After breaking through the castle wall, Pharcellus pushed Machias and Quoddy out before him before leaping into night air, spreading his wings, and hoping. The mage who could only be Gmork was far more powerful than he anticipated. Lacerations dashed across his neck and chest, most of them bleeding. The cold air was a welcome relief, and then the emptiness of space as he left the sundry earth below had never felt grander.
His wings caught the air and he beat as hard as he could, quickly moving around to the east to escape the mage's new vantage. Machias and Quoddy followed him up into the air and over the dense forest that encroached the castle's eastern flank. Pharcellus chanced a look back at the castle, but no more volleys were forthcoming.
He did not allow himself any emblem of relief despite his pain. Lindsey was still trapped in that castle and in the hands of Gmork. Had the mage not been standing next to the boy, he would have reduced him to cinders. Now he just had to hope Lindsey would not be harmed for another day or two until they could make a more permanent assault on the castle.
Pharcellus flapped his wings and drove ever eastward along the river, until quite suddenly the stars in the sky began to spin. And then fists pummeled his side as he crashed into an open meadow overlooking the river. He blinked as everything began to clear and craning his neck backward, inspected his wings. There were a few smaller cuts along the edges, but no breaks and no large tears. He'd still be able to fly.
The two sea birds landed on the ground before him and the gull squawked, "Are you okay, Pharcellus?"
He gently ran one hand down his neck and chest and grimaced as it stung in more places than he cared to count. "I will be," he replied in his booming voice. He lowered his neck so that his snout was no further from the ground than his two friends. "I need to rest a short while, but we cannot stay here long. Gmork will be sure to come for us, and we are not far enough from his castle to be safe."
Machias started trembling and he squawked in sudden anguish. "That monster has taken our brother! Lubec! Lubec wanted Gmork to kill and eat him. And us! Oh Pharcellus! What do we do? What do we do to save him?"
The dragon looked down at the puffin and the gull with deep sympathy. He knew how deeply a brother loved his siblings. "We will save Lubec and Lindsey both," he assured them, though he didn't feel at all certain of it. "But we need to calm down. While I rest a bit, you tell me what happened. Then, I want the both of you to go back to Fjellvidden and find Elizabaeg. Vysterag is one of Gmork's servants and he is to be kept out of all councils. You need to warn her of that. You can find her in the old mill at the western edge of town."
Quoddy bobbed his head up and down. "We will. What about you?"
Pharcellus lowered his neck to the ground and let it rest against soft grasses. Already his wounds felt soothed. "I am going to lead Gmork and his men as far from here as I can. But I will return tomorrow. Now tell me what Gmork did. All of it. But be not afraid. We'll rescue them. We will."
Gmork knew there was little time to waste. But that infernal dragon had murdered his youngest pup, one he could ill-afford to lose. It was time to take a risk with his latest acquisition. There was still some humanity there and that could be used against him. So he, with Sergeant Cajudy, the fool who had unwittingly brought the dragon into the castle, carried the body of his slain pup down to the dungeons.
His three other pups were waiting in Yajgaj's antechamber and their eyes filled with horror at the sight of their youngest brother's head in Gmork's arms. "Say nothing now," Gmork admonished them with a snap and a growl. "Follow me and do as I bid you, my children."
His three children, each with different degrees and expressions of their beastly nature showing, but all with furred, pointed ears and long tails, followed him silently. Of them all only his eldest child had a furless tail, an affectation that normally amused Gmork but little could amuse him at the moment.
For one moment, he'd felt certain that the boy Andrig was finally going to beg for mercy for his friends. For one moment Gmork had been confidant the extent and location of the Resistance would be revealed. But that hideous fit of clarity undid all of the conditioning Gmork had peppered him with, and then before he could reclaim his work that dragon had appeared. They would soon hunt him down to finish him off, but first Gmork was going to give his latest child a chance to become truly his.
He hoped his gamble worked. Otherwise, it would be another month or two before he'd be able to break his humanity completely.
Gmork used the keys he took from Yajgaj to open the door to the dungeons, and then pressed it aside with one shoulder. Cajudy followed him down carrying the back end of his slain pup, obviously a little nervous at being surrounded by his entire pack. The other three came down almost snipping at his heels as they crouched as low as they could.
With a twirl of his fingers, Gmork summoned witchlights to bring a soft light to the darkness. A trio of ghostly spheres giving off a febrile blue light wandered and danced like fireflies until they settled near his latest acquisition. Gmork, Cajudy, and the three pups followed in their wake.
At the pup's feet was a denuded and cracked bone. Crouching on all fours with head hung low and tongue panting was his newest child. Gmork felt a tremor of delight at seeing the bone completely stripped. His little pup had eaten all of the meat even though he thought it man-flesh. And there, as promised, twitching at the base of his spine through his black cloak was a small tail covered in patchy black fur. His arms ended in more paws than hands, though the thumbs were still present. His face distended into a snout, the jowls coated lightly in the same black fur which receded to gray along his ears and cheeks. His eyes were a rich golden hue that sparkled in the pale light.
When Gmork came within the circle of light, he lifted his head slightly, nudging the bone with the back of his fingers. "I ate it all, Father. I... I enjoyed it."
His pup's voice was uncertain, but hopeful, almost resigned. Some part of his resistance had given way; not all of it by any means. But each measure surrendered to Gmork further cemented his beastly nature and eroded the old human identity. But as he and Cajudy set the precious body of his slain pup on the ground, it took a great strain to bring a smile to his face. "I am glad, and proud of you my child."
