Dragon In The Darklands

by Bruce Leslie

  “Who is Sophia?” asked Sam.

  Meena groaned. “Just a legend we learned about in the Darklands.”

  “Oh,” said Sam. “And what about the Darklands? What was it like?” He grimaced. “Was it all full of monsters?”

  “There were monsters, alright.” The Lump grinned as he spoke. “We saw a booger-bear, a titan snake, and a giant…” He wrinkled his forehead. “What did you call that big thing on the beach, Flynn?”

  “A crab,” answered Flynn.

  “That’s it!” said the Lump. “We saw a giant crab, too.”

  “What’s a crab?” asked Sam.

  “It’s like a spider, only big as an ox.” The Lump held up a thick finger. “And it was covered in armor and had two big, ugly pincers that could cut a man in half.”

  Sam winced. “I should hope I never see one of those.” He asked, “What was the land like?”

  “It was bigger than I expected,” answered the Lump. “It was also strange, but not the sort of strange I expected.”

  “Is that so.” Sam drew his brows together. “In what way was it strange?”

  Flynn answered before the Lump could speak. “People live there!” He held out his hands. “They even have a city bigger than Molgadon and Galliston combined.”

  Sam’s only response was a long, drawn-out whistle.

  Flynn said, “Their knowledge is older and better studied than ours, but they mingle legends with facts so thoroughly that it isn’t clear what can be believed.”

  “Their legends do have value,” added Meena.

  The Lump snorted and shook his head. “I think their legends just might be truth.”

  “If you’re insisting I’m the Sophia, I’m insisting I’m not.” Meena held a hand out by her side as she walked. “But I do believe there is wisdom buried within the legend, and I think legends are created to give real people inspiration.” Her hand dropped to her side. “So, to that effect, I am inspired.”

  “But what about the Hill-Folk legend of the double-eyed lady?” asked Flynn. “It is so very close to that of the Sophia that it must speak to some deeper truth.”

  Meena narrowed her eyes. “Remember that the Molga came here, and brought their legends with them.” She ran a hand along her braid while she spoke. “The Hill-Folk have simply kept that legend alive. They haven’t been influenced by Lunaris or Solsons, and still hold on to some very old ways.”

  The Lump wrinkled his forehead. “So you think the Molga were as wild as the chip-flipping Hill-Folk?”

  “Perhaps their ways of life are very similar,” answered Meena. “There is a touch of hidden sophistication with the Hill-Folk, after all.”

  Flynn frowned and shook his head. “I have to admit that I fail to see anything I would describe as sophistication among people called Long-Ears and Itchy-Legs.”

  “Then I am sad to learn that you are so blind, Flynn.” Meena grinned at her companion. “The method by which the Hill-Folk choose their leaders is a very good one.” She held her hand out again. “Perhaps, the Great Egg would be a better place if the Kingdoms followed the Hill-Folk’s lead.” Her hand returned to her side. “It would be nice if everywhere was as egalitarian as the Common Lands.”

  Flynn nodded. “Once, I would have disagreed with you, but I now see the value in your wisdom.” He ran a hand through his hair, brushing it away from his eyes. “I now see the blind faith I once had in my King as folly. I think I also have a better understanding about what a hero truly is than when we first met.”

  “I’ll never argue with that last bit,” said the Lump.

  They made their way through the Peddler’s Pass and down the empty road to Bleuderry. When they arrived at the village, the market was noticeably vacant of both people and wares. The Crone’s Keep looked the same as always, save for the fact that it appeared empty.

  Meena pushed the inn’s door gently open and stepped inside, followed by her companions. The dining hall was empty, and Beverly sat on a stool at the bar with his back to the entrance. His normally slicked back, black hair was dry and tousled, and sweat stained the back of his white shirt.

  Without bothering to turn around, Beverly said, “Sorry, the inn’s closed. We don’t have any food or drink, and the rooms are bare.”

  “Come on, now, Beverly,” bellowed the Lump. “Is that how you greet your favorite group of numb-noggins?”

