Masters & Slayers

by Bryan Davis

  Marcelle opened her eyes. Where was she? She lay on something hard, perhaps stone, and the freshness in the air meant she had slept outdoors. But where?

  Like thunder from a distant storm, her memories rolled back in. Dracon. The Lost Ones. Flying on a dragon.

  She sat up. A dawning sky greeted her eyes. Had she slept all night? Oh, no! She was supposed to sneak up to the wall under the cover of darkness. She had missed her chance.

  She rose to her feet and stretched her stiff legs. What now? Apparently Adrian hadn’t come yet, unless he had passed this point without seeing her in the dark. Either way, waiting for him didn’t make sense. She would have to go alone.

  The sound of water called her attention to the fissure one level below where she stood. After reattaching her bag and belt, she leaped down and, leaning close, looked into the waist-high hole. As water poured out of the three-foot-wide opening, a warm spray moistened her face. The stream filled the gap from side to side, but at least eight inches of airspace lay above the water level, though a strong gush flooded it every few seconds.

  Where did it lead? Could this be the outflow of the stream on the other side of the wall? Maybe it went into the ground, split into smaller channels, and exited in several small waterfalls like this one.

  Marcelle looked down at her body, then at the hole. Yes, she would likely fit, though not with swords at her sides or a bag on her back. But how could she journey into such a dangerous place without a weapon? How could she leave the video tube behind?

  She loosened her bag’s strap and let it slide down her arm. She could hide the bag. Who would bother to steal it? Apparently no one ever stalked this area, certainly no human. But how could she take that chance without at least looking at the video? As horrific as the images probably were, checking for clues that only she could detect was her duty.

  She pulled the video tube from the bag and looked through the viewing lens. After taking a deep breath, she pushed the view button and waited. As if replaying her nightmares, the video showed her mother’s pale face, a close view that made her appear to be sleeping, perhaps merely sick, explaining the wan aspect.

  As the view enlarged, her body appeared, naked and punctured, except for a sheet that covered her from her waist down, including her hands.

  A man stretched out a tape measure from one end of a gash to another. He spoke in monotone as he rattled off his findings—length, depth, and organs affected. He seemed callous, uncaring, just doing his job. Did he know that this woman was a beloved queen? Did he realize that her death destroyed a home? Yet, not one tear spilled from his eyes, and not one tremor altered his voice. He must have left his heart at home.

  As the examiner continued, the camera zoomed in on the wounds. Marcelle studied them closely. They didn’t look like anything Darien’s viper would inflict. The slices appeared to have rough edges, as if torn, perhaps indicating a duller blade. Whoever did this used a weapon that had not been sharpened, but the battlefield soldiers surely kept their blades bright and honed. Their lives depended on it.

  Marcelle blinked away tears. Could the murderer have been lying? Maybe he hadn’t been on the battlefield at all. Had he planted a diversion? Father searched for him among the soldiers, but if he had never been one, that path could not have led to his capture.

  Swallowing, Marcelle concentrated once again on the video. The examiner lifted one of her mother’s arms, pulling her hand from underneath the sheet. It ended in a bloody stub, save for a single thumb.

  Marcelle gagged. She gasped for air. How could this be?

  The examiner lifted her other arm with the same result, the exposure of a fingerless hand, and crossed her arms over her waist while casually commenting on the wounds.

  “Augh!” Marcelle jerked the tube away and hurled it at the waterfall. It smacked against the rocks and tumbled down with the water, its frame bent and its lens shattered.

  She grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled. Her body quaked. She dropped to her knees and, covering her mouth, screamed into her palm. Then, she set her hands on the ground and heaved a series of hard convulsive spasms that yielded nothing but an upwelling of burning bile.

  Finally, she crawled to the stream and scooped up a handful of water. After a rinse and a swallow, she rose to her knees and wiped tears from her eyes. She was still in the dragon world, still far away from the man who butchered her mother, still unable to track him down and make him pay in blood for his crimes.

