by Unknown
The dragon’s smile disappeared, and it hunched its head back a bit.
“Good dragon,” she said. “Good boy.” Could this go any worse? The dragon did not, or would not, understand the command. She was going to have to put out her hand if she wanted it to reach for her. She gulped, feeling immensely better. She’d only have one try before she fell. This would be very dangerous. She could crash onto the rocks at any second. Even if the dragon pulled her up to safe ground, it might decide to eat her instead of playing. Pep talk over, she felt almost her old self. “Paw,” she said again, letting go of the crushed wildflowers and reaching up toward the beast with her right hand. “Give me your paw.”
The dragon sat up at attention, waving its tail in wide, joyous sweeps that nearly sent the sheep off the cliff onto her. “Paw!” she shrieked, as the last flowers in her left hand uprooted, her feet slipped away, and her life passed boringly before her eyes. A monstrous green-scaled thing like a massive tree root came down, and she grabbed onto a single gleaming claw of it as she fell. Her arm nearly pulled out of the socket, but she held on. “Pull!” Ru ordered, no longer willing to drag this out. “Get me up on land!”
The dragon lifted its foot, shaking the dangling swordswoman like a sticky bit of moss. She held on tightly until she was over solid ground, then dropped with a whoof of relief. She moved quickly away from the edge, and dusted herself off, glaring at the multicolored stains on her hands. “Blast. If anyone sees me, they’ll think I’ve been picking flowers!” The dragon turned to her and bowed its front, waggling its haunches and flipping its tail back and forth. “Grr,” it said.
“Are you kidding me?” Ru asked. “You want to play now?” She made as if to draw her sword.
“Arr—ooo!” it whooped, bouncing on its feet, and a sparkle of excitement in its eye.
“Blast. Don’t you have anything dragonly to do, like steal a princess or obey an evil wizard?”
The dragon gave Ru a panicked look. “Urh-oh….” it said. Its eyes grew even bigger and rounder, if that was possible. Its jaw dropped open. “Roooo-ooo!” it moaned. Suddenly it grabbed Ru in its tree-root paw, and thrust itself violently into the sky. Ru was completely wrapped in scaly foot, except for the upper half of her head. Looking back, as she had no choice but to do, she saw the ill-used sheep trot back to its brethren, snatching a mouthful of flowers on the way. Stupid sheep. She sighed as deeply as she could, considering the constriction.
On the other hand, things were definitely looking up. She was away from the sheep and flowers, kidnapped by a dragon, and—flying over the open sea, where she’d quickly drown if she fell from the dragon’s claws. Hey, this was almost getting good.
In nearly no time at all—a few hours at most—the dragon plumped Ru down on a rock island out in the ocean. From the look of the small square castle and one stubby tower, she guessed someone lived here—probably a wizard. Wizards were so antisocial. “All right, dragon, why did you bring me here? Your boss needs a slave? Someone to experiment on?” She fingered the hilt of her sword with anticipation. “I’ll knock that notion out of his head.”
The dragon galloped a short way up the hill toward the castle keep, then turned back to look at her. “No thanks,” Ru said. “I don’t feel like playing.”
“Warrr-ooh,” the dragon warbled, galloping back. “Oortle-oortle-oortle,” it coaxed, turning to run off again, then coming back.
After several repeats of this, and one episode of the dragon trying to nip her clothes to pull her along with him, Ru sighed hugely and said, “Do you want me to follow you, boy?” There was something so eerily compelling about those words and the situation, that Ru felt as if she’d passed into an alternate reality for a moment. The feeling evaporated, and she trudged after the dragon.
The dragon coaxed, chivvied, and nudged her into the castle and up the stone stairs to the tower. There, she discovered the homeowner, stretched out on the floor in a room full of work tables and bad-smelling concoctions. “That’s it?” she said, lifting her hands in exasperation. “You brought me here to bury some dead guy?” The body in question was fairly young, say, not-thirty-ish, in the way that she herself was…not-thirty-ish. Except for being dead, he was not repulsive. In fact, if his beard had been less tidy, and his clothes not so cringingly scholarly, and minus the deadness aspect, he looked like a guy she might deign to interact with at a tavern for an evening’s amusement.
