Dragonfire (10 page)

The guard was at his side immediately with a kick to the ribs. Dahl forced himself not to flinch. The guard kicked him again. Still, Dahl lay inert.

“This one’s finished,” the guard snarled, and through half-closed eyes, Dahl saw him draw his sword. He tensed and was about to jump back up when a shout echoed around them.

“Stop!”

Miraculously, the guard stayed his hand. The man who had summoned Dahl to groom the Master’s horse strode across the courtyard to them.

“That is the boy who works magic with that demon, Magnus,” the man called out. “Kill him not, or the Master will have our heads.”

The guard lowered his sword. “What do we with him, then?” he asked.

“Drag him off into a corner in the shade. Tell the woman there to give him some soup when she is finished with the others. We cannot afford to let this one die.”

Dahl felt himself being pulled across the jagged cobblestones of the courtyard, then heard the guard and the man walk away. He lay motionless, hardly daring to breathe.

After a time, the shuffling of the slaves ceased and the courtyard became silent. Dahl still did not move, but his eyes never left the kitchen door. Finally, Catryn came out, carrying a bowl of soup. She walked over to him, then sank down beside him.

“Dahl,” she whispered. “Are you all right?”

Dahl looked around cautiously. They were alone. “Catryn,” he whispered back. “How came you here? How did you know where to find me?”

Catryn cradled his head in one hand, and made a pretense of trying to feed him, for the benefit of any who might be watching. “The Sele brought me to the
edge of the forest. After they left me, I met up with a party of farmers bringing fruit and vegetables to the castle. I asked if I could join them and they agreed.” She stopped for a moment, and she, too, looked fearfully around. “Eat, Dahl. In case anyone is watching.”

Dahl needed no urging. He sat up, as if still groggy, and accepted a spoonful of soup. In spite of his shock at seeing Catryn, his stomach leaped at the taste of the liquid. She had filled the bowl to the brim with broth, and it was thick with vegetables.

“When I got here,” Catryn went on, “I realized that if you had made it to Daunus, the castle was the most likely place you could be. The rest of the citizens are all guarded and counted, and a stranger would be noticed immediately. The guard at the gate told me a new slave had just been purchased for the Master. A boy with a burn on his face. I knew it must be you.” She ladled another spoonful of soup into Dahl’s mouth, just as he opened it to speak. He sputtered, but she went on, unnoticing. “As usual, they needed a new serving girl at the castle and took me on. They wear out their serving women as fast as they wear out their slaves. I’ve been here for three days now and I’ve been looking for you constantly. Oh, Dahl!” Her voice broke. “I had just about given up hope. I feared that you had been killed!”

Dahl took advantage of the lull in her relentless spooning of the soup to speak. “The winged horse?” he asked. “Is it alive?”

“It is.” Catryn got her voice under control and raised the spoon again. “I brought it with me. It is well now and stronger than ever. I left it hidden in the forest, and Sele the Plump stayed to care for it and guard it.”

“Is that safe for the Sele?” Dahl asked. “You do not know…”

“I do. I know that the Usurper’s men hunt the Sele like animals. One of them came into the camp limping and sorely wounded just after you left. They told me then.” Soup spilled from the spoon as Catryn’s hand began to tremble, but she did not seem to notice it. “How could they, Dahl? They must know the Sele are not beasts.”

Dahl took the spoon from her and began to feed himself. He did not bother to eat slowly, only slurped the food in as quickly as possible. “They know. They just do not care. It is they who are the beasts. And I who must stop them,” he added. There was a firmness and determination to his voice that was new. Catryn looked at him quickly.

“We,” she said. “
We
who must stop them. I am here now, and so is the horse. We have our part to play.”

“Yes. You do. The Elders spoke truly,” Dahl answered. His mind began to whirl with plans.

“You know where the path to Daunus enters the forest?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You must go back, get the horse and wait for me there.”

Catryn hesitated. She bit her lip. “There is a problem,” she said.

“What?” Dahl snapped the word out.

“I can’t leave.”

“You can’t leave?”

“No. When they took me on as serving girl, they made it plain that I was to stay here, and I would not be allowed to go out of the castle grounds again.”

“But why did you agree? What possible help can you be if you are as much of a prisoner as I?” Dahl stared at her, stunned. Every plan in his head collapsed.

