Dragonseer (Secicao Blight Book 1) Read online

  DRAGONSEER

  Chris Behrsin

  Dragonseer Copyright © 2019 by Chris Behrsin. All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chris Behrsin

  Visit my website at:

  www.chrisbehrsin.com

  To my wonderful mother.

  CONTENTS

  Part I: Faso

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Part II: Sukina

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Part III: General Sako

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Part IV: Gerhaun

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Part V: Cipao

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  PART VI: Cini

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Part VII: Francoiso

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Part VIII: Pontopa

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Thank you For Reading

  Sukina’s Story

  Acknowledgements

  About the author

  PART I

  Faso

  “Secicao-powered automatons are the future of mankind.”

  Faso Gordoni

  CHAPTER 1

  The wind from the airship's propellers came in chilly and strong. I bowed my knees and widened my legs to brace myself against the gale. Besides me, Faso got knocked back a little, almost sending that infernal automaton, Ratter, off his shoulders. Mr Sandorini, our mayor was here too, wearing his monocle and tweed suit — much more traditional than Faso's pinstripes.

  Soon, the propellers swung on their own hinges to face down, causing the wind to ease off. This revealed the banner hanging down off the bowsprit, red with four white sabres radiating outwards from a circle, looking much like propeller blades.

  “See that,” Faso shouted in my ear, much louder than he needed to. “That's the king's insignia.”

  Faso stood there high-and-mighty with his impossibly white skin, and his pin-stripe suit with the left sleeved flared out more than his right, to house his automaton. Though Faso was in his early thirties, his skin was so unweathered by the sun that he looked like he was in his mid-twenties. The automaton in question, Ratter, sat upon his shoulder with those red evil eyes staring at me, cold and assessing.

  “I know,” I said. Being from a country town didn't make me ignorant.

  “You don't sound particularly surprised,” Faso said with a smirk I wanted to knock off his face.

  “Why should I be?”

  “That's King Cini's airship, Miss Wells. I don't know about yours, but my letter said he was only sending an envoy.”

  “So what? Doesn't mean the king's come out to meet us.”

  “What century were you born in, lady? The king's airship always travels with the king on it.”

  The racket died down and the airship landed neatly within its allocated circle. Two guards dressed in scarlet, the king's elite redguards with Pattersoni rifle bayonets, came up on deck and kicked down the ramp. The king came up next, resplendent in white fur and a tall felt crown. Honestly, despite what Faso had said, I wasn't expecting to see him there. His clothes had some kind of sheen about them, and his face was powdered white with such perfection that he seemed to emit a radiant glow. Kind of handsome looking, in a way, although overdone.

  “See what I mean?” Faso shouted with no respect for the delicacy of my ear-drum. “That's King Cini.”

  The king didn't look at the world around him, but instead at the guards whom he motioned onwards with his hand. One guard proceeded down the ramp and King Cini followed him, with the other guard trailing rhythmically behind.

  Mr Sandorini and Faso genuflected automatically when the king stepped off his ramp. In response, I dropped promptly downwards, knocking my knee hard against the ground. Ratter, as if he knew his place, ran along Faso's arm and concealed himself within Faso’s widened left sleeve. The noise from the propellers began to die down and a slight balminess returned to the air.

  King Cini III approached the mayor first and offered him his hand. Mr Sandorini stood up and Faso then I followed. “Honoured you could come to such a humble town, my liege,” Mr Sandorini said.

  The king waved off his comment with a dismissive gesture. “It's these two citizens we rely on.” He indicated Faso and me.

  “Then I guess we better get started,” Mr Sandorini said.

  “Unfortunately, I can't be here long,” Cini said. “I have other appointments. If you could just leave me alone with them…”

  The mayor raised his hand and coughed against the back of it. “Very well. I'll be in the town hall if you need me.” He walked back along the path towards town with a slight waddle in his gait.

  King Cini III turned his attention to us. “So, Mr Gordoni and Miss Wells,” he said. “I'll get straight to the point. We have a contract for you.”

  Faso stepped forwards. “A contract? By all means, if you need more oil, I've been working on my automatons. Is it production speed you want? Because the more I create the more I can supply. You'll get much more out of my technology than you can with a dragon.”

  Damn that man. I tried to step in, but Faso was blocking me off with his shoulder. So, I put my arm in front of him, feeling something cold and hard in Faso's sleeve — Ratter.

  I took a step forward. “Surely it's quality you want,” I said. “You can't get better than dragon roasted — dragons who, I remind you, feed on secicao.”

  Secicao was the life-blood on which this country ran. A drink served out in cafetières that had significant augmentative properties. These properties were even stronger when the secicao was distilled into oil, allowed only in the military to create supermen of war.

