City of the Lost l-1

by Mary H. Herbert

  The leader went into the tent and, after what seemed a lifetime to Linsha, came out again with the Brute general.

  The Rose Knight pulled the leather cap further down over her face, but she needn’t have bothered. The patrol leader hauled her out from between the centaurs and pushed her in front of the general. She drew herself up and stared defiantly up at the impassive gold mask. The general was a tall man, taller than Lanther, and built proportionately with wide shoulders and a chest she could crack rocks on. He wore nothing more than a kilted skirt of fine linen and leather sandals, and all of his exposed skin had been painted blue. His long hair had been plaited into dozens of small braids and twisted with white bird feathers. Dark eyes glittered through the eye holes of the gold mask as he studied her. He reached out and yanked her cap off.

  “A woman. Reddish hair in curls. Green eyes like gems. Slender nose with freckles. A large bruise on her face. The description was a good one. You are the Solamnic Knight Linsha Majere.” Ignoring her gasp of surprise, he turned to his warriors. “Good work. Take those two to the slave pens. Bind this one and bring her to my tent.”

  Linsha stiffened. Her muscles tensed, and her weight shifted as if she were preparing to run. But powerful hands clamped around her arms and pulled them behind her back. She was marched into the tent and tied with leather strips to one of the strong supporting poles in the center. The thongs bit into the raw skin and scabs around her wrists from the last time she had been bound.

  “Tie her feet, too,” the general ordered. “She is trained in the ways of the warrior.”

  The men complied and left the tent. Linsha could move nothing more than her head. She looked around and realized she and the general were alone. Gods, she wondered, who has been telling him so much about me?

  The Brute moved with athletic ease to a low couch carved from black wood and cushioned with animal pelts. On his left stood a small camp table with writing implements and scrolls. To his right was a matching table with a stoneware bottle and several small cups. Behind him hung an ornate banner decorated with geometric designs surrounding a magnificent lion. A sword stood on a rack close to his hand. Hanging from the tent’s roof, Linsha noticed a long, black-shafted lance, but it was muffled in shadows and she could not see it clearly.

  She turned her attention back to the general. He sat on his couch and poured a dark red liquid into a cup. He held it up in a mock salute, but he did not drink.

  When he said nothing, she glared at him. “Don’t you ever take off that mask?”

  “Not in the presence of outsiders,” he growled. “Now tell me where the bronze dragon is. Tell me about this Scorpion Wadi. Tell me about the militia and its general. Who survived and what do they plan to do?”

  “Who are you people?” she countered. “Why did you come here? Do you seriously believe Thunder will allow you to stay?”

  The general swirled the drink around in his cup and laughed. “Of course he won’t. He is greedy, envious, vicious, and hates anything that gets in the way of what he wants. He will kill the bronze, increase his totem, and drive us out as soon as he grows weary of our help. We, however, have other plans.” He rose and strode to her, the cup still in his hand. “We are the people of Tarmak, the sons of Amarrel. We have crossed the ocean to claim this city for our own.”

  “But it’s not your own. This city was built by the Legion, by Iyesta, and by people who came seeking peace.”

  “And now they are dead. The city is ours and we intend to keep it. Now, where is the dragon? What does the militia plan to do?”

  Linsha pressed her back into the pole to keep away from him. The paint on his body smelled foul, and the menace in his voice sent her heart racing. His words sent her mind racing, too. She had wondered from the beginning how a dragon like Thunder had organized and planned a complicated and thorough invasion of the Missing City. Now she suspected she knew who had really planned it. From the intonation in his voice, she suspected he had not yet completed his plan. Could it be possible that he was also responsible for the death of the brass dragons?

  “The bronze went back to Sanction,” she said, trying not to breathe too much in his proximity.

  He shook his head and held the cup closer to her face. “He is injured and cannot fly. Now, where is he?”

  “How do you know all this?” she demanded. “How do you know me?”

