The Dragon Ring (Book 1) (11 page)

*

Back at the Earwighof, the witch huffed and groaned as she struggled to get out of the disintegrating gown that tore at every seam as she squirmed. Unaware she’d returned, Minnabec entered her chamber startling them both.

Earwig glanced over her shoulder. “What do you want?”

The duke’s hand and his papers quivered. “I brought you these documents to sign, if you will.”

“Drop them on the dressing table and be gone. I’ll sign them when I please.”

“I need them tomorrow.”

The witch ignored her disgraced husband. Her pudgy fingers struggled with the gown’s loop around the button at her indiscernible waist. A fingernail snapped and flew up in her face. She dodged the projectile and jerked back her finger, but the pressure on the remaining threads was too great. Splitting with increasing frequency, seams gave way all over. Bulges of Earwig rolled out everywhere that made her undergarments distort like a shifting, bulging sack of potatoes. The tattered gown hung in shreds.

A single giggle escaped Minnabec’s thin lips and he slapped his hand over his mouth.

The duchess grabbed a powder pot from her dresser and hurled it at him. He had already turned to flee when the giggle erupted into a reverberating roar as he scurried down the hall.

7:  Crisis at Hyemka

Though bitter, Tog soared northwest to Hyemka as a vulture then changed to human form once she sighted the river town. She landed and walked in along the main road until she came to the old cemetery just beyond the village where ancient, sprawling oaks shadowed the lichen-covered gravestones, many ajar from age. She took refuge in the small shack that housed the gravedigger’s tools. All afternoon the burial ground’s rusty gate swung in the breeze. The metallic screech resounded over and over. The unstable Tog scratched at the shack’s dusty boards until evening when she ventured out and searched the plots for a recent burial. She happened upon a fresh, gaping pit waiting for its purpose to arrive. Her devious mind hatched a plan for the open plot. While waiting for the boat, Tog monitored the grave to confirm availability through the day. At night, she kept company with a raccoon that prowled the graveyard, too.

During the full moon nights, her joints ached, but she took advantage of the night to fly up the river searching for Saxthor’s boat coming down stream. Tufts of hair would appear and disappear amid her feathers, so she flew high and hoped to remain unnoticed until the moon phase changed.

“I need to locate them before they get here,” Tog said to the raccoon that could care less as he overturned rocks and scratched in fresh grave dirt for worms or the gravedigger’s cast off food bits. “When I find the approaching boy, I’m going to dig that pit two feet deeper. Once I kill him, I’ll inter him deep so the grave’s depth appears as before. As the weeping relatives lower the casket of the next occupant into the ground, they’re unlikely to notice disturbed dirt at the bottom. They’ll bury their relative on top of Saxthor and both will find obscurity together. No body… no proof the witch was involved in his disappearance.”

Tog hung close to the graveyard during the day and scavenged for food after nightfall. Chickens and small animals disappeared in the early morning gloom, but no one searched the cemetery for the predator. Days passed and she grew more frustrated, until on a night search of the river, she found a man and two boys camped by a fire high on the riverbank. The next morning, she assumed wolf form and approached the camp as the travelers were packing up to leave.

“Store the food by the cabin door for easy access later, Saxthor,” Tournak said. “We should be coming into Hyemka by midday.”

Saxthor, that was the confirmation Tog needed. She loped back to Hyemka and reached the burial ground in time to confirm the grave was still open. Satisfied, she transformed again into her original female manifestation. While she waited, she strolled into town and appeared to scrutinize each shop and the goods displayed along the wharf.

These buildings are too close together for my purpose, Tog thought. I’ll have to lure Saxthor to the abandoned cottage by the cemetery.

*

“Hyemka isn’t much,” Saxthor said as the craft approached the little river town. “Can’t be a lot to do here for fun but fish.”

“And hunt,” Bodrin said.

Tournak nodded. “We’ll tie up at the edge of Hyemka just long enough to get fresh supplies. Watchers may already be among the shoppers. I want you two to stay with the boat while I find out what’s available in the market place.”

“Can’t we go with you?” Saxthor asked. “We’ve never been to Hyemka before. We should get to know the kingdom better.”

