Damsel Knight (35 page)

“If you had waited until night, you wouldn’t have the opportunity to attack.” Her mother’s eyes narrow. “Bonn-Boone is the one who destroyed the barrier. Boone is the one who controls the dragon who will help us take the palace.”

The overweight man leans forward in his chair. “And she’s the one who killed most of our men, dropping explosives in a cowardly night attack. She’s the one who prevented your attempts to break the barrier, not once but twice. Who’s to say she’s not still working for that monster King?”

“I don’t work for people who try to kill me, and I don’t work for people who harm my friends.”

“Ah, yes. That boy.” The man steeples his pudgy fingers together. “He had magic, did he not? That woman Claudia said so. Isn’t it more likely he’s the one in control of this dragon. It’s rare for an animal to bond so strongly, and rarer still without magic.”

The slim Captain rocks in his dirt chair, thoughtful as the pudgy member of the three returns to his seat. “I wouldn’t judge the girl too quickly. Just think of how often unicorns are captured using a young child as a lure. There’s something about the innocent that makes wild beasts stupid.”

“It’s called respect.” Boone’s hands itch for her sword. Neven was the one best at fighting with words. “Now. Let’s talk about when we’re going to attack the palace.”

“It’s a trap!” One of the soldiers yells from across the room. “Dark witch just wants to kill the rest of us.”

“Quiet!” Yells the overweight man, slamming his fist down on the table. Dirt sprays in all directions from the impact. “I can’t say I trust the girl Blaine. Though I would dearly love the chance to get out of this hole in the ground. Living elbow to elbow with commoners is too much to ask for a man of my status.”

“Dirt may be…unpleasant, but it is necessary. No better camouflage against locating spells.”

“After the King is dead there’ll be no need to worry about locating spells. I say we attack, but use one of our men to control the dragon. Someone with a decent grasp over magic.”

“I’ll say what we do and don’t do Captain Airell!” her mother shouts, pale blue eyes flashing.

“Please Porcia. Let’s drop the pretence.” The Captain Airell screws up his face in contempt. “The only reason you’re a Major is because of who you married. And the only reason you’re in charge is because everyone else is dead. You’re a fine magic wielder, but no leader. A woman rarely is, in such heated situations. You take in ghosts. You force an army to attack and die to rescue a few children. Let one of us take over.”

Her mother places her hands on her hips, dangerously close to the thick belt with its many shining throwing knives. Her words are slow, with fire behind them. “The next time one of you one of you neglects to address me by my proper rank, I will carve out a cell and chuck you in it. Do you understand?”

The Captain Airell’s face colours a deep red, but the slim man nods. “As you say, Major.”

“We’ll attack tonight.” Her mother raises her voice, involving the soldiers in her announcement. “Assign people to watch the trip-wire spells. Everyone else get what sleep you can.”

“And the dragon?” The oldest of the three asks cautiously. “What if they find it?”

“Tracking spells don’t work on magical creatures.” Her mother stays standing, every muscle tense. They may allow women a wider range of roles, Boone realises, but that doesn’t mean they make it easy to keep them. Anger boils inside her, along with disappointment. She’d hoped the barbarians would be different. “They lack the means to travel by air, so the spells will pick them up before they come close enough to see the dragon. We’ll have the beast fly away if that happens. No one will see us before we want them to.”

Ness comes to life all at once. Springing to his feet, he sweeps the bowl of fruit to the ground below where it scatters among the soldier’s benches. “Tonight isn’t good enough! Neven could be dead by then!”

The overweight man - Airell - looks almost pleased by the chance to direct his anger at someone. “Look here, boy!”

“No.” Boone stands solidly at Ness’s side. At her side Timon regresses a few years, and looks very much like he doesn’t want to be here. “He’s right. We have to attack sooner.”

“In daylight.” The heavier Captain snorts. “We can’t afford another massacre.”

Boone’s mind turns. This is battle strategy. She should be able to do this.

“But you already got in?” Timon says, confusion on his young face. “I overheard. Boone’s mother and the man who took Boone and Neven in the boat. They got inside.”

“And now with the barrier down, it’ll be even easier.” An idea appears in her mind. It’s a terrible idea, but one that might work. “We won’t even have to wait for returning soldiers to replace. There aren’t enough men to watch the whole wall. If our numbers are few, we can sneak in.”

