The Bringer of War

“Long have I desired you,” said Bruno as he smothered Allison’s nude body with kisses.

“And I, you,” she said breathlessly, her smooth hands caressing his broad shoulders.

Their lips met even as their limbs entangled, the barmaid ending up astride him. He ran his hands up her torso, massaging the soft flesh of her bosom, gazing up into her green eyes-

Except that her eyes were not green. Lady Katherine’s soft brown eyed gaze looked down sadly at him.

“Have you forgotten our love so quickly, Sir Bruno?” she said.

Bruno’s eyes flicked open, an act he immediately regretted for the morning sun lanced brightly into them. He felt as if a shard of sunlight had been jabbed into his skull and spun about, wreaking havoc as it went. His mouth was dry as a bone, his tongue painfully swollen. The maid Allison lay next to him, her curly hair the only thing visible beneath the blankets. His gaze softened a bit, despite his painful headache. Her hand was soft and warm on his chest, and he had a vague memory of her tracing the deep indigo patterns of Heartfire with her fingers as they had lain together.

He could also feel her legs against his own, surprisingly hairy. It also felt as if she needed to trim her toenails, as something hard and sharp was jabbing into the arch of his foot.

Carefully, he slithered out of the bed and used the chamber pot to relieve himself. He padded back to the door and shut it, shaking his head as he realized it had been open all night long. Thanking himself that Hector had not seen his carelessness, he returned to bed, sliding back under the soft blankets. The barmaid stirred when he clasped her hand in his own beneath the covers.

“Good morning, my lady,” he said through dry lips.

Aven stiffened beneath the blankets, her palm gone sweaty in Bruno’s grip. She had slumbered, meaning her body had reverted to its true form. From the knight’s tone, he had not discovered the truth-yet. Hastily, she gathered the energy for the enchantment, which caused her already sore noggin to hammer anew.

“Tomorph,” she whispered, sighing as her flesh responded.

“What was that?” he said, pulling the covers off her head. The face of Allison the barmaid, and not Aven the faerie smiled up at him through half lidded eyes.

“Nothing,” she said, snuggling up next to him. “Was last night not a sin, Bruno? Must you flagellate yourself, kneel and pray upon a bed of nettles or some such?”

“You mock me,” he said, though he chuckled. “I deserve it, I suppose. Though I must confess, this is not the first time I have given in to temptations of the adversary.”

“The adversary?” said Aven with a giggle “still you cling to such contrivances. The Adversary you speak of is merely an agent of Wehyah, an aspect which accuses mankind of their various transgressions. Besides, what we shared last eve is not sinful or wrong. It was...beautiful.”

Bruno bit back a retort, something he’d have mechanically spouted just a few weeks ago. Silently, he wondered how much of what the maid said was true. There were numerous texts in the Great Tome, and many of them seemed to contradict each other. Still, he was not ready to give up a lifetime of belief in the Allfather just because a country girl had-

“How is it that you know so much of the ancient gods?” said Bruno, his eyes narrowing.

“I told you,” said Aven, pouting at him “my folk tell many tales.”

“Your folk,” said Bruno “and what ‘folk’ would that be? You are too pale to be a Shanti, too civilized to be one of the Wild Folk who wear animal skins and keep to their heathen ways. You are a mystery, an enigma, Allison of Ravensford.”

“You are no better, Sir Bruno Cromwell,” she said, sitting up on one elbow “he who seems as hard as steel from his manner, and just as cold. Yet you are motivated by compassion, and a sense of duty that is absent in most Templars.”

Bruno frowned, unable to respond. Part of him wished to smack the taste from the troublesome wench’s mouth, and there were many men both common and noble who would have. However, he could not fathom causing harm to the green eyed maid, a fact that caused a wellspring of panic to rise in his chest. Could he really be so attached to her after one sweaty night?

“You look troubled, my knight,” said Aven, putting her hands on either side of his face “allow me to draw your troubles from you, as poison is drawn from a wound...”

Their lips met, and to his surprise her methods were surprisingly effective.

