A warm light angled through the curtains and cast over a wooden bed draped in quilts and bear fur with a yew tree hanging from the wall above the headboard. Outside he could hear birds chirping and his father chopping wood. His mother was tending their sheep and singing a little song to herself. Andrig was probably helping Father.
Lindsey sat on a little three-legged stool watching the man laying in the bed. His face was foreign and had at one time been clean-shaven. A week of bed-rest had provided him a modest reddish-blond beard. His eyes were a warm brown, like a pastry left just long enough in a brick oven, and he smiled with them as soon as they flickered open. His lips parted, bristling with welcome and delight. "Good morning, Lindsey."
Lindsey, still a little boy, but now dressed in warm clothes and little boots that he knew he'd worn when he'd been a little girl so many years ago, smiled and recognized the healing man. "Good morning, Zhypar. I've missed you."
His smile did not waver, and color filled his cheeks. "I know. But I am here."
"This is where we first met," Lindsey said, glancing anxiously at the walls of the little room in his home and especially at the window. He half feared that a monstrous mage in the guise of a wolf would come prowling about. "So long ago."
"Not so long as all that," Zhypar replied with a soft churr beneath his words. His ears, at first completely human, were distinctly longer than before, but not in a horrible way. They were longer in a wholly familiar way, with soft curves and russet colored fur brushing along their back and sides as if touched by an artist's pen. "Time is a created thing too. It passes as it does by the will of Eli. But it does not pass unmercifully." He drew one human hand out from under the quilts and gestured at the room. "We are here again. It is good to see you, Lindsey."
The boy trembled and pressed his head and hands against the quilts, feeling for Zhypar's other arm beneath them. "Oh, how could you leave me? I need you now more than ever! I'm lost and alone with no hope! My family, my people, everything will be lost!"
"Life is full of goodbyes, Lindsey. They are not easy, and they will always bring us pain." Zhypar sighed and gently stroked the back of Lindsey's head for a moment. "When we walked into Hall of Unearthly Light together, I knew something terrible, something I could not tell you then, because I knew what you would do."
Lindsey lifted his head and saw that Zhypar's face had started to shift further, with his upper lip splitting and his nose flattening and swelling as a snout began to emerge. His ears were taller than his head, familiar as the ears of a kangaroo again. Lindsey tightened his fingers in the bear fur. "What did you know?"
Zhypar's expression was soft as his brown eyes swelled in size in proportion to his animal head. Yet his voice lost none of its clarity or its gentleness. "I knew that one of us was going to die. If it was not I, then it would have been you that suffered the killing blow. Had I told you this, you would have thrown yourself before it to save me."
Lindsey swallowed and nodded. "Aye, I would have. I love you, Zhypar."
"And I you, Lindsey." He smiled with his new marsupial snout and and brushed his hand through Lindsey's hair. The russet fur was beginning to appear on his upper arm. A lump was forming in the quilts between his knees. "Which is why I didn't tell you. I knew, and saw, and glimpsed in that moment a future for you that even I had not guessed. And I saw at the same time, a future for me that was all too short, and all too miserable."
"Short and miserable?"
"The wound Yonson gave me in my side would have killed me in less than a year even had I survived Marzac. I couldn't let you spend your life for so little."
Lindsey shook his head and pushed himself back onto the stool. His hands felt stiff and his fingers sore. "I don't want to believe it." He swallowed and shook his head again. "But I... I know you never lie, and you especially never lied to me." He dug his fingernails into his knees and whispered, "But why didn't you tell me then? After it was... too late."
Zhypar chuckled lightly and set his hand back at his side. His fingers were developing little tan claws. "I was dying. I could do nothing but what I did. One day you will die too. There are so many things we wish we could do but no matter how long we live we are not given the time to do them all. Not even Qan-af-årael had that luxury."
Before Lindsey could say or do anything more, Zhypar leaned forward in bed and placed his hand on his head and smiled anew, soft and gentle. "Given what I know you have endured since then, I am glad I was not allowed to say it. Had I done so, you would have looked at every tragedy as a promise from me and it would have embittered your heart."
The boy shuddered and sniffled but slowly began to nod. "The worst was having to kill that thing growing in my pouch. I thought it was our son. I thought I would have you back through him."
Zhypar's snout turned briefly in a moue, but the warm regard returned with his next breath. "That is now past. When you rejected it, you rejected the false promises of Marzac. Just as Kayla did with Vissarion and James did with the bell; and even Jerome. But there are so many false promises in life that we must turn away from. Despair is also one of them."
Lindsey let out a long sigh and half-watched as the lump between Zhypar's knees swelled down to his feet, which were also noticeably longer than a man's. He dug his nails into his knees and winced a little. "I don't want to despair. But I... I don't have any hope left."
"No Follower should ever believe they are without hope." Zhypar leaned forward and rested his furred hand on top of Lindsey's. "What do you really have to fear?"
He looked into the kangaroo's face and met his kind stare. Was it ever possible for Lindsey to remain morose when he truly looked into those eyes? He knew, knew deep down, the depths of pain that the kangaroo had suffered in his own short life. Yet it was the rarest of moments whenever he revealed that pain. The night in the tent in Marzac swamp had been one of the very few he had ever seen Zhypar cry. It was a struggle to think of a second.
Still, the words came ever so slowly to his lips. "I fear for my family. My father is a prisoner of Calephas and the baron has promised to kill him as soon as his potion works."
Zhypar nodded slowly as his legs and tail shifted beneath the quilts so that he laid on his side, head propped up by the pillows and one elbow. Lindsey could see the tip of his long tail poking out from the bottom of the bear fur. His voice bore a slight rolling lilt because of his snout and thicker tongue. "Was your father afraid?"
