Dragonfang

by Paul Collins

  Not half as surprised as you would have been if my breasts had not been bound, thought Jelindel.

  Helda seized Jelindel’s hand again.

  ‘The skin of your palm is all hard and callused, yet the back of your hand is as smooth as a girl’s.’ She looked Jelindel in the face, then ran her fingers down her neck. ‘Did anyone ever tell you what long, soft eyelashes you have?’

  ‘Ordinarily I don’t allow people this close,’ Jelindel managed.

  ‘I would love to feel them brushing against my cheeks.’

  Jelindel edged away until she felt the wall at her back. ‘You’re most kind, Helda, but I’m a sailor, and you’re a lady. The only girls I keep company with are less than ladies …’

  ‘Harlots. My goodness. How utterly romantic. What are they like? I have never met one. Would I look alluring dressed as they dress? How do they dress, how do they speak? You must tell me everything!’

  Some hours passed and it was with considerable relief that Jelindel and Daretor eventually retired to the guest suite and bolted the door behind them. There were two bedrooms and a bathroom leading off a parlour. Jelindel realised that for the first time since they had met, she was finally alone with Daretor. He dropped his rollpack to the floor and ran his hand across his unshaven face.

  ‘Thank the gods, I could not have taken much more of Hargav’s, that is, Hargrellien’s sisters,’ he sighed, putting his hands on his hips and grinning at Jelindel.

  Does he mean her sisters, or does he mean what the little vixens were doing to him? thought Jelindel. Well, I don’t care. I’ve had fights to the death that were less harrowing than the hours just past.

  Before Daretor could react, Jelindel slid her arms around his chest and pressed her lips very firmly against his. He wriggled with surprise for a moment. After what seemed like an eternity, she felt his hands pressing very lightly and tentatively on her back.

  ‘Sorry, Daretor, sorry, sorry,’ she whispered, pressing her cheek against his. ‘Nine hours of those overdressed little moths fluttering all over you was more than I could take, especially after I had travelled to another world to fetch you back, then sailed around the continent without so much as being able to put a hand on your knee.’

  ‘I see, I think,’ fumbled Daretor. ‘I – I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘And if you want me to join the war against the Preceptor with you, I will. Although I feel we’re better off striking him where he least expects to be struck. That is my answer if you’re wondering. Yes. Definitely yes.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ laughed Daretor. ‘I only suggested it to see if you wanted to stay with me.’

  ‘You did?’

  Daretor smiled with uncertainty.

  ‘But Daretor, why didn’t you not just say that? You would have saved us being bombarded by those tiresome sisters the entire afternoon and evening.’

  Daretor suddenly felt tired. ‘You are a countess, Jelindel. And I am a wanderer. Would that my lot in life had been different, but there it is. Now I’m a wanted man with a price on his head.’ He sagged further. ‘And a diminished man at that.’

  ‘It’s still you in that frame,’ Jelindel reminded him. ‘As for the price on your head? You forget that I share that particular problem.’

  ‘These are bad times, Jelindel. And I suspect they will get worse before they get better.’

  ‘And bad times are to be shared.’

  ‘If any harm came to you, I would …’

  ‘Daretor, for all your courage and goodness, I sometimes worry about you. The Preceptor’s war is something we can skirt on our own terms. Q’zar is a large world. And his power doesn’t extend over more than one third of a single continent.’

  Daretor pulled her closer. ‘It’s a wonder that you like me in spite of being in Zimak’s body. I have lost everything, yet you still want me.’

  They kissed again, and somewhere in the distance a bell rang the hour.

  ‘We should retire – to separate bedrooms,’ whispered Jelindel. ‘No offence intended.’

  Daretor pulled away in shock. ‘Of course. I would always do the honourable –’

  ‘Mention honour in my presence one more time and I shall seize you by the collar and punch you in the face. Now off to the bathroom with you, and please don’t be too long.’

  Daretor picked up his rollpack and heaved it into his bedchamber. Then he went into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and rubbed his teeth with a cloth. When he opened the door again, Jelindel was standing there with a towel cloth over her shoulder. She looked different in a subtle sort of way, Daretor realised. Then her arms were around him again.

