Sword Play (19 page)

This time he was incarcerated, not in a whitewashed jail cell, but in a luxurious suite of rooms on the top floor of the castle. Couches with pillows filled the place, painted murals lined the walls, and a bed heaped high with fluffy pillows invited sleep. While guards blocked the door and removed his trailing manacles, serving girls minced in and out, covering a low table with jugs of wine and silver platters of food. Sunbright went immediately to the window to stick his head out and thumped it on some invisible shield. So this was a cell too, despite the luxury and fine view of the city of Tinnainen and the mountains beyond. The door was just as solid as the one in the dungeon.

It took all Sunbright’s courage not to batter his raw fists and sore shoulders against the door and walls and window shields. But he’d tried that last night for hours, for naught. If, he argued to himself, he and Greenwillow were to get out of this place alive, he had to restrain himself, harbor his strength, and think his way clear.

So, semi-resigned, he sat on a couch, tore a wing off a chicken, buttered black bread, and ate and drank ravenously.

Until a slim pair of hands dropped over his eyes, and a familiar voice giggled, “Guess who?”

Reacting as if to an attack, the barbarian grabbed both hands and yanked. A slender female form catapulted over his head and crashed onto the table, scattering crockery and silverware and wine. The young man let go of the slender wrists in astonishment. “Ruellana?”

“Ooh,” the girl groaned. Rubbing her back, which arched her breasts nicely, she wiggled off the table, then slipped cool arms around Sunbright’s shoulders. “I mean, oooh, you’re so strong!”

“Ruellana … how … where … ?” He couldn’t even frame a coherent question. “How in the name of Mystryl did you get—”

“Hush, love.” She planted red lips on his, chewed at his mouth hungrily.

No, Sunbright thought, this wasn’t real. It was trouble. Whatever Ruellana was, she wasn’t a simple farm girl who’d gotten lost in the forest a hundred leagues from here. To travel that distance and be here in Tinnainen, she would have to either have magic or be a magical creature. She was a mage, or succubus, or witch, or nymph—not to mention the One King’s consort in the One King’s castle.

With a groan, he pushed her away. “Wait! Ruellana, how did you get here? Tell me, before I go mad!”

“Oh, but I’m mad too,” she breathed warmly into his face. Her green eyes shimmered before him like spinning jade orbs of enchantment. “Mad for you! I’ve worried so, Sunbright! I’m so glad you came to rescue me!” Her tongue tickled his lips. Still he spluttered, but she only smiled. “You don’t like kisses there? How about…”

A warning clanged in the young man’s mind, a premonition that should have sent him running in a blind panic. But he was helpless as she plastered her warm curves against him and his body responded in the ultimate betrayal.

Well, he thought philosophically, he’d survived the last time.

After an afternoon with Ruellana, Sunbright found himself reluctant to leave the comfort of the bed. Ruellana brushed her hair in front of a bronze mirror, then blew him a kiss. “I’ll be back quick as I can.”

Rising, he snagged her arm. “Wait. I must have answers. It’s not possible you’re here. I mean, it is, obviously, but—”

“Silly!” she chided. “I came through a secret panel.”

A touch to a painted mural made a wooden wall inset swing inward. A black staircase descended from the opening. Sunbright gaped while the girl slipped inside. “Later, love. Be good!” Then, before he could grab her, she pulled the tiny door shut in his face.

Growling with frustration, the barbarian inspected the panel from every angle, tugging at the edges until he chipped the paint, banging on it lightly at first, then harder.

Curiosity warred with caution, but finally the former won. Plying a carving knife, he dug away at the corner of the mural, destroying a pond painted with placid swans, until he could insert his finger into the hole. An inch inside, he felt rough stone. Wondering, he gouged away a knight’s black chest in the middle of the panel. He found rough stone behind it, too.

No staircase.

Ruellana had slipped through solid stone.

Sunbright was napping when the door rattled and four guards came to escort him away. Again he was taken to the rear of the throne room and made to wait. Though sundown was near, the One King still sat at his throne dispensing wisdom and justice. It was eerie, Sunbright thought, the man’s icy calm. He wanted to ask the guards if the king ever left his throne to eat or piss, but decided against it.

Another speech came and went; then Angriman took charge and escorted the barbarian into the presence of the king. Again Greenwillow gave him a brave smile, but it quickly turned into a frown as he was distracted by a simpering, red-clad Ruellana.

