The Dragon and Rose

by Gerhard Gehrke

  Get off the spot where the enemy wants you. Fast.

  Claudia had stopped talking. She had three fingers raised. Two. One. She dropped her hand.

  Crossbow bolts stared flying. Men and women in the bleachers began to scream in terror. Footsteps thundered as the audience began to run either towards a set of stairs near the open alley or back to the theater.

  Steel Earring was limping. Digger paused to shepherd him past and looked back across the courtyard. The platform at the back of the theater had more castle guards carrying spears. The hapless part of the crowd surging their way were struck down as they tried to rush them. But half of them were storming down the closest steps, which would bring them near the alley entrance.

  “Go!”

  Digger hurried the wounded fel along and they emerged onto the alley.

  The side street beyond had several shuttered businesses and a few residences, along with a lumberyard that had stood empty for well over a year. This should have been a dead, dark street at any time after sundown. But now along the entire lane, doors and windows were boarded over with fresh wood and red lanterns swayed from overhangs and planter boxes.

  At one end of the street was a barrier of wagons covered with tarps. A line of soldiers were manning the barricade. In the opposite direction stood the archway to the defunct lumberyard. A burning flame formed the center of an eye at the top of the stone entrance. Further down the street, the soldiers had erected a second barricade.

  Digger started moving towards the archway. “Only one way to go unless you can climb.”

  “I can climb just fine,” Hellard said. “That’s where the queen wants us to go and it looks like a bad idea.”

  But there were more soldiers visible above them. Although no rules had been shared, Digger guessed climbing was off-limits. They were about to be funneled to the lumberyard with few options and they had the theater crowd coming up behind them.

  Steel Earring and the other fel stayed close as they moved towards the archway.

  From the theater alley, the cries and voices of the spectators echoed. The first of them spilled out onto the street and ran for the barrier. Some were weeping, others pleading, and a few were groaning in pain.

  From a nearby rooftop and out of sight, the game caller’s crisp voice resounded as if he were using a megaphone.

  “We travel back to the second fall of man. Those who had been created in the Divine’s image dabbled in arts forbidden and black. Conjuring up their own creation, these wizards summoned fel beasts who rose from the darkest pit below the crust of ground and devastated the world. Tonight’s adventure sees a band of lost souls who dare wander into this forgotten abyss. But what will they find there? Redemption for the sins of their fathers and mothers, or damnation?”

  “I don’t want to play!” a woman cried, her voice ragged in a frenzy of fear.

  “One thing is certain,” the caller continued. “Most will not survive the night.”

  Others among the spectators began to scream and curse. But they went quiet when a gate dropped over the alley with a terrific clang. A muffled wail rose from a few still inside the theater garden. But all too quickly their cries ceased.

  Digger stopped to watch. Listened. Tried to feel what might be in the air. The howling he had heard earlier had stopped. The theater crowd was part of the queen’s design. He held no doubt she’d look to set them against her “champion” once they got past their panic.

  It was time to find a ground of his choosing. Digger paused to count how many were on the streets. He guessed at least twenty.

  A few began to clamber up the tarped barricade.

  The caller spoke. “The way back is forbidden and guarded.”

  From a rooftop came the snap-click of a crossbow. A climbing man screamed and fell. The others dropped back to the street.

  “You can’t do this!” the panicked woman shouted. “Lady Claudia! I’m Crystal, the daughter of Enrique Cho. He manages your fabric mill!”

  There was no answer.

  Hellard nudged Digger. “Tell me this doesn’t feed your soul.”

  “Don’t forget, we’re being served up here too.”

  The woman kept calling to the queen. Then an earsplitting howl much louder than before erupted from the barricade. The woman along with the rest of the crowd went quiet.

  The tarps on the wagons fell away. Dark shapes moved behind the bars of large cages.

  “That’s our cue to move,” Digger said. “Go! Go!”