“And do what once you’re in there?” Her mother looks at her, eyes pleading in the way they often did when trying to get her to try on a new dress, or practice her manners. “Boone. Follow the plan. We need that dragon.”

“Neven did more for your cause than either of us. You may repay loyalty with betrayal, but I don’t. I’m going to rescue my friend. Help me or not. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Her mother takes a step toward her. “Boone.”

“No!” Boone feels her forced calm shatter like brittle glass. “You left. You don’t have the right to give me orders!”

“Boone.” Her mother lowers her voice. A vain attempt at privacy in the crowded room. “I explained that-”

“What about him? Gelert. You hated him. You made papa lock him away. Yet now, you expect him to fight for you?” Boone sneers, thinking about the similarities between the barbarians and the circle. One may hold more fear for dragons than the other, but to both they were dangerous creatures, until they were useful.

Her mother freezes, hand raised toward her. Her brow furrows in confusion. “I never hated him.”

“You did. We argued over it all the time.”

Her pale blue eyes darken as she seems to search for the memory. “We argued?”

Boone’s saved from answering as a large cloud of dirt dislodges from the ceiling, landing in the middle of the dirt table.

The older man of the three frowns at it. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

The rest of the roof collapses, filling the room with dirt.

***

Suffocating warmth, and then she falls with Ness to the hard ground. Gelert looks down at her, giant black eyes somehow showing concern. He places his chin flat to the grass in front of her, staring.

She’s covered head to toe in something warm and sticky, and she smells terrible.

“Ugh.” Ness raises a hand dripping dragon saliva. “It smells like something dead.”

Wiping her hands on the grass, she looks around. The area where they are is rough tufts of hard grass, but behind is a different story. The grass breaks up into soft slushy marsh that disappears into a giant hole in the ground. Men scramble to the surface, most getting stuck in the soft ground above.

A soldier hobbles toward them. Low ranking, from his dark hair and plain face. Most of his lower body is covered in mud. “That dragon did this! That murdering monster of a beast!”

A few more soldiers join him, making similar sentiments.

“Now we’re lost!” wails another. “This was the dark witch’s plan all along. To bury us while we’re at rest.”

“These circle dwellers know nothing of honourable battle.”

“I say we kill the dark witch. Avenge our lost friends.”

Gelert’s eyes shift between them. A growl starts low in his throat, vibrating the ground under them.

Boone gets to her feet, balancing herself on Gelert’s head. Even with the dragon beside her, danger isn’t absent. He’s clever, but she doubts he has a mental grasp on those bronze shields the soldiers drag with them. A shot from one of the shield's painted dragons could kill her before he realises it might be harmful.

She eyes them coolly. “If you’re done complaining, your friends are still alive. So stand aside, and maybe we can save them.”

Half of them do just that. The other half look between her and the dragon in disbelief. “Captain Airell was right,” one says. “You have no magic. You have no control over the beast.”

She ignores him. “Gelert. Go and save those men before they suffocate.”

The dragon raises his great head from the ground and whines. The noise vibrates the air like a trumpet.

Boone faces him, crosses her arms over her chest. It’s not the most impressive display of dominance since she’s covered in drool and fraction of the size of him, but he quivers to attention anyway. “You caused this mess. Now clean it up. Go.”

Lowering his head with a deep groan, he makes his way to the hole in the ground, stepping over the remaining soldiers with disturbing ease.

With his large size, it doesn’t take long for him to gather up the men and deposit them on safe ground. He keeps a wary look in his eyes as he does so, like a boy child nearing the end of age he still listens to his mother. Finally he spits up the three higher ranking men beside her mother, and slumps to the ground, deliberately not looking at her.

Timon appears by her side, holding her sword gingerly by the carved dragon hilt. She takes it with a nod of gratitude.

“I’m going. Don’t try to stop me, unless you need another lesson in what happens when Gelert feels I’m threatened.” She slips the sword into its scabbard. Her dead arm moves easily to help the action. “I’ll sneak in, destroy the crystals. Without them the King will have no power. That’s where you come in, if you wish. Gelert will fly over and scatter the men. You’ll take as many prisoners as possible. These are farmers and children. There’s no need for slaughter.”

“We are honourable men,” the slim Captain says solemnly.

Boone doubts men of the circle would agree after their trickery, but she doesn’t argue.

