Dragonskin Slippers (27 page)

“But how will they get out?”

“There are two other escape tunnels,” Luka explained. “They lead right under the palace grounds and even I am not sure where they come out. We’ll have to figure out a way to –”

“You there! Drop your weapons!” A Roulaini soldier with a thick moustache to match his thick accent came around a corner. He carried a barbed spear, and it was aimed right at Tobin’s heart. More guards followed, until that end of the corridor was completely filled.

“Creel,” Luka said very softly. “Run.”

“No.”

“Creel, follow this corridor until you come to a green-painted door.”

The Roulaini soldier snarled. “I said to drop your weapons, fools!”

“The green door leads to the kitchens. Go through the kitchens to the gardens. Now.”

“No.” I held my little dagger in one shaking fist, the lamp in the other.

“Creel, I command you,” Luka said.

I looked at him. It was quite possible that he was now the king, and at that moment he looked it.

“Attack!”

The Roulaini soldiers leaped forward. I threw my lamp at their leader, turned, and ran. Down the endless miles of corridor I went, twice bumping into Roulaini soldiers. They shouted and tried to follow, but their armour hampered them. With my skirts hiked up above my knees, I burst through the green-painted door and into the kitchens.

I suppose it should have occurred to me that someone would be cooking for the palace. Late as it was, there were a number of cooks and maids baking bread for the
next day. They all scrambled about for a moment and then froze, staring at me in amazement. I stared back.

Then I gave them all a smile, trying to look as innocent as I could, and started across the room to the door at the back that led to the gardens. The head cook stepped into my path, holding up a large wooden spoon like it was a sword.

Doing my best imitation of Amalia’s accent, I said, “What ees thees? I must to thee gardensss!” And I tried to brush past her.

One of the kitchen maids had come up behind me and grabbed my arm as I stepped around the head cook and her spoon. I twisted as best I could, trying to stomp on her feet, but her gown was so long that I couldn’t reach them.

“Let me go!” I writhed free, backing away from both the cook and her helper.

And then I got a good look at the helper.

It was a man, dressed in a gown and wearing the apron and head scarf of a cook. He could almost have passed for a woman – a very ugly woman, mind you – if it weren’t for the scattering of stubble on his cheeks.

“By the Boiling –” was all I managed before he put a large hand over my mouth.

“Shh,” he whispered.

“She’s not Roulaini,” the cook said, coming closer. “And she’s not dressed fine, like the limping one.”

I pushed the man’s hand away. “I’m with Prince Luka. I need to get to the caverns under the palace,” I
said. “I won’t tell anyone that he’s a … that you have a man in here.” I shook my head over this. Why was he dressed that way? I noticed that his hands were hard and calloused – definitely not the hands of a cook – and that his right hand hovered near his hip, as though feeling for a sword. “Are you a soldier?”

The man and the cook exchanged looks again.

“I told you,” I said impatiently, “I’m here with Prince Luka.”

“My brother is in the King’s Guards,” the head cook said finally. “I’ve been hiding him since the Roulaini took control.”

“Cara!” He frowned at her.

“Excellent!” Now it was my turn to grab
his
arm. “Guide me to the entrance to the caverns at once. I’m going to find Princess Amalia and wring her scrawny neck!”

“I can’t,” he protested. “The entrances are hidden.”

“But you’re a palace guard; you must know where they are!”

“I did know a few, but some of them are burned out, and some have collapsed.”

I tapped my foot in irritation. “So how did Amalia get down there?”

“She took one of them dragons. There’s a big sinkhole at the southern end of the palace grounds, caused by all this dragon-work, reckon they went down thataway.”

“If we could get to that sinkhole, could you help me find the way down into the caves?”

A shrug. “Supposing we could get there, yes. Trick is, kitchens are on the north end. Besides that, it’s a straight drop down that hole into the caves.”

“That won’t matter. Come with me.” I wheeled around, heading for the garden door.

Behind me, I heard the swishing and fumbling of clothing coming off. I glanced back to see the guard casting aside his apron and gown. Underneath he still wore the green breeches of the Guard, but a plain white shirt. The head cook produced his sword and belt from a cupboard and smiled in approval as he buckled them on.

