A Fate Worse Than Dragons

by Moore, John

  Standing before her was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

  He was tall. He was slim, but she could see he had powerful arms. Long black hair curled around his neck in glossy waves. He was taking off a pair of stylish riding gloves. His black silk shirt was open at the chest, showing bulges of smooth muscle. His black calfskin belt was set off with a shining silver buckle, and his black cavalry boots were polished to a high gleam. At his waist was a court sword with a jeweled scabbard. He turned his gaze upon her, and their eyes not only met, the pupils shook hands, exchanged business cards, and sat down for tea together. He smiled at her, showing a firm jaw and even white teeth, and when he spoke, his voice was a rich, deep baritone that entered her ears and sent vibrations all down her spine.

  “Come with me,” he said, and held out his hand.

  Entranced, Alison took it.

  Terry attacked immediately. The sun had barely cracked the horizon when he and Roland left their horses tethered to a tree by the side of the entrance road. He had waited until he saw Roland tiptoe across the remains of the rose garden—a patch of bare, thorny canes at this time of year—and stealthily slip in through the unlocked patio doors. Terry smiled to himself and jauntily circled the manor house on foot. It looked to be the start of a fine, clear, cold morning. The sun was shining, the love of his life was waiting inside, and he even had a few coins in his pocket. He resisted the urge to whistle. Turning a corner, just outside the kitchen door, he saw two men tying a heavy burlap sack across the front of a saddle. The man in the saddle wore a sharply creased, gray-green uniform with officer’s markings. The two men on the ground wore swords, breastplates and rough uniform-like clothing of the same color. Terry didn’t recognize the uniform, and he didn’t care. It wasn’t the king’s uniform. The men didn’t look reputable, and the screaming voice from the kicking mass inside the sack was undoubtedly Gloria. He drew his sword and charged.

  Can one man with a sword defend himself against two armed opponents? The answer is yes. It has been done before, many times. If the swordsman has his back to a wall, or even better, if he is in a doorway, so that he is defending a narrow front, forcing his opponents to face his sword, then one man can fend off the attacks of several. There are well-documented instances of fast, skilled swordsmen holding off a half dozen enemies.

  Ah, but can one man with a sword successfully attack two well-armed men? Terry had heard that it could be done. He had even trained on the technique. Conventional wisdom was that you had to rapidly switch your blows from one opponent to the other, keeping them both on the defensive, so that they didn’t get a chance to coordinate a counterattack. He’d been told that if a man was very fast, and very skilled, and more than a little lucky, he could survive a fight under such conditions for two, perhaps three, minutes.

  The officer saw Terry first. He shouted something, and spurred his horse. It disappeared around the corner, carrying Gloria with it. The two other men had their swords out in an instant. Terry struck the first man with the full force of his charge. The kidnapper blocked Terry’s sword, but fell backward. Terry had no time to finish him off, though. He whirled and parried a thrust from the second man, made a counterthrust, which was blocked, and whirled again to attack the first man. And so it went.

  The men were not bad swordsman. If Terry had a fleeting thought that this might be part of Gloria’s plan, it was quickly dispelled. They wielded their blades with professional competence. But they were wary of this strange attacker, and had no experience of fighting in tandem. Terry managed to hold his own, striking at one and then the other, always staying in motion, always forcing them to keep their guard up. But he knew that it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t fight these men to the finish. He had to rescue Gloria, and the kidnapper on the horse was escaping.

  So having started the fight, he now tried to break out of it. That was a mistake. It encouraged his two opponents, who thought he was trying to flee. They closed in, and now Terry was on the defensive. He parried strike after strike, with no chance for a thrust of his own. The three swords clattered like rain on a tin roof. His back was to the manor wall, and he quickly maneuvered himself into the doorway.