Without preamble, the One King proclaimed, “I have a task for you. Fulfill it, and you and the elf Greenwillow may depart unmolested.” Muck up and die, Sunbright mentally finished. “There lies a cave south of here. Within dwells the dread red wyrm Wrathburn. In the wyrm’s possession is a great book crowned with a ruby and laden with great and arcane lore. Fetch the book.”

Wyrm? Sunbright’s brain numbed at the word. Dimly he heard Greenwillow gasp. Did the king mean…

As Angriman towed him to the back of the hall, the barbarian followed like a wooden doll dragged by one arm. Wyrm? Did he mean …

“You’re a lucky man,” Angriman told him at the rear alcove. “You, like your unfortunate friend the elf, offered the king defiance, which is not tolerated in this kingdom. But the king cherishes forthright virtues such as honesty and bravery and loyalty, even misguided loyalty to a comrade. You’re very lucky.”

“When he said wyrm,” Sunbright finally got out, “did he mean…”

“Dragon, yes. Wrathburn is the great red dragon that’s recently made a home in the Windswept Mountains. He’s known to be unusually cruel, rapacious, and powerful, which is why no one’s challenged him yet, though he’s accumulated a vast hoard. The opening to his cavern is not far from here. That’s how the king, who is himself a mighty mage, learned of this book. He could sense its mystic aura even at this distance. The tome holds the collected wisdom of an ancient, vanished race who predate humans. The king wishes that knowledge and has chosen you to fetch it for him. You’re a very, very lucky young man. And if you can fight as well as you talk, you’ll succeed.”

Sunbright managed a weak “Thank you,” before the guards escorted him upstairs. They largely dragged him, for his legs had suddenly failed.

That night the barbarian lay abed, nowhere near asleep. He tried to sort out events in his mind and figure out how he’d come to this pass. He didn’t know much about kings, but it didn’t seem fair that this One King could order him hither and thither at a whim. But then, he’d learned early that life wasn’t fair.

There came a tiny click. He sat up, thrust out his hand, and felt a warm form covered by thin cloth.

Ruellana giggled and creaked onto the bed, running hot hands over his chest and downward. “You’re so clever, Sunbright. You’ll escape and make the king look a perfect fool! But we’ll be long gone by then.”

“Hunh?” Sunbright had a thousand questions to ask her—about secret panels and if she was truly the king’s consort and exactly what she was—but it was hard to think when she was touching him so. “What are you talking about? Escape? I’ll walk out of here a free man!”

Her roving hands suddenly stilled. “You and I, we escape! I’ll meet you down the road. There’s an inn …”

“But I have to fight a dragon!”

Nearly invisible in the darkness, she drew back, touching no part of him. “That’s madness. Surely you agreed to pursue this book only to get out of the castle alive!”

“No, I agreed to seek the book to save—”

“Greenwillow?” Her voice dripped frost. Maybe Ruellana was a real woman after all, the man reflected. “That elf is useless, thin as a rake and cold as a fish. Elves don’t mate with humans. They toy with them or hunt them. Surely even you know that. And no man of any stripe can battle a dragon. That’s the stuff of fables. The reality is you’ll go into that cave and never come out, except as a pile of steaming dragon shit.”

Sunbright held his head and tried to ignore the image. It was true; he’d pictured that and worse the night long. Only enchanted knights with magic lances and mighty war-horses battled dragons. He didn’t even own a shield. Of all the monsters, dragons were the worst. Even tiny wyverns no bigger than squirrels could burn your hand off, it was said. And of all dragons, red ones were the most wicked. But…

He tried to explain. “I’ve no choice. Greenwillow and I are bonded by blood. Even if I survived by leaving her to be executed, I could never call myself a warrior again, or even a fighter. I’d be nothing, have nothing.”

“You’d have me, every day and every night.” Ruellana tsked in the dark. “There are times when even the greatest of warriors must turn his back on foolish bravery.”

Flopping back against the headboard, exhausted and confused, he replied, “This is not one of those times.”

Suddenly his arms were full of warm, nearly naked woman. “Oh, please run away with me!” she pleaded. “You’ve no idea how horrid my life is! The king is a fiend, a monster in disguise! He beats and starves me, lashes me with a whip until the blood flows! I’ve waited so long, and only you—”

Dazzled by all this woman-flesh, Sunbright’s hands roamed from her smooth shoulders to the inviting curve of her buttocks. But his nearly forgotten brain had been dragged into the fight now, and he mused, “Funny, your back is as smooth as a cat’s. No scars, no scabs…”

Abruptly the woman tore away. The pleading stopped. Coolly, she asked, “You’d choose Greenwillow over me?”