We slipped out, craning our necks from side to side to look for Roulaini guards. In the middle of the kitchen garden I stopped, put my fingers to my lips, and whistled, hoping my hunch was correct.

The guard gave a start and clutched my elbow. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going to fly around to the sinkhole,” I explained.

Niva had said that once she dropped us off we would be on our own, and I believed her. She was a plain-spoken, haughty sort of dragon.

Feniul, however, was a different beast entirely.

With a whoosh of air and a flap of his wings, Feniul landed beside us. The guard cursed and fell on his rear.

“Can this guard ride with me around to the southern side of the palace?”

“Of course.”

I scrambled on to his back. “You were supposed to
wait at the estates,” I teased him as I held out an impatient hand to the guard.

“I’m sorry.” He ducked his head. “I was worried about you.”

“Feniul, I adore you,” I said. “You can disobey my instructions anytime.” I grabbed the guard’s shaking hand and yanked.

Grunting and biting his lips, the guard struggled up behind me. He wrapped both arms around my waist in a way that would have been highly inappropriate had the man clearly not been terrified. He was shaking and I thought I felt sweat drip on to my neck.

“Ugh. Feniul, hurry,” I said.

The dragon obliged. To avoid notice, the lithe Feniul wove between the turrets of the palace, sometimes almost scraping the roof with his claws. As we cleared the building and looked down on to the gardens, it was plain where the entrance to the caverns was: there was an enormous hole, blackened around the edges, gaping in the middle of what had been a smooth and verdant lawn.

“That hole is big enough for me,” Feniul announced after circling it twice. “I shall carry you down.”

“Be careful,” I warned, but he was already diving for the opening.

With my eyes squeezed tight, I kept myself from screaming as we shot through the narrow sinkhole. I told myself that dragons larger than Feniul had fitted into the space, but I was still half-convinced that I was about to die. The guard must have thought the same, for he was
whimpering and shaking until I had to grip his hands at my waist to prevent him from slipping off.

When Feniul’s speed slowed, I dared to open my eyes. He had tucked his wings in close, and was coming to a gliding stop in a large passageway deep beneath the earth. It was a natural tunnel, with strange luminous rock formations, and I was heartened to see that it was more than big enough for Feniul to accompany us.

“You can let go now,” I told the whimpering guard. “Let’s get down and walk.”

“Thank the Triunity,” he said in a hoarse whisper. Letting go of my waist, he slithered off Feniul and on to the floor, where his knees buckled and he sagged to a crouch.

“Are you well?” Feniul tilted his head to inspect the shaken guard.

“Yes, thank you, dragon … sir,” he mumbled.

With just a trace of smugness, I swung myself neatly down and started to walk along the passage. “Coming?” I said over my shoulder. I heard a groan from the guard, and the scrape of Feniul’s claws on the stone.

Although we were deep under the ground, there seemed to be illumination coming from somewhere ahead of us. We finally turned a corner, and found a tunnel that looked as if it had been carved by human hands. Every ten paces there was a burning torch set into a wall sconce, though some of them had gone out. Feniul relit them as we went along, puffing little spurts of flame from his nostrils.

When the tunnel forked, the guard took over, leading us down the right-hand branch. There were more burned-out torches this way, and some had burned so low that Feniul couldn’t get them to light again. I took one of the better ones, and the guard took another. There was an ever increasing sound of running water that, combined with Feniul’s bellows-like breathing in the cramped space, made conversation impossible. All we could do was trudge along and hope that we found what we were looking for before our torches went out.

Instead, we turned one corner, then another, and found ourselves in a very well-lit cavern. Glowing moss covered the entire cavern ceiling, bathing the scene below in a weird greenish light. Because of the fey lighting it took me a moment to register what I was seeing. When at last I was able to make sense of the scene before me, my mouth dropped open and I gave a little squeak.

The source of the sound we had been hearing proved to be a massive underground waterfall that roared into a pool at one end of the cavern. The rushing water had muffled the sound of the battle that was raging here under the New Palace. Our enemies had penetrated Feravel’s last defences and now only half-a-hundred Feravelan guards stood between the king and the Roulaini invaders. King Prilian himself stood atop a boulder and shouted encouragement to his men. If King Caxel were killed, Prilian would declare himself king here in this cave beneath the New Palace.

