She looked at the crew members, most of whom were at their posts, but a few were looking in her direction. "That's right, Slyvania. They're Gypsies. Every single one of them. So am I. And so is Rila."
Gillith thought he had seen every shade of color the queen could possibly become, but in the next few seconds, her face went from nearly as white as snow to as red as blood. She began screaming at him and the crew, fumbling with the canvas sheet and cloaks in an attempt to stand up. She only succeeded in tangling herself further and tripped over the sheet to fall flat on her face. Rila woke up when the queen hit the deck and came to see what was happening. As she approached the scene and attempted to help the queen rise, the irate woman shoved her away, causing her to trip. Gillith caught Rila's arm to steady her, then turned on the queen. Grabbing her hands, he tied them tightly in front of her before shoving her back into the improvised room. He stationed one of the guards in front of the door and walked away, ignoring the angry shouts and epithets that spewed from her puckered mouth. Standing with Rila and the captain on the rail near the bow, they discussed their plan.
"Are we just going to leave her tied up?" The captain was uncomfortable with the way the queen was being treated, not because he cared for her safety, but because he secretly feared, deep down in his heart, that the Gypsies might possibly lose, and he did not want the queen to hate him more than necessary.
"Yes, we are leaving her tied up." Rila looked pointedly at the captain. "I have seen the way she treats her servants. I have felt the way she treats them." Rila held her arm out to the captain and lifted her sleeve. Scars crisscrossed her pale flesh, some fresher than others.
"How did she... "
"A hot poker, usually. I have been working for her for six years now, waiting for my chance to exact revenge for the horrible things she has done. Do you know that she has killed four of her servants in that time?"
"What? I cannot believe that."
"Only one actually died by her hand directly. The others suffered so many abuses, they took their own lives. One was a young girl of twelve. Her mother owed Slyvania a debt and could not pay, so her daughter was taken. The girl was only with us a week before she jumped from the window in Slyvania's bed chamber, at the encouragement of the queen herself."
"Oh my. I had no idea."
"No. Most know she is horrible, but few know the true extent of her black soul."
"Well... I still do not think we should leave her tied up like that. It is cruel, even for one as horrid as her."
Gillith felt the need to interject. "We're not untying her. She can lay there all night and whine like a baby, for all I care. What I care about is what we're going to do now. Have you spoken with Toya?"
"Yes, I met with her before setting off today. She will be with her men at the drop zone."
"Good. And Malxon?"
"I spoke with him before leaving Legh. We'll take her to Binth, that little camp just east of Legh. He has bolstered the militia there and basically turned it into a stronghold. He had a special wagon built with Slyvania in mind and Toya will have it waiting at the dock when we get there."
"Very good. How long until we arrive?"
The captain looked at the sky, reading the stars that had risen. "About six hours. Just before the sun rises."
"Good. Rila, get some sleep. You look like you need it."
With that, Gillith bid his friends good night and went to find a place to rest for a few hours. He asked the guard watching over the queen to wake him for the third watch and curled up next to some sacks, wrapping himself in his cloak. As he rested his head, he felt movement next to him. Blond hair spilled across the sack he was using as a pillow, the moonlight shining off it brightly. A beautiful smile broke across the tired face of the girl beside him. She wrapped her own cloak about her, Gillith having retrieved it from the queen after the woman had been tied up. Rila rested her head on Gillith's shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her and they both drifted off to sleep, warmed in the comfort of love.
Chapter 34
Water dripped somewhere in the dark, a steady plop plop plop. The tunnel was so tight his arms brushed the damp walls. The mace at his side jangled on its chain, clanking heavily against his greaves. In front of him, a Gypsy led the way, carrying a lantern draped in dark cloth, the light dimmed to near invisibility. Behind him, the others in the small group paced quietly; he could barely hear their footsteps over the stomping of his boots. He was staring at his boots so intently, glaring at them for being so loud, that he didn't see the Gypsy in front of him stop. He ran into the smaller man, nearly knocking him down. Swearing softly, he began to apologize profusely. A hand on his shoulder quieted him.