  Ratter now poked his head out of Faso's sleeve, ran up to his shoulder and bared two steel teeth at me with an ingratiating hiss. “Oh, secicao, secicao,” Faso said. “If it's the power of secicao you want, you should see my latest technology. I’ve created—”

  The king raised a white velveted hand cutting Faso off mid-speech. “What I want is for you two, both of you, to listen to your king.” He walked up to the cliff face that the airfield overhung and looked south. Two of his guards followed him, sun glinting off the bayonets of their rifles. “No doubt,” King Cini said. “You're both aware that the skirmishes in the south have been on the rise lately. Not just that, but the dragons have been attacking the Southern Barrier forts that barricade in our beloved kingdom of Tow and keep it safe.”

  “I have heard, my liege,” Faso said.

  The king gave Faso a scornful look. He hadn't given Faso permission to speak. I was beginning to learn how this game worked. “It seems,” Cini continued, “that
the Southlands dragon threat is becoming more severe. We have automaton weapons, but the dragons are learning to outdo them, always finding flaws in the machines before we know about them ourselves.”

  “With all respect, sir,” Faso said. “If you need automatons, I can supply—”

  “Obviously, Mr Gordoni, you don't like the sound of my voice.” King Cini looked back to one of his guards who took his rifle off his shoulder and readied it with two loud clicks. A pocket of air travelled down Faso's throat.

  Faso had now assumed a more startled posture, like a rabbit that's just seen a wolf. Ratter scurried up his sleeve and took refuge there. “I'm sorry, your highness,” he said. “Speak away.”

  “Good,” Cini said. “In short, we don't want more automatons. We want better augmented soldiers and for that we need a better grade of secicao oil. Both of you produce some of the finest in all of Tow each, as you know, with its own characteristic effects. But we need more and we need better to keep up with the war effort. I want you two to work together to combine your processes and surpass anything ever created before.”

  So, it appeared that Faso hadn't come to The Five Hamlets on his own entrepreneurial volition after all. I tried to hide my smirk. Faso's lips, on the other hand, were trembling as if trying to hide his scorn. “You want me to work with her?”

  “Is there a problem with that Mr Gordoni?” Cini glanced back over his shoulder at his guard.

  Faso seemed to have been shot down enough times now to know not to really get shot. “No problem, your highness.” Another lump travelled down his throat.

  “With all respect, your liege,” I said. “I'm not sure Velos will work so well with automatons. The advantage of my grade of secicao is it's produced the natural way. Bring automatons into the mix and there’ll be less dragon spirit in your augmented troops and more of… Well, something else.”

  “Velos is your dragon, I presume?”

  “He is.”

  “Then that is exactly why we want you to experiment. The Southlands have already shown us that dragons can't be trusted. There must be a better mix of ingredients. We’ve already been experimenting on how to combine your two oils for more positive effects. I’ll send you the results, when we get them.”

  “As you wish, my liege,” I said with a slight curtsy, while biting my tongue to stop me saying the wrong thing. I'm not sure what was worse to be honest, the fact I would use Velos to support a war against dragons or the fact I'd be forced to pair him with automatons.

  “Very good,” Cini said. “Then we're in agreement.” He turned back to the less threatening looking guard, who had a puppy like jowly face. “Contract please, Sergeant Orlo.”

  The guard nodded, he had two envelopes tucked under his arm. He stepped in front of the king and handed them out to us.

  “Your mayor can distribute the signed copies of these with the next shipment,” King Cini said. “Now, for all effective purposes, I shall consider this agreement complete.”

  I had in my hand a manila cardboard-backed B4 envelope. Before I even had a chance to open it, the king bowed his head slightly and paused. As if by reflex, Faso forced himself down onto one knee and lowered his forehead. I followed suit, causing another jolt of pain against the tenderness there. The king turned on his heels and walked up the airship ramp.

  I waited until King Cini had vanished into his cabin before I turned to Faso and let out my prepared speech. “Whatever it costs to work together, you will keep those automatons away from Velos or we’ll both fly over and bake you within your metal abode. Do you understand?”

  Ratter stared at me with its red evil eyes from a convenient perch on Faso's shoulder. Automatons like Ratter had been notorious for the extermination of dragons in the Northern Continent twenty years ago during the dragonheat wars. My dragon, Velos had somehow survived all this and then he’d just turned up one day on our doorstep when I was seven years old.

  We’d kept him secret for a few years, but it hadn’t been long until the new king, Cini III had discovered him. Fortunately for us, my parents had manged to convince he’d be worth keeping as some kind of novelty. And then the king had come to understand Velos’ value in enhancing the secicao refinement process.

  But still, with Faso’s automatons around, I couldn’t help but feel Velos was under threat. I looked at Faso, waiting for a response. But he didn't say anything and had that arrogant smile on his face as if whatever I threw at him couldn't affect him.

  I huffed and stormed off.

