Servant of the Dragon

by David Drake

  Over the army floated a gonfalon bearing a black crab on the white fabric. Beneath it walked a man all in white. Despite the face paint, Garric recognized the figure as one of the acolytes who'd met King Carus when he visited Ansalem in the last days of the Old Kingdom.

  The wizard turned his head slightly as he and Garric passed on their different planes. There was no more feeling in the wizard's eyes than in the eyes of a spider.

  "... another chance," Carus whispered as Garric shuddered back to the waking reality of his conference room.

  As she ran, Sharina held the Pewle knife before her with her right hand on the hilt and her left fingertips gripping the back of the blade near the point. She was too tired to hold the weapon safely in one hand, and she didn't trust herself to be able to unsheathe it quickly when danger threatened.

  When, not if; the cries of the ghouls sounded in a broad semicircle whose ends had already drawn ahead of Sharina and Dalar. Before long the horns of the crescent would curve inward, forming a noose around their prey.

  "I can't...," she gasped to Dalar. "Go on.... Much farther...."

  "Nor I," said the bird. He didn't wheeze or gasp--maybe his throat wasn't constructed so that he could--but his words had a clipped thinness now. "We will find a tree for our backs and make a stand."

  He clucked and added with bitter humor, "For propriety's sake I should compose my death lay first, but I do not know that our enemies have a sense of honor."

  Live oaks and some relative of the hemlock or juniper were the most common trees. Some of them were huge: Sharina had seen Cordin being colonized when the bird first dropped her, but the wilderness had returned in full funereal glory in the millennia which had passed.

  Moss hung in gray tangles from tree limbs. All the foliage dripped, though the drizzle had paused for the moment.

  The ghouls were calling more frequently as they closed in. Sharina judged there were at least a score of them. It occurred to her that neither she nor Dalar had eaten for a long time. Not that a good meal a few hours ago would've made any real difference in the way the present situation ended.

  "There!" she said. She pointed the knife at arm's length toward the half-overgrown building. The gesture unbalanced her so that she almost fell forward. "There, we can get in where the yew's growing on the roof!"

  The building was rectangular. Its steeply-peaked roof was, like the walls, built of ashlars reused from earlier buildings. The crude result looked like a step pyramid on a dais, but it had proved sturdy enough to withstand the forces that devoured the walls and towers of the more sophisticated structures of the ancient city.

  The area around the building had been cleared repeatedly in past ages. Cedar stumps, none of them more than six inches in diameter, dotted the ground within twenty paces of the walls; pits in the soil remained where the roots of trees less resistant to weathering had grown in past ages.

  No one had cut the vegetation for the past generation or more, though, and the forest was growing back quickly in the damp heat. A sticky yew berry had lodged among the roof corbels and sprouted to drive stones apart. The crack was narrow, but Sharina was slender and Dalar looked skeletal with his down slicked to his skin by the rain. They'd manage.

  They had to manage.

  The walls were only eight courses high, shoulder height for Sharina. At another time she could have jumped to the top, catching the wall midway with her right foot and bouncing the rest of the way up on her running momentum.

  Another time. She laid her knife on the first mossy step of the roof and crawled up gasping, thrusting her bare toes into the gaps between courses. Even then she might not have made it in time without a boost from Dalar's stubby fingers.

  The walls were blank on all sides: the builders hadn't provided a door or other opening.

  "Dalar," Sharina said, turning to give her companion a hand up; he was as exhausted as she was. "This is a tomb."

  The bird gave a series of low-voiced clucks. "That is fitting, I fear."

  He didn't sound as though he were afraid. Neither was Sharina, which surprised her. One advantage to being so completely worn out was that she had no energy left for strong emotions, fear or hope either one.

  "Go through!" Dalar ordered. His weights were circling in opposite directions, each out on six feet of chain while the remaining length quivered in a short loop between his hands. The weapon whistled softly, like a hound straining to slip its leash.

  Sharina would have sent Dalar ahead of her: the bird was even slimmer, and if the first person into the opening got stuck it would cut them both off from safety. This wasn't a time to argue precedence, though.

