Gladys walked and talked at the sa ti, which suited the group fine because they’d been standing still for three days and moving felt good.
"The attacks started about five weeks ago," she said, leading them down the main road into Harrowfield. The village opened up around them as they walked, buildings pressing in on either side, the sll of fish and salt and woodsmoke thick in the afternoon air. "Livestock first. Farr nad Durval lost eight sheep in a single night. Found them in the morning scattered across his field, and whatever killed them didn’t eat them. Just killed them and left."
"Territorial behavior," Werner said, from sowhere in the middle of the group.
Gladys glanced back at him. "That’s what I thought too. Then it hit the harbor."
They rounded a bend and the harbor opened up ahead of them, a modest thing by any standard, maybe thirty fishing boats of various sizes tied to wooden docks that extended into dark water. Several of the boats showed fresh damage, planking splintered, rigging torn. One had been pulled halfway off its mooring and sat at an angle, its hull scraping slowly against the dock with every small movent of the water.
"Three boats damaged that way in two weeks," Gladys said. "It goes for the catch first. Whatever’s stored in the hold, the fish, the eels, the crabs still in their baskets. Takes it all. Then when there’s nothing left to take it just destroys what it can reach before it leaves."
Sera, walking near the front, raised her hand. "Has anyone seen it directly?"
"Two fishern. Cousins, been on these docks their whole lives, seen everything the water can throw at sothing. They ca back from the second attack with white hair and wouldn’t tell anyone what they’d seen for three days." Gladys’s voice was dry, not unsympathetic. "Eventually one of them said it moved like lightning. That you’d blink and it would be sowhere else. That it didn’t look like any dragon he’d ever heard described."
"When do the attacks happen?" Noah asked.
Gladys looked at him. Not the quick look she’d given Werner, not the peripheral attention she’d been distributing across the group. A longer look, the kind that was making a decision. "Only on stormy nights," she said. "Every single attack has been that way. Clear sky, nothing happens. Storm rolls in, sothing cos with it."
She turned back to the road. "We haven’t had a storm in eight days. Which is why everyone’s still in one piece."
They moved through the village properly now, people stopping to watch from doorways and windows, from market stalls that were winding down for the evening. Children appeared from nowhere the way children always do, trailing at a safe distance and whispering to each other about the swords and armbands. An older woman leaning on a doorfra made a gesture that might have been blessing or warding, Noah couldn’t tell which.
Harrowfield was tight and lived-in. The buildings clustered close together along streets that wound without apparent logic, following the natural shape of the hillside the village had grown across over generations. Stone foundations with timber upper floors, everything showing signs of repair and expansion and then more repair, the architecture of a place that had survived by being adaptable.
Gladys stopped at a building near the center of the village, two stories, wider than its neighbors, with a painted sign above the door that showed a fish leaping out of water. "The Saltback Inn. Mistress Edra runs it. She’s already been told to expect you." She pushed the door open.
The inside slled like bread and tallow candles and the specific warmth of a building that had been holding people comfortably for a long ti. Mistress Edra herself appeared from the back imdiately, a woman sowhere in her fifties with flour on her hands and the brisk energy of soone who’d been running a busy establishnt since before most of them were born. She had a round face, bright eyes, and the look of a person who had sized up the group before she’d finished walking through the doorway.
"Dragon knights," she said warmly, then anded with a nod at Gladys, "Recruits, I’m told. Co in, co in. We’ve got beds on the upper floor, nothing fancy but clean. You’ll share rooms, two or three to a space depending on numbers. And there’s a al on when you’re ready."
The rooms were small and plain in the way that inn rooms always are, with beds that were narrower than ideal and a single window per room that looked out over either the main street or the alley behind the building. Noah shared a room with Pip and Cael, which ant he got approximately three minutes of quiet before Pip discovered the room’s single chair creaked in an interesting rhythmic way and began testing its range.
"Stop," Cael said, from the bed closest to the wall.
Pip stopped. Then started again, more slowly.
"Pip."
"I’m sitting. People are allowed to sit."
"Not like that."
Dinner happened in stages because Mistress Edra had only so many tables and twenty-nine people was more than the Saltback usually handled at once. She solved this by bringing food in waves, bread and butter first, then a thick fish stew that was far better than anything they’d eaten on the road, then cheese and more bread for anyone still hungry. Ale ca in generous portions and she waved off the first two attempts to pay for it.