“I knew not what else to do. It was the only way I could get to you, Dahl.” Catryn was almost in tears.

“Ho, boy! Get over here!” The guard had reappeared. “If you’re well enough to eat and moon over a kitchen maid, you’re well enough to get back to your pen,” he shouted.

“We’ll work something out…” Catryn whispered. “We’re together again. That’s what’s important.”

“Get over here, I said, or you’ll feel the flat of my sword against your neck, boy!”

Dahl stumbled to his feet. He looked at Catryn, but couldn’t find words to answer her. Both of them, prisoners. What could they possibly do now?

That night Dahl lay on his pallet and brooded. He answered Bruhn in monosyllables only, until Bruhn finally gave up trying to talk to him and went to sleep. If only Catryn could escape and get to the winged horse! He had the beginning of a plan in his mind, but it all depended on that. Guarded as they were, how could she manage it? Of one thing he was certain—they had to move quickly. Now that the Usurper knew Dahl was close by, he was bound to find him. Even as he thought this, Dahl felt a tingling within his mind. As if insidious fingers were probing,
trying to locate him. The dragon scar seared into his cheek with a pain so sharp, it felt as if he were being burned all over again. Again he made his mind go blank—pulled the shutter back down over it. But then he could not think, not plan. Finally he gave up the struggle and, exhausted, let himself drift toward sleep. His last thought, before succumbing to unconsciousness, was: The Usurper knows I am close, but he does not yet know I am actually within his gates. He could not know that, or he would have every slave lined up for inspection. All he would need to recognize me would be to see the scar on my face. I still have that advantage. He does not know I am here. A small advantage indeed.

Dahl dreamed wild, horrific dreams that night. The black creatures of the forest surrounded him once again, hemming him in. He could feel their obscene, slimy fur brush his skin, smell the feral odor of them. Their teeth ripped into his flesh. In his dream he fell. At once the whole pack was on top of him, suffocating him, tearing at him…He woke, covered in sweat despite the coolness of the night air, only to sleep again and fall into yet more nightmares. Now he could feel once more the terror of the dragon, see the fire rushing to consume him. Over and over he saw the hawk explode into flames.

As dawn broke, he struggled back to consciousness. In the brief moment between sleep and awakening, the Usurper found his mind again. The
face, a mirror image of his own, blazed into his brain, laughing no longer. The scar on its left cheek was so livid, Dahl unconsciously raised his hand to the scar on his own right cheek.

“You cannot block me forever.” The words rang inside his head. “I will find you…”

Dahl slammed down the shutter of his mind and forced himself into full wakefulness.

Catryn was not at the kitchen door that evening. Nor was she doling out soup the following evening. Dahl looked for her desperately. He had just found her again—he could not lose her. He dawdled in the line so much that the men behind him began pushing. What had happened to her?

That night he dreamed he saw her dead body floating in a river. As he watched, the horse pounded after her, then spread its magnificent wings, took flight and disappeared high over the forest. In his dream Dahl felt as desolated as if he had lost his entire world.

“No!”

Dahl came to himself. He was sitting up on his pallet. Bruhn was kneeling beside him, shaking him.

“What ails you, Dahl?” Bruhn asked. “You cried
out so, I thought the guards would surely hear. Are you all right?”

No, I am not all right, Dahl thought. The desolation he had felt in his dream still filled him. He forced himself to answer.

“I am well, Bruhn. It was just a dream.”

But was it just a dream?

The next evening Catryn was back. When he saw her, Dahl’s knees almost gave way beneath him. When his turn to hold out his bowl came, he hissed under his breath, “Where were you?”

Catryn made a show of trying to scrape the bottom of the pot she held.

“I was making plans to get out,” she hissed back. She kept her head low; the bonnet she wore masked the words. “I think I can do it tomorrow.”

“How…?”

“The farmers who brought me here—they came back today. There is a boy with them. He fancies me. I have asked him to smuggle me out in their wagon under a sack. I’ve promised him all sorts of things, poor foolish lad.”

“But when you get out—what will you do? How will you deal with him?”

Dahl felt himself shoved from behind. Catryn looked up and saw the line of resentful faces.

“I need more soup,” she called out to them. “Wait for just a moment.” She turned toward the kitchen door. “Tansy—bring more!” She turned back to Dahl.

“Worry yourself not about that. I’ve learned to deal with more dangerous louts than he in my life. But what shall we do once I’m out? Do you have a plan?”