"It's OK, Bolgor. We're almost there." Bellithana's calm voice helped steady the warrior's nerves and he followed the Gypsy as he turned right through a break in the wall.
They had entered the tunnels several miles away from the palace. The path they walked was a maze of twists and turns, rises and falls. At one point, along a steep decline, Bolgor was informed by the lead Gypsy that they were heading under the lake behind the palace. Upon hearing this, his knees grew weak and he was forced to lean against the side of the tunnel to compose himself. Since then, the constantly dripping water, the stale air, and the tight quarters had kept Bolgor on edge. Only Bellithana's steady hand and reassuring voice kept him from sitting down where he was and giving up.
They walked up another long, gradual incline before making a short left, which brought them finally to their destination. Bolgor had been expecting a typical wooden door and was disappointed and slightly panicked when they encountered a dead end. The Gypsy beckoned another further down the line, who slid past those in front of him. When he encountered Bolgor, they had to do a bit of readjusting of Bolgor's armor to allow the man past. When he finally reached the smooth, unmarked slab of rock, he placed his hands upon the surface and closed his eyes.
Bolgor waited impatiently, desperately wanting to get out of the tight tunnel. he shifted uncomfortably in his heavy armor until he heard the man at the rock start whispering. He could not understand the words, but he was filled with awe when he saw the thin, gold outline of a door form in the rock. The man chanted for more than a minute while the others waited. When he was finished, a solid door stood in front of them, handle included. The man grasped the handle and turned, pushing at the same time. As the door cracked open, a faint light crept into the tunnel, both exciting and worrying Bolgor. He had no idea what was on the other side of the door.
The two Gypsies advanced into the room beyond and Bolgor followed, a bit slower and much more cautiously. Beyond was a small storage room, filled with crates and boxes of all sorts. The door itself was behind a large stack of crates and the main door was not visible. The rest of the group remained in position while one of the other Gypsies advanced forward to scout out the situation. Listening closely, they could hear sounds coming from outside the palace. Bolgor hoped they were the sounds of battle, as they were relying on the main force to distract the guards while they completed their mission.
At a signal from the Gypsy at the door, the others moved from behind the crates. They followed the other Gypsy along several wide corridors, passing many heavy wooden doors, until he stopped at a larger door near a ramp leading up toward the rest of the palace. It was barred by a heavy plank of wood. Bolgor helped two of the Gypsies move the plank and push the doors in. The corridor beyond was crudely hewn and poorly lit, but wide and tall.
The group clung to the edge of the hall, feeling exposed and vulnerable until they reached the end. It was another large wooden door barred by a heavy plank, but there was a smaller door to the right of the large door. One of the Gypsies pressed his ear to the small door, listening intently. He knocked twice, rapidly. He was answered by two raps, followed by three more in quick succession. Nodding satisfactorily, he pulled the door open. On the other side stood a tall, lanky man. He threw himself at the Gypsy in front of the door, wrapping the man up in his arms
. The Gypsy returned the hug, laughing.
"Polla, how are you?" cried the tall man. "You're late!"
"Yes, yes. It took us a bit longer to get here than we intended. One person can travel much quicker than six."
"Indeed. Indeed. Now, these must be the famous travelers I've heard so much about. You know, young man, you and your friends have put the queen in quite an uproar. She swears if she hears one more comment about the return of Sigurd's son, she will cut out the speaker's tongue!" Laughing, he slapped Bolgor on the shoulder and grinned at Bellithana. The two friends smiled and chatted quietly with the man for a few moments before he beckoned them all through the door.
Bolgor walked through the door and looked around him. They were in another large tunnel that led out of sight to the right and to another door to the left. That door stood cracked and he could hear noises from beyond. The man explained that the corridor to the right led out to a boat on the lake. He also mentioned that Slyvania had headed that way less than an hour ago.
"You actually timed it perfectly. If you had arrived at the scheduled time, you might have run into the queen and her, uh, guards."