The scene, the first time he'd seen his father in almost ten years, was burned into his mind. With a strange sense of comfort he began to shake his head. "Nay, he was not afraid. My father would never be afraid of any man's threats. Or of death."
"Then why are you, my gentle Lindsey, so afraid for him?"
He almost laughed as his eyes slipped down to stare at Zhypar's arms. "I don't want him to die."
"But do you know that he will?"
"I don't see any way to save him." He grunted and shifted on the stool, feeling a slight discomfort in his back. He kicked the little boots off his feet and stretched his toes. "And you told me that you knew one of us would die in Marzac. There was no way to save us both."
Zhypar's smile receded but did not disappear. "But there was a way to save you and everyone else I cared about. Lindsey, for the first time in my life, I knew how to save the lives of others. All I'd ever seen before was that everyone I loved would be taken from me. All the Felikaush would die, my brothers, my sisters, my cousins, my aunts and uncles, and my mother and my father, all of them. I saw that everyone of them would die. There was nothing I could do to save them."
He lifted his hand and gently cradled Lindsey's boyish chin. "But I could save you. I would die a hundred times more to do that just one more time. And I saved everyone else too. And with faith in Yahshua, a faith that saw me through every pain, I knew I had no reason to fear death."
Lindsey closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath, stretching out his chest and then letting it settle back down. "But I didn't want to lose you either. And now I may lose my father, and even my mother. I... I've already lost her in a way."
Zhypar let go of his chin and dropped his hand down to Lindsey's own and patted it once. The touch felt oddly distant and muffled. Withdrawing to the bed, the kangaroo smiled laconically and lifted the curtains back to let in more light. A bright Summer day waited outside rich and full of color. Lindsey smiled as he watched birds chase each other past the window.
But the weight in his heart dragged his eyes down until he was staring uncomprehending at his hands pressed atop his knees. Only his hands weren't covered in crimson-rimmed gray scales and tipped with dark claws. He lifted them both and turned them upside-down and right-side-up over and over again marveling and wondering at them. Dragon's hands, much like Pharcellus had. And they were his.
"My... hands."
"Indeed," Zhypar said with a light chuckle. "But you haven't lost a mother. You may have another, and you certainly have a new brother."
Lindsey flexed his hands and smiled faintly. There was a boyish enthusiasm when it came to all things dragon. And thinking of Pharcellus always seemed to bring warmth to him, more so than a mere friend could do. "I hope he is all right."
The kangaroo smiled broadly, his long ears folding backward against the pillows. "And there, you have hope again."
He looked past his dragon hands and chortled once as he met the amused glint in his dearest friend and hoped for husband's eye. "You're right," he murmured as he lowered his hands to his legs, noting that the scales had spread up his arms a few inches. He felt a strange pressure behind him and shifted on the stool again. "You're right. I do have hope. It's so small..."
"It doesn't need to be large to give courage." Zhypar let the window shade fall back into place and stretched his arms and legs. His toe claws caught in the fur and dragged it half-way down his chest. He kicked his feet a little until the quilts were free and drew them back over his chest. Lindsey had noted he bore no attire, and that the vile black wound Yonson's ash staff had given him was gone. He wasn't quire sure why he'd expected to see it either.
"Did we have much hope against the forces of Marzac? Not a one of us could have contended against the Marquis, let alone Yajakali himself. Yet that evil was defeated. And we hope it is defeated forever." Zhypar pressed his paws together and gazed at the ceiling as if he were in prayer. "And you know from whence comes all true hope. In weakness, power reaches perfection. All things work toward His glory."
Lindsey lowered his head and offered a quiet prayer of thanks. After making the sign of the yew over his chest, he reached behind him to rub the tail growing from his backside. He could wiggle the end with a little effort. And to his delight, his toes were longer and covered in the same gray scales with red at their edges. The effect gave his feet a reptilian shimmer.
"There is hope. But," Lindsey sighed as he stopped admiring his new draconic features, "how am I supposed to defeat them? I'm chained to a wall and stuck as a child."
"Perhaps you aren't supposed to," Zhypar suggested with a slight shrug. "Or perhaps there's a way for you to strike even without your hands."
"Don't you know what is going to happen?"
The kangaroo chuckled. "When I died I gave up that ability. Now I see as everyone else in Paradise sees. More perfectly. But all of time is not revealed to me. And what I do see I could never explain so that you would understand. Still, no evil that besmirches this world can ever ruin the splendor of what awaits those who hope in Him."
Lindsey rubbed his scaled hands over his thighs as he curled his toes around the wooden stool legs. "So you don't know whether I can save my family or not." He sighed and wiggled his tail again as a general soreness entered his shoulders. "I... I haven't seen them in so long, Zhypar I haven't been to Arabarb since I came to Metamor. What I've found... my home, this place, is ruined and abandoned, set on fire, but saved by rains. The beds were smashed, and the place a ruin and haunt for beasts. My parents lived in hiding, my mother masquerading as a man! And my younger brother Andrig... nobody seems to know what has happened to him."
Zhypar nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "I remember Andrig. And I remember the look of joy on your face when you two embraced. He returned to the Giantdowns to help your people and that is all you know."
A horrible thought came to him and Lindsey stiffened. "Is he... is he... is he with you?"
Those deep brown eyes met his and their limpid solidity felt more secure than the ground. "No. He is not."
Lindsey breathed a sigh of relief and the tensed further. "He isn't, in the other place?"
Zhypar chuckled softly and shook his head. "Rest easy, Lindsey. Your younger brother is not dead."
