Barbarian Backlash: Dragon Wars - Book 14 of 20: An Epic Sword and Sorcery Fantasy Adventure Series

by Craig Halloran

  “Don’t judge me. I see these men every day. I feel their eyes upon me. But you, you are different.” She looked up into his eyes. “I want you. I will have you.” She shoved him onto the bed and tackled him.

  “We can’t do this,” he said desperately to the woman straddling him.

  “Don’t you find me pretty?”

  “Of course, anyone would. But it’s wrong,” he said.

  She pushed his hands down. He slipped her grasp, but she grabbed him again.

  “You’re quick.” He kept pulling his hands away, and she kept snatching them with feline quickness. “Zooks, you’re sticky.”

  Sandal giggled and tightened her legs. “You will do as I want, Grey Cloak, if you’re wise.”

  “If I’m wise, I won’t do what you want.”

  She rolled him on top of her and held his arms tight. “I’ll scream. The guards will come. Kiss me, Grey Cloak! Kiss me!”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “What in the world is going on?” The door closed behind Dyphestive. A shocked expression filled his face. “Grey Cloak, what are you doing?”

  “It’s not what it looks like,” Grey Cloak said.

  Sandal slapped his face. “Shame on you! Taking advantage of my hospitality! You mongrel!” She kicked him hard and crawled out from underneath him, started to sob, and straightened her clothes. “Wait until Hercullon hears about this.” She ran from the room. “Guards! Guards!”

  “Brother, what has gotten into you?” Dyphestive closed the door and locked it.

  Grey Cloak shook his head and pointed at his chest. “It wasn’t me. She attacked me. Tell him, Streak.”

  From his spot by the fireplace, Streak yawned. “I don’t know. I was sleeping.”

  “Streak!” Grey Cloak warned. “Tell the truth.”

  The runt dragon stretched his back like a cat and shivered. “It wasn’t him. She was all over him from the moment she walked in here.”

  “This isn’t going to go well,” Dyphestive said.

  “You think?” Grey Cloak slung his cloak over his shoulders and started gathering his gear. “How’d your meeting go with Hercullon? Is he crazy too?”

  “No. He met my father, or knew him. I like Hercullon.” Dyphestive quickly shared their conversation. “And I told him I’d be his champion.”

  “Interesting.” Grey Cloak shot him a disappointed look. “So, he’s not mad, you are.” He waved at his dragon. “Come on, Streak. We need to get out of here.” He faced his brother. “And so do you.”

  “There’s nowhere to run. They’ll be all over us. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to Hercullon. I’ll explain it’s a—”

  “A what?”

  “A misunderstanding.”

  Guards pounded on the outside of the door, shouting. An axe-head split a board in the wooden door.

  Whack!

  “I don’t think that’s going to work.” Grey Cloak moved over to the window. “This is the only way out. Come on, we need to make a run for it.”

  “No, I’ll stay. You go. I can slow them down.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” Grey Cloak said.

  “Go. You’ll figure something out. I can hold them off until then.”

  It was three stories down, and the bubbling moat waited below. “You wouldn’t make it anyway. You’d sink like a stone.” Grey Cloak backed away from the window, tucked Streak under his arm, and gathered his legs beneath him. “I’ll be back, brother.”

  “You know where I’ll be.”

  Grey Cloak sprinted toward the window, busted through the glass, and dropped through the sky toward the burbling waters of the moat. The cloak blossomed out, and he fell as gently as a leaf.

  “Boss, I don’t know about this,” Streak said. “If you hit that stuff, you’ll sink.”

  “Or walk on it.”

  “I have a better idea.” Streak spread his wings and started to fly. “Grab my tails, quick.”

  Grey Cloak latched on. Streak’s wings beat feverishly as he towed Grey Cloak away from the murky, bubbling moat. Grey Cloak’s feet scraped up the side of the embankment, and the cloak folds gave way to the brisk winds.

  “We made it.” Grey Cloak twisted around and looked up at his room’s busted window. “He better make it as well.”

  A shout rang out from the top wall of the homestead. An arrow whistled through the wind and buried itself between Grey Cloak’s feet. The Homestead Guardians gathered on the wall. They shouted and fired their arrows.