“I do,” Dahl answered. He gave the man behind him an anxious look, but the man’s attention, as well as that of everyone else in the line, was fastened on the kitchen door, waiting for Tansy to appear.

“Get the horse and wait for me where the path to Daunus enters the forest,” Dahl said, his voice as low as he could make it.

“For how long?”

“Not too long, I hope. But wait for me there, Catryn. Fail me not.”

“Of course I will not fail you.”

There was a familiar bite to her words. Dahl almost smiled at the sound of it.

The next evening there was a stir around the kitchens. A woman strange to Dahl was ladling out the evening soup. Of Catryn there was no sign.

“One of the maids has disappeared,” Bruhn whispered to Dahl as they made ready for sleep that night. “The guards have been whipped for allowing it. The Master does not like his slaves to escape him.”

That night the nightmares did not torment Dahl. He slept soundly, and when he woke in the morning, his plan was fully formed in his head.

He went as usual to the stables and spent an hour grooming Magnus. The stallion and he understood each other well now. Outwardly, Dahl looked the same as usual, but inwardly he was trembling. To his astonishment, however, he realized that it was more with excitement than with fear.

He finished grooming the horse, then stood, one hand resting lightly on its powerfully muscled fore-quarters. The other slaves in the stable were going about their own business; the guard was outside, out of sight. He was used to Dahl’s routine with the stallion by now and would not reappear until it was time for Dahl to return to the slave quarters.

Dahl took a bridle off the wall and pretended to examine it. He looked around again. There was still no one watching him. He slipped the bridle over the horse’s head quickly and fastened the bit between its teeth. Holding the reins in one hand, he reached out
with the other and unlatched the stall gate, then swung it open. Magnus snorted and rolled its eyes at him, sensing something unusual. Now came the most crucial part of all Dahl’s plan. Just how far did Magnus trust him?

Taking a deep breath, he stepped up onto a bale of hay and swung his leg over the horse’s back. Magnus danced sideways, but Dahl could not afford to give the stallion time to get used to him. He clutched the reins in one hand and buried the fingers of the other in the horse’s mane. He kicked his heels once into its sides; shouted, urging it on; then clung with knees, calves and feet as the stallion plunged forward.

They burst out of the stall. Magnus reared, and Dahl had to clutch even more tightly to keep from being thrown. The stable door was wide open; Magnus headed for it of its own accord. Dahl had time only for a glimpse of the startled faces of the slaves who leaped to get out of their way before they hurtled down the length of the stable and out into the yard beyond. The guard on duty was lounging in the shade under a tree. He froze in disbelief as Dahl and Magnus galloped past him. Dahl was counting on the surprise to give him time to get to the castle gate. He knew that it was kept open during the day; he could only pray that the city gate was open as well. It had been when he had first been brought here. If it was closed…He thrust the
thought from his mind and concentrated on guiding the stallion.

They tore around the castle walls and reached the gate before the guard had time to raise the alarm. Two other guards turned at the noise of his approach, but before they could heft their spears, Dahl was past them and through. Now for the city gate. Dahl raced Magnus down the cobblestoned street. He could see the great portal at the end of it. It was open! The horse’s hooves clattered on the stones with a noise that seemed to Dahl as loud as thunder, but the guards at this gate were slow to move. When they finally realized what was happening, it was too late. If they had acted together they might have been able to stop him, but they reacted with confusion. One ran to close the gate, one ran to bar Dahl’s way. Neither was effective. Dahl and Magnus swept through.

Dahl felt a surge of elation pour through him. He was free! They raced down the path toward the forest, but they had not yet reached the halfway point when Dahl heard cries behind him. He glanced quickly over his shoulder. A party of mounted guardsmen erupted out of the city gates, their spears and armor flashing in the sunlight, bows and arrows slung on their backs. Dahl turned away and concentrated every effort in urging Magnus on to even greater speed. The stallion was strong, but the wild pace was beginning to tell. It was lathered in sweat.
The wind tore at Dahl. He had to hang on with every ounce of his strength.

Something whistled past his ears. An arrow! Dahl crouched low over the stallion’s neck. The edge of the forest suddenly looked very far away. Another arrow flew past, then another. It was only a matter of seconds before one found its mark, either in Dahl or in the horse.

