The Horsk Dragon

by A. R. Wilson

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Is what Jerricoh said true? Will I be okay if I just follow the rules?”

  Rothar pressed his lips together as his eyes wandered off. His only response was a single nod as he took a seat several feet away.

  “What are the rules?”

  The stout man placed his elbows on his knees, eyes unfocused. His head turned to the side to hide his missing ear. “Do what you’re told, when you’re told.”

  One of the hot drops of nausea in Tascana’s throat dripped into her stomach. A knot formed around it like a seed of dread planted in her soul. She tried to swallow. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She tried to draw a breath, tried to close her eyes, tried to stand up. Nothing. The seed in her stomach smoldered then split open to expose its first set of true leaves.

  Those words held too many possibilities.

  A snap jolted through her stomach, and she finished swallowing. Her breath started to come a little easier, and she managed to close her eyes. Clamping her mouth shut, she shook her head. Not one more word was going to move past her lips.

  A few moments later, Rothar stood and lit some of the lamps in the library. Light splashed around Tascana as she kept her gaze on the floor.

  Tascana sighed. The seedling threaded a few roots through her abdomen. What hope did she have? Without the words of her magic, she was powerless. And if Rothar was any indication, the punishment for escaping might not be worth the effort. Yet what choice did she have but to try? The Master wanted her for something. That alone was reason enough.

  Jerricoh’s voice broke in. “Your room is ready.”

  Tascana blinked. She hadn’t even heard his footfalls come into the room. Planting her feet, she worked herself to standing.

  The man in black held an arm out toward her, sweeping his hand at an imaginary fly. Wind swirled around her. Her arms fell loose of the previous spell as a breeze pulled at her clothes. Her shirt and pants whipped and thinned as though unraveling. She stepped backward, wrapping her arms across her stomach and chest. Flapping strips of fabric slinked off her shoulders. Threads cinched snug above her waist. Cold stone met her bare feet, and she took another step back.

  Looking down, she saw her boots were now gone. Then the sight of white silk filled her eyes. Not only were her boots gone, but her pants and shirt too. In their place a dress billowed out, pulled close along her torso.

  “Ah, that’s much better.” Jerricoh smiled, admiring his handiwork.

  “What is this?” She grabbed a fistful on either side of the dress. “How dare you!”

  “The Master insists that if you are to become a part of this castle then you are to dress and smell appropriately.” He closed the distance between them and took an exaggerated sniff of her hair. “And I dare say you clean up better than I thought you could.”

  His eyes looked her up and down. She took another step back, bumping into a table.

  “Worry not, young one. You are off-limits to me. For now.” He gestured to Rothar then walked toward the door.

  The stout man came alongside Tascana. Holding his hand out, he indicated she was to follow the man in black.

  Somewhere in the pit of her stomach she felt the seed of dread stretch out a second set of leaves. Pulling her arms over her middle, she walked along the stone floors in the direction Jerricoh had gone. A carpet ran the length of each hallway, buffering her bare feet against the chill. If only the stairs he kept descending had some kind of fabric running along them too.

  They walked for several minutes before stopping at a door. The man in black pulled out a key to unlock it.

  “I hope the decor is to your liking.” Jerricoh motioned her to go inside.

  Tascana stepped across the threshold into a spacious room.

  “A set of guards and servants will be posted outside the door should you need anything.” The man in black’s tone suggested it was both an offer and a warning.

  As she turned to face him, he shut the door. Metal scraping against metal told her he had engaged the lock.

  The door facing her was elaborately designed with images of unicorns standing in grasses and fairies hiding behind trees. Several other fantastic creatures stood carved into the wood, each looking up. At the top-center of the mural was a plump, elven toddler with ivy entwined in his hair, draping around his shoulders. His wide eyes fixed on the beings below him. Those eyes made her gut twitch. Greed oozed from them so hotly that the seedling in her gut quivered.

