by LeRoy Clary
Two guards arrived, each carrying a bucket of water and rags. Both cast angry looks their way. Quint said, “Be sure to use lots of soap or you’ll be doing it again.”
A minute tingle on his back alerted Raymer. A dragon was getting closer.
Looking up, he finally found the creature flying nearer and nearer. The change of direction last time could have been a coincidence, and he needed to test his abilities to communicate and understand the limits of what he might do. He’d been thinking about a mental command that would ensure he could speak to the dragon.
Turn around and fly back in the direction you came from. The order was the last thing he could expect a dragon to do on its own, which made it perfect for his test. The dragon tossed his head back and forth as if confused. It had been flying in a continuous straight direction, head pointed ahead. Now it turned its head and peered behind, but continued in the same direction. He gave the command again.
Raymer had almost given up hope when the dragon suddenly veered from its course. It continued to flap its wings and turned until it faced the precise direction it had flown from. His heart beat wildly, and he felt like cheering. The beast had actually done what he directed. The earlier task had not been a fluke, and this test provided proof he could make the dragon react. It was a necessary step for his escape.
Focusing hard on another mental image, he sent another command. Turn around again. His mental image reinforced his words. Almost instantly the dragon started another turn, forming the letter S in the sky. Soon it resumed flying on its original course.
The dragon was doing his bidding, if reluctantly. He smiled and allowed his thoughts to stray back to the subject of escaping. If he continued to touch minds with the dragon, he could explore the limits. But he felt confident that if he directed the dragon to swoop low and spit at the iron bars on the windows it would. He needed to practice and get the dragon to trust him, but the plan would work.
“Quint, do you have any more lime?”
“Well, I’ve been sort of busy, dining on fresh fruit and passing the time of day with royalty.”
“When you have some spare time I’d like to have more mortar. A lot of it. Rip a strip of your shirt and wrap the lime in it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to lose any when you pass it to me.”
“I mean; why do you need it now? So fast?”
Raymer smiled as he spoke, “The time for us to get out of here is not far off.”
The scraping sounds began again, a small snick, snick, snick as the sharp stone scraped mortar from between the bricks. Raymer glanced at the lump of straw covering the last apple and wondered if he should share it with Quint. He had nearly talked himself out of it when the scraping sounds ceased.
A short time later it started up again, but it sounded different, more aggressive. Even desperate. When a guard came near the sounds paused until he continued on. If Quint were moved to another cell, the entire plan would have to change. He didn’t bother mentioning it to Quint because he already knew.
Raymer half-listened as he watched the vendors, many sitting on blankets, displaying their goods in front of them. He searched the crowds for peddlers of apples. Each time he spotted one he tried to match the clothing with the feet and legs of the boy from a day earlier.
An argument broke out between a seller and a buyer, with the buyer giving his opinion of either the price or quality in a shrill shriek as others rushed to mediate the situation. A man weighing enough for two, with gold rings on every finger, as well as both ears, placed himself between them. He offered to settle the dispute for a fee, but when he had no takers, he calmly stepped back and allowed them to trade punches to the enjoyment of the crowd.
All eyes were on the fight, with several shouts of encouragement to one or the other. When it was over, both were dragged off by palace guardsmen. Raymer noticed a bundle of carrots lying at his fingertips, the thick green tops tied with a small piece of twine.
Raymer had no idea how it had arrived, or how long it had been there. He grabbed the bundle and pulled it inside. But he stayed hanging from the bars and watching for a glimpse of his benefactor. Nobody was paying any attention to the cell window. Indeed, nobody seemed to be near since none cared what happened to those held in the dungeon and the road that went by the window. None cared but one unseen benefactor, it seemed.
Raymer felt certain it had been the same boy. But why? Once may have been an accident. Twice a plan. He heard the guard returning and dropped to the floor and sat quickly, hiding the carrots behind his body.
The single thought occupying his mind was that someone was helping him. The incident with the apples could have been an accident. The carrots proved it was not.
The guard walked straight to his cell door and waited until Raymer looked up innocently.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing’s wrong with me today that opening that cell door won’t cure.”
The guard was a younger one, new to the dungeons. He took his position seriously and tried to demand respect from the prisoners, but his efforts were not entirely successful. He was also more observant than most, his mind not yet dulled by the monotonous days standing guard. “You always watch me when I pass. This time, you didn’t.”
“I was thinking about escaping so intently, I didn’t hear you approach.”
Quint picked up on the conversation as if sensing something might be wrong. “Have I ever mentioned to you that my family is wealthy and will reward anyone who aids me in gaining my freedom?”
The guard stood taller than most and was thinner. His hair hung in limp curls, and his face bore the scars of many sores, but his eyes were bright and inquisitive. He turned to face Quint. Raymer slipped the carrots under his leg.
“Tis true,” Quint continued. “Enough to make a poor prison guard a rich man.”
Raymer glanced around looking for another place to hide the carrots but finding none.
