Dragonfire (8 page)

Dahl watched as the Sele made preparations to leave the next morning. He felt awkward, uncertain as to what to say.

“Thank you,” he managed finally. “Thank you for your help in guiding me here.”

“I am truly sorry I can do no more,” Sele the Plump answered. It looked up at Dahl, dark eyes round with concern.

“You’ve done what you can. I know that. More than you needed to.” Dahl thought of the dead Sele slung over the saddle. “You will be safe on your return trip?”

“Yes, of course. It is you who must take care now.”

“I will.”

“Go well,” the Sele said.

“You also. Go well,” Dahl answered.

The Sele made a small nodding motion of its head, then slid into the trees. Its feet made no sound on the underbrush; it was instantly lost to sight in the predawn blackness. Dahl turned away, unnerved by a sudden rush of loneliness. His cloak lay on the ground where he had slept. The ground beside it, where the Sele had curled up, was undisturbed.

It truly is up to me now, he thought. There is no one to help me. He braced himself against the fear he knew would come, and it did, but with it came another, unexpected feeling. His heart was racing with excitement. Unconsciously, his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. He threw his head back and stood, almost sniffing the air. The silence around him was so thick that it lay on him like a weight. The trees had a waiting stillness to them that was almost alive. He felt every nerve in his body tingling and aware. The Usurper waited to do battle with him. Very well then, he would do battle. Alone or not, he
would
do battle. He drew breath and shouted into the empty forest.

“Here I am!” His voice rang loudly and defiantly. “I am coming for you. Do you hear me?”

Nothing. No answer at all. No mocking laughter. No vision of the face so like his own, yet so alien,
that had invaded his mind before. He waited a moment, listening to the silence, then yelled again.

“Surprised you, have I? Maybe I am not the sniveling coward you thought me to be.”

He stooped and swept up his cloak, then stalked through the trees to where he could look out at the blackness of the plain separating him from Daunus. Here and there a few morning fires were being lit in the city.

I will save you, Dahl promised silently. I have no idea how, but I will set you free, or die in the attempt.

At that moment, he heard a sudden whirring. Something brushed past him in the air, so close that it touched his hair. He swung around to see what it was, but he had time only to glimpse a darting shadow before another creature attacked him. This one flew right at his head. Feathered wings lashed at him. Claws tangled in his hair and raked the skin of his scalp.

He panicked and beat at it, but no sooner had he rid himself of it than another plummeted down at him. He swung at it with his sword. It evaded the blow with a swift turn and banked again to come in for another attack. Dahl grasped his sword tighter, then screamed as he felt a sharp pain between his shoulder blades. These were no creatures of his imagination! A searing pain in his right hand caused him to let go of the sword. It dropped. An immense
crow-like bird swooped down and, before Dahl could react, grasped the hilt of the weapon in its beak. So big was the bird that it lifted the sword with ease. The other monstrous birds stopped their attack and with one accord encircled the one that carried the sword. As Dahl watched helplessly, the flock circled twice, gaining height, and rose high above the trees. The first rays of the rising sun caught the blade of the weapon, just as the bird dropped it. It fell like a flaming arrow, as if aimed, and struck the top of a blasted, limbless tree—the tallest of them all. The point of the sword stuck fast in the trunk. The blade quivered and flashed in the light. The birds circled with an ear-shattering blast of victory cries, then disappeared over the trees into the forest.

So stunned was Dahl by the enormity of what had happened, and by the suddenness of it, that he wasn’t aware of hoof beats until it was too late.

“Well! Oho, now, what have we here?” The voice was rude and rough.

Dahl felt himself grabbed from behind, and his arms were pinned to his sides. He struggled, but whoever it was that held him was far stronger than he. A rank, stale odor of sweat and dirt assailed his nostrils. A man rode up before him, tall and threatening, on a thickset, shaggy horse.

“And what might you be doing lurking all alone out here in the forest, my foolish young bumpkin?”
the man asked. “You’re not from the city, your dress tells us that. Curious to see Daunus, are you?” He laughed, but the sound was cold and without humor. “Well, then, I fancy we can oblige you in that,” he continued. “Tall and sturdy you are. You should fetch a good price as a slave at the castle. They’re always needing new fodder there—wear them out to the death faster than they can replace them, they do. Truss him well!” This last order was thrown out to the men who had appeared behind him.