Lindsey hugged himself, being careful not to prick the still soft skin of his shoulders and back with his claws. Already the scales had covered his arms up to the elbows and his legs up to the knees. And with the way his growing tail was forcing his hips to shift and swell, the stool was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
"And you have another reason to hope," Zhypar added with a warm smile
The door behind them opened and Lindsey turned to see Elizabaeg enter carrying a small bowl of porridge and a bit of jerky. "How are my boys?" she asked as she extended the bowl to Zhypar and the jerky to Lindsey.
"Mother?" Lindsey asked, gripping the jerky in his dragon hands and climbing off the stool. "I'm half dragon."
She smiled and gently stroked down his head, pressing his hair around a pair of horns that had grown that he hadn't even realized were there. "Of course you are. And I love you as my son."
And the she pulled him close, letting Lindsey pressed his face into her stomach and wrap his scaly arms about her middle. Tears blossomed from his eyes, but for the first time in what seemed an eternity, they were not ones of misery. The moment was brief but seemed to draw on and on as if it could not of its own come to an end.
When Lindsey finally let go, he felt wings stretch behind him and his head rested on the end of along serpentine neck. No half dragon was he now. His mother stroked her hands down gray and red scales, smiling with affection and unwavering love at the dragon her son had become.
"Now, you two be good." Elizabaeg patted him on the head between his horns one last time before leaving the room with a slow twirling of her working skirt.
Lindsey stared after her for a moment before sitting down on his haunches like he'd seen Pharcellus do. He chewed the jerky in a few quick bites, and then lifted his snout to regard Zhypar. The kangaroo devoured the porridge with a dignified air despite his speed. After a few moments he set the bowl aside and stretched again. "Ah, your mother always made such good food."
"She... she knew all along." Lindsey said as warmth filled his reptilian body. "She knew that I was hatched from an egg. She knew my mother was a dragon and that Pharcellus was my half-brother. An she still loved me as her own. She loved me just as much as Andrig."
Zhypar nodded and slid his legs from beneath the quilts. They were long and three-toed as Lindsey remembered them being. He set them on the ground and stretched anew, the bear fur draped over his long tail. "But the secret pained her. And Pharcellus."
"They wanted... they wanted to tell me. They wanted me to know." He shivered from nose to tail as that simple fact dawned. "But they didn't because of a promise."
"A promise your father made," Zhypar finished for him.
Lindsey looked into the kangaroo's face, having to stare up at him even though he was a dragon. "Did... did you know?"
The kangaroo laughed and shook his head. "No. I never knew." He gently touched him on the shoulder just above the wing. "Come."
They turned, Lindsey walking on all fours, and passed out through the door. Beyond was a gigantic cavern with roads and eerie lights far above. Homes were built into the stone, climbing the walls like honeycombs. Mushrooms clung to every crevice and glowed strange colors. Lindsey stared in wonder until he realized that they were in Qorfuu again.
His heart sank in his barreled chest and he lowered his head to the ground. "I hurt you here."
"I forgave you long ago."
"So why are we here?"
Zhypar leaned down and cradled Lindsey's draconic snout in both paws. He stared down the length of that snout, his eyes firm and serious. "So that you can believe it."
Lindsey swished his tail tip back and forth and clawed at the stone beneath him. Apart from them, the entire city was silent, quieter even than a tomb. He craned his neck this way and that, but always he returned his gaze to the kangaroo. "I'm so sorry I hurt you, Zhypar."
"And I forgive you. I have forgiven you."
Lindsey opened his jaws to say something but felt tears pooling atop scaled cheeks. The kangaroo's arms twined around his neck and they hugged there as the strange lights glowed all around them. Lindsey breathed deeply of the musky, earthy flavor of the kangaroo's musk. He rubbed his snout against the russet fur, soothed by the way it brushed over his scales. He stretched and folded his wings while the kangaroo's claws ever so gently pressed into the taut muscles in his shoulders.
And though his heart ached, it felt lighter as if it would fly of its own accord.
When they opened their eyes they were no longer in Qorfuu but in the hold of a familiar Whalish vessel. They stood beside a canopied bed with a little hearth open to receive more fuel. The crackling fire felt warm but made the dragon tremble too. He'd tried to destroy Zhypar's letters there. He searched for the black smear where the child-thing had died but the timbers were blissfully unstained.
He gestured with a claw toward the hearth. "I threw your letters in there. I... I almost destroyed them all. If I hadn't done that, maybe the others would be more easily freed of Marzac's touch."
"Would that there ever was such an easy way." Zhypar said as he put one paw on the door handle. He swung the hearth shut after a moment's contemplation of the boisterous fire within. "If there had been, we'd have never needed to go there. But the evil there would have no power if not for the evil in our hearts."
Lindsey blinked and then sat down on his haunches, curling his tail over his hind paws. The simple truth there was undeniable and already weary but warm, his heart admitted and released that truth. "I... I wanted to hold onto you. I wanted it so badly. I didn't want you to be gone."
When he looked up at the kangaroo he noticed that Zhypar seemed indistinct, as if a thick haze had sprung up between them. "But you cannot. I have gone through the door of death. You cannot have me back. But do not be afraid. All of us must pass through that door." He lowered his eyes and his ears folded down so that they almost laid across his neck. "All of us. That door can lead to a joy unimaginable, or it can lead to an unending horror that will make your nightmares pleasant. Every choice we make draws us closer to one or the other."
He turned and gazed at Lindsey and smiled. "None of us are truly mortal, Lindsey. We are just on a path to a blessed or a damned eternity. You do not need to shed any more tears for me. And you do not need to be afraid for your family. They believe. They are not afraid." He took one more breath and drew out his words, folding his paws over his heart and smiling with such simple confidence that Lindsey could never remember seeing him have. "They have hope. As do you."
