by Jon Kiln
Thrusting Harkan into her belt, Myriam seized Windstorm’s hilt and raised up the dark blade. It was heavier than any weapon she had ever held, and she struggled to hold it up. Wrapping both hands tight round the leather-wrapped hilt, she lifted the sword ponderously over her head and prepared to strike at the chains binding her friend.
Before she could bring down the keen, dark blade, however, a furious shriek tore the air. Myriam whirled to face the direction of the terrible sound, and Windstorm fell heavily from her grip to clatter on the floor. Myriam gasped in shock and fear as she beheld the monstrous beast that had dropped down from above, to land on wide-spread feet between her and her two companions.
The Rooggaru rose from a crouch, its baleful eyes glaring at her full of menace. She had only glimpsed the creature before, when it had invaded Clay’s house in Halawa. Now it stood towering before her in its own lair, massive and powerful. It was enormous, larger even than the warrior Ganry. In the hellish light of the burning brazier, its gray-green scales glistened. The stiff tail swung lazily to and fro behind it, lashing the air.
The flat, triangular wedge of a head tilted back, and the gaping jaws fell open to reveal a savage mouthful of jagged, razor-sharp teeth as the Rooggaru roared again. Its howl was a primal screech out of nightmare. It raised its muscular arms, clenching its three-fingered hands into clawed fists of rage.
Myriam gaped at the monster, frozen in place by irrational terror. She had seen fanciful drawings of mythical dragons before. They had seemed frivolous to her, but no longer. If those legendary creatures had ever truly existed, and if they had somehow bred with humans, this creature before her must surely be the result. It was every inch a demon, a monster out of the darkest pits of hell.
Beyond the howling Rooggaru, Hendon and Linz had started into the room after her. Now they froze, just as Myriam did. The beast’s roar echoed through the hall and it lowered its head again to fix the princess in its grim stare. Her legs trembled beneath her. Windstorm lay forgotten at her feet.
Hendon was the first to break the paralysis. Dagger in hand, he charged forward. Heedless to his own danger, he bellowed a wordless challenge to the monstrous creature that threatened his princess. The Rooggaru pivoted at the hips, snarling at the little man who dared to defy it. Its burning eyes fell upon the dagger in Hendon’s hand and widened slightly. It roared again, almost as if in recognition.
A pace away from his target, Hendon leaped into the air in a diving tackle with his blade held high. The Rooggaru turned to meet him. One massive arm swung, connecting backhanded with the hurtling man. The sound of the crushing blow was terrible. Hendon’s warcry died in his throat as his body went tumbling aside. The dagger flew from limp fingers and Hendon crashed to the floor, rolling and sprawling amongst the loose treasure.
“Hendon!”
The Rooggaru whirled back to face Myriam, but its spell over her had been broken. Bending down, she took hold once more of Windstorm’s hilt. Lifting it up with all her strength, Myriam charged forward with the dark blade leveled like a jousting lance.
One green-scaled arm shot out, batting the heavy blade aside. Off-balance, Myriam stumbled forward under momentum. The Rooggaru’s other arm swung in an arc that raked its savage claws across her chest. Those claws tore gaping rents in the front of her shirt and dug into the unprotected flesh beneath. Myriam cried out in sudden, burning agony. The monster struck again, a backhand blow that caught her on the side of the head.
Dazed, Myriam staggered aside. Hot blood ran down her cheek. More of it soaked the front of her shirt. The Rooggaru advanced on her, raising its claws for a killing blow. It snarled, hot breath washing over her. Myriam fought to bring Windstorm back up to defend herself, but there was no strength left in her. One leg buckled and she fell to her knees before the enraged dragonman.
Releasing Ganry’s sword, she clawed at her belt and ripped Harkan free. She harbored little hope that the slender blade would avail her any better than the Grimlock broadsword, but she refused to die cowering on her knees. She would fight to her last breath, and if she must perish then she would do so with the ancestral blade of her family in her hand. She stared defiantly up at the hulking brute bearing down on her, and raised Harkan in both hands.