The one who held Dahl tightened his grip. Dahl tensed and tried to struggle again. One of the riders dismounted and strode over to him. Nonchalantly, as if brushing away a fly, he gave Dahl a cuff that sent his head swimming. The leader accepted the end of the rope that bound him and gave it a jerk that nearly pulled Dahl off his feet.

“Daunus is a lovely city,” he said mockingly. “It’s lucky you are to be able to see it. Unfortunately, of course, you probably won’t live long enough to get to know it well.” With that he kicked his horse viciously in the ribs and moved off.

Dahl was forced to trot behind. He managed to look back over his shoulder once as the men set off down the path that wound through the meadow to Daunus. Unseen by his captors, his sword blazed like an unreachable beacon in the top of the lightning-charred tree.

So much for my courage, he thought bitterly. So much for all my brave words.

The rope tore at Dahl’s wrists. He had almost to run to keep up with the man on his horse. His head still reeled from the force of the blow, and he stumbled often, on the verge of losing consciousness completely. By the time they reached the city gate, he was panting for breath and sweating with pain. A guard challenged them at the gate, but let them through when Dahl’s captor spoke.

“We bring a healthy young slave for the Master,” he boasted.

“You will be welcome then.” The guard laughed. “He is always in need of new ones.”

They proceeded down what seemed to be the main thoroughfare of the city. Like all the other streets that Dahl could see, it was cobbled with warm blue stones. It could have been beautiful, but it was filthy and slippery underfoot with garbage. Silence hung heavily. The streets were empty. The shutters of all the houses were closed, giving them a blind look. No dogs barked, no horses neighed. Dahl looked in vain for some evidence of people, but it seemed that all must have taken cover at the
first sight of the strangers. There was no one here who would help a boy taken captive.

A movement behind a shutter that was slightly ajar caught his eye. A child’s face peered at him curiously, then it was abruptly yanked back out of sight by someone unseen within the room. The shutter slammed shut, and the house became as blank and impersonal as the rest.

Although spacious and well laid out, the city was not overly large. Within a short space of time they left the houses behind. The road began to rise. Dahl no longer looked around him; the view was too depressing. Although the horses had slowed to a walk, he was near exhaustion. He had stumbled so often that now he just watched his feet and concentrated on each step. When the man leading him suddenly brought his horse to a stop, Dahl looked up. They were at the castle gates. Made of a metal that gleamed with the luster of burnished gold, blinding and glorious in the sunlight, the gates were topped with cruel spikes.

The castle towered beyond them. It glistened pure white, dotted with windows that shone and glittered. Dahl’s heart leaped, almost with recognition. Surely he knew this place! Then it sank. No, not this place. There was a coldness here, a frightening aura of evil. Never in his life had Dahl felt anything so strongly. In spite of the sun now hot overhead, he shivered. His blood seemed to slow in his veins.

A guard appeared, backed by several others.

“Your business?” he demanded. “For what reason do you dare approach these gates?” All the men were heavily protected by leather armor.

“We bring a slave to sell,” the leader replied. “He is young and strong and should give many months of useful service before he wears out.”

“What price ask you for him?”

“Twelve talons. It is a fair price for such a prize.”

“It is not a fair price. It is robbery.” The guard spat at the leader’s feet. “Two talons would be more like it.”

“Two talons! I’ll keep him myself rather than give him away for that paltry sum!”

Dahl stood, silent, while the bargaining went on, listening to the price that was being attached to his worth. It seemed very little, although he wasn’t sure what a talon was. He stood, so buffeted by pain from being dragged such a distance that only with the greatest of efforts could he keep himself from collapsing into the dirt at their feet. As he listened to the haggling, a fury began to rise within him. How dare they! If they knew who he was…!