  Beverly spun around on his stool. His eyes were wide and he wore a broad smile. Just above his smile, his black mustache was as bushy as ever. He said, “I must say, I wasn’t expecting you to show up.” His eyes surveyed the party and his smile faded. “Where’s the crone?”

  Meena walked forward. “That’s one reason we came.” She lowered her eyes. “She passed on a while back.”

  “I see,” said Beverly. “I know no one lives forever, but I always thought she was too ornery to die.” He rose from his stool and held out a hand. “Please forgive my lack of courtesy, have a seat at a table so we can visit properly.”

  Everyone, including Beverly, claimed a seat at the long, high table in the center of the room. They shuffled the chairs around and the travelers welcomed a chance to rest their weary feet.

  Beverly shrugged. “I’d offer you a drink, or a bowl of stew, but I don’t have any.” He ran a hand through his hair to straighten it. “I let the kitchen ladies go, since there was nothing for them to do.”

  “Times are indeed dismal,” said Flynn.

  “That they are.” Beverly leaned his elbows on the table. “So, what led to the crone’s passing?”

  “She fell ill,” answered Meena. “I am sad to say that I wasn’t with her during her illness, I only saw her on the day she died.”

  Flynn said, “I think the air so near the Wretched Water did not agree with her, but she refused to succumb to her malady until Meena returned.”

  “That sounds about right.” Beverly chuckled. “She was stubborn to the very end.”

  The Lump rested his big arms on the table. “How long have you worked for the old battle-axe?”

  “Lump!” Meena shot the big man a chastising glare. “Don’t speak ill of her.”

  Beverly waved a hand. “She gave more grief than she ever got, she wouldn’t have us speak any other way.” He looked at the Lump. “I guess you could say I worked for her my whole life. She was my grand-mum, after all.”

  “What?” The Lump’s face twisted in confusion. “You never told us that.”

  “I didn’t think I needed to,” said Beverly. “I’m named after her, I thought that made it clear.”

  “But your name’s…” The Lump’s eyes widened as understanding washed over him. “You mean the crone’s name was Beverly?”

  “Look at that!” Beverly pointed at the Lump. “He’s not so much an imbecile as I was led to believe.”

  “Her name was Beverly.” Meena spoke softly and to no one in particular.

  Everyone sat silently for a moment and stared down at the empty table. The revelation that the crone had a proper name left them briefly dumbfounded.

  Flynn was first to break the silence. “By the condition of the town, I take it you have encountered the Gallisians.”

  “Oh, that we have.” Beverly drew down his brows. “The footmen swept in as unexpectedly as a snow storm in Summer.” He huffed. “The few men-at-arms nearby went into hiding and left the folk here at Bleuderry undefended.”

  Meena leaned forward. “What did they do?”

  Beverly sighed. “They looted the inn and the market.” He looked at the Lump and raised his eyebrows. “They even dug up the potato patch out back.”

  The Lump scowled. “We should’ve left those mud-kissing snakes for them.”

  Beverly nodded. “They took the livestock, the beds, any cloth they could get their hands on, said it was all for the war effort.” He held his hands wide. “I told them I didn’t now about any war and they laughed at me.” He placed his hands flat, against the table. “After a couple of days, they left town as su
ddenly as they arrived, heading south to Molga castle to unseat Rondal. The man in charge says Aardland will be part of his Empire of the Great Egg.”

  “How about my goats?” asked the Lump. “The ones I left hitched out front. Did the Sol-forsaken Gallisians take them?”

  Beverly laughed. “Oh no, the goats were long gone before the Gallisians arrived. One of them tried to bite everyone who walked past.” He pointed a thumb toward the entrance. “I untied them and shooed them off into the forest.” His hand went back to the table. “The Gallisians did take the cart, however.”

  Meena leaned back in her chair. “This man in charge, did he have hostages with him? Perhaps a man and woman a few years older than you?”

