The Dragon Eater

The Dragon Eater

The Tharassas Cycle

Book One

J. Scott Coatsworth

Copyright © 2023 by J. Scott Coatsworth

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for the purpose of review and/or reference, without explicit permission in writing from the publisher.

Cover design copyright © 2023 by Sleepy Fox Studio

sleepyfoxstudio.net

Published by Water Dragon Publishing

waterdragonpublishing.com

ISBN 978-1-959804-29-1 (EPUB)

First Edition

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Also by J. Scott Coatsworth

Liminal Sky: Ariadne Cycle

The Stark Divide • The Rising Tide • The Shoreless Sea

Liminal Sky: Redemption Cycle

Dropnauts

Liminal Sky: Oberon Cycle

Skythane • Lander • Ithani

Liminal Sky: Tharassas Cycle

The Dragon Eater (Mar 2023) • The Gauntlet Runner (Sept 2023) • The Hencha Queen (Mar 2024) • The Death Bringer (Sept 2024)

Other Sci Fi/Fantasy

The Autumn Lands • Cailleadhama • Firedrake • The Great North • Homecoming • The Last Run • Wonderland

Short Story Collections:

Androids & Aliens • Spells & Stardust Collection • Tangents & Tachyons

Contemporary/Magical Realism

Between the Lines • I Only Want to Be With You • Flames • The River City Chronicles • Slow Thaw

Audiobooks

Cailleadhama • The Autumn Lands • The River City Chronicles • Skythane

This book is dedicated to my husband Mark,

who has always believed in me,

even when I didn’t believe in myself.

Acknowledgments

I want to thank my friends, Cari Zee and Tash McAdam, who encouraged me to write this series, and Angel Martinez and Kim Fielding, who were always there when I needed a shoulder to lean on.

I also want to acknowledge the fabulous Kelley York at Sleepy Fox studios for the great cover, and my beta readers, Jamie Lee Moyer, Kelly Haworth, Kristin Masters, Lee Hunt, Sue Philips, Timothy Bult, and Tony Farnden, as well as Gus Li, who edited the manuscript before submission.

And finally, I want to acknowledge Steven Radecki at Water Dragon Publishing, who took a chance on publishing this series after meeting me at BayCon. I am thrilled to be working with Steven and his team!

Prologue

Out of nothing came everything.

She awakened, feeling the dual tug of gravity. The world pulled at her from below, and two moons exerted their force on her from above, their demands filtered through numerous layers of igneous rock.

What am I?

An explosion of memory stunned her, shaking her to her nascent mycelium where they anchored her to the hard, rocky ground. Past lives flooded her, teeming in her mind, jockeying for attention.

Angrily she stuffed them away, not ready to face them yet. There were more important things to attend to first.

Where am I?

The hard, black crust of her spore shell cracked, and she extended a blood-red pseudopod to explore her surroundings.

The world around her was cold and dark, a large space devoid of light and life. She was all alone.

Withdrawing into her shell, she folded in on herself with a shudder.

She dipped into her troubled memories, skimming the surface. They supplied the answer. One of her foremothers had come here long before, descending from the frozen void to this alien world, carrying the hope of her people with her.

A new home.

The suppressed memories — a wealth of information and wisdom — bubbled just beneath the surface of her mind.

I have a past. No … that wasn’t quite right. It’s not mine.

But where were the others? She was all alone in a cold, strange place, but most importantly she was alive.

Why am I here?

Her memories called for her attention.

She contemplated them for a moment. They represented the past — someone else’s past. Did she really want to let it guide her?

Then again, she needed knowledge if she were to survive in this strange new world. Her foremothers had clearly failed. I can learn from their mistakes.

Decided, she pried the lid off that seething cauldron. Knowledge flooded her, wiping away her ill-formed conception about who and what she was and replacing them with certainty. Memories and ideas flowed through her like a tsunami, carrying with them the stench of failure from her foremothers. There were gaps — she knew that immediately, but still the sheer volume of them was overwhelming. The tide soaked her, a broken and mangled account of what had come before.

When it passed, she began to absorb all that she had learned. At last she knew who she was.

I am the spore mother. The last of her kind, with a chance to remake the world for her people, the Aaveen.

And one thing more.

