Dragon Quest

by Craig Askham

  “If I’d meant for you to be dead, you’d be dead!” he screamed, spitting saliva down the front of his robes. “Nothing in the oath forbids us from aligning ourselves on opposing sides, you arrogant little bitch! The very fact you were there suggests that your mission was to neutralise me!”

  Jas Toor calmed herself, waiting almost ten seconds before daring to answer. When she did, however, she was utterly in control once more.

  “And I would have done so without sending a lightning bolt through you.”

  “Then I will stand trial before the Council, young lady. You have made an enemy today that you will come to regret, I promise you that.”

  The female magic user rubbed her fingers on her bloody robes, then knelt in front of her new enemy and transferred her blood to his forehead. She murmured unintelligibly, during which time Rozen’s eyes widened in fear, and then she stood up again.

  “What awaits us on the other side of that portal, Itzhak Rozen?”

  Rozen fought the spell as hard as he could, tried clamping his lips together first and then, when he realised that wasn’t working, bit his lower lip until it bled. It was no good, though; Ben could see an answer brewing within the mage, and suspected the truth was going to escape those bleeding lips no matter what. A truth spell? He wondered what would happen if Jas Toor stepped through the Stillwater portal to Earth; would her magic spells work there, or was her magic tied to this world?

  “Six mercenaries with crossbows.” He spat the words out as if they tasted bad, and then spat on the ground for real. “Damn you, Jas Toor!”

  “You’ve only got yourself to blame, Itzhak, she said, coldly. “I’d have preferred to torture the truth out of you, but this spell achieves the same result faster. Who knows, I might even make it to a healer in time to be saved? You have a vested interest in my survival, old friend; if I die, you’ll absolutely be executed. You know that, right?”

  “Yes.” The reply came immediately, blurted and breathy. The spell had really taken hold now, it seemed. The answer pleased Jas, and she conceded a wan smile.

  “Good. Now, tell me where your angry little portal is going to take us, please.”

  “My home in Arunkumar.”

  Caspillo stepped forward. He’d picked up a fallen branch that looked sturdy enough to cause some damage, and was hitting it into his own palm. The look on his face was once again bored, but the threat was successfully implied nonetheless. He cleared his throat, almost politely.

  “And Farkas?” he asked, conversationally. “He has no idea how close behind him we are, and he knows he can’t outrun me, so he won’t risk it.” He took a step closer, bashed the branch into his palm again, and smiled. “Tell me where he’ll be hiding, mage.”

  Rozen shook his head, but his mouth was already opening. In desperation, he lunged to his feet and threw himself at the portal.

  “Cupboard in the corner of the room!” he screamed. “False back!”

  The portal sizzled as its creator made contact, then cracked like a gunshot as it rejected him and tossed him through the air like a ragdoll. The mage screamed, and landed in a heap at the edge of the clearing. Jas Toor couldn’t help herself, and clapped her hands together in delight.

  “Idiot!” she laughed and, if Ben hadn’t been wide-eyed in shock at the sight of the blonde man whizzing past his face, he would have found the sound delightful. As it was, he swallowed hard at the sight of Rozen lying on the ground with smoke wafting from his clothes.

  “What the…?” he managed, and Jas held her hands in front of her, joined together at the wrists.

  “The manacles negate all magic,” she explained. “He can’t travel through a portal wearing them.” She laughed again, although Ben could see that it hurt her. “He really should have known that. Poor bastard isn’t thinking straight.”

  Rozen didn’t move. Caspillo walked over to him and prodded him with his toe. Still nothing. The Stillwater man shrugged, and hit him over the head with his branch anyway. Then he reached down, grabbed a fistful of hair, and started dragging the definitely unconscious man back into the middle of the clearing. Once there, he dropped him in front of Jas Toor. She knelt down, took hold of the manacles, and whispered a few words. The magical bindings released Rozen immediately, and stopped glowing. For all intents and purposes, they were now just normal manacles. Jas spirited them away, back into the folds of her robes, where Ben assumed she’d gotten them from in the first place. Caspillo tossed his branch away and replaced it with his sword.