The Rooggaru caught sight of the milk-white blade. There was no mistaking the light of recognition in those cold, alien eyes this time. The monster had seen such a blade before. It knew the dagger, knew the brilliantly glowing Berghein Stone at its pommel. It roared again, a titanic bellow of hate and rage and remembered pain. It was right on top of her now. Despite her resolve, Myriam squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of the terrible blow…
That blow never fell. Instead, the dragonman howled again… this time in injured fury.
Myriam opened her eyes in astonishment, looking up at the beast that towered over her. The creature’s wedge-shaped head was lowered as it stared down at its own chest, where a length of bright steel had appeared jutting out from the scaly hide. That steel was the tip of a long fishing spear.
Linz stood behind the Rooggaru, his hands on the haft of his spear and a look of fierce determination warping his face into a mask of vengeance. The Lake Man’s dark eyes smoldered with it, and he wore a grim smile as he wrenched his weapon back and tore the ten-inch blade free of the creature that had plagued his people since time perennial.
Globs of black blood flew from the blade as it tore free of the gaping wound Linz had dealt. Forgetting Myriam for the moment in its pain and rage, the Rooggaru spun in place to face this new threat. It swiped its bloodstained claws for Linz, but the Lake Man danced back and jabbed with his spear. He continued to fall back as the dragonman pursued, its lumbering gait not slowed by the terrible injury.
Myriam could not relish her reprieve. Fighting to her feet, she gripped Harkan all the tighter. Her chest, so recently tortured by the great serpent above, was a mass of fire. She was woozy from the blood loss. But the fight was not over, not by a long shot. Linz was keeping the beast at bay, but for how long?
She cast her eyes about and found Hendon. Shaking himself, the slender man was just now regaining his feet. He lifted his head and took in the scene at a glance. Myriam called out to him and he looked sharply her way. She waved the dagger over her head, hoping he would understand.
“The Stones,” she cried, hoping she was right.
Understanding flashed in his eyes, and he hurriedly searched the floor around himself for his own dropped dagger. Hendon had not failed to note the hint of recognition in the Rooggaru’s reaction to his blade. He thought he knew what Myriam was thinking, and he knew instinctively that she was right. Their family, if the legend was to be believed, had once fought dragons. What was this monster, if not the spawn of dragons?
Linz continued his retreat. He stabbed again and again at the monster. The Rooggaru was wary of the spear at first, having felt its bite. But as the struggle wore on, the dragonman grew bolder. It deflected the spear with its scale-covered arms, turning aside the strikes and suffering only small cuts in the process. Linz gritted his teeth and pressed his attack.
Hendon spied the dagger and dove to retrieve it. Seizing it by the hilt, he sprang back to his feet and turned around. He spotted Linz and the Rooggaru, locked in their struggle alongside the great, smoking brazier. Myriam was nearly on top of them, rushing to help the Lake Man. Throwing his caution aside, Hendon sprinted to join her.
Spying an opening in the dragonman’s defense, Linz lunged forward and heaved his spear with all his might. The steel bit deep into the monster’s hide, impaling it at the shoulder. The Rooggaru was driven back by the force of the impact, howling in rage. Its clawed hands grasped the haft of the spear and it jerked its body sideways, tearing the weapon from Linz’s grasp. As it turned, the powerful tail lashed out and caught the Lake Man full in the chest. The blow knocked the air from his lungs and sent him staggering.
The Rooggaru tugged at the spear, tearing it loose in a great spray of black blood.
It cast the weapon aside and started forward. Before it had taken a second step, Myriam crashed into the monster at a dead run. Harkan gripped in both white-knuckled hands, she stabbed with every ounce of strength remaining. The milky blade sank deep in the Rooggaru’s tough hide, and Myriam drove it in to the hilt.
An instant later Hendon was by her side. He stabbed with his own, matching dagger. The dragonman’s eyes widened until it seemed they would fall from their sockets. It howled in pain and, for the first time, what sounded like fear. The stones in the matching daggers’ hilts burned with their ghostly light, pulsing in time with one another.