Lindsey sighed and looked down at his scaled arms, legs, and tail, before glancing back up at the ever more indistinct kangaroo. "I do. I don't understand, but I do."
Zhypar patted the hearth one more time and then shook his head. "Do not feel guilt over burning my letters either. What is left of them will speak more clearly than if I'd had volumes to pen."
The kangaroo turned and looked at something that glimmered from afar off. The walls of the cabin room fell away and they were nowhere. Everything was an elision of color, bright but indistinct, suffused with gray as if in counterpoint. Warmth filled him.
"Are you leaving?" he asked, the words the only ones he could find.
"Aye." Zhypar turned his head back halfway, the muzzle creasing into a faint smile. "I am. There's nothing more I can do here. But your name is ever on my lips before He who can do all things."
Lindsey stretched out one paw despite the limitless gulf that spanned between them. "I love you, Zhypar!"
"And I love you, my Lhindesaeg. Trust in Him." The kangaroo smiled wide and true, then turned back to the glimmer of pearlescent white, and vanished in a cataract of brilliance. Zhypar Habakkuk was gone.
Lindsey blinked open his eyes and breathed quietly for a long time. The intermittent gusts of warm air brushed past him, and the long stretches of nothing but the chill of stone against his soft flesh inured him. He both wished for the dream to return and was grateful that it had come and gone. He blinked, but no tears came to his eyes. His wrists were sore, as well as his back and legs, but that pain was a whisper that he could not hear.
"Oh Eli," he said, his voice raspy but real, "watch over me and my family. Protect us and deliver us from our enemies. I trust in you." He tilted his head to draw the yew, his lips curling with something he could not describe. Lindsey felt calm.
Behind him he heard booted feet approaching. A loud groaning announced the opening of the iron portal to Calephas's laboratory. The booted feet entered, followed by a faint, occasional clicking noise. Calephas and Weaker. Lindsey strained to hear what they were doing, but neither spoke at all. There was a faint tinkling of glass as of someone stirring tea, but nothing else for several minutes.
Lindsey wondered if it was actually dawn. It didn't feel as if he'd slept very long at any point of the night. He was sore and tired and not just from being shackled and cold. Could Calephas have just woken in the middle of the night to inspect his potions? There was nothing to do but wait.
Eventually, the tinkling stopped and he heard Calephas moving back and forth. There were other faint sounds of metal on metal and metal on glass, but nothing he could discern. Lindsey offered another silent prayer while he waited.
A few minutes more passed before the booted steps came toward the wall behind him and he heard the latch click. The stone turned beneath him and he pulled his legs close to his chest as a blinding light beat at his eyes through the crack in the wall. He closed his eyes and turned his head this way and that as the torch fire seared his vision.
"Did you sleep well, little boy?" Calephas asked in a tone bereft of compassion. "I'd say not. Weaker."
While Lindsey was still trying to hide his eyes, he felt the furred hand of the tiger grab him about the chin and press at the corners of his mouth. Lindsey tried to keep his jaws shut, but the tiger's strength was greater. The pain pushed his jaw down, and into his mouth was shoved a long tube. He blinked and gagged, seeing the rim of the funnel blocking the light. A moment later, he could vaguely make out Calephas's outline bending over him.
And then something foul and thick poured out the end of the funnel and into his throat. He spasmed and rattled his chains. "Swallow or you'll drown," came the baron's unsympathetic advice. Lindsey fought a few seconds more before his throat worked against him. He swallowed the mixture gulp after gulp, cringing at the bitter flavor, though calming as it warmed him from within. His stomach churned at the sudden invasion but he felt no nausea.
Eventually, after a minute of gulping and swallowing the liquid which at times had the consistency of warm honey and others curdled milk, the flow fell to a trickle and he could breathe again. Lindsey took in a long breath, trying to use his nose so as not to brush that bitter taste across his tongue again. But even as Calephas stomped back toward his table, Weaker kept the funnel pressed in his mouth. Was there more?
The answer came a moment later when Calephas began pouring the contents of a small flask down the funnel. This had the clear taste of cheap wine mixed with a strange bitter flavor that he'd never tasted before. Lindsey ingested this also without choice.
This second drink went more smoothly and was over after only a few seconds. Calephas walked back to his worktable and said, "You can take the funnel out now."
Weaker let go of Lindsey's head and stepped back several paces, the funnel, dripping with a purple mucus, was clutched lightly in his paws. Slitted golden eyes watched Lindsey obediently. Lindsey gagged and blinked several more times as his eyes finished adjusting to the lamplight.
Calephas was mixing yet another potion, this one a vibrant almost cherry red in hue. He poured a few drops into a small mixing bowl, the same he'd used to collect Lindsey's blood. The gray mixture was still there, and as the two met, they bubbled in a quick froth that seemed to glow a moment before fading. Calephas swirled the mixture together until he was left with a dull red fluid that looked exactly like blood.
"Well," he said with a broad smile. He lifted his new potion in one hand as he turned to face Lindsey. "This should make my blood as strong as if I had been born from a dragon as well. I have you to thank for that." He tilted back the bottle and drank.
Lindsey grimaced and rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Apart from a definite warmth, he felt nothing from the potion yet. It seemed neither to slacken his hunger nor his thirst. His eyes rove from the baron to the tiger and in a sudden clarity, recognized him. He chided himself for not having done so before now. Calephas had as much as suggested it when he'd called him a murderer.
