TRIBUTE

  Drak woke up with a start, the morning light already spilling through the window. He rubbed his eyes and shook off the remnants of sleep before climbing to his feet. Today was going to be a long day. He had promised to help Nalli, and he intended to keep that promise.

  After hastily washing his face and pulling on his work clothes, he secured a drawstring pouch filled with all his savings beneath his shirt, then slung a large duffle bag over his shoulders. As an after-thought, he also grabbed his clunky clock-work time-keeper from his desk and strapped it to his wrist. Drak started to head out of the house, crossing the damp yard toward the barn. The air was crisp and cool, and the early morning frost glistened on the grapevines as the sun slowly climbed over the horizon. His heart beat a little faster than usual as the trials of the day ahead pressed in on him.

  As he opened the barn door, he found Nalli already awake, standing at the far end of the barn near her stall. She turned toward him as he entered, her yellow eyes filled with a nervous energy that she tried to mask with a stoic demeanor. Even so, her unease was apparent to him.

  Drak offered her a smile, hoping to ease her anxiety. “Morning,” he greeted her, trying to sound more cheerful than he felt. “You’re up early. How’s the stitching holding up?”

  Nalli didn’t respond immediately. She simply looked at him, her expression as hard to read as stone. After a moment, she spoke, her voice both low and hesitant. “You’re leaving already,” she simply stated, not answering the question.

  Drak nodded as he approached, feeling the tug behind her words. “Yes, but I’ll be back before the sun sets.”

  Nalli’s gaze flickered toward the barn door, her ears angled back. She was clearly troubled, despite the strong-willed nature she displayed. Drak could tell that this was hard for her, leaving her alone in unfamiliar human lands, vulnerable, even with all her strength. He didn’t blame her for being nervous. He would be too, in her place.

  To reassure her, Drak unstrapped the time-keeper device from his wrist and held it out to her. “I already thought about this. Here,” he said, placing it on the workbench. “When the short hand is facing straight down like this, I should be back.”

  Nalli glanced at the device, then back at him, her brows furrowing in mild confusion. She didn’t fully understand the human contraption, but she accepted it, if only because it gave her something tangible to look at. “And if you’re not?”

  Drak smiled softly. “Then you can curse my name and eat my leg when I do get back.”

  Nalli’s eyes lingered on his face, and for a moment, she seemed to actually consider words, which caused Drak to shift uncomfortably in his spot. Eventually, she gave a slow nod. “I won’t eat your leg. But, I might crush this… thing… you’ve left for me,” she said quietly.

  Drak sighed in relief. He could see the conflict in her eyes she was trying so hard to suppress. He wanted to say something more, something that would truly put her at ease, but words felt inadequate. So instead, he offered her one last smile and a nod of his own. “I’ll be back, I promise. Just don’t leave the barn, okay?”

  He turned and grabbed the handles of his steam-bike sitting between the pipes. As he walked away, he felt Nalli’s gaze on his back, watching him leave. He could only hope that his promise of return would be enough to calm her nerves for the day. He didn’t want to think about what could happen if she took off on her own.

  Drak mounted his steam-bike, took a deep breath, and then set off down the vineyard’s main path as the soft rumble of the engine carried him away from the barn and into the uncertain day ahead.

  He kicked the steam-bike into higher gear and headed east down the road leading away from the family farm. The cool wind whipped at his face as he sped through the countryside, his mind focused on the tasks ahead. It wasn’t long before the fields gave way to the outskirts of the city of Tribute, the towering walls of the city coming into view in the distance.

  As he approached, Drak couldn’t help but take in and marvel at the city’s fortifications. Initially designed for a conflict long before his time, a massive stone and metal wall surrounded Tribute like an impenetrable barrier, built to withstand any threat that might come its way. It was bustling with early morning activity, with soldiers and workers moving about, preparing for the day ahead. His steam-bike hummed beneath him as he came to a stop near the north gate. While waiting, Drak noticed a small group of country folk gathered nearby, engaged in a hushed but tense conversation. He caught snippets of their discussion as they stood close by.