“On, Magnus!” he urged. “Just a little more. Just a little farther!” Another arrow whistled by him. He had been insane to think this would work. He would never make it!

The cries grew louder behind him. He felt a sudden sting on his arm. Looking down, he saw a thin red line appear on the flesh. He stared at it stupidly for a moment, before understanding that an arrow had grazed him. He looked up desperately, but the forest was still impossibly distant.

His heart was pounding and the knots in his stomach had turned to actual pain, when the shouts behind him abruptly ceased. At the same instant, the rain of arrows stopped. He risked a look over his shoulder. The guardsmen had pulled up and were sawing at their horses’ mouths as the animals reared and whinnied in terror. To a man, the guards were staring into the sky, mouths agape and eyes bulging from their sockets. Dahl followed their stares upward.

Silhouetted against the blue of the heavens, wings
gleaming in the sunlight, the winged horse swooped down upon them. On its back, with flying robes and flaming, blazing hair, rode what at first seemed to be a witch from the otherworld itself. She screamed—a high-pitched, long-drawn-out wail of a battle cry, and flew straight at them. With one accord, the guardsmen wheeled their mounts and fled.

Dahl answered Catryn’s cry with a wild shout of his own. He spurred Magnus on to the trees. When he reached them and threw himself off Magnus’s back, Catryn was waiting for him. Standing beside the winged horse, she was flushed and triumphant. Her eyes shone.

“Catryn! You were…” But no words could say what Dahl felt. He began to laugh. “Did you see how they ran? They must have thought you were a fiend from hell itself!”

Catryn threw back her head and laughed with him. “Oh, they did run! How they did run! Wasn’t I splendid?”

“You were, indeed!” a voice broke in. Only then did Dahl see Sele the Plump. The small being was jumping up and down with excitement.

In the distance, the guardsmen reached the gates of the city. They thundered in, and the heavy portals of Daunus swung shut with a reverberating
clang
. The sound sobered them.

“They will be back, won’t they?” Catryn said.

“They will,” Dahl answered. “And in strength.”

“We must make ready,” Catryn said. “How shall we do that?”

“First, I must retrieve my sword,” Dahl said. “God grant it is still where those thieving monsters left it.” He told Catryn and the Sele in a few hurried words what had happened, then turned to the winged horse.

“Your work has but just begun, my friend,” he said to the animal. The horse’s ears flicked back, the great wings trembled with eagerness. It whickered. Magnus whickered back, tossing its head. The two beasts eyed each other nervously. Dahl took Magnus’s bridle and handed it to Catryn, watching to see if the stallion would accept the transfer. It sidestepped away from the hand she held out, but made no further objection.

“Mind Magnus well, Catryn. He is the Master’s own horse.”

“The Usurper’s?”

“Even so.”

Catryn laughed again. “When you are bold, you are very bold indeed, it would seem. How did you manage such a theft?”

“I will tell you all later.” He mounted.

With no urging from Dahl at all, as if sensing what they must do, the winged horse trotted out of the concealment of the trees and, with two strong thrusts of its wings, was airborne. Dahl buried his
fingers in its mane. No bridle on this horse—it was guided by Dahl’s thoughts alone and by its own knowledge. They spiraled high up into the sky. Dahl looked anxiously for the blasted tree where he had last seen his sword. A shard of light splintered against the dark of the forest. It was there! The horse sensed at once what was needed and curved through the air toward it. Dahl reached out and his hand closed over the hilt. At once, he felt the power of the weapon flow into him. With a mighty heave, he pulled the sword free and raised it high.

Then, as if the sun had been blotted out, a darkness fell around them and the air was filled with the flurry of other wings. Dahl found himself surrounded by raucous, cawing forms. The monster birds were back, eager to protect their prize. They enveloped Dahl and the horse in a suffocating mass of feathered bodies. Dahl felt the horse’s wings falter as they tried to beat against the multitude that blanketed them.

This time I am ready for them, Dahl thought. His blood began to race; he hefted his sword eagerly. At last, something tangible that he could fight! He tightened his knees, gripped the horse even more firmly and swung his sword. It sank deep into one of the flying birds. The sensation of metal thudding into living flesh shocked him. The bird catapulted out of the sky; blood spewed over Dahl, but he did not even notice it. He swung again. Again, the
sword found a mark. This time the shock was replaced with exultation.