In the Shadow of the Dragon King (39 page)

“Koŕghan! Get the prisoner to his feet! You two imbeciles—get out!”

Heavy footsteps pounded the steps as the guards fled upstairs. The door shut behind them. The imposing man—about the same age and size as Trog—stepped off the bottom rung and removed his gloves. David gulped, unsure if the red tinge on the man’s black clothing and leather armor was there by design or if it was blood.

A gargantuan specimen of a creature, sickly green with freakishly long, pointed ears and wart-like growths all over its face, appeared from the far-reaching corridor of empty prison cells that streamed beyond David’s view. He snorted and grumbled obscenities under his breath as he approached.

“Yes, sire.”

“Open the door. I wish to have a conversation with our guest.”

Koŕghan fumbled with the lock then stepped inside and jerked the prisoner around, leaving his chained arms above to twist like a grapevine. The prisoner gasped, but neither screamed nor struggled.

He was an older man, his lean and angular face covered in bruises. Gashes, crusted in blood, crisscrossed his chest like roads on a map. The pair of deep-set blue eyes, however, spoke of wisdom, intelligence and perseverance. They also apparently recognized with loathing the flaxen-haired man before him.

“Bainesworth,” the prisoner said. “I thought I smelled your traitorous stench.”

“Gildore.” Bainesworth placed his gloves on the bench inside the cell. “What a surprise.”

David straightened.
Gildore! The king of Hirth? Seriously?

“I doubt that,” Gildore said, his voice rough and scratchy. “Where is my wife?”

“Where else but the Elastine Forest, but let’s not concern ourselves with such trivial matters.” Bainesworth turned, his palm wrapped around the pommel of his sword. “Where might I find the heir to the throne of Hirth?”

Gildore said nothing.

Bainesworth backhanded his captive’s face.

David strangled the yell in his throat as Gildore crumpled.

Koŕghan yanked Gildore’s head back by the hair. “Ya will ad’ress y’er audience as ’nstructed!”

Gildore snorted. Blood trickled from his mouth. “When you bring me someone worth addressing, then I shall do so.”

Bainesworth pulled his sword from its scabbard and pressed its silver tip against Gildore’s throat.

“What? Are you going to kill me with my sword?”

“
Your
sword?” He flicked a glance at Koŕghan as if looking for confirmation.

“Aye, ’tis the pris’ner’s, sire. He ’ad it on ’im w’en ’e arrived.”

“Really,” Bainesworth said, taking a step back, admiring the weapon. “Remarkable. A true Hirthinian sword forged specifically for its king. No wonder Einar insisted I use it to interrogate you.”

Bainesworth pivoted, cutting the air with the blade with the ease and smoothness of slicing a warm fig. The tip of the blade slit Gildore’s cheek.

The king winced but volunteered no other sound.

Bainesworth remained poised, his left hand to his side, the tip of the sword pinned to Gildore’s throat. “Where is your heir?”

Gildore closed his eyes.

A matching slice appeared on Gildore’s other cheek. David flinched. How the king could remain quiet blew him away.

“Hmm.” Bainesworth dropped the sword to his side. “I suspected as much. I told Einar you would resist.” He shook his head and motioned to Koŕghan. “Release him.”

The shackles opened. Gildore stumbled a few feet forward and collapsed to the hay-covered earthen floor.

Bainesworth flipped Gildore onto his back, and knelt, the sword resting across one knee. “Let’s try a different approach, shall we? It has come to Einar’s attention that you have betrayed a certain wizard’s trust and as such, opened your kingdom to a long, overdue attack by Einar. You alone are responsible for the deaths of your people. Why would you do such a thing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gildore’s dry voice grated like sandpaper over a rock.

Bainesworth stood and paced the cell. “Is it not true you accepted Seyekrad’s promise to protect Hirth from an attack by Einar so long as you expelled your heirs to the throne?”

“What?”

“And did Seyekrad not explain the pact would be null and void should Slavandria ever summon the paladin, thus revealing the presence of an heir, your heir, within Fallhollow?”

“You’re mad, Bainesworth. I have no children.”

“Liar!” Bainesworth kicked Gildore in the ribs. “If you know what is best for you, you will cease with this charade and tell me where I can find the heir to Hirth. Where is your son?”

