A Portion of Dragon and Chips

by Simon Haynes

  "It is about your brother, Your Majesty."

  "Half-brother," murmured Varnish.

  "Tyniwon?" said Therstie anxiously. "What news? Has he … fallen?"

  "Nay, Your Majesty. He is very much upright, by all accounts."

  "That sounds like my dear brother," said the queen.

  "Half-brother," muttered Varnish.

  The queen rounded on him. "If you don't cut the backchat, I'll make you half a lord," she snapped.

  Varnish bowed deeply. "I apologise, Your Majesty. I was merely observing royal protocol."

  "Leave my sight this instant, or you'll observe the royal boot."

  Still bowing, Varnish backed away, almost tripping over a pile of baggage. As he turned to leave, he shot the queen a glance brimming with venom, and it was lucky for his health that she was far more interested in the messenger.

  "Tell me, sire, what is your name?"

  "I am Fiyne Grayn of Planktown."

  "Surely that's Lord Grayn?"

  "I have the good fortune to be a prince, Your Majesty."

  "Married?"

  Grayn smiled. "Not yet, ma'am."

  "Excellent. We will discuss your family tree over dinner. In the meantime, do tell me about my brother."

  "My king was eager to let you know that Lord Tyniwon has been living amongst the locals. Indeed, he has been living with many of the locals, mostly their wives and daughters."

  "It's a shame he wasn't tasked with extending the royal line," said Therstie, with a frown. "We'd have to build a dozen palaces to house his offspring."

  Grayn smiled. "Quality over quantity, that's what I always say."

  "I like a bit of quality myself." The queen hesitated. "When does Tyniwon return from Bark lands?"

  "I have no knowledge of his plans. Last I heard, he'd only just been found, and I was despatched immediately to set your mind at rest."

  "Thank you, that was indeed kind of you." The queen frowned. "I suppose I should go and fetch him, although I am weary of travel."

  "The king would appreciate your visit. Perhaps I might escort you?"

  The queen saw Sur Loyne approaching. He was frowning at the newcomer, and the queen sighed as she recognised the way her champion bristled with jealousy. "Actually, I have a better idea." She beckoned to a courtier, bid the woman find the messenger a suitable room, and then turned to Sur Loyne with a welcoming and somewhat calculating smile. "Sur Loyne, you look exhausted. You must rest this instant."

  "Nonsense, Your Majesty. It was but half a day's ride, and I would be of little use as a knight if I were not able to ride for many such days."

  The queen heard the trap closing on her victim. "I'm glad to hear it, because I need you to fetch Lord Tyniwon for me."

  "He's still alive?" said Sur Loyne.

  "Indeed. I just received the good news, and I'm eager to be reunited with my brother."

  "I thought he was only your half brother?"

  "He is of the royal line, and you will do well to remember it."

  Sur Loyne nodded, chastened. "I suppose he has been discovered in a tavern at Chatter's Reach? If that is the case, I will return with him before sun-up."

  "He's not in Chatter's Reach."

  "One of the outlying villages, then. Hiding from his creditors, no doubt. A longer journey, but well within my range."

  Slowly, the queen shook her head. "He's with King Larch, of the Barks."

  "In Branche, their capital?" Loyne's jaw dropped. "But that's two days ride, through bandit-infested forests, and —"

  "Then I will see you in four days. Safe journeys, Sur Loyne."

  "But I will need time to gather troops, and—"

  "Fiyne Grayn managed the journey on his own," said the queen sweetly. "Of course, he's a prince, and I don't suppose they need bodyguards and such."

  Sur Loyne's jaw tightened. "I am more than a match for a moustachioed Bark, Your Majesty. I will find a fresh horse and depart immediately. If I ride hard, I will return in three days."

  Therstie bid him farewell, then went off to take her bath and organise some hard riding of her own. The Barks were renowned for their wood, and she was keen to find out what Prince Grayn had to offer in that line.

  Chapter 27

  Sur Loyne was in a foul mood as he strode towards the stables to secure a fresh mount, for it was obvious his queen wanted him dead. Why else would she send him on this perilous journey alone?