  Tascana rubbed her shoulders and turned away. A large bed stood against one wall with tall pillars at the corners. Plenty of stands, tables, and chairs littered about decorated in flowers, ribbons, and lace. In another world, it might be the room of a princess.

  Stories from her childhood gave her three possible reasons to kidnap a girl of her age. Someone intended her as a slave, a game, or a wife. Her treatment indicated she was no slave. If she was meant for some kind of game or sport, the dragon who took her away would likely return. And though The Master might have other terrifying beasts at his disposal, the idea of a forced marriage sounded as appealing as a fight to the death.

  Her gaze settled on the bed. Did she dare fall asleep? Tascana turned back toward the door, wondering what to do. The greedy eyes of the elven toddler practically leapt out of the wood. She rubbed her hands against her arms, sinking to the floor.

  “I just want to go home.”

  If only she could speak the words of her scrolls she might have a chance!

  Several feet away, a spider crept along the edge of a rug looking for a place to hide.

  “Chawaefa sosan ohwa wihje.” Her whispered voice floated effortlessly.

  The spider stopped. Tascana pushed her will forward, and the spider turned in the directions she chose.

  Had her magic come back?

  She glared at the silk dress flowing over her lap. Reciting a few more words, her clothes transformed into her old shirt, pants, and boots. Peeling off the garment Jerricoh forced on her brought a renewed hope.

  Looking around, she noticed a rug off to one side with no furniture holding it down. She rolled it back to expose the stone floor beneath. Dozens of ants scattered. She placed her hand on one of the larger bricks, puzzled together in a not-so-random pattern. The cool was soothing. Each side ran almost the full length of her arm. She traced her palm along the edges, concentrating. Pulling at it with her mind, the mortar around the stone cracked. At the first popping snap, she released it and looked at the door. Any guard stationed outside might hear.

  Quick, think of something!

  She started reciting a lament she remembered her mother singing. Whenever her family attended a funeral, Heluska would sing a terribly sad song about the pain of loss. Mother always said it helped people who needed to cry. That should be enough of a ruse to keep the guards from suspecting anything.

  Placing her hand back on the large stone, Tascana pulled again, raising her voice as needed to cover the cracking sounds with mournful wails. Once the stone was free, she noticed dark emptiness below. The surprise caused her to lose track of the song so she skipped ahead to the next verse.

  After walking along all those stairs and hallways, she assumed Jerricoh was taking her to the dungeon. The pleasantness of the room was surprising enough. But a room beneath her room? Another layer of bricks would have made more sense. Any castle of this size had to have a foundation that at least rivaled the Fortress of Erudition. That place went three stories deep with underground rooms, according to the locals who lived nearby, with at least a dozen layers of cut stone to set the foundation.

  Pulling up a brick was meant to be a test of her magic. Now, staring into the nothingness of another room, she had to make a choice. Would she put it back and rest? Or see where this cavern might lead?

  She grabbed a lamp from a nearby table and bent to lie over the hole. Pausing her song, she lowered her head in and saw a corridor stretching into the distance beyond the light. Sitting up, she pushed her
hands against her snarled hair. She looked from the hole to the door and back. Would someone come to check on her during the night?

  Jurren’s voice whispered in the back of her mind. “I’ve learned to trust my gut. You need to learn to trust yours.”

  Her father’s gut instinct was always right. Sometimes it was eerie, like he knew the future. Tascana’s problem with trusting her gut was that she couldn’t distinguish it from her head or her heart. One thing she knew for certain: if she ever wanted to see her father or mother again, she had to escape.

  Tascana used her mind to move the brick to rest next to the hole. After placing the lamp back on the table, she moved the rug to lay as flat along the ground in its original position as possible over the stone. Wriggling feet first, she slipped under the rug and down into the tunnel. With a single tug of her mind, the stone fell back into place. The last few hints of light blotted out. If only she could see through to ensure her ruse had worked. With any luck, the rug had fallen smooth when the stone came down. She pushed her will into the mortar around the brick to seal it into place. At least her limited telekinetic abilities could do that much.

