A Portion of Dragon and Chips

by Simon Haynes

  Runt objected. "I think I'd rather walk."

  "Do what you please," snapped Tiera. "It's your fault we all fell in."

  "I thought your all-powerful wizard was going to crush me like a bug," said Runt.

  "Who needs a wizard for that?" said Tiera, and Runt shut his mouth and clambered into the boat.

  They set off again, and the sun warmed their skin and dried their clothes. Tiera took her position at the front of the boat and kept an eye out for signs of danger amongst the trees.

  Half an hour later they rounded a bend and saw a rough wooden jetty extending into the river, with a couple of flat-bottomed boats tied up. Beyond, extending from the shoreline, was a collection of well-kept wooden huts. Chickens scratched in the dirt out front, and there were flourishing herb gardens and vegetable patches. A couple of children were playing near the water, and as one of them saw the boat, she raised a hand and waved. The other ran into a nearby hut.

  Tiera caught Runt and Thonn's attention. "Don't show any weapons. They might be friendly."

  "I don't have a weapon," said Thonn, who sounded a little aggrieved the others had at least two each. Runt's suggestion that he sharpen up a stick to use as a spear had been met with the disdain it deserved.

  The child returned with an adult in tow, and Tiera saw the woman studying the group in the boat with open suspicion. She had a wooden club in one hand, and from the look on her face she was prepared to use it. "We're just passing by!" shouted Tiera. "We mean you no harm."

  The woman was joined by an elderly man, and the two of them had a heated discussion. Then the man cupped his hands to his mouth. "Can we sell you any supplies? We have food, and we're in need of coin."

  Without waiting for an answer, Runt grabbed a pole and started pushing the boat towards the jetty.

  "It might be a trap," muttered Tiera.

  "You think they'll spring a trap with little kids around?"

  "Kids? I thought they were halflings."

  Runt shot her a venomous look, but Tiera realised he was right. Even if there were half a dozen armed men waiting to pour out of the huts, the kids would be in the thick of any fight. Still, she kept one hand on the sword at her waist as the boat crossed the river on a diagonal.

  Their hull thudded into the worn timbers, and Thonn stepped onto the jetty with the bow rope in one hand. He tied it fast, and then Runt and Tiera stepped out.

  "Please leave your weapons in the boat," called the woman, who was waiting where the jetty joined the shore. "We don't want any trouble."

  "Neither do we," said Tiera. "For all we know, this is a trap."

  Thonn held his hands out. "I am unarmed," he called to the woman. "If you permit me, I will approach and barter for food. My travelling companions can watch from here."

  The woman nodded, and after Runt grudgingly gave him a few coins he'd liberated from the robbers the night before, Thonn strode along the jetty towards the settlement.

  "I wish we had a bow," muttered Tiera.

  "And I wish you had some money," said Runt. "I was saving that for ale."

  — ♦ —

  Spadell eyed the two guards standing to attention in his office. Pentonville and Islington looked nervous, and no wonder, since Lord Chylde had personally ordered their arrest and punishment. They weren't even sure what they'd done wrong, but they were certain they were going to be sorry for it.

  Spadell knew their punishment had already been written into the book, but he had no intention of revealing this minor detail. He needed leverage over the men, for he had a vital task for them. "You don't know this, but Lord Chylde asked me to hang the pair of you."

  "Sir?" Pentonville stared at him, clearly frightened, and Islington didn't look any happier. "W-we don't even—"

  Spadell raised a hand for silence. "I'm not hanging good men," he said calmly, and he suppressed a stab of guilt as the two of them looked almost pathetically grateful. He didn't like this, he didn't like it at all, but he had to tidy up a loose end and he couldn't take care of it himself. "There's a woman called Tiera, a trained assassin. She's the reason you're both in trouble."

  "But why, sir? We patrol the beach!"

  "That's how she entered the city," lied Spadell smoothly. "You should have detained her, instead of fooling around with this metal man."

  "W-we thought it was important," said Pentonville.

  "Yes, and thanks to you Lord Chancellor Regis was assassinated last night. Surely his life was more important than some animated statue?"