  A racket of barks and snarls got the displaced audience heading their way. Some tripped while others were making a headlong sprint towards the lumberyard.

  Digger paused just past the gate as his eyes adjusted.

  Much like the garden, candles were lit throughout the expansive open yard. They were all set in red glass holders, giving a crimson cast to the grounds. A high sawmill dominated the far reaches of the property. More hued lights twinkled from its windows and doorways, lending it the appearance of a lopsided scowling face.

  From the opposite side of the metal fence near the sawmill came the clamor of hard shoes and the murmurs of voices. Another audience. The real audience. The fence had spikes along its top, but Digger was certain he could climb it, barring any guards who might shoot him down.

  With Hellard taking the lead, they crossed the yard. Racks that once held wood, gravel, and roof tiles stood empty. They made it to a patio and the sawmill’s closed rolling door. Wind chimes rang as a chill breeze blew. Even in the poor light it was obvious the floor in front of the sliding door had fresh unweathered lumber laid down. The blond wood was a sharp contrast to the dark walls and patio.

  Digger stopped everyone. “Don’t take another step.”

  The new group of spectators were climbing a wooden stairway to the upper level of the sawmill.

  From the street, the howling continued and a new round of screams from the fleeing audience began.

  “What are those things?” Steel Earring asked.

  Digger studied the sliding door but didn’t get closer. “Devil hounds. Bad news.”

  “Maybe...maybe they’ll eat their fill before they get here.”

  “That’s not how they hunt. They wound as much prey as possible before it can escape and come around to eat later. Now be quiet and let me think.”

  Hellard grunted as he examined the floor. “Traps?”

  “Unless the queen has changed her tune, yeah.”

  The first of the fleeing audience made the lumberyard gate. A few fled past towards the second barricade, but more ran into the yard and were heading towards them.

  Then the first dog appeared.

  It stood as large as a pony, its black matte fur making it look like a moving shadow but for its brilliant orange eyes. Fel eyes, a superstitious pureblood might say. The creature scrambled to catch a woman who was having trouble running in heels and raked her with a claw. She stumbled and sprawled to the ground. The monster bounded past her and pinned a fleeing man against the side of a bin before digging its fangs into his neck.

  Hellard was pushing on one of the fresh boards.

  Digger handed over his sword. “Pry it up.”

  Hellard set his spear down and worked the blade between two boards. He gave a heave, and a board popped free. Something metallic clicked. A pair of bolts flew from a brick wall and smacked into a wooden partition next to the sliding door. The ogre wrenched up another board and a third and yanked out a small mechanism and tossed it aside.

  The large door slid open without anyone touching it. Red lights were pulsing inside.

  The game caller was somewhere above them now. “The lost souls who return to the underworld are preceded by a group of fel. These specters of humanity given flesh seek out their own salvation with the dark lord of their abandoned home. But this night, their infernal father will require blood sacrifice. Only one group, fel or pureblood, will gain his audience.”

  Hellard grabbed his spear. “Yeah, I get it. They want us to fight
.”

  He turned to face the yard and leveled his spear.

  A small group from the theater, including two of the masked contestants, was hurrying towards them. But Digger saw no fight in their faces, only fear.

  The devil hound remained busy tearing at its prey. But then a second giant dog appeared next to it. It paused to sniff the ground and then howled.

  “Get inside,” Digger said.

  He waited for the two fel to pass him by and tried to shove the door closed. It wouldn’t budge. Whatever mechanism had opened it now locked it in place.

  Hellard couldn’t move it either. “Looks like we hold them off here.”

  The interior of the mill was gutted. Metal troughs were filled with burning rocks and wood that let off the stench of sulfur. Several large machines filled half the room. Above were suspended winches attached to a series of pulleys. Masks with grotesque, contorted faces hung everywhere.

  Digger spotted the exit. Twin doors on the opposite side of the mill stood closed. But he hesitated to move into the room. This was surely the centerpiece to the queen’s show. What else did she have in store?