  But the two henchman apparently knew this trick. The younger one broke off the fight and disappeared from Terry’s sight. The other one, older than Terry, and a skilled, experienced swordsman, kept up a careful attack. Terry was getting winded. It was obvious what they had in mind. The second man would come through the front door and attack from behind. So Terry let himself get pushed back through the kitchen. The next room was the dining room. In an instant he clambered backward across the table, putting it between himself and his opponent. “Roland,” he yelled. “A little help here!”

  The henchman broke off the fight and stood back. He kept his sword at high guard, and his eyes were narrow. He clearly was wondering if Terry was trying to bluff him. He angled his body cautiously and let his eyes flick toward the dining room entrance, too quickly for Terry to make a move. Both men quietly circled the table, each waiting for his chance if the other man dropped his guard. “Roland!” Terry called again. And his opponent ran away.

  Once again Terry was the pursuer. The henchman darted through the dining room door, with the knight right behind. He chased the henchman through the house and out the front door. They ran up the front drive. Terry was faster. He almost had him. He could hear the henchman gasping for breath. He was only a sword’s length away. One thrust through the kidneys, and it would be over. But Terry couldn’t risk it. He had to take the man alive, to make him tell where Gloria was. He strained for an extra ounce of speed, enough to get his hands on the henchman’s belt. And then the other thug ran Terry down.

  The younger thug had retrieved their horses. Riding one and leading the other, he rode into Terry at full gallop. Terry was knocked to the ground. He dropped his sword to protect his head with his arms, and curled up into a ball to avoid the pounding hooves. The two horses galloped over him, steel shoes ringing on the paving stones, only inches from his chest. He rolled away unharmed, saw his sword lying at arm’s length, and reached for it. Before he could rise the first thug kicked him in the head.

  And then kicked him a second time. Terry didn’t lose consciousness—at least he thought he didn’t—but it was a long time before he was finally able to stand again. The three men, their horses, and the princess, were long gone. He leaned on his sword for support. His face was wet. He touched a lump on his forehead, looked at his fingers, and realized that blood was running down his face. The ringing in his ears slowly subsided. He became aware of the silence. Not a sound came from the manor house. Outside, the birds had stopped singing, and the insects were quiet. The wind had died down. No breeze rustled the trees. Still in a daze, he looked at the empty lawn, crossed with long shadows from the morning sun, the quiet garden, and the blankly staring windows of the silent house.

  “What the hell is going on?” he said out loud. And went back inside the manor.

  Roland thought he was a very fortunate man indeed. Everything about the princess was delightful—her face, her clothes, her manner. He had already known that she would be beautiful. That was to be expected. A princess in the Twenty Kingdoms was always beautiful. Some magical reason, no doubt. But he never suspected that she would be so charming. She sat across the table with her pretty face cupped in her hands and watched him while he talked. She looked absolutely adorable.

  As he spoke to her, he made a mental note to thank the family for arranging his marriage. He was embarrassed at the way he had misjudged them. He understood now why they had put so much effort and spent so much money to get him betrothed to this girl. They obviously had his best interests at heart all along. His father especially. Who would have thought the old man had so much on the ball?

  “More coffee?” he said out loud. She nodded, and he motioned for the waitress to refill their cups. The young waitress gave the princess a curious look each time she passed by the table, but said nothing. The p
rincess didn’t talk much either, not at first, and initially this bothered Roland. She had followed him out of the kidnappers’ lair without saying a word. She had remained silent when he put her on the front of his saddle and galloped back to the inn. When he spoke to her she just sort of looked at him in a dazed way, as though she were mute. Roland was afraid the kidnappers might have mistreated her. He had heard stories about kidnap victims who had become withdrawn, or even catatonic.

  But once they reached the safety of the inn, she brightened up considerably. This reassured him. He ordered coffee for them both, and the inn’s whole range of cakes and pastries, then babbled on about the weather, the fashions in the city, art, theatre, wine, anything to distract her from her ordeal. Her expression now seemed to be one of adoration, although he couldn’t think why. She’s probably just grateful to be safely away from that place, he thought. It wasn’t until he made a comment on the baked goods that she finally spoke to him.