  On the way he heard a clash of swords, and he paused to watch a training fight between a couple of lesser knights. One, Sur Kah, was a bookish type who was overly fond of rote learning. He could bore a man to tears by reeling off the dates of every event, no matter how trivial, and his knowledge spanned the Old Kingdom's entire history. The other, Sur Pryze, was a cunning fighter who always seemed to get the drop on his enemy.

  As he watched them fight, Sur Loyne hatched a devious plan. Why should he travel alone through the wilderness, while these two wasted their lives with pointless swordplay? "Sur Pryze!" he shouted, and both men turned to look. "The queen commands you. Attend me this instant."

  The knights lowered their swords, and as soon as Sur Kah's back was turned, the second knight kicked him in the back of the knee and put him in a choke hold.

  "Sur Pryze!" snapped Loyne.

  "My thoughts exactly," said the knight. He released his opponent and helped him up, his lively eyes sparkling with good humour. "Well fought, Sur Kah. You almost had me that time."

  Loyne waited until they were settled, then began. "The queen has news. Her brother is living in Branche, the Bark capital, and we are to retrieve him."

  "What, just the three of us?" said Sur Pryze, in surprise.

  "I know, I know. A larger party would be so much better, but the queen insists." Sur Loyne waved a crumpled scroll at them. "Our orders are clear. Fetch your horses, for we leave immediately."

  "You know, three knights went on a similar quest on this very date, in the year 738," said Sur Kah. "It seems the queen is keen to relive that successful mission."

  "Er, yes. I'm sure that's it," said Sur Loyne. He was only glad the other two hadn't demanded to read the scroll, for it was merely a voucher entitling him to twenty percent off his next sword sharpening. For a moment he'd been tempted to send them off alone, hiding out in his lodgings until they returned, but he felt that was pushing things a little too far.

  "Can we not wait until morning?" asked Sur Pryze. "It will be dark soon, and travelling late at night—"

  "If you're not ready in five minutes, you'll be the only late knight around here," growled Sur Loyne. "And if anyone asks, tell them we're going hunting. It's vital we keep our mission a secret."

  The other two nodded, and together they entered the stable to select horses for their journey. "What about provisions?" asked Sur Kah. "Numerous quests have failed due to starvation over the years, including those of 622, 845, and—"

  "There's a tavern twenty leagues to the north," said Sur Loyne. "We'll stop there this eve, and purchase what we need before continuing at dawn."

  The other two nodded. Twenty leagues wasn't overly taxing, and they both knew the tavern well. They all mounted up, and with a glitter of armour and a clop of hooves, they left the castle via the main gate.

  Once they were on the main road, heading north, Sur Loyne began to feel a lot more positive about his mission. If they took it easy, travelling from tavern to tavern, the entire trip would be like an extended booze-up. Most taverns had soft beds, with soft women to warm them, and three knights travelling together would deter all but the most hardened bandits, criminals and renegades. As for those, that was the reason Sur Loyne had chosen the fastest horse in the stables.

  — ♦ —

  In Chatter's Reach, Islington and Pentonville were having a much tougher time mounting their own little expedition. Swords were hard to come by, since there was little demand, and those poor specimens they did manage to turn up hadn't been worth a tenth of the asking price.

  I
n the end, Islington suggested they walk into the barracks and help themselves to a couple of regular swords.

  "The captain said to buy weapons," objected Pentonville, as they entered the courtyard which led to the barracks. "He didn't want us to use guard equipment, since we're supposed to be travelling under cover."

  "If we buy weapons, we won't have any money left." Islington shrugged. "Anyway, there's plenty of guard swords in the wilds. Every deserter takes a couple with them."

  "What if they think we're about to do a runner?" Pentonville felt his neck. "I have no wish to meet the noose."

  Islington ignored his protests, and five minutes later they were in familiar surroundings. Several of the other guards nodded to them, and if they thought it was strange Islington and Pentonville were in civvies, they didn't comment on it.

