by Bruce Leslie
The Lump raised his eyebrows. “In all fairness, she might be scarier than the bear.”
“Scared of me?” The crone squinted her eyes and bared her teeth. “You should be scared of your own idiocy, you buffoon!” She balled her hand into a withered fist. “I’ll tell those footmen to go straight to the Darklands, and take those empty headed Lunaris with them!”
Flynn grimaced. “Meena, you must admit that diplomacy is not her strongest talent.”
“Bah!” The crone spat on the floor. “Diplomacy is for frail-bodied men who’ve never worked for anything in their lives!”
“Perhaps you have a point,” Meena conceded. “Shall you go with him, Flynn?”
The Lump gave Flynn a knowing smile. “I think he should stay here with you for a while. I’m sure he’s weary from traveling, he had twice the trip I had. He can tell you about the brigands we captured and the ox-sniffing disaster that happened on the ferry.”
“Fine, then.” Meena looked at the other three people in the enclosure. “I will not send my parents.” She smiled at the unfamiliar man. “Will you volunteer?”
The man stepped forward. “I will, Dragon.”
Meena winced. “Please, simply call me Meena. I have no desire for a title.” She raised her eyebrows. “Sam, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
“No, I’m happy enough to go.” The man smiled and gripped the front of his brown tunic with both hands. “I only have to stand and watch, and I know where the Gallisians are camping.”
Meena turned back to the Lump. “Samak is a good man, you can trust him.”
The man gave his head a slight bow. “Pleased to meet you, call me Sam.”
The Lump put a friendly hand on the man’s shoulder. “Sam, you can call me Lump. Now let’s go get this mud-kissing mess fixed up.”
Sam led the way out of Meena’s hidden chamber and onto the winding paths among the limestone slabs plunging into the sky. They wound through the large blades of stone until smoke on the air alerted them of the fire in the Gallisian camp.
The Lump turned to Sam. “Stay a safe distance back while I go talk to those honey-loving soldiers.”
Sam gave a nod of understanding and agreement.
The Lump raised both his hands and walked slowly forward. When the camp was in sight he shouted, “Ho there! May we speak?”
Five footmen clad in black iron mail stood and lowered their halberds. One called out, “Who approaches?”
“I’m the Lump, I’m from Aardland.” He kept his hands raised and continued forward with slow, easy steps. “I came to try and help.”
“I have the command here.” One of the Gallisians wearing a black cloth hat and furs about his shoulders stepped forward. “Why would an Aard want to help us?” He did not hold a halberd, but had a longsword on his hip.
“I know about the dragon,” said the Lump, “all too well.”
“Well, come on then.” The Gallisian commander beckoned. “Come closer and tell me what it is you know about the monster.”
The Lump walked until he stood in front of the commander.
The footmen formed a semicircle around him, still brandishing their weapons.
The commander said, “You best explain yourself quickly, before my men dispose of you.”
“Yes, I’ll do so.” The Lump nodded. “My pop chased the dragon from Aardland, over thirteen years ago.”
The commander’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head. “And how did he do that?”
“He poked out its eye!” The Lump brought a raised hand down to the hilt of his undersized sword. “He did it with this little sword here.”
“Keep you hand away from your weapon!” shouted a halberd wielding footman.
“Oh, sure.” The Lump jerked his hand back up into the air. “Sorry about that.” He frowned. “My pop died after the battle, though.”
“Why is the dragon in Gallis now?” asked the commander.
“Because of last Autumn.” The Lump pointed at himself with the thumb of a raised hand. “I came here and poked out its other eye, that chased it your way. It’s blind now.”
The commander’s face hardened, and he spoke through clenched teeth. “How do I know your words are true?”
Sam’s voice called out from his nook among the limestone slabs. “It’s true, I swear to it! Folk call him Dragonblinder now!”
The commander’s face contorted into an expression of disgust. “Dragonblinder, that’s a wretched name!”
