Dragon Tree

by Canham, Marsha

  Amie curled her lower lip between her teeth and inched forward until she had the entire length of the chamber in sight. There were men rolled in blankets sleeping on the floor in front of the fire. Dogs were still restless, rooting around in the rushes for scraps of meat or bone that might have fallen under the boards but it was mostly silent apart from the snores and the occasional snap of a bone crunched in a canine jaw.

  Amaranth edged further along the wall, keeping her back pressed to the cold stone blocks. She saw a plain woolen cap lying on a table, left there by one of the servants, and she snatched it up, tying it tight under her chin and tucking any stray wisps of hair beneath the edges. Her eyes were as wide and round as they could be, flicking constantly side to side as she tried to watch all corners of the great hall for any signs of movement. She skirted her way across the breadth of the dais, then down the far stairs. There were not enough nerves left in her body to seek out Tamberlane's chambers, and so she made her way along the hall to Marak's tower.

  Flitting from shadow to shadow, she kept her head down, her eyes and ears turned to the sleeping bodies and thus did not see the guardsman until he stepped out of a darkened niche so close in front of her that she nearly slammed into him.

  “Frothing Jesus, wench, watch where you put your feet!”

  Amie started to splutter an apology, but the words faded to horror-struck silence. There was just enough light from the fire spluttering in the grate for her to recognize the scarred and surly face that belonged to one of Odo de Langois’ men. He looked just as startled to see her, and she realized she must have interrupted him as he prowled amongst the sleeping forms searching the faces.

  She recalled hearing Marak say the same number of men who came into the castle with Odo de Langois, rode out again, so how one could have been left behind, she had no idea, but the proof that at least one man had was here before her and she could not find the wits to form words.

  “So then, move along,” he growled harshly. “Move along unless ye want to feel my cock up yer arse.”

  He hissed a further threat and groped the front of her bodice, shocking her enough she almost stabbed him with the dagger she had hidden in the folds of her tunic. Muttering an apology in Saxon English, she dashed away from the fire, certain at any moment she would hear a curse of recognition and the pounding of boots chasing after her.

  All she heard, however, was the sound of blood rushing through her ears as she ducked into the corridor that led to Marak’s tower. Only when she was in the thickest gloom did she dare turn and look behind her, but Odo's ferret had already melted away into the shadows. She leaned further around the corner of the wall and searched frantically up and down the length and breadth of the hall, but could see no sign of him.

  Amaranth sagged against the cold stone for a moment. The shadows were heavy, she was dressed in a plain wool tunic undistinguishable from any of the other household servants. She reached up and ran grateful fingers over the woolen cap, thanking whatever instinct had bade her cover her hair. She would have to mention the incident to Lord Tamberlane, for he would not be pleased to know his walls had been breached.

  With one last glance at the hall, she hurried along the utterly black corridor. There were no torches to light the way up to Marak's chamber, but she did not expect there to be. She stumbled her way to the opening at the bottom of the stairs, then climbed the spiral steps with one hand dragging on the stone wall. At the top, she again slid her hands across the surface of the wall until she found the door, and then the cold iron of the latch.

  With visions of clawed hands reaching out of the darkness behind her, she did not spare a thought to calling out or even rattling the latch before she lifted it and swung the heavy door open. The hinges were well oiled and moved without a sound and Amie was fully inside the room before she heard muffled noises coming from inside the chamber.

  All but two weak candles had been snuffed, and from those the light was barely strong enough to reach the corner where Marak stood, his naked body pale against the darker gloom that enveloped the table. He was bent forward, his arms braced straight out, his head bowed. Something was wrapped around his waist and it took a long moment for Amie to realize it was another pair of legs and that his hips were moving to and fro in the rhythmic strokes of intercourse. The noises she heard were soft grunts of passion matched by softer cries of pleasure and as Amie watched, a pair of hands stole around his hips, the fingers gouging deep in the thrusting flesh of his buttocks in an effort to pull him closer.