  The purebloods stopped before the sawmill porch.

  Hellard jabbed at the first man who tried to rush past him.

  One of the theatergoers begged, “Let us in!”

  Wood above them creaked. Digger looked up.

  The high-beamed ceiling held a platform where the queen stood alongside a few crossbow-wielding guards and an entourage of brightly dressed nobles. Jamie, Isabel, and Monty stood with her, all peering down at him over a rail. There was no easy way up to the platform except for climbing. And the guards looked ready to shoot anyone who tried.

  “A little help,” Hellard said.

  Digger reached in the doorway and grabbed Steel Earring’s arm. “There’s more traps. Stay put.”

  He turned back towards the yard. The ogre was now holding off eight wild-eyed men and women from the theater. Red Eye was among them, as was an unarmed thug who appeared to be fel. Three of them held weapons. Others were covered in blood.

  Across the lumberyard, the two hounds were joined by a third. They spread out and began prowling across the yard towards them.

  One of the theater guests pointed a knife at Digger. “They can’t stop us all.”

  Hellard clicked his tongue. “Just have to slow you down some and let the hounds do the work.”

  “Hey!” Red Eye said. “The game’s off! We’re together in this, whatever this is.”

  To Digger’s surprise, Hellard said, “Your man there gets a pass. But not you.”

  The fel next to Red Eye ducked past Hellard and went inside.

  “Let them come in if they drop their weapons,” Digger said.

  Hellard shook his head. “No. They wanted sport. Let them fight the dogs. Besides, it sounds like that’s the rules we’re playing with here.”

  The three devil hounds were running now, a wide line as if to corral their prey. They bounded forward and each took down a target as the theatergoers scattered. The hounds were quick, launching themselves from one victim to the next, tearing flesh and shredding clothes.

  Digger flinched as a hound landed near him and tore into a man’s stomach. But even as he backed up to the door, he knew they’d have to stop the beasts. Out in the open, they would be easy targets. But inside the sawmill they’d be hemmed in. That was also where the queen wanted them.

  He thought about the catacombs. In each encounter the queen had a gimmick that could be exploited. What was it here?

  Hellard slashed at a dog that had jumped up onto the sawmill porch. The monster snarled before leaping off, presumably in search of easier prey.

  Digger backed through the doorway. “Hold them off. I’m going to search the sawmill.”

  “If you say so. Don’t leave me hanging.”

  Red Eye’s fel had found a rusty metal mallet. The other two fel eyed Digger with desperation.

  Digger stepped carefully forward, scanning the floor. “Look for anything...a weapon, a switch, a way through those doors. But watch for pressure plates and tripwires.”

  Steel Earring climbed up on one of the machines. “There’s something in here. This housing is loose.”

  “Careful.”

  “Help me lift it.”

  Together they heaved. The metal frame of the machine slid up and off to reveal a large bolt thrower, the kind of heavy-duty crossbow that might be found mounted on one of the duke’s warships.

  Digger looked at the next machine. It too had a similar contraption hidden inside and they worked to free it. Both bolt throwers were aimed away from the sliding door.

  Steel Earring manned one and began to pivot it around. “What are we waiting for? Let’s kill those dogs before they get in here.”

  Before Digger could say anything, the bolt thrower clicked. A metallic snap followed and the sliding door slammed shut, leaving Hellard outside along with the hounds. Digger ran to the door but it wouldn’t budge. A visible mechanism with large springs was holding it closed and he didn’t see any tools to dismantle it.

  “Turn the weapon back to how you found it!” he shouted.

  Steel Earring pointed the bolt thrower back around but nothing happened. Outside, the screams continued. Growls. Hellard was shouting and banging at the door.

  The game caller’s voice boomed. “The fel have won the audience chamber. But their dark father is in no mood for visitors. His cast-out children’s return fills him with rage! How dare they set foot in this unholy place without invitation!”

  “We were forced to come here,” the fel with the mallet said desperately.

