The Sword And The Dragon (13 page)

He glanced at her again. This time, he stopped in the middle of the Way and roughly turned her to face him. She didn’t resist or protest.

Her face was exotically beautiful, with huge, dark doe eyes, and a small, slightly upturned nose. From just below one eye, like a permanent tear drop, a pink knife scar trailed down her cheek. Her full lips were painted a faint strawberry color, and above her eyes, on her eye lids, was a sparkling, bluish green powder. Her mouth was set in a determined slant, but her eyes looked to be pleading for something.

“Yes I am,” he answered her question. His eyes had found her cleavage again, and he couldn’t seem to pull them away. He could feel himself blushing, but was helpless to do anything about it.

She didn’t seem to mind his exploring eyes at all. Her expression didn’t change and her eyes never left his. 

“We need a climber.” Her tone was matter of fact, and conflicted strongly with her beauty. “The job should only take a few days. The rest of the time will be spent traveling, a long week at my best guess.”

Her lips spread into an inviting smile, and she suddenly resumed her stride leaving him gawking at thin air.

He hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. He quickly caught up to her and resumed his place at her side. He noticed that her skin-tight leather britches fit her rump perfectly, and that her sword’s hilt was modestly jeweled. He waited for her arm to hook into his again, but it never did. He found it disappointing. When she had touched him before, he had felt as if he were floating. He longed to feel that sensation again.

His mind was churning now, searching for reasons to go with this beautiful woman wherever she led him. A dozen reasons he shouldn’t go came flooding into his mind with the others. He had to find out more about this job, and there was no doubt that he wanted to find out more about her.

“Where would we be going?” he asked. 

“Into the Southern Marshlands,” she answered, as casually as if she went there every day. Gerard began to wonder if the wild stories he had heard about the place, and the creatures that dwelled there, were only exaggerations. This woman wore a thick armored vest and carried a fancy sword with a jeweled hilt, not the type of things a person would wear if they were afraid of where they were going. She was only a girl really, no bigger than, and not much older looking, than he was. If the idea of going into the marshes frightened her, it didn’t show at all.

“What in the world would you need a climber in the marshes for?”

The idea of using his ring to have her spill the truth of it all crossed his mind, but he stopped himself. He wanted to see what she told him of her own will first.

“I cannot just blurt out the nature of my campaign,” she answered. A slight look of frustration crossed her face. She stopped and then hugged him to her. He couldn’t help but feel the softness of her breasts pressing against him, even through the thick leather vest. 

“Some would try to take what we seek before we get it,” she whispered into his ear. Her breath was warm and sweet, and made his head swim. “Others would conspire against our efforts. I must be sure that you are trustworthy before I share the details with you. The fact that you are interested is enough for the moment.”

She backed away a step, and then hooked her arm in his again. She had to pull him along to get his feet moving.

“To answer your question though, out in the deep marshes there’s a place called the Dragon’s Tooth. Oh, don’t look so frightened. It’s only called that because of its shape. There’s a cavern in the side of it, up good and high. What we seek is in that cavern. We need a climber to go up and get it, or at least to make a rope way up for a few others to climb up.”  

Gerard was satisfied with her answer, but the idea of using the ring was starting to consume him. He wanted to feel its power coursing through his body as much as he wanted the beautiful Dakaneese girl beside him.  Without further thought, he used the ring, and told her in his mind to kiss him.

It was in that moment, when her warm soft lips met his, that Shaella knew she had him. She wasn’t sure where the urge to kiss him had come from, but it didn’t matter. The kiss had sealed his fate. The look of pleasure in his eyes told her that he was putty in her hands.

The burn of the magic in Gerard’s blood accompanied by her hot, wet, probing tongue was a feeling like none he had never known. It was ecstasy beyond reason, a sensation, that from that moment on, he wouldn’t be able to resist. He was addicted.

Over on the archery lanes, Hyden put three arrows deftly into the Wizard’s Eye, and the next two into the King’s Ring, from both fifty and one hundred paces. Two other men matched the feat. The sole elf that was participating in the preliminary culling didn’t bother to loose his arrows at fifty paces at all. Instead, he put four arrows into the Wizard’s Eye at one hundred paces. Then, with a contemptuous scowl at the awed group of human contenders, he backed fifty more paces away, and arced his last arrow into the edge of the King’s Ring as if it were nothing. It was amazing.