  “Another highway robbery last night,” one man muttered, his face grim. “This time not far from the east road. ‘Heard the Hewitt’s were the one’s got robbed. They’re gettin’ bolder.”

  “Aye, I heard the same,” another man replied. “Lost a whole cart of goods to ‘em. Few folks say it’s a gang lurkin’ in the woods to the north, waitin’ for folks to let their guard down.”

  Drak glanced over at them but didn’t let his eyes linger. His mind was too occupied with thoughts of Nalli and the task ahead to worry about rumors of robbers. Still, the mention of the east road being a potential danger sent a faint chill through him. Thankfully, his own path back to the vineyard led along the west road in the opposite direction. He pushed the thought aside, shaking his head. He had more pressing concerns.

  The city gates weren’t open yet, but Drak knew it wouldn’t be long. He waited patiently with a crowd of a few dozen other country-folk awaiting entry. He glanced up at the towering entrance, the large cogs and gears set to engage and pull the enormous metal doors apart. The gate itself was a marvel to behold. It bore an intricate design embodying humanity’s era in Ardraelion, with an artistic mosaic of cogs and coils adorning the thick metal surface. The patterns told Tribute’s story, from the daring expedition across the vast Alaeric Ocean to the city’s founding. Drak stood patiently, his gaze tracing the details on the gate’s face. Finally, the gears clanked into motion, and the massive gate began to slide apart, accompanied by the heavy rhythm of mechanical clicks.

  Once the gate had opened wide enough, Drak revved his bike and rode into the city with the crowd. The turbulent sights and sounds of Tribute greeted him next. Bustling markets, steam-powered vehicles, and the hum of clock-work machinery filling the air. Drak slowed his bike as he entered the crowded streets, his mind already formulating a plan.

  He couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself or have anyone ask too many questions. Buying enough food for a direhound would raise suspicion if he wasn’t careful. Drak reasoned that the best way to avoid this was to shop at one store at a time, buy as much meat as he could carry, and then, if he needed more, return another day to shop at a different merchant.

  There were variables in his strategy, but he knew it would work.

  With his plan in place, Drak navigated through the streets, the steam-bike weaving between pedestrians and other carriages. His eyes scanned the buildings as he wound his way deeper into the city, searching for the market district. As he passed by familiar shops and stalls, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking a fine line between pretending he was here on normal business and keeping Nalli’s presence a secret. In a bizarre sense, Drak felt like every stranger’s eyes were on him as he pushed forward. Fearing discovery, he kept his head down, and focused on the task at hand.

  As Drak navigated the crowded streets as the bustling energy of Tribute’s city center soon enveloped him. Its large circular courtyard came into view. Its expansive space was designed to host a myriad of events that brought the city’s citizens together, be it grand announcements from city officials, vibrant carnivals brimming with laughter and music, or the hustle and bustle of merchant showcases. At its center stood the towering monument of Thaddeus Steamwright, Tribute’s revered founder.

  The statue itself was a marvel: a patchwork of pipes, valves, and mechanical components intricately assembled to create a lifelike resemblance of the man. Steamwright’s face was crafted from polished bronze plates, etched with fine details to mimic his rugged features, while his coat appeared to flow naturally, despite being constructed from interlocking metal sheets. In his raised hands, he held a massive, multi-cogged clock aloft—a real, working time-keeping device with gears that spun in perfect synchrony and heavy brass hour and minute hands that ticked even through the hum of the crowd.

  The statue's base was encircled by raised platforms where inventors and artisans showcased their latest creations to the curious crowds. The courtyard buzzed with activity as steam-powered contraptions hissed and whirred, merchants shouted to advertise their newest products, and children ran about, mesmerized by the kaleidoscope of motion and sound. Drak paused briefly, his gaze drawn upward to the statue, taking in the scene and remembering that nostalgic mix of awe and pride in the same way as he had done as a child.