** *

Kate frowned, rummaging through the stacks of parchment on the table before her. Her ruby red lips parted and a sigh heaved from her bosom. She stood up from her seat, smoothing out a wrinkle from her green taffeta gown and faced Quinn with a somber expression on her pretty face.

“It is as you feared,” she said “my father has been hiding many things from me, it seems.”

Quinn looked very uncomfortable, wringing his thick hands as he struggled to speak.

“I feel like a rat,” he said “but I ease the burden on my heart by thinking, no, by knowing that telling your ladyship about this is the best way I can serve him.”

“So much money,” she said, staring again at the papers on the table. “All sent south, meant to purchase holdings that do not exist...”

She stared up hopefully at Quinn.

“Do you suppose he has been swindled?” she said “that he has no clue these companies and tracts of land are not real?”

“No, my lady,” said the first sword, shaking his bald head sadly “your father is shrewd, and took pains to conceal his expenditures not only from you, but from the crown as well.”

Kate paled, her lips trembling as dozens of panicked thoughts raced through her head.

“Do you think,” she said “my father has....that he would...”

“Treason?” said Quinn, laughing nervously. “I do not think so, my lady. More likely, he is being blackmailed by some lord or another.”

“Blackmail?” said Kate “do you think my father would be...indiscreet?”

“I shudder to think so,” said Quinn “but your father is a man, and men do have needs, my lady.”

Kate sighed, leaning upon her hands as she stared at the sheets spread out before her.

“If only there were a way to know what he was about,” she said.

“Actually, lady Katherine,” said Quinn, clearing his throat “there might be a way at that.”

“Explain,” she said, her face falling into a scowl.

Quinn cleared his throat nervously.

“There is a safe in your father’s chambers,” he said “an eastern puzzle safe, no larger than a breadbox...”

“I know of it,” said Kate, arching a brow.

“It is the one thing I cannot access,” he said “as I do not know the solution....”

“I see,” she said “if I tell you the way to open it, you must promise me that you will come to me, and only me, with what is inside. Do you understand?”

Quinn straightened, drawing his sword with a whisking sound. He laid the flat of the blade across his palms, offering it towards her as if for inspection. Quinn’s sword was of a utilitarian design, the double bladed broadsword that most military men favored. The hilt had been wrapped with brass wire, worn smooth with use. A simple metal lump, carved to resemble an acorn, acted as pommel.

“My lady,” he said “I swear upon my sword that I shall bring such knowledge to you, and only to you.”

Kate’s cheeks flushed a bit.

“That is...that is not necessary,” she said haltingly “your word will suffice.”

“I have just given it,” said Quinn, smiling. “Now, as to the puzzle box?”

“Ah,” said Kate, shaking her head “of course. The solution is to line up the pictures on the sides so the stars upon them all total up to seven when added to the side opposite.”

“Come again?” said Quinn, shaking his head.

Kate used a quill to scribble a crude illustration showing that the cube shaped device could be opened by sliding the different panels into the proper alignment. When the man at arms seemed to have grasped it, she used a candle to burn the parchment to ash.

“Do hurry,” she said, escorting the man to her chamber door. “You are a good man, lord Quinn.”

Quinn took her hand in his and kissed it, offering her a bright smile.

“I but live to serve,” he said through half lidded eyes.

** *

Crown whistled as he drew up water from the town well, nodding politely to folk as they passed. He lifted the wooden pail and used it to spill its contents into the clay pitcher he had lugged from his hut. The sound of the Hammer’s door swinging shut drew his attention, for there was little activity at the establishment so early in the day.

His eyes widened at the sight of Sir Bruno exiting the inn. The knight squinted in the bright morning sun, and Crown realized in a flash that he had spent the night in the Hammer. He broke out in a grin a moment later when the door swung open and the magically disguised faerie woman handed him a maroon undershirt.

“Why, you clever devil,” he said as the two drew close and conversed intimately. The knight flinched as the maid struck his buttocks as he turned to leave. His glare melted when he saw her mischievous expression, and his lips moved in a fare well.