He winked at the other Gypsies, making Bolgor frown in confusion. The man ignored his questioning glance, however, and headed off to the left toward the door. As they neared the door, he slowed his steps and held up his hand to stop the group. They waited for him to scout out the situation beyond the other door. When he returned, he waved them through, pressing a finger to his lips and making sure they each acknowledged his command. They proceeded through the door into yet another wide corridor. This one was short, with one door on the left and two smaller doors along the opposite wall.
The man explained quietly that the door to the left led to the dungeon. They had been hearing rumors of Slyvania's cruelty and strictness. The unsettling sounds coming from beyond the door proved the rumors true. Screams of both fear and pain echoed through the wood and stone to them. Sympathy and anger stole over Bellithana's face.
"We will not leave them to their fate," she declared before setting off toward the smaller doors.
Their guide stopped in front of the far door, pulling out a key ring. He fumbled through several keys before finding the right one and the door swung outward at his tug. Taking a torch from a wall sconce, he stepped inside, beckoning the friends to follow. The other Gypsies remained outside. A heavy silence fell inside the little room. Though they both knew what they would encounter, neither Bolgor nor Bellithana were prepared for the sight. Chained to the far wall was a little orange dragon. His head was curled protectively under his tail, covering even his eyes. Lacerations were visible all along his tail, back, and legs. Deep bruises trailed along his flanks and neck. A chain was wrapped around his snout and locked, preventing him from spitting his deadly acid. The skin under the shackles and chains was worn raw and blood dripped slowly into a congealed puddle under him.
"Ator." Belli's voice was low and soothing as she approached the little dragon. "Ator, wake up. It's time to go."
Raising his head, the dragon blinked slowly, his eyes unaccustomed to the light, his brain so addled with pain it could not fully comprehend the scene in front of him. His face was swollen around his eyes and a jagged gash marred his small face, slicing across his right eye and over his nose. It had not been cleaned or bandaged properly. His right eye was nearly swollen shut and the wound dripped with an unhealthy yellow liquid. The man unhooked the padlock on the chains and Bellithana removed them from the little dragon carefully, placing a hand gently on his wounded snout.
"Belli?" His voice was weak, barely more than a whisper. He gazed at the woman, his vision blurring and clearing in cycles. She did not trust her voice enough to speak and he eventually decided he was dreaming. He laid his head down to go back to sleep, but the man shook him softly.
"No, Ator. You must get up. We need to leave."
"Oh, it's you, Yori. I'm hungry. Do you have anymore of that bread?"
"Yes, my dear. Here you go." A tear slipped from the man's eye as he pulled a half a loaf of bread from a pouch at his side and fed it to the little dragon. He looked meaningfully at the other two. Bellithana bit her lip and turned toward the door, unable to face the tortured creature any longer.
Bolgor cleared his throat, the abuse his friend suffered stirring an anger in him that he had never felt before. Determination stole into his heart and he knew he needed to get the dragon out of the palace. "Ator, get up. We need to leave."
The authority in Bolgor's voice shocked not only Ator, but Belli and the other Gypsies as well. They had not known him to be so commanding. Belli smiled slightly as she thought how much her friend had grown since she knew him as a boy in Jaje. The orange dragon looked up again, forcing his eyes to focus on the people standing in front of him. As Yori bent to unlock the shackles, Ator stared at Bolgor and Belli, still unsure whether to believe his eyes. When Bellithana again approached him and placed her arms around the creature's neck, his heart lightened.
"Are you really here?" The question was whispered, hopeful.
"Yes, Ator. We are really here. We are going to get you out and get you safe." Bolgor walked up to his friend, laying a hand softly on his nose.
Looking up at the others, he nodded once. One of the Gypsies entered the small cell, carrying a black bag in her hand. Taking out some small bottles and a clean cloth, she poured some brown liquid on the cloth and patted his wounds. While the woman cleaned his sores, Ator ate a small meal from Belli's bag and drank Bolgor's entire water supply.
When the blood had been wiped away from the open sores caused by the chains, the Gypsy started to clean out the gaping slash on his face. He winced and tried to pull away from her, but Belli put a gentle hand on his back and leaned against him. He forced himself to hold as still as possible, though he still winced whenever the stinging medicine touched exposed flesh. Finally, the blood gone and the wound sterilized, the healer pulled clean, white bandages from her bag and packed and wrapped what wounds she could. Over the chain wounds on his nose, she placed a clean square of cloth, which she held in place using strips of fabric soaked in a special adhesive mix.
