A Portion of Dragon and Chips

by Simon Haynes

  "Nay, like the night before it turns completely black."

  "So it's dark blue, then."

  "Some might say so, but they would be wrong."

  Exasperated, Tiera grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "What's-the-damn-colour?"

  "Pale grey," said Thonn. "Indeed, it was exactly the same colour as the stone on the healer's necklace."

  "So he was a mage," muttered Tiera.

  Thonn sagged in her grasp, and she helped him sit on the bed. "What is it? What's up?"

  "I weaken, my lady. This occurred once before, when the village elders took the perlstone from my possession."

  "So … when you're close to the stuff, your power grows?"

  "Indeed."

  "And now he's gone, you're getting weak?"

  "Such is the case."

  "Do you think … is it possible … you healed yourself?"

  Thonn considered the question. "Since the healer did nothing to aid me, that would be the logical conclusion."

  "Right, stay here."

  "Why, where are you going?"

  "First, I want my sixpence back. And second, I'm going to get my hands on that necklace."

  "What if he will not sell it to you?"

  "Who said I was going to pay for it?" muttered Tiera. Her to-do list was filling up fast, and what with having to murder the queen and extract ten guineas from a lying, double-crossing rat, she couldn't think of a better ally than a young man with boundless magical power and a strong desire to help her. If that meant lifting a necklace from someone who had no use for the thing, so be it.

  "But lady, I may become dangerous in the presence of perlstone. Once, when I was afflicted, I demolished a stone house with a gesture."

  "I know, you told me." Tiera patted him on the shoulder. "But lest you forget, when you were afflicted just now, you healed yourself."

  "This is so," murmured Thonn. Then he frowned. "But—"

  "Thonn, don't worry. I'll be around to guide your powers. Now wait here, and I'll get the innkeep to send up some food while I'm gone."

  — ♦ —

  Tiera slipped out of the tavern in near darkness. The sun had gone down, and merchants were packing up their stalls and heading home for the night. The healer had sold off his stock and was busy locking away his implements when she got there.

  "You again," he said, without much enthusiasm. "What is it this time? Another of your little pranks?"

  "No, I need a gift for a friend."

  "Big meat-eaters, are they? Well, you're out of luck. I just gave the last of it away to the needy."

  "Actually, I was taken by your necklace. It's the sort of thing this friend of mine would like."

  "Forget it," said the healer, taking the grey stone pendant and tucking it into his shirt. "This is a family heirloom. I'd sooner part with my right arm."

  "How about a golden guinea?"

  "How about you leave me alone?" Despite his tone, the healer eyed her with interest, trying to work out if she was good for the money.

  Tiera recognised his expression, and she realised the necklace was hers. It was just a question of how much, and how long they'd have to barter. "Sorry to trouble you," she said, turning away. "It was just a thought."

  He waited until she'd stepped over the threshold before he cracked. "Five guineas."

  "Five guineas?" said Tiera, astonished. "That would buy a house around these parts."

  "So? Maybe I need a new house."

  "Two is my final offer."

  The healer shook his head. "I've been thinking about the way that kid got healed so fast. It had a touch of magic about it, if you know what I mean. Be a shame if someone reported it to the guards, wouldn't it?"

  Tiera felt the stiletto in her sleeve. She was tempted to kill the man and take the necklace from his corpse, but while she might be a wanted murderer with hundreds of lives to her name, she wasn't a petty thief. Also, she knew he had no intention of reporting her. He was just a skilled negotiator. "Two guineas for the necklace, and another for your silence."

  "Done."

  He put his hand out, palm upwards, and Tiera shook it. "No, that was for the cash," he said.

  "Where do you live? I'll bring it by tonight."

  "Sure, and you'll end me in my own bed. Do I look that stupid?"

  "We've made a deal and I'll honour it. I give you my word."

  "You're not from around here, are you?" said the healer. "Spend a bit of time in this sewer of a city and you'll find out what someone's word is worth."

  "Fine. Meet me at the tavern after eleven. It's just me and the boy, and he's no trouble to anyone."

  "Eleven it is."