  Beverly held his hands up by his shoulders. “I’m not sure, he had all kinds of folk with him.” His hands returned to the table. “He took control of the inn and made me sleep out in the hedges. He put some of his men in the stables, took every shelter in Bleuderry, then marched out two days later and left us with nothing.”

  Meena’s expression hardened. “Do you think any folk here would like to see justice brought to the invader?”

  “Of course,” answered Beverly. “We would all like to see it, but I’m not sure anyone has the means to deliver it.”

  Meena looked at the Lump, then Flynn, then back to Beverly. “We can provide the means, but we need people for support.”

  Beverly rubbed his chin. “You might not find many fighting men in Bleuderry, and I’m not too sure the men-at-arms will come out of their hiding holes.”

  Meena lifted her staff from her side and laid it on the table. “An army can use more than just fighting men, that is something the invader doesn’t seem to understand. We can benefit from cleverness as much as swords.” She raised an eyebrow. “We also tend to value fighting women more than does our enemy. We can make use of craftsmen, and farmers, and folk who sew.” She tapped the table with a finger. “We may very well need to cross the river, and anyone who might know how to do that will be invaluable.” She stared into Beverly’s eyes. “Do you think folk here, in North Aardland, will help us deliver justice to the invader?”

  Beverly shot up from his chair. “I don’t know how many, but some will. I’ll spread the word. The accommodations here are far more humble than they once were, but you can all have rooms for the night. In the morning, I’ll have volunteers meet us out front so we can see what we’ve got.”

  Meena allowed a smile to creep across her face. “Thank you, Beverly.” She put a hand on her staff and looked at it. “And thank you, Beverly.”

  28: Riddle

  Shortly after sunrise, the Lump descended the stairs from the inn’s lodging chambers to the dining hall. Meena and Flynn already waited for him, though they did not seem as if they had been waiting long.

  “At least I got up and at ‘em before Sam,” said the Lump, bouncing down from the final stair.

  “No, you didn’t.” Meena smirked. “Sam has already been dispatched to fetch our army from the Needles.”

  Flynn added, “He has been gone for a while now, we’ll be making our final push soon.”

  “Oh, huh.” The Lump scratched the side of his head. “I reckon we should head outside and see what sort of volunteers Beverly mustered.”

  They walked to the front door, pushed it open, and stepped outside. Cheers erupted as Meena crossed the inn’s threshold.

  A collection of men and women, young and old alike, filled the dirt covered crossroads in front of The Crone’s Keep. The crowd’s cheering continued and they raised their various weapons in the air to salute Meena. Several hands held swords, some gripped hammers or axes made for crafting rather than warfare. Women held up rakes, pitchforks, and shovels among a smattering of other tools. Beverly leaned against the outer wall of the inn with his arms crossed and a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

  An unexpected sight appeared at the rear of the crowd. Four, shiny glaives rose up above the other weapons. They were wielded by men in silver mail who surrounded a man in a blue robe. These four soldiers were men-at-arms from the Western Abbey, and Costello, their Abbot, accompanied them.

  Flynn opened his eyes wide. “Look at them all!” He turned to the Lump. “How many do you think there are?”

  The Lump wrinkled his forehead and rubbed his beard. “I’d say there’s at least sixty of ‘em out there.”

  Meena held up a hand to quiet the cheers. She called out, “I thank you all for volunteering.” She pointed to the Abbot at the rear of the gathered mass of people. “I will even go so far as to say I am surprised to be joined by some of you.”

  The Abbot smiled and gave his head a slight bow. “Indeed, we have been at odds before…” He held up a finger. “And there is still an unresolved matter of a certain tome, but in this matter we stand together.”

  Meena returned the Abbot’s bow. “As for the tome, we will always disagree to whom it should belong, but for the moment I believe it to be in the possession of the invader.” She held one hand out at her side while the other gripped her staff. “As for standing together, I welcome you to our common cause: ending this terrible rampage of Eugene.”

  A brown-haired man in a tattered, gray tunic at the fore of the crowd said, “He has a large host, we were told you had means to fight him.”