  For the second time in what seemed like as many minutes, Amie was shocked beyond rational thought. She had already started to close the door behind her but stood frozen in place now, afraid to move lest her presence be discovered. She knew she should look away or turn her head at the very least, but try as she might, she could not and her gaze remained fixed on the two lovers. The woman was writhing, twisting with the intensity of her pleasure, her cries and whispered pleas causing the fine hairs on Amie's arms to stand on end.

  All of the times Odo de Langois had stiffened and expended himself between her thighs, Amie had only felt disgust and loathing. Any cries she made were from pain and prayers for him to hurry and be done with it. She knew there were women who claimed to gain enormous amounts of pleasure from their couplings, but from her own experience, Odo was the only one who roared and shook in the grips of some mindless, unshared ecstasy.

  A particularly low, ragged moan left Amie’s ears scalding and she took a step back, intent upon sneaking out before she was caught spying. But she was neither quick enough nor quiet enough, for a soft scraping of her leather soles on the stone floor made enough noise to bring Marak’s head jerking up and around.

  Quicker than Amie would have thought possible, he was away from the table and across the room. The point of a dagger was thrust beneath her throat, the sharp bite of the blade forcing her back against the door and slamming it shut in the same motion.

  A split second and a soft curse later, he recognized the face beneath the servant's cap.

  “Amaranth? What, by all the sons of Allah, are you doing here?”

  She tried to swallow, but the pressure of the cold steel on her throat prevented it. With another curse, Marak moved it to one side and jabbed the tip angrily into the wooden plank of the door.

  “Be thankful I did not slit your throat and ask the question afterward.”

  “I... I could not bear to be alone any longer. I know Lord Tamberlane ordered me to remain in the solar...”

  “For good reason. You should not be wandering the halls of the castle on your own.”

  Amie thought of the guardsman and grew even paler against the shadows.

  “What?” Marak frowned. “What is it?”

  “In the great hall. I saw one of Odo’s men. I recognized him from a scar over his eye... here,” she said, tracing a finger across her brow. “It causes the eye to be always half closed.”

  Although the question seemed redundant in light of the fact that Amaranth was standing before him and not being dragged to the gates, Marak asked, “Did he recognize you?”

  She shook her head. “I think not. He was as startled as I was to be caught skulking around in the hall.”

  “A man with a scar over his eye,” Marak murmured, nodding. “We shall find him in the morning and introduce him to the cold waters of the lake. Put him from your mind, now and concentrate on what is before you.”

  At the sound of his words, and the order implied therein, Marak took a self-conscious step back. The light from the two candles made his body glow like white marble, drawing attention to the lean musculature of his chest and arms, the tautness of his belly and thighs, and the impressive display of manhood that as yet stood straight out from his body, gleaming wet with proof that the woman’s cries had not been feigned.

  Another soft sound made both Marak and Amie glance to the shadows behind him, where Inaya was in the process of covering her nudity beneath the voluminous folds of silk that
she wore. She was not quite fast enough to conceal the swollen shape of her belly or the fact she was several months along with child.

  Marak studied Amie’s face for a moment, then turned and held his hand out to Inaya, saying something to her in their shared language. After only the smallest hesitation, the Saracen woman came forward and slipped her fingers into his, allowing him to draw her with the utmost gentleness into the protective circle of his arm.

  “I resisted her beauty as long as I could,” he said softly. “But the heart is not often willing to listen to the head, is it?”

  Amie’s embarrassment could not have been more acute had she stumbled upon Tamberlane naked and tumescent.

  An astonishingly vivid image of that very thing flooded her mind and kept her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth for another full minute while Marak fetched his robes and covered himself.

  “Certes,” she said when her speech was recovered, “I would not have intruded had I held the smallest inclination—”

  Marak waved her apology into silence.