  “The Westfield Bakeries are the best in Medulla,” he declaimed. “I will go so far as to say that we have the finest bakeries in the Twenty Kingdoms. We use only - top-quality ingredients, and all our bakers are carefully trained. We designed the ovens ourselves, and each one is custom-built to exact specifications.” He picked up a wedge of jam torte and examined it critically. “Yet I have to admit that this little country inn has outdone us in certain respects.”

  The girl tilted her head a little. “You think so?”

  “Oh yes. Take this torte, for example. Most places put in too much sugar, hoping the extra sweetness will overwhelm the palate and cover up deficiencies in the crust. But when you get a filling like this, only semisweet, that’s a sign that the cook knows what she’s about.”

  The girl’s lips curved into a warm smile. “I’ve often thought the same thing. How nice to hear an independent confirmation.”

  Roland couldn’t help expanding a little. “I dined here last night. The rolls they gave me at dinner were truly excellent. Light and fluffy on the inside, delicate and crispy on the outside. Trust me, when it comes to baked goods, I know what I’m talking about. It’s not easy to get a good rise from your yeast on these cold, damp days. Even worse for baking is a gusty wind, when the draught from the stove varies and makes it difficult to maintain an even temperature. I’d like to meet the cook here. Maybe learn some of her techniques.”

  “I expect that could be arranged,” said the girl.

  Roland felt as though he could talk to this girl all day, and the next day, and the day after that. So many women talked of nothing but clothes, but this princess knew how to keep up a conversation. Nonetheless, he was starting to get a little worried about Terry. The knight had made it clear to Roland that they weren’t to wait on each other. Whoever found the Princess first was to take her straight back to Medulla. “If you’re captured, sit tight, and eventually your family will pay the ransom, or I’ll come back and get you out. We’re not in the same sort of danger a girl is. If I’m captured, don’t worry about it. Just bring the princess back to her family. I’m not worth any ransom, and I can defend myself.”

  Roland thought this was rather noble of Terry, but he waited anyway. The bandits didn’t seem to be pursuing them, so he didn’t feel under pressure to escape. And he feared the princess might not yet be strong enough to handle a long, hard ride. All in all, it just didn’t seem right to ride off and leave Terry behind.

  So he was quite relieved when Terry burst in the front door. The relief turned to concern when he saw that the knight had a bloody cloth wrapped around his head. The concern grew when Terry ran to his table, and shouted, “Princess Gloria has been kidnapped!”

  A bad blow to the head, thought Roland. “Yes, Terry. Calm down. Sit down. Let’s take a look at you.”

  “She’s gone!” shouted Terry. “They carried her off! I was right there! I couldn’t stop them!”

  “No one is blaming you,” said Roland soothingly. He quickly looked through all the windows, in case the brigands had followed Terry to the inn. It seemed quiet enough outside. “It’s all right now. Just sit down. Hold still while we get this cut cleaned up.”

  Terry sat down, then stood up immediately. “We can’t wait. They’re getting away. We have to go after her now!”

  “Not to worry,” said Roland. “The princess is right here.” He pointed to a chair and noticed that the girl he had rescued was not in it. Confused, he looked around and saw her coming out of the kitchen with towels and a basin of water. “I mean she’s right there. She’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. Just relax and let us take care of you.” He took the basin from the her and smiled gratefully. “Let’s get that bandage off.”

  Terry knocked his hands away. “For God’s sake, Roland. How can you hang about here footling with the hired help when the princess is in danger? We have a crisis, can’t you see?”

  “Terry,” said Roland firmly. “I want you to sit down, and take some long deep breaths, and have some tea, perhaps with a spot of whiskey in it, I think. The Princess Gloria is not in any danger. She’s right here. Take a good look at this girl. Don’t you recognize her?”

  “Of course I do! She’s the cook at this inn.”

  Roland chuckled. “No, she’s the . . .” He stopped when he saw the expression change on the girl’s face. “Aren’t you?”