  “Let’s move,” he ordered, pointing his sword at Jas. “Are you strong enough to protect us from being attacked the second we pass through? No pressure, but we’re going to be sitting ducks otherwise.”

  The magic user stood up, swayed, and reached out to lean on Caspillo. He gently took hold of her arms and held her steady. She didn’t take her eyes off Rozen the whole time. Slowly, she shook her head.

  “I’m not in the mood for being defensive, Caspillo. I’ll deal with the mercenaries, you and your men just concentrate on grabbing your runaway.”

  “Jas, there’s really no need.” Caspillo’s expression was gentle, and for a moment Ben thought he was going to sweep her into his arms and carry her away. He didn’t, of course. Although Ben hadn’t known him long, he knew the laconic Stillwater man would never dream of doing such a thing. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Jas cut him off.

  “Don’t mollycoddle me, soldier.” Her tone was stern. “Just be ready to catch me.”

  Caspillo smiled; he obviously knew her well enough to know he was fighting a losing battle.

  “Very well.” He gave her a wink, and then raised his voice. “You all heard the witch.” She punched him weakly on the chest. “Get moving.”

  They all converged on the portal. Ben wasn’t particularly brave, but he was a damn sight more so than some of the others in the group, that much he knew. Nevertheless, in his mind’s eye he kept seeing a replay of a smoking Itzhak Rozen hurtling past his face. He hesitated.

  “Really?” He looked up to see Vantalon standing next to him. “After all you’ve been through, you lose your nerve now?” The older man’s face was unreadable, and Ben couldn’t tell if he was angry, disappointed, or just trying to spur him on. Caspillo and Jas Toor disappeared successfully into the portal. “Shall we?” Vantalon held a hand in front of him as if he was politely inviting Ben to walk through a door before him. He grinned, and it did the trick. Adrenaline kicked in, and he took a step forward.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Ben reached out and touched the spitting energy. It hissed some more, and his hand seemed to draw more of it towards him. It danced around his fingers, filling him with energy, pricking his skin with tiny pins. It was almost pleasurable, whispering sweet nothings and making vague promises about there being more where that came from. With a chuckle, he leapt into the portal before he could change his mind. Immediately, the pain took his breath away, along with any thoughts that this was going to be a fun experience. His whole body stiffened as if he was being electrocuted, and those pricking pins turned into stabbing swords. They entered his brain through his eyeballs, and he couldn’t force his eyelids closed to stop them. He was dying. Pain on this level could mean nothing else. Death was moments away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. In fact, he didn’t want to stop it. He wanted it. The peace, the quiet, the nothing. The absence of pain. Please, come quickly!

  But then the pain was gone, and Ben was through. He still couldn’t breathe, but the portal had taken pity on him and spat him out on its other side. Where? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember. All he could think of was the sound of that damn portal crackling behind him, and the fact that his legs couldn’t hold his weight any longer. Collapsing to his knees and fighting for breath, still feeling the energy rippling through his body, he felt something thud into his shoulder. It didn’t cause him pain, just enough curiosity to cause him to look down and
investigate. It was a long, thin piece of wood, with what looked like feathers on the end. What the hell? No, they weren’t feathers. Or were they? What were the bits called that went into the end of an arrow? To help with the aim?

  Things got weird after that. He heard Jas Toor scream something his implant couldn’t translate, and hoped to all the gods it was something magical. A huge bang followed and the floor shook, like one of the deities had decided to smite the ground with an enchanted hammer. No, it was an earthquake. Ben was already on his knees, but suddenly something knocked him forward. He fell onto his stomach, and felt the arrow slam deeper into his shoulder. Or was it the top of his chest? His heart? There was a loud yell that seemed to come from close by, but someone had wrapped a duvet around his head and made everything sound muffled. A duvet? There were no such things, not here. Not in…Arunkumar. Not in the wizard’s home. Yes, that was it. Arunkumar, and that yelling was coming from his own mouth. Pain came back again, and someone was branding that same spot where the arrow had been with a red hot iron. Like he was cattle. No. Ben, get a grip. It was the arrow. He could feel it now. Holy shit, he could feel it! He rolled onto his back and reached for it, tried to pull it out, but a hand clamped down over it and wouldn’t let him. Vision swimming, Ben tried in vain to focus on the face that followed the hand. Vantalon? Yes, Vantalon. Shaking his head in slow motion, lips moving but nothing coming out that Ben could hear.