The guard said, “Even rich men hang until dead when they cross our king.”
“True enough,” Quint agreed. “But there are times a man needs to risk his neck for the chance to live a good life away from these cells. Let me ask you, are you prepared to die an old man while guarding these same cells?”
The guard hesitated before turning on his heel and abruptly marching off.
Raymer spoke softly, “From his reaction you may not need my help in escaping. That guard can be bought. Reach your hand out to me.”
The string slipped off the carrot tops, and he split the bunch into three carrots for each of them. He reached out and found eager fingers to accept them.
“Carrots! I cannot remember when I last had one of these. Reach your hand out and accept my payment.”
Raymer found another small roll of cloth containing a fistful of mortar. He placed it with the first, but if he were going to use it to neutralize the dragon spit on the iron bars, there would have to be much more. Quint would also need a substantial pile for himself.
He carefully hid the carrots in the straw and took a bite of the one before the guard returned. He chewed and experienced tastes he loved.
When the guard came back into sight, he strode right to Quint’s cell. “How would a guard know he’d be paid to carry the message unless he had the coin in hand first?”
Quint burst out laughing.
“I just don’t want to be cheated,” the guard explained. “You would have to pay me first.”
Quint paused in his laughing long enough to say, “I will tell you that my family is wealthy and lives in a far off land called Northwoods. My father is an Earl, almost equal to a king. He lives in a castle on the Endless Sea. A messenger sent there by you would return with more coin than you would see in a ten lifetimes. They would send an assassin here to deliver your gold. If you betray me, you’ll lose your head faster than the King can hang you.”
The guard looked like he had swallowed a hot coal before he resumed his endless rounds.
/> Raymer said, “I don’t think he’s going to accept your deal.”
“Too bad for him.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Raymer looked at the single apple and the two carrots remaining. They were a feast for a prisoner. He had them concealed with a light sprinkle of the least dirty and moldy straw. If the guards discovered the food they might change his cell to one without a window, and that would end any future food deliveries.
The conversation Quint had with the young guard tugged at his mind again. “How much of what you told the guard about your family’s wealth is true?”
“Now you want me to pay a bribe to the guards for your escape, too?”
“No, just wondering how much of the story is lies.”
“Well, wonder at this, my friend. If we manage to make good, our escape you and I will have few worries about the coin.” He paused and his voice dropped to a softer, more confidential tone, “Another item for discussion is that if you should escape and I remain here or die, I have a task to request of you.”
“We go together.”
“Sure, that’s your plan, but listen to me for a change. Things can go wrong, and you have outside help. I ask that you deliver a message to the Northwood Kingdom and the Province of Fairwinds. There you will find the castle of Warrington.”
“Never heard of it.”
“To the west, it is.”
“The Raging Mountains stand in the west. They’re my home.”
“Beyond those mountains lies Northwood, and to the north is Castle Warrington, on the shores of the Endless Sea. Anyone you encounter will direct you. Carry the tale of my death or incarceration to the castle. Promise me as a man of honor. My family will reward you.”
“I need no coin for doing that,” Raymer laughed. “I will do it for nothing except your friendship, a thing I value more than gold or silver.”
Quint didn’t reply until the sun passed midday. “You and I are not friends and have never been. We live in dungeon cells beside each other, and that is all. However, if you manage to pass a message to the deliverer of your apples and carrots, we might be free of this damned place sooner than your plan for escape will take. Have the message of my incarceration here carried to Castle Warrington and your friend, the messenger, will never go hungry.”
Raymer returned to the center of his cell and ran in place, raising his knees almost to his chest, but in slow, steady steps that took him nowhere. The pace increased and his breath came in pants, and gasps. He didn’t stop or even consider stopping. Instead, he forced himself to run faster and faster. When he couldn’t take another step, he paused with hands resting on his knees.
He remained that way until his breath returned to normal and then he stood tall. He bent his knees, squatted, and stood again. He kept his eyes on the dim window as much as possible. He squatted and then stood, over and over. When tired he grabbed the metal bars and tried to squeeze them hard enough to make them thinner. He did it again and again.
Resting, he heard Quint’s feet slapping the floor and his breathing harsh and loud. The man was a puzzle, but today’s unexpected revelations answered a portion of the questions.
Quint was from a wealthy family. That explained his vocabulary and manner of speaking. The far off location of his home explained his strange accent. The single unanswered question that bothered Raymer was why Quint had traveled to the Summer Palace of King Embers in the first place. He wanted the truth.
Maybe he had been arrested elsewhere in the kingdom, but the crimes of murder were committed far from his homeland. That raised more questions. Quint never denied killing three men. Raymer moved to the center of his cell again and began practicing with his imaginary staff. Today he faced a new foe, a soldier who wielded his broadsword as easily as if it was a rapier.