He tarried by the well, pretending to lash his sandal to his foot more securely as he waited for the maid to come out for water. She blanched a bit when she saw him there, but then forced herself to stride slowly to the stone circle.

“Father,” she said politely as she began to draw up the bucket. Crown glanced up, a look of surprise spreading on his face as if he had not noticed her approach.

“Why, hello my dear,” he said “did you have a good rest last eve?”

Something in his tone made Aven’s eyes narrow, and she glared down at the little man.

“What are you getting at?” she said.

“It isn’t any of my business how you hold to our arrangement,” said Crown “certainly, seducing the knight was a stroke of genius! Just know that within the fortnight the deed is to be done.”

Aven swallowed, nodding curtly. “I will be ready.”

“Excellent,” said Crown, moving past her “I really have grown fond of Brutus. It would be a shame to have to kill him.”

Aven stared hard at the man as he left, feeling helpless. She tried to tell herself that the connection she felt to the Templar was purely physical, a product of their mutual attraction, but such thoughts seemed to echo hollowly through her mind. Despite his rough edges, she knew Bruno to be a good man, a noble man, a man who she could...

Her eyes narrowed as she recalled the near disaster earlier that morning. If Bruno had cast the blankets off her head, had seen her curling horns or hooved feet, one of them would lie dead. A Templar’s sworn duty was to stand between humanity and dragons, faerie and black magic. The thought of one falling in love with a fey was unthinkable....

Except that it had happened before, as Aven knew better than any other.

** *

The pounding on the door scarcely held a candle to the pounding in Fennik’s head. He lifted his head from the lice infested pillow he had regretfully collapsed into in a drunken stupor the previous evening, a line of drool trailing from his mouth to the filthy surface. The pounding came again, causing his face to twist up in the righteous fury of the hungover.

“Hang on, damn you,” he grumbled, stepping over a pile of dirty linen. He shuddered as he felt tiny legs crawling up his hairy calf. He felt a twinge of jealousy for Seamus, who had slept in the stable to help Roikza in her comings and goings. Dragging on his stained leather breeches, he hopped on one leg across the short expanse of uneven floor to the shabby, thin door.

“What do you want, dead ma-” he said, his voice dying when he looked into the grim countenance of a member of the Port Gar watch. He was accompanied by two other men, sergeants by their green sashes, who stood glaring up at Fennik. The lanky man swallowed, smiled weakly, and changed his tone.

“Forgive me, my good Captain,” he said “I am Fennik Dragonbane, licensed dragon slayer. Accredited by the college of-”

“We know who you are, dragon slayer,” said the captain. “I am Capt. Murdoch, late of the Port Gar watch.”

“Whatever you have heard, it is a lie,” said Fennik “I mean, I would never have so much as kissed the girl had I known she was but a maid! I have been known to bend the rules on games of chance but-”

“Settle down,” said the Captain, smiling at him. “The watch wants to hire you, dragon slayer. Any transgressions of yours have yet to come to our attention, and so long as it remains that way you have nothing to fear from us.”

“Ah, good,” said Fennik, scratching the back of his head. “Well, it seems I am a bit out of sorts, so if I could meet you outside, in say, an hour-”

“Make it half an hour,” said Murdoch. “Better yet, ten minutes. Don’t keep us waiting.”

Fennik nodded, began to eagerly shut the door, when Murdoch stopped him by thrusting his stout boot in the way.

“Oh,” he said with a smile that did nothing to ease Fennik’s nerves “if you were thinking about sneaking out the window and fleeing with your brother, know that he and your...interesting pet are already keeping us company below. Ten minutes, good dragon slayer.”

“Rat bastard,” said Fennik, hustling to dress himself and gather his meager belongings. He was dashing down the uneven stairs, leaving the dank smelling inn with its hard packed dirt floors behind. Blinking in the light of day, he witnessed Seamus chatting easily with a few of the guardsmen. Roikza sat on his forearm, claws gripping the black leather strips wound there to protect his hairy forearm. He glanced up at Fennik’s approach.