  “Love you too,” Faso called back but I didn't offer a parting glance.

  ✽✽✽

  I found my parents waiting for me on the swing near the front door, wearing their parkas to shield off the bitter wind. Sunset was approaching and Velos was asleep in his stables, exhausted after our recent run south, just a few days past. I decided it best to leave him be.

  Instead, I invited my parents into my cottage, built only a stone-throw's away from their farmhouse. It was then that I told them the news.

  “Dragonheats,” Mamo said once we were seated. “Not only has Cini sent you out into the fire but he's done so as if you’ve a bottle of paraffin on your back.”

  She was sat on the recliner next to my coffee table. It was a little late for secicao, so, instead, three cups of chamomile tea were placed there. Papo was in the other recliner, his feet on the table and today’s magazine in his hands.

  On the front of the magazine was a picture of Alsie Fioreletta, the king's right-hand maiden, her expression characteristically straight and a soft lustre on her raven black hair. She had her hand on the head of the king's nephew which was strange, as all news the last few days was about how he'd recently been abducted.

  I sat on the loveseat that looked out over the stables, although admittedly it was a little dark to see anything right now.

  “Say, the king's even in here today,” Papo said. “An interview with him. He says he wants to wipe out all the dragons with secicao-powered automatons.”

  Mamo jumped off her seat, almost knocking her teacup off its saucer. “Melting wellies, the man’s a psychopath. There must be a way out of this, Pontopa.”

  “Versalina,” Papo said. “You're talking about a king's edict here, it's not just a contract. She can't just up it all and say no.”

  “But she can delegate,” Mamo said. “Get Faso Gordoni's automatons to do the extraction, dear. They can harvest the secicao without anything getting you in danger. Velos can feed and roast at home.” There we went again. Her logic — deprive Velos and I of everything we lived for.

  “There's no way,” I said. “That I'm letting those dragon-killers do anything in place of Velos.”

  “Not all automatons are dragon-killers now,” Papo said. “Times have changed.”

  “Papo, Faso's contraptions are made out of old war-automaton parts. How can we possibly know there's not some killer instinct left in them?”

  “I'm not sure that's how machines work,” Papo said.

  “Really? Have you ever created an automaton yourself?”

  “Can't say I have.”

  “Pontopa, Cipao,” Mamo said. “Please, can we please be peaceful here. Pontopa, don't raise your voice to your father like that.” You would have thought I was still a child.

  “All, I'm saying,” Papo said. “Is that you should put a little more trust in the man.”

  “And why exactly?” I asked.

  “Faso Gordoni's a genius. It says so in the magazines. And you never know, if you two can learn to get along… You're twenty-one, Pontopa and I'm dreading I'll never see a ring on your finger.”

  I laughed. “You really think he and I are compatible material? Hell, if you met him you'd realise what a buffoon he is.”

  “I'm sure I will meet him one day and I'm not sure I want to rely on your prejudiced impressions right now. Just because he works with automatons, doesn't make him a bad man.”

  “I don't want to work with automatons! Why is that so hard to und
erstand?”

  “And so you'd rather fly into your death. Do you have any idea how much we worry about you?”

  “How much you worry? How hard do you think this is for me? Someone has to feed this family. Where would we get money from otherwise?”

  At that, Papo banged his fist down on the table, almost sending my teacup off it. He wasn't usually the aggressive type, I have to admit, but he did tend to keep everything bottled up inside. Push him far enough and he'd lose his temper.

  “Dragonheats, Pontopa! Is this what this is about, money? How many times have I had to tell you that we can survive on less? We can move out from the farm. To the city, if we must, and get good paying jobs there. Or outside the border. Emigrate to Orkc or grab a steamer to Cadigan.”

  There it was again. Completely leaving Velos out of the equation. I stood up and pointed a finger at Papo. “I'm sick of having to explain this every time. Just… just, stop coming into my house and telling me what to do!”

  “Your house?” Papo stood up, towering over me. “I remind you about the stones, the labour, the men to build the stables, all that imported food for Velos, even those stupid Sukina Sako books. Who provided that exactly? Who tilled the soil and stayed out in the cold? Who waded through storms and lugged around heavy stones to build your cottage walls?”

  “And I'm repaying you by the work I do now!”

  Mamo, who had been hovering nearby, came in to break us both up. “Stop it!” she said. “Dragonheats, Cipao, this isn't the way to handle this and Pontopa, don't attack your father like that.”

  Cipao took one hard look at her, and then sat down, I did the same.

  “Pontopa,” Mamo said. “Your father means well, but you're quite right to want your independence.”

  “Too right I am.”

  “But we worry about you,” Mamo said. “You have a good life ahead of you and we're getting old. We don't want to see you throw your life away. Please, just think about this rationally.”

  “I’m not throwing my life away,” I snapped back. “I’ve never been more alive.”