  She picked up the courier tube and her clothing bag and climbed to her feet. After finding a dry cleft in the rocks, placing the tube and bag inside, and plugging the gap with a stone, she stood in front of the stream’s exit hole again, her feet now in the water. She unbuckled both scabbards from her belt and laid one next to the creek bed. After covering all except the butt of the hilt with pebbles, she used the bag’s strap to attach the viper’s scabbard to her back, then pushed her hands and head into the hole, keeping her nose above water.

  As soon as a gush splashed her face, she began to count. One, two, three … When she reached seven, another surge filled the hole. Again, she counted. When she reached seven, a third gush interrupted.

  Pulling with her hands and pushing with her feet, she crawled in. At least the water was warm enough, like a tepid bath. Within seconds, darkness veiled her eyes. From here on out, her fingers would be her only guide to the tunnel’s size and direction.

  As she squirmed along, she repeated her count to seven again and again, holding her breath and closing her eyes in anticipation of the surge and accompanying splash. At times, the space above her head dwindled, forcing her to keep her nose under water, but never for too long.

  The tunnel gradually expanded. After about twenty minutes, she rose to her knees and then to her feet, standing in knee-deep water. She set her fists on her hips and listened. The sound of running water echoed, signaling a vast chamber. Now, instead of following the surrounding walls, she would have to feel the current to continue upstream.

  That plan, however, had its problems. The flow had grown sluggish, carrying swirls that posed a foreboding question. Did a deep pool lie ahead? If so, might there be dangerous creatures in its depths stirring the current?

  Marcelle reached to her back and drew the sword from its scabbard. She would soon find out.

  “Adrian!” a familiar voice called.

  He blinked open his eyes. “What?”

  “I hear something in the water, a splashing noise.”

  He sat up. The sky gave hints of dawn to the east, while to the west, the three moons hung low over the horizon.

  When the splashing sound registered, he searched for the source. A huge creature swam toward them, maybe twenty feet away, but it was still too dark to tell what it was.

  Adrian reached for the knot in the vine and tried to untie it. It wouldn’t budge. The splashes drew closer. He grabbed the hatchet and chopped through the vine, setting the raft free. The current pushed it along, but would it move quickly enough?

  Something heavy sloshed onto the raft. It tipped to the side, throwing Adrian into a pair of furry limbs. As it squeezed him close to its body, he slashed at it with the hatchet, not seeing where his blows landed. The beast let out a squeal and released him. He tumbled into the water and immediately dove underneath.

  In the darkness, underwater pulses gave away the attacker’s position, allowing Adrian to swim in the opposite direction, perpendicular to the current. Would it follow? Likely yes, if it wasn’t wounded too badly. Should he turn and fight? The beast could be enormous. Yet, with his ankle still sore, outrunning it might be impossible, even if he made it to shore.

  Finding the bottom of the river, he turned downstream and pushed off the sandy bed. His only hope was to find the raft and defend it with sword and hatchet. The cloak and his weapons weighed him down, but stripping them off was out of the question. He would need them later.

  As he swam, he looked up. The dawning sky cast shadows on the surface above, including t
hat of the floundering creature behind him. Ahead, a rectangular object floated slowly along. It had to be the raft.

  He surged toward it, grabbed the edge, and hoisted himself aboard. About three body lengths back, the beast roared and lurched toward him, his hairy limbs slapping the water. It looked like a cross between a bear and a beaver, as large as the mountain bears in Mesolantrum. Yet, those bears didn’t swim well at all, and this creature seemed right at home. It glided toward the raft, its jaws snapping as if devouring the water in front of him.

  Adrian chopped the hatchet’s blade into the raft’s surface. The pole had fallen into the water. There was no way to propel. He drew out his sword and jammed it into the river. Too deep. His only paddle would be a prayer.

  As the beast drew closer, Adrian smacked the water with the sword. “Stay back!”

