Dragonfang (19 page)

Daretor unstrapped his bound hand, ducked from the skullcap and climbed to his feet. His legs wobbled like jelly at first and he steadied himself against an armrest.

‘Hurry,’ Zimak called.

Daretor felt his way around the dual chair and stared down at his former body. Then, uncertainly, at Prince Ulad’s corpse. How Zimak had managed this trick was beyond Daretor, but he had enough sense to do as he was told – for now. By the time the first of the guards, courtiers and nobles came running into the chamber, Zimak’s right arm was free and Daretor had covered his face with the helmet.

‘Prince Ulad,’ cried the temple centurion, not entirely sure who he was addressing. ‘You!’ he now shouted at Daretor. ‘What are you doing in here?’

‘Leave him alone, this guard saved my life,’ called Zimak, as Daretor unstrapped his left arm.

‘I – Your Majesty, I don’t understand,’ said the centurion, going down on one knee. He stared at Prince Ulad’s corpse.

‘Some idiot didn’t strap down my old body tightly enough. As soon as the transfer was completed this carrion slipped free of the straps and tried to strangle me.’ He kicked Ulad’s body. ‘The guard ran in and slew him.’

‘He did?’ the centurion said, doubtfully.

‘Don’t stand there gawping, man,’ Zimak snapped. ‘Do you doubt what I say?’

The centurion’s face blanched. ‘He shall receive the highest medal of recommendation,’ he said. ‘And a promotion, of course.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Zimak said, waving away the centurion’s helping hand as he stepped out of the seat. ‘In fact, I want him in my personal guard from now on. Always by my side. You hear?’

The centurion slapped his chest in salute. ‘I hear and obey, Your Majesty.’

By now, Zimak was standing unaided. He stretched and felt Daretor’s strength flowing through him. ‘By all the gods I shall enjoy being in this body,’ he said with absolute sincerity.

‘Your Majesty, there has been a tragedy,’ the centurion went on. ‘The high priest Modar was killed by the Bazitian princess.’

‘Oh, indeed?’ exclaimed Zimak. ‘Well, take me to her.’

‘Alas, the little vixen was cut down by the guards before they realised who she was.’ The centurion glanced uncertainly at Daretor. ‘The warrior’s lackey, Zimak, has also escaped the dungeons. But we do not know where he is.’

‘Have him found, post a reward. Do a search of the city. Go.’ Zimak snapped Daretor’s fingers. ‘Chamberlain. Escort myself and this excellent guard back to the palace, then fetch my consort. I wish to have a completely private meeting with her, if you catch my meaning.’

The chamberlain bowed deeply, but with the trace of a grin on his lips.

‘Your loyal guard seems fatigued,’ Chamberlain Cravek said to Zimak.

‘He has been in great danger. His soul was nearly torn from his body by the dying energies of the transfer.’

‘Ah, of course. Well then, he can rest as you and your consort are becoming better acquainted with your new bodies.’

‘He is in for a long rest in that case,’ laughed Zimak, to Daretor’s dismay.

Daretor and Zimak were left alone in a large palace bedchamber while the royal consort was fetched. Zimak took off the clothes that he was wearing and changed into a pair of black silk trousers and a dark red singlet that showed off Daretor’s pectorals to great effect.

‘Prince Ulad was well prepared for his new body,’ he said, looking at Daretor with mirth in his eyes.

‘You did this on purpose,’ snarled Daretor. Raising the grille on his helmet, he glared at Zimak with Zimak’s own eyes.

‘I had no choice,’ Zimak replied. ‘The discharge of energies was about to happen. And if we had been running across the floor when that happened, our souls would have been torn from our bodies.’

‘They
were
torn from our bodies. And look where they ended up.’ Daretor grabbed Zimak by the arm and spun him around. He would have hit him, but not only was Zimak twice his size, he could never bring himself to hit his own body. White Quell, he would have that body
back
.

Zimak easily shrugged off Daretor’s hand and returned his glare. ‘I mean unless we were right out of the chamber they would have been torn out and flung into the afterlife. The double chair was the only safe place,’ he said, dismissively.

‘It was worth trying to run,’ insisted Daretor. ‘
Anything
would have been better than being in this weasel’s body.’

‘Go easy,’ Zimak said. ‘If I were a girl I’d think you’re a handsome little devil –’

‘You really did do this deliberately!’ shouted Daretor.

