A Darkness of Dragons

by S. A. Patrick

  Patch’s mouth felt horribly dry. He kept glancing at the door, expecting Rundel Stone to enter at any moment. “Don’t you understand? You’ve found me alive, and it’s your duty to see me delivered back to the dungeons! Where is your master, anyway? I would have thought Rundel Stone would be incredibly pleased to be able to slap some manacles on me!”

  Erner’s smile dropped away. “My duty…yes. Perhaps it is. In all the relief of seeing you, it hadn’t occurred to me. But Patch, please…I’ll not tell a soul, not even the Virtus. Stay as Henry Smith, and you’ll be safe. Nobody will know!”

  Wren tutted. Brother Tobias already knows, she signed.

  “Oh, ah, yes,” said Erner, wincing. “Brother Tobias. I’m sorry. I blurted it all out when he told me you were here, Wren. I’ll tell nobody else!”

  “I know you mean well,” said Patch, still glancing nervously at the doorway. “But Virtus Stone would never allow such a thing. Where is he, anyway?”

  And what was the dire situation we were told about? signed Wren. Was that just a trick, to get Patch to come here?

  Erner shook his head, looking grim. “No trick,” he said. “You see, things have become rather complicated.” He walked to the doorway. “Follow me, and I’ll explain.”

  Erner led them through to the main part of the infirmary. Twenty simple beds were in a long hall, and each bed was full – there were men and women, old and young, being tended by three monks.

  At the far end of the hall was a curtained area, and from there Patch could hear the sound of a Pipe. Once they reached the curtain, Erner pulled it aside. By the wall was a bed, and sitting on its edge was Brother Tobias, playing the Pipe he’d carried out with him.

  Patch listened, impressed by the complexity of the Song Tobias played – a healing Song, and far more intricate than any he’d ever managed to learn. “Wow,” he said.

  Erner nodded. “Impressive, isn’t it?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Brother Tobias was a Piper before he took holy orders. He could make a fine living, yet he’s chosen a life in the Abbey and to give his skills for free.”

  For the first time, Patch turned his eyes to the patient lying in the bed, and he almost jumped. There lay Rundel Stone, his eyes closed and his skin horribly pale. “What happened to him?” said Patch.

  “We were called to the village of Yarmingly,” said Erner. “There had been a death, and the dead man was a close friend of the Virtus. The cause of death was obvious, and gruesome – several blows to the back of the head. We’d been there only a few minutes when Virtus Stone cried out and collapsed to the ground. Half-conscious, he ordered me to bring him here. I had to stop often and play a healing Song, just to keep him alive. Brother Tobias and his monks have treated him since, but he has not woken, and the cause of his condition is a mystery.”

  Brother Tobias stopped playing and beckoned them. “Quickly, Erner! He’s coming round!”

  Erner rushed to the bedside; Patch moved to follow, but Wren squeaked at him from his shoulder.

  You should keep your distance, she signed. Better Stone doesn’t see you!

  Stone gave a spluttering cough, and opened his eyes.

  “Virtus!” said Erner. “It’s me, Apprentice Whitlock! Can you tell me what caused your collapse?”

  Stone gripped Erner’s arm. “An enigma enicatus!” he said, struggling for breath. “A death puzzle. A box, Erner. A small metal box. I found it under a book on the floor, near to where Ural lay dead. I felt its sting as I grasped it and realized my mistake too late!”

  Ural…thought Patch. The name of Stone’s dead friend was somehow familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

  Brother Tobias checked Stone’s hand. “There! A small mark, some kind of needle.” He looked at Erner. “Did you see the box he speaks of?”

  “Well, I did find this on the floor near the Virtus,” said Erner. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal cube, about an inch across.

  “Don’t touch it!” cried Stone. He knocked the box from Erner’s hand. The effort was too much for him – he slumped back, and his eyes closed.

  Erner looked at Tobias, shaking his head. “I already did touch it, Tobias, yet it did nothing to me.”

  “Death puzzles have specific targets,” said Tobias. “You touched it without incident, but Rundel was stung. That means he was a target.” He rushed to his room and returned with wooden tongs and a jar. He picked the metal cube from the floor and dropped it inside the jar, then held it up for a clear view.