  Meena nodded. “I have a number of capable allies, they are on their way to join us.” She raised her staff slightly. “I also have help from… less common soldiers, but no need to worry about that until it is time to fight.”

  “When is it time to fight?” asked the man in the gray tunic.

  “Soon,” answered Meena. “When our allies arrive you will see we have a good many people, though still not so many as the invader.” She put a hand to her chest and shook her head. “Do not be discouraged by this. You will see we are brave, strong, and clever, those are three traits I believe our enemy lacks.”

  The Lump chuckled. “Just to be clear, we ain’t all too clever, but Meena makes up for any shortcoming.”

  A man in a thick, brown coat made from animal hide said, “So tell us, when do we fight?”

  Meena drew in a deep breath. “We fight once we cross the river.” She looked over the crowd, then continued. “The Oxhorn River is a formidable obstacle, it nearly claimed my life once, and that was at a time of peace.”

  The Lump held up a thick finger and wagged it. “Once upon a time, an old Gallisian raider named Berek slaughtered scores of Aards trying to cross that ox-sniffing river!”

  Meena leaned against her staff. “So, while we await the rest of our number, I ask you for help.” She stood up straight and held her hands wide, the left one still clutching her staff. “Does any of you know how best to ford a river for our attack?”

  The man in the gray tunic said, “Most folk ferry across the river.”

  “Sure,” said the Lump. “But it ain’t like ferrymen are gonna be waiting to bring an attacking force over, especially not one that looks as untamed as ours will.”

  Flynn stepped forward. “Eugene will have certainly cut the guide-ropes and dry docked the ferries on the south side.” He frowned and gave his head a quick shake. “The man is many foul things, but he is not foolish in the ways of war.”

  “Some of us could swim across,” said the man in the animal hide coat. “Maybe even enough to take back the castle.”

  The Lump’s face twisted into a sour expression. “I don’t know how many of us can swim.” He pointed a thumb at Flynn. “Sure, he can, but he can’t take the castle all by his lonesome.” His hand dropped to his side. “We’ll have people in mail, and carrying halberds, and axes, and cudgels.” He held his hands up by his shoulders. “We can’t expect nobody to swim like that.”

  Beverly looked at the ground, then lifted his face and said, “We could cross at the bridge, up river, then march on the castle from the south.”

  The Lump groaned and shook his head. “That bridge is a deathtrap. It ain’t as easy to cross as you’d think, espe
cially if you haven’t seen it before. The idea of marching an army across that mud-kissing thing sends shivers up my spine.”

  “It would also take a long time for that march,” added Meena. “The invader would almost certainly learn of our movements and send a force to meet us well outside the castle. We need to storm the castle quickly, unexpected. I fear we may not fare as well in an open, pitched battle.”

  “You never know,” said the man in the gray tunic. “Maybe our chances would be better in an open fight.” He drew his brows together. “Castle walls and defenses ain’t nothing to take lightly.”

  Meena’s mouth became a hard line. “There is also a matter of hostages.She paused for a moment, then said, “Hostages may be the most important matter, in fact.”

  “It’s her mum and pop,” said the Lump. “They’re the whole reason she’s here to help us in the first place.”

  “It is a mission of justice,” added Flynn, “but it is also a rescue mission.”

  Beverly smoothed his mustache with two, quick strokes of his thumb. “Maybe we could build new bridges.”

  “Perhaps we could,” agreed Meena. She asked, “Does anyone know how?”

  “I’m sure we could figure it out,” said the man in the animal hide coat. “We’d just need to connect a bunch of planks until they’re long enough to stretch from bank to bank.”

  Meena rubbed the side of her head. “It’s quite a long distance, and the centers would be weak.” She gripped her staff in both hands and leaned against it. “A large number of people crossing quickly may not be possible, though it is worth considering.”

  The man in the gray tunic said, “If we can’t get to the ferries, we can make our own boats.” He held his hands out and looked around. “If everybody worked, we could make a dozen canoes in no time.”

  “But how many trips back and forth would it take to carry us all?” asked Beverly.