The Sword and the Dragon (The Wardstone Trilogy Book One) Page 10

  The towering, perfectly formed, structure was there though, and around its base, in the Valley of Life, the people of the realm were congregating, as they did every year around the first day of summer, in the spirit of peace, fellowship, mercantilism, and competition.

  Three crowded lanes led away from the base of the Spire. One extended upriver, north towards the foothills. Another ran downstream, keeping parallel to the river almost all the way to Wildermont. The third road led eastward, away from the river altogether. Between the Spire and the river, was an area known simply as the Grounds. This was where the contests took place. Sections were marked off for archery lanes, fighting circles, muddy tug of war pits, and other similar competition areas. An open field, filled with quickly assembled wooden bleachers built around it, held the hammer throwers at the moment. Once, this event had been dominated by the dwarves, but a few hundred years ago, the little folk had gone underground and not returned. Only a few handfuls of dwarves could be found in the realm these days, and they would be in the kingdom of Highwander, in the city called Xwarda, where Willa the Witch Queen held rule over the people with her potent magic and her Blacksword Warriors.

  The three roads, or “Ways,” as they were commonly called, were lined with wagon carts, tents, and makeshift table stands. People from all over the realm were selling their wares and services: armor made from boiled and painted leather; the pungent frog weed from the kingdom of Dakahn; farming implements, leather goods, and riding gear, along with the finest horses in the land, from the Kingdom of Valleya. Barrel kegs, sailcloth, and rope, and just about anything else to do with the shipping trade, was sold by the merchants from the Isle of Salazar, and in fierce competition with the Seaward vendors who dealt in similar merchandise. There were fantastical potions, healing powders, magical spell scrolls, venomous curses, and personal charms of every fashion to be had at Summer’s Day.

  One of the larger pavilions had an old silver haired man standing out in front of it. He was wearing wizard’s robes and claiming that the jeweled items he sold were powerfully enchanted and be-spelled. Daggers that never dulled, rings that made the wearer more attractive, medallions that would keep you from harm, and a longbow that would never miss its target, if you could find the strength to draw it, were just a few of the items he was trying to sell. He swore he could make anything you could imagine, and every so often, he would make a dove go flapping away from his empty hand in a puff of smoke, or pull a flower out from behind a passing maiden’s ear. The people who saw these feats either scurried off with terrified looks on their faces, or hurried inside to spend their coin.

  Gerard was intrigued by the man, but didn’t scurry away, or hurry inside to spend his money. He chose to watch the wizard from across the way. He bought a piece of roasted meat that had been skewered on a wooden stick, and a mug of ale to wash it down with, then leaned back against the food sellers cart, and watched the old man draw in his next group of potential customers.

  Gerard was transfixed by the man’s commanding tone and strange accent, but he wasn’t lured by the charlatan tricks that seemed to amaze the rest of the onlookers. The giantess, Berda, had told many a tale that included men like this one, and Gerard knew that feats such as these were a trick of the eye and not real magic. What kept Gerard watching, was the fact that when he had tried to use his ring’s power to catch the wizard out in his act, the old man only glanced at him without so much as a stutter. Like his older brother Hyden, the old man was somehow unaffected by the ring. Gerard might have thought that the ring had lost its magic had he not used it earlier in the afternoon to persuade a castellan from Wildermont to pay him twice the asking price for his last two hawkling eggs. The other six of his eggs, he had sold with Hyden’s six to a strange, little black-eyed woman who had wanted an even dozen. Gerard’s pouch was full, and he could have easily afforded any of the old silver-haired wizard’s wares, but he wasn’t interested in the fancy trinkets, only in the man selling them.

