With a little will and determination, West finally arrived at the Port of Trigue. The harbor served as a vital artery for traders and the Evokian military. Snow still drifted through the air, yet the port refused to slow for it. Merchants shouted across the streets, dockhands dragged crates through the slush, and the smell of salt, livestock, and wet rope hung over the harbor.

  West secured Jenny to a worn post along the crowded street.

  “I’ll be right back, girl. I need to find us both something to eat.”

  Slush folded under his boots as he pushed into the movement of the port. The damp from the saddle had crept into his clothes during the ride. Melted snow clung to his legs where they had rubbed against Jenny’s thick hide.

  A nearby merchant shoveled grain from a large sack into small feed bundles, the sharp scent of oats cutting through the briny air. West made his way toward him.

  “Morning.” West stepped up to the stall. “How much for a bale?”

  “Twenty-five copper. Fifteen silver. Five gold.” The man kept his eyes on the paper spread across the counter, charcoal scratching across it. “But we can haggle.”

  “That seems…” West started.

  “Steep.” The man finished the thought without looking up. “The army will buy it anyway. Supplies are low. Some trouble down in the lower continent has the Emerald Chain tied up, and it does not look like it will be moving again soon.” His gaze finally lifted. It passed over West, then drifted to Jenny tied along the street.

  “Truthfully, with the way things are going, you would be better off eating the donkey and making yourself a coat.” The charcoal resumed its slow movement across the paper.

  “Well, do not hold your breath waiting. I was in Vaga when the Chain was there.” West leaned slightly over the stall, eyes wandering through the merchant’s goods. “How much for that apple?” He pointed.

  “That is my lunch.” The man looked up again. “So it is true then. The great general is dead?”

  “Oh yeah.” West continued scanning the stall. “He is dead.”

  “May he rest in peace.” The merchant leaned forward on the counter. “I heard they burned Vaga to the ground after it happened.”

  “Honestly, sir, I ran for the road the moment things turned sour.” West lifted a small bundle of dried grain, weighing it in his hand before setting it back down. “I had no intention of sticking around to watch.”

  The merchant studied him with open curiosity. West noticed. “Between you and me,” West lowered his voice, “I followed him.”

  “Followed who?”

  “The man who killed Dresdi.” West leaned closer. “The Legendary West.”

  The merchant blinked.

  “And I followed him here.”

  “Here?” Confusion crept across the man’s face.

  “Yes, sir! I am on the trail of the Red Dragon. If I catch it, I imagine it will fetch a very good price.”

  The merchant straightened slightly. “And you followed it here?”

  “That is right. Well, actually.” West reached for the paper beneath the merchant’s hand. “What is your name?”

  “Barney.”

  “Well, Barney.” West began sketching quickly with the charcoal. A few sharp strokes. The curve of a guard. The length of a blade. Crude, but recognizable. “I am fairly certain the man will arrive here tonight. I plan to set an ambush in Trigue.” He leaned closer to the merchant. “For the Evok.”

  “The Evok?” Barney repeated. West finished the drawing and pushed the paper toward him. The Red Dragon stared back from the page.

  “Yes, sir. If you see this blade, do not let the man leave.” West gripped Barney’s arm and drew him a little closer across the stall. “Mark my words. But be careful. He is very dangerous.” He released the man with a firm pat on the shoulder. “The Evok thanks you for your sacrifice.” West turned away from the stall.

  “Where are you going?” Barney’s voice carried a sudden edge of panic.

  “I need to find feed for my girl.” West kept walking. “If I do not return, you have the watch.”

  “Wait a moment!” Barney hurried around the stall and caught up to him. “I suppose I could let one bale go for five copper. But you have to promise you will stay here until the Red Dragon arrives… I could help you bring the man down!”

  West turned back. “You would be doing your Evok a great service.” He counted six copper coins into Barney’s hand. “Why do you not get yourself a warm soup while you wait?” West tapped the apple still sitting in the stall. “And hand me that as well.” Barney passed him the apple along with the bale of hay. “Thank you, sir.” West nodded toward the street. “I will be over there scraping the ice from my girl’s hooves. If you see anything, holler.”

  He walked back toward Jenny. “And just like that,” West muttered, lifting the bale in front of her nose, “my girl has something to eat.” Jenny dug into the hay immediately. “You were hungry.”

  West bit into the apple and turned his head back toward the stall. Barney was already hurriedly packing away his things.

  “He is going for that soup,” West muttered, chewing. “And when he comes back, we will be gone.” He lifted the apple slightly in a small wave toward the merchant. “Jenny,” West added quietly, “you can be quite the conniving slug sometimes.”