“I—have—no—child.”

Bainesworth shoved Gildore’s face to the floor. “You obstinate fool! Perhaps you need a bit more persuasion. Koŕghan! Fetch the boy!”

The creature lumbered off and returned moments later with a battered boy about David’s age and height.

Bainesworth grasped the new prisoner by the back of the neck and shoved his face hard against the bars of Gildore’s cell.

Gildore’s swollen eyes widened. “Eric!”

“Sire!” Eric’s raw, flesh-torn fingers tightened around the bars.

Bainesworth flung him across the corridor into David’s cell and locked the door.

Gildore rolled to his knees and stood. “So help me, Bainesworth, if you hurt him in any way—”

Bainesworth pinned Gildore to the wall. “You’ll do what? Kill me? Try.” With a swift elbow blow to the head, Gildore fell with dead weight to the ground. He didn’t move.

Bainesworth sheathed his weapon and collected his gloves. “Koŕghan, lock this door. For the next twenty-four hours, you are to guard the dungeon entrance. Do not return until I send for you. Go!”

The creature cursed as he lumbered away and climbed the same steps David had descended earlier. Bainesworth glanced over his shoulder at Gildore, spit, and said, “Fool,” before climbing the towering steps. The door above closed and the bolt slid into place.

Downstairs, David said the word,
Andor
in his head
,
and materialized inches from his cellmate.

Eric startled and scuttled back. Dark hair hung in strands around his swollen face.

Bruises covered his face, his arms, his torso, and his left shoulder looked funky like it wasn’t set in the socket right.

“Shh,” David said. “Keep it down before that ape and his pet troll hear you.”

Eric used the bars as leverage and struggled to his feet. “Goblin,” he said. “His pet goblin.” He studied David the way a fox would view a cornered rabbit. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Let’s just say I’m a friend.”

“Really? Who sent you?”

“Slavandria, sort of.” David stepped closer, his gaze on the Eric’s arm dangling like a limp vine from its socket. “What happened to your arm?”

Eric winced. “Dislocated.”

“Ouch. It looks painful.”

Eric groaned. “Well, it’s certainly not pleasant.” He cast David a sideways glance. “What do you want, anyway? Why are you here?”

“I’m searching for something, a necklace, about the size of my fist.”

Eric’s eyes widened. A tired smile twitched at his bruised lips. A weary laugh trickled out of him. “I don’t believe it. You’re him. The paladin. You’re who I risked my life for.” He turned his head to the wall and sighed. “Someone shoot me now.”

David stiffened. “How do you know who I am? Who are you?”

Eric pressed his back to the bars. “Eric, squire extraordinaire, or so I’d like to think. Slavandria and Trog told me about you.”

David’s breathing did a hop and a skip. “Trog? You’ve seen Trog? Is he okay?”

Eric nodded once. “He’s been better. He’s angry about what happened to you and your friend. He blames himself, of course.”

David hung his head. “He shouldn’t. It was my fault what happened.” He looked at Eric. “I can fix it, though, but I need to find the necklace and give it to someone named Farnsworth. Then I can search for my friend.”

Eric clung to the bars of his cage. “What if I told you I can help you find the necklace? Can you get me out of here?”

David’s breath hitched. “Do you know where it is?”

Eric closed his eyes; his face contorted in pain. “Bainesworth took it, and since it wasn’t around his traitorous neck, I would assume it’s upstairs somewhere.”

“Can you get upstairs?”

“What’s in it for me?”

David shrugged. “I don’t know. Fame. Glory. Knowing you did something to save mankind?”

Eric winced as he adjusted his position. Here it was, the chance to prove himself to Trog. Somehow it didn’t seem to be such a top priority anymore. Still, if the boy could get him out of the castle, he could get help for Trog. Get him back to the castle to have his wounds cared for, that is if he wasn’t already dead.

“How good are you with those magic spells?”

David rubbed his nose. “I know them well enough to steal back what I need and to get us out of here.”

“Do it, Eric.” Gildore’s voice cut through the stale air. “But fix that shoulder first.” The king groaned as he stood. “Come here, boy. Get me out of this cage.”

David incanted himself out of the cell and, using the key from the wall, opened the cell and released the king of Hirth.

