He reached out and brushed the golden hilt with his fingertips. There was a flash, an electric crack. Ben gripped harder as a tingling heat saturated his veins.
It felt like… bloody hell! It felt like making love with Lyle, though devoid of the carnal stimulation and intimacy. Whatever magic Lyle drew from the tides and moon, this sword brimmed with it, though Ben hadn't time to relish the delightful memories it summoned.
He stowed the heavy sword in his pack, although the hilt stuck out at an awkward angle and would doubtless clonk the back of his head when he hauled the bag onto his back. Then he wriggled back down the tunnel, shoving his prize ahead of him, and hastened to find the third and final passage.
Chapter Thirteen
As soon as Ben passed through the hidden door, he knew he'd entered a different realm.
A high-ceilinged corridor swept before him; polished silver-grey stone glistened like marble under the swing of his flashlight. He padded forward, wincing when his rubber soles squeaked against the smooth surface. He wondered if he should wait for Cully, though there was still no obvious sign of life, until suddenly he caught the whiff of smoke. He ground to a halt at the entrance to an airy cavern, lit by several crackling braziers.
As he scanned the cavern, wonder mingled with his dread. The natural roof had been hacked to resemble palatial vaults, an impressive but uneven mishmash of arches and ribs. A disorganized army of sculptures leered from every bulge in the rock—sharks, porpoises, warlike merfolk brandishing staffs, and many, many dragons. He ought to turn back…
Then Ben spied Lyle, sprawled on his front at the base of a stone pillar with his face pressed into the crook of his arm. He wore only the thin white t-shirt that he swam in, and though it reached to his thighs, he looked exposed and horribly vulnerable.
Catching his breath, Ben rushed across the chamber and gently flipped Lyle over so he cradled Lyle's head and shoulders in his lap. Lyle felt limp and heavy; his eyes were open, but blank and lifeless, the irises faded to grey. A thick metal collar about half an inch thick was clamped about his neck, and for a sickening moment, Ben feared he was dead.
"Lyle?" Ben shrugged the overstuffed rucksack from his back, and rocked Lyle urgently. Something in Lyle's focus sharpened a little and his lips parted, snatching a shallow gasp. The tip of one of his fins beat the shiny floor. "It's okay, baby, I've got you." Ben struggled to keep his voice steady as desolation smashed through him. "I'm going to get you out of here."
Lyle nodded faintly, and Ben snatched some comfort in the fact Lyle's wits hadn't fled completely. The collar terrified him, though. It had bitten cruelly into Lyle's skin, leaving it raw and abraded.
The device was locked in place by a simple catch that anybody could pry apart, even the wearer. It had to be magic—some infernal contraption, which Lyle couldn't remove, and that kept him here without the need for guards.
Ben brushed a comforting kiss across Lyle's forehead. "Do you want me to try and take that thing off?"
"I don't know," murmured Lyle. "Hurts too much when I try... and she'll be back soon."
Ben read that as a "yes", and whoever "she" was, he didn't want to hang around and find out. Keeping his hands steady as he could, and praying it wasn't some sort of magic booby-trap, he released the clasp. The collar snapped open. Ben pried it off, carefully avoiding scraping Lyle's grazed skin. Once the thing was gone, Lyle exhaled a shuddering sigh, and his whole demeanour softened as he visibly relaxed.
"Better now?" asked Ben. Lyle nodded slightly. "What was that thing doing to you?"
"Draining my ability to draw… magic." Lyle's lashes fluttered shut. Recalling Cully's theory that another blow to Lyle's powers could prove fatal, Ben mustered every ounce of his courage not to wilt with grief. He had to stay strong.
"I'm sorry, but I need you awake." Ben tapped Lyle's cheek lightly. When Lyle didn't stir, Ben slapped him harder, rousing him. Ben hooked his hands under Lyle's shoulder, and following some wriggling and scrambling, he pulled Lyle into a sitting position and leaned him against the pillar. Ben hauled his heavy pack back on and then crouched in front of Lyle.
"We've got to get out of here," said Ben. "You're too heavy for me to carry far, so you've got to try and walk."
For the first time, Lyle met Ben with his gaze, a fog of pain, uncertainty and… a heavy dose of anger, which cut Ben to the quick. Wasn't Lyle pleased to see him? Confusion diminished Lyle's ire as he noted Ben's crash helmet. Then he spotted the hilt of the sword jutting from Ben's pack and the fog cleared a little.
