A Fate Worse Than Dragons

by Moore, John

  “They didn’t volunteer themselves, either. They seemed pretty fearful of the Middle-Aged Man of the Mountains.”

  “They are mercenaries. Enough money, and they might have changed their minds. Too late now, anyway. We’ll have to do it ourselves. I wish that picture gave a better idea of the size. I’d like to know how big this thing is.”

  “Those soldiers said it was big enough to carry off a horse.”

  “Sure, but how big is that? Are we talking big enough to swoop down and snatch up a horse, or are we talking about big enough to grab a horse but barely being able to lift off with it?”

  “You should probably avoid the monster,” said Alison. “Let Sir Terry handle it.” She was thinking out loud, not noticing if her words had any effect on Roland. “Because, you know, they’re supposed to have a diet of virgins. But that doesn’t necessarily mean female virgins.”

  Roland frowned. “I don’t expect that to be a problem. Not to be indelicate, but I have been around the block a few times.”

  “Oh sure,” said Alison. She had her mug up to her face, so she missed Roland’s expression. Unaware that she was steering the conversational ship directly for the shoals, she went on blithely, “I just wonder if, from a monster or magician’s point of view, it might not count. Even if the man thinks he’s a stud. You know what I mean.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.” Roland’s voice took on a bit of an edge. “Why wouldn’t it count?”

  Alison suddenly awoke to the fact that her ship was on the rocks. The thing to do at that point would have been to abandon the subject, jump overboard, and swim for safer waters. She elected, futilely, to sail on through. “All I mean is that a boy might still be considered a virgin if he didn’t do it with a girl.”

  Roland closed the book with a snap. “What,” he said sharply, “are you implying?”

  “Nothing!” Alison frantically tried to reverse course. “I’m sorry. I just thought that, you know.”

  “No! What are you talking about?”

  “Well, I mean with the clothes and all. And your hair looks so nice. And all that talk about wine and art and fashion . . . just seemed a little . . . and that stuff about the theatre.”

  “I see,” said Roland calmly. “I apologize for not sitting at the table in a torn undershirt and incessantly discussing sports.” Then he lost his temper. “Damn it to hell! Can’t a man dress with a little panache, or show a little sophistication, without people jumping to conclusions!”

  “Sure, if he’s Italian. But normally men don’t do it.”

  The raised voices drew the attention of the barkeeper, who decided it was time to interrupt. He came over with a pitcher and refilled their mugs. “Can I get you anything else?” he said. He looked from Alison to Roland. “Perhaps a bottle of wine?”

  “No,” snapped Roland. “Give me beer. In a dirty glass. And some greasy fried food. No, make that a steak. In fact, just bring a slab of raw meat.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid I don’t have . . .”

  “No need for a knife and fork. I’ll eat it with my hands. And then belch afterward!”

  “All right!” shouted Alison. “I said I was sorry!”

  They stared at each other across folded arms. The air around them seemed to have grown suddenly chilly. They realized together that this was not an illusion—Terry had returned and left the door open. “The moon is out.” He looked grim. “The horses are ready. I’m going.” He went back out.

  Roland dropped some coins on the table and followed him. Alison shrugged on her jacket and followed Roland. Roland was surprised to see that Terry had all three horses saddled up and ready. He looked over his shoulder at Alison, then at Terry, and said, “Alison should wait for us here. There’s no reason for her to come with us.”

  “Neither of you are coming with me. The moon is bright enough to ride by, so I don’t need someone to lead the horse. I’m going up to slay the monster, kill the sorcerer, and rescue Princess Gloria. You two will ride to the nearest army post and alert the military. If I don’t come back with the princess, they’ll send a division up this mountain and wipe this fellow out once and for all.”

  “And if you do come back with the princess?”

  “Once they know the princess is safe, I expect they’ll send a division up this mountain and wipe this fellow out once and for all. It’s time for the king to take control of this valley again.”

  “Then there is no hurry,” said Roland. “If the people of this valley want the king’s help, then one of them can call for it. So I’m coming with you.”