His pup lifted his face further, and then he sniffed and realized that they weren't alone. The other three pups came around the circle and looked at him with ears lifted and tails straight. They sniffed curiously but said nothing. Cajudy backed away a few paces so that he fell into shadow but waited for orders. His pup's ears lifted and his tail lowered to press between his legs if only it were long enough. And then his ears lowered as his eyes became transfixed on the dead child.
"I am glad for you, my pup, but I am very sad. Your brother..." he stroked one paw down the bloody corpse's chest. "Your brother was slain... slain by a dragon." At this, he tilted his head back and began to howl in abject misery. The other three pups all sat on their haunches and did the same, howling a mournful dirge that made Cajudy shrink back further.
His newest pup stared and listened for several seconds, looking at the body and murmuring, "My brother? My brother is dead? No..." He repeated it three times before finally he succumbed to sorrow, tilted back his head and howled with the rest of them, his voice a plaintive cry of misery and loss. Their five voices twined in beastly harmony, cascading up and down in tone with mellifluous melancholy. When one ran out of breath, they lowered their snout, and then resumed the cry of anguish.
Gmork let this continue for a few minutes, and if he'd had time, would have let it persist for much longer. Every moment his new pup howled and wept as their kind did, he cemented himself further and further into their family. What was left of his humanity understood the importance and the solidarity that had to come through a family. That, combined with his clear willingness to obey his father and to love him just the same, proved that while he may not be one of them completely in body and soul, he was nevertheless one of them.
But was he ready to live among them and as one of them? Gmork now had but to test this.
He lowered his snout and walking on all fours, nudged his newest pup against the cheek, then bared his fangs to silence him. His pup lowered to his haunches and swallowed, ears lowered. Within him, Gmork could see the swirls of magical energy slackening. That was not what he wished to see.
"Your brother," Gmork said in a soft growl, "was murdered. Cruelly slain and the killer escaped our grasp." The weave of magic within him suddenly flared to life, drawing tighter and tighter around what Gmork suddenly saw was a clenched fist. It was still a human fist though. "This is a grave injustice, my child. Our family has been hurt and weakened by his murder. What must we do?"
His pup growled, a fire boiling in his golden eyes. "We must have recompense, Father!"
"Recompense?" Gmork asked. "What recompense? What can return a life?"
While Gmork's three other children watched, each nuzzling and stroking the body of their slain brother in turn, Gmork gently eased his will into that flow of magic, finding it open to him at last. It swirled about, a whirlpool of power and force, all directed into that closed fist. He had to stretch out like a shaft of iron beaten into a strip so thin and long that it was as fragile as glass, but he did touch that fist. And it hurt.
Gmork trembled but brushed his will along that fist, even as the swirl of energy inside his pup tightened further. But the fist, like everything else about a man, responded. Little flecks of fur sprang up, dark with gray mixed in. Even that little bit would be enough. With a gasp he pulled himself back and asked his pup again, "What recompense is there for a life?"
His pup growled, the fur on the back of his neck standing on end, the hair on his head thickening into a veritable mane. "Another life!"
"What would you do with that other life if it were in your jaws?"
"Tear it! Rip it! Eat it!" Spittle flew from his muzzle with each word.
"Even if it were man?"
He barked in a rage even more furious than Gmork had anticipated. "Especially man!"
With a flick of his wrist, Gmork severed the chains holding his pup to the dungeon floor. He then leaned back to give his new pup room and let one of his witchlights wander away from the other two until it found where Cajudy had hidden himself. The soldier had quietly inched toward the door to the dungeon, but still had another twelve feet to go.
Gmork whispered, into the growling beast's ear, "That man brought your brother's killer. He helped his killer reach into our home. What will you do?"
His newest pup leaped forward and bounded three steps on all fours after the suddenly fleeing Cajudy. He grabbed the man's backside with his jaws and spun him around. Then, rising into a crouch, he slashed with both forepaws at the man's chest and abdomen, his arms moving so quickly that Gmork couldn't follow them. Cajudy didn't even get a chance to scream before his chest, face, and belly were mere ruins of red gore and spray. The body didn't fall only because it hadn't had enough time to. By the time it reached the floor, his pup grasped what remained of the serrated head in his jaws and ripped it free, chewing and breaking the bones. Huge swaths of black and gray fur were smeared with blood in so fine a layer that they shimmered like fiery flames in the glow of the witchlights.
Gmork and the other pups loped to his side yipping and growling in welcome. Gmork barked to his child, who dutifully leaned back, almost completely a beast in form now. "Very good my son. But the one who killed your brother is still out there. Come and hunt with us. When we return we will feast on their remains."
His new pup grinned a red-jawed smile.
And in the distant reaches of the dungeon, Gmork could hear the sole remaining prisoner praying. His time would be soon enough. As the five beasts left the dungeons carrying their brother's body, the witchlights winked out, leaving him alone in the darkness with Cajudy's corpse.
For a Lutin, Yajgaj was oddly gentle with him. He didn't say anything more to him as he guided him through the halls of the castle, down three flights of stairs to where there was an obvious mildew scent to the walls. Lindsey wondered how close they were to the river door, but didn't have the heart to ask. Pharcellus had escaped with Quoddy and Machias. Right now that was all that mattered.
Still, he felt so raw and numb that he couldn't have cried if he wanted to. And he did want to.
"You go to Baron Calephas now. He not kill you," Yajgaj told him in a strangely soft voice. "Yajgaj know that."