“Do you understand now? Meena didn’t do nothing.” The Lump let his hands drop a little, holding them in a position of inquiry rather than surrender. “It was me and I can help—”
The air whistled and the Lump felt fire burning through his leg. He looked down and saw a halberd’s spike buried in his thick thigh. The ground spun, then rushed toward him as the world went black.
10: Meeting A King
The Lump sat in his drab cell. It had cold, gray stone walls on three sides with the fourth comprised of black, iron bars facing a corridor. The chamber contained a not entirely unpleasant bed with a straw mattress, and there was a barred window to let in light. He rose to face the window. The big man wrapped his hands around the window’s bars and looked out. His view revealed he was at least a hundred feet above the ground. No mules would be pulling the bars off this one.
The Lump was not certain how events unfolded to bring him here. After he fell unconscious from the stab of the halberd, the footmen must have placed him in a wagon bound for Gallis. When he awoke in the wooden cage at the wagon’s rear, no one offered any explanation. He was alone in there, and all the drivers would tell him was that he was bound for Galliston, the capital of Gallis. He could see through his cage easily enough and watched the road along the way, but there wasn’t much to see. There was a distinct lack of any villages during the journey.
The first thing of note he spied was the castle at Galliston. He had to admit that the gray, stone castle was impressive. It was both broader and higher than Molga Castle, and had several more towers and spires. He also noticed that the city wasn’t walled, and the wall around the castle appeared rather small when compared to the structure it enclosed. There was a peculiar lack of much city or market in Galliston. As best the Lump could discern, Galliston was only a big castle surrounded by hovels, huts and shanties. It made for a stomach churning contrast.
The Lump sat back down on the straw bed and tried to decide what he should do next. He realized he still hadn’t had a chance to wash. A quick sniff of his arm let him know that some, but not all, of the dung-stench had worn off during his trip.
His hand rubbed the hole in his breeches and he noted that the wound on his leg had been cleaned and bandaged. He guessed they wanted to keep him alive for some reason. At some point the Gallisians had taken his father’s small sword, but they let him keep his leather vest and bracers.
The jailer shuffled down the corridor carrying a bowl. He was an old man, small in stature, and the sparse amount of hair left on his head was white as snow. There was a noticeable curve to his back that gave him the appearance of being hunched over as he walked. His garb consisted of a drab, gray robe that looked to be little more than a collection of rags. Despite his dreary surroundings, he wore a smile upon his face.
The jailer stopped at the Lump’s cell. “Here’s some food.” He passed the bowl through the bars.
The Lump received the bowl and its warm contents. He guessed it was porridge, but the color was darker than expected. There was no spoon, so he lifted the bowl to his lips and sipped. The concoction tasted like boiled wood chips.
The jailer sat on a bench outside the cell. “They tell me you’re going to meet the King today.” He looked up and asked, “You ever met a king before?”
“No.” The Lump shook his head. “I’ve never really wanted to. In fact, I still don’t.” He took another sip from the bowl.
The jailer smiled and showed his crooked teeth. “A simple man like you will be st
ruck dumb by the glory of our King Ferte.” He scratched the side of his head. “You’ll have your audience with the King after he cuts the cheese.”
The Lump wrinkled his forehead and pulled the bowl away from his mouth. “After he does what?”
“Cuts the cheese!” snapped the jailer. “Today is the ceremony of Spring. Celebrations can’t start until the King uses the Holy Sword of Luna to slice out the first piece from the ceremonial wheel of spring cheese.”
“Oh, I see.” The Lump nodded his head. “In Aardland ‘cut the cheese’ means something else.”
The jailer wrinkled up his nose. “You Aards are a backwards lot.” He waved a hand toward the Lump. “Eat your gruel quick, now. They could send for you at any time.”
“Sure.” The Lump turned up the bowl and gulped down the remaining contents. Though it was less than appetizing, hard traveling, running, and getting stabbed had given him quite the appetite.
