Dragonfang (13 page)
‘Its name,’ Madame Dione mused. ‘Well, yes, that should be enough to focus a magical engine on the right place. Then it might be a matter of entering that world yourself and bringing back your quarry.’
‘But without another machine in the other world –’
‘Not needed. You can take three tethers that will drag all three of you back to Q’zar. Just wait while I find a quill and inkstone. I shall write out some incantations, and a few things that you will need to collect.’
Jelindel clasped Madame Dione by the wrist. ‘I know what this information must have cost you. I’ll be forever indebted.’
Madame Dione reached across the table and held Jelindel’s other hand. ‘Were I young and able, I would try to find the gems, too, Jellie girl. But not for the same reason. No, I would be after the pentacle gems to rid the world of them. As any responsible person would.’
It was hours past midnight when Hargav and Jelindel finally stood at the front door, bidding Madame Dione and her three apprentices goodnight. Annatel put her arms around Hargav and pressed her cheek against his.
‘This has been a magical night,’ she said. ‘You are so much more gentle and refined than other men. Is it only because you are so very young?’
‘I have not … been at sea for long,’ he managed to say, disentangling himself.
‘I like you as you are, not strong and hard and rough like Jel.’
‘Give him time,’ said Jelindel. ‘The next time we call in, Hargav will be just like me.’
‘No, I want him just like he is, and I shall have him as he is!’ Annatel said, stamping her foot. She gently touched Hargav’s bruised eye and brought her fingers to her lips. Then she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the lips.
‘So, you won the heart of a lady,’ said Jelindel, as they made their way back to the ship.
Hargav glowered. ‘She’s just turned fourteen – that hardly counts.’
‘So are you.’
‘I’m different,’ Hargav declared. ‘I’m a boy and I have a black eye.’
‘Nice touch,’ laughed Jelindel. ‘A soft, refined, approachable boy who nevertheless has a battle scar. But look, it’s fading already,’ she said, touching it. She frowned pityingly as Annatel had moments before.
Hargav pulled away and scowled. ‘Well, who are they, anyway? Anyone would think they’ve never seen a male before. Their hands were everywhere – especially that Annatel’s.’
‘Madame Dione is a witch. The girls are trainee witches – she has a coven, but you only met her seniors.’
‘What? You mean I’ve been kissed by a witch?’ exclaimed Hargav in horror.
‘She started her apprenticeship at ten. Apprenticeships are three years, Annatel is fourteen … yes, it is reasonable to assume that Annatel is a witch.’
Hargav allowed himself time to think before gulping. ‘But she might have turned me into a worm.’
‘
Might
have?’
Hargav hurriedly checked his hands and legs. They were still there.
‘Very funny. But seriously, now that I think about it, the place did go quiet for about half an hour. All I could hear was Annatel and myself talking. The sounds of the other two girls washing the pots and things, and the crackling of the fire, it was just somewhat … well, there, but not there. I mean, that had to be a spell. It was Annatel, wasn’t it? She wanted to make lewd suggestions to me in private.’
‘Did she?’ Jelindel asked, brow raised.
‘Well, no,’ Hargav admitted, almost reluctantly.
‘The spell was Madame Dione’s. She and I had matters to discuss. Some time ago, I went on a great journey with two friends, Daretor and Zimak. I was forced to commit an injustice against them. It was for all the best reasons, but that is seldom any comfort to a victim.’
Hargav’s voice was incredulous. ‘What did you do?’
‘I had to, well, have them banished to a distant place. I had no choice in the matter, you understand, but that is no excuse for not trying to get them back.’
‘But if you get them back, surely they will be angry with you,’ Hargav observed.
‘Spoken like a real man of the world,’ Jelindel said. ‘Oh yes, they will be very annoyed. They may want revenge.’
‘Then why bring them back?’ Hargav asked. ‘Surely you should leave them be.’
‘Because I am not the sort of person who banishes his friends to distant places, then forgets about them. By now, I suspect,
their anger might have cooled. Madame Dione has given me some advice and information. If the chance to rescue my comrades presents itself, I shall know what to do.’
