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

by,
carrying hooks, ropes, and baskets, ignoring her.
    Issari tightened her lips. She
knew her task. She had to spread the news. She had to make sure all
the northern barbarians across the sea knew of Sena. She had to let
Laira know.
    Because
you'll come for him, Issari knew. You'll
fly back home, strong and brave, a great golden dragon. Maybe you'll
have an army of dragons with you. And you'll save our brother.
    She walked farther down the
boardwalk, moving between fishermen sorting their catches, a legless
child begging for coins, and a leper begging for prayers. She
approached a few sailors, trying to tell them the news, but they were
too busy hauling supplies, mending nets, or even drinking booze to
notice. After a few more slaps, kicks, and spits, Issari's spirits
sank.
    Maybe it was hopeless. She had
been a fool to come here. Surely her father had noticed her absence
by now. Would he beat her? Would he chain her too?
    Her wandering brought her to the
root of the canal. Here before her stretched the open sea. Dozens of
ships sailed in the water—merchants, fishermen, and military vessels
with proud banners. The smell of salt, fresh fish, and dates hanging
from a nearby tree filled her nostrils. Seagulls flew overhead, their
cries sounding like mocking laughter. Issari stepped onto the stone
wall that separated her from the coast, leaned across the
battlements, and stared at the sand, the seashells, and the water
that spread into the horizon.
    "You're somewhere over that
horizon, Mother and Laira," she whispered. "How can I
deliver you this news?"
    Perhaps she should smuggle
herself onto a ship, sail north, and walk through the wilderness,
asking of her family in every village and tribe. And yet how could
one girl find two souls? The north was vast, they said, its people
scattered. There were no kingdoms there, no roads, no writing, no
civilization—only endless, empty spaces and patches of life.
    Issari turned away from the sea.
She was prepared to head back home when she heard laughter to her
left.
    She turned her head and saw a
small stone building. At first she had not noticed it; it nestled
between a few olive trees, tucked away a little distance from the
canal. Laughter rose from within, and she even heard a man singing.
Hope kindled in Issari.
    "A tavern," she
whispered.
    She tightened her robe around
her, fixed the shawl that hid her hair, and entered the building.
    A crowded room greeted her.
Sailors, merchants, and soldiers sat at a dozen wooden tables,
drinking and eating. The smells of ale, fried fish and garlic, and
stewed figs filled Issari's nostrils, intoxicating and delicious. Tin
engravings of fish, ships, and even a dragon hung upon the walls, and
candles burned in sconces. A stone tablet stood near the bar,
engraved with the slim, cuneiform characters of Eteer—a wine menu.
Stone jugs of the wines—each large enough for Issari to have hidden
inside—stood along the walls, painted with scenes of racing
chariots, men hunting deer, and the wars of gods.
    "And the sea serpent had
three heads!" one sailor was saying, standing on a table.
"Three—I counted them. And when I chopped one off, it grew two
more."
    Other sailors roared in
laughter. "You're drunk, you are. Sea serpents with growing
heads?"
    Across the room, standing over a
table topped with scattered mancala pieces, a merchant was patting
his ample belly and telling his own tale. "And they say the
Queen of Tiranor is so fair, a thousand ships sailed to fetch her the
Jewel of Alari, but no jewel is as bright as her eyes."
    A dozen more stories were being
told around the room. This was the place Issari had sought—a hub of
songs, tall tales, and gossip of distant lands.
    She approached the bar, handed
over a copper coin—it showed her father on one side, the winged bull
on the other—and purchased a mug of wine. She winced, expecting a
foul drink, but the wine was surprisingly good, as fine as the wine
Father sometimes let her drink in the