Swords of the Six (The Sword of the Dragon)

by Scott Appleton

  Rose’el walked briskly past her up the path to the door. She drew her sword and gave the wood four solid raps with its pommel.

  “Rose’el, what do you think you’re doing?” Dantress shoved past Caritha and Laura as they also, with eyes wide, followed their bold sister to the door. “Rose’el, put that down!” She tried to keep her voice low but her tone firm. “What are you doing with that?”

  “Relax.” Rose’el sheathed her rusted blade and folded her outer skirt back over it.

  It was none too soon, for the door opened a crack, and a wrinkled, friendly face peered out at them. “Eh?” the woman said in a cracking voice.

  Dantress remembered her manners and curtsied. Her sisters did likewise. “Please Ma’am,” she said “we are here on an errand from the great white dragon. He told us that you would shelter us.”

  Leaving the door opened a crack the old woman scanned their faces. “Servants of the dragon, eh?”

  “Yes, he said—”

  “What’s the password?”

  “The password?” Dantress and her sisters cast cautious glances at one another. “Ma’am, we don’t have a password.”

  A grin wrinkled the woman’s face even more, and she opened the door wide. “Good! I never could see the sense in using one of ‘em passwords. Wouldn’t make sense. Could be stolen and used against us. Eh?”

  “I-I yes, I suppose you are right,” Laura agreed.

  Caritha smiled at the woman. “Then it was a trick, wasn’t it? You don’t have a password.”

  “Eh, I can see you are a smart one!” She pulled them inside. “Come, you look haggard! I already made your beds and your places at my table are set. Do you like goat’s milk?”

  Dressed in a dirt-encrusted skirt of an indistinguishable color and a pale green blouse, the old woman stood hunched, no more than five feet tall and maybe less. Dimming gray eyes peered at the sisters from beneath stray strands of long, thick silvery hair that she brushed behind one of her small ears. What appeared to be a fresh-cut flower stem had been stuck through her hair. Her feet, bare and browned, displayed nearly as many wrinkles as her face.

  When she opened the door for them, they entered a cozily furnished sitting room. But she took Dantress by the hand, without introducing herself, and led her into the adjacent room which proved to be the dining room.

  She beckoned to a wash basin set against the wall. An arched entry to a long, narrow hallway opened beside it. “There’re towels ‘round the corner, in the hallway,” she said. “Wash your faces; freshen up.”

  Dantress found the towels and handed them to her sisters. They all peered down the hallway and whispered among themselves, surprised at how large the house seemed on the inside.

  The old woman sat them at her table.

  Rose’el elbowed Dantress and said under her breath, “There were only six towels and now there are six place settings. Do you think she knew we were coming?”

  Dantress gave a slight shrug of the shoulders.

  Their hostess hobbled into the room and pointed at a roost in the corner. The eagle Dantress had spotted on three occasions that day perched thereon, its eyes closed. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed it before.

  “Herbert informed me I’d be havin’ company,” the old woman sang out. “Liked you from the moment he saw you, or so he said. He’s been a faithful companion to me. He’s been with me for a long time, too.

  “What would you like, Dearies? I’ve got goat’s milk and cheese … and fish in the oven.” She waddled over to open the ancient-looking grating over her fireplace oven. The sisters offered to help, but she insisted on serving them, pulling a pan of fish from the oven and setting it before them. “Help yourselves,” she said. “There’s enough for all of you, eh?”

  Indeed, the portions proved more than adequate. The tantalizing smell of lemon and breadcrumbs almost made them forget their manners as they divided the fish into portions and set them on the seven plates arranged on the mahogany table. Dantress ran her fingers over the wood, admiring its rich color, and drew back her hand as a few splinters caught in her skin.

  Pulling them out, she stuck her fork into the fish meat and tasted it. The flavor was even better than it looked. The old woman must have smothered it in butter.

  The woman returned from her cupboard with a great big slab of cheese. Then she knelt, with difficulty, and opened a trap door. She reached into the opening and pulled out a frost-covered glass jug filled with milk.