“Hey, brother,” he said cheerfully “they’ve got themselves a dragon problem here in Port Gar, they do!”

“Keep your voice down, fool!” hissed Murdoch through clenched teeth, striking Seamus across the cheek. “Do you wish to cause a panic?”

“Sorry,” said Seamus, rubbing his cheek. He held his arm out to the side to distance Roikza from the captain’s face. The little dragon’s neck feathers were puffed out, her maw opening to an impressive width to display her rows of needle like teeth. Murdoch blanched and took a step away, though the breast was no larger than a crow or chicken.

“Keep that thing on a short leash,” said Fennik, standing between Murdoch and his brother. “What manner of....evidence do you have that this problem may be, er, of our expertise?”

“We’ll show you,” said Murdoch, indicating they should follow his men through the crowded streets. With harvest coming up the Port city was packed, empty ships waiting to be filled with produce to be taken to the rich nobles of the Northern Kingdom. Sailors of man different sails filled the taverns and houses of ill repute, spending the last of the pay before they had to shove off once again.

The brothers were led to the docks, down a stone staircase which appeared to have been recently wet. It ran down the side of a limestone seawall, the surf just a few feet below the bottom step. Fennik fairly hugged the side of the wall on their way down. Near the bottom he could discern a circular man sized opening at the bottom of the stairs, and the fetid smell told him of its purpose.

“The engineers who planned Port Gar,” said Murdoch, raising his voice to be heard over the sea and the high wind “designed the sewers to make use of the rising tide. At night the ocean spills under the city and washes out the filth. The problem is there are extensive tunnels beneath the streets. Tunnels that often provide shelter to those on the run from justice.”

“We are dragon slayers, not bounty hunters,” said Fennik, not thrilled about the prospect of going into a sewer.

“You’re not here to find a fugitive,” growled Murdoch as he stood before the sewer hole “we found him this morning. It’s what got to him first that has us worried.”

Fennik and Seamus were led into the dank shadows, their feet slipping in viscous filth that stank worse than rotting fish guts in the sun. The Captain did not appear to notice, but Seamus whipped the kerchief off his head and tied it around his mouth and nose. Fennik had no such device and was forced to hold his sleeve before his face as best he could. Roikza hissed and tittered, sounding almost like a songbird, before darting back out the way they had come.

“Bird’s the smart one,” said Murdoch grimly as they pressed on. The tunnel went back into the cliff face for a hundred feet, then branched off into two different directions. The captain led them roughly south, the flickering flame of his sputtering torch illuminating the grim discovery.

Fennik gagged as he beheld the corpse. The man’s arms and legs were gone, jagged bits of bone and shredded meat where once they had been anchored. All the skin had been stripped from his flesh, leaving red muscle and yellow fat on display in a revolting mound. The lower jaw had been torn from the skull, and the pink tongue looked as if it had been gnawed upon. The lidless eyes stared up at the damp ceiling, causing the brothers to shudder.

“He had seawater in his lungs when we found him,” said Murdoch “meaning that whatever ravaged him, mutilated him to this...state left him breathing before the high tide came in.”

“Only a dragon could be this cruel,” said Seamus grimly.

Fennik glared at him, his visage gruesome to behold in the poor torchlight.

“You speak too quickly, brother,” he said, emphasizing the last word “do not fill the Captain’s head with your nonsensical ideas!”

“I only meant, that what I’d heard...” said Seamus, who allowed his voice to trail off under Fennik’s withering glare.

“We thought much the same,” said Murdoch “dragons are normally a northern problem, but I’ve never seen the likes of this. The man was a cut purse and a liar, but he did not deserve this.”

Fennik nodded, not knowing what else to say. Seamus cleared his throat, nudged the lanky man in his arm.

“We should poke around a bit,” he said, “try and pick up the trail.”

“Thank you, dragon slayers,” said Murdoch, his tone showing that he was impressed. “Such honor to your profession, to begin the task before negotiating price.”

“It is a large break from protocol, brother,” said Fennik darkly.

“If you will give us a few of those torches,” said Seamus “we will be about the task.”