  She snatched up the Pewle knife and wormed through the crack in the masonry. As she did so, a ghoul broke through the edge of the forest. It was a male and considerably larger than the creature Dalar had killed. It screamed like ripping metal when it saw its prey.

  The gap between the blocks narrowed at the inner end. Sharina had her head through to the other side when her shoulders caught. She stretched her right arm out as far as it would go and twisted to the left.

  Her tunic tore. The yew's hairy root scraped the side of her ribs, but that was no price to pay for safety. Sharina gave another twist and tumbled free into the darkness. Outside the ghoul's cry ended with the sharp whack! of bronze on bone.

  Sharina had been mentally prepared for the floor to be less than her own height below the opening. It was at least twice that. She was lucky to have curled her feet beneath her, but her legs still flew sideways on the slimy stone. She landed on her spine, hard enough to jar the world into a flare of buzzing light.

  She'd kept hold of the knife, though. Nonnus would've been proud of her.

  Sharina's feet dangled in open air. She blinked to get her vision back: there was a pit in the center of the small enclosure. She could have skidded....

  Dalar's body blocked the light through the opening; he was coming in feet first. "There's a hole in the floor!" Sharina shouted. She tried to act as a human guard rail without getting in the way of whatever gyrations her companion needed to wrench through the strait entrance.

  Dalar fell inside. Sharina bunted him forward with her shoulder, away from the hole. She couldn't tell how deep it was, but she hadn't seen bottom in the glimpse she'd gotten.

  The light faded again; a long, clawed arm reached into the enclosure and groped in the air. Dalar poised, looking upward with a weight in either hand.

  "No!" said Sharina. "Boost me."

  The bird dropped his weights and squatted, lacing his hands together. "Now," Sharina said, stepping into the stirrup.

  Dalar straightened and lifted Sharina to the height of his shoulders in a smooth motion. The Pewle knife arced forward in an overhead chop into the ghoul's elbow.

  Gristle and porous bones crunched. The ghoul's claws spasmed; the forearm dangled for an instant, then fell to the tomb floor. The edge of the masonry had torn the remaining tags of flesh away when the creature jerked back.

  Sharina landed with flexed knees; Dalar steadied her. Outside the moaning cry of the wounded ghoul merged with the eager yelps of its fellows as they reached the clearing.

  Sharina squatted on the tomb floor; she wasn't sure her legs would hold her any longer. Her shaking hands made light quiver across the knifeblade. Almost absently she wiped the weapon with the hem of her tunic.

  She found herself smiling. The battered garment wasn't good for much but wiping rags after what it'd been through.

  The ghouls crooned outside the tomb. None of them reached through the hole, but Sharina heard grunts of effort as some of the pack tried to move stones.

  "There is an odor here," Dalar said. "We are in the den of something."

  Sharina looked up. Her first thought was a leap of relief--We've been saved! Her face hardened. Aloud she said, "Yes, we're in a snake's den. I thought for a moment that my master was coming to... take us to the next stage."

  "A snake?" Dalar said. The weights twitched out an
inch or two before his palms swallowed them again. They weren't a good weapon for a tight enclosure like this, though Sharina didn't doubt that her bodyguard would make the best of whatever situation he was in. "I see. A large one, it would appear."

  The interior walls of the tomb--was it really a tomb? There was no bier or coffin, merely what looked like a natural pit in the limestone--were plastered and frescoed. A great root had penetrated a lower corner and rotted when the tree it fed was cut down. Seepage and small animals had enlarged the cavity until a block fell from the wall.

  The snake that laired here had polished the stones on the top and bottom of the entrance as it passed in an out. A scale stuck to the edge of a block. It was bigger than Sharina could have circled with her thumb and forefinger together.

  "We can crawl out the tunnel," Dalar said quietly. "Possibly it is wide enough."

  There wasn't a great deal of light, but Sharina's eyes had adapted. She could see that she'd be a tighter fit for the snake's tunnel than she'd been for the hole in the roof. They couldn't be sure how long it was, but it might well extend to the edge of the original clearing.