And where was King Caxel? I searched the surging,
clashing mass of men and swords and pikes. In the middle of a knot of Feravelan guards I spotted a stout grey-haired man slumped on the arm of an elderly gentleman in physician’s robes.

“It’s the king!” I jostled the guard’s arm and pointed. “The king lives!”

“My king! I must go!” And the guard went racing away to engage the first Roulaini man he came across.

Feniul hung back in the shadows behind me, and I stayed in the mouth of the tunnel, looking on in shock. I had come down here thinking that I would find Amalia and a few guards who would be easily intimidated by Feniul, and then I would take back the slippers. Instead I found myself witnessing Feravel’s last stand.

A glimmer of something silver caught my eye, and I turned my head and looked up. There, on an outcropping halfway up the wall of the cavern, stood Amalia. She was clad in a beautiful gown of gleaming grey silk, leaning over the edge of a natural balcony to look down on the battle. At the back of the ledge was a small tunnel leading who-knew-where. I backed a little farther into my own tunnel, to make sure that I couldn’t be seen, and put a hand on Feniul’s neck.

“Can you get me up there?” I said, pointing to the outcrop, but the roar of the waterfall and clash of swords swallowed my words. “Can you get me up there?” I shouted this time, and Feniul nodded. He extended a foreclaw, and I climbed up. Sensing that I wanted to surprise the princess, he backed up a few steps to get a running
start and then propelled himself out of the tunnel, soaring straight for Amalia.

The Roulaini princess clapped her hands to her cheeks in dismay when she saw us coming. She began to slink down the smaller tunnel behind her, but she didn’t get far. Feniul swerved when we reached the ledge, barely checking his speed, and I took the hint. I leaped from his shoulders and rolled on to the rough stone.

I was so tired it was all I could do to scramble to my feet and set off after Amalia. Fortunately, the princess was not a very fast runner. I caught her easily, flinging my arms around her and bearing her to the ground with my weight. I pinned her arms to the stone above her head.

“Give me the slippers,” I grated.

“No!” She spat at me, but I turned my face aside. “Help me!”

“I don’t see your bodyguards, Your Highness,” I said. “It seems that they’ve abandoned you.” I kept my voice level. “Now. Give me the slippers, and I’ll let you choose whether you are punished by human justice, or by dragon.” I curled my lips in a snarl. “After what you did to Shardas’s cave, I’d choose human.”

“I didn’t do anything,” she protested. “Shardas did it all himself. He’s nothing more than a dumb animal.” A sly look flitted across her face. “Of course, I may have made a suggestion …”

With a wordless scream of rage I released one of her hands and punched her in the nose. She shrieked and I drew back for another punch, but stopped when I saw something in the shadows.

“Help me,” Amalia sobbed, her nose bleeding freely.

She wasn’t calling to her bodyguards. Waiting in the darkness to carry out its mistress’s commands loomed a large grey dragon.

Shocked, I released the princess as the dragon snatched me up. One wing was folded awkwardly by its side and seemed to have been broken, but it looked like an old wound. The dragon was certainly fit enough to hold me several paces above the stone floor, in a grip so tight that I could hardly breathe.

Its voice rumbled from deep in its throat, boiling out like breaking rocks. “Shall I kill it, mistress?” There was no expression in the rough tone.

“Yes, at once!” Amalia got clumsily to her feet, brushing dust off her gown.

The dragon was holding me level with its breast. What I saw on its chest made me stop wriggling and stare. There were strange marks, long slashing marks. The scales there were smaller, as if they had formed a kind of scar tissue. And although the light in the tunnel was dim, I could see now that the dragon was not grey, as I had initially thought, but blue.

The same blue as the slippers.

“Velika?” I gasped the name, and the claw holding me gave a convulsive jerk, slicing through the sleeve of my gown and cutting into my upper arm. “Queen Velika? Is that you?”

It was a rather stupid thing to say to a dragon, I thought as soon as the words left me. “Is that you?” It seemed such a common way to say it, like I was greeting an old friend who had a bizarre new hairstyle. But as I stared in shock at the scars on the dragon’s breast, I knew it to be true.