  “I don’t need your help, Roland. Sorry, but that’s the truth. This isn’t the first slay-and-rescue mission I’ve done. What can you do? If you’re trying to show how brave you are, you don’t need to prove anything.”

  For the merest second, Roland’s eyes flicked to Alison and back. “Maybe I do,” he said under his breath.

  “What?”

  “I can watch your back,” said Roland loudly. “I can do that. You don’t know what you’re going to find up there. Don’t say I can’t help—you know that isn’t true—and don’t argue with me. We’re just wasting time.”

  “Fine,” said Terry shortly. He turned his attention to Alison. “Then it’s your job to summon help. There’s an army outpost at . . .”

  “No,” said Alison. “I’m coming, too.”

  Roland objected. “We don’t need . . .”

  “Don’t start with me!” yelled Alison.

  Terry looked at Roland. “Don’t start with her.”

  “Right,” said Roland.

  But their best laid plans went aglee and a haft. The road had bad spots, washed out or weakened by autumn storms, so that they did have to dismount and lead the horses, step by step across loose stones, and the temperamental moon went off to sulk behind a cloud for an hour or two, which also slowed them down. They were above the snow line, and had to be careful not to slip on ice or patches of slush. Dawn was breaking by the time they approached the summit. The peak had a broad, flat face, so there was a little bit of a yard in front of the chalet, enough to turn a carriage or exercise a horse. The night’s wind had swept it clear of snow, but now the wind had died, and the sun was rising into a clear blue sky, presaging a fine autumn day. From the outside, the chalet looked warm and cheerful, a perfect place to spend a winter holiday, although it must be admitted that the large, winged monster perched on the rocks above it detracted from the pleasant atmosphere.

  “It doesn’t look like a sorcerer’s castle,” said Roland. “I was expecting something more sinister. You know, a round stone tower with single gleaming red window. This place makes me think of hot chocolate and gingerbread.”

  “Maybe this is just his vacation home,” Terry said sourly.

  They dismounted before they reached the summit, left the horses on the road, and traveled the last switchback on foot, concealing themselves among boulders at the side of the road. They saw the gryphon at once, of course, and the gryphon saw them. It was still perched on a ledge above the chalet. Pebbles trickled down where its claws scored the rock. It fixed them with a malevolent stare and stretched its wings a few times, but otherwise it did not move. Terry, who had gone ahead, slipped back to join the other two. They had concealed themselves in the rocks that rimmed the summit, wedged into a narrow gap beneath two boulders. Terry knelt beside them.

  “What do you think?” said Roland.

  Terry was carrying a longsword and an ax. He said, “You know how it is when you look at a drawing of a cruel warrior, or a vicious animal, and you expect that the artist exaggerated a bit and made the thing look more dangerous than it really is? Or how when you’re riding through a dark night, and your imagination tends to run away with you, and you sense evil in every shadow, but you know when you see things in the light of day, they won’t look nearly so bad?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not getting that feeling.” He gave Roland the ax. “Stay close to Alison.”


  “Okay,” said Roland. He was already pressed up against her, which in other circumstances would have been quite pleasant. He hefted the ax a few times and nodded. Terry went back down to get his horse. Alison had a crossbow again, this time a full-size one from Count Bussard’s armory. Terry had cocked and loaded it for her. She rested it on a rock and sighted it on the gryphon. “I suppose it wouldn’t do any good to offer it birdseed.”

  “I suppose we could sacrifice one of the horses if we had to lure it down.”

  They watched Terry come back up the road. Neither of them knew anything about jousting, but they both agreed that the knight appeared to know what he was doing. He rode back up at an impressive clip, considering the terrain he was on. He wore a breastplate, shoulder guards, and a helmet, with a sword at his belt, a shield on one arm, and a lance under the other. The armor was the largest they could find in Count Bussard’s storeroom, but it was still a tight fit. He held the lance and shield just the way that knights always carried them in paintings Alison had seen, so it looked right to her. Roland also thought he seemed deadly enough. Perhaps the gryphon did, too, because it failed to attack.

