“I thought dragons had huge hoards of gold, gems, and stuff,” Chase asked bluntly, looking around the huge chamber.
“A myth, nothing more. What need have I of manmade trinkets and such? To fixate on such shiny baubles would put me at the level of some common crow, collecting anything shiny that catches my eye. I am far above such trifling compulsions.”
Cillandril bid his guests farewell, watched them leave his chamber, and disappear around a bend in the large passage leading to the outside. He then walked over to the far corner of his lair and hissed words of magic in his draconian language.
An entire section of wall disappeared to reveal a second huge chamber. The dragon stepped into the room and curled his vast bulk around an enormous pile of treasure nearly as large as he was. Another quick spell and the pile of gold and silver grew warm to the touch, his touch anyhow. The soft flesh of a human or lesser creature would likely have been severely burned. Cillandril let out a large sigh of contentment as he settled into the warm bed of riches. This was the most interesting thing to happen in a very long time, he thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 10
Drew marched in a large procession of goblins, orcs, ogres, and coarse-looking humans. Captain Lucien rode his horse beside him in silence, occasionally hurrying him along with a tug from a tether tied to his bound wrists. Lord Darkrell rode in an opulent carriage the size of Drew’s bedroom back home, pulled by ten large draft horses.
“What are you going to do to me?” Drew asked his quiet human guard.
Captain Lucien did not answer nor acknowledge the question in any way. Drew let it go for a while, but after a time, he became bored with the monotonous marching and decided he would try to get his guard to talk.
“So how long have you been Darkrell’s lackey?” Once again, only silence answered Drew’s question. “Do you choose not to talk, or did you get your tongue cut out? Are you some kind of monk? Did you take a vow of silence? You don’t look like a monk. I hear that it can get pretty lonely in those monasteries, and sometimes things happen that young boys don’t want to talk about,” he rambled on.
He watched for some kind of reaction and was rewarded with a glance that bordered on a scowl. A small smile crept onto Drew’s face as he saw that his taunting was breaking the man’s resolve.
“Is that what happened to you? Were you raised in a monastery and abused as a young boy, you know, sexually? It’s all right to talk about it. It’s not your fault, you know. You don’t have to be shamed into silence. Many men from where I come from have spoken out about such abuse. It does not make you less of a man. Is that why you fight and hurt people for a living? Do you see the faces of the monks who violated you in the faces of the men you kill?”
“Damn it! I was never in a monastery, nor have I ever been sexually violated!” shouted tersely.
Several orcs and mercenaries glanced back at his outburst and began snickering. Lucien jerked Drew’s tether, pulling him forward hard enough that he stumbled and almost fell forward, he but managed to keep his balance.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject. I guess you were walking funny because you had been riding your horse so long.”
The orcs and mercenaries looked at the Captain again and began talking amongst themselves and laughing openly. Lucien gritted his teeth and gripped the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white, but otherwise returned to his silence.
The small army marched until the sun began to set, stopping only twice for a short rest and food. At the end of the day, the company pitched dozens of tents and built several campfires. Each fire sported an iron tripod with a kettle suspended over it, cooking some sort of stew.
Several servants erected a massive round tent near the center of the camp. A bed, table, several large pillows, carpets, padded chairs, and two enormous trunks were unloaded from wagons and brought into the tent.
Lucien shoved Drew through the entrance of the pavilion shortly after it was set up. Thick carpets covered the floor, a small table with four simple chairs sat to one side, and two cots with blankets were placed near the tent wall opposite the table. A heavy curtain partitioned the tent several feet back from the entrance.
Lord Darkrell’s number two man shoved the young traveler through the dividing wall. The next chamber comprised at least two thirds of the total volume of the tent, by Drew’s best estimate. The carpets were piled two deep, and elaborate silk hangings covered the inner walls and ceiling.