“If you go,” her mother says, looking pained by the idea. “Who will control the dragon?”

“Ness will.”

“What?” Ness grabs her arm, pulls her out of earshot. “I’m going with you. You can’t leave me behind.”

“I know where the crystals are. I need to go, but someone has to stay and guide Gelert. He doesn’t trust these people.”

“He won’t trust me either. I tried to kill him, remember?” Ness rubs his bristled hair with the palm of his hand. “And I’m not leaving Neven there. I’m going.”

She steadies her stance. “I know you’re in love with Neven.”

“What!” All colour drains from his face. His features freeze in shock, before spasming into mechanical laughter. It’s a parody of the happy-go-lucky boy she’d thought he was back before this all happened. “That’s preposterous. We’re friends. That could never-”

“Really? Because he’s in love with you.”

His expression takes on a blank look. “Don’t kid about that.”

“All I’m saying is, I might not love him in the same way you do, but I’d still die for him. Neven needs me inside that palace, and he needs you guiding Gelert. This is our best chance of getting him out alive.”

Silence. He shakes his head incredulously. “You’re actually using your brain for once, aren’t you?”

Boone shrugs. “What can I say? Neven’s been telling me to do that for ages. I guess it’s finally rubbing off.”

He doesn’t laugh. Instead he holds out his hand toward her. “Save him. And if - if it’s too late… don’t kill the one who did it. Leave that for me.”

Boone shakes his hand, and nods.

Chapter 36

Dark is just creeping in when she lowers herself over the wall, and into the shadow of the palace. Her heart tells her to head around the giant building, to the courtyard, where Neven would be if they decided to-

But there’s no use thinking about that. Neven is right. There are times when she needs to consider her actions before she takes them. This is one. Whatever chance Neven has, relies on it.

She drops the rope Jack gave her behind a bush, and hopes the other thing he’d given her works like he said it would.  Any surprise she’d had seeing Jack had increased upon witnessing his familiarity with the barbarians. Evidently his involvement in this went deeper than she’d thought.

She creeps her way along the line of thick bushes, around the edge of the giant circle shaped maze. It’s not the best place to sneak in. The tall hedges of the maze may block a large enough section of the wall to climb over, but the garden emerges into smooth green grass on all sides. The only way out is back over the wall, or to walk across wide open space in full view of the palace, and anyone minding the gate.

So she searches for that casual ‘not a care in the world’ attitude Ness used to exude so well before all this mess, and walks straight toward the palace.

It’s not until the main doors of the palace that she passes anyone. The soldier doesn’t glance at her. Then she’s inside.

The entrance hall is just as vast as she remembers it. Several soldiers loiter inside. Close enough to the gates to reach them quicker than at the barracks, but out of the still mildly uncomfortable heat of the evening. Her stomach turns as one of them turns to her.

“Alright, old man?” He gives her a tired smile. They must’ve been on alert since the barrier fell. She fails to summon any sympathy. “You look like you’ve traded your walking stick for extra energy today.”

Right. She’d guessed the age of the illusion from her wrinkled hands, but had failed to think how she might look standing straight and projecting youthful confidence. She tries to think of the older people she’s come across and settles for a slightly stooped posture.

It takes everything she has not to flinch when she spots the red cloak on the far side of the group. Julius.

The man accepts a half nod half shrug from her, and she’s on her way. Trying not to look like she’s hurrying, she ducks into the cellars, past the now empty infirmary, down the torch-lit passages. Finally the sounds of crying children are behind her, and she’s alone.

No, not alone.

Drawing her sword, she swings around in time to catch Julius’s blade with her own. Her weapon glimmers strangely in the torchlight, and feels for a moment like it’s burning into her hand.

He grimaces down at her. “You’ve gotten better at noticing your surroundings.”

“You’re a good teacher.” She shoves at him, breaks the connection. Without giving him a moment to pause, she strikes him with a blow of her own.

He leans backward in one silk smooth movement, avoiding the blade. Hopping away from her into one of the tunnel’s walls, he frowns cross eyed at the shorn braid hanging in front of his face. It stands out starkly amongst its neat cousins that hang past his shoulder blades. “The system isn’t perfect, but it isn’t as bad as it could be. There are no slaves anymore.”