"You're Wicked." The tiger blinked and looked up. "You're Wicked Potter! You aren't weak at all! Others were your prey. Calephas is going to kill you when he has what he wants."
While the tiger stared dumbfounded, Calephas strode over and punched Lindsey in the chest. He gasped and and coughed, all breath knocked from him. Calephas glared at the tiger and said, "Keep him from speaking. I have no interest in his words."
The tiger mutely obeyed, pressing his paw beneath Lindsey's chin and forcing his mouth shut. Weaker looked at him once with those beastly eyes and then turned away to watch Calephas and await further orders.
"You may be hoping that somebody will come to your rescue." Calephas swirled his vial of blood back and forth as he spoke in a nonchalant way. "That will not be happening. Last night while you slept, my men located your pathetic friends in what they call a resistance. It seems they'd been hiding in the old mill. We've flushed them out. Many of them chose to flee down the Arabas rather than stay and fight. My soldiers are mobilized and ready for them. You can expect no help from them."
Calephas set the vial down and turned his back on Lindsey for a moment. "The potion will begin to change you fairly quickly, but it will be a few hours before we notice the effects. Until then," he turned back around with a rag and linen cloth in hand, "we have to wait."
Lindsey struggled and kicked his legs, but he couldn't get out of Weaker's grip. The baron smiled, reveling in the power he held over the boy. At a nod from his head, Weaker let go and Calephas tried to shove the rag into the boy's mouth. But Lindsey kept his teeth clenched tightly as he twisted his head from side to side.
In a dark growl, Calephas said, "Don't waste my time, boy." He elbowed Lindsey in the chest, which was enough to make him wince and gasp. And once his mouth opened, in went the rag and around his head went the linen cloth. The taste was dry and bland and the linens dug into his scalp and the corners of his lips as the baron drew them taut. Lindsey's nose swelled with each breath. A sullen, throbbing pain began to pulse at the back of his mind.
Calephas and Weaker backed away from the gagged child. Only the baron smiled. He leaned against his workbench for a moment before gesturing to a small wooden chest. "Bring that." Weaker bent over, long tail flicking across the floor, and carried the chest to Calephas's side. Within Lindsey saw a trio of rather expensive and finely crafted bottles. The glass had been stylized to suggest a serpent's head at the top of each.
He lifted one of them out and ran his fingers across the intricate surface with a look of pure pleasure. His blues eyes slid from the glass to Lindsey and he set the bottle back in the chest. "What are these for, you wonder. I have been saving them for a very special day. Once I know that my potion works, I will pour the rest of the batch into these. If I am to become a dragon, one of the finest of all creatures, I may as well drink from the finest of decanters, should I not?"
He gestured to the tiger and Weaker set the chest on the worktable before backing away and lowering his head. Calephas stroked his fingers down the three bottles. "Because of your size, you only needed the one potion. But I need a much larger dose to affect the transformation."
Lindsey distinctly remembered drinking two different potions and wondered silently what that meant. He did not look away from his enemies. He was not going to let them frighten him again. The throbbing started to make his eyes hurt.
"You are doubtlessly wondering why I gave you two different potions." Calephas said with deliberate malice. "The first was to transform you into a dragon. As a dragon you will be stronger and carry all of their advantages. I am not a fool. The second was common wine with just enough Arsenic to kill you as a boy but not as a dragon. Consider it a test on how long it takes you to change."
Lindsey took a deep breath and wished he could vomit, but with the gag he'd only drown himself if he tried.
"Dragons have a stronger tolerance for Arsenic and your body will naturally remove the poison after a time. But, it will cause you severe headaches, confusion, dizziness, and even disorientation. Oh, and diarrhea. Which means," Calephas set one hand on the wooden hammer and smiles, "Once we know for sure, you will either be dead, or you will be very easy to kill."
Lindsey slowed his breathing and stared without moving. He would not be afraid. He had hope. Even in the face of this grinning murderer he had hope.
Three miles west of Fjellvidden the walls on either side of the Arabas leaned toward each other. Across this span a stone bridge stood, connecting the east-west road south of the river with a northwest road through the rugged wilderness on the northern bank. Gate houses stood at either end, stone fortifications that permitted a dozen men to stand guard at either end. Only four men were awake during the third watch, while the other eight slept until morning.
And those eight, resting in the guardhouses, were just beginning to wake when the tundra men rode out of the forest with their sled dogs barking and yowling as they cavorted in a mad frenzy. The guards who were awake on the northern end all rushed to see what was amiss and were rewarded with a rain of arrows from the treeline. Two of Calephas's soldiers fell to the ground dead instantly. The other two crawled back toward the towers where their brethren were waking up before they succumbed.
Six men rushed into the gatehouse at the northern end, while the other nine men from the tundra crossed the bridge, shooting as they rode at the soldiers standing watch at the southern gatehouse. The eight men in the northern house could not even grab their swords before they were cut to pieces. And so too it was with the other eight soldiers readying their gear in the southern gate house.
Within two minutes every one of Calephas's soldiers had been slaughtered. Thuring regarded the work with a scowl. One of his men was nursing an arm which had been pierced by an arrow. "That will teach you to aim better next time," he said with a grunt as the man broke off the arrow head with his boot and yanked the shaft from his arm. One of the other men wrapped bandages about the wound and pulled them tight.
Machias the puffin flew out of the trees and gaped in horror at the ruined bodies strewn about the bridge. He flew up to the top of the southern gatehouse to escape the carnage, but then saw a soldier with an arrow through his eye and changed his mind. He wished he hadn't eaten so much fish as the mill.