  “That’s our cue to go.” Streak spread his wings. “Try to keep up.”

  “Don’t worry.” Grey Cloak took off running after his dragon. “I will.”

  10

  Dyphestive knocked the teeth out of the first man to charge through the door. He hip-tossed the next. A moment later, several guards piled on top of him. They tackled his legs and drove him to the ground. One of them used a small club and beat his skull.

  “He has a head like a rock!” the clubber said.

  “Hit him harder!” another guard said. “Ooof!”

  Dyphestive grinned and let the guards have it. Wrestling in the pile and taking lumps on the head, he had his way with the throng. They were strong, but he was stronger. They wouldn’t quit, so he did. It was either that or kill them. He took another shot to the head and relented. He collapsed on the floor and faked unconsciousness.

  The stalwart guards groaned. Panting, they climbed to their feet.

  “He knocked out half my teeth,” one guard said.

  “Stronger than a bear, that one,” added another.

  The Homestead Guardians picked Dyphestive up by his arms and legs. “Goy, he’s heavier than a mule. I say we drag him down to the dungeon. My back’s already aching.”

  Dyphestive found himself in familiar territory, sealed inside a damp dungeon cell with half the floor covered in rotting straw. Outside the steel bars sat a bucket of water with a wooden ladle. He didn’t see any other imprisoned neighbors. He leaned his broad back against the wall. “Great.”

  “Quiet!” someone said in a harsh voice. A dungeon guard shuffled over to the cell door and stepped into full view. He was a beefy slob of a man with more belly than chest. He wore the same loincloth and fur garb as the other Homestead Guardians. He smacked a club into his palm and grinned. “Don’t make me open this door and throttle you.”

  “No, never. I’d never cross the likes of you.”

  The guard kicked the bucket across the aisle into the cells across the way.

  “You don’t want to be wise with me.” The guard turned and walked away.

  Under his breath, Dyphestive said, “Whatever you say, bucket slayer.”

  “What?”

  He didn’t reply. Eventually, the beefy guard settled into a chair that groaned beneath his weight. Minutes later, the man was snoring like a bear.

  “At least I have music to listen to.” Dyphestive grabbed the metal bars and gave them a firm tug. The metal creaked, and the edges bracketed in the walls loosened. “Hmm, I might be able to do it.”

  “Do what?” said a woman in a velvety voice.

  Her voice came from the shadows of the cell across from him. A woman lay on a cot in the darkness.

  Dyphestive pressed his face against the bars. “Who are you?” he whispered.

  “A prisoner, like you,” she said.

  “No need for sarcasm.”

  “No need for whispering. The guard won’t hear you. Once he’s asleep, he doesn’t wake easily. Usually he wakes when his belly growls,” she said.

  “Huh, I have the same problem.” He narrowed his eyes, but he still had trouble making out the woman. “It sounds like you’ve been in here a long time.”

  “As long as I need to be,” she said.

  Dyphestive raised a brow. “You make it sound like you want to be here.”

  “I’ve been waiting for the right opportunity to present itself. Perhaps I’ve found one in you.” She eased out of the darkness and strolled up to the bars. Sh
e was an elf, with long, tangled hair as dark as midnight. Her drab clothing was as gray as a stormy sky. She was fit, her body language as smooth as silk. “I watched them haul you in. My, were they complaining. You must be the one who slew White Ice.”

  “It sounds like you’re very well-informed for a dungeon dweller.”

  The mature woman smoothed her hair behind her pointed ear. “I have very good hearing. Besides, Big Belly over there talks a lot once you get to know him. He can’t keep it closed, even when he’s chewing.”

  Dyphestive smiled. “It is nice to see you can maintain a sense of humor, given your situation.”

  She smirked. “What makes you think I’m jesting?” She leaned her shoulder against the bars. “Why don’t you tell me more about yourself? What did you do to wind up down here?”

  “I didn’t do anything. My brother did.”

  She raised her brows. “Ah, the other slayer. And why isn’t he here?”

  “I covered for him, but he’ll be back. Someway, somehow.”

  “That’s refreshing to hear. You sound very sure of him.”

  “I am.” He met her eyes. “Now, why don’t you tell me a little about you?”