The other Gypsies stood guard while Ator was tended to, hidden in the shadows of the wall, watching both doors leading out of the solitary confinement corridor. When Ator's wounds were cleaned and bandaged, he made his way, slowly, into the corridor with his friends. Two of the Gypsies opened the door they had entered through.
"Wait. We can't just leave them."
Everyone turned to look at the big man clad in bulky armor who wielded a mace that was nearly as heavy as a blacksmith's anvil. The look on his face was one of concern, fear, and empathy. His eyes, a clear blue glazed over with unshed tears, wandered toward the door at the end of the hall, where they heard the cries of Slyvania's victims. He looked back to his companions, silently pleading with them. The Gypsy who had led them through the tunnels looked to Yori, who glanced once at the heavy doors before nodding firmly, his jaw set.
"Those people have suffered needlessly. Not one of them deserved the punishment they have suffered. About two dozen men, women, and children are in there. There's enough room on the boat, right?"
The Gypsy thought for a moment before nodding. "It will be tight, and they'll need to remain still, but Ator is small enough. We can fit three dragons and a dozen humans, so three dozen humans and a small dragon should be OK."
After a very brief conference on the best way to free the prisoners, the group proceeded toward the heavy, forbidding door, leaving Bellithana and Ator to guard the exit. All doors to the dungeon opened inward to hinder the rare escape attempt. Bolgor and Yori approached the door side by side. Yori used his key to unlock the door as silently as possible. Bolgor stood in front of one of the double doors, Yori in front of the other. On a silent count, they shoved the doors open simultaneously as the Gypsies burst past them into the gloom. The healer, also gifted in illusions, concealed their entry with smoke, momentarily blinding the guar
ds standing on the other side of the door. The Gypsies dealt with them swiftly before moving toward the two men standing at the main entrance on the opposite side.
The two guards recovered quickly from the shock of the Gypsies' entrance and launched themselves at the group. Bolgor, having pushed the door as wide open as it would go, pulled his mace from its leather sling on his belt and moved purposefully toward the men, revenge sitting heavily on his face. The first guard pulled his sword and advanced toward the warrior, raising his weapon to strike at Bolgor's head. Ducking the swing, the young man brought the heavy spiked ball around in a horizontal arc, connecting with the guard's abdomen with a sickening crunch. The man's armor crumpled beneath the blow, and the spikes ripped through the metal. Bolgor followed through the swing and the man was launched into the air, flying several feet before slumping against the opposite wall in a haze of pain.
As Bolgor battled the first guard, Yori advanced on the second, making use of his deftness with daggers. The guard lunged at Yori, attempting to skewer him with his broadsword before Yori could cover the distance. Yori, however, had been trained by the Gypsies and avoided the sloppy swordwork easily. A dagger appeared in each hand within mere moments and the guard could only stare at the blur in front of him before his jugular was slit in one swift motion. Yori turned to grin at his friends before heading over to the cells to release the prisoners.
As he looked at the Gypsies, who were still near the double doors, their eyes grew wide and their mouths opened as if to yell at him. He felt a strange burning sensation in his stomach and his grin turned to confusion. Something shiny was glistening between his ribs and he glanced down to examine the object. A sharp, pointed blade protruded from the front of his shirt, his blood pouring to the floor. He looked uncomprehendingly at it as it twisted sideways and disappeared back into his body. His hand crawled up to the gaping wound, feeling the slimy warmth of his entrails as they spilled to the floor. Yori raised his head and looked to his friends once more, his vision blurring red, reality slowly sinking in. Pain hit him, as did fear and a strange calmness, when his eyes met those of the healer, the woman he had always loved but never spoken to beyond a simple greeting. A small smile spread across his lips, and he watched her until his vision grew black and the world disappeared.
Blood of the Dragon: An NA Epic Fantasy Page 19