Dragonfang (18 page)

‘What … what’s happening?’ Zimak’s throat constricted and he almost gagged with the effort to speak.

‘Premiel sent you here by a long detour. We arrived first. I was strapped into one side of an accursed double seat in the centre of the temple, then the Matriarch was strapped into the other. Priests and wizards, people in robes, lots of strange people came in and did things. There were sparks and lights, a blinding flash of light, pain like every square inch of my skin was being roasted and stripped. When I raised my head, I was in the Matriarch’s body. She stepped out of the chair, and she stood before me in my own body. She told me that I was to be kept alive to answer questions about my life and home, to help when she had to write letters to my family. They have spells that force you to tell the truth.’

‘Is Prince … going to swap with me?’ said Zimak, gaining better control of his tongue.

Princess Andrella stopped speaking for a moment. ‘No, the prince has chosen Daretor. Modar, the high priest, intends to swap with your young, strong, and above all, virile body.’

She told the rest of her story in a tortured way, her voice sometimes struggling with the words, failing, continuing. At one stage she screamed ‘Shut up! Stop yelling!’ causing Zimak to jump.

The poor girl had obviously been tortured to the edge of sanity. Her story was macabre, to say the least. It would seem that Prince Ulad and Premiel were nine hundred years old. Both had body swapped into younger bodies many times. When a young body aged, they simply swapped into another. The prince planned to take over Daretor’s body this evening.

With effort, Zimak eased himself up. He sucked saliva from his gums and swallowed. Briefly, he told Andrella of the other Bazitian they had met, and how he had escaped with a precious female dragon.

‘I have never heard of this … Osric, but that matters not,’ Andrella whispered. ‘All is not lost then.’ She smiled. ‘I felt as though I had let my people down … but now …’ she said, dreamily.

‘Are you bound?’ Zimak rasped.

‘As securely as yourself,’ she said. ‘They take no risks in this place. And forget about escape. No one ever has, or so I have been told.’

‘I once knew a girl who thrived on doing the impossible,’ Zimak said. ‘And the worst thing you could ever say to her was “prove it”. Now, can you wriggle over here until we’re back to back?’

‘Our feet are tied to rings on opposite sides of the cell,’ she replied, stonily. ‘You would have been better off with your girlfriend, I fear.’

‘She was never anyone’s
girlfriend
,’ Zimak snorted. He wriggled across the straw-strewn ground. His feet touched a wall. ‘The cell is not wide. If I stretched out I would be two thirds of the way across.’

Despite her better judgement, Andrella fishtailed across the floor. Her new body was nowhere near as supple as her own had
been. Her movements were sluggish, as though she were pushing through water. ‘That is not enough to get our hands together,’ she said, irritably. ‘They are bound behind our backs, remember?’

‘Maybe so, but I’m not of this world. My teeth are especially strong, if you catch my meaning.’

Stretched out in the darkness, Zimak found that his face just reached Andrella’s hands. He began to nibble at the knots, methodically working at them until they became slightly looser and more pliant. Traces of the Matriarch’s exotic perfume hung about Andrella. He could feel that her hands were wrinkled and her fingernails long and manicured. At last he pulled a loop free, then Andrella did the rest. With her hands free, she slowly untied Zimak’s hands. Then they untied their own feet.

‘I know you are very strong, but the door looks too much even for Daretor,’ she said, easing circulation back into her limbs. ‘I am sorry, Zimak. But I am so very drained. This body ill suits me and is near to death.’

Zimak felt an unaccustomed pang of sympathy. But Andrella’s position had given him an excellent idea. For him to carry through with it, he could spare no room for empathy. ‘Always check a door for possibilities, any thief will tell you that,’ he said. ‘This one has an external bolt, and opens inwards. I noticed that it tends to stick as well. The guard who carried me here had to kick to get it open, and that is good.’

‘We are trying to get out, yet you’re pleased that the door is hard to open?’ asked Andrella.

Two hours later they heard the tramp of feet approaching.

Zimak cocked an ear. ‘Two of them,’ he whispered. ‘Now just do precisely what I said.’

They got into position. Andrella sat with her back to the wall and her feet against Zimak’s back. Zimak was sitting with his feet against the door.

They heard the rattle of the bolt being drawn, then the guard kicked at the bottom of the door. Zimak’s feet prevented it from opening. The guard kicked against the door again, then again.