"You’re here to help," she said, refilling a cup without being asked. "Least we can do is feed you properly."
The village had apparently decided the sa thing. Before the al was fully underway, two n appeared with more bread from the bakery down the road. A woman brought a pot of sothing sweet, preserves, and set it on the table without a word. A fisherman with a weathered face and calloused hands produced a bottle of sothing dark and strong from inside his coat and set it in the center of the table with the ceremony of soone offering sothing genuinely valuable.
"For after," he said. "If you want it."
Pip looked at the bottle, then at the fisherman, then at Noah with an expression of pure sincerity. "I love this village."
Three girls from the village appeared to help Mistress Edra serve, all of them sowhere around seventeen or eighteen, all of them very interested in the recruits in the specific way of people who didn’t see many strangers. The tallest one with red hair moved between the tables with a pitcher of ale and a smile that had been deployed with evident experience, and by the ti she’d made two passes around the room Finn had told her his na twice and where he was from and sothing about his bow that she probably didn’t understand but was listening to very carefully.
"He’s not going to survive this village," Sera said, watching from across the table.
"He survived the gate," Nami said. "He’ll be fine."
"Those are very different threats." Sera said it flatly but there was a smile underneath it.
Outside, the evening was settling in soft and clear. The storm that had given them cover for three days on the road was gone, the sky shifting through those quiet colors that happen right after sunset when the light isn’t quite finished yet. People moved through the village on their evening business, nodding to the recruits when they passed the open windows, the warmth of a community that had been waiting for help and had finally seen it arrive.
None of them had killed anything yet.
Noah noticed this. The way people smiled at them, the free bread, the good ale, the fisherman with his bottle. All of it for sothing they hadn’t done yet. The dragon was still out there.
He ate his stew and let the evening do what it was doing around him and watched his people settle into the warmth of it the way people do when they’ve been cold for a long ti. They deserved it. They’d earned it in a gate room under fourteen burning flas, in a corridor with walls that told you everything that was happening to everyone else through sound alone. They could have an evening.
Just one.
Gladys was sitting at the table near the back with Valen, the two of them eating and talking in the easy way of people who’d been doing the sa kind of work long enough to have a shared language. She’d spent the al moving between tables, answering questions, filling in details about the attacks. Patient, practical, the kind of person who gave you information in the order you needed it rather than the order she had it.
After dinner, when the tables had cleared sowhat and people were dispersed around the room in smaller conversations, Pip raised his voice just enough to carry.
"Night Blight," he said, to no one in particular and everyone at once. "That’s my current best guess."
Several people looked at him. Cael turned from the window. Sera set down her cup.
"The attacks only happen in storms," Pip continued. "It targets water-adjacent food sources. It’s fast, apparently very fast, and the two fishern who saw it couldn’t describe it in any normal terms. Night Blights are storm-affiliated, they move with weather systems rather than being affected by them, and they’re notoriously difficult to see because their scales absorb light rather than reflect it." He paused. "Could also be a Rainstrike Wyvern, those have similar behavioral patterns. Or a Cloudshroud. Or one of the deep-water dragon variants, though those rarely co this far inland. There’s also a chance it’s sothing from the Shadebreaker class, they’re rarer but the harbor behavior fits." He picked up his cup. "Only real way to know is when we see it."
"How many dragon types have you morized?" Cael asked.
"All of them," Pip said, without a trace of boast in it. "It’s information. Information is useful."
Gladys, from her table at the back, was looking at Noah again.
After the al wound down and Mistress Edra began making pointed comnts about the hour, the group dispersed to their rooms with the unhurried movent of people who were tired in a comfortable way. The good kind of tired. The kind that cos from knowing you can sleep safely.
Gladys caught up to Valen near the door.
They walked out into the night air, the village quiet around them, a few distant lights still burning in windows but most of Harrowfield already settling toward sleep.
"Good group," Gladys said.
"They’ve had a hard few months," Valen replied.
They walked for a bit without talking, the way people do when they’re circling toward sothing.
"The boy," Gladys said eventually. "Burt. What can you tell about him?"
Valen glanced at her. "Why?"
"I’m just trying to understand. He walked up from that road and I was already looking for who I’d coordinate with from the group. Looking for whoever I’d be talking to about strategy, about patrol placent, about the hunt. That’s a thing you develop after enough ti in the field, you look at a group and you find the one." She paused. "I found him in about four seconds."
Valen said nothing.