“Nuh-uh,” said the dragon, whose head didn’t fit through the doorway, and whose body pretty much occupied the entire stairwell of the tower—a tight fit. It blew a stiff puff of stench at the body, raising a twitch and a tiny snore from it. A weighted-open scroll rattled in the breeze, and Ru was able to glean enough from the weird mix of languages to have a sinking feeling of the situation. It was that kind of day.
As if to confirm her nasty inkling, the dragon made smoochy noises with its snout pressed against the doorway.
“Blast!” Ru said, along with a few more expressive terms. But she was a brave woman. She knew her duty when someone was in trouble. Might as well get it over with. She bent and kissed the wizard firmly on the mouth.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Uh, thanks,” he said. “I guess that spell really backfired this time.” He stood up, brushing himself off and avoiding Ru’s gaze. “I take it Glassy brought you here to wake me. I, uh, hope it didn’t put you out too much.”
Ru glanced at the chortling, happy dragon. “Nah.”
Crashing and yelling came from the castle proper, and Glassy backed out of the tower in a hurry. “You have guests?” Ru asked.
The wizard sighed. “No. Brigands. They attack every fortnight or so. They think I have the Philosopher’s Stone.”
Ru looked at him blankly.
“The secret of transmutation,” he clarified.
Ru gestured for more.
“Turning lead into gold.”
“Aha,” she said. Then she brightened. “Brigands?” She grasped the hilt of her sword. “May I?”
“Be my guest.”
There were a dozen of them, and Ru had a grand time. It almost made the rest of her day bearable. When they were dispatched, one way or another, she returned to the wizard. She found him asleep on the floor of his workroom again. Ru administered the required aid.
“Oops,” said the wizard. “I can’t figure out what’s going wrong with this spell. I, uh, don’t suppose you’d consider staying around a while, in case I—you know.”
Ru screwed up her face into a thinking expression, ready to say no. “Oortle-oortle-oortle,” said the dragon, spitting a sheep at her.
“Where did you get a sheep, Glassy? We don’t have any sheep on this island.”
“Huh,” Ru said. “No sheep? How about wildflowers?”
“Nope, sorry. They refuse to grow on the rocks.”
“And you say those brigands attack frequently?”
“Them or others. Always someone coming around looking for a fight. It’s a nuisance.”
“Not boring.” She adjusted her sword belt. “So, you got any spare rooms?”
“It’s a castle.”
“Oh, yeah. What’s for dinner?”
“Um,…sheep?”
“Good enough.” Ru chased the sheep down the stairs. She said, “Want to play, dragon?”
The Vine Princess
by Steve Chapman
Shada always seems to find new and interesting ways to get into trouble, but this time she’s reached a new personal best.
A lapsed musician and engineer, Steve Chapman lives with his wife and daughter at the New Jersey shore. Though he spends most days high above Times Square, in the evening he can hear the ocean. His fiction has appeared in the previous three volumes of SWORD AND SORCERESS, in the Harrow Press anthology MORTIS OPERANDI, and in Penumbra eZine.
Shada’s heart hammered against her ribs, her hand dropping to her sword. She fought down the impulse to scream.
“The answer is no,” Sienna repeated, as if Shada hadn’t
heard Gregory the first time. “Stay away from the envoy.”
Shada was backed up against a priceless unicorn tapestry in Gregory’s solarium, her fists and weapons useless against Sienna’s mastery of rhetoric and protocol.
The sixteen-year old twins shared their mother’s green eyes and olive skin but little else. Sienna’s hair was dark where Shada’s was gold, Sienna’s violet dress the height of Court elegance where Shada was dressed, as usual, in combat leathers for the fight that usually found her.
The sisters stood glaring at each other like mismatched bookends.
“As Duchy Tremaine’s new envoy to St. Navarre, Vander deGroat is protected by diplomatic protocol.” Sir Gregory, gaunt and gray, tugged at his elaborate whiskers. “We cannot move on him without endangering our diplomats in Tremaine.”