  The two guards nodded.

  "Right. So I'm giving you both a vital mission. You will hunt down this Tiera and put her to death. No arrest, no capture, just swift justice."

  "Yessir," said Islington.

  "We will scour the city until we find her," said Pentonville. "Rest assured she will never be seen again."

  "Your task won't be that easy," said Spadell. "I believe she's left the city already, and is travelling west, to Last Hope. You will use this money to buy supplies, arm yourselves, and set off in pursuit." Spadell tossed them a small leather pouch, which clinked as Islington caught it. "No uniforms, no weapons from the city guard, no armour. Is that clear? This is a stealth mission."

  The two guards exchanged a glance, and it was clear what they were thinking. This mission could take weeks, with absolutely no guarantee of success. Travelling the wilds alone, without official orders could end very badly indeed. "Sir …" began Pentonville.

  "Yes?"

  "I don't suppose we could have the flogging instead?"

  "Maybe a month or two in jail?" added Islington.

  "Are you refusing my direct orders?" said Spadell softly.

  Islington swallowed, and shook his head.

  "N-no sir," said Pentonville quickly. "We'll do as you ask."

  "Not a word of this to anyone," said Spadell. "It's between you and me. Understood?"

  "Yessir!"

  Spadell took a scroll from his drawer and held it out. "Officially, you've resigned from the guards after years of faultless service, and you're heading to Last Hope to join their garrison. There's a letter of commendation in here from me."

  "Wh-what should I tell my wife?" asked Islington. "Without my pay, well …"

  Spadell thought for a moment, then smiled. "I'll make sure she's taken care of." And with that, he gestured at the door. "Go and buy what you need, for you leave in one hour. And don't even think of fleeing, because I have spies everywhere."

  The two of them left, and Spadell sat back in his chair. They were good men, and he didn't like manipulating them in this fashion, but he had to dispose of Tiera. With her, Lord Varnish would have a hold over him for all time. Without her, the spy master had nothing but rumour and suspicion.

  Chapter 26

  Thonn returned to the boat with a couple of sacks over his shoulder. Inside were several loaves of bread, half a wheel of cheese, a couple of dozen eggs carefully wrapped in cloth, and a pitcher of milk with a wooden stopper. There was also a decent chunk of ham and a bag with crisp red apples.

  "That'll do nicely," said Runt. "But what are the rest of you going to eat?"

  Tiera stared at him, and Runt gave her a cheeky wink. Until now, the halfling had been more of a pain than a useful member of the group, but for the first time, she realised he might actually make a decent travelling companion. "I might save you another crust," she said with a smile, "as long as you don't go through my pockets."

  As they went over the haul of food, Tiera realised they'd got amazing value for money, since Runt had only given Thonn a few coppers. "You got a pretty good deal," she said. "What did you do, charm them or something?"

  Thonn looked uncomfortable. "They didn't take our money. They, er, wanted a favour instead."

  Runt and Tiera stared at him. "What did you promise?"

  "The settlement is called Breen, and they're being harassed by a group of fugitives. I said we'd take care of the problem."

  "Oh, you did, did you?" Tiera crossed her arms.
"Just you and your magic powers, is that it?"

  "I kind of thought the two of you would help," said Thonn. "I mean, that bread is really nice, and—"

  "Give me strength," muttered Tiera.

  "It's not my fault! They told me these criminals regularly come to the settlement to steal their food, and they beat anyone who tries to stop them. They've already killed two innocent people, and I—I thought we could put a stop to it."

  "That's what life is like in these places," said Tiera angrily. "The strong take advantage of the weak, and there's nothing anyone can do about it."

  "Should we take the food back, then?" asked Thonn.

  "Let's not be hasty," said Runt quickly. He'd already caught a scent of the fresh ham, and the smell had made his mouth water. He could hear the eggs sizzling in a pan, and he could taste the creamy milk, and the idea of giving it all up was too much to bear. Of course, they could just row away, stealing the food, but even he wasn't that low. "How many enemies do they reckon there are?"

  "Five, maybe six. They were being transported to Chatter's Reach for execution, but they killed their guards and escaped. They have a camp half an hour from here, further downstream."