Tournak faced Saxthor, glanced at Bodrin, and then began to address the prince. “You are aware your life is in danger. Earwig isn’t playing; she has spies hunting for you as we speak. You can travel and explore the kingdom when you’re older. For now, stay with the boat and out of sight.”

The wizard tied up the vessel at the end of the wharf with the boys’ faces plastered in the small cabin window. He pointed his finger at them with a stern glare and both jumped back from the opening as he left for the town market.

“We’re prisoners,” Saxthor said. “You’d think we did something wrong the way Tournak keeps us hidden all the time.”

“He’s right, Saxthor, your aunt will kill you if she can.”

Bodrin pulled out a game for them to play while their guardian was away. Saxthor tossed a stick at the wall and sat down at the little table. He began to check the cards Bodrin dealt. They played only a few hands when Saxthor noted a shadow block the porthole light for an instant.

A call came from the dock. “Is anyone inside?”

Saxthor started to get up, but Bodrin pushed him down and went to the cabin door. Saxthor peeked from the window’s edge. A jittery woman was looking back and forth between the boat and the town. One hand clasped her throat; her skirt swayed with her searching movement.

“Hello,” Bodrin said. “Is something wrong?”

“Are you Saxthor? I must speak to Saxthor.”

Bodrin checked behind him in the cabin.

“Ask her what she wants.”

“Why do you need to talk with Saxthor? Who are you madam?”

The woman became more agitated. Her eyes were bright, almost piercing in her flushed face. “Pardon, sir, but we must hurry. Your friend, Mr. Tournak has fallen down a flight of stairs and they’ve carried him inside on a stretcher. He was calling for someone named Saxthor and said he’d be at the end of the wharf in a small boat. This is the only little vessel at the end of the dock. I thought…”

Sorblade still in the cabin, Saxthor popped around the door and out on the deck. Bodrin followed, his hand on his knife handle.

“I’m Saxthor. Where’s Tournak, how badly is he hurt?”

“They didn’t say, sir; he just called for someone to fetch you. If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to him.”

Saxthor stepped up on the wharf with Bodrin close behind. “Stay with the boat, Bodrin, one of us has to guard her. I’ll get Tournak and be back as soon as we can.”

“Wait, Saxthor, let me get him. You need to be out of sight in the boat.”

“No, Bodrin, Tournak called for me, I’ll go.”

With that, Saxthor followed the lady onto the road, but they didn’t travel towards the town. They rushed back up the roadway in the opposite direction.

“Madam, I thought you said Tournak fell. He went into town to the market. We’re going the wrong way.”

Much calmer and more deliberate, the woman walked fast and glanced back without slowing her pace.

“The people carried him to this cottage up ahead. They hoped with bed rest he might recover.”

“I understand,” he said. However, as the two went further up the road out of sight of the boat, queasiness crept into Saxthor’s stomach. We’ve not seen a single soul on the road, he thought. 

They reached the cottage that appeared dark and deserted. “It doesn’t seem like anyone is at home.”

The maiden’s delicate arm swept toward the little house. “They’re all inside with your friend, I’m sure.”

If men carried Tournak in, I’d think someone would be outside to direct help, he thought. Maybe I’ve gotten too suspicious. They must’ve gone back to their shops.

“It was kind of the townsfolk to take care of my friend. I guess he’s not too badly hurt if they’ve left already. Wonder why they didn’t bring him to the boat?”

“I’m sure I don’t know sir.”

The shape-shifter hurried on to the cottage. When she started up the front steps, Saxthor noted what seemed like a tuft of animal hair just above her ankle, which he thought strange. The woman turned and smiled as she jiggled the door handle.

“Silly me, I think they locked the front door for his protection. We’ll have to go around back.”

Saxthor felt something wasn’t right. He noticed another tuft of fur on her upper arm when she worked the door, but again put aside suspicion. Tournak was hurt and in pain, Saxthor had to help his mentor. The two went around to the rear of the house, but the woman went to the storm cellar door rather than to the back porch.

“Didn’t you say the backdoor was unlocked?” Saxthor asked.

“I’m sorry, sir, that door must be locked, too. I remember a way into the cottage through the basement. Come this way.”

She looked back with an encouraging smile, but she appeared sallow with dark eyes. Saxthor shook his head and followed the woman down dank, squeaking steps into the cellar’s gloom.