  Soon, however, Drak’s attention was drawn when two great shapes crossed the edges of his vision. A pair of Tribute’s labor direhounds. The sight of their massive forms, each weighed down by a control collar, sent a ripple of discomfort through him. These direhounds moved with a slow, cumbersome gait, their actions so mechanical and automated that they seemed more machine than beast. Each of their steps were premeditated, almost unnatural, as they hauled heavy brass plumbing pipes from one corner of the courtyard to another over their shoulders.

  Nearby, a boisterous handler barked orders, directing their every action with a commanding voice and the occasional crack of a whip in the air, intended not to harm them, but as a snapping reminder to stay in line. The direhounds obeyed without hesitation, their reactions smooth but eerily devoid of spirit, as if the commands bypassed thought and went straight to their muscles. Drak’s stomach twisted at the sight. He couldn’t help but think of Nalli, wild and untamed, and how utterly different these direhounds were compared to her. The control collars around their necks made him think of humanity’s dominance over their kind, and it rattled him deep within his chest.

  He quickly averted his gaze and pushed forward, determined not to let himself get distracted. He kept his head low, avoiding eye contact with the passersby, and focused on making his way to the market district. The streets grew more crowded as he neared his destination, the air filled with the smells of freshly baked bread, sizzling meats, and the chatter of merchants haggling with their customers.

  Finally, Drak spotted the familiar three-lettered sign hanging above a storefront: the three M's of Mighty Moose Meats. The sight of it brought a small sense of relief. He knew this place and the owner well. His family had been coming here for years to stock up on fresh cuts of meat for the vineyard. It was a reliable, friendly, no-nonsense shop where he could hopefully make his purchases without too many questions being asked.

  Drak parked his steam-bike outside and took a deep breath before stepping through the door, readying himself to gather what he needed for Nalli.

  The scent of raw meats hit Drak’s nose as he stepped inside Mighty Moose Meats. The shop was modest, with wooden walls lined with hooks that held various cuts of meat, neatly wrapped in parchment. He found himself standing behind a few customers, patiently waiting his turn.

  As he waited, Drak’s eyes wandered around the shop. There were slabs of cured bacon, smoked sausages, and freshly cut steaks all neatly arranged behind a glass counter. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten much that morning, but this task wasn’t about him. He needed enough food to keep Nalli sustained, and his own hunger would have to wait.

  Eventually, the line moved, and it was his turn to approach the counter. Behind it stood Roark, a stocky man with a kind face and strong arms. His short, dark hair was slicked back in place with grooming product, and his apron was stained from a day’s work. Roark’s eyes lit up when he saw Drak, a wide smile spreading across his face.

  “Well, if it isn’t young Drak!” Roark greeted warmly. “How’s the vineyard treating ya? And how’re Jaemes and Dona? Haven’t seen them around in a bit.”

  Drak returned the smile, but kept his response brief. “Hey, Roark. Vineyard’s the same as always. My parents are actually out in Monument City for a while. I’m holding down the castle.”

  Roark nodded thoughtfully. “Monument City, eh? Big trip. How ya managing without ‘em?”

  Drak shrugged, keeping the conversation light. “It’s quiet, but not too bad. Actually, I was hoping to surprise them with a grand meal when they get back. Figured I’d stop by and pick up some quality meat to make it special.”

  Roark’s smile widened, clearly pleased with Drak’s intention. “Well now, that’s a good son right there. Let’s see what I’ve got for ya.”

  The shopkeeper turned and pulled out a grand-portioned size of cut meat from behind the counter, wrapped neatly in parchment. He placed it on the counter with a grin. “This here is a fine piece of roast and should make for a wonderful meal.”

  Drak looked at the meat and knew immediately it wouldn’t be enough for Nalli. He hesitated for a moment before asking, “Actually, Roark… I was thinking I might need a bit more than this. A lot more. You never know when another unexpected winter storm might hit, and I want to make sure we’re stocked up just in case… maybe, the hind-quarters of a cow?”