  "Bring anyone else, and none of you will see daylight again."

  "I thought you said the boy was no trouble?"

  Tiera smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Who's said anything about the boy?"

  Chapter 12

  After events in the city square concluded, the royal party retired to Lord Chylde's keep, which was a modest stone structure overlooking the barracks. There was a large dining hall flanked by a kitchen and the servants' quarters, and the party discussed matters of state until late in the evening, with particular attention on the other kingdoms.

  "King Elsmer is rallying his troops in the north-east," Sur Blyme told them, his mood sombre.

  "From whence this news?" demanded Lord Chylde.

  "I befriended one of their watch captains in a … a certain establishment, down by the river."

  "I know it well," said Sur Tainty. "Only by repute," he added quickly, as everyone looked at him.

  "This watch captain was a mine of information, easily pumped out of him by my tireless efforts." Sur Blyme examined his fingernails. "I would say they're planning a summer campaign, first against the Barks, and then, if successful, against our fair kingdom."

  "The Barks!" exclaimed the queen. "Who would confront those maniacs? Why, I hear they wed trees in those parts!"

  Varnish frowned at her. "Your Majesty, weren't you betrothed to their king?"

  Therstie reddened. "I was but a girl, and it was arranged by my father. Once I took the throne, the mistake was quickly rectified."

  "In any case, over-familiarity with trees is a filthy habit of a splinter faction, Your Majesty. In the main, the Barks are sensible folk, stout-hearted and reliable."

  "So reliable they hold my dear brother Tyniwon to ransom?"

  "That has not been established, and there has been no ransom. Indeed, it is possible he is dead."

  The queen frowned at him. "I will not believe such until I see his body."

  "Yes, Your Majesty. Let us pray that day never eventuates." Sur Blyme exchanged a glance with Lord Chylde. "As for the Kingdom of Darant, they seem content to remain within their borders."

  "Who wouldn't?" muttered Chylde. "As I recall, they are bordered by the icy wastes of the north and the Bark lands to the east.

  "Not forgetting the rocky wastes of the west … and the stone kingdom."

  "Populated by murderous rock trolls and those thrice-damned dwarves, respectively," finished Chylde. "Didn't they have a dragon problem, also?"

  Everyone was quiet, and in the sudden hush there was an audible licking of lips.

  "Indeed, my Lord. The hamlet of Yendour was beset by a ravenous beast known only as the Desolator."

  "Was?"

  "Apparently, three brave heroes dealt with the problem."

  "Slashed its head off and ate its remains, no doubt."

  "Possibly, although reports are sketchy. It is said there were three, and three was their number," intoned Sur Blyme.

  "Oh, for Zephyr's sake," muttered the queen. "Can't you report the news in a song, like everyone else does?"

  "Then we have need of a bard, Your Majesty."

  "Uncle, where is that singing man of yours? Does he still draw breath?"

  "Sudio, Your Majesty?"

  "Yes, that's the one. Bring out Sur Sudio, the bard."

  Chylde nodded t
o a servant, and a few moments later a portly, balding man stumbled into the hall, blinking owlishly. "Sudio, we wish you to recount the tale of the Desolator."

  "Really, sire? I have not performed such for many a year."

  "Well perform it now. The queen commands it."

  Sur Sudio nodded, and approached the table. His spine was twisted, his visage cragged and ancient, but when he opened his mouth and began, the sweet tone of his voice was beguiling.

  'This is the tale of a dragon, Oh!

  As big as a house and as hot as the sun

  Skin like bark and legs like trunks

  It's the DESOLATOR! Run, run, run!

  'For this is the tale of a dragon, Oh! ('Oh!' said the queen, getting into the spirit of the thing.)

  As mean as a rat and as old as a rock

  Ears like a bat and gnashers of flint

  It's the DESOLATOR, and he's after your flock!

  'For this is the tale of a dragon, Oh! ('OH!!' shouted everyone at the table.)

  And when he arrives, you're fresh out of luck.

  He'll snap up your maidens, virgins or whores

  It's the DESOLATOR, and he don't give a fudd!'