  “Tremble, you intruders! The hellhounds outside were mere pups. But their mother waits in a corner of the dark lord’s audience chamber, eager to feast on the souls of those who dare trespass.”

  The double doors on the opposite wall rumbled and began to squeak open.

  Something larger than the hounds loomed in the dark space beyond, and soon it would be released.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  THE TWO FEL CONTESTANTS stayed on the bolt throwers and hurried to try to aim them at what was coming out the double doors. Steel Earring was sighting down his and ready to fire.

  “Don’t shoot until my say-so,” Digger said as he grabbed the fel with the mallet next to him. “On me. Watch my back.”

  Even as he inched forward he knew his sword was the wrong tool to face down more hounds. Those who dared hunt the creatures did so in groups, with archers filling the beasts with arrows while spearmen waited to finish the tenacious monsters off when they refused to die. The unwieldy bolt throwers would have one shot each. Now if he could only get the hounds or whatever fresh surprise beyond the doors to stop long enough to present a stationary target.

  The game caller was blathering on about dark fathers and fallen sons. The queen and her audience were clapping. Isabel was shouting his name but he ignored her.

  The doors continued to slowly swing open as unseen machinery clicked.

  A shadow beyond was moving. Twice as tall as him, impossibly wide. Even if the bolt throwers found their marks, Digger understood these were most likely his final moments.

  He entertained the notion that the queen would let Monty and Isabel live. Imagined his brother working her kitchen, perfecting his sauces and ridiculously miniscule but tasty bites. But Monty wouldn’t settle for that. His heart was set on Sofia and her thrice-damned bar. All his attempts to shield his brother from trouble had been a failure.

  And Isabel? She had a knack for landing on her feet.

  Digger knew the hostages’ best chance was for him to make the queen happy. Give her a show. And hope she’d spare them after the games reached their inevitable conclusion.

  The fel next to him stopped. “What are we doing?”

  Digger ignored him too. He was moving towards the doors alone. He raised his sword. Prepared to pounce.

  “I’m here, beast.”

  A guttural rattle r
eplied. Then came the sound of rending flesh and popping bone. Was something...eating?

  From above he heard the queen curse. Unseen game attendants somewhere above the neighboring room began banging metal on wood. They were shouting as if egging something on.

  The doors stood fully opened but Digger could make nothing out with all the smoke thrown off the nearest burning troughs of hellfire.

  A bright chandelier sprang to life in the next room, throwing white light down.

  Two trolls flinched and squinted as they shielded their eyes. Mudo and Tonto swatted at the light fixture above them, clearly in pain. The trolls were hunkered on the floor of a brick-walled chamber and appeared to have torn apart what once had been a massive devil hound. Their faces were smeared with gore and they each held a haunch of meat.

  The fel behind Digger wanted no part of it. He turned and ran, tossing his mallet aside and cutting along a wall towards the sliding door. A tripwire pinged and a bolt flew and struck him down. He fell, groaning.

  But Digger kept his eyes on the trolls.

  Which one did Vinca say was hard of hearing?

  “Tonto!” he said. “Where’s Vinca?”

  Neither troll paid him any mind, the creatures holding their ground and continuing to stuff their faces even as they squinted.

  From above, someone said, “Aren’t they supposed to be fighting?”

  Lady Claudia laughed. “And here I thought there wouldn’t be any surprises. Oh goody, are those my trolls? Well, champion, here’s your final round.”

  “I have a shot!” Steel Earring said. “Move aside!”

  Digger raised a hand for him to wait. Both the trolls continued to chew. But they appeared twitchy and ready to bolt. With a bright light above and confronted by a room filled with burning trays of embers, the trolls didn’t seem eager to leave their room. As Hellard had discovered, food was their prime motivator and apparently devil hound was on the menu.

  He looked up at the queen. “Lady Claudia? The deal was for me to win the round in the theater. I’ve won. Looks like your final monster just got eaten.”