  Roark raised an eyebrow, looking Drak up and down with concern. “You’re asking for quite a bit there, Drak. Ya sure you can store it all?”

  Drak forced a chuckle, trying to ease Roark’s concerns. “Better to be safe than sorry, right? If we get a heavy snowstorm, I might not be able to make it back to the city for a while.” He hoped his small ruse would alleviate the butcher’s worry.

  The shopkeeper scratched his chin thoughtfully before nodding. “Fair enough. You’re not wrong about those winter storms. Alright, I’ll see what I can scrounge up for ya.”

  Roark disappeared into the back of the shop, leaving Drak to nervously wait. He knew the request was unusual, but he had to get enough to keep Nalli fed. After what felt like an eternity, Roark returned, carrying a massive wrapped bundle. He set it on the counter with a huff, clearly proud of what he’d found.

  “Now this is something special, Drak,” Roark said with a grin. “A whole leg and hindquarters of moose. My shop’s namesake! That should keep ya ‘well-stocked.’”

  Drak couldn’t believe his luck. The meat was more than enough for Nalli, and he couldn’t help but smile in relief. “Thanks, Roark. This is perfect.” Although, Drak had to admit, he was a bit nervous about the sheer size of the meat and being able to safely bring it back to the vineyard.

  Drak stood at the counter, watching as Roark carefully wrapped the large moose meat in thick packing parchment. The weight of the package wasn’t the only thing on Drak’s mind. He could sense Roark’s growing concern. The shopkeeper kept glancing up at him during the process before returning to him, holding the hefty bundle with both hands before setting it on the counter with a strained grunt.

  “Now, Drak, that’s quite a bit of meat you’re asking for,” Roark said, his tone shifting from friendly to cautious. He eyed Drak with a fatherly concern. “I’ve known ya since a lad, and I know you’re good for it, but… sure ya can pay for all this? It’s rare meat, and this isn’t a small purchase.”

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  Drak waved his hand dismissively, trying to brush off Roark’s worries. “Don’t worry about it, Roark. I’ve got enough coin for this. Been saving up, you know?”

  Roark didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded slowly, clearly not wanting to push too hard. “Alright then. If ya say so. But I’ll warn ya, it’s not cheap—prices have gone up lately with the demand for fresh game and the new tariffs coming in from the home territories across the Alaeric. Ya might want to reconsider taking the whole leg…”

  Drak shook his head. “No, no, I’ll take it. Like I said, better safe than sorry. I want to make sure we have enough to last.”

  Roark sighed, nodding again as he finished wrapping the package. He placed it on the counter and gave Drak a careful look. “Alright, son. That’ll be… well, let’s see here.”

  The shopkeeper ran the numbers in his head, muttering quietly before he spoke up again. “It’s going to come to… ten gold crowns and fifty silver.”

  Drak’s eyes widened in surprise. That was a huge chunk of his savings. He hadn’t expected it to be so expensive, and for a moment, he hesitated, but then he thought about Nalli, about how much she needed the food. There was no turning back now. He reached into his coin pouch, pulling out a heavy handful of gold and silver coins, counting them carefully before placing them on the counter.

  “Here you go,” Drak said, forcing a smile as he slid the coins across the counter to Roark.

  Roark picked up the coins, counting them with a careful eye before nodding. “Alright, that’s all of it. You’re a good lad, Drak. Just make sure you’ve got enough left for yourself, alright?”

  Drak nodded, his smile a little more genuine this time. “Don’t worry, Roark. I’ve still got enough. Besides, this is worth it. More than you know.”

  Roark gave him a lingering look, his concern still evident, but he didn’t push further. “Alright, if you say so. Just take care of yourself, Drak. And give my regards to your parents. And here,” Roark reached behind the counter and slapped a small, wrapped bundle on the counter, “take a pack of dried beef strips. On me.”