  ‘This is what I feel like without my breasts bound,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘I know it’s not much to leave you with for the rest of the night, but give me a chance to do some research on how to postpone motherhood, and our nights will become much more entertaining.’

  ‘Can I help?’ asked Daretor.

  ‘Only if anything needs to be bought that exceeds my ability to endure embarrassment. For now, good night.’

  Daretor tracked Zimak down in the Beer and Bugle on the eighth day back in D’loom.

  ‘Big guy, noisy, likes showing off his chest, and likes impressing girls?’ said the serving girl, when Daretor gave her a description of the man he was seeking.

  ‘You appear to have his measure,’ said Daretor, sullenly.

  ‘Try the third door along, after the tap room. He was asleep last time I looked.’

  Zimak was on the floor, asleep on a rug with a blanket draped over him. Daretor entered, looked around, then kicked him lightly in the ribs – it was, after all, still his body. Zimak stirred, blinked, then sat up.

  ‘Gah, Daretor, watch the merchandise. You have my body looking good,’ he said, yawning.

  ‘Which is more than I can say for you,’ retorted Daretor.

  ‘Show some respect, or I may decide to keep being you for a measure longer.’

  ‘It will take years to strip away the fat and restore my muscles,’ said Daretor, shaking his head. ‘Bags under the eyes, dirty fingernails, and you reek of piss. Don’t you care what you look like?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t care much for what you look like. It’s been a treat living as you. I can do what I like with no regard for the consequences.’

  ‘You seldom worried about consequences before.’

  ‘Ah, but now you can take the blame. What is the hour?’

  ‘Approaching evening.’

  ‘Wonderful, the hour for the night’s revelry approaches.’

  ‘I find it odd to be in your body after seeing you in mine. You had no great physique, but your body was healthy. No poxes, injuries, or ill effects from the drink and your rather squalid upbringing.’

  Zimak got lazily to his feet. ‘Ah, but I was always careful. I had so little to offer, I had to treat what I had with great care. Now that I live as you, it hardly matters. One day, when I see fit, I shall give yourself back to you. Life owes this to me.’

  ‘When will that day be?’

  ‘Some day. Maybe some day soon.’

  ‘Restoration is a lot easier,’ said Daretor. ‘The spirit has an easy time of it, returning to its rightful place. I have been researching it with Jelindel’s help. And the pentacle gems need to be placed somewhere safe. We thought you might put aside your self-indulgence, but I see that we were wrong.’

  ‘Well then, it’s “we” now, is it?’ He pushed past Daretor and lingered by the door. ‘When I say we are to swap back, we can do so. Meantime, I believe it is time for the first drink of the night.’

  Daretor met Jelindel in the market. She was carrying several books in a sling bag.

  ‘Ah, Daretor, you got my note. Thank you for coming so quickly. We have an appointment to meet Jing.’

  ‘Who is Jing?’ asked Daretor, warily.

  ‘Jing is a very helpful person.’

  ‘Helpful in what way?’

  ‘You know how babies are made?’


  ‘You know that I do.’

  Jelindel smirked. ‘Well, Jing sells ways of not making them.’

  The colour drained from Daretor’s face, and he stopped so suddenly that Jelindel had to turn and walk back to him.

  ‘Oh, damn, I forgot to rewrite the sentry schedules for the mansion,’ babbled Daretor. ‘I’ll just hurry back and –’

  ‘You will come with me,’ said Jelindel, taking his arm and leading him in their original direction again.

  ‘This is not men’s work, Jelindel. Surely you are able –’

  ‘Stop being a coward. Now we are going to have to pretend that I am a friend, and that I have come along to help you make a purchase to, ah, do the right thing by your lady.’

  ‘You mean because I am supposedly too embarrassed to make the purchase myself?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I won’t have to do any pretending for that part.’

  ‘Daretor, please tell me that you and I will not be your first time,’ said Jelindel, putting a hand to her forehead in mock alarm.

  ‘Well, ah, no, I’m shamed to say. There was that dark-haired girl in the Valley of Clouds, you might remember her, and there were several others. At times it was hard not to … keep up appearances. There was Zimak, of course, forever making comments on my manhood.’