  The beast hesitated, but only for a moment before swimming again, now even more quickly. A swifter current kept the raft out of its reach, at least for the moment.

  Adrian shouted, “Do you know what it is, Cassabrie?”

  Her voice breathless, she spoke quickly. “Storybooks tell of a similar creature called a vog, but I can’t be sure. I have never seen one.”

  “Do the stories tell of any weaknesses?”

  “They are very intelligent, and they are strictly nocturnal. They fear the light.”

  He glanced at the horizon. Sunrise was near, but not near enough. As the vog drew within a few strokes of catching him, Adrian pulled off his cloak and ripped open his shirt, exposing the patch on his skin. “Give me all you have, Cassabrie!”

  “I understand!”

  Heat blasted into his chest. His skin cast a pale orange glow, like a covered lantern with a hole cut into its shield. Just as the vog reached out a meaty hand to slap the raft, Adrian aimed the light at its face. It drew its arm back and stared, its black gleaming eyes narrowing.

  “Give me more!” Adrian yelled.

  “I’m trying!” Cassabrie cried. “We’re still tired!”

  Adrian stretched out with the sword and nicked the vog’s snout. “If you want a fight, I can give you one! I won’t be an easy breakfast!”

  As battle passion surged through his muscles, the light burst into a pulsing blaze. The vog squeezed its eyes closed and let out another squeal. Then, after smacking the water angrily, it submerged and swam away.

  Adrian fell back to his bottom and exhaled heavily. The raft rocked with his weight but soon settled into an even keel and drifted with the current. The patch on his skin cast a glow across his tight fist, still clutching the hilt of his sword. As it gradually dimmed, he whispered, “Thank you, Cassabrie.”

  “You are most welcome, dear friend, but the energy surely came from both of us, not me alone. That proves my concern.”

  He touched the hatchet’s handle but left the blade embedded in the wood. “What concern?”

  “About the possibility of breaking a covenant. Our union is very nearly complete.”

  “Nearly complete? What do you mean?”

  “Did you not feel it? Your energy combined with my own. The closer we draw, the more easily we will act as one. When the sliver of separation finally ebbs away, we will be inseparable.”

  “Do you mean …” He grasped the hatchet fully. “You’ll be inside me forever?”

  “Only if you wish this to be. Your will is the only barrier.”

  “My will?”

  “I have been given to you as a guide, and that is my purpose. Yet, when our journey is complete, you will have the choice to keep me or expel me. If you want to keep me, you need only to let your desires be made known.”

  He released the hatchet and reached for his ankle. The vine was still attached, still knotted tightly. “Is that what you want?”

  “It is all I have dreamed about for many years. I have no body of my own, so living and breathing through another is the fulfillment of that dream. And, oh, Adrian, to wake up and be alive in the body of a man such as you is … is …” Her voice faded away.

  Adrian swallowed. A man such as him? Inseparable? “I … I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say nothing. Our journey is far from complete. Then and only then will you have to make a decision, and by that time you will know me well enough to decide.”

  Adrian set the sword down and rebuttoned his shirt, shutting off the glow. The rising sun shed enough light to provide a view of the river, wider now and flowing at the pace of a sluggish march. Yet, it seemed that events hurtled through his mind like a raft on the rapids. “I don’t have a way to steer.”

  “Perhaps the current will guide you safely. Sometimes we have to trust in an invisible hand.”

  Adrian shifted around and looked at an upcoming bend in the river. What might they find around the corner? Rapids that would send them on another wild ride, this time without a pole? A waterfall that would plunge them into sharp rocks and certain death? Who could know? That invisible hand had better be a kind one.

  He reached for the edge and hung on. At this point, that was all he could do.

  After an hour of riding at the same pace, Adrian scanned the landscape. The meadow to the left was clear of trees, and walking, even with a sore ankle, would likely be faster than drifting on this lazy river.

  “This is too slow, Cassabrie. Do you have any ideas?”