  Islington selected a couple of swords from the rack. They had notched blades, the wrapping on one of the hilts was coming loose, and they hadn't been sharpened for half a century. "They're still better than anything for sale in the city," he said, noticing his companion's doubtful expression. "Anyway, we're going up against a woman with a stiletto. How hard can it be?"

  "The Chancellor was murdered with a stiletto," Pentonville pointed out. "Whoever did that scaled his tower, took him out in his own quarters, and evaded the entire city guard afterwards."

  "A coincidence, I'm sure." Even so, Islington checked the rack again, in case there was a better weapon to be found. There wasn't. Next, they went to a rack of bows, where they each selected a shortbow and a quiver full of arrows.

  "What are you doing, you 'orrible pair?" shouted a voice behind them. The volume was loud, the tone more than capable of splitting solid rock. "Ten … 'hun!"

  Islington and Pentonville stood to attention while sergeant Showt, for it was he, came to stare into their eyes from a distance of three inches. His face was beetroot red, and his short-cropped hair looked like a field of corn stubble. "Do my h'eyes deceive me, or h'are you pair of maggots helping yourselves to my property?" he bellowed.

  "Please sir—"

  "Did I tell you to open your pie hole, maggot? No, I did not!" The sergeant's bloodshot eyes were so close Islington could see the veins pulsing. He wanted to explain, but he also wanted to live. So, he kept quiet.

  "Bows and h'arrows, and two of me best swords," yelled the sergeant. "And no roster in sight for h'either of you. Do you know what this looks like?"

  "Please s-sir—" began Pentonville.

  "Shut up!" shouted the sergeant, standing nose-to-nose with the shorter man. "You will talk when I give the order, not before!"

  "Yessir!"

  Showt closed his eyes. "What did you say?" he demanded, his voice deadly calm.

  "Nothing, sir."

  "Nothing is what you are, maggot. An insignificant pile of nothing, living a nothing life in this Zephyr-damned hellhole of a nothing city. Do I make myself clear?"

  Pentonville wisely said nothing, for the sergeant was really worked up now. Islington felt for him, but he was also grateful the sergeant wasn't shouting in his own face.

  "You!" shouted the sergeant, whirling suddenly and jabbing his thick, tobacco-stained finger at Islington's nose. "Explain!"

  "W-we're on a top secret mission," said Islington. "C-c-captain Spadell t-told us to follow a woman and k-kill her. She's f-fleeing to Last Hope."

  "He asked you two?" demanded the sergeant, taken aback. "You maggots barely know one h'end of a sword from the h'other. Why on Zephyr's holy sack would the captain send you two?"

  "I-it's to punish us," said Pentonville.

  "Did I ask you to speak?" shouted the sergeant. He raised one of the swords, turning the blade in the torchlight, and Pentonville blanched as the tip hovered near his earlobe. "Well, you can't take this rubbish on a secret mission," said the sergeant gruffly. "Come with me and I'll tool you up properly."

  — ♦ —

  Thirty minutes later Pentonville and Islington were weighted down with half the contents of the sergeant's secret weapon stash. There were curved swords liberated from invaders who'd clearly failed to invade, a pair of elven bows with two quivers of slim, deadly arrows each, and two particularly deadly knives with curious grey gems set into the pommels. They also had shiny new shields, sculpted armour and matching headgear.

  They bade farewell to their new best friend, who threw them a perfect salute, then obtained horses and rode out through the city gates.

  "This stuff's worth a fortune," remarked Pentonville, as he admired the handiwork on the elven bow. "Why d'you think he gave it to us?"

  "It's probably been lying around for years," said Islington, with a shrug. "I mean, we can't arm our own people with it, can we? The city guard would look like a rag-tag bunch of mercenaries, instead of a well-drilled fighting force. No, he's probably glad to get rid of it."

  For a while they travelled in silence. Silence, that is, apart from the noise of the horses' hooves and the clink and squeak of their weapons and armour.

  "I thought he was going to come with us," said Islington at last.

  Pentonville shuddered. The sergeant was a hard-bitten soldier with years of experience, but he was also loud, obnoxious and a heavy drinker. With him at their side, they'd be involved in more fights than a fairground boxer. Fortunately the sergeant's duties kept him safely in the barracks, and although the man had sighed wistfully at the thought of a missed adventure, he'd not been able to join them.