The Rooggaru staggered backwards, fetching up against the side of the waist high brazier. Seemingly impervious to the raging heat at its back, the dragonman clawed at the twin blades piercing its chest. An unending, keening wail escaped its lipless maw as it fought for its life. Myriam and Hendon fell back, their eyes glued to the struggling beast.
“It isn’t working,” Myriam groaned. “Why isn’t working?”
Then Linz appeared from behind them. He had gotten to his feet almost immediately after his tumble, but had not jumped back to the fight right away. Instead, his eye had caught something familiar among the gathered horde of treasure. Something pale and white.
Gripping the dagger, a third twin to those lodged in the evil creature’s chest, Linz charged past his friends with a primitive scream. Drawing back at the last second, he plunged the milk-white blade straight into the dragonman’s heart. The Rooggaru’s wails cut off suddenly and its struggles went still. Toppling backward, it fell atop the burning coals. In less than a heartbeat, its body burst into flame and burned away to so much ash.
26
Myriam wasted no time in rushing back to Ganry’s side. The big warrior was still conscious, struggling weakly against the chains that bound him. Taking up a hand axe she found piled amongst the treasure, Myriam set to work on the chains. She was too weak, however, and the blows simply rang off the corroded metal.
“Ganry,” she said, sinking down to her knees beside the table. “Ganry…”
Hendon appeared at her side and took the axe from her nearly lifeless fingers. The woodsman made short work of the chains, and soon he was helping Ganry to sit up on the edge of the table. The warrior rubbed his arms, working the circulation back into them. As he did, he gazed curiously at the smoking brazier.
“How did you manage it?” he asked, having been unable to follow the battle from his enforced, horizontal position.
“With these,” said Linz, joining them. Myriam saw the Lake Man had retrieved the daggers from the fire. All three of them. The Stones of Berghein flashed brightly from the hilts, brighter than she had yet seen them. Some of her suspicions, at least were confirmed. There was a third dagger.
Linz held out the blades. Hendon retrieved his, and handed Harkan to Myriam. He paused, studying the final dagger.
“You keep it,” said Myriam to Linz. “It’s yours, after all.”
“What?” Linz appeared stunned. He shook his head, not understanding. “No, Myriam. The blades belong to your family…”
“Yes, they do.” With Hendon’s help, she got back to her feet. “Long ago, Linz, a branch of the D’Anjou line was lost. I first suspected the truth when we saw that mural underneath Castle Locke. Centuries ago, one of your ancestors brought a group of followers to this lake to settle a new tribe. That ancestor was a D’Anjou, Linz. You are a D’Anjou.”
Linz regarded her in open-mouthed disbelief, but Hendon was nodding his head. “Yes,” he said. “It makes sense.”
“That’s how you knew where to lead us,” Myriam explained. “It must be. Linz, you have… power of some kind. I don’t understand it, not fully. It’s not the same as ours, obviously. I could not have found the way to Ganry and the… creature.” She shuddered, deliberately avoiding the dead monster’s name. “But you could. How, Linz? How did you know the way?”
“I just… I don’t know.” Linz shrugged helplessly. “It just seemed right. Like I could sense the way to go.”
Myriam nodded. “Hendon and I were able to sense it when our parents were killed.” She lowered her eyes momentarily, feeling a rush of the sorrow she had still not had time to properly confront. This was still not the time, and she pushed the sadness away. “It’s how I know the Duchess is still alive, as well. But for you, apparently, it’s not quite the same.”
“You think I can sense the right way to go?”
“I think you sensed the monster,” Myriam corrected. “Drawn by the blood of the ancient foes of our house. Blood of the dragon.”
This time, even Hendon was skeptical. But Ganry laughed out loud. When they all turned to look at him curiously, he spread his arms in an expansive shrug. “I’ve always said there’s no magic left in the world,” he told them. “But that was before I got mixed up with the House of D’Anjou.”
Myriam smiled, then her expression turned businesslike. “Ganry, can you stand?”
The big man pushed himself up from the table with a grimace. “I’ll manage,” he said.
“Then let’s get out of here!”