  "So they'll have weapons and armour, and they'll do anything to retain their freedom," said Tiera. "Great. Just great."

  "Looks like we're going to run into them anyway," said Runt. "I vote we kill these guys for the Breen eggs and ham."

  "I agree," said Thonn.

  Tiera was silent. All she wanted was keep her head down and make a quiet getaway from Chatter's Reach. Getting involved in some petty dispute was the last thing she needed. On the other hand, Thonn had already made a promise to the people of Breen, and Runt seemed eager to help. Plus the food really did smell good. "All right, I'm in." She looked along the jetty and saw the woman with the older man standing side by side. Slowly, Tiera raised her hand and waved, and the two of them nodded and waved back. Then she got into the boat, and they cast off.

  "How are we going to do this?" she asked Runt. "We're outnumbered and they'll see us coming. If they've got ranged weapons we won't get within a hundred yards of them."

  The halfling scratched his chin. "Two choices. One, hide the boat and approach them on foot." He indicated the mule. "We could pretend to be travelling merchants, and try to get the drop on them before they get suspicious."

  "What's the other idea?"

  "We approach them in the boat, pretend to be travelling merchants, and—"

  "You only have one plan, don't you?"

  Runt shrugged. "Travelling merchants make great cover."

  "Then why exaggerate? That's no way to impress a woman."

  "I learned that long ago," said Runt sadly.

  Tiera eyed the nearby forest. There was dense growth under the trees and it would probably take all day to fight their way through it. The boat was clearly the quicker option, but also far more dangerous. Then she shrugged. Taking the easy option just led to a long and boring life. "We go by boat. We'll try the merchant stunt, and hope it gets us close enough to finish this off before they realise what we're up to. Thonn, you stay in the boat and keep out of sight. If anything goes wrong …" her voice tailed off. If anything went wrong they were on their own. "If we don't make it, take the boat and … well, try and get away." She thought about the gold coins in her boot, and decided it would be a shame if they ended up with the bandits. If she got the chance, she'd ask Thonn to look after the purse, provided Runt didn't learn of her stash. Travelling companions they might be, but she was certain the halfling would cut her throat for ten gold guineas. Truth be told, she was pretty sure he'd cut her throat for a handful of coppers.

  Their plans made, such as they were, they cast off from the jetty and sat patiently while the boat carried them down the river to their almost inevitable doom.

  — ♦ —

  Night had fallen, and Father M was feeling less than content as he chewed on a mouthful of overcooked squirrel. Oh, arranging the meal had been easy, since he'd snapped his fingers and every creature within fifty yards, humans fortunately excluded, had dropped dead on the spot. They'd had a veritable smorgasbord to choose from, from hedgehog to rabbit to particularly tasty snails.

  The small pile of message scrolls they'd collected from the squirrels, prior to roasting the creatures above a roaring fire, had made for entertaining reading, and Father M had stashed them away as potential blackmail material.

  Neither of these matters troubled him in the slightest. No, what bugged him was the metal man sitting opposite, the flames flickering and gleaming off its burnished alloy skin. Well-travelled and knowledgeable though he might be, Father M had never heard of such a creature, and such a large gap in his knowledge was troubling. It was proof he didn't know everything, and should anyone discover this staggering fact his reputation would be worthless. Why, people might as well ask Hurm for advice, and the fighter couldn't conjugate a verb to save his life.

  Meanwhile, Millie was looking at Clunk too. "You're very quiet," she said.

  "His type doesn't speak much," said Father M, with an air of knowing exactly what he was talking about.

  "You have encountered such men before?" Millie asked him, surprised.

  Father M saw Clunk looking at him, one eyebrow raised, and realised he'd gone too far. "Er, no. But it's obvious from his demeanour."

  "I could say the same about Hurm."

  They both looked at the fighter, who was oblivious to the attention. He was busy eating the roast squirrels, one after another, pausing now and then to spit small bones into the crackling fire. His face was blank, unconcerned, which wasn't surprising because his brain could only handle one task at a time.