A canopied four-poster bed sat at the back wall of the tent. A long, polished hardwood table occupied the center of the decorative chamber surrounded by six red felt-padded chairs. Two silver candelabras, each holding six scented candles, adorned the table. Lord Darkrell himself sprawled luxuriously on a massive pile of silken pillows. He wore a heavy robe of blood red; a large cowl covered his head and obscured his face in deep shadow.
“Untie him, Lucien. I am certain he will cause me no harm. Isn’t that right, boy?” the sinister lord said in a voice as silken as his surroundings.
Lucien pulled out a blade and cut Drew’s bindings without hesitation or comment. Drew rubbed his wrists to get the circulation flowing to his hands and to sooth the red rope burns that encircled them.
As the dark lord lowered his hood, Drew was surprised by the appearance of the face that was revealed. He was an older man with grey hair shorn close, and a hairline receding well back to the top of his head. He was not tall, perhaps five-foot-six and slightly built. All together, he was a seemingly unimposing figure, until one looked into his eyes. Those dark orbs held fire, malice, and a silent promise of death to any who opposed his indomitable will.
“What do you want with me?” Drew demanded, trying his best not to be intimidated.
His answer came from Captain Lucien in the form of a backhand across his face. Drew felt the angry red mark rising on his cheek as he was knocked to the ground by the force of the leather gauntleted blow. He felt the coppery taste of blood and spit a great wad of it onto the finely woven carpets as much out of spite as to clear his mouth.
“Now, Lucien, let us not resort to such heavy-handed tactics. We do not want our guest to think we are brutes or savages,” Lord Darkrell admonished with an exaggerated frown.
He raised himself up from his soft recline with an ease that belied his apparent age, walked to the elegant table, and took a seat at the end facing the tent entrance.
“Come join me and my good captain for supper. I promise you, it is a much finer fair than you will find with the soldiers,” he invited with a wave of his hand.
Drew pulled himself to his feet and took a chair at the center of the table to Lord Darkrell’s right. Captain Lucien sat across from Drew on his master’s left, keeping one eye on their guest and one on the entrance.
With a wave of his hand, Lord Darkrell lit the many candles adorning the table. At some silent command, several servants entered bearing wine, glasses, fresh baked bread, and silver trays with silver domes covering the dishes.
They set the table with a quick, fluid motion. The entire setup took less than a minute before they disappeared back out of the tent. Only one young female servant remained to pour the wine. It was a sweet yellow wine even Drew’s uninitiated palate was able to appreciate.
The servants removed the silver domes covering their meal and carried them away when they left. A large porcelain plate was nearly covered with a roasted game bird, baby boiled potatoes, green beans in a white sauce, and several slices of various fruits. Drew’s mouth instantly began to water when the rich aroma hit his nose. It took all of his resolve not to tear into the feast like a starving dog, but his hunger and excitement must have shown.
“Please, enjoy your meal. We will have plenty of time to discuss—things—at a later time,” his ominous host invited cordially.
Following the captain’s lead, Drew grabbed a small loaf of dark bread from the wicker basket and spread a heavy layer of rich butter on it from a small cl
ay crock near his plate. He chewed as slowly as he could, relishing the magnificent food before him.
He set the bread down half finished and pulled a long strip of white meat off the roasted fowl. It was juicy and well spiced; the taste was unique but fabulous on his tongue. It was definitely not chicken, but that was as close as he could come to identifying it.
He ate in silence, neither asking any questions nor volunteering any conversation. Drew half-listened to the enigmatic lord and his captain while they discussed their continued raids of several towns and cities. Lord Darkrell asked Drew how his meal was, but otherwise left him to eat in peace.
Drew ate until he thought he would burst. His head spun a bit from the sweet but potent wine. He was certain his interrogation was to begin soon but was surprised once again by his host’s courtesy.
“Lucien, I fear our guest is quite fatigued. Why don’t you have a servant show him to the bath before retiring for the evening? He seems like a civilized young man who would appreciate such an indulgence,” Lord Darkrell said courteously.