Instead he glided back down and landed in the middle of the east-west road a short distance past the bridge where he didn't have to look at the bodies. He shuddered and offered prayers to Eli for forgiveness. He'd seen war before and had seen death. But he had not been responsible for any since the Battle of Three Gates. It was as soul-wrenching as he remembered it.
Thuring's steed road up beside him and the big man draped in heavy furs glanced down at him. Blood had splattered his shaggy horse's hooves. "Well, the bridge is ours and it's only a few miles to Fjellvidden. And look," he gestured to the southeast but Machias couldn't see anything over the trees. "The sun is rising."
Machias flapped his wings and circled up into the air. That brilliant golden disc cast its warm rays across the thick forests of Arabarb and through the clear skies of a new day. Even though it made the fresh blood dripping across the bridge glisten like a golden river, it brightened the puffin's heart to see it.
"Things never seem as bad in the day," he mused with a faint squawk. He circled back down and landed on the horn of Thuring's saddle. "Just one more river to cross now."
"We'll have to head a few miles through the forest before we can cross. With luck we can reach the eastern walls of Fjellvidden shortly after noon."
Machias settled down as he heard the other riders and their dogs running hard along the road to meet them. "Then let's keep going. They're counting on us."
"Then they won't be disappointed," Thuring declared with a throaty laugh. His other men laughed with him.
The soldiers at the southwestern castle gatehouse were quick to open the gates for two of Gmork's pups. The eldest was at his most human and clasping a stoppered wine bottle in both paws with such focus that he trusted Gmork's youngest to lead them through town. The other pup was much more beastly in guise though he had strips of his robe torn from the base and wrapped over his face and snout so that only his golden eyes, triangular ears, black nose and his front fangs were visible. He half stood on his hind legs while the gates opened, but dropped back to all fours and growled at the guards who were not quick enough to get out of their way.
They moved quickly through the inner bailey courtyard and then entered the castle proper and passed through halls that Gmork's youngest was fast learning. They passed a pair of Lutins but otherwise saw no others until they reached their father's listening room. Gmork sat on his haunches with his eyes closed and his ears turning from side to side. In the far corner curled up on the furs slept the boy who'd been one of the Tanner's apprentices only a few hours ago. His face was cleaned from all of its warts and he trembled from toes to ear tips as he dreamed.
"Father, we've returned," the eldest said as he carefully set the stoppered bottle on the floor. The youngest crouched weary and sore, and began to whine gently. Though his face still stung where the powder had burned it, he knew his father would tend him. Just being in his presence made his heart swell with joy.
Gmork opened his eyes and turned, noting them with his intense, dark gold eyes. "What did you find?"
"The Resistance was hiding in the mill. There are perhaps a dozen of them, but four of them went down river in a raft." The eldest scowled fiercely. "They wished to separate us and they succeeded."
Gmork's gaze turned into a deep frown, his jowls lifting as his snout grew. "They survived didn't they?"
The youngest whined, and Gmork turned to him, his brows lifting in concern. His tail wagged as he moved over and began unwinding the bandages from his pup's face. "What happened to you, my pup?"
"They used this," the eldest said, gesturing to the wine bottle. The bottom of it was filled with a small layer of the yellow powder. "And then made it wet. It isn't magical, but I did cast a spell to staunch its foul odor."
Gmork glanced at the bottle briefly, but then returned his attention to his youngest pup. After removing the last of the bandages he ran his paw-like hands over his son's lupine face, and scowled at the scorched and melted fur as well as the red welts pock-marking his face. "These wounds are not magical," he said softly. He gently pet his son's head and then licked across his cheeks and snout, drawing his tongue very slowly over each of the wounds. With each brush of his long tongue the pain subsided and the welts began to heal.
The youngest breathed slowly, keeping his head in exactly the same shape it had been in when he'd been wounded. He watched his father groom him and his tail wagged intermittently. The pain disappeared as he knew it would.
After his face had been completely bathed by Gmork's tongue, his father smiled to him and gestured to the furs. "Sleep, my pup, sleep with your younger brother."
He turned his head, looked at the boy for a moment, and then walked gingerly over on all fours, before curling up next to him, pressing his furry hide against the his new brother's side to help warm him. He closed his eyes and let slumber take him.
Gmork watched his youngest for a moment before turning back to his eldest. "Where did your brothers go?"
"They chased the ones who went south into the forest. They said there were eight or nine men."
"Not many," Gmork said thoughtfully. "How bad does the powder smell?"
"Very bad. It is a weapon, Father."
Gmork stared at the bottle for some seconds before nodding and gesturing at the furs. "I will take this to the Baron. He may know what it is. Listen for now until I return. If your new brother wakes, put him back to sleep."
The eldest glanced at the boy and then back to his father. "You aren't going to put him in the dungeons?"
"I may not have to with this one." Gmork picked up the bottle and cradled it in one arm, letting his face and posture melt into its most human. "When I return you will sleep as well." He stroked his pup down the back of his head and then swept out of the listening room. If the Resistance had a weapon to use against his pups, then it was time to put less valuable pieces in play.
One good thing that had come out of his foster parents being fishermen, Jarl knew how to maneuver a boat even in a heavy current. They waited a minute after being swept into the Arabas before trying to steer the boat to the southern shoreline; it would have done no good to reach the shore within sight of the pups. A few minutes was all it took with the strong current to push them a mile downriver.
The Arabas flowed through a chasm of varying depths with Fjellvidden situated at one of the few natural ports along its entire length. The rest of the time, the course of the seasons had shaped the river walls so that they bowed outward, with each landing leaning over the water's edge until they finally gave way and were washed downstream. By this, the river grew over the course of centuries.