  Drak thanked the butcher and gratefully took the wrapped bundle and the beef strips. The package was unbelievably heavy, leaving him feeling like a jester in court, but he carefully maneuvered through the store and secured it to the back of his steam-bike outside. As he tightened the straps around the massive package, he couldn’t help but think about the cost. Ten gold crowns and fifty silver. A little over a third of what he had saved up. It stung, but it was a necessary sacrifice. If it meant keeping Nalli fed and safe, then it was worth every coin.

  He just hoped if he returned for more, he could find something less valuable than moose.

  With one last glance at the shop, Drak mounted his steam-bike and revved the engine. The steam-bike groaned under the added weight of the wrapped moose leg as its engine sputtered slightly against the heavy load. He bit his lip in frustration, feeling the bike struggle beneath him. The last thing he needed was for the aging gyroscope to fail on the ride home. As the machine continued to protest, he knew that just buying the meat wasn’t going to be enough. If he was going to make multiple trips like this, he’d need to deal with the gyroscope issue sooner rather than later.

  With a resigned sigh, Drak made his way back through the winding streets of the market district, keeping his eyes peeled for any shops that might sell mechanical parts. The hustle and bustle of the city was in full swing as vendors continued calling out their wares, while steam carriages chugged along the cobblestone roads, and the hum of machinery filled the air. It was almost overwhelming to someone more used to the quiet life of the vineyard, but Drak was committed.

  As he passed a busy intersection near the central plaza, a town crier stood atop a wooden crate, waving a stack of printed bulletins in one hand while he rang a handbell in the other.

  “Twenty-second of Emberseed, this year Three-hundred and Fifty, Steam-Era. Copper warrants issued for fugitive engineer from Velton Yard!” the man bellowed. “Council tensions rising in Ardrealion’s southern provinces—merchant factions call for stricter regulations!”

  Drak slowed slightly as the crier's voice shifted to something more exciting.

  “Mounted Expeditionaries make camp to deploy forces near Eastwood! New reports of monstrous beasts near Hollow’s Pike! Town on high alert! Local inhabitants fleeing west!”

  That made Drak pause. He wasn’t surprised to hear that Eastwood was acting up again. Beasts from that forest rarely stayed quiet for long, but the mention of a town on high alert brought a sharp edge to his thoughts. If the Expeditionaries were moving in force, it meant the threat was real. Especially if people were fleeing…

  He considered buying a paper but ultimately shook his head. Not Today. Eastwood is over two-hundred and fifty leagues away. You don’t need grim headlines clouding your thoughts.

  He left the crier behind, and after several minutes of searching, he found himself standing in front of a small, old-fashioned shop tucked away between two larger buildings. The sign above the door was faded and chipped, reading “Antiquities & Mechanical Curiosities.” In the window, various steam-powered contraptions were on display. Most of them were dusty, outdated models that had clearly seen better days. Among them was a control collar for a direhound, an ancient model that looked more like a relic than something that could still be functional.

  Drak paused, staring at the collar through the glass. It was bulky and clunky, with oversized bolts and rusted metal plating. Clearly, it was from an earlier time, when controlling the direhounds hadn’t yet become the precise science it was today. He imagined how cumbersome those early attempts must have been, how difficult it would’ve been to tame such massive, intelligent creatures.

  The direhounds he’d seen earlier, carrying pipes through the city, seemed so docile, so… tamed. Although, Drak knew that hadn’t always been the case. Taming them must have taken years of trial and error, advances in technology, and likely a lot of bloodshed.

  A pang of guilt hit him as he thought about Nalli’s reaction to the control collar if she ever saw one. Would she see it as a representation of her people’s subjugation? Or would she just brush it off as an outdated relic, something that no longer held power over her kind?

  With a final glance at the shop, he continued down the street, refocusing on his original goal of finding a proper mechanical shop that sold new gyroscopes.