  And then he was being hauled to his feet. His legs were like jelly and he wanted to just fall straight back down again, but whoever was holding him wouldn’t let him. Vantalon? Yes, Vantalon. Jas Toor was behind him, fainting into the arms of someone with hair so blonde it was practically white? Why did hair like that sound familiar? Caspillo? Yes, Caspillo. Jas had the right idea, though. Why bother standing when you could slump? He was trying to do the same, but someone wouldn’t let him. Vantalon? Get a grip, Ben!

  Things came swiftly back into focus and started moving, like someone had pressed play on their remote control after pausing to pop to the toilet. Was he in a movie? No. Stop being a dick. He looked up at Vantalon and offered him a grim smile through the pain. One of the mercenaries had shot him. He looked around, but there were no mercenaries to be seen. They were in a room, and it was warm. Way too warm for the amount of clothing he was wearing. He definitely wasn’t on a mountain anymore, because he was sweating. He could feel it rolling down his forehead and gathering in his eyebrows until they could no longer hold them, then he could feel salt stinging his eyes. It felt good, or at least acceptable, after the whole experience with the stabbing swords in his eyeballs.

  Ben blinked, and saw Caspillo lower Jas Toor to the ground. Others were arriving through the portal, that terrible portal, and dropping to their knees like he had done. They weren’t getting shot, though; Jas Toor’s magic had sent all of the mercenaries sprawling, and he could just about see a few random feet and hands resting on the flagstone floor. Out for the count. There was a table in the middle of the room, impressive and oak. No chairs, though. Standing room only. Nothing on the grey stone walls, not even any bad art masquerading as family portraits. The only light came from a wrought iron chandelier holding eight large, lit candles, and the only other item of furniture in the room was a floor to ceiling cupboard over in the corner.

  The cupboard! Caspillo was already on his way over to it. He flung the two doors open wide, and they crashed against their respective walls with a crack. The Stillwater man disappeared inside for a moment, and emerged again dragging his quarry behind him by the hair. Farkas! Just as Caspillo had suspected, and their captive mage unwillingly confirmed. Ben had to laugh. It didn’t feel like it, but Caspillo’s mission had been a success. Save the dragon, deal with Vykron, catch the runaway gamer. Tick, tick, and tick again. But why the hell did it seem like a defeat? He realised it could have something to do with arrow sticking out of him. That would do it.

  “Is it over?”

  “As good as,” Vantalon replied, and it was only then that Ben realised the question had come from himself.

  “I think I need a hospital.”

  “I think you’re right. We’ll take care of that as soon as we get to LA.”

  “LA?”

  “Los Angeles,” Vantalon said, and he was smiling. Ben wasn’t really with it, and the other man knew it. He was glad it was Vantalon. Caspillo or Meryt would be openly mocking him, telling him to man up. “The magician’s fucked-up torture device took us to Arunkumar, Ben. There’s a Stillwater portal not far from here that leads to Los Angeles. You’ll have used it loads of times, mate. You’ll remember when we get there. They have outstanding medical facilities. We’ll get you sorted right out, don’t you worry about that.”

  Ben nodded, the older man’s words sinking in and making sense. He was right; Ben had used the LA portal many times before. He knew the people there, including the doctors. They were good.

  “And Jas?” he asked. “They’ll help her, too?”

  “No, Jas Toor will stay here, Ben. In Arunkumar.”

  “But she’s injured…”

  “She knows people here, Ben. Others like her. She’ll be fine, I promise. Probably be healed before you, I reckon.”