This has all happened before. She wasn’t the first of her kind in this desolate place, but she was the only survivor.

Ready to face the world at last, she burst out of her spore, her red crown expanding in the dark place just as her memories had expanded in her mind.

She had a purpose — to transform this world for her own kind. The spore mothers who had come before her — who now were her — would guide her.

And this time I will not fail.

1

Petty Theft

Spin’s voice echoed in his ear. This is a bad idea, boss.

Shush, Raven whispered to his familiar.

He needed to concentrate. Cheek and jowl against the smooth cobblestones, he held his breath and prayed to the gods that no one had seen him duck under the sea master’s ornate carriage. The setting sun cast long shadows from a pair of boots so close to his face that the dust and leather made him want to sneeze. Their owner was deep in conversation with the sea master, the hem of her fine mur silk trousers barely visible. The two women’s voices were hushed, and he could only make out the occasional word.

Raven rubbed the old burn scar on his cheek absently, wishing they would go away.

"Seriously, boss. I’m not from this world, and even I know it’s a bad idea to steal from the sea master."

Though only he could hear Spin’s voice, Raven wished the little silver ay-eye would just shut up.

The hencha cloth-wrapped package in the carriage above was calling to him. He’d wanted it since he’d first seen it through the open door. No, needed it. Like he needed air, even though he had no idea what was inside. He scratched the back of his hand hard to distract himself from its disturbing pull.

An inthym popped its head out of the sewer grate in front of him, sniffing the air. Raven glared at the little white rodent, willing it to go away. Instead, the cursed thing nibbled at his nose.

Raven sneezed, then covered his mouth. He held his breath, staring at the boots. Don’t let them hear me.

A shiny silver feeler poked out of his shirt pocket, emitting a golden glow that illuminated the cobblestones underneath him. Boss, you all right? Spin’s whisper had that sarcastic edge he often used when he was annoyed. Your heart rate is elevated.

Be. Quiet. Raven gritted his teeth. Spin had the worst sense of timing.

The woman — one of the guard, maybe? — and the sea master stepped away, their voices fading into the distance.

Raven said a quick prayer of thanks to Jor’Oss, the goddess of wild luck, and flicked the inthym back into the sewer. Shoo!

He popped his head out from under the carriage to take a quick look around. There was no one between him and the squat gray Sea Guild headquarters. It was time. Grab it and go.

He reached into the luxurious carriage — a host of mur beetles must have spent years spinning all the red silk that lined the interior — and snagged the package. He hoped it was the treasury payment for the week. If so, it should hold enough coin to feed an orphanage for a month, and he knew just the one. Got it.

Good. Now get us out of here.

A strange tingling surged through his hand. Raven frowned.

Must have pinched a nerve or something.

Ignoring it, he stuck the package under his arm, slipped around the carriage, and set off down Gullton’s main thoroughfare. He walked as casually as he could, hoping no one would notice the missing package until he was long gone.

We clear?

Spin’s feeler blinked red. No. Run! They’ve seen you.

Raven ran.

He didn’t know how his strange little friend did it, but he trusted Spin. When his familiar’s far vision worked, he was almost always right.

Stop the thief! A guard's voice echoed down Grindell Lane between the shops that loomed over Raven like jagged teeth in the dimming light. Passersby turned to stare, but no one intervened.

Holy green hell, what’s in this thing? Raven clung to the package, his patched-up boots thudding down the cobblestone street. He said a brief prayer of thanks to El’Oss, the Old God, that Spin’s special powers were working.

He shot a glance over his shoulder at the pursuing guardsmen. A miasma of fog mixed with smoke lay thick across the city streets, lighting the sunset in the green sky behind him gloriously in red and gold.

You're daft as a gully bird, Rav'Orn. Stealing a package from the sea master's carriage in broad daylight? Seriously? If the Thieves’ Guild found out, they’d be after him again for stirring up trouble.

Still, he hadn’t expected three guardsmen to come after him. What in Heaven’s Reach did I steal, the Hencha Queen’s jewels?

A woman lay slumped in the doorway of a closed tailor’s shop ahead, The Knotted Purse, wrapped in a familiar blanket. Raven skidded to a halt. Where are they?

About a block away. You’re not as slow as usual today. Coming from Spin, that was almost a compliment.