  Sur Sudio fell silent, and there was a round of rapturous applause. He looked pleased, and as he returned to his quarters there was a spring in his step.

  "Well, I believe it's time for bed," said the queen. "Tell me, where is my new champion, Sur Rogate?"

  "He is settled for the night, Your Majesty," said Lord Chylde. And well might he remain so, he thought.

  "I will speak with him presently," said the queen. The guest quarters were upstairs, and a few moments after the queen retired to freshen up, Lord Chylde decided it was time to put forward his plan. He followed her to the royal suite, and tapped on the door. "Your Majesty, might I have a word?"

  The queen was sitting on the edge of her bed, a glass of wine on the bedside table. "If you must."

  "I'm sorry, my queen. I know you must be tired, but this cannot wait."

  "In that case, proceed."

  "It's a matter of precedence. Your knighting of the barbarian, Hurm, may have been a little … premature."

  "I'm the queen," snapped Therstie. "I can do whatever I want."

  "Nevertheless, in order to qualify as a knight, this … Hurm … must complete a quest. It is written so."

  "Very well. He can fetch me a … a wild rabbit in the morning."

  "Majesty, I'm sorry, but his quest will be entered into the Book of Legends. Such a trifling errand will not win him the repute he so obviously desires." As he spoke the words, Chylde thought he might have gone a little too far. The barbarian clearly didn't have the wits to understand abstract concepts like honour and valour.

  The queen, however, hadn't noticed. "You're right. He needs to do something brave and heroic." Here, she frowned. "I should never have stopped the fight. He would have chopped Sur Loyne's head off."

  "One cannot dwell on matters past. However, I might be able to suggest a suitable quest."

  "What do you have in mind, uncle?"

  Chylde hesitated. He wanted to suggest a mission which would guarantee the big man would never return, such as invading the other three kingdoms and taking on their regents in single-handed combat. However, the queen would object, especially since the four kingdoms were currently at peace, so instead he picked something a little easier. "I believe Hurm is the ideal choice to mount an expedition to the west."

  "Really?"

  "Indeed. He should travel to the mountainous wastes, where he might secure a dragonling for Your Majesty's pleasure."

  "A dragon? For me?" Therstie's eyes shone, but then her face fell as she considered the dangers. "Won't that be difficult?"

  Chylde was pretty sure it would be suicidal, given the dragonling's parents would rip Hurm from limb to limb, before roasting the remains and feeding them to said dragonling in barbarian-flavoured chunks, but he didn't think this was the time to reveal such trifling matters. "Indeed, there is a degree of difficulty involved, but Sur Rogate is clearly a match for any dragon."

  "All right. He can set off first thing in the morning."

  "I believe he should prepare to leave this very eve."

  "No, he should rest this night."

  Chylde knew resting was the very opposite of what the queen had in mind for the big fighter, unless she meant Hurm was to rest on his elbows while he … Shaking his head, he dispelled the distressing image. There must be no heir, else Chylde's claim to the throne would become even more remote. "I believe Sir Rogate to be a religious man. He must be given time to pray before his perilous mission."

  "Fine. Instruct the temple to open at dawn."

  "He is more religious than that."

  Therstie thumped her fist on the bedside table, almost knocking the wine glass over. "Uncle, you try my patience."

  "I'm sorry, my queen, but you know how superstitious these barbarians can be. Without a night in quiet contemplation of the trials ahead, he may believe the mission to be doomed before it even begins. He may … refuse."

  "Nobody refuses the queen," said Therstie automatically. Then she sighed. "Very well. Tell him about the quest, and give him time to prepare. I will reward him amply upon his return."

  It was all Chylde could do to keep the relief out of his voice. "Indeed, majesty. I will attend to your wishes immediately."

  — ♦ —

  Between them, Lord Chylde and Sur Loyne had organised Hurm's sleeping quarters, which is how he ended up in a rat-infested stable with a pair of horses for company. Food and drink were clearly not included in the deal, and so Hurm chewed on a somewhat fruity piece of straw as he cleaned his mighty weapon.

  "Psst!"