  Across the street, two dockhands had stopped working. They were not looking at the stall. They were looking at the drawing Barney still held in his hands.

  West crouched beside Jenny, scraping packed snow and mud from the bottoms of her hooves while she chewed the last of the hay. Across the slushy lane, the merchant Barney had returned sooner than expected. He was not alone. Three men walked with him, broad in the shoulders and easy in their steps, in the way of men who had spent their lives carrying steel on the battlefields. Their cloaks were travel-worn, but their posture spoke of years of hard-lived discipline. Soldiers, perhaps. If not soldiers, then something close to it.

  Barney pointed straight at West. West glanced up, following the direction of Barney’s finger. The men had already begun crossing the lane.

  “That can’t be good,” West muttered to Jenny. She flicked an ear but kept chewing. “Well I would have already made my escape if I knew you could climb a wall”

  The three men stopped a few paces from him. The one with the reddish ponytail stepped forward and unfolded a scrap of paper. “Did you draw this?”

  It was the doodle of the Red Dragon that West had made earlier. West rose slowly to his feet. All three men had their hands resting near their sword hilts.

  “Yeah,” West said easily, flashing a quick smile. “You know, I think I may have.”

  “We’re going to need you to come with us,” the ponytailed man said.

  “Are you men Evokians or something?” West asked.

  “Walk. Now.”

  Steel rasped from a scabbard as one of the others drew his sword. Around them, the nearby merchants suddenly found other things to do. Faces turned away. Stalls were adjusted. No one lingered long enough to see what happened next. The men formed around West and began guiding him through the narrow market lanes.

  As he passed Jenny, West gave her a small nod, signaling to stay. “This feels like an aggressive response to a drawing,” West said as they moved through the crowd. “You gentlemen want to tell me what this is about?”

  “Just keep walking, stranger,” one of them said.

  “We can walk and talk at the same time,” West replied lightly. “It’s not slowing us down. Where are we going?”

  “Shut up and walk!”

  West grinned. “I’m walking,” he said. Then his grin widened. “And now…I’m running!” He bolted sideways into the crowd. The men cursed and lunged after him. West was quick on his feet, darting through narrow alleys and weaving between stacked crates and rope-bound cargo. He vaulted over a cart, splashing through slush, then scrambled up the side of a straw-packed storage shed. The men were fast. Faster than most.

  They followed him over the rooftops of bundled straw and timber, boots thudding close behind. One of them gained ground with alarming speed, climbing the sloped structure like he had done it a thousand times before. West leapt for the next roof. A hand caught the back of his coat. He was yanked backward and slammed onto the straw. “Alright, alright,” West said quickly, raising his hands as the others closed in around him. “You got me…” One of the men produced a rope and bound West’s wrists before he had the chance to try anything clever again. The escort resumed, this time with a firmer grip. They walked through the last of the market stalls and down toward the frozen harbor. At the dock, a small rowboat waited.

  “Get in,” one of the men ordered.

  West paused at the edge of the dock and glanced between them. “Where are you taking me?”

  The man closest to him gave him a long, unimpressed look. Then he shoved West forward. “You’re done asking questions.”

  West stumbled into the boat. The men climbed in after him and began rowing through the dark, sludging water where broken ice drifted against the hull. The row was rough and slow. Farther out, the water thickened into frozen sheets, forcing them to drag the boat across patches of ice until the larger vessel came into view. It sat elevated on heavy steel rails above the frozen harbor like some slumbering beast. Painted along the side in pale blue letters was a name.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The Blue Heart.

  They led West up the gangway and onto the ship. “Where’s Boss?” the man holding the rope around West’s wrists asked one of the crew waiting near the railing. The man jerked his chin toward the upper deck. West was pushed forward and guided through the interior of the vessel. It was no ordinary ship.

  The passageways were wide, the timber polished smooth and reinforced with iron bands. Lanterns hung from carved brackets, their glass chimneys clean and bright. Even the ropes coiled along the walls looked newer than most harbor vessels could afford.

  This was the sort of ship kings commissioned. Or generals who expected to win grandeur wars.

  Bootsteps echoed through the wooden halls as they moved deeper into the vessel. West’s eyes drifted over everything: the structure, the crew passing through the corridors, the small details that marked wealth, status, and power. Whoever owned this ship was not a smuggler scraping coin from the docks.

  They reached the main deck.

  The winter wind cut across the open air, but the mood on deck was strangely relaxed. Several crew members lounged near the railings, dressed in fabrics far finer than any sailor needed. Others played quiet games with carved bone pieces on a low crate while a pair of men checked lines and pulleys near the mast.