  Stone opened his eyes again, straining to speak. “Identify its targets, and you find the killer!”

  “Forget finding the killer,” said Brother Tobias. “Your life is the priority now, Rundel. Healing Songs can keep you alive for a time, but I fear I can’t treat this, not fully. There’s sorcery at work here.” He paused. “You suspected as much, Rundel. You didn’t come here to get help from me – you came to get help from her. Didn’t you!”

  Wren frowned at Patch. Her? she signed. Who does he mean?

  “Yes,” said Stone. “I sensed it was no simple poison. A Sorcerer’s poison, needing a Sorcerer for the cure. You know where you must take me!”

  Tobias looked away. “You’re asking too much!”

  “Please, Tobias!” cried Stone. “Please!” He tensed and cried out in agony, then went limp.

  Tobias examined him. “Unconscious,” he said. “And refusing to die. Stubborn as ever.” He shook his head and hit the nearby wall in frustration. “That settles it, we have no choice.” He looked directly at Patch. “I only pray that the expert we both seek has the answers we require.”

  “The expert we both seek?” said Patch. “Both?”

  Tobias nodded. “You’ll be coming as well. Wren’s best hope is also Rundel’s. I told you there was too much danger, and I meant it, but now Rundel’s life is on the brink. Where we’re headed, your dracogriff friend will keep us safe, to a point. We must leave at once. It’s a full day’s journey by horse, Erner, and while we’re gone you must stay here and play that healing Song, to the best of your ability, for one hour out of every four. It’ll be gruelling work, but it’s the only thing that will keep Rundel alive. Can you manage it?”

  “I can,” said Erner.

  “And, um, where exactly are we going?” said Patch.

  “You’ve heard of the Gemspar Range?” said Tobias.

  Patch frowned. His training had involved studying notoriously treacherous locations throughout the world, and the Gemspar Range was high on that list. “Home of vicious criminals, and unbounded danger,” he said. “It has quite a reputation. There’s also the mythical Witch who, legend says, makes the central peak of the range her home – Gemspar Mountain itself! A foreboding craggy deathtrap, by all accounts.”

  “Afraid of old myths, are you?” said Tobias.

  “Oh please,” said Patch. “I know there’s no actual Witch, but the Gemspar Range is a hostile place, home to the worst smugglers and wrongdoers in the land. The Witch was just a story to frighten people away from the area. But those are all pretty scary old myths, Brother Tobias. Even you have to admit it.”

  “I’ll grant they’re unpleasant tales,” said Tobias.

  “Unpleasant?” scoffed Patch. “Horrible murders, horrible monsters, a horrible warty old hag of a Witch! Kept me up at night, some of those tales. She was said to have extra joints in her arms that she could make grow a hundred feet long. Her enemies would be strangled in their beds with their doors locked, the only clue being a sprinkling of soot from the fireplace. Her eyes were supposed to shine bright in the dark, so you could see her blink in the depths of the forest.” He shivered. “Besides brigands, I’m surprised anyone wants to make their home somewhere so creepy! Your expert must really like privacy.”

  “That is certainly true,” said Tobias. “She absolutely does.”

  “So, um, who exactly are we going to see?” said Patch, an awful feeling stirring in his guts.

  Brother Tob
ias widened his eyes. “We’re off to see the Witch of Gemspar Mountain!” he said.

  Patch whimpered.

  The Abbey possessed only five horses, and the group took three of them. Patch was given the smallest, a friendly black and white mare. He tied his bag to his saddle, and Wren opted to sit on his shoulder rather than be cooped up for the journey in his pocket. As well as Tobias, they were joined by a burly monk called Brother Madder, who was armed with a decidedly un-monkly broadsword.

  Barver was reluctantly dragged from the warmth of his steam treatment, and looked rather grumpy when Brother Duffle led him to the front of the Abbey to join the others.

  “Be careful!” Duffle told him. “Absolutely no flying, and if you must kill any brigands, don’t strain your shoulder in the process.”