The rock ledges were especially sturdy to the west of Fjellvidden, which only complicated their goal as Jarl, Ture, and the two archers madly tried to prop the boat into a narrow cleft long enough for them to climb onto shore.
"Grab that ledge!" Ture shouted as the river smashed them into the little alcove of stone. Water splashed over the canoe's rim and sloshed in the bottom, drenching their legs and boots. One of the archers, Eivind, stretched across the prow to grab a shelf of jutting rock only to push it to his right. The prow swung into the cleft and lodged between the rock walls as the river pounded the boat, forcing the keel to swing against the rock wall.
"Hold on!" Jarl shouted as he leaned against the wall, digging his fingers into the rock trying to find purchase. The other archer, Bergen, steadied himself in the same way, scrambling upwards only to slide back down and grasp the edge of the boat with both arms to keep from being swept under.
Ture grabbed Bergen under the shoulder and hoisted him back into the boat even as it continued to rock and smack into the shelf. The ice-cold water soaked up their legs and made the stone slick to the tough. Jarl dug his fingers into his grip, but couldn't pull himself up more than an inch before he started to slide.
"We'll never get up this," Eivind snapped as he held onto the cleft. "The river will drown us if we don't get out of here."
Ture grunted. "We might be able to swing back out if we put our backs to the rock."
"We have to get to the castle," Jarl said, though both Bergen and Ture were turning around and bracing their legs against the tipped side of the canoe. The thane's grandson growled under his breath at yet one more failure, and then gazed back up the impossible rock shelf and blinked when he saw a very large puffin staring down at him.
The puffin stretched out his wings and spoke, "Would you like some help?"
It took a few minutes to get all of them up onto the road following the river's course, but the tundra men were strong and together they rescued all four of them. The canoe finally foundered after they were all free and was swept down the Arabas and lost to sight. They were each given a blanket and cloak to dry and warm themselves before they all followed the road back east.
"Thank you again," Ture said to the lead man, a very large, dark-haired man with angular eyes, broad, ice-chapped nose, and long pike axe slung over his back. Thuring nodded slightly in response.
"Machias recognized you. What were you doing in the water?"
"The mage's pups found us. We tried to lead them astray. I'm not sure if it worked."
Jarl pointed east as he walked stiffly at Ture's side. The many large dogs that accompanied the tundra men kept sniffing warily at him. "We have to get back to the castle so we can help them."
"If they're alive," Thuring said with a grunt. Jarl wasn't sure what he meant by that. "Do you know where they'll be? We need a trail to follow."
"The others followed the tunnel into the forest south of the city," Ture said softly as he glanced back at the other men with them. Machias the puffin was resting with closed eyes on one of the travois they carried, but his head did turn with their words. "I know where it opens up. But we'll need to get off the road."
Thuring laughed lightly and gestured at the stone and dirt road and then at the very thick forest that crinkled with hills and gullies. "If you can find your way through that maze, then lead us. Our friend," he jerked a thumb toward the puffin, "can't do that."
"I know a way," Eivind offered. "It'll lead us to the southern bridge."
"How far is that?"
The archer shrugged his shoulders before glancing at the woods and the river. "From here... two miles."
Thuring nodded and took his pike axe and rolled it around in his hands. "Lead and we'll follow."
Eivind nodded and turned the band of a dozen and a half men and as many dogs into the forest. The pines and larch enveloped them in a soft green gleam. Jarl pulled his cloak and blanket tighter around himself and muttered, "As long as this gets us to the castle."
The Spring thaw turned what most of the year were dry little ditches through the forest into little streams that gurgled as they wended their way between tree root and stone. Some of these could swell so wide and deep that they could sweep a man away if they were not careful. But the stream south of Fjellvidden through which Elizabaeg, Brigsne, and the other members of the Resistance ran was never so deep as to threaten their lives.
But it was deep enough to hide evidence of their passage. At least from all but the most determined and skilled of trackers. None of them knew if that meant Gmork's pups.
"How far does this take us?" Elizabaeg asked, grateful that her boots were seal skin. It kept the freezing water out, even if not all of the cold. Her toes were numb as they sloshed through the foot deep water. At least the easterly breeze pressing at their backs brought warmer air.
One of the hunters who knew the woods gestured with thick fingers along the line of pine and elm to their right. "It runs through this gulley for two miles before turning south. If we strike north at the turn we should come out to the east of the castle."
Three maybe four miles more separated her from her son. She glanced behind them at the morning woods but saw nothing. "Let's keep moving. I don't want those things to catch up to us."
Not a one of them nodded, but their eyes narrowed as they walked a little more swiftly through the babbling stream.
Gmork carried the stoppered bottle in one hand, but the loathsome baron was not his first stop. Attached to the inner bailey in one of the wooden buildings clustered in the courtyard was the kennels for the lord of the castle's hunting dogs. When Calephas and Nasoj had conquered Arabarb the kennels had been a source of pride and joy to the ruling thane. Now, where once the building had been kept clean and well-ordered, it was maintained only to keep it standing and to keep it from smelling so foul. The hunting dogs were twelve in number and often used by patrols when they were looking for a particular person in the city.
Only three of them weren't dogs. At least, they hadn't been when they were born. Keeper spies, they had lived and served in the castle as animals, all the while passing messages to other contacts, revealing various plans and troop movements that Calephas had arranged to both Metamor and the Resistance.
Gmork saw them for what they were as soon as he arrived. There had been four of them to begin with, and after claiming the devotion of the three in the best of health, he bid them kill and eat the fourth canine Keeper who had been older and of less use. And afterward he had forbid them from ever taking any shape other than that of simple dogs, or of trying to act as anything other than simple dogs.