His mind stopped there as if dashed by a flood of cold water. They
didn’t
know who he was. And the Usurper did not know he was within the castle gates themselves. The Usurper had sent the birds—sent them in response to his challenge, to show him just how feeble his defiance had been—Dahl was
certain of that. He burned as he thought of the ease with which the Usurper had deprived him of his sword and rendered him weaponless. But could it be that this capture was an accident, unplanned by the Usurper? That while he had hovered on the verge of unconsciousness, the Usurper had been unable to invade his mind as he had been doing more and more, and had lost track of him?

Dahl’s thoughts began to race. If that were so, then he had scored a victory. He was within the castle itself, and the Usurper knew it not! A small flame of hope began to kindle itself inside him. The bargaining finally came to an end. Dahl had been so busy with his thoughts that he had not heard the final price, nor did he now care. The leader of the band passed Dahl’s tether over to the guard, turned his horse and rode away. The guard called to one of the others and handed Dahl over to him.

“Take him to the stables. Chain him until we are ready to use him.”

This guard marched Dahl along a path that led around and behind the castle. The courtyard stank and ran with sewage. A wretched woman, stooped and bent with age, emerged from what had to be the kitchens and emptied a bucket of slops onto the cobbles. Immediately, two mangy curs appeared and began to fight over the bits of garbage. Stables ran along one side. Only here was there any semblance of cleanliness. Each horse was well groomed and
shining; the straw within each stall was clean. Not so, however, was the stall into which Dahl was thrown. The straw here was befouled and had not been changed in months. The stench was such that it stung Dahl’s eyes and took away his breath. Chains ending in wrist shackles were fastened into one wall. The guard untied Dahl’s hands, then forced them into the shackles and clicked the locks shut.

“How long must I stay here?” Dahl burst out. “What is to be done with me?”

The guard looked at Dahl as if he were mad.

“You dare to speak?” he growled. He drew his sword and swung it with one smooth motion. Dahl tried to duck, but his movements were limited. The flat of the sword hit him on the side of the head, just above the dragon’s burn, drawing blood. “Speak again and it will be your last sentence, slave. I do not show mercy twice.” He swung around on his heel and left.

Dahl sank down onto the filthy straw. He could stand or sit leaning against the wall, but nothing else. It was noon now, and the sun was at its hottest. His head ached with the pain of the sword blow. To add to his torment, flies buzzed around his head, lighting on the thin stream of blood that flowed down his temple. He couldn’t reach to wave them off. Sweat poured down into his eyes. He could do nothing about that either. Within minutes he began to itch. Fleas undoubtedly kept him company in this
disgusting bed. On top of everything else, hunger began to gnaw at him. He had had nothing to eat that day. Even the dry grain of the Sele would have been welcome now.

A scuffling at the entrance to the stable startled him. A lean, hungry-looking brown dog skulked in. For a moment Dahl’s heart leaped, but the dog snarled and cringed back out.

The side of his face burned. He had lost the jar of ointment the Sele had given him in his struggle with the man who had captured him. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Black dizziness finally overwhelmed him.

He awoke later that afternoon. His head throbbed and his cheek burned even more deeply. Other slaves came to tend the horses, but no one came near Dahl or spoke to him. To his hunger was now added a raging thirst. As the day wore on, the heat became more intense; the stall where he was imprisoned, stifling. He was tempted to call out to one of the others, but the thought of the guard stopped him. None of the slaves spoke a word as they worked. Dahl watched them. They were all young boys or men, all emaciated and sickly looking. Even the youngest of
them was bent, with disease or discouragement, or more likely both. Their faces were blank, almost as if they were unconscious.

A sudden commotion startled him. In one of the stalls a horse—a magnificent roan—reared and let out a cry of fury as a slave entered. Its hooves lashed out. One caught the slave full on the side of the head. The slave fell without a cry, blood pouring from his wound. The other slaves looked away; no one left his own duties to help. The horse reared again. Its hooves tore back into the ground just inches away from the fallen boy.

“Guard!” Dahl cried, unable to stop himself. “Guard!”

There was a frozen instant when every face in the stable turned to him. A flicker of incredulity passed over a few, but was quickly extinguished. The slaves bent back to their work. The guard stormed in, sword at the ready.