  “You are not the only one who can gather information, Lady Knight. We have had spies in this city for several years. Unfortunately, they are unavailable at this moment, and you conveniently placed yourself in my hands.” He raised his other hand and placed his fingers across her face so his fingertips gripped the sides of her head. His touch felt like steel.

  “How did you kill Iyesta?” she snapped.

  The general’s mask stared down at her, but she heard the slightest intake of breath as if her question had taken him by surprise. “You are stubborn-and as passionate as any dragon. I helped Thunder kill Iyesta and the three young ones with a gift my father received from the Highlord Ariakas himself-an Abyssal Lance.” He nodded toward the black-shafted lance. “Now, I have lost patience. It is time to give me answers.”

  His fingers closed on her skull and a brilliant light flashed through her head, as hot and excruciating as a heated poker. Her jaws were forced open, and he poured the contents of the cup between her lips. The liquid tasted vaguely of wine and herbs, but it burned her mouth and the back of her throat. Terrified, she gagged and tried to spit it out, but she succeeded only in choking on the fiery liquid. What was it? Had he poisoned her?

  “Where is the bronze dragon?” he repeated.

  Linsha’s body went numb and sagged in the straps holding her to the pole. Only her head remained sensitive to the pain that bore into her skull. She stifled a groan as her vision blurred and her thoughts began to run together. Inside her head, memories of dark rain and pounding thunder mingled with blurry images of the tent. She tried to force an image-any image-into focus, only to see it fade and blend and slip out of her reach.

  Then the world turned black and wet. She heard the strange voices again, and this time she recognized the language they spoke. Black silhouettes swam into her vision. She saw the figure with the sword come toward her, and she saw her dagger. Clear and brilliant as a flash of lightning, a piece of her memory floated into place. Her dagger. She had stabbed the black figure in the chest. Sir Morrec had died of a knife wound to the back. As the black figure faded out of focus, the second black silhouette swam into her vision. A blow exploded behind her ear. The rainy night abruptly vanished and the tent slipped back into sight. But the steely touch of the hand on her temples was the same. The colored explosion of pain and the acrid aftertaste of magic was the same.

  “The dragon,” demanded the voice.

  “You… attacked us. You killed Sir Morrec,” she managed to say. She let her chin drop to her chest. Her hair was wet and her face bathed in sweat. She shook as if from a fever.

  The general pressed his fingers harder. The pain grew worse. “Answer me, woman. Where do we find the bronze?”

  Linsha screamed but she would not answer. Her father Palin had held out for months against the horrible tortures of the Dark Knight mystics. His daughter was made of the same stern stubbornness. She could not betray Crucible.

  After a while, the Tarmak general pulled back from the Lady Knight and eyed her unconscious form. A second Tarmak officer stepped into the tent.

  “Is she dead?” the man inquired in their rough, guttural language.

  The general tossed the cup to the ground. “Of course not. It would take more than I gave her to kill her. She is strong.”

  “Will she take the bait?”

  “If she is as clever as I have been told, she will take it.”

  “And if not?”

  “Then I will give her to your men. They can kill her as they wish.” He turned away from his prisoner. “Has Thunder returned from his lair?”

  “No, sir. Not yet.”<
br />
  “Good. Then let us go make our preparations.”

  Together the two men walked out of the tent, leaving Linsha hanging on the pole.

  23

  The Lance

  In the half light of dawn when colors had not yet become visible and the landscape was still half-hidden in grays and shadowed blacks, an owl soared out of a pine tree and circled over the tents of the Brute encampment. The few guards left in the camp paid no attention to her, and no one noticed when she swooped down to the ground near the largest tent. On the ground she was almost invisible. She hopped to a place in the back where sections of the tough fabric were stitched together. Several quick snips of her beak opened a hole large enough for her squeeze through.

  Step-hopping, she made her way across the rugs on the floor to the woman’s body tied to the tent pole. Varia satisfied herself that Linsha was still alive and began to climb up the Lady Knight’s leg to the padded mercenary’s tunic and the leather thongs that held her to the pole. The leather was tougher than the tent fabric and took some time to snip through. Finally, she nipped through the last strand, and Linsha toppled to the floor.

