Read Brechalon for Free Online Page A

arm.
    Maro started and opened his eyes. They were red
from crying.
    “ My fingers got cut off,” he
said.
    “ All of ‘em?”
    “ No, just two.”
    “ One of them wasn’t your thumb, was
it?”
    “ No. It was the end
two.”
    Senta nodded. Then she climbed up into the bed
beside her cousin and wrapped her long skinny arms around
him.
    “ I bet it hurts.”
    “ Yup.” He snuggled closer and
leaned his head on her shoulder.
    “ Maybe you won’t have to work at
the print shop anymore now,” Senta offered.
    “ The print shop is ace. It’s my
fault I stuck my fingers in the press. I hope they don’t give the
job away…” Anything else Maro had to say was lost as he was finally
carried away by drug induced slumber.
    * * * * *
    Running Miss Dechantagne’s errands around the
city was not something that Zeah Korlann minded. It was his chance
to get out of the house and get some fresh air. It was his chance
to be away from the ever-present expectations of others. It was his
chance to be anonymous. Today he was headed to the millinery shop
for his mistress and then to the employment office for the
house.
    Just down the street from the house was the
trolley stop. The massive brown mare which pulled the trolley
turned one large brown eye toward him as he passed her and stepped
up onto the running board and then into the car. As he dug a
pfennig out of his pocket to drop in the glass money container, the
driver looked at him and gave him a friendly nod. He took a seat
near the middle of the carriage and folded his hands in his lap as
he waited for the horse to start on its way. There were only four
other people on the trolley—two older women that Zeah vaguely
recognized as servants from a house down the street, a young
soldier with red hair, and an odd looking man in a brown bowler
with a long nose and thick whiskers.
    Zeah’s attention was immediately drawn to the
newspaper being read by the soldier. The young man was reading page
two, leaving the headline staring the butler in the face. The two
inch high block letters proclaimed “Dragon Over
Brechalon.”
    “ I didn’t think there were any
dragons left in the world,” Zeah said to himself. “At least not in
Sumir.”
    “ There are a few,” said the odd
looking man.
    “ They say it’s old Voindrazius,”
said the soldier, peering over his paper. “They used to see him all
the time in Freedonia… in the old days. A hundred years or so
ago.”
    “ It’s not Voindrazius,” said the
odd looking man. “It says very clearly that the dragon seen over
Brechalon had metallic scales—some said golden scales. Voindrazius
was a red dragon.”
    Zeah didn’t see how the man could have read the
soldier’s paper from his seat, and he didn’t have his own. He must
have read it earlier in the day.
    “ I hope it doesn’t cause any
damage,” said Zeah.
    “ I’m sure it won’t. Dragons once
ruled this continent, but those few who are left just want to be
left alone. You’re Zaeri, are you not?”
    Zeah shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Yes.”
    “ Then you should know from the
scriptures—The Old Prophets chapter twenty six, verse
three.”
    “ Fear neither dragon nor storm,”
quoted Zeah. “Well, I still fear storms too.”
    “ How about eclipses?”
    “ Eclipses?”
    “ Yes, there’s an eclipse the fourth
of next month.”
    “ No, I guess I’m fine with
eclipses.”
    When Zeah stepped off the trolley, he found
himself on Avenue Peacock. Like Avenue Phoenix, both sides of the
street were lined with stores. But unlike Avenue Phoenix, here none
of the stores looked like stores. There were no large windows
showing off the wares that each establishment sold. They looked
more like banks or discreet gentlemen’s clubs. That made sense,
because like those places, these stores were for people with a
great deal of money. The stores were labeled, but they were labeled
with small letters just to the right of the doorways, rather than
large signs above