  Cupping her hands over her mouth, she whispered into her palms then blew a soft breath. An orb of light formed in her hand. She grinned. It felt good to be in control again.

  Holding the orb out in front, she started walking. Thick odors of musty, dank earth filled her nose and mouth. That had to mean water ran somewhere down here. Either drainage from the castle or an underground river.

  For several long minutes, she followed the tunnel. A branch came up on her right, and she pressed on. Minutes later, another branch came, also on her right side, and again she kept going straight. Instinct pushed her forward until she came to a wall with one tunnel leading to her left and one to her right. With most of the tunnels coming from the right, she assumed those must lead under the castle. The one to her left should lead away. Taking a moment to search her gut instinct, she turned left.

  Many minutes passed, possibly even hours, taking random turns as her gut directed. When the faint echo of rushing water pricked her ears, she quickened her pace. At the next turn, a light glimmered up ahead. Tascana clamped her hand into a fist, and the orb of light winked out.

  The glimmer ahead continued to grow, as though someone were walking toward her through the tunnel. Tascana whispered more words from her scrolls. Willing the image of stone to build up around her, she focused on blending into the wall. If the other person couldn’t see her or hear her they would walk right past.

  The light continued to advance. A figure dressed all in black came around the corner, holding a torch in his hand. He stopped several feet away, snorting a small laugh.

  “I see your footprints in the dirt.” Jerricoh lowered the torch, shadows leaping along his face as it moved. “Your illusion cannot fool me. There is no escape unless The Master wills it.”

  Jerricoh raised the torch to shoulder height. Extending his other hand, he produced a flame in the shape of a wolf’s head. “These tunnels lead wherever The Master desires them to lead you. If you choose to return to your room, you will find it. Otherwise, you will find... something else.” The wolf snapped at her then dissipated.

  The man in black turned and walked away. His torch disappeared around a corner, flooding Tascana in darkness. Standing still, unsure of what to do, she waited. Had her gut failed her? Or was this an attempt at tricking her to stay?

  After a while, she whispered the words to undo the spell hiding her from sight. Getting caught by her own footprints, how embarrassing. No wonder why she was allowed to use her magic. Someone as amateur as she couldn’t possibly be a threat. And yet, how had Jerricoh found her so far from the castle? Maybe her use of magic left some kind of trail for him to sniff out. Like the goblin back in the ghostwoods who zeroed in on her exact location even though it couldn’t see her.

  “That must be it.” Her whispered words absorbed into the musty air.

  The trickle of water in the distance seemed to pull at the marrow in her bones. Rivers flowed wherever they willed, easily gliding along a path of least resistance. No one told them where to run or where to gather. Though some tried to hold them back with dams, the rivers always found a way to spill over the edge and keep running. Free to spread out across wide valleys. Strong enough to change the face of the land when exercising their full strength.

  She allowed the water to lure her a few steps closer. Did she dare risk making another orb of light? There had to be a way out that didn’t leave a trail for Jerricoh to follow. But how?

  Taking a few more steps, she stretched out her arm to trace her fingertips along the wall. At the next turn, she saw a stream of light filtering from the ceiling. The gurgle of water grew louder. A deeper tug pulled her forward. Moving to stand below the light, she saw a metal grate embedded into the stone above. Something trickled through the slats, pooled along the muddy floor, then dumped into a wide stream.

  Soothing cool seeped into her boots. Strange, she didn’t remember wading into the water. And yet, comfort wafted up around her. It felt so right to walk until the cool came up to her waist. The seedling of doubt shriveled in her gut, and she turned to face downstream. Certainty gripped her. This would take her to safety.

  Lowering into the water, she pushed her arms out to swim. A rumble moaned through the stone ceiling. She glanced up then felt a sudden rush from behind. Gasping, she fought to take a breath before the force at her back shoved her under. Surrounded in cool, wet, darkness Tascana flailed for a handhold. For a foothold. Something, anything!