  "Yes," Sharina said. The enclosure darkened as a ghoul stepped between the hole and the light. She and Dalar looked up with the quick, cold deliberation of cats noticing motion on the pantry floor.

  The ghoul moved away. Several of the creatures grunted together; a roof stone grated, then stopped. The grunts rose to snarls of frustrated anger.

  "Yes," Sharina repeated. "I suppose we'll have to do that. But right now I think I need to rest for a while."

  "I as well," Dalar said. "We should have... an hour or so? That is what I estimate. We will be better for relaxing during that time."

  Outside wood clunked on stone. The ghouls were using branches to lever the roof apart. Sharina wasn't sure she and Dalar would have a full hour before there was an opening big enough to let the ghouls enter, but there'd be some time.

  "Yes, we'll relax," she said. Her weary laughter echoed in the small enclosure.

  "Well, Mistress Ilna," Chalcus said in a voice as smooth as sap flowing, "the sky's not so bright that we'd change from the night watch to the first morning watch--but we can tell it from the land, as you see. If you and the child are up to moving...?"

  "Yes, of course we are," Ilna said, shaking Merota gently awake. She wouldn't have the chanteyman thinking that Merota was a dangerous burden just because she was young and female. Ilna had been on her own and caring for her brother before she was Merota's age!

  Not that there was any similarity between Ilna and this well-born child... and not that Chalcus was going to abandon either one of them if the going got tough. Tougher.

  "Umm?" said Merota. "Oh!" She sat bolt upright, looking around wildly for danger.

  "We're going for a walk now, mistress," Chalcus said soothingly. "There's nothing whatever wrong, but there's light enough to see and we'd best use it, not so?"

  Ilna peered toward the sea. The lamps on the triremes had gone out by midnight. Though the sky was brightening the light wasn't good enough to differentiate the vessels from the water. From what the chanteyman said the ships should've floated off the mud bar by now, but she supposed she'd have heard if they'd gotten under way during the night.

  "Yes, Chalcus," Merota said as she stood. "Chalcus? I'm thirsty."

  "We'll see about that too," the chanteyman said. "As much brush as there is, we should find a spring soon enough. But there's other things we may find too, mistress, so keep those sharp young eyes of yours open, hey?"

  "Yes, Chalcus!" the girl said, beaming. They started up the trail in single file, with Merota sandwiched closely between the two adults.

  He has a way with women, killer and pirate though he is. Or perhaps that's why he has a way with women....

  The track rose sharply. The larger trees were elms, sweet gums and live oaks, but they were young and the tallest were less than thirty feet high. They weren't full enough to shade out the evening olive and blackberries which therefore wove a thick, prickly mass to either side.

  Chalcus proceeded cautiously, snapping olive stems and bending blackberry canes with his foot when he thought they'd be a barrier to the females behind him. His callused soles ignored the thorns.

  He held the sword vertical before him, the hilt at waist height. He never used the blade on the vegetation, and his eyes combed the thickets ahead and to either side.

  As they neared the crest of the hill, Ilna turned to look back at the ships. The vegetation was too dense for her to see anything but the trail immediately behind her. She didn't suppose it mattered.

  Chalcus reached the top of the ridge that paralleled the seacoast. He didn't crawl the last of the way; rather, he slipped into a crouch that was less for concealment than to add spring to whichever direction he jumped.

  "Well, may mermaids come out and play with my toes," he said, relaxing slightly. "Ilna, dear thing, come here and tell me what you think of what we're seeing."

  Ilna frowned, but she didn't let her irritation reach her tongue. Chalcus probably couldn't help his silliness; and if he could, well, they still had more important things to worry about. Bringing Merota along by a gentle push between the shoulder blades, she moved up to where the chanteyman stood.

  Ilna expected to see more tangled wilderness. Instead she was looking down on a neatly-planted orchard. Though the fruit trees were unmistakable, she didn't recognize the globular fruit itself. They weren't apples, and they were too brightly-colored for the peaches which were the borough's only other orchard crop.

  "Oranges!" squealed Merota. "Oh, Chalcus, can we pick some? I'm so thirsty!"