  “Okay, okay, I promise,” said Barver, and Duffle waved him farewell. Barver looked at Patch and Wren. “Bit of a rude awakening to have to leave that lovely heat and come out here,” he said. “Duffle was vague about where we’re going. Can you fill me in on the details?”

  Wren told him everything. When she got to the part about the Witch, Barver went strangely quiet.

  The presence of Barver unsettled the horses a little, so he kept himself to the back of their column, with Patch next, then Tobias, and Madder leading. They kept up a rapid pace, riding mostly in silence.

  They stopped to rest only once, letting the horses drink from a stream and graze its banks. Patch took his Pipe from his pocket to take a look at some of the lowest finger holes – while playing the Lift earlier, he’d felt some rough edges on the mouthpiece that he needed to fix, but he’d not had a chance to deal with it until now. He used the tip of his knife to gently smooth the wood.

  Brother Tobias approached him. “Ah!” he said. “Erner Whitlock told me you were a trainee Piper before you were put in the dungeons. I suggest you put your Pipe away, though. I have my Pipe with me, too, but I’ll only use it if the worst comes to the worst. Be in no doubt: Barver is our protection in Gemspar. The brigands there have evaded capture from the Custodian Elite for a very long time. Anyone they see with a Pipe is likely to have a dozen arrows in them before a single note can be played. A dracogriff will give them reason to stay well clear of us.”

  Patch nodded. Before they set off, he made sure to put his Pipe in his bag.

  By afternoon they could see the peaks of the Gemspar Range, and by evening they had reached the forest on the slopes of the first of the mountains. The path was rough, growing narrower with each passing mile, as the forest grew thicker.

  Brother Madder held up his hand for the party to stop. “From here on,” he told them, “there must be absolute silence. If anyone sees anything suspicious, they should draw my attention by clapping their hands together twice.”

  “And, um, what are we looking for?” asked Patch.

  “Brigands. Bandits. Thieves,” said Madder. “Given Barver’s presence, anyone who attacks us will have to be especially crazed. That would make them especially dangerous.”

  Barver raised a hand. “I want to clarify the rules of engagement,” he said. “Is fire breathing okay?”

  “Feel free,” said Madder.

  “And am I allowed to eat anyone who attacks us?”

  “Absolutely,” said Madder, with a sly grin.

  Patch and Wren stared at Barver. The dracogriff shrugged. “I’m kidding!” he said, although they weren’t sure if he was.

  From then on, Patch scanned the gloomy forest constantly. He saw nothing with his eyes, but his mind spotted dozens of non-existent, cut-throat villains hiding behind every trunk, every bush, every pine cone, every leaf. He broke out in a sweat as his anxiety grew.

  The peaks of the Gemspar Range towered above, but it was another hour before the razor-jag tip of Gemspar Mountain itself became visible: bare black rock that seemed to cut and slice at the sky.

  Behind him Patch could hear Barver’s stomach gurgle continuously, the only sound coming from his otherwise stealthy friend. Patch slowed, dropping back a little from the others, and turned to Barver. Heeding Brother Madder’s earlier warning of silence, he used hand speech.

  Are you okay? he asked.

  I think it’s Brother Duffle’s poultice, answered Barver. He rubbed his belly, looking queasy. I don’t think it agreed with me.

  Do you need to rest?

  Barver shook his head. It’ll pass, he signed, and sure enough it did seem to settle down.

  The forest path began to weave as they ventured through a valley deep in the Range. Steep climbs became precarious drops, and the path led them through twisting high-walled gullies that Barver was only just able to fit through.

  The narrow path, with high trees all round and little sky to see, gave Patch an increasing sense of claustrophobia. Then, as they rounded a series of tight bends, a clearing lay ahead. Patch smiled with relief and turned round to look at Barver.

  Barver wasn’t there.

  Terrified, Patch clapped his hands twice. At the head of the group, Brother Madder turned and stared, seeing at once that their main protection had vanished. He guided his horse to Patch.

  “Where is he?” whispered Madder.

  “I don’t know,” said Patch. “He was behind me a minute ago.”

  Madder eyed the trees warily and went back around the bends they’d just passed. After a few moments he returned. “No sign of him,” said Madder, his intense gaze darting around the trees. “We may be in trouble.”