“Have you seen him fight on the proving grounds?” Shada asked. DeGroat had demonstrated great skill with precisely the sort of exotic knives which had been removed from the corpses of the rulers of the two city-states to which he’d previously served as envoy. He was a covert assassin and his target was Shada’s father. She was sure of it.
“I followed deGroat back to his chambers,” Shada said. “He’s there now with a Kasabian mercenary. We can catch them plotting.”
Sienna sighed.
“The Solstice Blessing is tomorrow.” Shada hated the quiver in her voice. “Father will be an easy target.”
“Tremaine’s army is powerful,” Gregory said. “But because of St. Navarre’s enchanted walls, it can’t threaten us. Tremaine won’t risk an assassination. So leave deGroat be.”
So that she wouldn’t slash the tapestry unicorn into priceless threads, Shada fled the solarium, out into the dark passages of the Citadel.
Halfway to her rooms she had an idea. A terrible idea. If she hadn’t been so angry she would have rejected it in a too-loud heartbeat.
She headed for the Sanctum Stairs, the massive spiral staircase hewn into the white granite beneath the Citadel. As Shada descended the air grew humid, her breath visible. Halfway down she found the entrance to the Eldritch Passages.
The Passages had been created long before the Kings of St. Navarre adopted the Citadel as their seat of power, but each ruler had found uses for the magical corridors. Within them one could see and hear everything nearby while remaining invisible to those outside the passages. A spymaster’s dream, they honeycombed the Citadel.
Time ran strangely within the Passages, and it was said some who entered never returned. Shada had never risked them without her sister, but now her father’s life hung in the balance.
She placed her palm upon the topaz oval and spoke the words. A perfect circle of darkness beckoned.
She entered a tunnel barely five feet high. Though the walls and floor appeared black, she had the impression that she wasn’t looking at rock or dirt, but rather a starless night sky. Veining this darkness were green vines dotted with small white flowers.
The rules of the Passages were simple, if cryptic. Follow only the known paths. Don’t linger in any one spot. And if you see yourself, run.
Shada’s path ascended through the lower corridors of the Citadel, and then into its living quarters. She passed through walls and floors, brushed unseen past courtiers, until she reached Vander deGroat’s chambers.
She stood inside the envoy’s room, yet was still within the transparent tunnel, its dimensions marked by flowering vines.
DeGroat arranged his cloaks before a full-length mirror. Beside him was a huge man with tattoos inked across his face. The Kasabian mercenary stared straight at Shada—her hand instinctively dropped to her sword—but there was no way he could see her. She wasn’t actually in the room.
But she could see and hear everything.
The Kasabian chuckled, a sound like animals dying. “For a little Duchy, you don’t lack ambition.”
DeGroat glared as if he’d found the man on the bottom of his boot. “Can you do it?”
“It will be punishingly expensive.”
“I’m punishingly wealthy.” DeGroat gestured at his gold-trimmed clothing.
“I cannot guarantee the result.”
“The result will be St. Navarre shattered, its people enslaved.” DeGroat drew a scroll from his cloaks.
Shada’s breath came fast and shallow. This was worse than she’d imagined. She leaned forward to glimpse the scroll, and then froze. Behind her, something moved.
The vines drew together, knotting into a doll-like shape. The figure gained nuance, blossoming into a life-size simulacrum, a girl of thorn and vine, white flowers for its eyes and mouth.
Shada recognized herself in its contours. She’d stayed too long.
She moved to draw her blade, but a creeper snagged her ankle. The floor of the passage, thick with vegetation, opened beneath her. She dropped three feet and jerked to a stop, her sword tumbling into darkness.
She hung by an ankle. The drop seemed to go on forever. Heart pounding, Shada looked up at the vine girl. “Please. I have to warn my father.”
The vine released her. Shada fell into darkness.
She hit another tangle of vines. For an awful moment she feared they’d snap beneath her weight, but they gave and then pulled taut, holding her upside down like a fly in a spider’s web. Vines curled around her, as if drawn to her warmth.