The jailer said, “If you’re lucky, the King may take you to his magic garden.”
The Lump held the empty bowl through the bars. “What’s magical about it?”
“It’s behind walls, no one gets to see it.” The jailer rose from the bench and took the bowl. “The women folk say it grows musical fruit.”
The Lump raised an eyebrow. “Any chance they’re talking about beans?”
The jailer sneered. “You imbecile! Beans are not fruit!”
The Lump flashed a broad smile. “But they are good for your heart!”
The jailer pointed a yellow-nailed finger. “Man, I think you’re touched in the head.”
“Thank you,” said the Lump.
The jailer squinted. “That is an insult.”
The Lump continued to smile. “Thank you, just the same.”
The heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor swung open and four guards marched through it. One of the guards announced, “Our supreme and glorious leader, King Ferte, has finished cutting the cheese.”
The Lump put a great deal of effort into suppressing his giggle.
The guard continued, “He will receive his guest from the south. Render him to our custody for delivery to the throne room.”
The Lump looked at the jailer and shrugged. “I guess I won’t get to see those musical fruits after all.”
The jailer opened the iron door and gestured for the Lump to step out.
The Lump limped out of the cell, still feeling pain in his injured thigh. The guards surrounded him, two in front and two behind. They led him past the row of empty cells and into a wider corridor. After traveling through a series of winding passages, the guards directed him down a long flight of stairs. He grunted as he descended, his thigh burned with each step. At the bottom of the stairs a man stood before a large, closed door.
The man looked to be the door’s attendant. He was a thin man, with an upturned nose, clad in loose-fitting yellow robes with bright, red flowers embroidered on them.
One of the guards spoke to the attendant. “We are here to present the new guest.”
“And what is his name?” the attendant asked, avoiding eye contact with either the Lump or the guards.
The Lump said, “People call me the Lump.”
A guard grunted. “We are told he is the Dragonblinder.”
The attendant threw open the door with a flourish. He walked into the room and called out in a loud, clear voice, “Now presenting before His Majesty, the man called Dragonblinder!”
Two of the guards gave the Lump a shove, and he limped through the door. He found himself in a spacious room with a polished, stone floor that matched the walls. The chamber was very utilitarian in appearance with no decorations on the walls, and no furnishings save for a throne on a raised platform at one end of the room.
The Lump assumed the dark haired man wearing a crown and sitting on the throne was the King. In addition to the King, there were two other men, one standing at each side of the throne. They both wore mail, but the one on the right had silver furs wrapped around his shoulders. The man to the King’s left lacked furs, but instead wore a large, silver amulet shaped like a crescent moon.
The King looked to be a young, but frail, man. He was both shorter and thinner than the men beside him. His straight, black hair hung to his shoulders and a thin, black beard framed his face. He wore a long, purple tunic adorned with red flowers, and the heavy crown on his head appeared to be made of iron.
The man with the furs on his shoulders spoke first. “It is customary to kneel before a king!”
“My apologies,” said the Lump, looking down at his bandaged thigh. “My leg got gouged up pretty good.” He looked up and raised his hands shoulder high. “Would it be good enough just to sit?”
The man with the furs looked at the King without speaking.
The King gave him the slightest of nods.
“Yes, Dragonblinder,” said the fur-shouldered man, “that will suffice.”
The Lump plopped his rear down on the cold stone floor. “People usually call me the Lump.”
The man with the furs gave him a stern glare. “You should not speak without permission!”
The King waved a hand to quiet the man beside him, then spoke. “We will dismiss with formality for our guest, he is clearly not accustomed with the ways of court.” He looked down at the Lump from his seat on the throne. “After all, this Dragonblinder is not one of my subjects… not yet, at the very least.” His gaze swung to the men beside him, one at a time, then back to the Lump. “I hope you have gathered who I am. My advisors will introduce themselves.”