  Ben became aware of crying in the background, and managed to shift himself in Vantalon’s grip to see the rest of their group. Caspillo was dragging his Farkas in the direction of a door that hopefully didn’t lead straight into another ambush, and Meryt was manhandling Jas Toor onto his shoulders. Rima moved slowly around the room, checking the mercenaries on the floor for any signs of life. She was in no hurry; the mercenaries were either dead or unconscious, so posed no threat either way. Ben didn’t care which they were. One of them had shot him, so they were getting no sympathy from him. Lee stood to one side, arms wrapped around himself, as white as a sheet as he rocked on his feet a little in order to calm down. Sorin and Talia were there too, standing close to each other but not touching. Not even looking at each other. They were both crying, but it was Sorin who was doing it loud enough to have captured Ben’s attention in the first place. No surprises there. Itzhak was nowhere to be seen, though. Had they left him in the valley? Did he even care? A thought occurred to Ben, one that wasn’t related in any way to what he had literally just been thinking.

  “But my jet is in Beijing.”

  Vantalon laughed, and started pulling him towards the door.

  “That was such a trillionaire thing to say.”

  His laugh was infectious, and Ben found himself joining in. I must be delirious.

  “No, you don’t understand. I gave my assistant the weekend off, and we haven’t even been away a whole day.” He fixed Vantalon with as deadly serious an expression as he could, thinking about the phone call he would have to make very soon. “Seriously, she’s going to kill me.”

  Twenty One

  Ben looked down at his watch, sighed, and swiped vaguely over the screen to cancel the call. Talia again. Curiosity had gotten the better of him the first time she’d called; they’d shared quite the experience after all. He’d answered and the first thing she’d said was that she and Sorry Moustache were no longer together. As if he was going to fall right back into her arms. Nope. There was only one thing bugging him, so he’d asked it. What was that shower gel she used that he couldn’t remember the full name of? Juniper Berries and…? She’d told him, of course. Juniper Berries and Lapp Pine. Of course, that was it! Lapp Pine! What a stupid combination, he’d told her, and then hung up. It had only been a week, and she’d called three more times. He was going to have to block her number before his date with Rima, he was pretty sure about that. First things first, though.

  He pulled the sleeve of his jacket back down over his watch, and carried on walking. He hadn’t left LA since arriving back and having that arrow surgically removed. The wound was healing nicely, and Caspillo had even turned up at his hotel with an expensive bottle of whisky to say sorry for any inconvenience caused. Ben had laughed pretty hard at that. Inconvenienc
e! He’d invited the Stillwater man in to help him drink it, of course, but the older man had declined with a snort and told him to piss off, he had far better things to do. His parting words had said it all, though. As far as trillionaires go, I suppose you were kind of handy to have around in the end. And then he was gone, off on his next suicide mission.

  Ben looked up as he walked. The streets of LA were teeming with weekend shoppers, and not looking where he was going caused him to bump into more than a few of them. The fake sky flickered as a glitch ran through the software, and the sun disappeared for half a second. Being down here made him feel uncomfortable, but at least it was better than walking above ground where the obligatory gas mask over his face would have been even worse in the comfort stakes. Besides, Trescothick had arranged their meeting for down here, so who was he to argue with the choice of venue?

  As if on cue, the man in question came into view. He looked strange in a t-shirt and jeans, but was still unmistakably military in his bearing. And tapping his watch with a shake of his head.

  “You’re late.”

  Ben shook his head, and tapped his own watch underneath the sleeve of his fake leather jacket.

  “You’re early,” he lied, and held out his hand. Trescothick grasped it and they shared the look that only people who had shared a terrifying ordeal could share. A slight nod of the head, and then look away. Ben pointed up at the sign above the door of their meeting place. Julie’s Tattoos. “Are we really getting these done here?”

  “It’s where Lee says he got his done,” Trescothick answered, with a shrug.

  “Seriously, we’re going to catch Hepatitis something-or-other.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the neon sign. The J flickered like the fake sky, and the second o was completely dark. “I can have the finest tattooist in California inside my hotel room, ready to start, in less than an hour.”