  It kept a wary eye on the knight, snarling at it and flexing its claws. Terry circled around, making jabbing motions with the lance, trying to goad it into an attack. Several times it opened its wings and flapped them, as though it was about to take off. But each time it settled back onto its perch. Perhaps it had had a bad experience with lances at one time, or perhaps it was trained only to attack on command. Perhaps it was just too early in the morning for it to fight. Whatever the reason, it stayed where it was.

  Terry rode back to where Roland and Alison were sheltering. They stood up. “Okay,” the knight said. “If we had the element of surprise working for us, we’ve lost it now. I don’t like this. It smells like a trap. But we need to find the princess.”

  “Can you hold it off while we run inside?”

  “That’s exactly what I had in mind.”

  “Front door, do you think?”

  Terry looked at the chalet. It had a large door, with a brass knob and knocker, that didn’t seem particularly formidable. He shook his head. “It seems too easy. Go in through the carriage house.”

  Roland eased out from behind the boulder so he could get a good look at the carriage house. It was built in a similar style to the chalet, with a steep slate roof, rough wood walls, and a stone foundation that rose a yard above the ground to keep the wood siding out of the wet snow. The two buildings were connected by a short breezeway. The carriage house had large double doors that were unlatched. One was even slightly ajar, but getting in meant crossing forty yards of bare rock, while overhead lurked a monster with claws the size of sickles. He grinned. “Well, I could do that, of course, but surely you don’t expect me to . . .”

  “Go in through a service entrance,” Terry and Alison finished together. Alison added, “If it makes you feel better, I can carry your card in on a silver tray and announce you to the sorcerer.”

  “Yes, that will be helpful. Come on!”

  He grabbed her hand and started the dash for the carriage house. Terry paced them on his charger. Three humans and a horse created enough temptation to stir the gryphon from its perch. It swooped down, four sets of talons ready for combat, and got a jab in the ribs from Terry’s lance. But the knight didn’t manage a killing strike. The wounded gryphon flew off, and was still circling around for another attack when Roland and Alison reached the door. Roland looked back to see if Terry needed any help. The gryphon was flapping about but staying out of reach of the lance. The knight appeared to be doing fine on his own, so Roland pulled the door shut, leaving it unlatched so Terry could get in. When he turned around, Alison had already entered the chalet.

  He edged past a light carriage and buckboard, in through the side door, and quickly found her in the living room. “Don’t run off like that. Let’s stay together.”

  Alison pointed. “Look!”

  Roland looked. She was pointing to the hearth. Across the stone was spread a number of long, gleaming needles, and curved, wicked-looking hooks. He sucked his breath in sharply. “Torture instruments!”

  “No, those are from her sewing bag.”

  “Oh, right. Then she’s been here.” He crossed the room and opened the door to the courtyard. It was empty, but he noted that the snow was disturbed. “I think she came in this way.” They shut the door and quickly searched the other ground-floor rooms—the dining room, the kitchen, and the pantry. Gloria was not there, nor was there any sign of a sorcerer. At the stairway they both paused. Alison unslung her crossbow. Roland tightened his grip on his ax. She nodded to him and let him go up the stairs first, with Alison two steps behind. The second floor held the sorcerer’s study, with a good many maps, racks of potions and powders, a scattering of uncut semiprecious gemstones, and a surprising number of texts on geology and mining. The other rooms seemed to be guest bedrooms. When they discovered that only one of them was locked, they were sure they had found the princess. But they quickly searched the other rooms first, before coming back to it. Two blows with the ax had the door open, and they burst in with their weapons ready. But this room was empty also. The windows were bare. It didn’t even contain furniture.

  But it did have another stairway. The door at the top was also locked. “That’s got to be it,” said Roland.

  Alison agreed. “If you’re keeping a prisoner, the usual places are the attic or the dungeon, and we haven’t seen anything that leads to a lower level.”

  The door had a simple hasp with a small brass padlock. “I don’t need an ax for this,” Roland said. He charged up the stairs at full speed and slammed into the door with his shoulder. The hasp tore out of the wood. The door popped open, leaving Roland sprawling on the floor. Alison came and stood over him, covering each corner successively with her crossbow. “Princess Gloria?”