The man with the furs made his introduction first. “I am Baron Eugene, Lord Commander of the armies of Luna and Gallis.”
The man with the moon-shaped amulet said, “I am but a humble Lunari. My name is Tarak, and His Majesty requested I care for the wellbeing of your body and soul.”
“That’s good to know,” said the Lump.
Tarak gave him a polite smile. “I will also be asking questions on behalf of our supreme and glorious leader.”
“Ask away!” The Lump chuckled and his belly shook. “I’ve been itching to explain things to somebody, I suppose there ain’t nobody better than the King.”
“True.” Tarak nodded. “Tell us what you know of the eye-less dragon, and how it came to Gallis.”
“That’s all I’m trying to do.” The Lump had a wide smile on his face. “It was wreaking havoc in the Needles, so Meena and Flynn recruited me to fight the thing.” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. “I scrapped with it, and when it fled… well, I guess it came here.”
Baron Eugene took a single step forward. “We have found this beast does not flee.” He asked, “How did you send it running?”
“I gouged out its good eye with my sword.” The Lump’s hand went to his hip and he remembered his loop was empty. He looked up at the throne with a furrowed brow. “Any chance I could get that sword back? It was my pop’s.”
“In due time.” The Baron seemed to take over the questioning from the Lunari. “You mentioned two conspirators. Could you give us their names?”
The Lump tilted his head to one side. “Two what?”
“Conspirators,” answered the Baron. “The people who recruited you for this endeavor.”
“Oh, you mean Flynn and Meena.” The Lump grinned and shook his head. “They’re not conspirators, they just wanted to get rid of the dragon.”
“I see.” The Baron’s face was devoid of emotion. “So, the three of you eliminated the dragon’s only vulnerability, then sent it to Gallis.” His cold gaze met the Lump’s eyes. “Am I to assume that with no remaining eyes there is no way to defeat the monster?”
“Not at all,” answered the Lump. “I’ve been trying to tell someone about the flowers—”
“I don’t care about your flowers!” The King rose from his throne and turned to the Baron. “I will handle the questioning for a bit, Eugene.” He looked down at the Lump. “Do you think it is acceptable for a Needler like you t
o send your dragon into Gallis? Don’t you understand that this is an act of war?”
The Lump opened his eyes wide and felt pressure growing in his chest. “I’m not from the Needles, I’m from Aardland.”
A malicious grin appeared on the King’s face. “So, this wasn’t an act of war from the Common Folk.” He sat back upon his throne and leaned back. “Just as I suspected, Aardland is my adversary.” His hand balled into a fist and he held it in the air. “I will finally reclaim the honor my kingdom lost in the Great War!”
“No!” The Lump shook his head as hard as he could. “This ain’t nothing to start a war—”
“Silence!” shouted the King. He pointed a regal finger down at the big man sitting on the floor. “You no longer have an audience with me, this has become an inquisition!”
11: Inquisition
“You will tell me what I want to know under pain of torture!” shouted the King.
“Hold on!” The Lump held his hands out in front of him while he sat on the stone floor. “I’m happy enough to give you honest answers, there’s no need for torture.”
The King cocked his head to one side, looking perplexed. “What do you mean, no torture?” He narrowed his eyes. “It’s hardly an inquisition without torture!”
“But I’ll cooperate!” The Lump’s eyes were open wide. He pointed a thumb at his chest. “I’ll tell you everything I know, you don’t have to use torture.”
The King stood up from his throne. “Do you have any idea how much effort my smith has expended to craft the perfect devices to extract useful information?” He shook his head in exasperation. “I can’t just let them sit and gather dust!”
The Lump’s face twisted into a fearful grimace. “I just don’t see any reason—”
“This is my first inquisition!” The King’s shout cut the Lump short. “There must be torture or it won’t count!”
“Won’t count for what?” asked the Lump.
“It won’t count as an inquisition, It won’t strike fear into my enemies!” The King pointed down at him. “You know nothing of ruling over people.”
