Unbound (20 page)

Ben shook his head, cutting him short.

“Right now.”

* * * * *

So off they went, a small army of the High Lord’s finest soldiers along with Bunion, Questor, Abernathy, and Ben himself. Willow had given momentary thought to coming but she had done this so many times before that she decided it would be better for everyone if she remained behind. Having a woman along on a rescue mission always seemed to upset everyone, possibly because men always worried they would end up having to save the woman when it usually ended up being the other way around. Which was how she knew life mostly worked, even if men didn’t want to admit it.

They rode horses north toward what had become known of late within the confines of Sterling Silver as the Filipian Woods, just beyond which, Ben knew from consulting with Questor, they would find Stink Whistle and the marauding insects. They covered ground quickly, moving at a fast pace, anxious to get as far along as possible before sunset. They didn’t accomplish much, of course, because the sun had already been setting when Abernathy brought news of the need for a rescue. So they ended up riding most of the way in the dark, although two of Landover’s moons were out that night and provided sufficient light to allow for safe passage.

It was well after midnight when the company finally arrived at the outskirts of Stink Whistle. Although Ben was expecting to hear sounds of mayhem and destruction, he heard nothing but the steady clop of their horses’ hooves. No shrieks or screams; no grunts or roars. Only silence. When they rode down the main road leading into town, they saw no one. Apparently, they had arrived too late. It appeared the hunt for food was over, the beasts sated and the villagers devoured.

Ben spurred his mount forward, fearing the worst. The rest of the company followed, weapons drawn. They proceeded cautiously, peering into shadows between buildings and encroaching groves of trees, watching for movement. There were glimmers of light in windows, but shutters everywhere were tightly closed. They came upon the remains of a horse and something that might once have been a man, but nothing like the carnage they had anticipated. There were no body parts scattered along the roadway. No villagers fled through the streets and alleyways, seeking shelter from their hunters.

More gratifying still, there were no signs of new baby Filipians.

Huh
, Ben thought as they reached the center of the village and came to a halt.

They were sitting atop their horses, looking around in puzzlement, when a nearby door creaked open and an old man stuck his head out. “They’re gone!” he snapped.

Ben walked his horse closer. “Which way?”

“How would I know that? I’ve been hiding in my house for two days! Are you the rescue party we’ve been waiting for?”

“I suppose so,” Ben said.

“Took your sweet time getting here, didn’t you? Get after those things before they decide to come back! You got to figure out which way they’ve gone first. They fly, you know, so they could be anywhere!”

Ben looked at Questor, who shrugged. “Where is everyone?” he asked the old man.

“They’re hiding in their houses, you dang fool! You think they want to get eaten like Jens Whippet or that Forney kid? Who are you anyway?”

Ben didn’t think he wanted to answer that question, so he smiled bravely and said, “You can come out now. The monsters are gone.”

“Says you!” snapped the old man and slammed the door.

Ben shook his head. “Questor, Questor, Questor.”

“I am terribly sorry about all this, High Lord,” the other replied quickly. “But how was I to know those Filipians could continue to change into other things once I magicked them.”

“It would have been a good idea if you experimented on one of them.”

“Magic is unpredictable, High Lord. Never forget that.”

As if this were a possibility where Questor was concerned. Ben searched the empty, darkened skies. “Do you happen to have any magic that might let us track these things? Anything that would tell us where they’ve gone? We have to find them before they attack anyone else.”

Questor looked at him indignantly. “Of course, I do,” he said.

* * * * *

They rode all night, making their way to the northeast of the kingdom, crossing into the southern reaches of the Greensward. Although they searched for signs of the winged creatures, they saw nothing, and no one they came upon had see anything either. By the time they had reached the Eastern Wastelands and still not experienced even the smallest sighting of their quarry, it was beginning to feel to Ben as if they were looking for a needle in a haystack.

It didn’t help matters that Abernathy and Questor were bickering nonstop. It got bad enough that Ben thought about sending them both home. Except he needed Questor (well, maybe) to help him search out the creatures they were hunting. And sending Abernathy back would require he also send an escort to protect him. That would embarrass his Court Scribe immensely. Better to weather the bickering, even if it was driving him crazy.