  The woman who had bought the eggs from him and Hyden had given Gerard the creeps. She had been acting and speaking more like a distracted boy, or a skittish animal, and her eyes had been as black as the Spire itself. She had paid well though, and without argument. Actually, she had slapped the heavy pouch full of golden lions down on the table stand the Skylers were using for a countertop, and demanded the dozen hawkling eggs. Harrap, Gerard’s father, had started to question her, as he always did the strange buyers. He seemed to want to know everything about them, their home kingdom, what type of business they were associated with, and the reason they wanted to buy the eggs. Most people wanted to incubate the birds to carry messages over long distances. Others, wanted the yolk for its healing properties. This woman had grown defensive, and said that an old woman’s business is her own. After waving a hand around, and chanting a word that caused Gerard and his father both to forget that she had even been there, she had taken her eggs and disappeared. The memory of her came back soon after, and Harrap had grown angry. His cursing and irritable manner had driven Gerard out of the selling booth just as soon as he’d sold his other two eggs.

  Hyden was in the middle of a preliminary round for the archery competition. Gerard used that as his ruse to go. Hyden would get to the finals, Gerard knew, so instead of going to watch his brother, he went off into the Ways exploring, and ended up here, in front of the silver-haired wizard’s pavilion. It was becoming obvious that the goods weren’t truly enchanted, so he was starting to lose interest.

  Disappointed, he stepped out into the flow of the passing crowd. He was curious to see what else he could find. He hadn’t taken ten steps when a woman’s arm hooked around his familiarly. The lady didn’t pull him into the gap between the two tents they were passing as he half expected her to do. Instead, she just strode along beside him as if they were long acquainted companions out enjoying the festival together.

  He could smell the sweet flowery scent of her, and from the corner of his eye he could tell she was attractive. He turned to look at her curiously and was pleasantly surprised.

  She was close to his height, and other than the long, straight raven black mane that hid most of her face from him, all he could see was the ample amount of cleavage that her studded leather vest revealed. Once he got past that, he saw that her entire body was beautifully curvy, and clad in tight fitting protective leather. He also noticed that she wore a long sword at her hip.

  “You’re one of the hawkling sellers aren’t you?” she asked, as they walked along.

  Gerard knew right away, by the way she spoke, that her accent was Dakaneese. He had heard that the Dakaneese were dangerous and violent people. “Sell swords, and slavers, mercenaries, and gamblers all!” Berda had said. Dakahn was one of the two great human kingdoms that bordered on the southern marshlands. They had to constantly defend themselves from wild swamp creatures and the like, and since the kingdom’s capital city, O’Dakahn, was located at the mouth of the Leif Greyn River, it was a horribly over-populated hub of river, land, and sea trade. This, of course, accounted for all the unsavory characters that were drawn there, and the bad reputations that followed them.

  He glanced at her again. This time, he stopped in the middle of the Way and roughly turned her to face him. She didn’t resist or protest.

  Her face was exotically beautiful, with huge, dark doe eyes, and a small, slightly upturned nose. From just below one eye, like a permanent tear drop, a pink knife scar trailed down her cheek. Her full lips were painted a faint strawberry color, and above her eyes, on her eye lids, was a sparkling, bluish green powder. Her mouth was set in a determined slant, but her eyes looked to be pleading for something.

  “Yes I am,” he answered her question. His eyes had found her cleavage again, and he couldn’t seem to pull them away. He could feel himself blushing, but was helpless to do anything about it.

  She didn’t seem to mind his exploring eyes at all. Her expression didn’t change and her eyes never left his.

  “We need
a climber.” Her tone was matter of fact, and conflicted strongly with her beauty. “The job should only take a few days. The rest of the time will be spent traveling, a long week at my best guess.”

  Her lips spread into an inviting smile, and she suddenly resumed her stride leaving him gawking at thin air.

  He hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. He quickly caught up to her and resumed his place at her side. He noticed that her skin-tight leather britches fit her rump perfectly, and that her sword’s hilt was modestly jeweled. He waited for her arm to hook into his again, but it never did. He found it disappointing. When she had touched him before, he had felt as if he were floating. He longed to feel that sensation again.

  His mind was churning now, searching for reasons to go with this beautiful woman wherever she led him. A dozen reasons he shouldn’t go came flooding into his mind with the others. He had to find out more about this job, and there was no doubt that he wanted to find out more about her.

  “Where would we be going?” he asked.