"Did I make a mistake? Going to him with the briefing the way I did?" She wasn’t defensive about it, just genuinely asking.
"No," Valen said. "You didn’t."
"There’s sothing around him. It’s not just how he carries himself, though that’s part of it. It’s that everyone else in the group organizes around him without noticing they’re doing it. Like he’s the fixed point and everything else just naturally orients that way."
Valen was quiet for a long stretch of seconds.
He was thinking about the beetle kills. About a board full of dragon scales that a hundred recruits had failed to damage, and one boy who’d hit it and left a half-inch impression while clearly not trying. About the gate, and what the surviving recruits had described when they ca back through, and how Burt’s na had appeared in almost every account whether Valen had prompted it or not. About Werner coming back missing an arm and still going straight to his assigned post. About twenty-nine people walking out of a chamber that had swallowed a hundred and twenty-four, and the one constant thread running through every account of how they’d managed it.
He was also thinking about Burt sitting at dinner with his food half-finished, watching the room in that particular way he had that looked like nothing from the outside. About the fact that every single recruit who’d co back from the gate had gone to Valen or Sareth or Ironside with questions about their blessed items, how to use them, what they ant, what the bond felt like. Every single one.
Except Burt.
Not a word. Not a question. Not even the carefully neutral face of soone who was upset and managing it. Just a person who’d sat down at the table and eaten his stew and apparently had no interest in the subject at all.
"Nothing," Valen said aloud.
Gladys looked at him. "Sorry?"
"Nothing wrong with how you handled it. Your instincts were right." He looked out at the village, at the dark harbor visible between the buildings at the road’s end. "They usually are, about things like this."
Gladys accepted this and didn’t push further. They stood for a mont in the cool air, watching the last lights in the village go out one by one, and then Valen turned back toward the inn and went to check on his people.
---
Noah ca back downstairs about twenty minutes after the rooms had filled. He stood at the foot of the stairs for a mont, and so awareness moved through the remaining people still in the main room, conversations dying down, faces turning toward him without being summoned.
"I know you’re tired," he said. "I know tonight feels like a night off and I know this village is treating you well and you’ve earned both of those things." He let that sit for a second. "But we’re in a village that has a problem. We don’t know when it shows up again. If it cos tonight while we’re all asleep, that’s on us."
Nobody argued.
"We’re going to patrol. Pairs, spread across the village and the harbor periter. Two-hour rotations, call out if anything feels wrong, and wrong ans anything, the weather, the water, sounds that don’t fit. You’ve all heard enough descriptions to know what to listen for." He started assigning pairs, working through the group with the sa even efficiency he brought to everything, no drama in it, just placent. Near the docks, the northern edge of the village, the market quarter, the road that ca in from the hills.
"Where are you?" Cael asked, when the others had their assignnts.
"The harbor," Noah said. "The most visited point according to Gladys. and Nami."
Cael nodded. There was nothing more to say about it and he didn’t try to make more of it.
The pairs dispersed into the village and the night settled back over Harrowfield.
---
The harbor was quieter than it had been in the evening, the docks empty of fishern, the boats rocking softly against their moorings in slow irregular rhythms. The water was dark, the kind of dark that made distance impossible to judge. Sowhere out beyond the last dock the harbor opened into open water, and beyond that there was more open water, and beyond that there was the horizon.
Nami sat on a dock post with her arms wrapped around her knees and watched the water.
"If it only cos in storms," she said, "tonight should be clean. Sky’s clear."
"Should be," Noah agreed. He was standing a few feet back from the dock’s edge, scanning the periter out of habit more than expectation.
"Then why are we standing at a quiet harbor in the middle of the night?"
"Because the last ti I trusted a quiet night I got surprised."
She looked at him. "When was that?"
"Doesn’t matter. Point is we’re here."
They were quiet for a while. The boats creaked. Sowhere across the water, a bird called once and went silent.
"Do you think it’s the Night Blight? Like Pip said?"
"I don’t know enough to say." Noah ca and sat on the dock, legs hanging over the edge above the black water. "The fisherman’s description is the part I keep coming back to. That it moved like lightning and didn’t look like any dragon they’d seen described. That’s not typically how any of Pip’s list would be described."
"He listed five types."
"I know. And he’s probably right that we won’t know until we see it. But the man who saw it has been living next to water his whole life. He’s seen storms, he’s seen things co out of the dark at him. And this specifically confused him in a way that scared him worse than the attack itself."