Hargav thought about this for a while as they walked.
‘So are you continuing with your magician lessons?’
‘No. I have just picked up some magic here and there, and I seem to have a strong natural talent. It probably runs in the family.’
‘You mean there are witches in
your
family?’
‘Well, yes, but the technical term is warlock for a male witch, which I could be if I was willing to study and serve an apprentice ship with an accredited Adept.’ Some instinct stopped Jelindel from adding that Madame Dione had been her occasional teacher.
‘It would be grand having that sort of power,’ Hargav said, misty-eyed. ‘If anyone tried to bully me I’d just zap them. Like you did to your … friends.’
‘Aha,’ Jelindel said. ‘Then perhaps it’s just as well you don’t have such power, isn’t it?’
The
Dragonfang
was still being loaded by lantern light when Jelindel and Hargav reached the docks. They had to pitch in and help until the other crew members came straggling back, and the horizon began to glow with the first hint of dawn. Before the sun appeared, they were being drawn clear of the pier by a large rowboat, and soon they were under full sail, well clear of the harbour. Because Jelindel and Hargav were the only crew members who had not been drinking, they had to work the entire day while the others recovered.
T
he months on this new world had not been kind to Daretor and Zimak. But in a sense, they were no worse off than they had been when Jelindel betrayed them. They were now dressed in disparate clothing: Daretor wore a loose-fitting fur coat, currently slung across his bronzed shoulders, a wrap of a finer animal fur about his waist, and leather buskins. He carried a broadsword so keen it fairly sang as it sliced the air. Zimak, being the slighter of the two, wore a linen shirt and leggings and ankle boots made from hard leather. Across his chest he had strapped a leather belt from which hung in sheaths four dirks of various style. On Daretor’s insistence, he also wore a sword, although Zimak was more of a street fighter than a swordsman.
They rode sturdy war-horses, and even had a dozen gold coins between them – mostly won in small towns by Zimak, who threw out his now familiar challenge to anyone foolish enough to take him on in a foot and fist fight. As his Siluvian martial-arts ability gradually returned, his resolve to stay on
this world became firmer. This, in turn, hardened the tension between them.
Since leaving the settlement, they had passed several cities – Daretor’s size and Zimak’s manner usually set them apart from the general populace, and their stay in each city was brief. Besides, Daretor was still on a vendetta.
They were travelling through a range of low, desert hills, incapable of supporting any growth. Their horses were laden with bags of fodder and waterskins, for there had been no grazing for over a week.
Zimak talked incessantly. Much of his conversation centred on Jelindel’s betrayal. ‘I still think she bewitched us here deliberately,’ he grumbled yet again. ‘Right down to dumping us in the sky after we’d escaped her first ambush.’
For want of nothing better to do, Daretor said, ‘I say she mightn’t have wanted us dead. And if she did pull us back to Q’zar and sent us through the paraplane again, then she did it for a good reason.’
‘Gah, Daretor. You change your mind with the wind. One moment you’re after Jelindel’s blood, the next you’re blooded to the vixen.’
‘The more we know of this place the more open minded we must be. The dragonriders are an oppressive people, and we may have well helped change the course of their future. As for the Matriarch’s retinue, they were as good as dead had we not driven off the raiders.’
Zimak rolled his left shoulder. He had taken a backhand slash of an axe during the rescue and his entire left side ached during his kick-fist exhibitions.
‘Gah, I know, but … being stuck with an honour-bound gorilla is like being stuck at a carnival with no money.’
Daretor heaved a sigh of resignation. ‘You are a man of little honour, Zimak. We did what we did because it was the
right
thing to do. Not because we sought to gain from it. How many times must I repeat this?’
‘Tell it to my shoulder that’s fairly left its socket,’ Zimak said moodily. He rubbed a hand in circular motions over his shoulder, emphasising his pain. ‘You’re such a boor, Daretor. If there’s gods presiding over this paraworld, I’d like to receive back what I’ve given.’
