” she began. “I didn’t used to be such a cautious sort. I guess I was a lot like Raph.”

The years melted away as Blister reminisced about Calinhand, a city on the southern coast of Balifor, a country that bordered to the east of her native land of Kendermore. Calinhand was a bustling port city filled with wonderful sounds and so many things to investigate—though not nearly so big as Palanthas.

While visiting the city, she became particularly interested in the merchant ships along the docks that kept loading and unloading crates—and taking a large number of them to Hosam’s Imports.

She snuck inside the place late one afternoon when there were plenty of shadows to hide in. The back room was large, and everything in it seemed to be some type of container—crates, bins, elaborate chests, coffers, bags, satchels, and barrels. There were mysteries everywhere, discoveries to be made.

“And you found a crate full of kender-sized gloves?” Shaon speculated.

Blister shook her head. “But I found this.” The kender pointed to one of the pouches that hung from her belt. It was a heavy dark green net, tightly woven.

“Which is?”

“A magic pouch. It doesn’t get dirty. It doesn’t snag. I can put sharp things inside, and nothing breaks it. Someone told me once it was made out of seaweed, and maybe it was magic. After all this time, I’m certain it is.”

The kender recounted exploring the insides of a few bags and bins that were blocking her path to a large black chest. It was smooth, polished and expensive-looking. Surely what was inside was also expensive.

“Well, what was inside?” Shaon had become engrossed.

“I didn’t find out.” Blister hung her head. “There were words on the chest, and I guess they were some kind of a magic spell. As I played with the lock, the letters suddenly slid down off the chest and on to my hands. They wrapped tightly around my fingers and palms, almost cutting off the circulation at my wrists. Their acidic touch ate away at my skin. It hurt bad, and I couldn’t shake them off. I guess I cried out. And then he came.”

She recollected that Hosam, the portly old merchant himself, rushed into the back room. He saw her and started screaming and waving his fists at her. Blister wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying, her hands hurt too much, feeling like they’d been thrust in a pot of boiling water. She backed away, with Hosam chasing her, but he was slow because of his size. He raised his meaty fists and screamed as she raced through the alley and stumbled face first into a puddle of rainwater. She stuck her hands in it, hoping the water would take away the pain, but it didn’t. The magical letters kept chewing away at her fingers for what seemed like hours. The pain didn’t stop until sometime very late that night.

She tugged a glove free and held the hand out to her side so the sea barbarian could get a better look. Her small fingers were bent, misshapen, and they were covered with dozens of tiny blisters and rough splotches.

Shaon winced. “Oh, does it hurt?”

“Only when I bend them, which I try to avoid. And the more I bend them, the more it hurts.” She gingerly replaced the glove.

“So that’s why you’re so cautious about your fingers all the time.”

The kender nodded.

“And that’s why you’re called Blister,” Shaon figured out. “Because of what happened.”

“Well, there’s more to the story.” The kender shifted on her perch. “But I’ll save that for another time.”

Shaon laughed. “So what’s your real name?”

“Vera-Jay Nimblefingers.”

“Know what? I like Blister better.”

The kender heartily agreed and as the miles passed, she continued to regale the sea barbarian with tales of her exploits in Balifor and Kendermore. Dhamon and Feril rode in silence, listening also, until the outskirts of Dolor came into view.

It was shortly past noon, and the day showed no promise of cooling off. Feril brushed the sweat off her forehead, squinted, and looked at the collection of clay-domed houses and wooden buildings erected against the sides of some low hills. There was no sign of people. It was just as the barbarians in the tavern had said it would be.

The Kagonesti inhaled deeply, then coughed. The air was tinged with the musky rot of death. A shiver raced down her spine, and she cast her gaze about, looking for the corpses she knew must be near.

“I feel like we’re being watched,” Shaon whispered. “I wonder if there are any ghosts about....”