Faint light filtered down from above. The coils were strewn throughout the darkness, a shadowy lattice of green cords and white flowers. Below, Shada could see no bottom. She still hadn’t heard the sword hit.
She fought down a wave of vertigo and tried to think. She’d have to climb out. She twisted about, managing a vertical sit up. Her legs were wrapped tight in vines and flowers. She dropped back down and reached for the dagger on her belt.
A vine snared her wrist.
She froze; her movement attracted the creepers. But panic bubbled in her muscles. She had to get her information back to Gregory.
Swords, shields, and armor hung in the vines around her. And strangely shaped objects of dirty white.
Human skeletons.
She stifled a cry. She had plenty of time before she starved to death.
A high-pitched whistle issued from the white flowers, as if they were singing. Petals slipped open, liquid dribbling from their centers. Drops fell on her boots and leathers, into her hair. Whatever they touched began to smolder.
A hard fist of fear formed in Shada’s belly. She looked to the skeletons. These men hadn’t starved to death. They’d been dissolved.
The flowers were drooling acid.
Shada thrashed in blind panic. Acid dribbled down, her leathers sizzling, her hair smoking. A single drop caught her bare hand. It felt like having a knife inserted between her knuckles.
More flowers bloomed. The acid would eat through her clothes in minutes.
She had to get to her dagger.
Shada twisted about, bringing her bound wrist beneath a dripping flower. She gritted her teeth. She waited an endless, agonizing moment for the acid to weaken the vine, and then yanked her arm free.
She grabbed the dagger from her belt and pulled herself upward, slashing flowers from the vines. Wrapping her left arm tight about a flowerless vine she cut away the creepers holding her legs.
For a breathless moment she dangled in the void.
Sliding the dagger into her belt, Shada got a solid grasp on the thicket of creepers and pulled herself up. She moved haltingly, unable to forget the empty space yawning below, but she was able to climb the vines as she would a tree.
It felt like hours before she hauled herself back up on to the floor of the Passage. DeGroat’s room was empty. Her hands were abraded and bloody, her tunic in tatters. Clumps of her hair had burned away. She looked to the mirror and gasped.
It was empty.
For a moment she wondered if she was dead, or hallucinating, but then realized that because she was within the Passages she cast no reflection in deGroat’s room.
She made two pa
inful fists. She was alive. It was all that mattered.
There was no time to waste. DeGroat was up to something worse than assassination, and she had to stop him.
Shada traveled back hallways to Gregory’s solarium, hoping to arrive unobserved. She’d tied her smoldering hair back, scrubbed the soot from her face with fingers and saliva, but she still looked like she’d been wrestling a dragon in a compost pile.
She rounded a corner and ran into Violette Aurola, her aunt and unofficial etiquette instructor.
Everything about Shada mortified her aunt. Their current, uneasy peace was predicated on Shada maintaining minimum standards of decorum. Even at her worst, she’d never presented Aunt Vi with a look quite like this. She braced herself for a verbal smackdown and the withering report to her father that would follow.
But her aunt merely offered a tight smile. “You’re on your way to bathe and change?”
Shada nodded.
“Hurry, then.” Aunt Vi swept by.
Shada stared after her, astonished. Unwilling to take her good fortune for granted, she sprinted the rest of the way to the solarium.
“Shada.” Gregory blanched at her appearance. “Whatever have you been up to?”
“DeGroat’s plan’s bigger than killing Father.” Shada gulped air. “But it’s probably still timed to the Solstice Blessing.”
Gregory stared as if she had two heads.
“The hair’s not as bad as it looks,” she said. “I can have it cut and restyled before Father sees.”
“Why are you back on deGroat?” Gregory stood up.
“He’s with the Kasabian. The Solstice Blessing—”
“Was two weeks ago.” Gregory said. “DeGroat was perfectly behaved, as were you. I thought we’d put all this behind us. I’ve been impressed with the change in your behavior.”
“Two weeks?” Shada felt as if she stood on the lip of a precipice. It was impossible. “I spoke to you barely an hour ago.”
Gregory moved toward the call bell.
She realized he was going to summon the Guard. Not to apprehend deGroat, but her.