Hyden had only put four in the Wizard’s Eye twice in his life. It was hard to do, and the elf had made it look easy, but he tried not to get discouraged. Since he had done it before, he knew that he could do it again. If he wanted to win the competition, he would have to do it on the morrow. He’d have to do it in front of a great crowd of onlookers too. The few dozen spectators, who had watched the culling today, had made him fairly nervous. He would try his hardest though. 

The elves’ smug confidence, and arrogant attitude towards the other competitors, gave Hyden a better understanding of his people’s desire to beat them. The yellow-eyed devil thought he was too good to even speak to the humans. After the hundred and fifty pace lob into the King’s Ring, Hyden had complimented the elf. The cocky bastard had smirked and walked away, as if annoyed by the respectful words. 

The two other elves who had watched the culling take place seemed to share this contempt for the other archers. They watched, with narrowed brows on their skinny, pointed eared faces, and mocked and heckled each time a man’s arrow missed the center mark. It was no wonder that the Elders, and most of the giants, spoke of the elves return to the land as if they were a plague. At the moment, Hyden didn’t want to think of the morrow’s competition. He had made it through the culling, which had started with over thirty contenders. The field had been narrowed down to four. He decided to be pleased with that accomplishment and enjoy the night’s main event. He was ready for “The Brawl.”

All day people had been talking about it. The Western Lion Lord, whose name was already carved in the Spire for his victory of a few years ago, was to take on the Seaward Monster. The monster was a tattoo covered mountain of a man, who made his living toting and standing ships spars and mast poles. Hyden had never seen the sea, or a ship, much less a mast pole, but he had seen a riverboat, with a sail, and knew that that pole would have weighed as much as a shagmar beast, or a full grown bull moose. He had listened closely to the descriptions of the kind of ships that this Seawards man helped build, and knew that it was no typical occupation. The man was a freak of nature they said. Possibly, half giant, someone had suggested. Hyden knew that the last statement couldn’t possibly be true, because Berda had told him that giants and humans couldn’t interbreed. She had said that the offspring came out feral, but, nevertheless, he was intrigued about the event.

In every corner of every space, wagers were being made, and stories about the two combatants were being told. Hyden had watched the Lion Lord win his battle against the Valleyan Stallion a few years ago. It was a long and brutal fight. The Lion had outlasted the Valleyan. He won with a late flourish of hammer blows. Hyden remembered vividly, the screams and cheers of the onlookers, and the curses from those who had lost their wagers. There had been a dozen more fights in the crowd after the Brawl had ended. Hyden remembered being afraid that he and his father wouldn’t get free of the mass of people without being pummeled to death.

Gerard hadn’t been old enough to go to harvest that year, and their mother had kept him at the selling tent during the Brawl. Hyden would never forget the bond he and his father had formed that year. Hyden had only harvested one lousy egg, and had been teased to tears on the long walk back from the harvest lodge to the festival. His father had held that single egg out until all the others had been sold. Then, he had acted like an auctioneer between three potential buyers. When the deal was done, Harrap had handed Hyden a fat little sack of gold, patted him on the head and said, “Your single egg was the best egg of the whole harvest, son.” That one egg had sold for what three eggs had sold for earlier that day. No one in the Skyler Clan dared make fun of Hyden’s one egg harvest after that.

When Hyden made it back to the clan’s group of tents and pavilions, his pleasant memories were shattered. His father’s mood, and now Uncle Condlin’s, were foul over being tricked into selling eggs to a spell worker, and it made Hyden want to hurry away. He only stayed long enough to feed and tend the hawkling chick.

The women of the clan were selling beaded jewelry and woven blankets that they had made during the year, and some pelts that the men had hunted and trapped over the last winter.  He asked them if anyone had seen Gerard, and he complimented a particular bracelet that his mother had made. 