"What's that?" asked Lyle.
"It's, uh, a golden sword. I believe it belonged to your ancestor, Clewell. I found it up one of the tunnels… but I was looking for you, of course."
"Oh." Lyle fixed on his hands and fins, which he knotted into a ball in his lap.
Ben pulled Lyle to his feet, glad when Lyle stood partially on his own strength rather than slumping against him completely. He bundled Lyle toward the exit. Unsure how badly Lyle was injured or hurting, he felt terrible for rushing him, but had no choice.
"Come on," said Ben. "It's going to be bloody hard for me to find the way out of here, but Cully's on her way—"
"Cully!" Lyle twisted out of Ben's arms. "What's she got to do with anything?"
"Basically, she's a dragon-shifter, and however annoying she is, we need her right now."
"She's a dragon?" Lyle edged away from Ben, who reached for him. Lyle slapped Ben off with a fin then cackled mutinously. "I should've known! She's Clewell's true heir. And you've found the sword, so you're the Dragon Rider? Ha! None of it was ever about me!"
Only Ben's headgear prevented him from tugging his hair out. "I can see how it sucks, but it doesn't matter. We just need to get out of here, get home, and get married, and then you never have to see any of them again. Come on!"
Lyle jutted his chin up, revealing the red ring about his throat, stark against his otherwise deathly pale complexion. Ben recognized that stubborn look and the seething resentment that rolled from Lyle, as tangible as Lyle's violent trembling, which Ben's knees had started to match. Lyle rarely thought straight when he was this cross… or this obviously unwell.
Ben clamped Lyle's shoulders. When Lyle tried to wriggle away again, Ben shook him hard. "Do you want that collar back on you? Do you want us both to get murdered? If not, we need to go!"
Lyle stared Ben down, his lips so tight with anger they whitened to match the rest of him. Just when Ben was about to implode with frustration, something deep in Lyle's eyes sagged and surrendered. Lyle offered a vague nod.
Nigh withering with relief himself, Ben hoisted one of Lyle's arms over his shoulders and started toward the exit again. While Lyle's anger had faded, his fresh lease on life had too. He stumbled several times, dragging and tripping over his feet. When they finally got through the archway and into the tunnel, Ben propped Lyle against the wall then threw down his pack.
Lyle slid onto his arse and slumped forward, boneless, and Ben made an executive decision. If he was going to drag Lyle all the way back to that eastern opening, the luggage—and the weighty golden sword—were going to have to go. They could weep over their losses later.
The only thing he required was his tablet. He'd never remember the route without the map. He was tapping the screen, bringing it to life, when he felt the soft slap of a fin against his thigh.
"Just go, Ben," said Lyle dreamily. "I don't even know why you came."
"Yes, you bloody well do," said Ben, bashing wildly at the screen. Why now, of all times, did his tablet have to give him the egg timer of doom?
"Okay, but I wish you hadn't. Now I know about you… and Cully… it all makes even more sense. You both belong to the light, and I… I belong here in pain and darkness, with her."
"Don't say that," said Ben, though Lyle's words raked like claws across his bleeding soul. Deep down, Ben understood he may well have to leave Lyle in this other world, if Lyle was going to survive. Perhaps with Cully, once L
yle's anger with her had died down.
But he'd be damned if he'd leave Lyle with these torturers, whoever they were.
Finally, the map popped up. Ben wheeled on his toes, and was about to hoist Lyle up again when he heard soft footfalls approaching up the tunnels.
"Go, Ben!" Lyle's irises flashed with something caught between poison and panic. "I can't outrun anybody, you know that."
"Then we're both staying to face whoever that is," said Ben, tucking his tablet away and folding his arms. His love for Lyle left him absolutely no choice.
"Gods, you're more stubborn than I am!" Lyle pressed his fingertips to his temples, strain carving a furrow between his brows. "I'm going to try and summon some magic. Either run, or… do something. I need time."
"Alright, love. I'll do what I can."
Ben stood in front of Lyle, feet planted firmly and shoulders squared. As two hovering globes of white light approached up the dark tunnel, Ben refused to waver, though he wondered how on earth he might delay two big fat glow balls. Then, from the murk between the globes, emerged an elegant figure with sharply cut facial features and dead straight white hair. The lights hovered above the tips of her raised fins.