  “In truth, you have likely saved us from Tamberlane’s wrath, for we were to have fetched you from your solar an hour or more ago. Doubtless he will be stomping his way through that same door at any moment, expecting us to be ready and waiting. To that end, we have procured new clothing for you to wear. Your imitation of a squire was so convincing, we thought we would uphold it—for safety’s sake—until you reach the convent. Have you any objections to this?”

  Amie shook her head. “No, none.”

  “Good. Inaya will help you dress,” he said, heading toward the door.

  As if struck by a sudden thought, he stopped and retraced his steps to where Inaya was standing. He tucked a hand under her chin and tipped her head up, smiling into her dark eyes for a long moment before kissing her unabashedly full on the mouth.

  “My desire for you,” he murmured, “is and always shall be as pure as the tears of a lover in thrall.”

  Inaya closed her eyes briefly and smiled. Marak gave her another small peck then walked out the door, pulling it closed behind him.

  With the smile still on her lips, Inaya brought forth a bundle of clothing from somewhere in the shadows and beckoned Amie forward. Inside the bundle were woolen hose, a belt with points and eyelets for keeping them secure, a heavy woolen shirt, a second tunic and leather jerkin, and finally a jaunty blue Phrygian cap with a pointed crown and a narrow brim that hugged her cheeks and ended below her chin.

  Apart from the hastily borrowed leggings and shirt Marak had taken from the stable boy, Amie had never worn men’s garments before and some were curious enough to win a small frown as Inaya helped her dress. The eyelet belt with it’s forty leather points was a mystery until Inaya was finished tying the last thong through a corresponding loop at the top of each leg of the hose to hold the wool smooth and tight to her limbs. Last were leather-soled shoes held on by leg bandages that were wrapped around the calf and criss-crossed from knee to ankle.

  The bundle itself had been wrapped in a plain gray cloak woven thick enough to keep out all but the heaviest rain and dampness.

  When she was finished, bade to turn slowly around, and inspected by the narrowed, dark eyes, the door was opened again and Marak subjected her to his own scrutiny. He adjusted the elfish cap so that all of her hair was tucked inside then nodded approvingly.

  "One last thing," he said and produced a belt with a shortsword, which he strapped around her waist. He also gave her two daggers and showed her where to conceal them on her body. One had a six inch blade and would be used for eating, the other had a nine inch blade and was tucked carefully into the top of the leg wrappings.

  “Shall we?”

  Amie followed him out onto the dark landing and down the stairs, the cloak flaring out behind her like batwings. At the bottom, instead of turning right toward the great hall, they turned left and, after Marak paused to light a small, shielded stub of a candle for each of them, he stepped behind a screen that appeared to be covering little more than a shallow niche in the stone wall. He probed a moment with his long, slender fingers, then pushed on one of the blocks, sliding it back with a low scraping sound to expose an opening just wide enough and tall enough to duck through to a secret passage on the other side.

  Amie's belly fluttered with apprehension. Once again she was escaping into the darkness of the night, leaving what had come to represent safety and protection to venture into the unknown. There would be no turning back, nowhere to look but straight ahead to a cloistered life of silence and prayer. She'd had no regrets leaving Belmane Castle, but even though her time here had been brief, there would be many regrets.

  After she and Inaya stepped through the portal, Marak leaned his weight against the stone to push it back into place. Amie held her candle stub high, gazing at the long and narrow passage that smelled of a century of decay and damp, and was completely devoid of sound but for their own breaths and heartbeats. What looked at first like a haze of dust turned out to be draped blankets of cobwebs spun thick as clouds above their heads.

  Marak took the lead, following the curve of the tower, walking into the blackness ahead. His strides were long and sure and Amie stayed close, keeping her hand cupped around the sputtering flame and praying the light did not go out. She had no love of small, dark places and wondered, in the utter silence, how far a scream would carry within these stone walls. Visions of being trapped, sealed in a silent tomb flooded her mind and kept her feet scuffling in the dust in an effort to remain apace.