When they were nearing the Fire Springs, he called a halt. Going further would mean entering Strabo’s domain, and that was never a wise idea if you didn’t have an invitation. Not that the dragon offered many, but you had to at least ask. So he sent Bunion ahead to inquire of the dragon if he had seen the winged creatures. It didn’t pay to take anything for granted where Strabo was concerned. He tolerated Ben as Landover’s King, but that attitude could change at any moment given his mercurial nature. Strabo was nothing if not unpredictable, and Ben had experienced the consequences of this more than once in the past.

With the arrival of dawn, Bunion returned. Always a difficult creature to read, let alone understand, he was particularly inscrutable this morning, his wizened face scrunched up with what appeared to be laughter, his rough language so punctuated by odd mutterings that even Questor couldn’t manage to understand him clearly.

“It appears he found Strabo,” the wizard said. “But I can’t quite make out the result. He seems to be laughing about something.”

Not very helpful, Ben thought, resigned to maybe trying to talk to Strabo himself, a not very compelling prospect. He thought about sending Questor, but the dragon had less regard for Landover’s Court Wizard than he did for Landover’s King. He seemed to feel a kinship for Bunion however, although Ben could not imagine why that would be.

The problem resolved itself while the soldiers were still waking, after being allowed to sleep for several hours, when a dark shadow fell over the entire company and Strabo sailed slowly out of the heavily misted horizon east. Everyone backed away immediately, save Ben. He was King, after all. He couldn’t very well show fear even when he was experiencing it. So, instead, he stepped forward to meet his fate.

Strabo landed, and the ground shook. The dragon surpassed huge in the way a mountain overshadows a flatlands. He was a massive beast, all black scales and horny protrusions, great wings carefully folding back against his armored body. He loomed over Ben as if he intended to crush him. Intimidation being a large part of his persona, he crowded Ben’s personal space and forced him to look skyward just to meet his baleful gaze.

“Holiday,” he hissed, his breath hot and raw enough to melt iron. “I had hoped never to see you again. How unpleasant it is to find out I was wrong.”

Ben straightened. “Just once I wish you would start a conversation with me that doesn’t include an insult.”

The dragon laughed, great jaws parting, revealing a hint of the fire that burned deep in his throat. “And what fun would that be? Tell me, does your neck hurt from having to look up at me? Do you regret that you are so small and puny? Others in your situation do, usually just before I eat them.”

“I’m sure. Can we skip the threats and just talk?”

“Conversing with you is so boring. You have such trouble holding up your end of the conversation.” His emerald eyes scanned the rest of the company. “Is that Questor Thews? Is he still Court Wizard? How pathetic! You really ought to find someone competent. Isn’t he the whole reason you’re here?”

Ben was caught off guard. “You know why we’re here?”

“Let’s just say I have my suspicions. I must say I keep wondering when you are going to get around to governing your kingdom in a reasonable fashion. Thus far, the concept of governing seems to have eluded you. You appear to believe that once you were named High Lord you were no longer required to do anything but sit on your throne. Chaos reigns, your retinue of handlers wring their hands and engage in pointless efforts to do something, and no one seems to understand that it’s your fault.”

“Exactly what is it you think I should be doing that I am not?” Ben demanded, now thoroughly put out. “Who are you to sit in judgment of me? Who causes more trouble in this kingdom than you?”

“That is entirely beside the point. I cause trouble because that is what dragons do. This is not supposed to be the case with High Lords of Landover. High Lords are supposed to govern ably and keep things in balance. This is where you have failed, time and again. I cannot help but feel we would all be better off without you. Maybe it’s time for a new King.”

“Oh, fine!” Ben snapped. “You want to overthrow the present regime and bring in someone more able. Hasn’t that been tried before? Hasn’t it repeatedly failed? Miserably? You can wail about me all you want, but I am still better than the twenty-seven or so other Kings you had who all fled for their lives in the first week of their rule.” He paused, calming himself as best he could with a forty-ton dragon looming over him. “What is it you are trying to say? What is your specific complaint?”

