by CA Morgan
“That’s the real problem, isn’t it?” Raga asked quietly. He was unnerved when the beautiful face peered over the horse and a single tear fell from a pair of glistening eyes.
“It’s something you can never understand. Something you will never feel,” Eris said ever so softly.
“You're right, I won’t. But you shouldn’t feel bad about losing control of a body and emotions you don’t understand. There is no shame in that,” Raga assured, but inside he felt a complete loss for words.
“My shame is that I have come to be like this in the first place.” Eris wiped his face on a sleeve.
Riza’s Pits, Raga groaned inwardly. Angry retorts and snide comments were one thing, but this pitiful self-reproach was something else altogether. As he stood wondering what he should say next, he noticed Eris’ gaze fixate on something. Looking over his shoulder, Raga saw the pile of wineskins and knew very well what Eris was thinking. One more task added, keep Eris sober until this foul mood fell away.
What am I anyway a mother, or a sorcerer? Raga frowned. A mother, the thought came to him as he was fast losing claim to being a first-level elemental sorcerer.
Raga stooped to roll his blankets. His frown deepened as he glanced toward the bushes surrounding their camp. He paused and sniffed the air. There was no mistaking the damp, dank smell of the fens, or the marsh gases that formed there. Strange, he thought. He could have sworn the marshes were much farther away.
“What are you looking at?” Eris asked and came around the horse, when he didn’t hear Raga rustling with the gear.
“I’m not sure. Trouble likely.” Raga turned in a circle where he stood.
Eris wrinkled his nose. “What’s that smell?” His left hand reached back to feel for the reassuring hilt of his sword.
“Look, coming through the leaves. Do you see something?”
“Looks like fog to me.”
“But the smell. Fog doesn’t usually have such a dank smell like swamp water.”
Unease coursed through Eris, and he shivered—a growing habit he noted that he could do without. There was something familiar about what was happening. But how could it be familiar? He had never come to this place. What was it? A song. A warning. Simply a fairytale?
“What do you—” Raga said, but Eris cut him off with a wave of his hand. Quickly, the clues assembled in his mind.
“Damn the storytellers!” Eris swore suddenly. His cat-like eyes narrowed, when he realized the danger they were in.
In an instant, Eris crossed the clearing and took a firm hold of Raga’s sleeve.
“Come on! We’ve got to get away from here,” he urged. “Leave that stuff. There isn’t time. Run, will you!”
They had only gone a hundred paces, when Raga puffed, “I don’t understand. What is it?”
Eris didn’t answer, but kept tugging him along at a blinding pace; a pace much too fast for an overweight, over-aged sorcerer. Raga’s clothing was snagged and his bare skin scraped as Eris pulled him mercilessly through bushes and brambles.
Without breaking stride, Eris released Raga and leapt with feline grace to the top of lichen-covered rocks. He stood tall to ascertain to what extent the green mist had surrounded them. In all directions, he saw the roiling mist thickening into mounds that obscured everything from sight. The smell was so overpowering that they resorted to breathing through folds of their clothing to keep from choking, to keep from tasting the foul smell.
“We’re surrounded.” He looked down at the puzzled, panting sorcerer. “I think our only chance for escape is to run in this direction. The mist isn’t so thick, yet.”
Eris jumped off the rock and led the way.
“What are we running from?” Raga panted. He was sadly unfamiliar with the tales and legends of the region.
“The mists of the Dragon King. An ancient tale that obviously has some truth in it.” Aggravated, he paused mid-stride to look back at Raga. “Can’t you move any faster? Your life might depend on whether we get through this or not. Magic yourself out of here, while I run for it.”
“I can’t. I don’t have the strength. It doesn’t smell poisonous,” Raga panted. He knew quite well the smell of scores of noxious, sorcerous substances.
“It’s not Red Vale sorcery, is it?” Eris asked pointedly. “I’ve heard two versions of the tale. One says the fog strangulates its victims, the other says it puts them to sleep.”
Eris stopped again and waited for Raga to catch up. His face was growing redder by the step. His breathing came in ragged spasms.