  ‘That’s a relief. Having both of us trying to work out what to do would have been a bit of a farce. Perhaps we have Zimak to thank for that, at least.’

  ‘You’re not angry?’

  ‘Well, I knew about that dark-haired girl. Ah, there is the stall of Madame Jing’s Special Potions, Herbs, and Devices.’

  ‘Madame Jing?’ exclaimed Daretor. ‘Oh, no, I’d rather kill myself. I couldn’t face a lady physician. Not for this. Couldn’t I just wait outside?’

  ‘Courage, Daretor. Madame Jing is probably eighty, and too shortsighted to recognise you again.’

  Madame Jing’s stall was in a small tent that had ‘Scrogman’s Ointments’ painted gaudily over the flap.

  The old crone weighed more than Jelindel and Daretor combined, and had a cleavage on display that was the area of a large dinner plate.

  ‘Zimak, you little devil,’ Madame Jing roared, eyeing Daretor with a keen eye. She attempted to get out of her chair, floundered, and sat back down heavily. Another heaving effort had her swaying on legs the size of mature tree trunks. ‘Have not seen you in ages,’ she exclaimed, throwing her arms around Daretor and almost smothering him in breasts and black, curly hair. ‘Back for another bag of Madame Jing’s special enhancer herbs?’

  ‘I am afraid you are mistaken, Madame Jing,’ said Jelindel, pointedly. ‘This is Daretor, from Gratz.’

  ‘Oh, my goodness, I am sorry,’ laughed Madame Jing. She gave Daretor’s biceps a lingering squeeze before releasing her catch.

  ‘No harm done, most gracious and learned lady,’ replied Daretor, putting on a much stronger Gratzian accent.

  ‘My goodness, and manners too. You are most obviously not Zimak.’ Her eyes turned misty. ‘Pah! Life is sad, is it not? I always fall for the wrong men.’ She staggered back to her seat and collapsed. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘I am Jaelin, Daretor’s friend,’ said Jelindel. ‘Daretor has a sweetheart, and while they are very close, he is reluctant to, ah, get her into an unfortunate condition because of … circumstances. He is also a little shy about such matters, so I have come along to speak for him.’

  ‘Oh, so? Everyone should have a friend such as you, Jaelin. Well, come over to the charts and samples rack and I shall explain.’

  Jelindel went through the scrolls with Madame Jing. Presently she announced that she had something suitable – sheepgut preventatives. They left by the back entrance.

  ‘Madame Jing pinched my bottom and suggested that I might like a free tutorial on advanced methodologies some night, when I was at a loose end,’ Jelindel muttered. ‘This business of dressing like a boy is starting to be a bit of a strain. She also gave me a free sample bag of – well, perhaps you don’t need to know.

  ‘Thank you for being present while I consulted Madame Jing. She said that most of the girls who visit her are alone. She also told me a few things about Zimak. He has a fear of diseases, apparently, so he is always careful to, shall we say, keep himself healthy.’

  ‘More than the little weasel’s doing to my body now,’ grumbled Daretor. ‘Strange, though, I find that being smaller has a curious allure.’

  ‘Perhaps you found it too easy to hide behind your former muscle and might.’

  ‘Would you be upset if I remained like this, Jelindel?’

  ‘Upset? Only if I am not there to see the look on Zimak’s face when you tell him.’

  Chapter 21

  THE LINDARKS

  Dinner seemed to take an unduly long time that night, and it was followed by a concert in which each of Hargrellien’s sisters played or sang their favourite piece. This was followed by cherry wine and cakes, during which the girls flirted with Daretor and Jelindel. Everyone noticed that Hargrellien was not present, but they had other things on their minds, and did not think to ask of her whereabouts. She arrived with her father as everyone was getting ready to retire. Neither of them looked happy.

  Daretor and Jelindel bolted the door to their sanctuary, then fell into each other’s arms in their little parlour. After several minutes, Jelindel began to wonder whether Daretor might be trying to postpone something.

  ‘I’m to my bedroom for some moments,’ Jelindel announced.

  She reappeared several minutes later with her hair unbound and brushed out. She was wearing a white shirt, loosely laced, and her breasts were obviously unbound. Her lips were painted with red gloss, and her eyes were lined with black and violet.