‘Here, hold this,’ came a voice from the other side of the door.

Zimak scrambled to his feet, and Andrella got to her hands and knees before the door. The guard put his shoulder to the door with enough force to cause him to tumble in. Tripping over Andrella, he landed on the floor with a grunt.

Zimak cannoned into the second guard, who dropped the spear he had been holding and went for his sword. Zimak lifted him from his feet and slammed him against the wall.

Meantime, Andrella had scrambled outside the cell as well, and bolted the door behind her. Zimak let his victim fall to the floor, unconscious. He stared at Andrella in the light of a nearby lantern. She was indeed within the Matriarch’s body.

‘I need to find Daretor, and quickly,’ said Zimak. ‘What do you want to do?’

‘I have a very simple plan,’ Andrella replied, ‘but it does not involve you.’ Her dark eyes had a steely resolve and never left Zimak’s. She reached out and gripped his arm. ‘Where I have failed, this Osric might well succeed. I shall do my bit within this snakes’ pit.’

Zimak had seen such determination before on Jelindel’s face. Someone was in for a nasty surprise.

‘Those outside will be expecting at least one guard to come out with a prisoner, so we must stay together for now,’ he said.

Andrella clutched her head. The pain on her face was plain to see. ‘And … after … that?’ she said with difficulty.

Zimak glanced up the stairs, his features sombre. ‘We go to the temple. From there on, we’re on our own.’

‘Oh, that will suit me very well,’ Andrella said.

Zimak stripped the unconscious guard. The other guard beat against the door of the cell, but the sound did not carry far.

The guards had been carrying a hooded cloak. Zimak assumed that it was for him.

‘They don’t want you to be seen before the transference of souls,’ Andrella explained. ‘When the victim is not well-known they announce that the prince has been rejuvenated by the gods.’ She stopped to gather her thoughts. ‘When the donor of the younger body is known, they tell the people that the old prince has died, and named the young man his heir to the throne.’

‘But I am as well-known as Daretor,’ Zimak protested.

‘You are small, lean and do not stand out. I wager that soon it will be announced the old priest died of sudden illness, and a brilliant young foreign scholar has been appointed to run the temple. Trust me, Zimak, nobody will remember you.’

It hurt Zimak’s pride to admit it, but what she said was true. He looked unremarkable. While this was an advantage for a thief fleeing with someone’s purse, it did not help someone who wanted to be a famous hero.

Zimak stripped off his clothes and tossed them to the princess. Then he donned the guard’s clothing and pulled down the helmet grille. With Andrella in his clothes, and wearing the cloak and hood, anyone would think they were a guard escorting a prisoner.

‘Now give me the guard’s knife,’ Andrella said, holding out her hand.

‘His knife?’ Zimak said, warily. ‘But why?’

‘Do you want your distraction or not?’ She fluttered her fingers impatiently. ‘Quick now. Time is short.’

Zimak smacked the knife into Andrella’s palm, then escorted her up the worn stairs and past the posts and checkpoints. As they made their way to the temple, the guards grew more numerous. But nobody challenged them. They knew that the prisoner was being taken to an even more secure area.

‘Daretor and the prince will be alone in the great chamber during the body swapping. Both will be strapped into the double chair,’ said Andrella, as they climbed the steps to the temple.

‘How will I know if it’s too late?’ asked Zimak.

‘Purple lightning will be playing all around the inside of the dome before the transfer. If there is no lightning, but there is a strong smell of ozone, you will know you are too late. Listen for a hissing and crackling. That means that the charge is still building up, so you may have a minute or so more.’

Still Zimak worried. He looked at Andrella. Her expressionless face, shadowed by the cowl, gave nothing away. At that moment he had never been so unsure of himself. ‘How will I get past the guards?’

‘There are no guards for the great chamber. Would anyone have a guard to stop people leaping into the flames when someone is being burned at the stake? Aiyee!’ she suddenly yelped, but gritted her teeth to quell a further outburst. Then forcibly she said, ‘Anyone standing on the floor of the chamber when the aura of purple lightning finally discharges will have his soul torn from his body.’

Zimak glanced up the stairs. They seemed almost certain to lead him to his death. ‘Is that another way of saying he will die?’

‘You are so perceptive, Zimak,’ she said.

Zimak forgave her the sarcasm, but it suddenly reminded him of Jelindel and her numerous deceits. The possibility that he was having second thoughts about his plan didn’t occur to him. He drew up, alarm tingling through him. ‘How do you know so much if you’re a princess from another kingdom?’