“I can’t keep up with you. Here, take the pouch with the red gem and escape with it. When the fog lifts, come back and find me. Use the mind bond to help you if you can,” Raga gasped and held up the pouch.
For a brief moment Eris’ face brightened and as quickly he frowned.
“Put it away,” he said and grabbed hold of Raga to pull him along. “That gem will do me no good and your clues about this last gem are better than mine. I could spend months in these hills looking for it, and you.”
Raga was moving slower and slower. Eris turned in time to see a monstrous yawn make a hole in Raga’s flaming beard. The sorcerer coughed and gagged, and breathed in an enormous amount of choking mist.
“Save yourself,” Raga choked. “I can’t go on.”
“Damn that witch! Why don’t I change back? Then, I could carry you,” Eris complained, and went around to push Raga from behind. “Watch where you’re going!” he warned as a branch swung back and slapped him in the face.
“I can’t see anything but green,” Raga said, fighting through a tangle of brush and straight into the densest mound of wet mist they had yet encountered.
Raga suddenly gave a long sigh. He crumpled to the ground lost in heavy sleep. Eris looked down in helpless desperation at the sorcerer’s prone, bulky form. He bent over and tried to pick him up, but it was no use. His woman-form didn’t have the strength. A sleepy haze clouded his mind. A great weariness settled in his limbs.
Maybe Raga was right. Maybe he should take the red gem and try to escape on his own. The mind bond was definitely there, and he was sure he could follow it to Raga no matter where he ended up. Eris yawned. Time was running out. He knelt beside Raga, grunting and struggling, as he tried to roll him over. He felt urgent desperation grow within, and knew the trigger had just been sprung that would allow him to metamorphose back into a man.
He yawned again, as Raga's body began to move. Strength was returning, but his eyes grew heavy.
“Finally,” Eris whispered, exhausted, as he rolled Raga over. Then, like the sorcerer, a mighty yawn overtook him and he could fight the mist no more. He collapsed into sleep sprawled across the sorcerer’s broad chest, while his transformation continued at a much slower pace.
Eris awoke. He blinked once and saw that he was surrounded by darkness. His head felt as though it weighed twenty stone and then some. His temples throbbed and it was too much effort to keep his eyes open. His shoulders and neck ached and his hands felt cold and somehow swollen. As he drifted in and out of sleep, he wondered on occasion where he was and what had become of Raga. In this way, the hours of nearly another day passed.
When the pain in his shoulders reached an intolerable acuteness, Eris was finally able to drive the sleep from his head.
“Verin’s mercy,” he swore hoarsely and burst into a fit of coughing. When the spasm subsided, he looked up into the gloomy darkness. He realized his wrists were chained to the wall high over head. The rung through which the chain passed was higher on the wall than was the length of his arms and chain, which kept him slightly elevated off the cold, stone floor. No wonder he hurt so miserably.
He stared into the darkness that was scarcely relieved by the light of a small oil lamp sitting on a ledge just beyond the iron grate that was imbedded into a very solid-looking wooden door. Stiffly, he turned his head and barely made out Raga’s form in the darkness.
“Raga,” he rasped. His mouth was as dry as the R
eshan desert. “Raga, can you hear me?”
Receiving no answer, Eris was determined to get on his feet. It was a slow, excruciating process. The cold of the stone floor had made his knees and ankles stiff, and every jerky movement jarred his shoulders. He managed to pull his knees to his chest and used the wall for support as he pushed himself slowly upward into a standing position. He felt relief in his shoulders, but the hardest part was still to come.
He had to get the blood flowing back into his icy, swollen hands. It wasn’t only the manacles that slowed the blood’s flow, but also the bracers he had laced on in his woman-form and which were now much too tight. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he slowly lowered his arms to his sides. He loosened the leather ties as best he could to release the pressure. His hands prickled and stung as warming blood rushed into them. Breathing heavily, he stepped side-to-side trying to awaken the rest of his body. It would be some time before any part of him felt normal again.