  Soon they reached the river, where they led the horses across before mounting up on the far side. They entered the woods at a canter, eager to catch up with their prey.

  Chapter 28

  Tiera kept an eye on the bank as the boat navigated the peaceful river. They were heading west, roughly speaking, and the setting sun was getting in her eyes, making it hard to pick out details in the shadows beneath the trees. The woods were silent and oppressive, and she was wondering whether it wouldn't be smarter to look the other way, at the left-hand bank. Then, if they sailed right past the fugitives' camp, she could claim she hadn't seen the thing. She was having second thoughts about the wisdom of fighting half a dozen armed men, especially as the Breen settlers had already given her party the sack of food which was intended as a reward. But no, she'd given her word. Fight they must.

  "Hail, travellers!" said a loud voice, carrying easily across the water.

  Tiera saw a man in the trees. He was wearing a dented metal chest plate, and he had one hand on the hilt of his sword. Slowly, she raised her hand in greeting.

  "Where are you bound?" asked the man.

  "We are travelling merchants, heading for the city of Last Hope."

  The man laughed. "You'll be travelling a long time, merchants, since that river will only take you out to sea."

  "This is but one step in our journey."

  "What's the cage for?" asked the man, nodding at the mule.

  "We trade in exotic animals," said Tiera. She decided a small part of the truth wouldn't hurt. "We intend to bring back a dragonling for a very important customer."

  "You're going to need a bigger cage," said the man drily.

  "For the last time," snapped Runt. "That's the biggest cage I could buy!"

  "Steady, little one," said the man, with a good-natured chuckle. "I meant no insult."

  "None taken," said Runt, through gritted teeth.

  "Won't you stop a while and rest with us?" The man held up a wine skin. "We have a cooking fire, and food and drink to spare."

  "Of course they do," muttered Runt. "They just stole it from the—"

  Tiera motioned him to silence. "That is a kind offer, sir, but we must travel onwards."

  The man eyed the boat thoughtfully, obviously calculating the distance from the shore. Then he shrugged. "Farewell, then. And good luck with your dragons." And with that, he vanished into the woods.

  The boat carried them onwards, and Tiera turned to the others. "He's gone to organise an ambush."

  "They can't touch us out her
e," said Runt languidly.

  "Really? Did you not see the sling hanging from his belt?"

  Runt sat up quickly. "What?"

  "He had a sling. It was roughly-made, but if four or five of them launch a barrage of stones at us … we will not survive long."

  "We have to get out of here!" said Runt urgently.

  Tiera nodded, and together they poled the boat towards the opposite bank. There was a fallen tree by the shore, and after they clambered out, they hid the boat amongst its weed-covered branches. Then they retreated from the shoreline, mule in tow.

  "What's the plan?" asked Runt.

  "Right now? Not getting killed." Tiera glanced down-river. "It will be dark soon, and they will not find us at night. We will rest until the early hours, then cross the river and seek their camp."

  "How are we going to find them in darkness?" asked Thonn.

  "You won't, since you will stay here with our goods." Tiera raised her hand. "No arguments. Runt and I are accustomed to this work, while you are not."

  Thonn said nothing, but there was a stubborn look on his face.

  "I mean it," said Tiera. "Leave the mule here alone, and it might bray and warn the enemy. You must keep it quiet."

  Thonn could see the wisdom in this, and he reluctantly backed down.

  "So," said Runt. "We follow our eyes and noses to their campfire, take care of any sentries, then … ffft." Here, he drew his thumb across his throat. "Afterwards, we grab any valuables and head back to the boat."

  "It does seem the only way," admitted Tiera. She could not imagine persuading the band of fugitives to leave the area, not without a larger show of strength, and even if she did so, they'd simply prey on another settlement. No, a stealthy strike under cover of darkness was the answer. "If we're lucky, they'll drink to excess and the task will be all the easier."

  Runt cracked his knuckles. "Sounds good to me. Winning a fight is so much easier when your enemy is asleep, drunk or unconcious."