Lindsey looked back at the Lutin as they came to a solid, iron door. In a timorous voice he asked, "Do you want me to feel better?"
The Lutin paused and studied him intently, yellow eyes narrowing with a scrutiny that made Lindsey feel strange more than afraid. He looked him up and down for a moment, ran his hand through Lindsey's hair, and stared at his ears and face, and especially eyes. "Yajgaj want you to go see Baron now." He tapped the tip of the guisarme on the iron door three times, and then rested his free hand on the bone knife at his side. In a very quiet voice he added, "These not for you."
Lindsey blinked, but he ceased wondering as soon as the iron door creaked open and the almost mundane looking Baron Calephas stood there staring down at him with his soft blue eyes. "There you are. Did Gmork get anything useful out of him? It didn't sound like it down here."
Yagjag tapped the wooden end of the guisarme on the floor and shook his head. "He not talk to Gmork. Then big dragon show up and kill one of Gmork's whelps. We chase him away; we'll find him and kill him if he comes here again."
Calephas's expression widened in surprise for only a moment before resuming its contemptuous cast. "A dragon? So that's what it was. I told him to take those damn birds two months ago. Never mind. Come in, Andrig. Is that you're real name?"
Lindsey nodded as he stepped inside the room. Yajgaj waited in the doorway behind him. The room beyond was pristine and nearly every stone shined as if polished to glass. A broad oaken table with beakers and bottles stacked in complex rows lined the wall to his right. Behind this stood the tiger Keeper he'd seen in Calephas's bedchambers.
Chained to the left wall was what must have been a boy about his own age. But the boy, naked as he was, was not a boy anymore. His flesh had been warped in strange ways, producing odd deformities in nearly every part of his body. From his backside something like a sickle jutted out, and a long tail stretched between his twisted legs that were pressed out from the side rather than descending straight from his back. His face was contorted into a mock snout from which dangled a long red tongue. His eyes were red and vacant, while his side was covered in a million overlapping scabs a rich purple in hue.
Lindsey stared at the boy for one moment before his mind was able to comprehend what he was seeing. Then he thrust himself backward only to bounce off the Lutin's chest and fall to the floor as he started to scream. A hand grabbed him by his collar, lifted him up and shook him until he stopped. "I know you're an adult, Andrig. Stop screaming."
With a shove, Calephas tossed Lindsey into the corner next to the table and the door. "You call yourself Andrig. I once had an Andrig in my service but he betrayed me and turned me over to the Metamorians living in Glen Avery. Are you that Andrig? Did you stay there and let the Curses do this to you? Gmork says that it is another spell keeping you young, but I know the cleverness and craftiness of the Keepers. Who are you really?"
Lindsey glowered at him but said nothing. After watching Gmork's pup devour Strom while still alive, he knew that nothing Calephas could do would shock him any worse.
"Well, in that case, I suppose I may as well make use of you." He moved to the far wall and undid the chains holding the boy in place. The boy slumped and quivered a little, but did not try to get up. Calephas grabbed him by one arm and dragged him out into the middle of the room. He stroked across the smooth and twisted face, gently placing his lips against the boy's still human forehead, before letting him slump against the floor.
He turned to Lindsey, grabbed him by the wrist, and yanked him over to the wall. Lindsey struggled a little, but Calephas was far too strong. Soon the boy was shackled to the wall and could only watch. The man walked around the collapsed boy in half circles, always keeping Lindsey in view. "You see, I have been performing some experiments. This boy has provided much important information to me so that I might perfect my potions. Very soon, and I mean, very soon, I will have it perfected. You, I hope, will be the last child I ever need to test my potions on."
He nudged the still quivering but unresisting boy with his foot. "This one, well..." he glanced at the tiger, who handed him a large metal hammer. Lindsey shook his head and struggled against the chains. The boy glanced up with red eyes at the hammer as Calephas lifted it over his head. The Baron did not smile. "I don't need him anymore."
Calephas swung the hammer down onto the boy's twisted head, crushing it down into the floor. The body and especially the long tail jerked upward then fell back down twitching. The Baron lifted the hammer again and swung once more, into his chest this time. Lindsey screamed until his throat was raw. But Calephas kept swinging until the body was a ruined crumpled mess that did not move at all.
He leaned the hammer against the wall, while the tiger carried to him a rolled-up carpet. Taking the carpet in both hands, he threw it over top of the unrecognizable corpse, spread out the ends so that they were flush, and then laid down, using the lumps as if they were a set of pillows. "Now," Calephas continued, "you say your name is Andrig. Who are you really?"
Lindsey yanked his arms against the chains again and again, but he couldn't even make them groan. He spat and tried to turn his face away from the utterly calm and calculating man. "You monster! You're going to burn in Hell forever. Forever!"
Calephas sighed and gestured to the tiger. "We don't need this sort of useless posturing. Weaker, please procure for me some of his blood."
The tiger, with head bowed low, took a small glass dish from the worktable and held it firmly amidst the sharp claws of his left hand. He then strode silently on leather pads next to the struggling boy and bending over, grabbed his arm with his right hand. He extended his thumb claw, slitted eyes fiercely holding Lindsey's terrified gaze, before pricking him sharply. Blood began to dribble from the wound, and then into the glass dish. And though the pain was slight compared to many wounds he'd endured, he still gritted his teeth as the numbness spread across his arm.
When the bottom of the dish had been covered with his blood, the tiger pressed the wound shut and held his arm tightly for several long seconds. A faint growl lay beneath each of the beaten Keeper's breaths. Lindsey stared at him, feeling a sudden certainty that he had seen this Keeper before. But no name came to him. He was too terrified to think that clearly.