Daretor looked skyward and inscribed the circle of White Quell on his chest. ‘If there are gods on this paraworld they would no sooner have you as their disciple than a rabbit would invite a fox to its warren.’
‘Then tell me why we’re here,’ said Zimak. They were passing the ruins of a fortress that looked like it had been laid to waste in a long forgotten war.
‘Rather than tumbling like a jack rabbit the night we arrived, I spent my time thinking.’
‘I would’ve too,’ Zimak said with a smirk, ‘but I was stuck with the Matriarch. I was not inclined to think of much more than ways to escape.’
‘Well I have begun to make some sense of this world.’
‘It’s about time you told me what we’re doing,’ Zimak spat. ‘And no more of dummart stuff like “Go your own way if you don’t like it.” I want the truth.’
‘You won’t like it,’ Daretor replied. At Zimak’s defiant stance, he added, ‘From what the Matriarch said, I think there is a magical stone circle in a city near here.’
‘That’s nice. But I’m not a wizard in search of employment, and I have no use for a magical stone circle.’
‘It is a magical stone circle that could get us home.’
‘You and your dummart home.’ Zimak’s tone was weary. ‘This world is wonderful. We’re twice as strong here. Daretor – we’re
something
on this world.’
‘Three times as strong,’ said Daretor.
‘We have become legends. The girls fling themselves at me on the rare occasions when we get anywhere near a town or city. You could be the greatest warrior in the history of this place, yet all you want to do is leave.’
‘I would rather have revenge than greatness,’ Daretor said, emphatically. ‘Besides, if Jelindel really does use the mailshirt to rule Q’zar, we must defeat her.’
‘I’d like to see Jelindel broiled over a slow fire,’ Zimak vowed. ‘But not if it means leaving this world. In a sense, she did us a favour by sending us here.’
‘If you like the place so much,’ Daretor said, ‘just turn around and go back to the last city.’
‘I
knew
you’d say that. You know I can’t. I have lost some of my fighting skills, something about this world leached them away from me. They’re slowly coming back, but, if not for being stronger –’
‘Strange that my sword work remains unchanged.’ Daretor’s eyes blazed with silent accusation.
‘Some trick of Jelindel’s,’ Zimak said, hollowly. ‘She never liked me.’
‘You do nothing but complain about her. You should be even more anxious than me to avenge yourself.’
‘Look, Daretor, it’s been eight days since the last town. Supplies will last for another eight, which means we can still go back if we turn around right now.’
‘You are free to return whenever you wish,’ said Daretor, sounding as if he was all in favour of Zimak leaving.
‘Hie, Daretor, we’re blood brothers. Together we can make a difference here. We’ve already changed the course of this world’s future by inspiring little Osric’s people to defy the rule of the dragonriders. And White Quell only knows what we’ve started by saving the Matriarch from certain death.’
Daretor closed his eyes for a moment, willing patience. ‘If you stay with me, then you must assist me to get back to Q’zar.’
The landscape continued to be all granite outcrops, dry gullies, and occasional ruins of forts and castles. Although Daretor had an inkling that not all the Matriarch had said was true, it certainly appeared as though a scourge was upon the land.
‘Eight days travel, she said, then you come to a range of green mountains,’ grumbled Zimak. ‘What if she banished us to a desert that takes a hundred days to cross, and told us to take supplies for sixteen?’
‘Then I shall return and be revenged upon her.’
‘You won’t be alive to seek revenge, you great big ox!’ Zimak snapped.
‘I must do as I see fit,’ Daretor insisted.
‘You’re driven by this dummart revenge. There’s more to life than revenge and honour. Like women, money, wine, fine clothes, power, and, er, women.’
‘Then go seek them, Zimak.’ Daretor turned in his saddle. ‘If you ride hard you’ll be cuddled up to that tavern girl – the one with the flaming red hair – inside the week. That town would suit you. Of course, when the locals finally realise you’re not of this world, and you win your bouts by unfair advantage, you might need to seek another town. News will travel that an incorrigible off-worlder is deceiving everyone and soon there will be a price on your head. As there is back on Q’zar. Great strength is no protection against a hail of arrows.’