“Here,” said Murdoch, handing them the torches as well as a rolled up leather parchment “this is a map of the sewers. It can be easy to get lost down here, and you only have about eight hours before the tide begins to roll in.”

“We’d best get a move on, then,” said Seamus, accepting the map and peering at it intently. “I think we should start here, brother.”

He started off, and Fennik was forced to follow, as Murdoch offered a salute to their departing forms. Seamus ignored his repeated requests for an explanation until they had walked for nearly five minutes. Then the big man began laughing, causing a new outburst from Fennik.

“What in the world are you about?” he said.

“Oh, if you could see your face,” said Seamus “when I volunteered us.”

“Are you daft?” said Fennik, looming over him “did you see that body? We are not actually dragon slayers, you imbecile! That thing would rip us to shreds”

“Of course it would,” said Seamus.

“Of course it-” said Fennik angrily. He paused, and spoke in a bewildered tone “of course it would?”

“Yes,” said Seamus “we could never hope to defeat such a beast. We’ll remain down here for an hour or two, go back up and tell the good Captain that there’s not hide nor hair of the beast.”

“That...” said Fennik “that might just work. The good captain might even compensate us for our wasted time.”

“He might indeed,” said Seamus, grinning at him in the torchlight.

“There’s just one problem,” said Fennik “what if we really do run into the dragon down here?”

“Bah,” said Seamus “it probably went out with the tide, if it was a dragon at all. More likely a shark, or some other big fish.”

** *

Whipple had chosen to lease space in the massive old warehouse for one reason; it was quite close to a sizable storm drain, and thus was less prone to flooding in the frequently rain drenched Port Gar. The drain was sunk into the street, and led to a muddy tunnel that ran a hundred yards underground until it could spill into the deeper sewers below. Neighborhood children had often lifted the heavy grate and climbed into the tunnel below when it was dry, using it as a place to hide from their chores. Whipple himself had seen to it that the city end their theatrical bedlam by having a mason come and seal up the grate with mortar.

Thus, he was surprised to hear the sound of voices echoing from within. He walked across the street to stand above the rusted metal grate, peering into the darkness below. The pudgy shopkeeper stumbled back in alarm when a pair of filthy hands grabbed the grate and began frantically to try and move it.

“I found a grate!” shouted Seamus in a panic.

“Get it off, get it off!” said Fennik, slamming into his brother’s back. He stared back down the stone passage they had just clambered through, scuttling on their hands and knees like crabs. “I think it’s still coming!”

“It won’t budge!” said Seamus “it’s been sealed or something!”

“What’s going on?” said Whipple, crouching low to peer into the grate. He could just make out the men’s dirty, terrified faces as their hands desperately tried to pry the metal barricade free.

“There’s someone up there,” said Fennik.

“Help!” shouted Seamus, his voice sounding hoarse “for the sake of all the gods, man help us!”

“I don’t need to help you,” said Whipple with a sneer “I heard about the cut purse who escaped into the sewer!”

“Hey, is that Whipple?” said Fennik. “Whipple, it’s us! We found another dragon, and it’s coming this way!”

“You,” said Whipple “the charlatans! I heard that dragons don’t even eat potatoes! Sounds like you’re going to get what you deserve.”

A deep, reverberating growl echoed behind the men in the narrow corridor. Their struggles became more desperate, their cries more pleading.

“Whipple, can you not hear it?” said Fennik, his face a mask of terror. “Please, Whipple!”

“If there is a dragon down there,” said Whipple, taking a few steps back from the grate “I’d best leave the grate like it is, yes?”

“Whipple, you son of a bitch!” shouted Seamus “you filthy fucking bastard, you let us out of here right now!”

“Seamus!” screamed Fennik “It’s got me! It’s got me-”

The filthy hands were torn away from the bars viciously. Seamus screamed, his eyes transfixed on some horror that Whipple could not see. Blood spattered over the big man’s bald pate, splashed within his screaming maw. The shopkeeper could not stand another moment, and began running as fast as his pudgy legs could drive him.