  “I would, but someone is coming.” She slunk back into the shadows. “Maybe next time, if there is one.”

  11

  Grey Cloak jogged into the empty streets of the Ice Vale township and entered the back alleys. Streak huddled over his boots with his flat head cocking side to side like a bird.

  Grey Cloak took a deep breath. “Well, Streak, do you have any ideas?”

  “I can fly away from trouble, but I’m not sure what you can do aside from run.” Streak shrugged his wings. “You can’t run faster than I can fly, so I’d surmise that the snow soldiers will catch up with you… eventually.”

  “You’re a big help.” Grey Cloak peeked down the main roads.

  It was the wee hours of the morning, and the citizens had called it hours ago, as the bitter cold and snow-heavy winds could freeze a man’s bones.

  “At least we have a head start.”

  Streak nodded. “Yes, but what are we going to do?” His teeth chattered. “Turn into icicles out here?” He set his bright-yellow eyes on Grey Cloak. “I’m freezing.”

  “Get in my hood. The cloak will warm you,” he said.

  The Cloak of Legends had many powers, one of which was keeping the wearer warm and dry. As Streak crawled up his leg, Grey Cloak noticed a bird coming from the direction of the Culpepper Homestead. It was a snow pigeon. He remembered what Lorry had said. The winter birds were used to send messages.

  “Streak! Hold off.” He pointed at the pigeon. “You need to stop that bird! Bring it back to me!”

  Streak looked up. “No problem.” He spread his wings, dashed down the street, jumped, and took flight. He sped toward the pigeon, opened his jaws, and clamped down on the unsuspecting bird. Feathers fell from Streak’s mouth, dropping like snow, as he returned. He landed in front of Grey Cloak and spit the bird out. “They taste better without the feathers. Are we going to cook it?”

  Grey Cloak took a knee and removed a small parchment tied to the bird’s leg.

  “What’s that?” Streak asked.

  “It’s a homing pigeon bearing a message.” He unrolled the small parchment. “Ha. This was going straight to the garrison. It’s an order to find us and bring us back dead or alive.” He rolled the parchment between his thumb and finger. “That seems extreme, not to mention I’m innocent.”

  “Can I eat the bird now? It’s either that or I’m going to start to hibernate.”

  “Enjoy.” Grey Cloak searched his thoughts. He needed to prove his innocence, and it wouldn’t be easy with it being his word against Sandal’s. “Come on.”

  Streak gulped down the rest of the snow pigeon. “Where are we going?”

  “We need to stay ahead of the Culpeppers. No doubt the Homestead Guardians are not far behind us. It won’t be long before the streets are crawling with soldiers coming for our heads.” He huffed. “From heroes to goats in less than a day. Who would have thought?”

  Streak climbed into the cloak’s hood, and Grey Cloak took off running across the snowy streets. Avoiding the light, he didn’t stop until he found the street that led to Batram’s Bartery and Arcania. He stopped in the very same spot where he’d viewed the red door before, but the arcania had vanished. “Flaming Fences!”

  “What are we going to do now, boss?” Streak asked. “The shop’s gone.”

  Grey Cloak sat down on the porch stoop and hung his head. “I don’t know. I’m thinking.”

  The night winds carried the sound of baying hounds and wolves in the distance.

  “Well, I suggest you think faster. We’re about to have company.”

  “Zooks.” Grey Cloak rose to his feet. “I should have known they’d have hounds to track us.” He took a running start, jumped up, and caught the lip of a porch roof. Using window ledges and shutters for fingerholds and footing, he climbed to the top of the building like a squirrel. Every roof in the township had a steep pitch to keep the snow from building up. He fought his way up the slippery snow and nestled behind a smoking chimney. He sighed. “Anvils.”

  “Well, look at that. You can see the Homestead from here.” Streak flicked his tongue. “Who are those guys carrying all those torches?”

  Grey Cloak gave his dragon a disappointed look. “Who do you think it is? The Homestead Guardians.”

  The winter warriors plowed through the snow on sleds pulled by Clydesdale horses. Racing at the front of the ranks were large, muscular hounds pulling at their taut leashes. A quick count revealed at least fifty stout men coming their way. There would be more once the township soldiers joined the throng.