  The bustling market district was filled with shops selling all manner of goods, but finding the right one was proving to be a challenge. Most places seemed focused on selling the latest gadgets or steam-powered novelties, none of which were particularly useful for fixing an old steam-bike. Drak wandered through the winding streets, occasionally stopping to peer into a window or check a shop sign, but none of them seemed to carry what he needed.

  His frustration grew with each passing hour. Time was slipping away, and he didn’t want to leave Nalli alone for too long. Just as he was about to give up and head back with his antiquated gyroscope, he spotted a narrow alleyway off to the side. A sign hung above the entrance, barely visible between the larger storefronts on either side. It read: “Briggs & Sons: Mechanical Repairs & Parts.”

  Finally, some luck.

  Drak turned into the alley and made his way toward the small shop tucked in the shadows. Inside, the air smelled of oil and rusted metal, with shelves packed full of gears, springs, and various mechanical components. A middle-aged, balding man stood behind the counter, tinkering with a steam-powered contraption.

  Drak approached, and after a brief conversation, the shopkeeper nodded and led him to a shelf where various gyroscopes were stored. After inspecting a few, Drak found the only one that looked sturdy enough to handle the extra weight he’d been carrying.

  “Good choice,” the shopkeeper said as he rang up the sale. “That one’s built to last.”

  As Drak watched the total on the mechanical register flash before him, his heart sank. The cost of the new gyroscope was far higher than he’d hoped. At this rate, his remaining savings would be halved again. He glanced at the shopkeeper, who was patiently waiting behind the counter.

  “I know it’s a big ask, but is there any chance you could give me a discount?” Drak asked, trying to hide his disappointment. “I was hoping for something more affordable.”

  The shopkeeper’s eyes flickered with understanding. “Well, there is a way to reduce the cost. If you bring in your old gyroscope, we can give you a scrapper’s fee. It might not cover the entire difference, but it should help.”

  Drak’s face tightened in frustration. The idea of disassembling his bike right here outside the shop wasn’t ideal, especially with the large moose meat weighing down his bike outside. Yet, the prospect of saving some coin was too appealing to ignore.

  He sighed and nodded. “Alright, I'll do it.”

  The shopkeeper handed him a small, unofficial receipt for the gyroscope, detailing the amount to be deducted once the old part was turned in. Drak turned on his heel and made his way back to the alleyway.

  Back at his steam-bike, Drak groaned as he started the process of dismantling the gyroscope from the bike’s frame. He went to work quickly, aware of the limited space and time he had. It was frustrating, especially with the simple hand tools available within the bike’s small maintenance compartment. The bike became a mess, with various mechanical components strewn about the ground as he worked. He gnawed on some of the beef strips Roark had given him earlier to help pass the time, grateful the butcher’s gift alleviated some of his growing hunger.

  After removing the old gyroscope, Drak headed back inside the shop. The shopkeeper greeted him with a nod of approval as the old part was handed over.

  “Thank you,” the shopkeeper said as he adjusted the total on the register. “I’ll get this sorted for you.”

  Drak was relieved to see the cost drop significantly. He paid the adjusted amount and returned to his steam-bike, the new gyroscope in-hand. His anxiety grew as he realized just how long the entire reassembly process would take. Nalli would be expecting him soon, and the delay was probably going to make him late.

  As Drak mounted the steam-bike after spending another hour replacing the part, he couldn't help but feel frustration, despite the relief he held. The cost of the part had been a blow, but at least he’d managed to save a little. Now, he had to focus on making his way back through the crowded city to get back to the vineyard.

  As he weaved through the busy streets of Tribute, his mind was focused on getting home as quickly as possible. He passed by the towering monument in the city center once more, his eyes flicking up to the large clock affixed to it.

  Five o'clock. Not good.

  He'd definitely be late getting back to Nalli, but at least the steam-bike wasn't protesting against the extra weight now that the new gyroscope was installed.