  “Ye ladies want some milk?”

  They all nodded enthusiastically and took it from her to fill their wooden mugs.

  Their hostess plopped into her wooden chair and ate as heartily as any of them. She spoke little, saying nothing except to respond to the sisters’ praise of her meal and flowers. The sisters offered their assistance and cleared the table and washed the dishes in no time, after which she directed them down the hallway to their sleeping quarters. “The bedrooms are small, eh? But you will, each of you, have your privacy.”

  “Thank you for everything,” Caritha said, bowing. “We really do appreciate all you have done for us, but—”

  The old woman chuckled, “I could see the ‘but’ coming a mile away.” She smiled and patted Caritha’s cheek. “What do you want?”

  “Well,” Caritha said, “we came here because the dragon sent us and he told us that you would tell us what we are going to do.”

  “Patience, child! It never harmed anyone to sleep on curiosity, eh? Sleep tonight. Tell you I will, soon enough.”

  At first Caritha looked ready to press the issue. However, she must have decided against it. She bowed again, said goodnight and slipped into one of the bedrooms, closing the door behind her.

  The others said goodnight, too, closing their doors behind them without a word. Dantress lingered in the hallway for a moment, for she heard the old woman sigh and felt a wave of disappointment emanate from her as she shuffled back down the hall.

  “Wait!” Dantress ran after her, the old woman turned, and Dantress pecked her on the cheek and gave her a gentle hug. “I thought you’d like a goodnight kiss.”

  Tears welled up in the woman’s eyes. “Bless you, dragon child. Bless you.” She kissed Dantress on the cheek, then walked away with a new spring in her step.

  Walking back down the hallway, Dantress found her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

  An oil lamp flickered on the elegant dresser standing against one wall. Paintings of flowers hung on all four dark green walls. Hand-carved molding covered the lower half on all sides. A small bed rested to her left against the corner, covered with a hand-sewn quilt patterned in pink and blue. A white nightgown draped one of the bed posts.

  She undressed, removed her sword with its sheath, leaned it against the end of the bed, and put on the gown. It felt as soft as down and as heavy as wool, warm and cozy. The lamp flickered again and she blew into its chimney, extinguishing the flame before curling up in the soft bed.

  The next morning, Dantress sat on the edge of the narrow bed, Xavion’s sword in her hand and the point of its blade resting on the floorboards. Stained and rusted by the blood of the innocent. Ever since she had acquired it, the sword had ceased to bleed on a regular basis, as had the swords her sisters received. Though she’d scrubbed the blade the rust had refused to be permanently removed.

  What had the sword looked like before it had spilled—wait! The dragon had never told whose blood stained the sword of Xavion. Was there a part of the puzzle that he had withheld from her? But why would he do that?

  Someone knocked feebly on the door. She left her sword on the bed and opened it. Her hostess waited outside with a warm smile.

  “Sleep well?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Get dressed, eh? And come to breakfast. We mustn’t delay; time should not be wasted.”

  A fly buzzed somewhere in the dim, windowless bedroom as Dantress closed the door and undid her nightgown. Her purple dress lay neatly folded on the dr
esser. Apparently the old woman had cleaned the garments while Dantress slept. She shook her head, at a loss to know how the woman had managed it.

  After pulling the dress over her head, she noticed a mirror in one corner of the room. She moved in front of it to study her reflection. The extenuated dress sleeves draped over her wrists, extra fabric hung out beneath.

  She pulled aside the outer skirt and reached over to the bed, taking the rusted sword and sliding it into the sheath. Doing that was not easy. The blade seemed to grow in size every passing year and it fit into the sheath with difficulty. But she at last succeeded and headed for the door. Time for breakfast.

  When breakfast had been cleaned off the table the sisters’ hostess hobbled ahead of them into her living room. The brick fireplace filled the north wall and a low fire crackled, sending a narrow band of smoke up the chimney. A long sofa, upholstered in flowered cloth, stood against the west wall and under the window that looked out over the flower gardens to the Eiderveis River. Two other sofas occupied the room along with five high-backed chairs, two of them rested on either side of the hearth.