Gritting her teeth, Boone swings her blade at his head, longing to beat him senseless with the flat of her sword. “The poor live lives of labour, their only choices between a mediocre life and a worse one. They work, they fight, they die. All in the hope that someday someone elite might decide they’re useful enough for something greater. You think I don’t notice all the magic around here? If it were distributed equally, everyone would be fed, and get to live a life they chose. Instead the rich take from the poor, and spend it on power, eternal life, even making sure those stupid bushes in the garden never have a leaf out of place. And if the poor stop working, they die. How is that not slavery?”

Julius stays away from the blows by inches. When he speaks, his voice comes in pants. “There are opportunities for those who work hard. How else would a poor boy with slave blood become a knight?”

“What about all those that didn’t? You were lucky. You had time to practice, happened to come across my father, one of the only people in the whole circle willing to mentor you. You happened to be born a boy.” She catches him on the chest with the flat of her blade. The sword seems to glow. “And how is it that you and Angus are alive, while all the other knights from better families are dead? You were left behind weren’t you? While the other knights went north to attend to the breach, and met the dragon. Even now after proving yourself again and again you are something apart. You always will be. So will I. That’s why the system doesn’t work.”

Julius meets her sword with his own, steps forward until they are locked hilt to hilt. With a twist of his arm, her sword flies out of her sweaty palm, and hits the wall on the other side of the passageway. “The system will never work. It will never be perfect.”

Boone cradles her sore wrist, stands her ground. In her fury, she’d forgotten he was taller and stronger than her. “That doesn’t mean you don’t try to make it perfect. If you first make a sword and it’s badly flawed, you don’t accept it. You make another, and another, and each time the flaws will be less.”

Tensing his jaw, he raises his sword above his head. “I’ve been ordered to kill you on sight.”

Her heart drums madly in her chest. Her legs itch to leap for her sword. It’s not far. She would have a chance. Not a good chance, but a chance. Instead she reaches toward her throat and tugs. Pain vibrates through her sore wrist at the action, but the twine securing the small wooden charm around her neck snaps easily. Her wrinkled hands turn baby smooth with the long delicate fingers she hates.

Julius freezes.

She imagines what he sees. Her. The small blond boy who he’s spent every day with for what feels a lot longer than seventeen days. She looks up at him, wondering if he’s feeling anything close to what she felt when she tried to kill Gelert. “Now you see me.”

He makes an aborted move to swing. His smooth brown face screws up in what looks like agony. “Can’t you just leave? Put back on your disguise and leave.”

She shakes her head. “I’m going to destroy the crystals. Without them the King will be forced to surrender. Less people will die.”

With a frustrated cry, he brings the sword down in one smooth sweep. It stops so close to her throat she imagines she can feel the cool of the metal against her skin. Julius jerks the blade away from her. “I can’t. I can’t do it.”

“I know.”

He leans against the brick of the nearest wall, looking for a moment as old as her illusion must have. “How could you know that?”

She makes her voice as soft as possible, trying to dampen the blow of the words. “Your cloak.”

Looking down, he swears. Eyes wide he reaches out to grab a handful of the thick material. When he lets go, red shines on his palm. The cloak bleeds a puddle of blood around his boots. A broken oath. A death sentence.

“How long has it been…”

“From the moment I took the illusion off. That was when you decided.”

Julius chuckles weakly and drops his sword to rub at his face. With his other hand, he unhooks the fastening around his neck. The cloak falls to the stone with a wet smack. “That’s that then.”

Boone says nothing. There’s nothing to say. She knows how badly someone can want the recognition, the belonging that comes with being a knight. Worst still to be someone like her, or Julius, whose chance of it coming true is so outlandish that when it happens, it’s like everything in the world you ever wanted and worried would never happen. To have that, and to lose it. All the colour goes out of the world, and the familiar path you’ve walked on for so long falls away beneath your feet.

It’s bad for her, and she still has Neven, Ness, Alice, and Gelert to focus on. For Julius it must be much worse.

He leans with his back against the wall, the stains of red clear under the torchlight. His eyes fix themselves on the dark ceiling above. “The King is in the feasting hall with the princess,” he says at last, the words strained but even. “You’ll need his crown after the druid’s crystals. I won’t help you. I’m sorry if that’s cowardly. But I won’t.”

“They’re your friends. I wouldn’t expect that of you.”