  Hurm looked around for a talking rat, then realised such a thing was beyond the bounds of possibility. So, instead, he addressed the horse. "Yes? Hurm listening."

  "Are you alone?"

  Hurm looked around. He was indeed alone, and given the size of the stallion he was sharing the stables with, he wasn't sure he liked where this was going. On the other hand, he'd been told many times that lying was a Bad Thing. "Hurm alone."

  There was a rustle in the big pile of straw near the stable entrance, and Runt's face appeared. Father M's head and shoulders appeared alongside him, and Hurm looked at them in relief. "You are not horses."

  The two exchanged a glance. "Er, that's right Hurm. We're not." Father M stood up, brushing straw from his clothes. "I just wanted to congratulate you on your masterful infiltration of the queen's entourage."

  Hurm smiled at the wizard's kindly tone, even though the words were about as comprehensible as a whinny from the nearby horse.

  "Clearly we must take advantage of this turn of events," continued Father M. "When the queen invites you into her bedchamber, Runt will sneak in behind you and steal the necklace."

  "I'll do what now?" said Runt, who was far more intelligent than Hurm. Then again, so was the horse.

  "Oh, go on, it'll be easy. Hurm can wear my robes, and there'll be plenty of room underneath for you. After all, you do not have a large footprint."

  Runt shook his head. "I didn't get to my age by taking on suicide missions." He jerked a smallish thumb at Hurm. "Plus I'm not sneaking into the queen's chamber with my face in his buttocks."

  "Hurm not seeing queen," said the fighter. "Hurm given quest."

  "Oh? What quest?"

  Hurm dug around in his loincloth and fished out an elaborate scroll tied with red ribbon. Father M and Runt both looked at it, and at where it had been.

  "Alas for my aging eyes. I cannot read in this light," said the wizard. "Runt, will you read the scroll for me?"

  "What scroll?" said Runt, looking at the horse.

  "The scroll with the quest." With an effort, Father M pushed Hurm's hand away until it was under Runt's nose. "The one our noble companion is holding out to you."

  Defeated, Runt took the scroll gingerly, unrolling the parchment as though it had already done its
duty in the royal latrines. "Holy spit!" he exclaimed, as he read the flowery language. "Hurm's got to bring the queen a dragon! He is to leave at dawn, and they're going to chop his noggin off if he comes back empty-handed."

  Father M frowned. That put a spoke in the wheels of his plan, and no mistake. He'd been convinced the queen desired their companion for adventures in the bedchamber, and this new development was both unwelcome and unexpected. Then he spied the signature, and all became clear. "Lord Chylde! Clearly he wishes to keep Hurm away from the royal bedchamber."

  "Why?" asked Runt.

  Father M had no idea, but he didn't get a reputation as a wise old wizard by going around admitting he was stumped. "Matters of state," he said loftily. "You wouldn't understand."

  "Try me."

  "I assure you, the complex machinations would go right over your head."

  "Are you trying to be funny?" demanded the halfling.

  By now, Father M had given himself enough time to consider Chylde's motivations, and he shared the most likely. "If the queen dies childless, Lord Chylde will be crowned king. Therefore, she needs an heir to consolidate her position."

  "So she gets to sleep around until she's up the duff?"

  "I doubt the High Chamber would couch the matter in such terms, but yes."

  "And her uncle is trying to keep suitors away from her?"

  "Indeed. Hence this impossible quest for our, er, ex-companion."

  Runt frowned. "What do you mean, ex? We're a party! We stick together through thick and thin!"

  "He's going to be eaten by a dragon," said Father M.

  "Hmm." Runt scratched his chin. "Supper for two at the tavern, then an early night?"

  "A capital idea."

  They both got up. "Bye Hurm," said Runt.

  "Good luck with the dragon," said Father M.

  Runt snorted, and together they strolled off into the night.

  Alone once more, Hurm rolled up the parchment and tucked it into his loincloth. He was hungry and thirsty, and the straw was uncomfortable, but according to his good friends and travelling companions, the queen had entrusted him with an important task. He resolved to set aside discomfort and sleep as best he could, for on the morrow he would gather his belongings and embark on the quest of his life.