  "I don't think anybody'd object to thirsty castaways helping themselves from such bounty," the chanteyman said. He raised an eyebrow to Ilna. "What do you think, dear one?"

  Ilna had seen oranges before, at banquets in Erdin and Valles. Apparently they grew on trees like apples. She'd thought they were vegetables.

  "I suppose that's all right," she said aloud. Even children and sailors know more than I do! "If the owner comes, we can pay him then."

  Chalcus started down the reverse slope at a saunter that seemed careless if you ignored the way he scanned their surroundings like a nervous vole. His sword was still in his hand though now that they'd gotten out of the heavy brush he slanted the point down to his left in a slightly less threatening manner.

  "The island looks completely wild from the sea," Ilna said deliberately. "But these trees must have been planted some time ago. The ridge conceals them."

  "It's more interesting than you'd know, mistress," Chalcus said, "seeings as you've not sailed these waters as I have. I can take a star sight as well as Vonculo can, so I know we're between Seres and Kanbesa. But you see, dear ones, the last time I was here we were afloat, and there was nothing but open water for hours in either direction."

  They'd reached the orchard. Chalcus plucked an orange with his left hand. He tossed it over his shoulder to Merota without seeming to look back at her.

  He turned to Ilna smiling, his fingers rubbing the rough bark of the branch. "Not three months ago this was salt sea, mistress. An island may rise from the sea... but it doesn't grow trees like this in a few months only. Not without wizards' work."

  "Well, we knew there were wizards involved," Ilna replied coldly. Her lips twitched into a grin of sorts. "Even Vonculo knew there were wizards, though that and the direction of sunrise were about all I'd trust him on."

  Chalcus laughed like brass chimes. He picked two more oranges, then tossed the larger of the pair to Ilna. He flicked his with his thumbnail and began to peel the fruit one-handed. Ilna watched him, then peeled hers with the paring knife from her sash. Merota had simply bitten a piece from the rind to squeeze and suck the contents directly into her mouth.

  "Why do you suppose the folk doing this...," Chalcus said, pausing to spit out seeds and a scrap of the inner membrane. "Want our ships? Or their crews, perhaps, though they're a poor enough lot if
I do say so, who was one of them."

  "Maybe nobody lives here," Merota said through sticky lips. "We haven't seen anybody."

  "Someone tends these trees," Ilna said. She wasn't an orchardist, but she knew that an apple or peach tree left to its own devices quickly becomes insect-ridden. The sweet sap that filled the fruit seemed to draw pests the way fresh meat drew flies.

  "The trees looked no more than forty rows deep when we sighted them from the ridge," Chalcus said, tossing the orange rind through the branches of the tree to his side. Through, not into, Ilna noticed, though the chanteyman had been looking in the other direction at the time. "There's fields to the other side. I'd say we look there, then report to Vonculo on what we've seen?"

  "Yes," said Ilna. "Much good it'll do him."

  They started forward. The trees were aligned not only in rows but across rows; each step disconcertingly opened new aisles half-left and half-right while closing the aisles glimpsed a step before.

  Chalcus chuckled. "The only thing that'd do Vonculo good would be a coil of strong rope," he said. "But then, many have said the same of me."

  Insects--bees and swft clear-winged moths--buzzed about them. The patterns of their flight were subtly wrong, though even Ilna couldn't describe what was off. If she'd been an insect, her path would have differed minutely from the paths of these insects. The reason eluded her; and she didn't mention it to her companions.

  "Gently, now," Chalcus said. They'd reached the last row of trees but one. The chanteyman paused beside a gnarled trunk, his left hand resting lightly on the bark, as he looked beyond.

  A paved road, disarrayed by time or other stresses into a jumble of canted stone blocks, separated the orchard from a barley field on the gentle slope opposite. A crew had begun harvesting the grain, starting at the top of the field. They were too distant for Ilna to make out individual details, but the harvesters' movements were as wrong as those of the bees around her.

  "Should we go talk to them, Ilna?" Merota asked in a small voice. She'd tented her hands primly before her, but they trembled slightly.