“This is the only way in? You’d think someone would have stayed with my friend,” he said.

The shape shifter failed to respond, but reached behind him to pull the cellar door shut. Saxthor jumped. His heart skipped a beat when the door banged down, plunging them into darkness.

“You sure this is the only way?” Saxthor asked. He squinted and felt for the candle he’d seen before the light disappeared. Unable to find the taper, he turned to the woman.

“Can you find your way in the dark?”

The woman he felt beside him flicked her finger lighting a finger torch. The small flame revealed she was changing already, her red eyes brilliant in the light. She lit the candle she’d snatched and placed it on a dusty shelf even as fur grew across her hand. Saxthor stumbled backward, tripped over something behind him and fell into a crate. The growling sphinx leaped and slammed down the container’s lid that sealed Saxthor inside.

Saxthor’s fright raised his energy level and as adrenaline coursed through his veins, an electric bolt shocked Tog and she jumped back. He felt the energy pulse, but didn’t understand what the surge was or what had happened. Tog rubbed her burned hands and backed away for a moment.

“So that’s why the witch wants you dead. She didn’t mention you had powers, too.”

“What are you talking about?” Saxthor grabbed the crate boards shaking them for all his twelve-year old muscles could muster, but he only succeeded in stirring up a cloud of dust.

“Let me out. Where is Tournak?”

“How should I know where the wizard is? He’s not protecting you now, is he?” The voice was strange coming from a cat face, but the animal had changed and the leopard was frightening.

“What’re you going to do with me?”

“I have to check the graveyard outside once more. You’ll learn your fate soon enough.”

Tog again assumed her woman’s appearance and slipped out of the basement. She left Saxthor in the dark, musty cellar and chill spread up his feet through his body. With cold, shock and fear, he began to shake in his makeshift cage.

*

Tog started to the graveyard and froze. On the dusty road in front of the cottage, a funeral party approached the cemetery gate. Pallbearers had just placed a casket over the open grave she’d been watching.

“Now! You had to come now?”

“The gravedigger has outdone himself with this pit,” the village elder said to the man beside him. That hole is a good two feet deeper than usual. We must consider a raise for him.”

Tog pulsed in her rage. Though weakened by her frequent transformations, she changed again, this time into a sand storm vortex that swirled to the graveside and almost chased the mourners. The biting sand blasted the people until they rushed towards town. Tog watched the last of them chattering to their neighbors about the most peculiar happenstance as they went. She started back to the cottage cellar.

“Now to terminate this Saxthor and bury him in the grave’s depths.

*

With arms laden with bulging bags, Tournak walked up over a rise in the road and Bodrin rushed out to meet him.

“What’s the matter with you?” the wizard asked, having seen Bodrin twitching on the boardwalk.

“Where’s Saxthor?” Bodrin asked.

Tournak dropped the sacks. “What do you mean, where’s Saxthor? Isn’t he with you… in the boat?”

Bodrin jerked sideways to search up and down the road around Tournak.

“The woman came for him. She said you sent her to get him, that you had an accident and needed him to help you get back here.”

“What woman? What are you talking about? I sent no one for Saxthor. Do I appear hurt to you?”

Bodrin turned this way and that as beads of sweat covered his face. Tournak put his hand on Bodrin’s shoulder. Both looked around up and down the thoroughfare.

“Which way did they go?”

Bodrin pointed up the lane. “I wondered why they rushed up the road when you went to market the other way. I should have never let Saxthor go alone.”

“Stop blaming yourself, Bodrin, you remained with the boat as I told you to do. I’ll go find Saxthor. You stay here.”

“I want to go with you.”

“I can’t guard both of you right now. Remain with the boat and get the supplies onboard. We’re getting out of here as soon as I get Saxthor and we return.”

As Tournak hurried up the road, he encountered the mourners scurrying back to town chattering about a bizarre sandstorm in the cemetery. His stomach heaved. He followed the spotty tracks of a woman and a boy that split off the road and led to the cottage. He jiggled the front door handle. As he turned sideways about to slam his shoulder into the door, he heard a struggle nearby. He spotted the graveyard in the distance and made out a woman dragging a large crate. He jumped off the porch steps in a dead run.