  “Ouch,” came a muffled protest from the prostrate woman.

  “Ah, you are awake,” said the owl in her whispery voice. “I am pleased they left you alive.”

  “Barely.” Linsha groaned and tried to roll over, only to discover her feet were still tied to the pole. “Would you mind?”

  Varia snapped through the last leather bindings, and Linsha pulled free. She pushed herself onto her back and lay staring at the roof of the tent as if she were trying to remember how she got there.

  “Are you well?” asked the owl.

  “No. That bastard knows sorcery. He used some sort of drug on me and a spell that I thought was going to shatter my skull. Gods,” she groaned, “what did I tell him?”

  “We need to get you out of here. The general and his officers are gone, but there are a few guards left.”

  Linsha did not take the hint. She lay very still, her forehead creased in thought. “It’s odd. I remember he asked me questions. I don’t think I answered. He knew too much about me, that’s for sure. But he answered some of my questions. Why would he do that?”

  The owl fussed around, pulling off the leather thongs and checking her bloody wrists. If she had been a little bigger, she would have hauled Linsha to her feet and dragged her out, but she had to be patient and wait for the Lady Knight to find her own strength.

  “Varia, what is an Abyssal Lance?” Linsha asked.

  The owl chirped in surprise and hooted softly. “Why?”

  “The general said something about one.”

  “There were only a few made, as I remember. Some smiths serving the Highlord Ariakas made them as an evil variation of the dragonlance. They were dreadful weapons.”

  “Is that one?” Linsha raised a sluggish hand and pointed at the ceiling.

  Varia cut her eyes to the roof of the tent where a long, black shaft hung on golden cords from the tent roof supports. Her dark eyes widened to pools. “So that’s how they did it.”

  “It will kill a dragon, won’t it?”

  “They were not as effective as a dragonlance, but yes, they could kill a dragon.”

  Linsha pulled herself upright and, using the pole for support, hauled herself to her feet. “Come on, we’re taking that thing with us.”

  She took a step toward the general’s couch and fell to her knees. The tent swayed around her with a sickening spin. She took several deep breaths and put her head between her knees.

  “Where are the centaurs when you need them?” she moaned.

  Varia said nothing. She fluttered to her hole in the back of the tent, slipped out, and flew into the trees. Linsha did not notice. She concentrated on her breathing and her dizziness until she could bring both under control, then she sat up and climbed to her feet.

  At that moment there was a shout outside, a clashing sound, and hoofbeats. Suddenly, a centaur yanked open the tent entrance.

  Azurale stuck his head in. His black eyes were shining with eagerness and a crossbow dangled from his hand. “I hear you need help,” he offered.

  Linsha did not take the time to ask what had just happened. She accepted his help and together they lowered the black weapon down from its hangings.

  In the growing light of day, Linsha was able to take a closer look at it. Varia was right. It was a dreadful weapon. It had a cruel, barbed head of rust red set in a black shaft about fifteen feet long. The handle ended in a cowl that helped protect the wielder. Linsha flinched at the touch of the thing, for it was imbued with an evil enchantment that tingled under her fingers like trapped lightning.

  Azurale made a face as he helped her carry it out of the tent. “You sure you want this foul thing?”

  “If it can kill Iyesta,” she growled, “it will kill Thunder.”

  Outside the morning sun tipped the horizon and spilled across the plains in horizontal beams of yellow light. Linsha lifted her face to the sun and closed her eyes. The heat caressed her skin and touched her pale cheeks with rose.

  “Varia said you had an Abyssal Lance.” Crucible said behind her. “Is that it?”

  She was so startled that she nearly dropped it. Belatedly, she glanced around the encampment and saw the bodies of several dead guards lying in the dirt. The smashed and mangled bodies made it evident what had happened to them. The half-dozen guards had been no match for a dragon.

  The tents were empty, the headquarters deserted. That’s convenient, she thought. The Brutes leave her alive in an empty camp with a weapon at hand. What was going on here?