Once the wound stopped bleeding, Weaker carried the small dish over to the table and set it down. He then backed off to his corner to wait Calephas's next command.
"You may be wondering why I care about your blood," Calephas said as he rolled back to his feet and climbed off the carpet. He walked to the table and after picking up a small vial, he proceeded to drop some blue liquid into Lindsey's blood. "I need to know," he said as he swirled the liquid and blood together, "where we're starting from."
Calephas was standing so that Lindsey could watch and so he did, not feeling as if he could do anything more. The mixture quickly turned a vibrant purple before fading into a more solemn gray. The Baron could not conceal the look of surprise on his face. It melted into a very bitter laugh. "Well that perhaps explains some things. Interesting."
He set the dish aside and turned to the Lutin still standing guard. His voice cracked with impatience. "Yajgaj, retrieve the old man from the dungeons. I have need of him."
The Lutin nodded and quickly departed. Calephas stared after him for several seconds, lost in his own thoughts, before he he turned to the chained boy completely naked. His eye slid across Lindsey's body and he shuddered as if an eel were swimming across his flesh. "If I had a few months to devote to you little boy, I could break you like I've broken Weaker. You are stout, but you are weak. Weaker here once killed a Keeper by tearing out his neck with his fangs. Now, he is mine."
Lindsey scowled at him but kept his tongue behind his teeth.
Calephas smiled. "Gmork has nothing to do with Weaker's loyalty. And if I had time, he wouldn't have anything to do with yours. But... I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you once I'm finished with you."
"No bargains?" Lindsey asked. "No threats of reprisals?"
"No." Calephas shrugged and reclined on the carpet again. "Why bother? I'm not interested in you for what your tongue can tell me. Your blood has done that for me." His blue eyes ran across Lindsey's flesh one more time, lingering in places that Lindsey wished he could hide but couldn't twist against the chains enough to conceal. "It is a pity. You are such a handsome boy. Ah well."
And as they waited for Yajgaj to return, Calephas raped Lindsey with his eyes.
Four wolves and a creature that resembled a wolf but still had the vestiges of human form, loped through the forests, relying on their nose and ears to guide them through the night dark woods. The alpha, gray of fur and larger than the rest, led them on their chase. Through dense brambles and across fields of pine needles freshly unearthed after a long winter's blanket of snow, they ran on all fours and apart from the strange amalgam that was the fifth, they were indistinguishable from real wolves.
At several points the alpha would stop, tilt his head back and sniff the air curiously. His golden yes peered into depths visible even in the night, strands and traces of magic that were disturbed in the dragon's passage. And then, noting the changing winds and the changing flow of energy, he would lope off in a slightly different angle.
The ground rose steadily the further east they ran, until they reached a plateau overlooking the Arabas. The pines clustered densely before abruptly thinning into a wide meadow with short cropped grass and wildflowers. All five beasts pressed their noses to the ground as they smelled the dry pungency of the dragon's scent. They circled around for a moment, before the alpha looked to the others, and in gnarled speech, growled, "He landed here, changed to his human disguise, and kept running. We will catch him."
His muzzle resumed its beastly shape and the five of them continued on their way through the thick forest. Now that their prey had taken to the ground, they could follow him more easily. He had a head start, but on weak human legs he was no match for their gait. The youngest of them, the one that could not quite become a full wolf in form, often had to slow himself to keep from getting too far ahead. That one was viciously eager for the hunt to come to its end. He thrashed through the underbrush and tore bushes from the ground in his wake until a disapproving glare from his alpha told him to move quietly. And that he did with such sudden alacrity and dexterity that his alpha and father felt a swell of delicious pride.
The path took them deep into the woods, always following the course of the river eastward. Even in human disguise, the dragon possessed a reservoir of endurance beyond the capability of any man. His path took them through crumbling stone, dense thickets, fallen trees, and twisted sloping ground that kept them from running at full speed. Yet their pursuit was unwavering, and each of them hungered to see this dragon dead.
The stars turned in their courses as they kept running, until even the few lights of Fjellvidden were long lost to sight and no scents from that city could ever reach them. The youngest and the one twisted in shape yipped suddenly and jumped on top of a large rock blocking their passage east. He shook his head and looked down at his brothers and his father. "This one is smart, Father," he said in his yipping speech. "He's leading us away from home."
Gmork stopped and rose into a more man-like shape. He gestured for his youngest to climb down and for the others to stop. He lifted his snout into the air and sniffed, trying to follow not just the dragon's human scent, but also the dragon's magical effluvia. The trail continued, and while he knew they were gaining, it would be hours yet before they captured him at his pace. The wounds he'd inflicted with his spells were not serious enough to kill him, only to bring him out of the air long enough to kill him.
But apparently not even that.
"That he is. But he won't leave Fjellvidden completely," Gmork glanced between each of his four pups and then back at the night sky. Midnight would be upon them soon enough. The men from the northern tundras would be arriving tomorrow to aid the Resistance. They had to be crushed as quickly as possible. And that meant learning where Andrig and the bird's last ally was hiding. The woman who dressed as a man.
But women smelled differently than men. Gmork's jowls flecked with spittle. "We will return to the castle and feast on that murderer's body. Then, you four will join the forces scouring the city for our enemies. But in pairs. Two resting at the castle and two in the city. A few hours of rest and then you will swap. I do not want any of my pups to die because they were too exhausted to notice a danger. There is time. Our enemies will not survive tomorrow."