He adored watching these who had once been men be nothing more than common beasts, living in the kennels as if they had always done so. But they did still have human minds and that made them useful for a variety of tasks.
Before entering the kennels, Gmork noted the human soldiers manning the southwestern gate and the battlements overlooking the city. Some of the Lutins even stood on the walls facing east. Many of them watched the sky, wary that the dragon would return. Gmork feared that as well, but this time he would not be caught unawares.
The kennel stank of droppings and resounded with a dozen yapping dogs. But when they smelled him, most of the dogs cringed and whined as they backed as far into their cages as they could go. He grinned, stretching his dark jowls across yellowed fangs. Three of the dogs sat at the front of their crates, panting and wagging their tails.
He crouched in the dirt, set the bottle behind him, and then unhooked the latch of their cages, a latch they could easily have undone had they just assumed their most human form. They waited until all of the latches were undone and with a gesture of one hand, Gmork bid them to come out. The three dogs, all hunting dogs of different sizes and fur, obediently walked out on all fours, tails held low, dark brown eyes fixed upon the golden orbs gleaming above Gmork's snout.
"My pets," Gmork addressed them with savor in each word. "You will go into the woods south of the castle and look for humans who are passing through that land. They wish to bring harm to your master." Two of them growled at the very thought while the third whined unhappily. Gmork stroked their heads one by one. "I know you do not wish that to happen. You are good dogs. Good pets. You love your master. And you will do as he asks of you."
They all sat on their haunches and stared at him with complete focus. He smiled, revealing his many fangs. "Good. Now, when you find them, do not let them see or hear you. But watch them, think about how many there are and what weapons they carry. And if they speak, think every one of their words that I might hear them. If they see you they will kill you. Do not fight them. Just watch them. Do you understand?"
They each barked once and he laughed warmly as he stroked their heads. "Ah, my pets. My good little pets. Make your master so proud of you." He leaned forward and let them eagerly lick his face for a moment before straightening and beckoning them to follow. They came to heel as he led them to the gate. The human soldiers all backed away as they saw him approach. His smile widened and jaws slavered with glee.
What a Lutin considered good food and what humans would consider good food were often two very different things. Nevertheless, Yajgaj was careful to obtain fresh jerky, a small loaf of bread with a little bit of honey, and a wedge of cheese, all of it from Calephas's personal larder. This he kept on a covered platter as he artfully navigated through the halls of the castle, assiduously avoiding all but other Blood Harrow. No good would come of anyone wondering where a Lutin was going with food finer than any but the baron could eat.
He himself relished the thought of feasting on such fine vittles, but he dare not take such a risk for so small a thing as his own appetite. Lutins ate what they must; this was for a human.
Yajgaj did let go some of the breath he'd been holding when he reached the descending staircase down to his quarters and then to the dungeon itself. It did not appear that any had come this way since Gmork and his pups had come to consume Cajudy's corpse. Another relief.
He carried a torch with him down to the dungeon mouth and lit the other two torches standing just inside the gate. In the shadowed distance he could see the prisoner sitting with his head on his knees and his arms at his sides. A viper coiled to strike.
Yajgaj rested one hand on his knife hilt then chided himself for daring to contemplate violence against this man. It was one thing to press the blade to his back to make him listen, quite another to shed his blood.
Walking carefully, Yajgaj the Lutin carried the tray of delectables toward the prisoner. The man glanced up when he approached, eyes dark in the feeble light with a sombre countenance. "What time is it, Lutin?"
Yajgaj set the tray down and nudged it toward the man with one foot, being careful to stay out of the reach of those monstrously strong arms. "Morning."
The man reached for the platter and lifted each item to his nose to smell it before setting them back and. He crossed his legs, swinging the shackles into view, and then glowered at him. "You said you would bring food earlier."
"Gmork returned earlier," Yajgaj admitted with a grunt as he leaned forward a little. "Not safe until now. He not listening now. His pups don't listen as well. Food is good. Eat."
"It's morning," Alfwig replied with barely concealed anger. "That monster will have poisoned my son."
Yajgaj winced and lowered his eyes briefly. "Resistance not here yet. I don't know why. He try to make Lindsey a dragon. I cannot stop that."
"Every child he's had he gives poison in case it doesn't work," Alfwig snapped under his breath. "You know that."
"But... if it does work," Yajgaj offered. "We make sure Calephas not live long enough.... I am sorry." He sighed and took the keys from his belt and held them up. "I unshackle you now."
Alfwig stared at him for a moment before offering him the chains about his legs. Yajgaj grasped them in one green hand and unlocked the bolt. He handed the unlocked chains back to Alfwig and stepped back.
"You..." Alfwig sad after a moment as he picked up the jerky in one hand. "You have kept your word. And you apologize to me. You are a very unusual Lutin."
He stood a little taller, hands tightening into fists. "I am Blood Harrow. I help you save your son if I can." He took another step back and grunted. "I leave door unlocked now. Your things are above. I..." he stopped himself before he said anymore. Yajgaj turned and walked back to the door, being sure to extinguish the torches before he left.
The Blood Harrow elders had warned him something like this might happen. He chided himself for his weakness as he climbed back up the steps. Yajgaj ran one hand along the thumb bones dangling from his neck and his thick lips curled into a vicious snarl. These were his trophies, his symbols of power and prowess amongst the Blood Harrow. They were recognized as such by all Lutins and even by the wilder humans. His hands had done this, his bone knives that he himself carved, and his skills as a hunter.
He took a deep breath and decided to spend a little time watching the walls with his fellow Lutins. Maybe he'd seen the Resistance finally come.