Stretching his chains as far as they would reach, he managed to kick Raga on the bottom of his foot. “Raga, wake up.” He kicked him a little harder.
Raga grunted unhappily. Knowing his head would be foggy for a while yet, Eris turned his attention back to his own captivity.
“More damned chains,” he muttered and shook them in a fit of temper. He inspected the iron manacles around his wrists, the links of the chain, and finally, standing on his toes, he reached up to the place where he was fastened to the wall. There was a large iron plate through which the bolt and ring passed before entering the stone. He pushed on the plate and tugged at the ring and found that both moved, slightly. It was better than no movement.
Facing the wall, Eris took a hold of the chain several hand spans away from the iron cuffs. Gripping it tightly, with one foot braced on the wall, he pushed and pulled with all his might.
“Aacchh,” he gasped and relaxed. His head spun from holding his breath and let the chain slip from his hands. Breathing deeply, he rubbed out the grip dents in his palms.
Rested, he resumed his task with better results. He felt the bolt move, though slightly. Several tries later, he heard small pieces of stone breaking and falling to the floor. Encouraged, he redoubled his mighty effort.
The last piece of stone crumbled and gave way without warning. He stumbled and fell flat on his back, knocked breathless. Around him broken rock, the metal plate and chain clattered noisily to the stone floor.
“Eris, is that you?” Raga asked unexpectedly.
“Yes,” he gasped. Taking a deep breath, he rolled to his knees and crawled to Raga. “Don't you dare tell me…you could have released these chains…or…I’ll strangle you with what’s here.”
“Riza’s Pits, Eris. Who pulled your tail-feathers to put you in such a mood? I’ve not said a word to you,” Raga complained.
Eris was furious. That much Raga knew even without being able to see him. “Whoever it was that put me back into another pair of manacles.”
“Seems to be a growing habit with you.”
“Shut up, Raga," Eris growled. He felt in the darkness the length of Raga’s chains to see how he was held fast. “Those bastards!”
“What now?”
“They gave you a seat on the floor with your arms settled in your lap.”
“So?”
“So? I was half off the floor, and they damned near dislocated my arms from my shoulders.”
“I’m older than you. Besides, the only ill affect you seem to be suffering is a bout of your feverish temper.”
Eris was silent. Suddenly his hands groped frantically at Raga’s midsection. Raga chuckled under his breath.
“Don’t laugh. I’m not trying to tickle you.” Eris nearly shouted at him. “Whoever put us here took the red stone.”
Instantly, Raga’s hands joined Eris’. He felt around to the back side of his belt. It was gone.
“The gods be damned.” Eris slumped back against the rough stone wall. His chain rattled loudly in the silence. He braced an elbow against an upraised knee and put his head in his hand.
“I don’t believe this. After all I went through to get that damned stone and now it's gone,” he said quietly. He should have taken it when he had the chance and put it in the bracer with the green stone. Then, both would be hidden and safe. “Worse yet, we don't even know whose captives we are.”
“I’m sure we'll find out soon enough. Once we know, we'll use our clever cunning to get it back,” Raga said doing his best to salve Eris’ injured pride.
Eris snorted. “Don’t be stupid. That gem will have its price and it won't be cheap. The question is, who will pay for its return this time?” Eris stood up, walked to the heavy door and peered through the iron grate.
“What do you see?”
“Nothing. Nothing but a long hall in both directions.”
“There's no one near the door, or in the corridor?”
“Not that I can see. A little strange, I think. Wait. Maybe someone’s coming.” Eris noticed the oil lamp’s flame bend and flicker on its wick; a sputter or a little breeze passing by? He couldn't tell. He watched as a faint shadow bobbed across the floor and grew larger and darker on the opposite wall.
“Quiet. Someone’s coming. If he comes through the door, I'll trap him,” Eris whispered. Quietly, he gathered up the slack in the chain and equalized the length between his hands. He pressed his back to the wall close to the door’s hinges.
Raga watched as a hooded figure stopped to peer through the grate. It started to move away, but Raga rattled his chains. The figure reappeared at the grate. A key was thrust into the lock. The tumblers clicked loudly in the darkness and the door swung open.