No one had seen Gerard for awhile. After searching this whole side of the upriver Way, where his clan had more less taken over, Hyden decided to go buy his brother a wizard’s hat and a good pair of horse hide boots like he had promised. On his way from the clan’s area, he was cornered by two of his uncles. They interrogated him about the culling, and warned him not to get drunk, or injured, between now and the competition. They gave advice, and though he didn’t want to think on the matter, he listened politely and promised that he would do his best. Eventually, he broke free of them and went out into the Ways.

Later, he found himself searching for Gerard. He wanted to treat his brother to the special seats he had managed to acquire for the Brawl. When that was over, he would give his brother the presents he had bought for him.

He looked for Gerard in a few places, and then he saw the silver-haired old wizard’s pavilion and decided that Gerard would’ve been tempted by such a display. He was disappointed when he didn’t find Gerard there. 

On the way out of the fancy tent, he turned towards the Spire, and ran face first into a pair of fully armored men. He mumbled an apology, tried to step around them, but they mirrored his side step, and continued to block his way. Hyden immediately recognized the white rectangular patch over their breasts. It had a black sword running across it like a stripe. It was the banner of the Blacksword Warriors of Highwander. A shiver of fear ran through him. These were Willa the Witch Queen’s men. It was said that she fed her enemies to her soldiers in their stew. Others said that her men cooked the dead right on the battlefield and ate them on their own. At the moment, Hyden wholly believed it. One of the men was smiling wickedly, showing a mouthful of jagged, half rotted teeth. They looked to be pointed at the ends like fangs, and both of the men smelled of sweat and filth.

Hyden tried to get around them again, but one of them moved to block his way a second time. 

“You want to pass?” The man snarled. His breath smelled worse than his clothes. “A pint will get you by.” The man chuckled and elbowed his companion.

Hyden was just about to turn and run to his clan’s section of the Way, when a sharp boot tip came up between the man’s legs from behind. It caught him just under the cod-piece, and doubled him over with a grunt. The other Blacksword soldier drew his sword and whirled to face the attacker. He wasn’t fast enough. A Raven haired woman, who moved as fast as a mongoose, pushed the point of her dagger into the man’s throat.

“Go find someone else to bully Barton!” She commanded. Then she pushed him away as if he were a child.

The wide-eyed soldier grabbed his doubled over companion’s shoulder plate and hauled him to his feet. It was obvious that he recognized and feared the woman, and the two men took special care to avoid Hyden, as they eased into the crowd and disappeared.

“Shaella,” Gerard spoke as he stepped out from behind her. “This is my brother Hyden. Hyden, Shaella Ga’shen from Dakahn.”

“Thank you,” Hyden said stupidly. He was dumbfounded. He couldn’t imagine how Gerard had come upon this beautiful woman, much less how he had managed to gain her acquaintance.    

“You’re most welcome, Dar Hyden,” she replied in her heavily accented voice. She threw in a little head bow with her words that made Hyden feel even more out of place than he already did. But what she did next mystified him completely.

Shaella turned and ran her finger lovingly down Gerard’s nose, and smiled brightly. 

“Think about my offer Gerard,” She told him. Then, in an almost girlish gesture, she tiptoed up to his lips and quickly kissed him before rushing away.

After she had gone, Gerard grinned at his brother triumphantly.

Hyden started to make a comment, but found that he couldn’t even manage to speak.

The two brothers walked the Ways of the Festival together, taking in the vastness and diversity of the carnival like atmosphere. The sun had left the sky, but it wasn’t quite dark yet. 

As they weaved through the crowds, Gerard told Hyden about Shaella’s offer. Hyden found that it made him jealous. Both he and Gerard had dreamed of finding fame and fortune somewhere beyond the sheltered little world of their clan. Hyden was about to say something about his feelings to his brother, when a great gout of fire erupted up into the air before them. The sound of drums filled the area and a man whirled and jumped, then acrobatically turned a flip, before landing perfectly on his feet to blow more fire up out of his mouth. 

He was bald, and painted bright scarlet from head to toe, with wicked symbols painted in black on his arms and chest. He wore only a loincloth, made of some wild animal’s skin, and he held a fist sized skull of what looked to be a cougar, or a mountain cat, in each hand. Every so often, the captivating drumbeat would stop dramatically. The man would arch his back so that he was facing painfully skyward, then another streaking blast of flame would shoot forth from his mouth, causing the people around him to scream with terror and delight.