  It looked less like a warship and more like the traveling court of someone very comfortable with flaunting their authority. West was steered toward the far side of the deck. There, beneath a hanging lantern swaying gently in the wind, a man reclined in a wide chair draped in exquisite fur.

  His robes were deep crimson, threaded through with fine gold lining that caught the lantern light, softer than the sun’s rays. Rings glittered on several fingers. He sat like a man who had grown used to others waiting for his permission to breathe.

  A beautiful and tall woman stood beside him. She held a small vine of what appeared to be dark winter berries and plucked them one by one, lifting them lazily to the man’s mouth while he spoke to someone out of sight. Her hair was long and black, falling like spilled ink down her back. She did not appear to be paying much attention to the men approaching.

  “Boss,” one of West’s captors called out. “I think we found something.”

  The man in the gold-lined robes turned slowly in his chair, irritation already forming across his face. “Now is not the time, Smoli,” he said, flicking his hand in a dismissive wave. “Handle it later.”

  West glanced between the two of them. The robes alone would have convinced most people. The man certainly looked the part. But the woman beside him had gone still.

  “Brock.” She spoke the name calmly. The effect was immediate. The man in the robes straightened slightly. “Go prepare for tonight,” she continued, rising to her feet. “Leave us.”

  There was no argument. Brock stood without protest, brushed a stray berry stain from his sleeve, and walked away across the deck. Several nearby crew members shifted subtly as he passed, but their eyes drifted back to the woman.

  Smoli gave a small, respectful nod. “Thank you, Odessa.”

  So that was her name.

  Smoli reached into his coat and pulled out the folded scrap of paper. “A local merchant informed us that this man was looking for the Red Dragon,” he said, holding West’s rope while offering the drawing, “he drew this.”

  Odessa took the page. Her eyes moved across the rough sketch of the Red Dragon, studying it in silence. The wind stirred a few strands of her dark hair across her cheek as she examined the lines. Then she lifted her gaze to West. The deck seemed to be quiet around them.

  “Leave us,” Odessa said again.

  The command was soft. But the effect was absolute. Smoli and the others stepped back immediately, releasing the rope and moving away without hesitation. Within moments, West was standing alone with her on the open deck.

  West slowly began working his hands free.

  The rope had been wrapped in a hurry. The knot rested high near his wrists, where the guard had tied it without much care. West rolled his wrists against the coarse fibers, twisting his hands inward and slowly feeding slack through the loop. It took patience more than strength. A slight turn of the wrist, a careful pull, and the knot loosened just enough for his thumb to slip through.

  By the time Odessa finished studying the drawing, the rope was already unwinding between his fingers.

  “Well, this is a first. I've never been captured by a woman.”

  Odessa lifted the doodle toward him. “How did you draw this?”

  “With a pen.” West allowed himself a brief smile. The smile vanished the instant her hand struck his face. The crack of the slap cut sharply through the wind.

  “Don't play with me, boy!” Odessa’s finger rose to his face, stopping inches from his nose. “You’ve seen it. You’ve held it.”

  West blinked through the sting spreading across his cheek. For a moment, he simply stared at her, surprised more than anything else. “I... I have,” he managed at last. “In fact, legally, I'm the owner.” A small grin returned.

  Odessa stared at him with cold intensity. “What’s your name?”

  “West.”

  Her hand struck him again. The second slap landed harder. “I told you…not to play with me, boy!” Odessa seized a fistful of his hair and jerked his head back. That was enough. West drove forward, trying to shove her away. Odessa moved faster.

  She caught his arm before the push could land, twisting it behind his back in a tight lock that forced the breath from his chest. Pain shot through his shoulder as she bent the joint farther than it wanted to go. West grunted. Her slick boot struck the back of his knee. His leg buckled, and he dropped hard onto one knee.

  West shifted his weight and swung his leg backward, trying to hook her ankle and sweep her off balance. Odessa felt the movement coming. She shifted her stance and drove her weight into him, dragging him forward and slamming him flat onto his back across the frozen deck. The air left his lungs in a sharp burst, but Odessa was already on top of him.

  She pinned his wrists against the boards with surprising strength, her knee pressed into his ribs as he struggled beneath her.

  “GET OFF OF ME!” West twisted and bucked, trying to throw her off, but Odessa held him down with calm control. Then she lifted her knee. And drove it straight down between his legs. The impact folded West in half. A strangled gasp escaped him as his body locked tight with pain. Odessa rose calmly to her feet while West curled on the deck, clutching himself.

  “You are playing a very dangerous game.” She warned and produced a small blade from her waist.

