“Well, well, well, well… that conversation had stink all over it.” The elven woman in the adjacent cell crawled out of the shadows and sat with her legs curled up by the bars. “Sorry, did I interrupt your sulking?”
“Quiet!” The big-bellied guard strolled over to her cell and whacked the bars with his club. “Don’t make me bash your skull in.”
She stuck out her tongue.
The guard hit the bars where her fingers were, but she moved them, so he missed. He wiggled the club at her. “Keep it up, and I’ll come back with the lash.”
“You wouldn’t do that to a little elf like me, would you?” She batted her eyelashes at him and spoke like a child. “It would hurt me. I promise I’ll be good. I really, really promise.”
“Watch your mouth, or I’ll bust those lips.” The guard acted like he was going to hit the bars again and walked away.
Dyphestive heard a chair dragging across the floor and the sound of the big-bellied dungeon guard sitting down.
The elven woman held up her fingers and lowered them one at a time, silently counting down from ten. A moment after both fists closed, the guard started snoring. “Mauk is a sleeper. That’s why the likes of him always draw dungeon duty. It’s designed for fat, lazy people, and look around. We’re the only prisoners.”
Dyphestive gave her a curious look. “Wouldn’t they worry about prisoners escaping?”
“Oh, of course, but the good ones are on the other side of the door. You saw them, didn’t you?”
“No, I had my eyes closed.”
“I see.”
“What did you mean when you said my conversation with Lorry had stink all over it?”
“Are you daft? Don’t you think the timing of these troubles is, oh, what’s the word?” She snapped her fingers. “Convenient!”
He scratched his head.
“Young man, put that big skull of yours to better use. Think about it.” She dangled her arms through the crossbars. “I heard you were to be the champion in the contest, right? Everyone knows that Hercullon can no longer win that fight. All of a sudden, he finds a champion, and in a matter of hours, the champion is imprisoned.” She flexed her slender fingers. “That’s what I call convenient.”
Dyphestive rubbed his jaw. “But why?”
She flung up her hands. “I don’t know. Am I supposed to do all the thinking for you? Can’t you think for yourself? Or does your brother do that?”
Dyphestive didn’t want to admit that Grey Cloak did do most of the thinking. In fact, the one thing Dyphestive had decided on was that they meet the Culpeppers. Grey Cloak, he had been adamant that they not. “I do my share of the thinking, thank you.”
“Good.” She slunk back into the shadows. “Do it.”
13
Tearing strips from a shirt he took from the general goods store, Grey Cloak covered them in his scent, then added pepper. He made a new trail in the snow that led to a carriage house where sleds were stored among the horses in the stalls. He stuck a length of clothing in the bed of hay and sprinkled more pepper on it. He did the same in two more barn locations.
“Do you think it’ll work?” Streak asked.
“It will confuse them and buy us more time.”
The shouting of men and the barking of hungry hounds grew closer.
Grey Cloak eyed an exit in the back of the barn. “Exit stage left.” He jogged out of the carriage house with Streak’s head poking out beside his. Outside, he waited in the falling snow.
Within minutes, the durable warriors from the Culpepper Homestead entered the carriage house. The hounds bayed, sniffed, and snorted.
He peeked through a crack between the barn slats. Several hounds took the bait. They snorted and sneezed out snot.
“What in the blazes is happening to my hounds?” one of the Homestead Guardians asked. “Bloody bones, there’s pepper all over the place!”
Streak’s tongue flickered. “Well done. And I thought stuff like that only worked in the movies.”
Grey Cloak gave him a funny look, shook his head, and took off.
The streets filled with soldiers, but there were more streets than men. At least fifty guardians and hundreds of Ice Vale soldiers were on the hunt. Their tracks in the snow were everywhere, making it easy for Grey Cloak to hide his own steps. He just needed a good place to hide and think.
A lone Ice Vale soldier passing by an alley caught his attention. The man had his back to Grey Cloak.