‘You could think that, yes,’ conceded Zimak. ‘Just imagine: we could have run for it, and maybe escaped the chamber. The guards would have stopped us at once, and back in the chamber was the prince’s body and outside its doors the dead priest.’

Daretor fought hard to control his temper. ‘Then tell me, why did you kill them?’

‘I only killed the prince. But, in answer to your question,’ Zimak said slowly, as though talking to a simpleton, ‘with your plan we would have been subdued, the priest would have stopped the buildup of energies, and you would have been taken right back for another try at transferring souls. This way I have the guise of the prince, you are safe, and soon we can find some
excuse to have the temple set up for another transference of souls. I shall say, oh, that your body is too big and clumsy. As my loyal guard, you shall volunteer to swap me your wonderful little body. I shall still be treated as Prince Ulad, and all will be well.’

Daretor lashed out and grabbed Zimak by his singlet. ‘This will never work. I hate being you.’

‘Gah, Daretor, unhand me.’ He waited for Daretor to release him, although he could have easily swatted his hand away. ‘Do you think I like being trapped inside
your
body any more than you want to be trapped in mine?’ He picked up a sweet cake and popped it into his mouth. He could eat and drink forever and still not satisfy this enormous frame. ‘Your body is strong, but it’s not fast. No, it’s not that much fun for me.’

‘Liar,’ Daretor spat. He glared at Zimak. ‘This is the body of a Lycellian snake-mouse, Zimak. A sleek little thing to be sure, but it has no power and no finesse. I want my body back.’

Zimak winced. ‘Sit down, Daretor. You don’t know how foolish you look, standing there stamping your foot like an impudent child.’

Daretor slumped into a chair. ‘These are a heartless people with no honour. There’s no telling how many innocent people have died by their hands.’

‘You’re exaggerating,’ Zimak argued lazily. ‘Besides, since when have you been shy of bloodshed? You fought alongside Longrical as a mercenary. Everyone knows that bloody Hamarian campaign took the lives of countless thousands. He started a civil war and slew his own Queen. Took to her head with an axe in public, from what I heard. It took five strikes. Very messy. Even the crowd was disgusted, and crowds usually like a rollicking execution.’

‘She was both a despot and a murderess,’ Daretor seethed. ‘Speak not of which you know little or nothing. We have been
used by these people like pawns in a chess game. Now we have stepped off the board and made them our pawns.’ He stood up and leaned across the table. His hands were trembling. ‘You stepped off the board in
my
body, Zimak.’ He smashed his hand down upon a table.

‘Steady,’ Zimak said, lying down on a pile of huge cushions. ‘That’s my hand you’re knocking about.’

Daretor let go of the hand he was nursing. ‘Mark my words, I intend to have my body
back
.’

There was a soft knock at the door.

‘Enter!’ Zimak boomed with Daretor’s voice. He motioned Daretor to lower the grille on his helmet. ‘Quiet, now. This will be tricky.’

The royal consort Premiel was shown in by Chamberlain Cravek. Zimak dismissed him, and Daretor pushed the doors shut.

‘My lord –’ began Premiel.

‘There is a little problem,’ said Zimak, getting lazily to his feet. He couldn’t help but stare in open admiration at Andrella’s statuesque body. A pity it now had the mind of a venomous snake.

‘I know, the Bazitian princess killed Modar, and was in turn slain. Now when a letter arrives from her family, we shall have nobody to advise us how to reply.’

‘Your husband is also dead,’ said Zimak.

Premiel blinked. Zimak held her stare until she glanced over her shoulder at Daretor, who was standing guard at the doors, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. She returned her attention to Zimak.

‘I intend to replace Prince Ulad,’ said Zimak. ‘You will help me to reign in his stead.’

Premiel folded her arms and skirted the table, placing herself as far away from Zimak and Daretor as she could. ‘If this is
one of your foul tricks, Ulad, speak up now.’ She eased closer to a table knife. It was nothing more than a fruit carver, but she had become a deadly opponent over the centuries. And she was dying to try out her new body.

Zimak followed her gaze. ‘Don’t even think about it, Premiel. Daretor would have you sliced in two before it left your hand.’

‘There appears to be nothing in this for me,’ she said, easing back from the knife. ‘I can reign by myself now. Guards!’ The doors burst open and six palace guards strode in. Premiel pointed at Daretor and Zimak. ‘Kill these imposters.’