  “No,” said Alison. “I mean, yes. I mean, I do cook here.” To cover her confusion, she dipped a towel in the basin and started washing Terry’s head.

  “What were you doing at that manor house?”

  “Um,” said Alison. She remembered that both the princess and her father had told her to distance herself from the kidnapping. “I was bringing food to the Baron.” That was true, pretty much.

  “They have takeout in a town this size?”

  “We just started offering it.”

  Roland’s dreams of marital bliss were crushed, the fragments now blowing away like dried leaves in a winter wind. Not wanting to let go of his fantasy, he said, “But you’re awfully well dressed for a cook. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that dress by Aubergé on Couture Street?”

  “Um,” said Alison. “The princess gave it to me.”

  “It’s pretty common for ladies to give their old clothing to the servants,” said Terry. He got up from the table and started pacing around the room.

  “Oh. Right,” said Roland. “Yes. Well, that explains the shoes.”

  Alison looked down at her shoes and opened her mouth to speak, but Terry cut her off. “Will you forget about this girl and get your stuff, Roland? We need to get moving. We need to find Gloria.”

  “You’re not going anywhere right now.” Roland pointed out the window. “Your horse is winded and exhausted. It needs to rest, and frankly, so do you. I’ll tell the stable to take care of your horse. You go upstairs and lie down.”

  “We don’t have time,” said Terry frantically. “Every minute she is getting farther and farther away.”

  “So you’ll track them again. Come now, this shouldn’t come as a surprise. It’s not uncommon for kidnappers to change locations, to move their hostage from one hideout to another. I was expecting something like this.”

  Terry looked stricken. “Oh my God.” He put his hands in his hair.

  Roland clapped him on the back. “You tracked them here even when they had two days’ head start. You can certainly track them now with two hours’ head start. Buck up. I have faith in you.”

  “I . . . I’m not sure I can track them.” Terry swallowed hard. “Roland, you see . . .”

  “The first thing to do is get back to the manor and talk to this Baron Wayless. He’s obviously in cahoots with the brigands.”

  “Is the Baron all right?” Alison tried to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

  “He was fine when I left him,” said Terry. “Maybe a little shook up.”

  “He’ll be more than a little shook up if he doesn’t cooperate with us,” said Roland grimly. “Normally I don’t condone
the use of strong-arm tactics on witnesses. But in a situation like this, they are justified.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Alison. “What did these men look like? Did you get a good look at them?”

  “Professionals,” said Terry. “Gray uniforms. But not military, nothing I recognized. More like some local militia or some lord’s private guards. Not your average thugs. Too good with the swords.”

  “Gray uniforms with red epaulettes and shoulder bars? Black leather buttons?”

  “Yes.”

  Alison nodded. “You don’t need to question the Baron. I know where they’re going. I can take you there.”

  Lieutenant Scorn was not a good-natured man even in the best of times, but today’s ride from the Baron’s manor to Count Bussard’s castle exacerbated his ill temper. He had expected the girl to calm down after a while, or at least tire herself out, but she had kept struggling the whole of the long hard gallop. When he got to the castle he simply let her fall off the horse onto the ground, then picked up the sack, carried it inside, shoved it into a closet, and locked the door. All this was done without seeing another person—the maids were not allowed in this section of the castle. He went back to his office, where he found a clothes brush to knock the road dust off his uniform and a towel to wipe off his boots. Then he went into the guards’ mess room and drew a mug of beer.

  He had hardly sat down when Thursby came in. The young guard threw the Lieutenant a salute. The Lieutenant threw one back, and said sourly, “Took you god-damn long enough to get here.”

  “We weren’t expecting armed bodyguards, sir. There were at least half a dozen of them, maybe more. They seemed to come out of nowhere. Gave us a hell of a fight, sir. We beat them back and got away, but it was near thing.”

  “There was only one guard. I expected the two of you to make short work of him.”