Another servant entered immediately after his invitation and took Drew to a small chamber curtained off from the lord’s chamber. A huge copper bathtub sat in the center of the chamber, wisps of steam rising from the scented water already filling it. He noticed the floor was raised several inches off the ground on some sort of grate so the water did not flood and soak the carpets.
Drew stripped down as soon as the servant left. As tired as he was, a bath was the only thing he desired at this time more than sleep. It took a moment to get used to the heat of the water, but he soon submerged himself up to his neck. Salts in the water penetrated his pores, lifting out not only the sweat and dirt but seemingly his many bruises as well.
He must have dozed off for, when he next opened his eyes, the water had cooled considerably. He scrubbed himself and his hair with a bar of scented soap before getting out and drying off with a thick, soft towel folded over a chair next to the tub. Under the towel was a new set of clean clothing; his own clothing was nowhere to be found.
He put on the new garments that included knit stockings as well as soft leather boots. As soon as he was dressed, the servant who had brought him to the tub entered and took him through Lord Darkrell’s chambers and into the smaller room lying just before the palatial tent’s exit. Lord Darkrell’s opulent chambers had been unoccupied, but Captain Lucien stood waiting in the foyer.
“This is my chamber. You will sleep here on that cot,” he instructed with a gesture to one of the small beds. “I will sleep in the other, but be warned that I am an extremely light sleeper. Even the change in your breathing will awake me. You will not leave the tent nor will you enter My Lord’s chambers uninvited. Do I make myself clear?”
Drew nodded his understanding and looked longingly at the warm bed.
“Make no mistake,” the Captain warned, “I am not Droog, and I will not tolerate any of your previous exploits. I will be watching you very closely.”
Drew nodded again and walked over to the small bed. He stripped off his shoes and socks and crawled under the blankets. He tried to think about what was happening and what was going to happen next, but sleep quickly took him into its comforting embrace.
He grudgingly woke the next morning as the camp was packing up. Drew slipped on his new socks and shoes and was escorted once again back into Lord Darkrell’s chambers. The table was already set with several dishes, and he took the same seat he had occupied the previous night. Lord Darkrell seemed to have been waiting on him and greeted him as he entered.
“Ah, my young guest has arrived just in time to for us all to break our fast. Please, be seated and help yourself,” he said graciously.
The servants removed the silver domes and departed as quickly and quietly as they had the previous night. Another young woman filled his glass with some sort of fruit juice he could not quite identify, but it tasted good and he quickly drained his glass, which she immediately refilled. Three fried eggs, cheese, sausage, and some sort of porridge in a bowl sat before him. He was surprised to find himself hungry, considering the size of the dinner he ate last night.
“You must forgive me, young man, but in my efforts to see to your needs I completely neglected to inquire as to your name,” the lord said, looking up from his plate.
“Drew,” he responded quietly, still feeling uncomfortable sitting next to this intimidating figure.
Drew did not think it was an accident. The lord was probably not accustomed to even considering someone else’s name, writing it off as unimportant when a simple point and snap of the fingers would normally suffice.
Captain Lucien looked up from his own meal and glared balefully across the table. “You will address him as My Lord, boy!”
“Please calm yourself, Lucien. I am sure our guest intended no disrespect. I would imagine his culture is quite different from ours. However, my good captain is correct. Here we must adhere to certain protocols, particularly when in the presence of the common rabble lest they start to adopt a certain familiarity when dealing with their betters. Such a thing can lead to disrespect and disobedience, and that simply cannot be tolerated.”
Drew nodded, taking another bite of food and hiding his face in his meal. He finished his breakfast without any further interruption and was from the tent. A score of servants, obviously well practiced in such an endeavor, took down the large tent with great efficiency. Drew assumed the dark lord must have had an exit of his own, since he never saw him leave through the front.
Drew was startled by the sound of Lucien’s voice coming from behind him. “Can you ride a horse, boy?”
“I don’t know, I never tried,” Drew replied.