He doesn’t reply. Instead he stays looking at the ceiling as she gathers her sword and continues down the corridor. She leaves him behind, a shattered man with everything he holds dear bloodied and broken at his feet.

***

The underground throne room stinks of dirt and rot.

Boone picks her way through the rubble, toward the stone archway that separates her from the fountain with its crystals. The closer she gets, the stronger the stench becomes, until she’s holding a grubby sleeve over her mouth and trying not to gag. It’s putrid. Worse than Gelert’s breath, though she hadn’t thought that possible until now.

Next to the archway, she draws her sword. Then she steps into the faint torchlight inside.

Mattis - the head druid stands by the fountain. A sharp knife is clutched in one of his gnarled hands, and dead bodies surround his feet.

Acrid bile fills her mouth as she struggles not to throw up. The bodies are small. Children. All are loosely swaddled in cloth, as a mother would do to comfort her infant to sleep. There are dozens upon dozens of them placed neatly side by side. Most are little more than bone. Others are more recent. The page boy Art is discoloured but recognisable.

Blood drips from the knife. He’s killed recently. The water in the fountain glows a pale pink.

“I thought it was worth it,” the druid says, voice trembling. He doesn’t take his eyes off the fountain. “Ripping out my heart to serve my kingdom. It’s my talent. I would preside over executions, gather what magic I could from the burnings. It’s more if they give up their life willingly, but you can always gather a little. Then, my son. I had to preside over his execution like all the others. My dear wife didn’t understand. Nor did my son. But the King, he did once he discovered how much magic that single burning got him. He brought me here, and gave me them.” He points the daggers at the bundled corpses around him.

“They weren’t my son, but I came to love every one of them as if they were. Drustan wanted to be a knight, Judoc a druid. Elisedd didn’t want anything except to sit and smile, and love everyone he met, no matter how briefly. I killed them all. And now I’ve killed again. My son came to stop me, but he was too late.” His ancient face crumbles. “He didn’t hate me for what I did. I killed him. I let his mother die. It would make this easier if he hated me.”

He’s rambling. Mad. She should feel pity for him, but she doesn’t. If he killed Neven, she’ll rip him apart piece by piece. Or leave Ness to do it. Something in the ravings fits together to make a kind of sense. “Timon is your son?”

The soldier, Claudia said she’d been friendly with, who promised to wait for her to come back before going ahead with the execution. The way Claudia subdued the druid with so little fuss before drugging him. The words Mattis had said before Claudia died ‘be kind to her.’

Mattis nods, finally looking at her. “My sweet boy. Claudia tried to teach him to hate. Thought it would help him. It might have, but the words never took. That’s why I’m glad you came. You hate me, don’t you?”

It’s an odd question. One that can only be answered with another question. “Where’s Neven?”

He grimaces, turns back to the pale pink of the fountain. “I used as little magic on myself as possible. I fought for Moore’s life, and all the generations before him, not always successfully. I thought that atoned me for some of it. I thought I was protecting people. I was wrong…wasn’t I?”

Boone takes a step into the room. The toe of her boot stops short of the first body. Anger trembles through her body. Pressure in her dead hand tells her it’s wrapped into a tight fist. “Where’s Neven?”

“I should’ve got the crown. But it’s too late to change that now.” He leans forward, looking into the pink waters of the fountain. “You better run. I’m not sure I have enough, even with this. It’s complicated magic. Like smashing a glass full of water, then putting the glass together piece by piece, and filling it with exactly the same water it lost. Not a drop more or less, and nothing extra lurking.”

It’s nonsense. She doesn’t understand. “What are you-”

Mattis draws the knife across his throat, opening up a deep red mouth that pours blood into the fountain. His eyes roll wild for a moment, as if now at the end of things he’s changed his mind. Then he stumbles forward, falling head first into the widest bowl at the bottom of the fountain. His legs twitch twice, then still.

Slowly, bowl by bowl the water in the fountain turns from pale pink to deep red. The druid’s body fades into the water, waist, then legs, then feet into space that seems too small to hold him. Payment for a spell.

Boone stumbles backward into the archway. Try as she might, her eyes refuse to move from the fountain. As steadily as it turned crimson, it turns clear. Not the pale pink, but transparent as polished glass. Somehow she knows, that if she were to peer into the bowls, the crystals would be just as clear.