I am Dragon (Dragon Fires Rising Book 2) by Marc Secchia (famous ebook reader TXT) 📕

“I am the Princess Azania,” she said. “Travelling in disguise.”

Always gracious, but Dragon scented the tones of her emotions and knew her outward politeness for the show it was. He also touched upon emotions beyond –

His paw snapped out, catching Yarimda as she slumped with a low cry.

This was the start of a kerfuffle that consumed some time. Yarimda insisted she was fine; everyone else knew she was not. The Conquiran hustled her over to the nearest doctor’s office, a walk of just a single block. The tall, severe-looking man examined her, and said that the best option – and the only one – was rest.

She was not well, he added gravely.

“Dying?” Yardi asked. “We know. How … how long, doctor?”

“Your grandmother is a strong woman, Yardi-mae,” he replied, “but she is also very elderly and not well. Her organ function is becoming poor and she is suffering considerable pain. I fear it will be a matter of weeks – I am sorry, ma’am.”

Yardi rubbed her temples. “I knew; still, it’s so hard. All she wanted was to go home to the Kingdom of Hamirythe.”

“How has she been travelling?” he asked curiously.

“Dragonback.”

“Pardon? I mean … I can ease her pain, but that is all I can do. Today, she must rest. Leave your grandmother with me, my staff will look after her overnight. I will consider how best you might fulfil her wish.” He made a superstitious sign with his hand. “May those who seek to bless the elderly, be blessed. Truly, you honour her long life.”

When Yardi went in to see her, Yarimda was asleep.

Chapter 17: Orphan Smiths

GAMOZ BLACKSMITH’S PLACE WAS rather odd, as far as forges went. Even a Dragon could tell as much. First of all, it occupied an old schoolhouse over half a block long. The interior of one end had been knocked out to create a cavernous space in which no less than four forges operated. Space enough for a sneaky-pawed white creature to wander inside and take a good look around. Farther back was a busy leather-making trade – animal yokes, buckets and armour straps, as best he could tell. No trousers for females. Definitely missing a trick there.

The whole place was run by children.

He rubbed his eyes and checked again. The children did not evaporate, replaced by responsible adults. As best he could tell, the oldest ones could not be any older than Azania, and the youngest should not, in his opinion, be working anywhere near such a busy, dangerous environment.

Yardi gazed about the premises, openly taken aback.

After a few moments, one of the young men noticed them – a tall, spare, dark-haired youth. Putting down the weapon he had been working on, he took off his heavy gloves, rubbed his hands upon his apron as if to clean them, and approached.

“Ma’am, ma’am, honoured Dragons. How may I help?”

“This is Gamoz’s place?” Yardi asked.

“Aye, ma’am,” said he, taking her for the leader. His tan cheeks flushed as he glanced at Azania, however. Dragon practically heard the ‘woof’ of his emotions. “May I fetch your order?”

“No. I would like to examine a few samples of your work, please.”

“At once.”

Yardi inspected the farming implements, weapons and household items with an expert eye. The boy knew her for a smith with a single glance at her hands, never mind her muscled arms. His answers were as concise as her questions, covering processes, quality and finishing. Moving over to the leather tables, they did the same, sparring with words. A reply for every quick question. Salient details. Acknowledging a flaw which must have crept in.

At length, Yardi said, “I’m impressed. Who runs this establishment? Is it only children employed here, and do you earn a good living wage? Is there a Master?”

“Of course, ma’am. He’s in the back, taking stock. Shall I –”

“Aye, fetch him, please.”

With a polite nod, the earnest lad rushed off.

“Not bad,” Azania commented.

“The work or the worker?” Dragon teased. She waggled her tongue at him. “Did I catch you sneaking a look there?”

“Like he didn’t.”

“Oh alright, that excuses everything.”

Her glare promised that a whole world of pain would shortly be delivered to his lair.

“This is certainly an interesting operation,” Yardi commented meantime, glancing about the huge room again. “I’m not sure we’ll get any recruits here. Might need to look farther.”

“How may I serve, ladies? Dragons?”

As Dragon turned, Yardi stepped around his muzzle, and stopped dead in her tracks. “Garan!”

“Yardi-mae!”

“It’s been a while.”

“Aye. A month shy of thirteen years.”

The silence became so awkward, Dragon felt he could have bottled it and sold it as poison to the Skartun. At once, she said, “You broke my heart,” and the blacksmith whispered, “You left without a word.”

Garan was a big, broad-shouldered man – big enough to be a hand taller than Yardi, who was no small woman. Dragon supposed Humans might call him a giant. Curly red hair! That was unusual, he understood. He had never seen a Human of such colouration – red hair and beard, tan skin perhaps from his work at the forge, and a freckled nose which gave him a mischievous air. Maybe if he had not been staring at his massive boots as if wishing he could be anywhere in Solixambria but here.

Yardi raised her chin. “That was a long time ago. You seem to be doing well for yourself. Are these your children?”

“Aye. All mine.”

“All? My my, you have been busy.”

The man flushed at her tone, his knuckles whitening on the belt of his smock. “I am not that man anymore, Yardi-mae. This is not what it seems.”

“Exploitation of child labour? No, obviously not.”

“These are orphans.” Dragon sensed the implosion of Yardi’s shame. Garan