The guards hesitated, but drew their weapons. Zimak folded his arms. Daretor drew his sword. One of the guards advanced on Zimak and Daretor stepped between them. The guard lunged at Daretor who parried, then swung up at the guard’s face. He parried too, stepping back and batting hard at Daretor’s blade, nearly knocking it out of his hand. Three other guards began to circle them. Zimak picked up a heavy brass stand. It was five feet long. He swung it at the two guards who were rushing him. It smashed aside their swords, thudded into their armour, and lifted them from the ground.

Daretor closed with his opponent, swung him around and into the blade of the fourth guard. Dropping the body, he faced the remaining guard who backed away.

‘What are you waiting for?’ bellowed Premiel. ‘Attack! Fetch more guards.’ She lunged for the table knife and Zimak struck down at her hand, pinning it to the table.

Zimak waved his free hand in the air and laughed. ‘There, there, my dear, all went as planned.’ He gave an exaggerated wink.

Everyone stood still.

‘Those two are loyal,’ said Daretor, quickly catching on and gesturing to the two guards who had not moved.

‘You who attacked,’ said Zimak. ‘Consider yourselves slaves, and lucky to be alive.’ He waved at the bleeding guard at Daretor’s feet with the brass stand. ‘Except for you, of course, you will need rather a lot of sewing back together before you go anywhere.’

‘That was just a test of our loyalty?’ asked one of the guards, standing near the open doors.

‘Very perceptive of you,’ said Zimak, turning to Premiel. ‘Very good act, my dear, you could have been in theatre. Never too late, of course.’

Premiel looked about in confusion, her mouth hanging open. She nodded, then remembered to close her mouth.

‘Escort these not entirely reliable folk to the shift captain, but confiscate their weapons first,’ said Daretor.

The guards looked nervously at Zimak.

‘He is the most trusted guard of my inner chamber,’ Zimak declared. ‘Obey him as you would obey me. Now go. Drag
that
out with you and close the door as you go.’

The guards withdrew, dragging the wounded guard with them and leaving a trail of blood. They closed the doors behind them.

‘You appear to have won,’ said Premiel, her shoulders sagging. ‘What do you want to do with me?’

‘Oh, reign with you at my side and in my bed – with your willing consent, of course. Lady Premiel, your former husband was to have lived in this body, and lived with you. What would be so very different about living with me?’

Premiel arched her eyebrows. ‘Ulad had the mind of an old man,’ she declared. ‘The prospect of life with you appeals … I feel younger already.’

‘You ought to, you have stolen the body of an eighteen-year-old princess,’ said Daretor, sourly.

Premiel sneered at Daretor. ‘Who is this little man?’ she asked Zimak.

‘Daretor, in Zimak’s body,’ said Daretor, raising the grille on his helmet, and giving an angry flourish.

Premiel stared at him for a moment, a smile spreading over her face. She began to laugh, pointing from Daretor to Zimak, and back again.

‘You, the serious one, in
that
body,’ she managed, barely keeping her bubbling voice under control. She walked toward Zimak, her hips swaying from side to side, and ran her fingers through her long, unbound hair. ‘And you – Princess Andrella said you have the lovemaking drive of a rabbit who has been taking swimming lessons in a vat of love potion,’ she said, stopping before Zimak. ‘And now you have the boring one’s absolutely stupendous body. Why did you not tell me you had swapped bodies before I called the guards?’

‘He likes surprises,’ suggested Daretor.

‘Oh, yes, and I am sure you were very surprised when you found yourself in that particular body,’ she said, batting her eyelashes at Daretor.

‘Now then, Daretor. As my most trusted guard, I think you should guard the doors of my inner chamber,’ declared Zimak. ‘From the outside, of course.’

Daretor glared at them, then lowered the visor of his helmet. He snatched up the clothing that Zimak had removed.

‘I shall save my clothes until I have the right body to wear them on,’ he said, coldly. He strode purposefully to the doors, wrenched them open, and then slammed them behind him.

‘I do suspect he is not entirely happy with his lot in life,’ said Premiel, as she and Zimak wrapped their arms around each other.

‘I don’t suspect it,’ he replied.

‘No?’

‘Oh, no. I am absolutely certain of it.’ They toppled on to the divan clutching one another.

Outside the doors, Daretor bundled up his clothes. He stiffened at Premiel’s sudden raucous laughter and the silence that followed.

‘You are right, Lady Premiel,’ he said, glancing at the doors. ‘In a way, nothing at all has changed.’

He drew the sword, executed several parries and a couple of standard slashes, then sheathed it again.