Part of him growled, part pleaded. “It’s not that. I said I’d enter the dragon’s cave, and I shall. What happens then lies in the hands of the gods.”

One thing Sunbright knew about heroes: they were simple. Leaving mysteries to others, they made decisions, then acted on them. They never waffled or backed down.

Of course, often they died.

“Have it your way,” Ruellana said simply. Before Sunbright could grab her in the dark, she slipped away. Seconds later he heard the secret door—that was not a secret door—click shut.

Three days later, in a cold drizzle, an orc commander squinted and pointed at a narrow split in a monstrous boulder, then higher to a distant ledge marking a cave. There were nine stout fighters here, orcs and men, but the commander kept his voice low. “This cleft marks the beginning of a trail up to the cave mouth. You’ll enter here. In a while we expect to see you reach that ledge and pass within. If you don’t, we’ll come hunting you, and then you’ll crawl inside with both knees hamstrung. Is that clear?”

Sunbright nodded glumly. This squad had “escorted” him through the southern foothills and up the Windswept Mountains to see he didn’t run off. It had not been an unpleasant trip, but its purpose made for uncomfortable silences. On one hand, the soldiers admired his stoic bravery; on the other, they thanked their gods that it was Sunbright who went and not them. Now the commander’s short tusks creased his lips in a smile of gallows humor. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” And shifting his scabbard at his back, Sunbright entered the cleft and climbed.

Grabbing with hands and sliding feet, he found the wet trail so steep it was like climbing drizzle into the roiling sky. He wore his own clothes and gear, more or less: a new linen shirt the color of a pale sky, bearskin jerkin with the fur shorn even, leather baldric, and iron-ringed and strapped boots with sturdy hobnail soles. He carried Dorlas’s warhammer in a new holster on his belt, a waterskin, and haversack. But only Harvester was slung at his back, for no one in the castle thought he needed a bow and arrows. He knew they were right. This would be sword work or nothing.

Probably nothing, echoed an errant thought.

In short order, he reached a lip, which he crawled over, and a smell hit him like a slap in the face. A raw, reeking, eye-watering stink that took his breath away. Ducking his head first to catch a breath, he hoisted himself high enough to see.

Only slightly higher, twenty feet or more, was the shelf and cave. Here below the shelf were great, heaped mounds of brown-black gunk that reeked of sulfur and sewage. By luck, rain had dampened the odor, or it probably would have poisoned him.

“Well,” grunted the barbarian, “bears don’t dung up their caves. Why should dragons?”

Holding his nose, breathing shallowly, he cast about to the right and left and finally found a crack he could follow up to the shelf. He was actually in a hurry, he thought ruefully. Anything to escape this stink. A random thought intruded: now he knew why dragons moved their caves occasionally. Too bad he’d probably never tell anyone.

Picking over an older pile of dung bleached tan by wind and rain, he saw something glitter amidst the dried clumps. Kicking with his foot, he overturned a fluted helmet—with a brown-stained skull still inside. Ruellana’s words about leaving the cave only as dragon shit came to mind and wouldn’t go away.

Still, he had no choice but to persevere, ignoring the idiocy of what he was about to do. On shaky legs and trembling hands, Sunbright crawled up the crack and reached the fabled shelf.

And the yawning cave behind.

The cave mouth was tall enough to take a ship under full sail, wide enough to admit spread wings. After about twenty feet, the interior grew dark. From inside came twin smells, nauseating as they tried to overpower one another: a hot, brassy stink like rust burning off an iron pan, and the sweet, cloying, throat-gagging odor of rotting flesh. Holding his breath, the barbarian detected the faintest tiny hint of a sound, as of wood being sawed: snoring.

Shaking all over, Sunbright nearly sliced off his own ear clumsily drawing Harvester from its back scabbard. He took a step, then remembered to turn and wave at the puny orcs and men in the middle distance. They waved once, and hurried away.

Crouching in the icy rain, Sunbright admitted the cave would at least be warm and dry. Funny though, how the old legends never mentioned the heroes were afraid. Perhaps, then, he’d never become a legend. Just another skull in a heap of dragon dung.