  “We have come a great distance, and my sense that we are closing in is overwhelming. If we are within sight of the great wall, then we have another option.”

  “The great wall? A fortification of some kind?”

  “Yes, it surrounds the dragons’ home region. I’m not sure why they live in that area, except for the fact that the pheterone mines are there. I would prefer the meadows to the north. In any case, they have built a wall that prevents slaves from escaping, and dragons patrol it constantly.”

  “How does being close give us another option?”

  “If you are willing to risk harm to your body by taking the rapids, then maybe you would be interested in another risk that might provide the fastest way into the heart of the Southlands. You see, even when you find the wall, getting past it without detection is probably impossible.”

  Adrian looked again at the shoreline. A long-legged bird, gray and blue with a yellow crest, stalked the shallows, its long neck curled as it sought minnows or bugs. Even at its slow hunting pace, it kept up with the raft. “Okay. What’s your idea?”

  “First, paddle to shore and climb a tree. If the wall is not in sight, then there is no need to explain the rest. The option won’t be available.”

  “It’s better than crawling along at this pace.” Using his hands, Adrian paddled toward the western riverbank. After sliding the raft up on shore, he found a tall tree with low branches and scrambled up as high as he could. Fortunately, pain from the photo-gun burn had eased, and sleep had rested his muscles.

  He set a hand on his brow, shielding his eyes. To the south, the meadow’s grass thinned, exposing bare rock and pebbly soil. Beyond that, barely in view, a wall stretched from one side of his field of vision to the other with no end in sight.

  “I assume that’s the wall,” he said.

  “It is.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “We can signal the guardian dragons. They will capture you and take you to the Southlands.”

  “But then I’ll be a prisoner.”

  “An armed prisoner. If you don’t resist, they might be unaware of the weapons you possess, and they will carry you to the wall. Once there, you can choose whether or not to fight for your freedom. As I said, the risk is high, but it’s the fastest way to your destination … and likely to Marcelle.”

  Adrian climbed down and walked back to the raft. His ankle throbbed again, forcing him to limp. After pulling the hatchet from the wood and returning it to its harness, he picked up the sword and sheathed it. “How many dragons will be at the wall?”

  “When I was a slave, I heard reports from those who tried to escape, but I believe
some to be exaggerated. I think since the wall is so long, they cannot concentrate more than two in one place. Unfortunately, they would probably take you to the top of the wall at the river gate, where there might be more guards to keep slaves from trying to use the river to escape.”

  Adrian put on the damp cloak, concealing both sheaths. Now he had to weigh another huge risk. Everything likely depended on the intelligence and experience of the guardian dragons. Would they search a human for weapons? Had they ever faced an experienced swordsman? Besides that, would there be a way down from the top of the wall that didn’t require wings?

  “Do runaway slaves have weapons?”

  “No, Adrian, just the clothes on their backs. Some try to swim in the river at night, hoping to make it to the underground channel. You see, the river runs to the wall and then goes underground.”

  “Where does it go after that?”

  “We don’t know. The slaves are so desperate when they try to escape, they are willing to rely on hope that they will find an opening. The risk is high, but the goal is a valuable treasure. Since the dragons guard it so carefully, we think it must lead to freedom.”

  The patch on Adrian’s skin grew warmer again, as if punctuating freedom. No doubt that word meant everything to her. Not only did she long for freedom for her fellow slaves, it seemed that she craved the freedom that dwelling inside his body provided. She relished feeling the wind and stretching her arms and legs, even if through the animation of another.

  Yet, she was willing to allow him, her host, to be imprisoned and enslaved. Why? Because of his friendship with Marcelle? Cassabrie offered a way to get to her more quickly at the potential of great cost to her own freedom. Why would she be willing to sacrifice so much?

  Adrian looked at the endless expanse in front of him. It might take most of the day to cross on foot, especially with his sore ankle. How would Marcelle fare among the dragons while he tarried?

  Finally, he let out a sigh. “How do I signal the guardians?”