  The cottage had appeared to be nothing more than a small structure from outside. Now, looking around at the interior, Dantress marveled at how much more there was than at first met the eye. After all, it had enough bedrooms to accommodate all of her sisters, herself, and the old woman. There was even a little stairway in the south end, and she would not be the least bit surprised if that led to more rooms.

  “Sit, my dears, and I will tell you why you have come.” The old woman waited until each of the young women sat down, and then she straightened her back and held her chin high.

  “Many are the years that I have lived and many are the things that I have witnessed. I am old, eh?” She glanced from one face to the next. “Aye, I am old and I have served faithfully the great white dragon for all my days and will do so until my dying breath. He it was that saved this world from the wizard Hermenuedis when no other being was left to stop him.

  “I know what you are, daughters of the great white dragon! You are literally and fully dragon, yet born in human form. You have come to the shores of the Eiderveis River with the weapons of the Six, and you have come to deal with the first among those who escaped justice. His name is Kesla. He dwells in the ruins of the ancient temple, Al’un Dai. Were it not for him, the prince of Prunesia, young Brian of Millencourt, may have lived … as would Xavion, captain of the Six.

  “There are three of the Six that number among the living, three Accursed Ones who must either turn from their wicked path and repent of their deeds or pay with their own lives. Letrias departed this region of the world ages ago. He is now beyond my sight. Auron wandered these lands, but he too left, and I know not where he has gone, though I suspect he followed Letrias, for he did always seem to esteem and follow him.

  “You are here, daughters of the dragon, not to discover where these last two have gone. Instead you have been sent to deliver an offer of pardon to the man who even now dwells in Al’un Dai, but if he will not repent and turn from his wickedness then you are here to take his life with the very same weapons that he once used to betray innocent blood.”

  For a little while the sisters gaped at her. If he will not repent and turn from his wickedness then you are here to take his life. The line kept running through Dantress’s mind.

  At last Caritha stood and frowned. “You are asking us to go and find a man that we have never met and kill him? We aren’t even seventeen yet!”

  “Ah! If it is necessary then yes, Kesla must be dealt with, and you are the ones whom the dragon has sent.”

  “He didn’t say anything about killing,” Dantress stood, feeling a rush of heat pass up her back and flush her cheeks. “I don’t want to kill anyone! Not even if he is a murderer.”

  “What would you do, child? Eh? Would you have your father kill the man, or would you have someone else do it? Or would you prefer us to do nothing and let evil continue to spread until every innocent creature, and every man, woman, and child are enslaved because of our inaction? No, justice must be served, and the dragon’s judgment is final.

  “If you are able to convince Kesla of his wrong, if he repents, then he will be pardoned. But,” she added, raising her hand as Dantress let out the breath she’d been holding, “if the man will not turn from his wickedness then he must pay the price of his deeds.”

  Caritha walked over to the window and gazed out. Dantress watched her, keeping quiet so as to let her think. Several minutes passed before Caritha turned to face the old woman. “We will go to Al’un Dai, as Father wished, and we will find Kesla.”

  “Now you are seein’ reason!” the old woman said.

  “I did not finish,” Caritha said. “When we find Kesla we will deal with him as seems best to us at the time, but we will not kill him unless he first attacks us. He will be brought to justice—we will see to that—yet we will not murder him. Instead we will bring him to Father for judgment.”

  “Judgment has already been passed on this man, my dear. He does deserve death.”

  “Yet, we will not kill except as a last resort,” Caritha replied firmly. “If Father gives him death, then so be it.”

  “So be it.” The old woman smiled, hunching over again, and hobbled to the door. She held it open. The fragrant scent of flowers blew inside with a warm and steady breeze. “Go down to the river and wait there until the water divides so that you may pass to the other side. Then head west through the forest.

  “Watch your step; there are foul creatures lurkin’ out there that will tear you apart if you give them the opportunity! The ruins of the dark temple of Al’un Dai lie in the west. You will find Kesla there … Take my warning, eh? Watch your step!”