  They walked for what must have been the entire circumference of the tower before Marak stopped again and signaled for caution. Ahead were steps that led steeply down into the disappearing gloom and the flame on Amie's candle shivered in a draft that swept up from somewhere below. Something tickled Amie’s neck and she batted anxiously at a trailing strand of sticky cobweb.

  Marak exchanged her candle for a lantern he had taken from a niche in the wall. He used Amie's stub to light the wick and quickly dropped the sheet of horn into place to protect and steady the flame. He lit a second one for Inaya then blew out the candle.

  “Come,” he said. “Stay close on my heels and watch where you place your feet for the blocks are crumbled in places.

  The whisper barely carried beyond her ears and Amie nodded. By holding her lantern over her head, she could better distinguish the rough-hewn walls and steep stairs that started to descend down, down, always keeping to a circular direction. The air became progressively cooler, damper, the smell of stone and rot and wet earth was nearly overpowering. The walls oozed moisture and the constant dripping grew louder with every passing moment.

  If not for Marak’s shoulders ahead of her and Inaya’s nimble footsteps behind her, Amie might well have faltered and run back the way they came.

  The passage took a sharp turn to the right and suddenly grew wider. The air was so cold there was gooseflesh on Amie’s arms despite the bulky layers of clothing, and it was obvious they had left the castle behind, for they were in a tunnel of sorts now, with bare earth underfoot and naturally honeycombed rock forming the walls and ceiling. Marak’s pace increased noticeably as if Amaranth was not the only one glad to put the stifling closeness of the access passage behind her.

  “The island, indeed the lake bed itself and the hills hereabout are riddled with these catacombs and caves,” Marak explained. “The original owner of Taniere must have discovered them when laying the foundation and decided to make clever use of them both as a defense and a means of smuggling people or foodstuffs in and out of the castle in the event of a siege. There are,” he added, pausing at a junction where the tunnel split off in three directions, “dozens of arteries leading off each passage and if one did not know which branch to take, he could wander aimlessly for days without finding the way out.”

  If that was meant to be reassuring, it failed miserably as did the flame inside Inaya's lantern when she stumbled and dropped it on the ground. Amie picked it up and helped h
er to relight it, and as the two wicks flared together, the shadows were lifted enough for them to see two pairs of glowing red eyes staring at them from just inside the mouth of an adjoining tunnel.

  Amie screamed and jumped back. Inaya hissed and shrilled something in her own language and shrank against the far wall of the tunnel.

  Marak spun around and came running back. He had drawn a sword from beneath his robes, but lowered it almost right away.

  Tamberlane’s two wolfhounds, Maude and Hugo, came bounding out of the tunnel and ran off, leaving Marak cursing in their wake.

  “Bloody hounds. As lacking in good sense as their master.” He resheathed his sword and turned, resuming his long strides into the darkness ahead. Amie and Inaya exchanged weak smiles, then followed after him.

  After two more turns, and just when Amie was about to forsake any hope of seeing the sky again, they saw a faint bloom of light ahead. It grew brighter as their pace quickened and soon the blurred glow turned into bright yellow blots from a dozen pitch-soaked torches. They flickered in a circle around a large natural chamber formed in the rock. Standing in the center, clad in mail with their swords buckled about their waists, were Tamberlane and two other knights. Roland was present, as were two foresters wearing hunters green leggings, tunics, and brown leather jerkins. Each carried a quiver full of arrows slung over one shoulder, a longbow over the other. The two dogs were there, tongues hanging out, but most amazing of all was the sight of several horses stomping warily from one foot to the next, their eyes rounded, nostrils flared, ears moving constantly to follow every sound.

  “How on earth...?”

  Marak followed Amie’s gaze to the nervous beasts. “You recall the wooden floor in the stable?”

  Amie nodded slowly. The water she spilled had dripped through the planks, something she had not given much thought to at the time.