“It does not matter. You just have to sit on it and not fall off. If you do, try not to land on your head. That is the only part of you that is of any importance to my master,” he responded coldly.
Captain Lucien took Drew over to a line of horses and told him to mount a grey mare tethered there. Drew looked from Lucien to the horse and then at the saddle that was strapped to the large animal’s broad back. It took him several attempts before he was finally able to mount and seat himself in the saddle. Captain Lucien led Drew’s horse by its tether and mounted his own gelding.
The camp was packed and the company resumed their march. Lord Darkrell’s massive carriage traveled just behind Drew and his personal guard. The army marched in columns four abreast and at least a hundred yards to the fore and aft of Drew’s central position, with two score of cavalry at each end. Drew and Lucien rode to the left side of the column to avoid much of the dust kicked up by the vanguard.
By the time the company stopped for their first rest break and lunch, Drew’s legs were stiff and chafed from riding. He immediately fell when he dismounted, his wobbly legs refusing to respond to his brain’s command to stand and walk. With great effort, he forced himself to his feet and waddled over to a log to eat some dry trail food and rest.
Drew got up and strolled about the camp, trying to walk the kinks out of his legs. Captain Lucien watched him like a hawk as he loosened up, but he never tried to stop him or follow him with anything more than his eyes. Drew walked behind a group of the human mercenaries, feeling slightly more comfortable around them than the goblins or orcs. He would definitely not approach the ogres under any circumstances. To him, the ogres were little more than vicious dogs barely under the control of their master.
As soldiers often do, the mercenaries were voicing the complaints to their comrades they would not dare say to their superiors.
“I tell you, I don’t like fighting with these goblins and their ilk. It’s bad enough we ain’t had a good fight in two weeks, now we gotta march back to the castle. You know what that means. Garrison duty. Boring, damn-all garrison duty,” one of the large mercenaries complained.
“It’s bad enough we gotta fight next to those stinking orcs and goblins, but to have to sit around in garrison with them is too much. I’d rather gut one of them g
oblins than share a guard shift with one,” another swore in agreement.
Drew found the animosity very interesting. He felt more like himself now that he was away from Lord Darkrell and his lackey. He began to formulate a plan to sow even more discontent between the races if he could. He wandered back toward his horse, knowing it was about time to start the march once again. Shortly after he reached the tethered horses, the order was given to mount back up and resume marching.
They traveled until the sun was low on the horizon and set up camp again. The tents were pitched, fires lit, and kettles set to cooking. Drew walked over to his babysitter, as he like to think of the captain.
“Captain Lucien, I’m going to stretch my legs out a bit while there is still some daylight left.”
The ever-scowling man stared at his charge for several moments before apparently coming to a decision. “Fine, just don’t run off. You have no chance of escaping, and the punishment for any attempt will be severe.”
“Don’t worry, I couldn’t run if I wanted to,” Drew replied rubbing his thighs. “Besides, I’m looking forward to dinner too much.”
Drew walked around for a few minutes while Captain Lucien watched over him. Satisfied he was not going to escape, Lucien went into the tent to see to his master’s needs. As soon as he saw his overseer leave, Drew walked over to the supply wagons. An older, heavy-set man was handing over food supplies to waiting servants and soldiers.
“What’a ya want, boy?” The man growled.
“Captain Lucien sent me to get a couple bottles of spirits for some of the men. I guess Lord Darkrell wanted to reward them for some service they provided,” Drew responded without pause.
The big quartermaster thought about the request for only a second before pulling out two dark bottles and handing them over. He figured no one would dare falsely use the name of the powerful lord and his deadly captain. He certainly was not going to risk his neck second-guessing his messenger over something so trivial.
Drew carried the two bottles of strong alcoholic beverages back toward the soldiers gathered around their campfires. It took only a short while for him to find the same group of mercenaries he overheard earlier. The sun was nearly down by the time he confidently strode up to the laughing and cajoling men.
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