  A hard surface struck her hand. Another crashed into her shoulder. Half the air in her lungs expelled from the scream she could not hold back.

  As her chest ached in urgency for breath, the force behind her lessened. She clawed her hands at the water above. Air swathed her face, and she took several deep breaths. Echoes sang a dancing repeat of every movement of the water. Looking left and right into the inky nothingness, the hollow song of inhale-exhale floated through the air.

  “Now what?”

  A deep voice whispered to her through the echoes. “This way. Come toward me.”

  It wasn’t Jerricoh or Rothar, she was sure of that. “Who’s there?”

  “You can call me Friend for now. But we are not safe here. We must get you beyond The Master’s reach before the sun rises.”

  “There is no such place.” She turned, intending to swim in the direction she guessed was away from the voice. “He found me hundreds of miles from here.”

  “The Soldiers of Basagic possess a realm within a realm where The Master’s eyes cannot see. I will explain all this to you and more but you must hurry. Sunrise obscures the path, and you will be on your own until nightfall.”

  Tascana begged her gut instinct to tell her what to do. Should she trust this Friend? Was there really a place where The Master could not find her? Perhaps this was all part of the same trap to keep her prisoner. Or maybe someone knew what The Master had planned for her and was part of the effort to fight back.

  Regardless, she was lost and alone. Jerricoh offered to help her follow The Master’s orders. This voice offered her freedom and safety.

  “I can’t see you. How can I find you?” She hoped against hope that Friend would live up to his name.

  “Just swim forward. Once you reach the shelf of rock, I will take your hand.”

  “You can see in this pitch?”

  “Not well, but enough to see you are facing me.”

  Hesitating, she worked her way toward the voice. As promised, when she reached a rocky surface, a gloved hand gripped her wrist and pulled her out.

  “Take this.” Friend thrust a piece of rope into her hand. “From here on out, no talking. Walk as silently as you can. As long as you hold onto this we will not get separated.”

  She wrapped both hands around the tether. It tugged to her right, and she moved to follow. After a while, the tether veered left. For what felt like an hour she f
ollowed her guide.

  When he finally stopped, Friend put a hand on her arm as he spoke. “We are here.”

  “Where is here? I see nothing.”

  “Take my hand.”

  Tascana reached toward him. Friend gripped her wrist and tugged her forward. Starlight broke out overhead. Small fires burned in the distance, shadowing a figure moving from one house to another.

  “This is Tretchin Valley.” Friend made a sweeping gesture of the land before them.

  Turning to look at him, she gaped. Friend appeared to be some kind of mole creature morphed into human likeness. Fur covered his neck, arms, and pointed face. His clothes suggested an elongated torso and shortened legs. What she had initially assumed as gloves were leathery hands.

  Friend held both hands out to the side. “First time gazing upon a dallest?”

  “A what?”

  “My people, we refer to ourselves as dallests. My name is Zander and it would be my honor to show you to your new home.”

  “No, I can’t. I have to get back to my mother and father. To my own village.”

  Zander lowered his arms. “This is your village now.”

  “I already have a home and people who love me. My family waits for me.”

  “I thought you understood. This is the only place where you are beyond The Master’s grasp. To leave here is to go back the way you came.”

  Tascana pointed to the tall mountains rimming the valley. “Is there no path through those hills?”

  “That is where the Soldiers of Basagic maintain the barrier between us and The Master. Only an oracle can grant you passage.”

  “So I have exchanged one prison for another?”

  “In a way. I wish I could explain it to you better, but I’m not much of a storyteller. Arnya will answer all your questions in the morning.”

  “You said you would answer all my questions.”

  Zander sighed then smiled. “Do you want answers or rest?”

  Pangs of worry prickled along her stomach. Had her instinct failed her again? She gripped her middle, desperate to smother the fatigue and fear that threatened to revive the seedling.