  Kissing each of them on the cheek the old woman held the door open until they left and then closed it.

  Caritha led the way down to the Eiderveis. When they reached the water’s edge, Dantress stood next to her. “What do you think she meant, Caritha? Wait here until it ‘divides?’“

  “I don’t know.” Caritha knelt on the golden sand. “Whatever she meant, I hope it happens … and soon.”

  They did not have long to wait. As Dantress gazed into the swift moving current, a dorsal fin, gray-green in coloration, cut the water’s surface. Another soon followed and another … and then three more. All angled toward the river’s bank. Others joined these until it appeared that the river swirled a mass of scaled fins. First one of the creatures and then another breached the water’s surface, giggling as they rose out of the water.

  “Did you see that?” Evela pointed, her eyes wide. “They are mermaids!”

  Dantress could not deny it. The creatures had long hair and shining silver eyes. Scales covered the mermaids’ miniature bodies. Oversized ears twisted back from their heads. Some of them had skin as black as night, while the faces of others looked as white as paper.

  One little mermaid, her white teeth smiling from her black face, flipped high out of the water and onto the shore to lie on the sand at the sisters’ feet. Resting on her elbows with her chin resting on her fists, she flipped her dark hair out of her eyes and looked up. “Greetings, children of the dragon,” she sang in her smooth voice. “Stand back and let the Wee Mermaids open the Eiderveis River for your passage across.”

  The sisters retreated a step, Dantress last of all because she felt curious and wanted to talk to the creature. She kept her eyes on it as she backed up the bank. Evela had been right; mermaids did exist.

  Swimming in a large circle, the Wee Mermaids laughed merrily. Their numbers increased, and a faint melody drifted over the water. The river swirled with them, a whirlpool forming in the space of half an hour.

  Moving closer to the shore, the majority of the creatures maintained the whirlpool. Two of them slid onto the sand and flopped around, pointing with delicate fingers at the exposed riverbed in the whirlpool’s center.

  “Come on,” Caritha said. She leapt from the shore and lande
d in the dry riverbed.

  Dantress jumped after her and Laura followed. Levena went next, and Evela, closing her eyes, sprang after her.

  “Jump, Rose’el!” The sisters beckoned to her.

  She harrumphed. “I think we should have made a boat.” But she leapt in and the Wee Mermaids, laughing still, gradually shifted the whirlpool across the river, which at this point was about a hundred feet broad.

  An hour or more after, the sisters leaped onto the river’s western bank. The Wee Mermaids slid onto the sand by the hundreds. As far as Dantress could see along the shore the creatures were slipping out of the water to lie in the sun. Their fins flapped lazily in the breeze and they closed their eyes.

  One black mermaid—Dantress thought it might be the same one that had spoken to them earlier—remained on watch while her companions napped.

  “Do you think it is safe for them to expose themselves like that?” Dantress said as she and her sisters walked west into the shade of the trees.

  “I was wondering the same thing.” Evela glanced over her shoulder. “They’re rather adorable, don’t you think?”

  “Vulnerable and foolish,” Rose’el murmured.

  Suddenly they heard screams rising from the river. Racing back through the trees they saw, to their horror, one of the Wee Mermaids dangling from the talons of a hawk. The hawk’s wings beat furiously, trying to gain altitude.

  “Isn’t that—?”

  “Yes, I think it is!” Dantress reached out her hand toward the burdened bird flying over the river with the blood-streaked mermaid struggling in its talons. She breathed slow and deep, calming her body, then extended her senses, threading them past the varied emotions rolling from her sisters’ minds. Her mind carried her past the thoughts of the agitated and horror-stricken mermaids, up into the sky. She could feel the Wee Mermaid’s pain as it attempted to free itself from the bird’s talons, managing only to rip her scales.

  It would only take a twist of Dantress mind, a thought, to muddle the hawk’s mind and send it crashing into the Eiderveis River. But as the threads of her thought bent around the bird, she detected—not merely hunger—but a consciousness, desperate and afraid.