  "How will you capture a dragon?" asked Millie suddenly. "There are but two of you, and you have no cage."

  "I am wise in the ways of dragon taming," said Father M loftily. "They are simple-minded creatures, and I will have no trouble imposing my will on them, particularly the younger specimens." He nodded at Hurm. "The biggest problem will be getting the dragonling back to the palace before Hurm cooks its flesh and eats it."

  "Why would he do such a thing?" asked Millie in surprise.

  Father M glanced at her. "There speaks one who has never tasted dragon."

  "Those leathery things? Who'd want to?"

  "Me, for one," said Father M, with a faraway look in his eyes. "Roast dragon, dragon pies, dragon soup … and I was particularly fond of these delectable little pastries with minced dragon and garlic filling." He glanced at Hurm, who was still stuffing his face with squirrel. "Nothing has tasted half as good since then."

  "Say you bring back this dragon for the queen. What will that achieve?"

  "Hurm will become the new champion, and if he succeeds in giving the queen an heir … well, let's just say I want to be on that particular gravy cart."

  "Train," said Clunk.

  "What?"

  "Gravy train, not gravy cart."

  "You are incorrect."

  The robot shrugged. "I may not remember much, but I do have an extensive vocabulary."

  "Extensive, perhaps, but incorrect nonetheless."

  Clunk was silent, and Father M felt a flash of irritation. What was the point of starting an argument if the other party gave up at the first hurdle? Truth be told, he missed Runt's company. The halfling was a massive pain in the arse, but at least he gave as good as he got. "You two didn't see a halfling on your travels, did you?" he asked hopefully. "He was travelling with a cage on his ass."

  "Why does he have a—" began Millie.

  "He means mule," said Clunk, with a sidelong glance at Father M. "But tell me, what is a halfling?"

  "He's one of the little folk, so named because half the people who meet them immediately wish they hadn't. Bad-tempered bigots, usually."

  "The people who meet them?" asked Millie.

  Father M shook his head. "The halflings. This particular specimen is called Runt."

  "After his father?"

&nb
sp; "No, after some particularly inept calligraphy on his birth certificate. Let's just say he was not welcomed into his family with open arms."

  "Poor little fellow," said Millie.

  "Now I know for certain you have never laid eyes on him, for a meeting with Runt evokes loathing, not sympathy."

  — ♦ —

  It had taken all day, but the queen's carriage finally arrived at the royal castle, the team of horses flecked with sweat after the steep climb to the top of the hill. Their hooves clattered on the drawbridge, and they slowed as they pulled the carriage beneath the iron portcullis which protected the castle from enemies.

  They finally came to a halt, right in the middle of the main courtyard, and servants rushed forward to open the doors and unfold the steps so their queen might alight from her carriage in style.

  "Welcome home, Your Majesty," said the castle commander, bowing deeply.

  "Thank you, Tammish. Anything to report?"

  "Nothing, ma'am. It's been peaceful, no trouble at all."

  "Excellent. I trust my bath is ready?"

  "From the moment your carriage was sighted, Your Majesty."

  At that moment, there was a cry from the gate, and the queen heard hooves thundering across the drawbridge. She saw a rider in rough travelling clothes, wearing a rakish hat and what looked to be a very elaborate sword.

  Two guards stepped forward, barring the rider's way, and he reined in his horse with a theatrical flourish. The animal reared, and the rider controlled it with one hand while doffing his hat to the queen with the other. If he'd had a third hand, he'd most likely have twirled his moustaches. "Your Majesty, I bear news from King Larch."

  "Let him through," called the queen.

  Varnish frowned. "Your highness, he may be an assassin."

  "I'm sure you'll give your life to save mine," said the queen tartly. "Now do as I said."

  After a moment's hesitation, Varnish gestured at the guards. The rider spurred his mount onwards, right into the square, then tossed the reins to Varnish and dismounted. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and the queen couldn't help noticing his honey-coloured eyes and chiselled features. She decided he looked more like royalty than some travelling messenger, and her heart sank at the realisation. If the news were good, King Larch would have sent any old messenger. To send a noble … that could only mean bad news.