Sometimes the best way to hide is in plain sight. Grey Cloak snuck up behind the man, summoned the wizard fire, and gave the soldier a jolt.
The man collapsed in his arms. Grey Cloak set him down.
Streak cocked his head. “What did he do to you?”
The Ice Vale soldiers wore long, heavy coats made from furs and skins over their armor. They wore fur winter caps that covered their ears as well. Grey Cloak pulled on the coat and jammed the cap onto his head.
“Stylish,” Streak said.
“Get down in the hood. It’s time to blend in.”
“What’s going on down there?” called a soldier who stood at the opposite end of the alley. He lowered his spear and approached.
“Zooks,” Grey Cloak said under his breath. “Um… I found him here. It looks like he was attacked. Moments ago.” He waved the soldier forward. “Hurry.”
The soldier rushed down the alley without glancing at Grey Cloak. He took a knee and checked for a pulse on the fallen soldier’s neck. “He’s alive. What happened?”
“This.” Grey Cloak’s fingers brightened. He fed the light into the man’s shoulder.
“Gah!” The soldier’s eyes bulged and glinted with an inner blue spark, then he collapsed.
Grey Cloak blew his fingers. “I’m getting really good at that.”
Streak popped his head out. “Yeah, I bet you get a charge out of it. Why don’t you do it to all of them?”
“I’d probably burn my fingers off, and we don’t want that, now do we?” He picked up a spear and moseyed down the alley, regretting that he’d left the Rod of Weapons back at the Homestead. He noticed a squad of soldiers making tracks down the streets and joined the rear rank. No one paid him any mind. They were too busy looking up and down the alleys and roads. He hung with them for at least an hour, weighing his options.
I need to find a way to free Dyphestive. Hmm… he’s inside a stronghold, probably being tortured, and oddly enjoying it, while I’m dancing in the snow. Let’s see. No allies. No good plans. It’s me and Streak against a stronghold of barbarians. Well, amateur barbarians. A crazy woman is in love with me. I can’t really fault her, even though something about the situation reeks.
Now, what was it that my brother told me? Ah, yes, he said Hercullon mentioned that Black Frost has already wiped out the Sky Riders. If we only could have prevented that, going back in time would have been worth it. We’re ten years back. Where do we even start? Especially when my brother’s trapped.
The horse-drawn sleigh ridden by Ice Vale soldiers drove by. It turned down another street and vanished from sight. It reminded Grey Cloak of Crane. The older man was dead, but in the past.
“Crane!” he muttered, drawing a look from a soldier in front of him. Grey Cloak faked a cough and turned his head side to side, as if searching.
He’s alive in the past. Most of them are. If anyone can help, he can. All I need to do is find the Brotherhood of Whispers. There’s more than one in every town, Crane always said.
Grey Cloak abandoned the squad of soldiers when they turned down the next street. He backtracked and huddled in the shadows of an alley they’d already passed. He moved behind a group of rotten crates and barrels and began rummaging through his pockets. “Oh my.”
Streak popped his head out. “Whatchya got there?”
“Potions. It seems Tatiana really loaded me up with potions from the Wizard Watch’s Treasure House. Zooks, there must be a dozen of them.” He cocked his head. “Eh, what’s this?”
&
nbsp; Streak flicked out his tongue. “It looks like a scarf to me.”
“It’s not just any scarf. It’s the Scarf of Shadows. That little sneak Zora must have stuck it in my pocket. But why?” Grey Cloak chuckled and smirked. “I don’t know why, but I just thought of something.”
“Care to share?” Streak asked.
“You’ll learn along the way. It’s time to break my brother out of jail.” He put on the scarf. “And they won’t even see us coming.”
14
The heavyset guard ambled over to Dyphestive’s cell door with a covered platter of food. He held the key ring in one hand and the tray in the other. “Back off. Against the wall, now.”
Dyphestive complied.
Using his greasy fingers, the dungeon guard twisted the key inside the lock and swung the door half-open. He shoved in the tray of food and quickly locked the door again. With a snarl on his face, he said, “If it were up to me, I’d let you starve, then I’d kill you. Shove the tray through the bars when you finish.”