Nami turned that over without responding.
The water lapped at the dock supports below them in patient small sounds.
After a while she said, "Can I ask you sothing?"
"Sure."
She was quiet for a mont in the way that ant she was going to ask sothing she’d been deciding about for longer than the pause suggested.
"Did you an it?" she said. "When you said you wouldn’t be with ."
Noah looked at her. The night was doing sothing to her face, the quality of light making things both clearer and harder to read at the sa ti.
"Where’s this coming from?" he said.
She didn’t answer that directly. "I’m just asking if you ant it."
"Nami." He tried to find the right words and ca up a little short on the first attempt. "When we t you told very specifically that you needed distance. You laid down the rules."
"I know what I said."
"You made it clear you didn’t want anything like that between us."
"I know, Burt." Not sharp. Just patient in the particular way of soone who knows they’re hearing an answer that’s technically true but isn’t the answer to the question they asked.
He looked at her properly. There was no good way to say this that didn’t sound either cruel or evasive, and he was tired of being evasive when she was being honest.
"You’re extraordinary," he said. "That’s not being careful with you. That’s the actual truth. You’re smart and you’re fierce and there’s nobody in that group I’d rather have at my side in a bad situation." He paused. "Any man with any sense would consider himself lucky."
"Any man," she said. "But not you."
He opened his mouth.
She leaned toward him, the gap between them closing in the slow deliberate way of soone who’d made a decision, and the question he’d been about to ask died sowhere in his chest.
"Nami—"
"Hush." Her voice was quiet, and there was sothing in it that wasn’t usually there. "It’s okay. Maybe after this you’ll be sure."
She was close now, the distance between them down to inches, and he could see her clearly enough to read the particular expression on her face, the one that was past the point of uncertainty and into sothing else.
"Nami, you have sothing on your head."
She stopped. Pulled back imdiately, hand going to her hair, brushing her palm across her head the way you do when soone tells you there’s sothing on you and the instinct overtakes everything else. She pulled her hand back and looked at it.
Sothing white sat in the center of her palm.
"Snow?" she said.
Noah was already on his feet.
The flake in her hand was followed by another, then several more, falling in the sudden quiet. The temperature had dropped several degrees without him noticing the transition. The air coming off the water had a bite to it now that hadn’t been there ten minutes ago.
He looked at the sky.
The stars that had been visible an hour ago were gone. Not clouded over gradually the way weather moves, just gone, replaced by a darkness that pressed down from above with a weight that was different from ordinary cloud cover.
"There wasn’t any sign of a storm a mont ago," Nami said, standing beside him now.
"That’s because the dragon is the storm."
He said it and then the sky lit up.
A single brilliant crack of white light split the cloud cover from sowhere high above and threw every surface in the harbor into sharp, shadowless clarity for one frozen second.
Then the sound hit them. Not thunder. Sothing higher-pitched, more compressed, the kind of sound that bypassed the ears and went directly to the base of the skull and sat there vibrating. A screech that carried speed inside it, the noise sothing makes when it is moving faster than it should be allowed to move.
The clouds directly above the harbor split.
Not parted. Split, driven apart by displacent, the air between them forced outward in a rolling wave that arrived half a second after the sound and hit Noah across the chest like a flat wall. The surface of the harbor went choppy instantly, small waves radiating outward from a central point above the water.
BOOM!
Then a streak of black crossed the harbor.
It was there and then it wasn’t. Shadow, or sothing that moved like shadow, a shape that registered as much in the peripheral vision as in direct sight because looking directly at it gave you almost nothing. A presence more than a form, velocity more than mass, crossing the full width of the harbor in less ti than it took to track.
The water below where it had passed erupted upward briefly, as if whatever had moved overhead had reached down and struck the surface. Then it settled, and dead fish ca up.
Dozens of them, floating belly-up across the harbor’s surface in a spreading pattern that marked the path the thing had taken. Not killed by the cold, not stunned. Just dead, their bodies already drained of sothing, the water around them carrying a faint luminescence that faded quickly.
Nami stood at the dock’s edge looking at the fish, then at the sky, then at the place where the streak had disappeared into the far darkness over the water.
"What kind of dragon is that?" she said.
Noah stared at the storm that had arrived from nothing, at the clouds that were still moving with a purpose that weather didn’t usually have, at the dead fish turning slowly on the water’s surface.
"That’s not a dragon."
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