Gildore patted him on the arm. “Thank you, young man. What is your name?”

“David, sir.”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He stood before Eric’s cell. “Open this door, please.”

David did as asked. The king approached Eric, and examined his shoulder. “Where did you last see Trog?”

Eric relayed the events at the cottage. When done, Eric looked at the king and said, “He told me about what happened after I was born.”

“Everything?” Gildore said.

Eric nodded.

“Good. It’s about time. Now let’s see what we can do to pop that shoulder back in place.” He turned to David. “We’ll need your sash.”

Alarms ping-ponged all over David.
Do not remove the sash
, Slavandria had said. He shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t.” He removed his shirt. “You can borrow this if you want.”

“That will work.”

He handed it to Eric who teetered on his feet for a second before putting a sleeve in his mouth. He studied the solid wall in front of him as if it was a mountain and he was standing on the precipice waiting to jump.

“Steady yourself,” Gildore said. “The initial blow will howl through you, but then it will be over.” He patted Eric on the back. “You can do this.”

David’s eyes darted between Eric and Gildore. “W-what’s he going to do?”

“I’m going to set my arm.” Eric took a deep breath, steeled himself, then ran forward, twisting his body at the last minute. His shoulder slammed full force into the unforgiving stone.

Crack!

David squinted his eyes shut, the thought of what just happened paining his own shoulder.

An almost inhuman, guttural cry sounded from behind the lump of cloth. Eric dropped to the hay floor, rocking back and forth with tears rolling off his chin. He spit the cloth out of his mouth and cradled his arm while muttering a string of cuss words.

David took his shirt back from Gildore, and pulled the fabric over his head. His nose wrinkled at the wetness in the sleeve.
This is so, so gross.

“Are you better?” Gildore asked. “Can you help David?”

Eric nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“Good. While you’re up there, find my sword and bring it back. I swear it will be the last time anyone uses my own weapon against me.”

Eric smirked. “Trust me. I plan to bring back as many weapons as I can carry.” He looked at David, a sly grin working its way to his lips. “Are you ready to work some magic?”

A rat squeaked and scurried along the edge of the wall. David sucked in a breath and steeled his nerves. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Eric studied the steep steps, the wooden door at the top lost in the shadows. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers.

“This will be interesting.”

“Why?” David asked. The hesitation plucked his nerves. “What are you thinking?”

“That door is sure to be guarded. Even if we do get past the sentries, I fear we won’t last long. I’m sure that beast knows every scent, every sound in this castle and in the forest around it. He’ll detect us right away, regardless of your skills.”

David snorted. “If that were true, I wouldn’t still be talking to you, would I?”

Eric stared at David, his mouth empty of a retort.

“Yeah,” David grinned. “That’s what I thought.” David began to climb the steps. He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you coming or are you going to stay behind and let me take all the glory?”

“Don’t get cocky,” Gildore said. “You may have the power to pop in and out of rooms, but you’re not exactly built for combat.”

David rolled his eyes. “Yeah, so everyone keeps telling me.”

Eric climbed the stairs, wincing with each step. “You heard the man. Let’s go, magic boy.”

David scowled. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why? That is what you are, right? All bang and no pow.”

“Screw you.” David ascended the stairs. At the top, he pressed his ear to the door and listened.

“Well?” Eric asked. “Are we alone in the universe?”

“Will you shut up!” David whispered. “I can’t hear anything with your mouth running.”

He continued to listen. Hearing nothing, he lightly tapped on the door.

“Oh, that’s good,” Eric said. “Alert them to the fact that we’re behind the door.” He tapped his forefinger to his head. “Smart.”

David glowered at Eric, his fingers balled into fists, his lips curled up in a snarl. He wanted nothing more than to knock the smug look from this jerk’s face, but that would solve nothing. He wasn’t worth it. Bullies never were. He exhaled, drew back his anger, and put his ear back to the door. Convinced there was no one on the other side, he gave the door a push, but it didn’t move.

“It’s locked, imbecile,” Eric said.

“Nah. You think? And do me a favor when you talk. Face the other way. Your breath smells like a rat crawled in it and died.”

“And I guess yours smells like jasmine in springtime? Now, are you going to open the door or not?”

“Yeah, I’ll open it. I just have to remember how.”