“Thanks,” Dyphestive said politely.
The dungeon guard stepped back into view, knitted his wooly eyebrows, shook his head, and disappeared again, muttering to himself, “Thank you, he says.” He let out a throaty laugh.
Dyphestive lifted the cloth napkin off the tray, revealing four pieces of chicken, all which had been gnawed to the bone. Only a few large biscuit crumbs remained on the platter with it. He snorted. “This looks wonderful.” He tucked the napkin in his shirt. “I hope I can eat it all.”
“Ah-hahahaha!” the dungeon guard laughed. He reappeared, his eyebrow raised. “Oh, I see you have a sense of humor. It won’t last.” His belly jiggled when he laughed again. “I have a sense of humor too. Mauk has a fine sense of humor.” He picked up the water bucket and tossed the water on Dyphestive. “That ought to help you wash it down.” He punted the bucket and walked away. “Egg sucker.”
Dyphestive dabbed his face with his napkin and tossed it aside. He’d eaten his fill earlier in the day, but his belly began to groan. He looked longingly at the plate. “I love chicken and biscuits.”
Sitting cross-legged, he sulked with his chin resting on his fists as he gathered his thoughts. He put a great deal of effort into what the woman in the other cell said. He believed he’d figured it out, in part.
Mauk resumed his routine snoring.
Not long after, Dyphestive heard, “Psst.”
The elf woman had moved to the front of her cell and sat leaning against the bars. She brushed her messy black hair from her eyes. “Are you pouting?”
“No.” He sat up straight and lifted his chin, maintaining a determined expression. “I’m thinking.”
“Oh, it looks hard for you.”
He frowned.
“Don’t take it personally,” she replied coolly. “But big fellas like you aren’t known for thinking. But it looks like you’ve been trying. Care to share?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know you.”
“That’s a fine thing to say to a person who’s been trying to help you. Of course, I have thick skin. You won’t hurt my feelings.” She turned her back to the bars and started humming and drumming her hands on the floor.
Dyphestive eyed her suspiciously. There was something unique about the elven woman. She reminded him of the first time he and Grey Cloak ran into Than across the Iron Hills near Farhook. But Than had appeared mad, and she was nothing of the sort, aside from nosy. “What’s your name?”
She stopped humming and turned around. “My friends would call me Tula, except I don’t have any.” She stuck her arms and feet through the bars and made herself comfortable. “Now that we’ve come to know each other, a chip for your thoughts?” She showed a silver coin pinched between her thumb and finger. “Come now, what’s the harm in talking to me, a smart, older woman?”
“Who’s locked in a dungeon.”
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” She smirked and motioned with her hand. “Come on, open up. You know you want to.”
He moved closer to the bars and listened for Mauk’s snoring. “Fine. I thought a great deal about what you said in regard to convenience. The only person in real danger is Hercullon. He put his trust in me to be his champion, but without a champion, he’s doomed. I hate to think it, but Sandal must want him gone. But why?”
Tula shrugged. “Women have their own ambitions.”
“I know. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. They can be serpents in the grass.” He looked her in the eyes. “The problem is how do I convince Hercullon? He’ll never believe me.”
“That’s a problem.” Tula began flipping the coin with her thumb and easily catching it. “It seems that Sandal’s in league with the Wolves in the Rock.”
“Or worse. She’s in league with Dark Mountain.”
Tula’s eyes widened. “Interesting. What makes you think that?”
“Because they’re behind everything.”
15
Fully invisible, Grey Cloak made his way to the edge of the township. A long stretch of open, snowy terrain waited between him and the Culpepper Homestead. A small group of Homestead Guardians guarded the road into town that led back to the fortress. The well-built men stood in the stiff wind, half-naked in buckskin clothing and fur boots. If the savage warriors were cold, they showed no sign of it as their dark eyes probed the area in all directions.