Thanks. Raven ignored his companion’s snarky tone. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a single silver croner and dropped it into the roofless woman’s hand, ignoring her unwashed smell. Not everyone had a bathtub or a river to bathe in, after all. Get yourself something hot to eat, Scilla. He kissed her cheek.

Scill'Eya's eyes lit up, and a smile cracked her weathered face. A single tear ran down her dirty cheek, revealing the ruddy skin underneath, and she nodded. Nor’Oss bless you, Rav’Orn.

Spin’s voice chimed urgently in his ear. Let’s move it. They’re hot on your tail, boss.

But Raven was already off and running again, barreling down the street.

He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the roofless woman stumble to her feet and careen accidentally into the path of one of the guards, knocking him to the ground.

Bless you too, Scilla.

The garishly painted buildings of the city's commerce district blurred into the darkening green sky as he sprinted down the central street of Gullton’s main spine, the long, skinny, rocky protrusions carved out by the Elsp as she ran to the sea.

Rain slicked the cobbles, slowly evaporating into an earthy mist, equal parts water and manure. Which way?

Go left! You’re cutting it awfully close. Spin seemed almost as worked up as he was.

Raven swerved left and ducked under the skeletal beams of the new three-story wood-framed building that had replaced Landers’ Pub. Shame about that. He'd found some of his best marks there. Rich folk from Peregrine Spine, easy pickings after a long night drinking.

He burst out of the other side onto Yorkser Lane and slammed full-on into a fruit vendor’s cart, tumbling head over foot and sending apples flying everywhere. The package slipped out from under his arm to clatter across the street into the gutter.

Raven sat up and touched his pocket — Spin was still tucked firmly inside. You okay?

Spin was quiet. Whether surly or damaged, Raven couldn’t tell.

Farking hells. He should just leave the cursed bundle and get out of sight, but it pulled at him again, making him feel queasy. Godsdammit.

Then he saw a little chunk of silver, spinning on the cobblestones. He grabbed it and shoved it back into his ear. It melded to him again.

— coming! You need to haul ass.

Raven grinned. Spin was his usual truculent self — thank the gods. He sprang up and checked himself — no permanent damage, just a scrape on his left elbow. He snagged the package, wiping off the urse droppings as best he could, and took off again.

The vendor had pulled himself up off the ground, and now the man tried to grab him, missing the tail of his shirt by a hair. Damned gully rat! His face was red, his long stringy hair in disarray. Watch where you're going!

Sorry! He called back over his shoulder. In normal circumstances, he’d have stopped to help pick up all those apples, but he was a bit busy fleeing the law. Spin, where are they?

I can’t tell. You’ve got eyes. Use them.

Seven hells. Jor’Oss and his blasted luck had turned against him. Spin could see things he couldn’t, but sometimes the ay-eye’s mysterious ability just went away. Of all the godscursed times …

He glanced over his shoulder. No guards yet. Turning back, he almost ran headlong into a carriage made from the frame of an old flitter — the flying machine’s rotor had been chopped off, and wooden wheels added to make it mobile again. Someone had decided to paint the thing gold, and the results were more hideous than elegant.

He pulled open the door and slipped through the cabin. The startled inhabitant — a wealthy woman from Peregrine Spine, by the look of her and her rich silk dress, screamed.

Pardon me! Then he was out the other side, leaving her and her carriage behind.

He ducked around the corner at Tuckins Street, running down the short, narrow lane toward the edge of his namesake, Raven Spine, where the cliff dropped off to the thundering waters of the Elsp thirty meters below.

Good going, boss.

Just glad you’re still alive. For all that Spin liked to cut him down to size, he was Raven’s only constant companion. And friend.

He stuffed the package down his pants.

Nice to know you care.

Raven grabbed the spume-slick railing that lined the plaza at the end of the street and vaulted over it with the ease of long practice. He landed hard on the other side and slipped over the edge, lowering himself onto the first of the rusty metal pitons driven into the slate-gray rock long before.

A flurry of blue wisps surrounded him as if he’d disturbed them, their light painting the cliff walls an ethereal blue, before floating up into the air over Gullton and catching the sea breeze.

Weird little things. He shook his head and continued down. Nimble as an eircat, he descended hand over hand, grasping the wet rods tightly.