  “Into the Southern Marshlands,” she answered, as casually as if she went there every day. Gerard began to wonder if the wild stories he had heard about the place, and the creatures that dwelled there, were only exaggerations. This woman wore a thick armored vest and carried a fancy sword with a jeweled hilt, not the type of things a person would wear if they were afraid of where they were going. She was only a girl really, no bigger than, and not much older looking, than he was. If the idea of going into the marshes frightened her, it didn’t show at all.

  “What in the world would you need a climber in the marshes for?”

  The idea of using his ring to have her spill the truth of it all crossed his mind, but he stopped himself. He wanted to see what she told him of her own will first.

  “I cannot just blurt out the nature of my campaign,” she answered. A slight look of frustration crossed her face. She stopped and then hugged him to her. He couldn’t help but feel the softness of her breasts pressing against him, even through the thick leather vest.

  “Some would try to take what we seek before we get it,” she whispered into his ear. Her breath was warm and sweet, and made his head swim. “Others would conspire against our efforts. I must be sure that you are trustworthy before I share the details with you. The fact that you are interested is enough for the moment.”

  She backed away a step, and then hooked her arm in his again. She had to pull him along to get his feet moving.

  “To answer your question though, out in the deep marshes there’s a place called the Dragon’s Tooth. Oh, don’t look so frightened. It’s only called that because of its shape. There’s a cavern in the side of it, up good and high. What we seek is in that cavern. We need a climber to go up and get it, or at least to make a rope way up for a few others to climb up.”

  Gerard was satisfied with her answer, but the idea of using the ring was starting to consume him. He wanted to feel its power coursing through his body as much as he wanted the beautiful Dakaneese girl beside him. Without further thought, he used the ring, and told her in his mind to kiss him.

  It was in that moment, when her warm soft lips met his, that Shaella knew she had him. She wasn’t sure where the urge to kiss him had come from, but it didn’t matter. The kiss had sealed his fate. The look of pleasure in his eyes told her that he was putty in her hands.

  The burn of the magic in Gerard’s blood accompanied by her hot, wet, probing tongue was a feeling like none he had never known. It was ecstasy beyond reason, a sensation, that from that moment on, he wouldn’t be able to resist. He was addicted.

  ***

  Over on the archery lanes, Hyden put three arrows deftly into the Wizard’s Eye, and the next two into the King’s Ring, from both fifty and one hundred paces. Two other men matched the feat. The sole elf that was participating in the preliminary culling didn’t bother to loose his arrows at fifty paces at all. Instead, he put four arrows into the Wizard’s Eye at one hundred paces. Then, with a contemptuous scowl at the awed group of human contenders, he backed fifty more paces away, and arced his last arrow into the edge of the King’s Ring as if it were nothing. It was amazing.

  Hyden had only put four in the Wizard’s Eye twice in his life. It was hard to do, and the elf had made it look easy, but he tried not to get discouraged. Since he had done it before, he knew that he could do it again. If he wanted to win the competition, he would have to do it on the morrow. He’d have to do it in front of a great crowd of onlookers too. The few dozen spectators, who had watched the culling today, had made him fairly nervous. He would try his hardest though.

  The elves’ smug confidence, and arrogant attitude towards the other competitors, gave Hyden a better understanding of his people’s desire to beat them. The yellow-eyed devil thought he was too good to even speak to the humans. After the hundred and fifty pace lob into the King’s Ring, Hyden had complimented the elf. The cocky bastard had smirked and walked away, as if annoyed by the respectful words.

  The two other elves who had watched the culling take place seemed to share this contempt for the other archers. They watched, with narrowed brows on their skinny, pointed eared faces, and mocked and heckled each time a man’s arrow missed the center mark. It was no wonder that the Elders, and most of the giants, spoke of the elves return to the land as if they were a plague. At the moment, Hyden didn’t want to think of the morrow’s competition. He had made it through the culling, which had started with over thirty contenders. The field had been narrowed down to four. He decided to be pleased with that accomplishment and enjoy the night’s main event. He was ready for “The Brawl.”