He used the activity to ease his mind while he contemplated the man in the cell he’d lived next to for a year but knew so little about. A twist of his hips let him swing the butt of the staff and strike the chin of another imaginary soldier who resembled a certain ruthless dungeon guard. With a snap of his wrist, the staff returned to the defensive position in time to counter a blade thrust at his waist. He easily deflected it and mounted an attack where he advanced by using both ends of the staff to strike.
“Impressive,” a voice said.
Raymer turned. The new Dungeon Master stood and watched. This morning he wore a loose fitting sky blue shirt and charcoal tights, as well as a wide smile. A torch was in his hand.
Raymer said, “I win almost all my fights in here.”
“It’s obvious why. You are very good with your moves.”
“You mock me.”
“No. I was made to practice with a blade when young and still use one to keep myself in shape. I would hesitate should we meet outside these walls.”
Quint asked, “Are you two going to hug and kiss?”
The Dungeon Master turned to face the other cell. “Is there a reason for your surly attitude?”
Quint burst out laughing. “None other than you will not release me. And it still stinks down here. Those guards did a poor job of cleaning.”
Raymer watched the Dungeon Master closely. The words they shared were more than the previous holder of the position had shared with them in a year. Why? The man stood a bit above average height, which still made him shorter than Raymer, and much shorter than Quint, who was nearly a giant. He appeared to be perhaps ten years older than them. His manners, speech and the fact he held an appointment by the King all indicated his wealthy background.
The Dungeon Master said, “I, too, am disappointed with the smell. And, I am use to people obeying me; not defying me or laziness. You may soon have a few guards in cells to keep you company.”
So now there are two of them. Raymer listened and learned. Quint and the Dungeon Master were both the sons of royalty. How odd to find the two of them in King Ember’s summer dungeon, but Raymer still watched the Dungeon Master for any weakness he might exploit.
The first terrified screams from outside drew Raymer’s attention to the small window just as he felt the tingle of a nearby dragon. In two steps he crossed his cell and leaped to grasp the bars. He pulled himself high enough to see outside.
Chaos had erupted. Vendors, entertainers, and shoppers alike ran for cover. People shouted and pointed at the sky. Soldiers drew their blades and held them high, but some dropped their swords to the ground and ran. Fires leaped from tents as an oil lamp was kicked over by someone. The spreading oil fed the flames.
A dragon had flown past, low and catching all in the square by surprise with its screams. It screeched again and spat lumps of black that struck and spread in sprays of thick liquid. It spat twice while Raymer watched, spreading the caustic substance to many of the tents and stalls. A ball of orange fire bloomed where a flame touched the dragon spit.
“What’s happening?” the Dungeon Master demanded.
The dragon flew over the far castle wall and rose higher. It was not the dragon he’d communicated with a few days earlier. This one had a red tint to the skin, and it appeared larger than the black of a few days ago.
Quint said, “Dragon attack.”
Raymer imagined Quint positioned much as he was, watching outside. There were no other windows except those high up in cells. Raymer saw the shift in the dragon’s position as it started a turn, but instead of the usual wide swoop a dragon takes while flying, this one fairly spun end for end, flapping its wings with powerful strokes until it faced the market again.
It not only faced the market, but it also faced the window Raymer watched from, and he readied himself to let go of the bars and leap to one side if the dragon spit in his direction. Knowing it was stupid remain and watch, he stayed at the window.
The tingles along Raymer’s back no longer tingled. Now they flared into sharp lines of intense pain, but he refused to release the bars.
The dragon flew directly at him. Before it reached the palace walls where Raymer watched from, it spat
several times to one side and then the other. The substance struck in a dozen places, the liquid spraying out into a mist. A candle, torch, or some other flame touched it. More fires erupted, spreading not only to other black spots, but to anything that would burn, tents, blankets, or goods. In the time it took to draw a deep breath the entire courtyard was in flames, the vendors and patrons fleeing for their lives.
The dragon didn’t continue flying on for another pass. Instead, it drew its wings to its sides and dropped from the sky directly at Raymer.
Raymer winced in pain from the increasing sensations on his back and glanced over his shoulder to assure himself the dragon had not spat on him as the pain flared to test his tolerance. His attention shifted again to the window and the fires, the running people, and dragon falling from the sky.
The dragon was as large as a small house and weighed more. It struck the stone walls of the dungeon with its chest just as it touched the ground if touching would be the term for a collision with an animal flying into a four-hundred-year-old stone wall.
The bars on the window that Raymer clung to relayed the impact. The jolt made the wall of his cell bulge inward. He felt the beginnings of the collapse through his hands holding onto the bars. Stones fell from above. The dragon roared and shoved the wall again with its chest. More stones clattered to the floor of the cell. Raymer lost his grip and joined them.
As he fell he caught sight of the Dungeon Master standing frozen and watching as if he watched a puppet show instead of the massive destruction taking place. The top of the wall between the two cells collapsed into a pile of rubble. Raymer scooted to the far side of the cell to avoid falling rocks.
Quint turned to face Raymer, looking every bit as scared as Raymer felt. The wall between their cells was now a pile of rubble and rising dust.
