The Changeling (19 page)

Watcher sat, her legs tied, as RHM questioned her. Worse than his threats was his smell. “If you walk in front of me again,” she said, “the contents of my stomach will be on your legs.”

“Sensitive, are we?” RHM croaked. “Then tell me what I want to know, and you can enjoy a nice meal of greens.”

“I would not tell you the Wormling's whereabouts even if I knew. Which I don't. We were separated early this morning, and I haven't seen him since.”

“He's being helped, isn't he? That's what the Changeling said to our scouts.”

Watcher gritted her teeth. The Changeling. They should have killed him when they had the chance.

RHM paced before her, and Watcher felt the bile rising again.

“We now have his sword. We have his precious book of gibberish. We have the missing scroll. We have you and the horse. We even have the tiny worm. Everything but the Wormling himself. Perhaps hearing his beloved friend beg for her life would bring him. Help us, and you won't have to suffer.”

“Do what you want with me,” Watcher said. “I will never betray him.”

“Well, frankly, I've heard that before.” RHM moved to a desk and uncovered several glistening steel instruments of torture. He waved a sharp one before her face. “Perhaps you'll change your mind when I—”

The door opened, and a man stepped inside. He was tall with a thin mustache and wavy, brown and gray hair. “I told you I didn't want my home turned into a war zone. Why is this creature here?”

“Are you the owner of this castle?” Watcher said.

“Silence!” RHM said.

“I've done nothing wrong, and—”

“I said silence!” RHM said, raising an instrument of torture.

At the sight of the weapon, Watcher slumped as if lifeless, though she was only faking.

“She is a spy,” RHM said. “An accomplice of the Wormling.”

Watcher could tell the man was upset. “The Wormling? Here?”

“Just in time for your meeting with His Majesty. The Changeling should have him soon, and if not, I'll use her to lure him.”

A chill wind blew through the window, and the man walked toward it. “The sky is darkening.”

“His Majesty approaches.”

Getting help from a messenger like Nicodemus is simply not fair. It violates the rules,” the Changeling said.

“And what rules are those?” Owen said, struggling with the rope.

“Why, the . . . uh . . . the fair and balanced rules of the land, which I have always abided by in my quests to, ah—”

“Right, by deceiving everyone you come in contact with.”

“Well—”

“Quiet,” Owen said as he finished hog-tying the croc. “Watcher was right. I should have taken care of you when I had the chance. Where's my sword?”

The Changeling opened his mouth. “It's down here—just reach in and . . .” He opened wide.

Owen shook his head and dragged the Changeling into the cave. He whimpered and pleaded for his life, and when he turned his head, Owen brought a rock down and the Changeling's mouth opened, exposing his gullet. There was no sign of the sword. He was almost ready to dig into the beast's throat when the Changeling stirred.

“You won't find them down there,” he said, retching and coughing. “I've already turned your precious things over to my superior. The Dragon has them by now.”

Owen grabbed the beast and dragged him toward the rock wall. “Nicodemus, if you're still here, it would be nice if—”

The hole opened in the wall, and Owen threw the Changeling inside. Just as quickly, the wall closed. Owen heard the muffled moaning and whining as he set off again for the castle.

The Castle on the Moor lay deep in the middle of swamplike land even wetter than what Owen had slogged through. The Dragon's very presence clouded the entire valley in a deep fog, even during the day. Sentries studied the skies as leaves swayed where no breeze blew.
Demon flyers
.

Everywhere lurked someone from the Dragon's guard. Owen crept among the trees, splashing through the water, espying even more watching eyes. He couldn't imagine getting to the castle unnoticed.

But a long ditch angled away from the castle into the forest, its steep banks corralling shallow running water bearing dead leaves and undergrowth. Owen covered himself with wet leaves and plunged in.

Immediately he was surrounded by fast-slithering snakes with diamond-shaped heads. Owen had to remind himself that they were more afraid of him than he was of them, and sure enough, they moved away as he inched along. When he spotted a guard, he stopped, hoping his leaf-splattered clothing camouflaged him. The guard turned, and Owen continued crawling through the muck, finally making it near the barn. He scrambled up the steep bank, slipping and wriggling over the edge like a worm, then crawled on his stomach to the barnyard.

Covered with mud, wet, and cold, Owen desperately scanned the area for Watcher and Humphrey. Dust and hay arose near the barn, and Owen pressed himself flat against the structure. When he was sure no one was watching, he crept to a creaking door and sneaked in. Nearby guards talked and laughed or he surely would have been heard.

A whip cracked, and a man stood before the guards at the back of the barn, hands out to protect the animals. He wore a floppy hat and a coarse shirt and pants covered with dirt, manure, and straw. “Please don't hurt them,” he squealed.