  He sighed in relief at the thought, only to nearly lose control when something massive stepped dangerously close to him. Swerving sharply to avoid a cobble-stone curb, Drak barely managed to keep the bike upright, his heart pounding in his chest. Frustrated, he looked up, ready to curse, but the words died on his lips.

  Towering above him was a charcoal-grey direhound with luminous blue eyes, adorned in gleaming, angled armored plates that fit snugly over its massive form. A saddle was secured to its upper back, and on top of the saddle sat a rider. Drak's eyes widened in amazement. The rider was a woman with blonde hair tied back in a neat, high ponytail. She wore an impressive brown leather uniform, and the insignia on her shoulder—the silhouette of a direhound’s head with its fangs clamped firmly around the shaft of a sword-staff, and a wreath of vines, intricately intertwined to form the shape of a shield around it’s head—was unmistakable: she was a Mounted Expeditionary.

  She called down to him with an authoritative tone, her voice firm yet apologetic. “Sorry about that! Surge here sometimes gets ahead of me.”

  Drak, still awestruck, nodded dumbly as he stared up at her. The sight of the Expeditionary, with her commanding presence and striking beauty, left him momentarily speechless. She was the epitome of everything he'd dreamed about. The freedom, the adventure, and the partnership with a direhound. It was all right there in front of him.

  He swallowed and finally found his voice, however, it cracked as he shouted up to her. “It's... it's okay.”

  As Drak steadied his bike, the rider atop the direhound glanced down at him with a smile that softened her authoritative demeanor. “Surge is still getting used to the armor,” she explained, patting the large direhound on the side of his armored neck. “We’re training with it, but I think he’ll get the hang of it by the time we get to where we’re headed.”

  The direhound, Surge, responded to her touch with a non-threatening, guttural hum, and took a step backwards, his long dark tail swaying slowly back and forth.

  Drak couldn’t help his curiosity. He leaned slightly forward on his bike, feeling more at ease now that the initial shock had worn off. “How does he respond to having a rider on his back?” he asked upwards, his gaze shifting between the massive direhound, the armor, and the saddle.

  The rider laughed, a melodic sound that caught Drak off guard. There was something captivating about her presence, and he found himself watching her with more than just casual interest. “It takes a lot of patience,” she replied, her tone both playful and knowing, her striking light brown eyes looking down at him. “Surge and I have been working together since he was a pup. He’s strong and smart, but it’s all about trust and building that bond between us. Sometimes it’s like he can read my thoughts, but other times…” She trailed off, shaking her head with a grin. “Well, let's just say there are days he doesn’t make it easy.”

  Surge let out a familiar sound that he’d heard Nalli make right after drenching him with water. He was chuckling. Drak hid back a smile.

  He imagined what it must be like, riding atop a direhound like Surge. The idea of bonding with such a creature intrigued him, especially given his recent experiences with Nalli. “It must be a lot of work,” he said thoughtfully, wondering how many hours it took to train a direhound to carry a rider in full gear.

  “It is,” she agreed, her voice growing a bit more serious. “But it's rewarding. Surge is more than just a mount. He's my partner. We rely on each other out there, especially in the wilds.”

  Drak nodded, impressed, his eyes wandering to the impressive armor Surge wore. The angled metal plating, etched with the same intricate insignia as the Expeditionary’s uniform, covered key areas of the direhound’s massive frame, from the neck to the shoulders and down to protective guards over his legs. The craftsmanship was less beautiful than it was functional. Unable to contain his curiosity, he gestured toward the armor.

  “Expecting trouble?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I heard a crier earlier shouting about Expeditionaries heading into Eastwood. Said a town was on alert. Something I’d expect one to armor up for?”

  The Mounted Expeditionary gave a short nod, though her expression didn’t shift. “Eastwood’s another front. We plan to pass through the Expeditionary camp to resupply, but that assignment’s not mine. We’re bound for the borders of Khaz'rathul. Different problems, different monsters. There’ve been a series of skirmishes between the human settlements and the native creatures there. The Expeditionaries have been commissioned to help negotiate peace talks and settle disputes.”