They wasted no time over the treasure. There might be enough wealth in that chamber for each of them to buy their own kingdom somewhere, and forget all about the woes of Palara and D’Anjou, but none of them had a mind for it. Besides, with the Rooggaru dead there was not likely to be anyone else disturbing the trove anytime soon. They could come back for it later if there was any need.
Linz helped Myriam up the stairs, and Hendon lent his support to Ganry. The climb back up was far more arduous than the descent, but before too long they came out in the ground level of the temple. Within minutes they were back on the dock. They climbed into the little boat, and this time Hendon helped Linz with the oars.
They had scarcely left the dock behind when Hendon glanced back, thinking to ask Myriam more about her theory regarding Linz. But he swallowed the question and smiled ruefully when he saw the princess, dead to the world, curled up against an equally unconscious Ganry.
27
Duke Harald, Regent of the Kingdom of Palara, slammed the door behind him and stalked away down the corridor in a fury. That damned witch, the Duchess D’Anjou, had refused to crack under torture for yet another day. The interrogators knew their job, and were the best in the realm at extracting information from unwilling sources, but they were proving unequal to the task. It seemed that no amount of pain would loosen the old woman’s tongue.
She had lost consciousness moments ago. Harald seethed with anger. He had demanded the torturers revive her and keep going, but they advised him that it would only serve to kill her. She was not some strong warrior in the prime of life, after all. They wanted to send her back to her cell to rest and recover. They would try again on the morrow, they said.
Pah!
Harald was stymied, and he hated the sense of impotence he felt. The days continued to slip past with no word of his missing niece, no hint of an end to this miserable state of affairs. The court grew ever more restless as the situation dragged on. Harald did not know for sure how much longer he could stave off their increasingly insistent questions.
This was not how the coup was supposed to go, not at all. If only that muscle-bound foreigner had not spirited Myriam away in the dead of night, she would be dead along with her mother and Harald’s fool of a brother. Ludwig had never listened to him, never heeded his advice. The old king would have ruined Palara. Couldn’t the nobles see that? Couldn’t they just open their eyes and realize that everything Harald was doing was for the good of the kingdom?
No. Not while Myriam yet lived and wandered free. Until she was found, his throne would never be secure. That old witch, the Duchess, knew where she was hiding, Harald was certain of it. But she wouldn’t speak. He wanted to tear out her tongue. He wanted to see her head on a spike. See if she could sneer at him then!
Harald itched with the need for action. The idea of putting heads on spikes appealed to him.
Changing course abruptly, he gave up the notion of returning to his chambers. He would find no rest, not yet. Instead, he went in search of the new royal executioner. He might not be able to have the Duchess’ head, not yet, but there was no shortage of other necks he could have shortened.
That worm Arexos, for instance…
***
Her captors tossed her back into the cell, not bothering to chain her once more to the wall. The door slammed shut in their wake, and she heard the bolt slide home in the lock. The Duchess was alone again. Moaning softly, she rolled over on the filthy straw that covered the floor of her cell and took stock.
Her body was a mass of bruises and burns. They had tortured her thoroughly and efficiently, taking her right up to the brink of madness and death. But she remained unbroken. She had not given that bastard Harald what he wanted. Not that she could have told him just where Myriam was, in any case. It did not work that way.
No, she had no idea where Myriam was. That was the truth. Oh, perhaps the vaguest of ideas. Still somewhere to the east, she thought, although even of that the Duchess could not be certain. It did not matter, in the end. So long as Myriam was still free of Harald’s clutches, still drawing breath.
She knew her granddaughter was alive. Yes, somewhere to the east she thought. And earlier, there had been a sense, vague and unformed at best. Her senses had been dulled by the torments with which her jailers brutalized her body, but there had still been a sense, a taste of triumph from Myriam.
The Duchess thought she knew what it meant, but of course she could not be sure. She had not been sure of the boy, Linz, either. But she suspected. More than that, she dared to hope. Even now, in the dank pit of Harald’s foul dungeon, the Duchess clung to hope. And that brief contact, that distant sense of victory she had drawn over the miles from her granddaughter, strengthened her.