  The steel caught the lantern light as she rolled her sleeve upward, exposing the markings carved across her skin. Ink scars stretched from wrist to shoulder in dark geometric patterns that twisted like living, breathing symbols.

  West crawled backward across the boards, trying to create distance. Odessa tapped the blade lightly against her forearm as she followed, step by slow step.

  “Last chance,” she said calmly. “What is your name?”

  Through watering eyes, West stared at the markings on her arm. They were familiar. The shapes. The lines. The ancient patterns. The same symbols that decorated the Red Dragon.

  “I am West.” He spat a small clot of blood onto the deck, one hand still pressed tightly between his legs. “And you… You are not a Volta.”

  Odessa stopped. Confusion flickered across her face for only a moment. Then a small smile appeared.

  “What does a vagrant know about the Volta?” she asked, sliding the blade back into its sheath.

  “I know that you're not one.” West forced himself upright, still breathing carefully as the pain faded in slow waves.

  Odessa’s smile disappeared.

  “They’re all dead,” West continued, his breath visible in the cold air. “Before our time.”

  “Yet…here I stand before you.” Odessa turned her hand and revealed the markings carved into her palm. “The Volta Suprema.” She gave a small, theatrical bow.

  “Imposter,” West muttered.

  This time, Odessa could not hide her amusement. A quiet laugh slipped past her lips. “You amuse me, ‘West.’ It’s not often I find myself in the company of someone so...” She rolled her eyes lightly. “Informed.” She stepped closer again. “Tell me. How do you know all this?”

  “I lived among the Kesh for many years.”

  “A slave?”

  The question came without hesitation. West said nothing. Odessa let out a quiet sigh.

  “Well then. And the Red Dragon? You wish to return it to your Kesh masters?”

  West shook his head and allowed a small smile to return. “I’m going to sell it. Get my Jenny a nice patch of land somewhere in the Western kingdoms.”

  “Quite the risk for a piece of gold.” Odessa reached into her pocket and produced several gold coins, letting them glint between her fingers. “Go home then.” She held them out toward him. West looked at the coins. Then back at Odessa.

  “This is not about the money. It was stolen from me… And I want it back…!” His fist tightened.

  “So it’s revenge then. You men, are such simple creatures.” Odessa tilted her head slightly. “Tell me who this man is that has stolen her blade from you?”

  “He’s a man who fooled me into letting my guard down…” West looked away.

  “Never trust a man.” Odessa folded her arms.

  “What do you want from me?” West lifted his eyes back to her.

  Odessa grinned. “Is it not obvious? I want the Red Dragon. It belongs to the Voltas. Not to a thief. Not to Dresdi. And not to you.” She turned her back to him and began walking across the deck. Her boots moved easily across the frozen boards, as if the cold sea itself belonged to her.

  “I will make sure you get your revenge, West. But you will lead me to the Red Dragon.” The coins fell from her hand and scattered across the wood with a muffled clatter. “I will restore her kingdom. As was promised by the visions.”

  West watched the gold roll and settle between the cracks of the deck. “And…if I refuse?”

  Odessa did not stop walking. “Oh, but you have no choice!” The wind slid across the deck, carrying the smell of salt and iron from the frozen sea.

  West stood still for a moment.

  He studied the crew moving across the ship. None of them watched him. None of them guarded him either. They moved with quiet confidence, like wolves who already knew the hunt had begun. Focused on catching larger prey.

  His eyes returned to Odessa. She had already reached the far end of the deck.

  “Wait.”

  Her steps slowed. Then stopped. She turned only slightly, just enough for him to see the edge of her smile. West crossed the deck toward her, boots crunching softly against the frost.

  “I want something.”

  Odessa listened without turning fully around.

  “I want to go back and get my Jenny.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Your lover?”

  A small smile crept onto West’s face. “Just a friend.”

  Odessa studied him for a moment longer. Something in her expression shifted, as if assessing him again with a different scale. Then she extended her hand.

  West looked at it. The markings carved into her skin twisted across her palm like old runes. The same symbols that decorated the blade he hunted. Slowly, he took her hand. Their grip was firm. Not with trust. Not yet. But something artificial enough to begin.

  “Very well,” Odessa said quietly. “We will fetch your friend, Jenny.” She released him and moved toward the stairs leading below deck.

  “Come” She called him with her finger

  The crew parted slightly as she passed. No orders were spoken. None were needed.

  West remained where he stood for a moment longer.

  Beyond the rail stretched the frozen sea. Ice drifted across the horizon in drained blue sheets, blending into a sky that looked just as cold. Somewhere beyond that horizon was Tyrus. And the Red Dragon. He followed Odessa down. Behind him, the great ship groaned as its iron runners shifted against the frozen harbor.