Andrella didn’t falter. ‘Memory traces,’ she seethed. ‘I hate them. The Matriarch has killed many times in her bid for immortality. All the voices are inside my head, muffled by the Matriarch’s thoughts and memories, but nonetheless there. Screaming at me, tormenting me. Begging me to seek revenge on the demon that stole their lives.’ She snorted. ‘No surrogate lives past the month after transition – I do what I am about to do because I could not endure four weeks of these incessant voices. And Bazite will be avenged this day.’

Zimak’s skin crawled at the iciness in her words. But, despite his reservations, he couldn’t stop now. Daretor had something he desperately wanted. And saving the swordsman was the only way he could get it.

He escorted Andrella to a vast antechamber behind the columns of the temple. There were ranks of guards and priests standing silently, and before them was Modar, the high priest. He beckoned for who he thought was Zimak to approach. Andrella stepped forward, and Zimak marched smartly to one side, past a row of guards. He was almost behind a curtain when Modar pushed back the hood on Andrella’s head. A knife flashed in the Bazitian princess’s hand and slashed across the old priest’s throat.

‘For Bazite!’ she screamed.

Modar gurgled blood and staggered backwards with Andrella upon him. Her knife plunged three more times into his chest before he hit the ground, gagging.

With bedlam breaking out behind him, Zimak hurried along a corridor that Andrella had described to him. The distant sizzling and spitting, indicating that the transference was in progress, was now a continuous roar. Suddenly he emerged into the immense circular chamber lined with troughs of lightning fish. Purple discharges played all about the stone walls, troughs and dome, like luminous, animate tapestries. In the centre of the slate floor was the double chair, with Daretor and Prince Ulad strapped in back to back.

Drawing his sword, Zimak sprinted across the floor as fast as his armour allowed.

‘Get out of here, you idiot!’ screamed Prince Ulad, as Zimak stopped before him.

‘Nine hundred years is more than enough for any demon!’ shouted Zimak as he plunged his sword into the prince’s chest. The man’s eyes bulged, uncomprehending.

‘Zimak, is that you?’ Daretor said. He struggled to turn his head, but it was held in place by a metal skull casing. ‘What are you
doing?
’

‘Sit still, I’ll have you free in a moment,’ Zimak replied, lifting the prince’s still twitching body from the straps. Prince Ulad’s body flopped to the floor.

‘What do you mean? We’re about to have a vision of Q’zar.’ Daretor kicked at his leg straps and writhed in the seat. ‘You’ve gone too far this time, Zimak.’

‘No, it’s a trick,’ replied Zimak, throwing off his helmet. Taking the prince’s place, he sat back-to-back with Daretor.

‘Why don’t you unstrap me?’ called Daretor. ‘We’ll talk about this. Man to man.’

‘The prince isn’t dead, he’s grabbed me,’ said Zimak, looking impassively at the prince’s dead body. He noisily strapped in one
arm, and shook the cumbersome chair as though a fight were in full progress. Clutching the armrest with his free hand, he tensed, waiting for the pain Princess Andrella had described.

‘Zimak,’ Daretor snarled.

Zimak felt himself wrenched around with unimaginable violence as a thunderclap echoed in his ears. Daretor and Zimak swooned. The entire scene before Zimak’s eyes turned to purple. He shook his head. He was sitting strapped to the chair and, as sight returned to his eyes, he saw that he was not wearing armour.

‘Daretor, can you hear me?’ he called. The crackling had stopped, and the smell of ozone hung heavy in the air.

‘My body,’ croaked Daretor in Zimak’s voice.

‘Hurry, unstrap me,’ snapped Zimak, urgently. ‘Put on that helmet and pull down the grille. You have to pretend that you are a guard.’

‘We’re – each other!’ cried Daretor. He stared at his impossibly small hands, his withered legs, trying to understand what had happened.

‘Snap out of it, Daretor. Any moment the guards and courtiers will be swarming in here and they will expect to find the prince in your body. Say nothing. I shall explain everything to them. You will be a hero.’

‘I’m already a hero,’ Daretor spluttered. ‘A famous hero –’

‘I can hear footsteps. You have one hand free, don’t you? Get beside me and start undoing these dummart straps.’ Zimak clasped the armrests and wriggled frantically.