Free Requiem's Song (Book 1) by Daniel Arenson

darkness. Rain began to
fall, and Tanin closed his eyes.
    "Someday,"
he whispered into the wind, "I'll find others. Someday I'll know
that we're not alone. Someday the world will know that we're not
beasts to hunt."
    At
his side, his sister—a green dragon, her scales gleaming in the
moonlight—looked at him, her eyes sad. She gave him a playful tap of
her tail and blasted a little fire his way, just enough to singe his
scales. He groaned and they flew onward into the shadows.

 
 
ISSARI

    Issari Seran, Princess of Eteer,
tightened her ragged cloak around her shoulders and entered the
seediest, smelliest part of her city.
    Back in the palace, Issari had
gazed from balconies upon the port of Eteer, the great city-state,
center of her family's civilization. From there, in safety and
luxury, it had seemed a magical place. The canal thrust in from the
sea, ending with a ring of water like the handle of a key. Ships
sailed here every day, bringing in wares from distant lands: furs
from the northern barbarians, spices from the desert tribes in the
west, and even silk from the east. Issari had always imagined that
walking along the port would reveal a landscape of wonder: merchants
in priceless purple fabrics, jesters and buskers, and many tales and
songs from distant lands.
    Now, walking for the first time
along this port she had seen so often from her balcony, she found a
realm of grime, sweat, and stench.
    Issari saw no merchants bedecked
in plenty, only sailors with craggy bare chests, scowling faces, and
hard eyes that seemed to undress her. She saw no jesters and
musicians like those in the palace, only ratty men offering games of
chance played with cups and peas, a chained bear battling rabid dogs,
and topless women selling their bodies for copper coins.
    My
own face is engraved on some of those coins, Issari thought, shivering as she watched a sailor toss a few coppers
toward a plump prostitute whose three children clutched her legs.
    "How much for a trick?"
one sailor called out, trundling toward Issari. He stank of cheap
spirits, and yellow stains coated his breeches. He grabbed his groin.
"I got me two coppers. I say you ain't worth one."
    His smell—a miasma of urine,
vomit, and fish—assailed Issari. Her head spun and she took a step
back. "I . . . I'm not . . ."
    .
. . a prostitute, she
wanted to say, but she couldn't bring the word to her lips. She had
heard of such loose women, but she had thought them only tales to
stop rebellious daughters from running away.
    "Come on!" The drunken
sailor stumbled toward her, reaching out talon-like fingers. "Let's
see what's under your robes."
    "Stand back, sir!"
Issari said, trying to keep her voice steady, but she heard it
tremble.
    She took another step back, and
she hit somebody. Something clattered and curses rose behind her.
    Issari spun around to see a
stout woman standing over a fallen tin dish. Live crabs were fleeing
the vessel to run along the boardwalk.
    "I'm sorry!" Issari
said, kneeling to lift the animals. "Let me help—"
    The woman scowled, spat out a
curse so vile Issari blushed to hear it, and smacked Issari on the
head.
    "Watch where you're going,
princess!" the woman said and slapped her again.
    Princess? Issari gulped and trembled. Was her cover blown? She had disguised
herself, donning a ragged old robe, hiding her raven braid under a
shawl, and even caking her face with dirt. How did this woman—
    "Go on, get lost, you
whore!" the woman shouted and tried to smack her again.
    Some relief filled Issari to
realize that "princess" here was an insult, much like the
others the stocky woman was now hurling her way. Issari fled, racing
away from the woman, the scurrying crabs, and the drunken sailor who
was busy tugging his groin while ogling the two women.
    Tears budded in Issari's eyes as
she moved through the crowd. She had never imagined any place like
this could exist in her kingdom, let alone so close to her home. When
she craned her neck and stood