His eyes stole to his youngest, who licked his jowls greedily and his golden eyes burned with beastly delight. With a bolt, all five of them began running back the way they came, every one of them loping on all fours.
Gmork's admonition that the spell keeping Lindsey a boy was making him more and more childlike was something he could no longer deny. In fact, when Gmork had first crowed about it, salivating with those ever shifting jaws, Lindsey had known it was true. How often had he slipped into childish behaviors and delights? Had he not delighted in Pharcellus's stories? Had he not tried skipping stones near the quays? Had he not been savaged by fear, misery, and the tears that only a child could shed? He'd even begun thinking of Pharcellus as his older brother and not just pretending.
And now chained to a wall in a room with the despicable Baron Garadan Calephas and his simpering and slavish tiger with the dead body of a twisted and tortured child hidden beneath a carpet, the reality of his regression was only becoming plainer and fouler. While Calephas busied himself at the long table, mixing elixirs and other strange unguents that tickled his nose with sulfurous and stale odors, Weaker watched him with dead eyes. That nearly soulless stare brought to mind horrors they'd faced in the swamps of Marzac. But then he'd been a man with an axe in hand and companions at his side. Now he was a child with nothing at all.
And the last child that had been chained to this wall was dead and used as cushioning for Calephas leisure. Lindsey curled his eyes away and tried to think of something, anything, that might give him strength.
Nothing. Not even some memory of the kangaroo.
What made it worse was that Calephas didn't even bother talking to him after his promise to murder him once he was done with him. He just mixed his potions, tapped the glass, swirled them together, and studied the little tray with his blood in it. Drops of that were added to a small beaker which was then heated over a candle. By the time they heard the shuffling gait and the rattle of chains approaching down the hallway outside, that fluid had turned a crisp gray in hue.
Calephas turned to see who was approaching, and Weaker let his focus turn to the open doorway, but it was just the Lutin Yajgaj returning with an old man whose hands were chained in front of him. Lindsey, eyes fixed on the floor, noted that the Lutin seemed to guide the man into the room with a odd diffidence, almost gentleness, as if he cared about the prisoner's well being.
But that oddity was dismissed when Lindsey lifted his eyes to see who this man was. Through the grimy and unkempt beard and mass of reddish hair graying at the edges, Lindsey saw a pair of eyes hard and bitter yet full of a strength and a goodness he had longed for. He stared at those eyes for nearly a second before the crisp blue orbs became familiar to him. Lindsey's fears fled him in a single moment of elation as he shouted, "Father!"
The man snapped his head toward him with a sudden gape. Calephas blinked and smiled in hideous triumph. The Lutin fumbled his guisarme and took a step back into the doorway and was gone.
Alfwig, his voice sturdy but unsure, asked, "Who are you, boy? I... I should know you, but..."
Lindsey realized he'd already said too much and swallowed. Calephas laughed and grabbing the man's shoulder with one hand, kicked him behind the knees, toppling him to the stone floor. "Tell him," Calephas said with a vicious snarl. "Or I'll stab him through the throat and drench you in his blood."
He cried and shook his head. "It's me, Father! It's your Lhindesaeg!"
Alfwig's eyes widened in shock as he hid the pain from Calephas's blow. "Lhindesaeg! But I thought you'd become a man? What are you doing here?"
"Trying to kill me," Calephas replied. "He failed. Now, like you, Alfwig, he's mine."
"Let him go!" Alfwig snarled over his shoulder. He lifted his chained hands and smacked them against his shoulder where the Baron's hand had been only moments before. "Don't think this chain will keep me from killing you."
Calephas took another step back, while Weaker approached, growling and hissing with claws extended. Alfwig glared at the feline. "Or you either."
"You aren't going to kill anyone," Calephas chided with such calm assurance Lindsey had a hard time not believing him and trembling from it. "Weaker, show the old man what happened to the last boy."
Calephas backed and in a wide circle moved around the rear of the room and grabbed the large hammer while the tiger bent over and dragged the carpet off the crushed and deformed child. It was difficult to tell just what it was, a blend of reptilian and human features in so complicated and bizarre a form that it didn't even look like it could have been alive at one time. But Alfwig still trembled at the sight, and his eyes darkened further.
"Raping them isn't good enough for you anymore?"
The Baron scowled without anger. "I am so close to achieving my goal. You are going to help me, Alfwig. Or I will crush Lhindesaeg's hands. The left one first." He stepped closer to the boy and tapped the end of the hammer against Lindsey's exposed hand. Lindsey swallowed and tried to keep his gaze on his father. How he wished those strong arms would break his chains and rescue him from this nightmare.
But Alfwig didn't move from where he knelt, hands flexing and wrapping around the chains binding his arms together. The tiger Weaker had moved around behind him, and with lashing tail, kept a close eye on him, claws at the ready to tear into his back. Alfwig noted him with a perfunctory glance over his shoulder, then returned his attention on the Baron. "What do you want?"
"I have captured your son. I have taken a sample of his blood." Calephas gestured with a nod of his head toward the table and the assorted potions. "It's stronger than either of ours, Alfwig. I've never been able to get you to explain why you have such blood. Now you are going to tell me, and you are going to tell me why Lhindesaeg's is even stronger. Or I crush limbs."
"Stronger?" Lindsey asked, for a brief moment more curious than frightened. "My blood?"