Spotting Ben, the mermaid stopped dead. "Who are you?"
Ben's frantic mind turned blank, except for…
He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and drew out his old work ID. He'd never quite been able to bring himself to throw it away. He shoved it under her pointed nose. "My name is Benjamin Miles. I'm an Environmental Officer. And you are, madam?"
"Clem," she answered, guardedly.
"I'm sorry, Mrs Clem. This is a hazardous area and entirely unsafe for the public. I'm going to have to ask you to kindly leave immediately."
She frowned, uncomprehending; then she spotted Lyle, slumped behind Ben, and trepidation marred her icy façade. She must've noted the collar draining Lyle's ability to draw magic had been removed.
"Ah, I see," she said, spearing her electric-blue eyes back onto Ben. "I'm assuming you're Lyle's infamous human lover, no?"
"I'm his future husband." Ben corrected her, still brandishing his ID like some kind of flaming talisman.
"That's all in the past now," said Clem, swiping Ben's card aside with a switch of a feathered tip. "Lyle struck a deal with me, didn't you, Lyle? Are you going to let me put the collar back quietly, or will we have to use force again?"
"Deal's off," mumbled Lyle, who'd shifted his fins to rub his stomach as madly as he massaged his temples. "Ben, I loved the card trick, but isn't there something a little shinier in your pack?"
Ah yes, the sword. As Ben rushed to retrieve it, Clem screamed in alarm, raising several voices in answer, which were followed by the thud of running feet. Clasping the sword's hilt, Ben drew it from its scabbard with a swish. Holding it aloft, he pivoted around, to find a ball of glowing light flying at his face.
He batted the light away on reflex, and it shattered into a thousand tiny slivers, which ebbed into nothingness.
Clem had fled into the shadows, but a further five merfolk now confronted him, their fins jutted like spears. A large hairy merman brandished a knife. The glint of Ben's golden blade had momentarily stopped them in their tracks, but the sword didn't look particularly sharp, and Ben hadn’t a notion how to wield it. Nevertheless, it moulded perfectly into his palm, and its power tingled through him. The sword made him feel unexpectedly confident—taller, grounded, and strong.
The merman with the knife darted a questioning sidelong glance at a companion. Anticipating some move, Ben jabbed the sword threateningly. He distantly wondered how, if forced, it'd feel to run an enemy through. To save Lyle, Ben was more than ready to find out…
Before he'd been tested, a sylph-like tongue of orange flame streaked from the sword's tip. It lanced between the two assailants, who hurled themselves, terrified, to the ground. Ben recoiled, dropping the weapon with a clatter, as scorched dust clouded the air.
Ben whirled to face Lyle, who stood unaided, though he swayed like a reed. "Your work, I take it?" said Ben, breathless.
"I couldn't spare much," said Lyle, tumbling into Ben's outstretched arms. "Now hold on and think of somewhere near and safe. This mightn't be very pleasant for either of us."
Lyle planted a dry kiss on Ben's cheek, and Ben braced himself for what was coming—the slam of darkness and the weird flip in his belly as Lyle transported them. Nevertheless, his stomach remained calm this time. The same couldn't be said for his buzzing adrenaline and his coursing blood. He landed on his back on a hard stone surface, Lyle splayed on top of him. Scant starlight flooded in from an opening along the passage, and he could hear the ocean's heave and hush.
They'd reached the exit through the eastern cliff, where Cully had said she'd meet them.
"Did I get us somewhere safe?" asked Lyle softly.
"You did brilliantly," said Ben, though his optimism shrank away when Lyle said nothing more. The magic had taken a heavy toll. Lyle remained an unmoving weight on top of Ben, his clammy forehead pressed to the crook of Ben's neck. Ben manoeuvred Lyle up, and then with a grunt of strain, he hoisted Lyle over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. He staggered one slow step at a time toward the faint light.
He stopped a couple of feet from the cave mouth, carefully lowering Lyle so he sat propped against the tunnel wall. Ben panted from the effort of carrying him, but it hadn't been as great a burden as he'd expected. He recalled how light Lyle had seemed for a being his size when Ben had carried him after the storm in Shanty Wood. Lyle had possessed the same symptoms of weakness and faint breath then too.