With Streak well-concealed in Grey Cloak’s hood, Grey Cloak made his move to an empty horse-drawn sleigh. He slipped between two guardians who had their backs to him, climbed into the sled, and grabbed the reins.
The two Clydesdale horses nickered and snorted. They shook the snow from their manes. Grey Cloak tugged the reins. The horses stomped their hooves but didn’t budge. Knowing any sudden action would dispel his invisibility, he urged the horses in a low voice, “Go. Go.”
“I don’t think that’s going to work.” Streak started to crawl out of the hood.
“No, stay put, or they’ll see you.”
A guardian turned and eyeballed the sleigh. He approached with his spear lowered. Grunting, he poked around the sled’s floor.
Grey Cloak shuffled his feet out of the way several times, avoiding the jabbing spear. The guardian stared right at him, scratched his fuzzy beard, turned, and walked away.
“That was close,” he muttered. “We need to get these horses moving.”
“Listen, I have an idea. You have to trust me,” Streak said.
Grey Cloak gave in. “Fine.”
The moment Streak crawled out of the hood, the runt dragon appeared. He quickly scurried onto one of the horses’ backs and latched on. He turned his head back toward Grey Cloak. “Hold on.” He sank his claws into the horse’s back.
The Clydesdale jumped off its front hooves, came down, and hit the snow running. Both horses bolted in a unified effort and tore through the snow.
The guardians gave chase. One of the burly warriors ran like his legs were on fire and started to close the gap.
“Uh-oh,” Grey Cloak muttered. Clydesdales weren’t known for speed. Plenty of men could run with them. With the wind in his face, he said, “Streak, we’re going to have company. Make them go faster!”
“Easier said than done.”
The guardian continued to close the gap. His fingers stretched for the back rail of the sleigh. A hand’s span away, the warrior slipped, lost his footing, and tumbled in the snow.
Grey Cloak caught his breath. “Horseshoes, that was close. Streak, we’re in the clear.”
“Good.” The small dragon turned around. “It’s strange not being able to see you. So, what’s the plan? We could have walked.”
“True, but I wanted to arrive in style.”
“Cool.” Streak started to sing a cheerful ditty. “We’re going on a sleigh ride, out on the ridgeline, sleigh ride, woo-hoo!”
They came to a stop at the edge of the moat outside the Culpepper Homestead, and
Streak hid in Grey Cloak’s hood. The drawbridge lowered, and a squad of Guardians stormed outside. The men searched the sled with confused expressions and stopped when the guardians chasing the sleigh finally caught up. The half barbarians started arguing. A fight broke out among them, their fists hitting muscle and bone.
Grey Cloak made his move, crossed the drawbridge, and entered the fortress, leaving the fracas drawing more attention far behind. He stole through the stronghold, searching for Dyphestive.
He must be in the dungeon. He crept through the hallways. If I were a dungeon, where would I be? Near the barracks? Training grounds? He tailed a pair of guardians patrolling the hallways.
The men talked quietly between themselves about wrapping up the end of their shift. “Hercullon no longer has a champion. He must battle a wolf far younger and stronger. It will be the end of him without a champion.”
“Why don’t you do it?” the older guardian quipped.
“I like having my head on my shoulders. I’ve seen this man. He’s like no other. Even a young Hercullon would be outmatched,” the younger guardian said from his position on the left.
The guardian on the right replied, “You shouldn’t speak so of our leader.”
“I would die for him. But in the days hence, we’ll have a new leader unless someone rises to stop him.”
The guardians moved toward the back end of the fortress, where the barracks were located.
The guardian on the left pointed toward a portal that opened before a flight of stairs going down. “And I thought the White Ice Slayer would be our champion. It’s a shame he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”
Grey Cloak broke away from the guardians and took the steps leading down. He crinkled his nose. Yes, this is where the dungeons must be. You can always tell by the stink.
Barbarian Backlash: Dragon Wars - Book 14 of 20: An Epic Sword and Sorcery Fantasy Adventure Series Page 5