  ‘By White Quell, a girl!’ exclaimed Daretor, bounding to his feet in surprise.

  Jelindel put her arms around him. ‘Goodness, a boy,’ she laughed.

  Somewhere in the house, screams erupted, and then there came the unmistakable clash of blade on blade. Within the time it took to take two breaths, Jelindel had her sword drawn and was at the door. She shook her head as she put a hand on the bolt. Daretor drew his knife.

  Jelindel put her sword down, flung the door open and cartwheeled out into the corridor. A crossbow bolt whizzed between her legs, then Daretor was out with her and flinging his knife at the intruder. The man fell. Jelindel paused to snatch up her sword. Daretor took the crossbow, then they ran for the reception hall.

  The scene took some moments to comprehend. Helda was being held by a shadowy black figure who had a knife at her throat. Augerin was being pressed back by two more sword-wielding figures, and another had Sermilly over his shoulder.

  Daretor removed the most immediate danger by putting a crossbow bolt through the head of the lindrak holding Helda, then ran to help Augerin. Cut off by Jelindel, the lindrak carrying Sermilly made the mistake of thinking anyone wearing makeup would be easy to brush aside. Jelindel parried his thrust in a rising circle, then thrust the tip of her sword into the lindrak’s throat. He did not release Sermilly, so much as fall dead beneath her weight.

  Hargrellien’s mother and other sisters appeared on the upper balcony, their screams adding to the confusion. More lindraks appeared, and Hargrellien stationed herself at the base of the stairs with her sword and a shield from an ancestral armour display.

  Jelindel noticed that Augerin was bleeding, that there were seven lindraks fighting, and that all of them were on the reception hall’s floor. Hargrellien was forced back up the stairs by two lindraks. Then Daretor’s knife flew again, and one lindrak tumbled back down the stairs.

  Two lindraks tried to bracket Jelindel, but she did the only thing that anyone can do under the circumstances. She executed an almost suicidal jump and half-turn for the nearer lindrak, parrying his sword with a chopping downward sweep, then backhanding the blade into his unprotected throat. The remaining lindrak closed more cautiously, advancing closed-step style with his sword at
the guard. Jelindel feinted an attack, disengaged his parry, then slashed his arm as he tried to withdraw. He skipped back, clutching his arm. Jelindel snatched a fallen sword.

  Meantime Hargrellien had forced her lindrak opponent down to the base of the stairs. Helda and Sermilly were kneeling with their arms around each other as Jelindel stepped between them and an advancing lindrak. He snatched a fang star from his belt as Jelindel flung her second sword at him, but he leaped straight up and it scythed past beneath him. He flung a fang star, striking Jelindel in the forearm. He was reaching for a second star as Jelindel closed.

  Fang stars hurt, but rarely kill. He flung his second star, which she caught on the palm of her hand, then the lindrak was fighting for his life. He parried two cuts to the head, then tried to step into and under Jelindel’s next overhand cut while parrying upwards. Her knee caught him in the face, and her fourth cut went most of the way through his unprotected neck.

  Jelindel looked around. Daretor stood uninjured amid the bodies of four lindraks. Hargrellien had somehow killed the second lindrak at the base of the stairs, then dealt a death stroke to another, after one of her sisters had hit him with a vase. Augerin was slumped against a wall, clutching his side.

  Jelindel dropped her sword and plucked the fang stars from her hand and forearm. Tossing them aside, she picked up her sword again. Waves of pain from her left arm pounded her nervous system.

  ‘By all the gods and goddesses, Jaelin’s a girl!’ exclaimed Helda, who was still clinging to Sermilly.

  Jelindel slowly raised her bloodied sword and pointed to Daretor. ‘My man,’ she said, emphatically. ‘I hope everyone is now quite clear about that.’ Then she passed out.

  The unexpected attack turned out to be the beginning of a long and unpleasant night. Jelindel awoke to find Helda bandaging her arm. Hargrellien and Sermilly were with their mother, tending to Augerin’s more serious wounds. Other sisters had gone for help, or were self-consciously standing about holding swords.