  Drak frowned. “Peace talks? With what kind of creatures, more direhounds?”

  Her tone grew heavier, the skill of her experience evident in her words. “The Posek’s. Essentially big cats—mighty creatures, not unlike direhounds in stature, but far fewer in number. They’re cunning and ruthless when provoked. Highly intelligent, too. They’ve been known to use traps and other dishonorable tactics to fight. That’s why Surge is armored. We hope the sight of him might dissuade their aggression, but if not…” Her hand moved to the hilt of her sword-staff, resting there.

  Drak blinked, his mind reeling at the revelation. “Big cats…,” he repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “I didn’t realize there were other creatures like... well, like direhounds out there.”

  She glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “There’s a lot out there beyond human territory. Ardraelion is far bigger and far more dangerous than most people realize. Almost everything is larger and more savage here. It pays to be prepared.”

  Drak nodded slowly, his thoughts churning. He’d always known there were threats lurking beyond the borders of human territory in Ardraelion, but creatures like the Posek’s?

  Have you really been that sheltered, Drak? His mind drifted back to Nalli, her wildness and independence, and how little he truly understood about her world.

  Realizing he didn’t want to hold the Expeditionary up any longer, he smiled, though his mind was still turning over all the new possibilities. “I should get going. Don’t want to keep you.”

  “Take care,” she said with a nod, urging Surge forward. As she did, Drak’s eyes lingered on the saddle as they walked away. He noted how securely it was fastened, the straps running under the direhound’s chest and over his shoulders, and how it allowed the rider to move with ease atop her mount.

  The hint of an idea began forming in Drak’s mind as he revved the bike's engine and sped off down the main streets. He wasn’t sure what he would do with it just yet, but the encounter had sparked something within him. He just needed to figure out how to make the thought more tangible.

  The streets grew busier as the end of day rush came into full swing, and he found himself weaving between carts, pedestrians, and the occasional steam-powered carriage. The weight of the wrapped meat on the back of his bike pulled him slightly to one side, making every turn a delicate balancing act, even with the new gyroscope’s stabilizing assistance.

  As he drove, Drak couldn’t shake the image of Surge, the powerful direhound clad in armor, and the bond the rider had spoken of. The idea of working in such harmony with a being like that fascinated him.

  Lost in thought, Drak almost missed the towering gates of the city ahead. He glanced at the large clock mounted near the gatehouse and cursed under his breath. Two minutes to Six. The gates would close soon, and he couldn’t afford to be locked inside the city for the night. He revved the bike’s engine, urging it to go faster.

  As he approached the gates, the massive cogs began to engage, the metal groaning as the gates started to slide closed. Drak pushed his bike harder, the engine straining as he sped up. Just as the gap began to narrow, he squeezed through, catching the eye of one of the gate guards who shouted something in his direction. Drak didn’t stop to listen, only catching the word “idiot” as he passed, but he was through, back out into the open fields beyond Tribute, and heading home.

  With the city’s gate now behind him, Drak felt a wave of relief. The day had dragged on far longer than he’d planned, and he felt the stress of fatigue settle in. At least now he could get the moose meat back to Nalli and that would be enough to make up for his late return.

  The thoughts of the Expeditionary and her direhound still lingered in the back of his mind as he rode on. He couldn’t help but think about the idea of what might be possible with Nalli, and whether they could somehow find a way to work together like that. The thought stuck with him. He wasn’t sure what the future held, but the encounter had given him something new to think about.

  As the vineyard came into view in the distance, Drak felt anticipation and uncertainty. He did his best to shake off his nerves. Whatever happened next, he knew one thing for sure.

  Nalli was going to eat well tonight.

  Author's Note: You're halfway through Arc 1 of Vine & Fang. How are you enjoying the story so far? Consider leaving a comment or rating. I'd love to hear your opinion!

  Vine & Fang posted for free reading. Redistribution prohibited.