  “You think somebody—” said Patch, disbelieving.

  Wren was horrified. Somebody nobbled Barver? she signed. How?

  “To the clearing, quickly!” said Madder, taking his horse to the front and picking up speed.

  It was too late.

  The vegetation around them erupted into life. Fifty well-armed bandits burst from behind every tree and bush, with a huge cry of “Yaaaaarrgh!”

  They were caked in grime, and a smell like month-old pigswill filled the air. The bandits shook their various weapons at the travellers, growling menacingly as the leader stepped forward and addressed their victims. He was especially grubby, his hair long and matted, his blackening teeth on display as he grinned. Patch very slowly started to reach back to his bag; despite the warning Tobias had given, if they’d hurt Barver he was going to try and take out some of them before he was disarmed.

  “Welcome to our forest, wanderers!” said the leader. His fellow robbers jeered and waggled their blades some more. “A dangerous forest, too! It’s lucky that we chanced on you this day!” Another jeer came, with some coughing from the less-healthy members of the group. “Me and my friends wish to offer you protection against the evils here. A basilisk walks the woods!” A mock-scared “Wooooo!” came from the bandits. “An evil Witch haunts the mountain!” An “Ahhhhhh!” from the thieves. “Worst of all, the most feared band of murderous villains also prowls these parts!”

  He paused for dramatic effect.

  “And that’s us!” he said, flourishing his sword as the brigands cheered long and loud. “Who better to offer you protection from our blood-keen knives, friends, than we ourselves? So if you would, a simple fee!” He paused again, and the grinning outlaws looked at him with anticipation, waiting for the punchline. “All you have!” cried the gloating leader, as every blade – long sword, short sword, knife and dagger – moved in to point steadily at the travellers, each blade-tip no more than a foot from flesh.

  Patch’s hand froze halfway to his bag. He looked at the brigand whose sword-tip was nearest his throat, and slowly brought his hand back to his horse’s reins. Playing a Pipe would be much harder without fingers.

  Madder, his broadsword half-drawn, gave an angry growl and shook his head. “Without Barver we have no chance,” he muttered. He put the sword back in its scabbard and reached into his cassock, producing a small pouch. He threw it to the bandit leader. “Take it, and let us be on our way!”

  The leader caught the pouch and looked at the contents. He raised an e
yebrow. “This is all you have?” he said. “I think not!” He stroked his chin for a moment then suddenly looked at Madder’s horse, pretending to be surprised. “Goodness!” he said. “A horse! And another! And a third! These should cover your fee, I think.” The malice in his voice was matched by that in his eyes.

  Madder gritted his teeth. “So if we give you our horses too, we can go on our way?”

  “If you give us your horses? When we take your horses, then we’ll see! Right, lads?” A sinister cheer came from his fellows.

  “Might I ask what you did with our companion?” said Madder. “Is he alive?”

  “Companion?” said the leader. “What companion?” He dismissed Madder’s question with a shake of his head, and at that moment spotted Wren on Patch’s shoulder. She was standing defiantly with her arms folded, glaring. The leader was fascinated. “What on earth is that?” he asked, then smiled. “What curious markings!”

  From behind him another bandit – face wide with fear – cried out: “Dragon!”

  The leader turned to him with a look of complete scorn. “Don’t be stupid, man!” he said. “It’s obviously a rat!”

  But by then all of his men were staring past him with widening eyes, their bravado gone. Patch and Wren turned to see, and grinned: Barver was striding around the bend in the path. His expression was one of outrage – although, Patch saw, there was also a hint of glee at the reaction he was getting.

  The dracogriff stopped, eyeing up the terrified brigands who, for now, seemed rooted to the spot. “If you’ve hurt any of my friends,” cried Barver, “I will have to eat you. Alive.” There was a moment of silence, broken only by one or two sobs of dread. Barver let rip with a huge burst of flame and a thunderous roar, then charged forward. The thieves scattered at once, squealing like piglets as they fled.

  Barver had set his sights on the leader. He seized the man by his feet and dangled him upside down. “I wonder how you’ll taste,” he said, leering.