  All day people had been talking about it. The Western Lion Lord, whose name was already carved in the Spire for his victory of a few years ago, was to take on the Seaward Monster. The monster was a tattoo covered mountain of a man, who made his living toting and standing ships spars and mast poles. Hyden had never seen the sea, or a ship, much less a mast pole, but he had seen a riverboat, with a sail, and knew that that pole would have weighed as much as a shagmar beast, or a full grown bull moose. He had listened closely to the descriptions of the kind of ships that this Seawards man helped build, and knew that it was no typical occupation. The man was a freak of nature they said. Possibly, half giant, someone had suggested. Hyden knew that the last statement couldn’t possibly be true, because Berda had told him that giants and humans couldn’t interbreed. She had said that the offspring came out feral, but, nevertheless, he was intrigued about the event.

  In every corner of every space, wagers were being made, and stories about the two combatants were being told. Hyden had watched the Lion Lord win his battle against the Valleyan Stallion a few years ago. It was a long and brutal fight. The Lion had outlasted the Valleyan. He won with a late flourish of hammer blows. Hyden remembered vividly, the screams and cheers of the onlookers, and the curses from those who had lost their wagers. There had been a dozen more fights in the crowd after the Brawl had ended. Hyden remembered being afraid that he and his father wouldn’t get free of the mass of people without being pummeled to death.

  Gerard hadn’t been old enough to go to harvest that year, and their mother had kept him at the selling tent during the Brawl. Hyden would never forget the bond he and his father had formed that year. Hyden had only harvested one lousy egg, and had been teased to tears on the long walk back from the harvest lodge to the festival. His father had held that single egg out until all the others had been sold. Then, he had acted like an auctioneer between three potential buyers. When the deal was done, Harrap had handed Hyden a fat little sack of gold, patted him on the head and said, “Your single egg was the best egg of the whole harvest, son.” That one egg had sold for what three eggs had sold for earlier that day. No one in the Skyler Clan dared make fun of Hyden’s one egg harvest after that.

  When Hyden made it back to the clan’s group of tents and pavilions, his pleasant memories were shattered. His father’s mood, and now Uncle Condlin’s, were foul over b
eing tricked into selling eggs to a spell worker, and it made Hyden want to hurry away. He only stayed long enough to feed and tend the hawkling chick.

  The women of the clan were selling beaded jewelry and woven blankets that they had made during the year, and some pelts that the men had hunted and trapped over the last winter. He asked them if anyone had seen Gerard, and he complimented a particular bracelet that his mother had made.

  No one had seen Gerard for awhile. After searching this whole side of the upriver Way, where his clan had more less taken over, Hyden decided to go buy his brother a wizard’s hat and a good pair of horse hide boots like he had promised. On his way from the clan’s area, he was cornered by two of his uncles. They interrogated him about the culling, and warned him not to get drunk, or injured, between now and the competition. They gave advice, and though he didn’t want to think on the matter, he listened politely and promised that he would do his best. Eventually, he broke free of them and went out into the Ways.

  Later, he found himself searching for Gerard. He wanted to treat his brother to the special seats he had managed to acquire for the Brawl. When that was over, he would give his brother the presents he had bought for him.

  He looked for Gerard in a few places, and then he saw the silver-haired old wizard’s pavilion and decided that Gerard would’ve been tempted by such a display. He was disappointed when he didn’t find Gerard there.

  On the way out of the fancy tent, he turned towards the Spire, and ran face first into a pair of fully armored men. He mumbled an apology, tried to step around them, but they mirrored his side step, and continued to block his way. Hyden immediately recognized the white rectangular patch over their breasts. It had a black sword running across it like a stripe. It was the banner of the Blacksword Warriors of Highwander. A shiver of fear ran through him. These were Willa the Witch Queen’s men. It was said that she fed her enemies to her soldiers in their stew. Others said that her men cooked the dead right on the battlefield and ate them on their own. At the moment, Hyden wholly believed it. One of the men was smiling wickedly, showing a mouthful of jagged, half rotted teeth. They looked to be pointed at the ends like fangs, and both of the men smelled of sweat and filth.