Alfwig sighed faintly and nodded. "For now, Baron. I've kept this secret from Lhindesaeg long enough. I'll tell him." His eyes, full of gentleness and a terrible sorrow met the boy and held him tight as if they were arms. "Lhindesaeg, I love you dearly. I loved you as my daughter. I loved you when you went to Metamor to help. I loved you even when your letters told us you were a man. I love you now. I can see you in the boy before me. You are my child again. I am your father. But...
"But Elizabaeg is not your mother."
Lindsey blinked at this and his mouth opened and his tongue blubbered incoherently for a few seconds before he managed, "She's not my mother?"
"No. Your real mother... I met her bathing in a forest stream. She'd been watching me for some time, and knew that I would pass that way on my hunt. She waited for me. I... I was enraptured by her, by her beauty."
His eyes took on a faraway cast and he sighed, this time with regret. One of his hands began stroking his beard, wrapping the hair as if he were going to braid it again. "I had no idea who she was, but I was smitten. For six months she stayed in my cottage, our cottage. She left from time to time, but always returned with the little white mountain flowers. With them she made the most delicate of wreaths. And her singing, the sweet melodies..."
Alfwig closed his eyes and took a long deep breath as if he were hearing her voice and smelling her flowers. Lindsey felt lost, almost impatient to know who this woman really was. Calephas listened with an amused smirk on his face, but kept his grip on the hammer firm and steady.
"And then one day, she was gone." Alfwig let out a long breath and let the chain dangle across the floor at his knees. "And when she left, I wept for days. But when I stopped, it was as if whatever her presence had done to me was gone. I had known Elizabaeg for many years, and only a month after I was calling upon her again. I knew I loved her, and I hadn't stopped loving her even when your mother was with me. Within three months I obtained her father's permission, and shortly thereafter we were wed."
Lindsey felt confused now. How could this other woman be her mother if she'd left and he'd married Elizabaeg?
"We were married for five months when she returned to me." His face tightened with pain and a horrible longing. "I woke early that morning. It was Summer. The grass was wet with dew, and the sky bright with a high sun peaking over the mountains and casting everything in green and gold. Sitting on the rock by the lake was she, your mother. A very carefully wrapped basket was at her side. I came to her, overwhelmed with joy. Even the birds seemed to be brighter in their song."
Alfwig licked his lips. "She apologized to me, admitted that she had deceived me. She had watched me from afar for some time, though I had not known it. And she had fallen in love with me, even though it was not permitted. And so she'd come with her son to see that the child we had would be with me. And that's when she handed me the basket and made me promise to send her son back to her. She told me I would know when."
Calephas ground his teeth together, and the tiger's ears turned as if he were actually listening. Lindsey could, for a brief moment, almost forget that he was chained to a wall and under the power of the despicable Baron, so intent was he on his father's tale.
"She waited while I opened the basket. To my surprise it was not a child. But an egg. When I looked up, the woman, the amazing and sensuous and majestic woman was gone. In her place a mighty dragon. She bowed her head low, her long neck covered in gray and purple scales, before she leaped into the air, nearly knocking me over with the beat of her wings. She ascended into the mountains and was lost to sight.
"But coming out of the forest was another dragon, smaller this time, but the same gray scales, with red ridges and a youthful enthusiasm. He introduced himself as her son and promised he would help look after my child." He lifted his eyes to Lindsey and smiled ever so faintly. "Yes, Pharcellus is your half-brother. One month later you hatched from that egg, both human and dragon. Pharcellus left and returned with his mother and yours. She cast a spell on you so that you would be human in appearance. I told Elizabaeg everything and she promised never to speak of it and to help raise you as our own. And that is why your name is Lhindesaeg, after the great Lhinnorm, the dragons of the mountains. And that is why your blood is stronger than mine."
Lindsey gaped, mind reeling from every word. He felt as if he were going to tip back and tumble away into a spinning vortex. His mother was a dragon? He hatched from an egg? Then those egg shells he found in Father's secret treasure box, were they his? Is that why both Pharcellus and Elizabaeg seemed so sad when he mentioned them?
And then, as the darkness spun, these questions swirling into a maddening cacophony, one final question percolated through the miasma to latch into his brain and beat it into putrefied jelly. Who am I?
This single question, ricocheting from synapse to synapse obliterated all that was real around him. The room with its cold, gray walls receded into the distance until they were lost in a shadowy mass that had no substance. His father and Weaker, melded into an orange and red smear as they dwindled into insignificance and then vanished like a star winking out. Calephas, his face triumphant and twisted, passed away to his side until he merged with the blackness, a midnight sepulcher entombing all that was not an answer to the question.
He tumbled, but without frame of reference, Lindsey could gauge nothing. Who was he? Born of man and dragon, what did that make him? Hatched like a reptile, his true mother someone and something he'd never met. Elizabaeg, she who he'd always called mother, she who had raised him and loved him dearly, had known his origins but had said nothing. All of Lindsey's life had been lived under a false assumption.
Who am I?
A flash of light surrounded him and Lindsey found himself laying on soft earth, swaying cypresses with dangling limbs, bright colors, and broad ferns filling a clearing. Lindsey stood, spectral in form as he gazed across the expanse at a dozen golden horses, their green eyes boring intently at him.
The Rheh Talaran!
And in rich panoply of scintillating light, as if each and every being were fashioned from finely wrought crystal, each Rheh came forward one at a time, and one of Lindsey's friends stepped forward to meet them. First the ancient one, Qan-af-årael, resplendent in his sky-hued garments, approaching the most humble of all the Rheh.
Goodbye ancient one, the star's child.
They came together and their light suffused until they were an indistinguishable pillar of vernal splendor. Lindsey gaped as they leaped into the sky to streak across the horizon like a falling star rising to the heavens.