“
Specific
complaint? I have no
specific
complaint. I am in
general
dissatisfied with your efforts at ruling.” The dragon sniffed. “But enough of that. I just wanted to voice my displeasure while I had your attention. Tell me what you’re doing here, and we can all get on with our lives.”

Strabo flexed his back muscles, and all of his considerable spikes stood on end. He yawned to emphasize his boredom and smacked his dragon lips lazily. “You know, I do like your queen though, the pretty sylph, so much better than you. Dragons are like that. Gracious and sentimental where ladies are concerned. We have a soft spot for such lovely creatures, especially when they are of the once-fairy. Such exquisite creatures.” His nostrils flared. “Why am I wasting my time telling you all this? Why am I doing all the talking? Speak up, will you? I don’t have all day. What are you doing here?”

Ben took a deep breath. “Apparently, you already know the answer to that. Three winged creatures of considerable size are rampaging through the countryside, killing people and destroying property. I want to put an end to it. Have you seen them?”

“Of course, I’ve seen them. They were trespassing on my property, trying to steal cattle from my personal feed lot—cattle I had spent considerable time rounding up.”

“Stealing, you mean,” Ben interrupted.

“Semantics,” Strabo countered.

“So where are they?”

Strabo regarded him with an expression that somehow managed to convey scorn and disgust. “Why should I waste my time telling you? What do you think you can do about it?”

 Ben shook his head in disbelief. “Oh, I don’t know. Rid Landover of them, perhaps?”

“Really? Do you think you’re up to it—you and this ragtag band of inept minions? Because I don’t.”

Ben gave up. “Just tell me where you saw them.”

Strabo released a rush of smoky breath that engulfed Ben and left him feeling slightly singed and deeply violated.

“Look, Holiday. These are not the sorts of creatures that listen to reason. You will need to put an end to them. Termination with prejudice. I would have eaten them and let them burn to crisps in my stomach, but as even you realize by now, no one in his right mind eats Kringe.”

“Wait a minute.” Ben held up one hand. “You know what these things are?”

Strabo paused. “Don’t you?”

“No. Why would I?”

“You are King of Landover, aren’t you? Read up on the history and cultural development of your domain and its inhabitants, why don’t you? Certainly Questor Thews must know what Kringe are.”

“I’ve never heard of them either!” Questor declared from somewhere in the deep background.

Strabo spat out several gouts of fire that sent everyone but Ben scurrying for safer ground. “I forget how very young and ill-informed you all are compared to me,” Strabo sneered. “Kringe are a form of changeling. Very dangerous because they make themselves look harmless so you will take them in. Nasty little beasts. Sneaky mean. They’ve been around for a very long time, although most died out a while back. I should know. I assisted in hastening their departure. But they are a persistent species. Sort of like humans. That’s what you’ve been mucking around with, the two of you. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at your stupidity.”

“They started out as pets!” Ben snapped. “They didn’t look dangerous.”

“I’m sure they didn’t. But perhaps you’ve heard? Appearances can be deceiving?” Strabo shook his head as he looked past Ben at Questor. “You tried using magic on them, didn’t you? But you don’t get rid of them that way. That’s not how it’s done. Kringe are exceptionally hard to kill. As you have discovered, even if you should eat it, it will come back to life. Not that I can imagine anyone doing such a loathsome thing. Even the dog.” He nodded toward Abernathy. “But I hear it’s been tried by others.”

Ben decided not to pursue this line of thought. “So how
do
you . . . rid yourself of them?”

Strabo leaned close, lantern eyes glowing. “Brute force, Holiday. Like unpleasant bugs, you stamp on them. You squish them flat.”

Ben swallowed. “With your foot?”

“What do you think?”

“I think my feet are sort of small for squishing something that big.”

Strabo straightened, giving Ben space to breathe again. “You might want to give that some consideration. Better to know your limitations, Holiday. Better to recognize them before you find out the hard way how big they are. Unlike your feet.”