  Crucible watched her over the palisade, his dragon head gleaming with metal brilliance in the morning light.

  She blinked at him. “What are you doing here? Did you find the eggs?”

  “They are not in the labyrinth. I think Thunder has taken them to the treasure room. He made several trips back to his lair last night, and now he is reconstructing his skull totem.”

  Linsha flashed a worried frown. “You saw it? Is it complete?”

  Crucible shook his heavy head. “I do not believe so. I think he still needs a bronze skull.”

  “Lady, if you don’t mind,” Azurale called. “This is getting heavy. What to you want to do with it?”

  Linsha stared up at the bronze dragon. “I cannot carry this alone, Crucible. It is a weapon for a dragonrider. Do we leave it here or take it with us?”

  He snorted that she would even ask such a question and flexed his injured wing. “Bring it. We will trap him below ground like he did Iyesta and make him feel his own weapon.”

  “Then you’d better hurry, before those Brutes return,” Azurale suggested.

  “I’ll need a saddle, some rope, and-”

  “A shield,” Crucible added to her list.

  They hurriedly gathered the items Linsha needed, and the owl, the dragon, the centaur, and the Lady Knight left the Brute encampment and, taking the evil lance with them, fled into the wild gardens.

  “If we are going to lure Thunder underground, we will need bait,” Linsha said as they hurried back to the hidden entrance to the labyrinth.

  Crucible agreed. “A distraction would be good, too. We do not need those blue-skinned warriors chasing us down there.”

  “The general called them Tarmaks. Have you ever heard of that? The Dark Knights just called them Brutes.”

  None of the little group had heard that name. All they knew was the Brutes’ reputation for ferocity and fearlessness.

  It was full daylight by the time they reached the small entrance to the tunnels below the palace. Linsha, with Azurale’s help, fashioned a saddle and a harness that would help her stay on Crucible’s back and hold the heavy lance in place. They fastened it around the bronze, being careful of his bruised leg and his cracked wing bone, and when they were finished he declared it sturdy enough.

  “Good, then take it off,” Linsha said. “We’ll carry it for you
while you are in cat shape.”

  “Not this time,” replied Crucible. “We need bait. Thunder needs a bronze to complete his totem. I can get him underground.”

  Linsha looked stunned. “How can you do that? You blocked the tunnel entrance from the treasury yourself. If you go in there, he’ll kill you. And if you make it back here, you can’t get through this door as a dragon.”

  Crucible lowered his head until his dark gold eye was level with Linsha’s face. “He forgot who he was dealing with when he left it blocked with stone. I can open that entrance before he has time to draw breath. You must be waiting for me. Not in Iyesta’s tomb. He might expect that. Go to the egg cavern.”

  Linsha reached out and touched the scaly nose that was so close to her own. His burnished scales were a darker bronze on his head and along his back, lightening to a bright golden shade along his sides and belly. His limbs were stocky but well muscled, and his tail, while not very long, was broad and had a spiny ridge linked by webbing to help him swim in water. He had a lean, elegant head and horns the color of polished steel. She didn’t think she had ever seen a dragon quite so handsome as this one. She felt his breath hot on her cheeks, and when she looked into the depths of his amber eye she saw an anger burning deep as lava beneath the surface. Like all dragons, Crucible often found hatred an easy emotion to awaken.

  “I will meet you there,” she said, knowing it was useless to argue. “What about a diversion?”

  “We can help you there, Lady Knight,” Azurale said with a touch of pride. “The owl and I took word to the militia while you were a prisoner. The Legionnaires were very angry with you, but they said they would gather a force and await your word.”

  Linsha could just imagine Lanther’s reaction to her departure last night. She shrugged it off and turned to Varia. “You are certainly losing your shyness around others. Who else have you been talking to?”

  The owl ruffled her feathers. “Only those you need. I suggest we also warn Leonidas. He is with the slaves near the palace. Perhaps he can distract some of the guards as well.”