Into the middle of the clearing stepped with magisterial grace and hopping with studious dignity came Zhypar Habakkuk and the Rheh who'd born him. Lindsey reached out an arm and tried to cry out his name but his long face was ever fixed upon the steed of ancient lore.
Goodbye man who knows, fate divine.
Zhypar stretched out one arm, his clawed fingers brushing the Rheh's nose, and then the two of them vanished into the brilliant sky. Lindsey's eyes should hurt but everything was so stark and visceral he couldn't, as if he were witnessing true life for the first time.
Kayla the skunk came forward and met her Rheh. Those words that were the ethos of sensation sounded in his heart. Goodbye strength in love, strike with might. And then they too vanished into the sky.
Then came Jerome the Sondecki, the stout figure with auburn hair, hawk-like nose and crisp goatee. He bore the black frock of his order and seemed to hold it tight as if he were afraid some harm would come to it. Goodbye strong and mild, never wild.
Lindsey felt dizzy as he watched, trying to look to see where his friends came from, but it was as if they proceeded from the very air. James the donkey, the one who slew Krenek Zagrosek despite crushing fear, approached the Rheh with the bell-shaped white mark on his forehead. Goodbye bell's death cry, balm for mourn.
And then he too vanished in a spire of glory. Following on his hooves was the younger Åelf, Andares-es-sebashou. His pearl-handled blade was crossed before his chest and he knelt in front of the golden stallion with docile adoration in his features. Goodbye eager son, know the night.
Lindsey trembled, trying to turn any direction but this as the number of Rheh dwindled one by one. Before them flew Jessica, who landed and stared, only a simple hawk now. Her mount, with an abyss of gentleness, reached down and lipped at the feathers atop her head. With that she grew and they two twined together in a light wreathed in a blackness burnished bronze. Goodbye soaring mage, last of light.
The little Binoq mage, Abafouq almost stumbled in his haste, face glistening with oils used to keep the cold at bay. Powder spilled through his fingers as he lifted them to embrace his dear companion of countless leagues. Goodbye hidden one, sorrow's long.
Quickly and soberly stalked the most remote of them all, Guernef of the Nauh-kaee, his feathers a white so bright that even the sun hid itself in shame. One of the Rheh who had served as a pack animal for them out of modesty and love, came to greet him. Goodbye lofty one, the wind's song.
Then the last of her companions came forward, Charles, his strange six-limbed body wrapped in the green vine with purple blossoms opening and smelling so sweetly that Lindsey knew he could forget everything should he lay in a field of such flowers. His Rheh nodded and breathed a sullen mist across the rodent's blackened face. Goodbye stone and vine, ever more thine.
And then Lindsey felt himself bidden and he floated toward the final Rheh, the one that had born him across the Steppe, Pyralis, and into the festering swamps of Marzac. Those green eyes met him and held him, with a surfeit of knowledge that disclosed everything hidden. The words reverberated and made the cypresses and the ferns shake as if waking from a long slumber. Goodbye woman gone, dragon born.
They had known. Lindsey blinked and leaned forward to touch the Rheh who'd claimed him for a rider. His steed had known all along who he was. He fell into the golden hide and green eyes, spiraling away from that evil swamp, all thoughts for one blessed moment clear.
Lindsey blinked open his eyes and saw his father, the enslaved Keeper standing guard over him, and the laughing Calephas brandishing the heavy, metal hammer. "That explains it then," the Baron was saying with caustic pleasure. "Your blood has taken on that of the dragons because you enjoyed tender intimacies with one. And Lhindesaeg's is stronger still because he is half-dragon. It took months for me to make my blood as strong as yours, Alfwig. And now your son will give me what I need to finish what I've started."
"And what have you started?" Alfwig said with a cold menace.
The Baron walked back across the room and gestured at his worktable. "After Nasoj's disastrous attempt to seize Metamor Keep the winter before last, I left his employ and allied myself with Lilith's forces in the southern Giantdowns. Because of them I have no need to fear a reprisal from Nasoj for my betrayal.
He smiled then and ran one finger down the side of a glass decanter filled with a a thick, purple fluid. "But I am not a gambling man. I thought myself secure once before, immune from harm, and then I was caught and barely escaped from the Midlands. My time in Arabarb is limited. Either Nasoj will find a way to kill me, or the Resistance will. And even if they don't, one day Gmork will be powerful enough he'll believe he won't need me anymore and have my head placed on a pig pole to the delight of my subjects. And that is why I'm so delighted that you have come into my hands, Lhindesaeg."
He picked up the bottle and tilted it from one side to the other. "I obtained a large quantity of these potions from my new allies. This potion, unaltered, will transform a human being into a bastardized mix of human and dragon, a ruined form, known as a Draconian. I've seen them work. I've made boys such as yourself drink them so I could study the interplay of spells that made them work.
"But I don't want to be a Draconian." He set the bottle down and gestured at the rest of the table. "I want to be a dragon. And to that end I've made adjustments, purifying the draconic essence used in these potions, to transfer their strength to myself. With them, I have been able to alter my blood. But until I unlock all the other components, that is all I dare change." His smile grew wide and Lindsey could almost see his teeth growing sharper and serrated. An unholy fire burned in his blue eyes. "I'm almost there. You, Lhindesaeg, are the last piece I need. One more potion, one more test, and then I will be ready."
"The dragons will never accept you," Alfwig spat. "They'll know who you are."