  Roland let his eyes get accustomed to the darkness. “She’s not here.” The attic held nothing more than a few pieces of broken furniture, a couple of trunks of old clothes, holiday decorations and twisted strands of tinsel, and a hideous lamp that had obviously been a gift from someone. The dust that covered everything had not been disturbed, nor had the cobwebs.

  “She’s got be here someplace,” said Alison, once they had returned to the ground level. “Unless she was . . .” She did not want to say “eaten.” “Even if she is gone, the Middle-Aged Man of the Mountains should still be here. He couldn’t have left. The fire is still burning.” They both looked around the empty living room. “This place creeps me out. It looked so nice from the outside, but inside it is spooky. Don’t you think it’s spooky?”

  Roland gave the furniture a cursory glance. “It seems just fine to me. The Kirghiz carpet does a good job of pulling together the colors of the curtains and sofa. I rather like the carved oak wainscoting, although I question the cornices. Probably a later addition. However, that antique Phillipe XIV desk is merely a reproduction.” He stopped when he saw Alison giving him a speculative look. “Oh, for God’s sake.” He grabbed her and kissed her firmly on the lips. “There,” he said, letting her go. “Happy now?”

  “Mmm-mm,” said Alison. Her eyes were shining.

  A noise behind them made them jump. It was Terry coming in. He had shed his armor and lance, and was holding the longsword with both hands. He said, “Huh. No horses. Because he has a gryphon, right? But he has a carriage anyway. Did you see it? A fast red two-seater. It looks brand-new.”

  “I noticed that,” said Roland. “And there’s a new set of barbells upstairs.”

  “Yep. He bought a sport carriage and started an exercise program. This guy is middle-aged all right.”

  “No wonder he went after a young blond. Did you kill the gryphon?”

  “No. I tangled with it a couple more times, then it flew off. Where is she?”

  “We can’t find her,” said Alison. “We looked everywhere. She’s not here.”

  Terry s
ucked in a deep breath, then yelled at the top of his lungs, “GLORIAAAAAAA!”

  A faint voice replied, “Down here.”

  Roland said to Alison, “We were just about to try that, weren’t we?”

  “Give me the ax.” Terry grabbed it away from Roland and passed him the sword.

  “But there’s no way down,” said Alison. “We looked. Is there a secret entrance outside?”

  “Behind the bookcase. They always hide one behind the bookcase. There will be an outside exit, too, but here’s where we’ll look first.”

  Roland was at the bookcase. “I’ve seen these in plays. You pull out a book and the secret door swivels open.” He scanned the shelves. “What’s the book with the least amount of dust on it?” He put his hand on a copy of Washboard Abs in Thirty Days. “Here.”

  He snatched his hand away as the ax struck the shelf, for Terry was demonstrating the highly skilled knights’ method of getting through a secret door by chopping a hole in it. Scrolls, codices, folios, and golf trophies went flying everywhere. When he was through, the bookcase lay in splinters and a man-sized opening in the wall revealed a crude stairway, chipped out of stone, leading down into dark rock. Without so much as a pause for breath, Terry rushed into the hole. Roland was right behind him. Alison took a deep breath and waited to see if her heart would stop pounding. It didn’t. She followed them anyway.

  She arrived at a tunnel carved into the mountain. It was about twice her height and equally wide. Light came from a lamp hanging over the stairway door, and from the far end of the cavern, where it led to open air. Smaller caves branched away into blackness. There was a strong animal smell. One of the caves was closed off with iron bars, secured by a heavy padlock. She saw Terry smash the padlock with the ax, swing the door open, and run inside. Roland was about to follow him when Alison screamed.

  She screamed because the Middle-Aged Man of the Mountains had grabbed her arms. She later realized that he had come up right beside her, yet for some reason she hadn’t noticed him. His eyes were wild, and there were beads of sweat on his bald spot. He tore the crossbow from her grip, but he wasn’t expecting her to fight back, and he dropped it when Alison punched him in the face. He struck her a backhanded blow that sent her sprawling. Then Roland tackled him.