Eris waited until his quarry stepped completely into the room. Lightning fast, he unfurled the length of chain over the shrouded head and just as quickly cinched the chain, tightly pinning down a pair of thrashing arms.
Raga watched intently as Eris strained to contain his struggling captive. A furious, animal-like roar shattered cell’s silence.
The chain suddenly burst sending pieces of iron links flying and clattering to the stone floor. The shrouded figure spun to face Eris, now crouched in a fighter’s stance.
Eris saw very little of his opponent. Quickness was his defense, as the man’s strength was obviously the greater. The figure raised his arms as if to bring them crashing down. Eris moved to defend the blow and opened his midsection.
The figure instantly changed his attack and kicked out savagely with his foot. A great roar issued from the cloak’s black folds. Eris sprang back, but not far enough. Too late he realized what an exceptionally long reach the shrouded figure had. A boot's hard sole smashed into his stomach and chest. The force of it hurled him against the unyielding rock wall.
Startled by what sounded like an animal’s roar, Raga instinctively covered his ears, but not before hearing the sound of Eris’ brutal impact with the wall and the air forced from his lungs. It was a sound that made his eyes screw shut for the horror of it. A shiver shook through him and settled uneasily in the pit of his stomach.
Stunned by the ferocity of the roar as much as by the impact with the wall, Eris fell to the floor, feeling as though every one of his ribs had just been crushed and his stomach exploded. Pain blinded him as he slumped sideways against the cold stone. By the gods it hurt to breathe. Every breath brought searing agony, his stomach seized and cramped over and over again. He didn’t think of living, only how long it was going to take to die and end his pain.
Raga’s heart pounded and wondered how his mouth became drier than it already was. He tried to reach Eris through the link. It was impossible. The silver path was there, but it was warped and convoluted in the swirling confusion of Eris’ pain. Raga dared not enter.
“Who dares to attack the royal person of Morengoth?” a deep voice bellowed in the darkness.
“Forgive the impertinence, Morengoth, but I believe it is you who attacked us first. We certainly had no intention of seeing the inside of y
our dungeon, much less in these chains,” Raga said, in as diplomatic a voice as possible. Angered flared in him and once again he found himself fearing for Eris’ life. Another time, he would have brought his enormous powers to bear against this stranger.
“I have attacked no one. It is you who have come unbidden into my kingdom,” Morengoth said.
“Into what kingdom have we trespassed? This forest has been desolate of life for nigh three centuries. Who is it that you rule?” Raga asked. He wished then that Eris had told him more of the legends of this forest. In all his countless years, Raga had never bothered much with the region. Nor did he bother much with the countless legends of men.
“Do not mock me,” Morengoth warned. “Perhaps your impetuous friend can give you the answer.”
Morengoth turned and strode to where Eris now lay. As easily as a child picks up a doll, Morengoth picked up Eris from beneath the arms. A plaintive cry escaped him as Morengoth dragged him to a spot on the floor illumined by the lantern’s light and dropped him as though he was that same, unfeeling toy.
“Gods!” Eris groaned in anguish and slipped into semi-consciousness. His face was pale in the yellow light.
Raga reached out and rubbed a warm hand over his clammy brow. He wondered how Eris had ever survived life on his own if things like this befell him with any regularity.
“Tell him, knave.” Morengoth prodded Eris with his foot. “Tell him who is Morengoth. I think you know.”
“Eris?” Raga said, patting him gently on his cheek. “Eris, did you hear?”
Eris raised a brow to acknowledge he heard, and took a shallow breath.
“Legends say Morengoth…was the name…of…the last…Dragon King,” he answered. His breathing was ragged and shallow. “The war ended…no one claimed…to have…killed him…or saw him…escape.”
“So, you claim to be this Morengoth?” Raga asked.
“I do not claim. I am. I am Morengoth,” he pronounced in a booming voice.
“Hard to believe, but let's say for the moment you are,” Raga conceded. “What has this got to do with us? Why do this?”