When Lyle's magic had been all but used up and he'd claimed to be dying…
"Lyle?" Squatting beside him, Ben drifted his knuckles down Lyle's cheek, and felt devastatingly grateful when Lyle opened his eyes. "You did really, really well," said Ben. "We're exactly where Cully is going to meet us."
At the mention of Cully's name, Lyle glowered at Ben between the blur of his lashes. Judging this no less than Cully deserved, Ben squeezed Lyle's shoulder then jumped up to examine the skies. It was a cold, clear night and the moon and stars still shone bright. No sign of an approaching dragon. But it'd been at least two hours since he and Cully had spoken, so surely she couldn't be much longer.
Lyle heaved a wounded sigh. Ben swallowed hard and crouched again. He brushed a strand of Lyle's limp hair from his brow. "I can't believe they hurt you, baby. I'm so sorry. What awful people."
"They weren't so different from me," murmured Lyle. "Just screw-ups kicking back because they've been bullied, pushed too far. That's why they used the collar—to drain the ability to draw magic from those who'd ruined their lives. Or, at least, that was the idea originally. It got… a bit out of hand."
Ben glanced anxiously between Lyle and all he could see of the distressingly dragon-free night. "How do you know all this?" he asked. "I can't believe they poured their hearts out to you."
"Only Clem… and it was more of a tirade than a heart-to-heart. She was raised from birth to marry her brother… never given a choice. Although he treated her alright in some ways, he… made her bear him nine children she never wanted."
"That's awful," said Ben.
"Sound familiar?" asked Lyle, a spark of anger heating his tone. "Incidentally, I was her youngest."
"She… Clem's your mother? Shit!" Any articulate response failed Ben. Poor Lyle's luck with his family wasn't improving.
"She knew who I was," said Lyle, "before it dawned on me. It's why she was going to remove the collar before it killed me like it did Emmet. I'm not sure I ever wish to see her again, but—"
He broke off, lips knitting. Ben instantly realized why. Voices echoed from the distant reaches of the tunnel, where a glint of flame broke the darkness. There must've been some shortcut from the palace to this exit, because Clem and her party approached.
"Can you walk yet?" Ben raked his hair, desperate.
"I can try."
Ben helped Lyle to
his feet, and with Lyle draped against him, stood in the mouth of the cave. "Crap! Where's Cully?"
"She's coming," said Lyle.
And there she was, a huge birdlike shape powering over the headland to the east and approaching fast against the wind. Cully swallowed half the distance between them in a few hammering heartbeats, though Ben feared it mightn't be fast enough. Their pursuers had spotted them and closed in hard behind.
Ben waved madly, but rather than making a beeline for Ben and Lyle, Cully arced upward. Ben lost sight of her for an instant, before realizing she was performing a loop-the-loop that would bring her right under the mouth of the cave.
Ben caught the husk of her deep voice above the roar of the waves: "Jump!"
Holding Lyle tight, Ben obeyed, hurling them both forward as she flew near as she dared to the opening. A frenzy of scrabbling, flapping, and grabbing claws followed. Somehow, Ben clung to the ridge of one of Cully's relentlessly beating wings. She tossed Lyle across her back, leaving Ben straining every sinew to edge along then grab for her neck. Cully banked sideways, tipping him onto her.
Once relatively safely ensconced below her nape, Ben checked on Lyle, who seemed worrying senseless again, then back at the cave. Clem and her companions had reached the mouth, holding flaming torches aloft and goggling at the dragon.
"What did they do to my brother?" asked Cully.
"They tortured him," said Ben. "They drained his ability to draw magic and… Aaaargh!"
Cully swerved sharp left and turned about again. Ben threw his whole attention into clinging on while checking Lyle wasn't about to slip from her back, though he'd a hunch Cully wouldn't let that happen.
She heaved back toward the cave. Clem stepped back from the brink, fleeing from the charging dragon. Ben was about to demand what Cully was up to when his underarms, which hugged about her throat, turned hot.
Ah. That's what she was doing.
Cully unleashed an ear-splitting roar, and a torrent of flame burst from her opened jaw. It pounded against the cliff and poured into the tunnel, where she aimed the white-hot core. The deluge kept coming as she raced closer, a furious scourge that surely transformed the passageway into a fifty-yard-long furnace.
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