  “What to do, what to do?” he muttered to himself. Instinctively, he patted down his inner cloak pockets and felt for the Figurine of Heroes. The Culpeppers weren’t the enemy. The last thing he wanted was to harm any one of them. He would avoid bloodshed if possible, but if cornered, he would do what he had to do to save himself and Streak. “I suppose I could turn myself in.”

  “Surrender?” Streak asked. “I say you make them earn it.”

  “Agreed. Hang on.” With Streak nestled in his hood, Grey Cloak moved out from behind the chimney, slid down the roof, and landed like a cat on the ground. He ran from porch to porch, peering inside the storefront windows.

  “You know, you’re leaving fresh footprints everywhere. Are you trying to make it easy?” Streak asked.

  Grey Cloak stopped in front of a general store, hurried to the door, and picked the lock. He stole his way inside and closed the door behind him. Searching the shelves, he picked up a can of pepper.

  “Ah, I see what you’re doing.” Streak nodded approvingly. “I saw this in a movie.”

  12

  Lorry stood in front of Dyphestive’s cell with two Homestead Guardians. He filed his nails, his ear bent toward the cell.

  Clutching the bars, Dyphestive continued his plea. “You have to believe me, Lorry. Grey Cloak wouldn’t do anything like that. It was her, not him.”

  “Are you excusing Sandal Culpepper of attacking your brother?” Lorry poked his file through the bars. “That’s a serious accusation. If I put it on record, it will only make matters worse. Do you want me to put it on the record?”

  “Yes,” Dyphestive said.

  “I see.” Lorry resumed his nail filing. “So, you saw Sandal Culpepper attack your brother.”

  “Well, no.”

  “So, you’re making a false accusation.”

  “No, listen to me.” He pushed his face into the bars. “Grey Cloak says he didn’t do it, and I believe him.”

  Lorry rolled his eyes at one of the guards. “That’s what they all say, don’t they? After all, what man would desire Sandal Culpepper? She’s so undesirable with her long legs and fathomless beauty. How many men did Hercullon have to kill to win her over?”

  The guard standing closest to him shrugge
d.

  “Yes, I lost count myself.”

  “I know it looks rotten, but it didn’t happen as she says. I know my brother,” Dyphestive replied. “Please, let me talk to Hercullon. He’ll understand. I can explain.”

  Lorry tucked his file under his sleeve. “Hercullon extended his grace and hospitality to you, and this is how you repay him? He even offered you Dinah’s hand in marriage. Then you show him treachery?”

  Dyphestive shrugged with his hands. “I didn’t do anything, but I stand by my brother. It must be a misunderstanding that can be corrected.”

  “Sandal Culpepper’s word is gold. I don’t believe her story is going to change. Someone must pay. That someone will be your brother, and if not your brother, then it will be you.” Lorry placed his hands on the bars and offered a sad look. “And the sentence is death.”

  “Death!”

  “Sandal is a high-ranking monarch. An assault on her person is a violation of law. The penalty is death. It’s always been that way.”

  Dyphestive’s face dropped. He couldn’t believe his ears. No one should die from a misunderstanding. Of course, he didn’t know exactly what had happened, but he knew Sandal was lying. She had to be. “You have to let me talk to Hercullon. Please. I can straighten this out.”

  “Hercullon is very disappointed in you. He had high hopes for your future in his family. Now he has to contend with this and prepare for the contest.” Lorry swiped his oily hair to the other side. “I haven’t seen him this sad in a long time.”

  “Contest?” Dyphestive put his back to the wall and sank. “But I was going to champion the contest.”

  “Well, the fate of Ice Vale is in the hands of Hercullon Culpepper now.” Lorry nodded at the guards, and as he departed, he said, “See to it he is adequately fed. After all, if his brother isn’t found soon, these might be his last meals.” He gave Dyphestive a long last look. “Hopefully your brother won’t abandon you.”

  Dyphestive banged the back of his head against the wall. “Rusty horseshoes!” Rock chips fell into his collar. He clutched his head and tugged at his hair. He’d been trapped before, but for some reason, this situation seemed worse. This time, the freedom of an entire kingdom and the life of a good man were on the line. He needed to stop it, but he didn’t know how.