“Out of the way!” a guard yelled. He flicked his whip, but the man caught it and pulled, sending the guard flying. The man was clearly powerful, but just as Owen was about to jump from his hiding place to help, a second guard attacked the man with a board to the head. The rest dragged his body to the stall beside Owen.

When the guards returned to the animals, Humphrey stood at the front, back straight, head high.

“Ho, get back there!” the guard yelled, whipping him.

Humphrey reared and took the whiplash under his front, showing his teeth and whinnying. Owen knew he could overpower the guard, but he couldn't take the chance of having him cry out. The guard lashed Humphrey again, and Owen was about to burst.

Another guard joined the first and began separating the work animals from those that would be eaten. From the shrieks of these innocents, Owen could tell what was happening.

Owen rolled into Humphrey's pen, and the horse shielded him from being seen. “Sorry, old friend,” Owen whispered. “It's my fault you're here.”

Humphrey shuddered flies away and swished his tail in Owen's face.

“Where have they taken Watcher?”

Humphrey dragged a hoof and made an arrow pointing toward the castle.

“What's the best way in? Guards are posted at every entrance, and archers stand at the parapets.”

Humphrey looked up and swung his head from side to side.

“Flyers? I should have known.” He covered his face. “There's no way in without being seen.”

Another animal cried, and Owen peeked between the wooden slats. Wind carried in the fresh, coppery smell of blood. Both guards were covered in red.

“Enough for the feast?” one said.

“We've killed everything from this yard except the caretaker and that horse inside.”

“He would be too tough.”

“So would the caretaker.” And they laughed.

Owen's mind spun, frantic for an idea, one of those wonderful, beautiful ones that would not only get him into the castle but would also bring him face-to-face with his archenemy.

The castle staff, along with the king of the west and his queen, stood on either side of the meeting hall, ready to receive their guests. Repugnance lined the face of the cook, a large man with a balding, lumpy head, but the others stood with faces cast toward the floor, ready to bow to the Dragon's every whim.

The queen fanned herself despite the chilly house. Tiny girls dressed as maids shivered and rubbed their arms. Grown men looked like little boys about to be paddled.

A pack of vaxors sauntered in, waving their swords and axes close to the workers. The blades were caked with the blood of some innocent town that had been laid waste. This group made the women recoil, as if they smelled raw sewage.

One vaxor, tall and hairy with red eyes and wearing an animal skin, stuck his chest out like a victorious warrior, but he was not. Daagn had led the failed attack on Yodom and burned to see Watcher suffer. He would make her pay.

As he passed the king, he held his ax at just the right angle to brush the man's cheek. The king recoiled, slapping a hand over the wound. The queen offered a handkerchief.

Daagn sneered, and the king held the handkerchief low, clearly embarrassed. He pushed his wife aside.

Daagn, of course, had not told the Dragon the truth when he had returned from defeat. He had conveyed disdain for troops that had defected or refused to kill innocents. Daagn himself had killed a score of his own. That was his story.

Deep in his heart, where there lay nothing but a desire to kill and destroy, Daagn longed to make up for his failure. He promised himself he would not rest until the Watcher had paid and given up the Wormling.

“All rise for the trusted aide-de-camp,” RHM said, “the right hand of the ruler, who goes before the sovereign. Presenting Reginald Handler Mephistopheles!” He proceeded through the line with a wave.

No one so much as looked at him, let alone clapped.

At the end of the procession in front of the vaxors, RHM raised his head and his voice. He recited a long list of accomplishments of the Dragon, battles won, enemies destroyed, and ended, “. . . and soon to be recognized throughout this world and the other as the true king and sovereign over all, the Magnificent One who comes in peace though he could devour all, who comes to speak of treaties signed long ago, ever faithful and wise, all-knowing, His Honor, the Majestic Dragon!”

The vaxors banged their axes on the floor and gave a battle cry as the Dragon, with an impish grin, soaked in the adoration—though it came from only one end of the room. The people at the entrance simply bowed as he passed, some pinching their noses and clearly trying not to gag.

By the time the Dragon reached the end of the line, his tail had just cleared the door. He turned and smiled. “With great pleasure I again visit the esteemed Castle on the Moor. We have business, but now is a time for feasting!”

The vaxors screamed.

“Set the food before me as an offering.”

The cook looked right and left, then stepped out. “But we have been held in a room, unable to prepare food.”

“I understand the need for security. Come, come, bring the food!”

Two guards in blood-spattered garments dragged the carcasses of the animals they had killed and tossed them on the table behind the king.

“But this has not been cooked!” the cook said.

The Dragon signaled the crowd to move out of the way, took a deep breath, and blew fire over the meat so hot that the table caught fire, along with the draperies and pictures on the wall.

“There,” the Dragon said. “Dinner is served.”

The vaxors descended like wolves, tearing at the meat and chopping it with their weapons.