"Aye, they will," Calephas admitted. "But I don't have to stay here. As a dragon, I can fly wherever I wish. And I will live as long as I wish. And there will be no one to contest my power." His smile slipped briefly, only to grow even wider as if he too were a wolf. "And I will be able to devour as many boys as I wish."
"I won't drink any potion!" Lindsey shouted with a fire that felt like his old self. "I won't help you!"
Calephas picked up a small wooden funnel and shrugged. "That's why I have this." He set the funnel down and then tapped one of the bottles. "But, it will take time for the potion to be ready. I must leave it to settle overnight before the spells are properly mixed. So, I am going to leave you to sleep if you can. Tomorrow morning you will help me become a dragon. And as for you, Alfwig, you will go back to the dungeons. Once I have no more need of you, you will drown in the Arabas. Yajgaj!"
A different Lutin stepped through the door and stared in impish defiance. "My Baron."
Calephas glowered at the unmoved figure. "You aren't Yajgaj, where is he?"
This Lutin carried the guisarme that had been in Yajgaj's hands and he too had a necklace of finger bones, though not nearly as many as the war leader had. "He go see to soldiers to keep castle safe while Gmork gone. We take man back to dungeon."
"Do so," Calephas grunted. The Lutins guided Lindsey's father back to his feet and out the door. Alfwig gave Lindsey a forlorn and apologetic gaze before he disappeared through the iron aperture. Once they were gone, Calephas stroked Weaker behind the ears in distraction before returning his attention to Lindsey.
"Although your father is in the dungeons, they are not the only cells in this castle. This room used to be a torture chamber during the thane wars over a hundred years ago. Your ancestors were very good at two things: making weapons to kill each other, and devising means to torture both body and mind." He grabbed the single ring set in the wall a few feet above Lindsey's head. "Truly, your ancestors were geniuses."
Calephas gave the ring a twist, and then the stone ground against itself as the wall to which Lindsey was attached began to turn. Lindsey struggled against his chains but as the sick Baron slid out of view, Lindsey was greeted with a darkness all around him, a cold chill that made his naked flesh tremble, and the sound of rushing water far below him.
The wall clicked into place and Lindsey could only cower and try to keep his body pressed as closed together as possible to keep warm. From behind him he heard the Baron's shouted words, "You won't die of cold, Lhindesaeg, and there's nowhere for you to go. Good night and sleep well my little boy."
Lindsey stared into the darkness and sobbed in prayer.
Yajgaj moved quickly through the castle halls, striding past soldiers without a word, but pausing to give instructions to all the Lutins he found. They were all of Blood Harrow tribe now. He'd made sure that every Lutin in the castle not of his tribe was moved elsewhere. It had taken months to do so, but it had been necessary. He couldn't depend on their loyalties.
The green-skinned little man moved through the halls searching resolutely. He knew Calephas would be irritated that he'd left, but there had been no choice. At least not anymore. That one exclamation from the boy had changed everything.
Finally, after a sun's handspan, he found the soldier he sought. The tall dour man was standing guard with two others along the southern battlements overlooking the outer bailey. The night sky was obscured by heavy clouds and the city below was occluded by darkened windows and doused torches. What few lights traveled those streets were carried by Calephas's soldiers as they continued their search for the Resistance.
"Gwythyr!" He snapped in a guttural voice that sounded as if he thought the man's name a delicious portion of meat. "Come with me! The Baron wishes you."
The man's face turned ashen white but he left his post and followed Yajgaj back inside the castle walls. But Yajgaj didn't lead him anywhere near Calephas's laboratory. Instead, once they were halfway between torches on either end of a long hall he turned and pressed the bone knife against the man's belly. "Bend over, Gwythyr," he hissed in a whisper. The man was so stunned he could only do as bidden by the Lutin whose bone necklace prominently displayed his prowess in killing men.
"A little closer," Yajgaj said softly. And then, once the man's ear was close enough that he could whisper with no chance that anyone would hear he said, "I know you are part of the Resistance." Gwythyr immediately tried to jump back, but Yajgaj grabbed his one arm in a vise-like grip and pressed the razor sharp blade against his belly so that the leather vest began to part. "I am not your enemy. Tomorrow, both Calephas and Gmork will die. I need you to contact the Resistance and bring them into the castle. I will have the eastern gate and walls guarded by the Blood Harrow. They will let you in. Do you understand me?"
Gwythyr blinked several times and stared at him in astonishment. "But... but you're a Lutin."
Yajgaj snorted and smiled, long, pointed ears lifting with his cheeks. "Clever. Maybe I not kill you and take your thumbs if you help me kill those two. Do you understand?"
"They won't believe me."
Yajgaj narrowed his yellow eyes and simmered. "Do you believe me?"
"Why should I?"
"Because you Resistance and I not kill you yet."
Gwythyr swallowed again, eyes flashing across the hallway afraid that somebody might suddenly come upon them. But as a Lutin, Yajgaj's ears told him much more and he knew they were as safe as anyone could ever be in this castle. Finally, the soldier began to nod. "I'll try to convince them."
"You better. If you come back and the Resistance isn't with you, I will give you to Gmork so I can kill him while he's distracted feasting on your mind." Yajgaj dragged the man's face a little closer. "But I won't kill him until after you start worshiping him." It was, Yajgaj knew, a stupid threat that if the man gave even a modicum of consideration to would see it for what it was. But he'd learned in the last year just how powerful a motivator fear was. And for a Lutin wearing a necklace of human finger bones, fear was one of his chief weapons.
"I'll do it." Gwythyr said at last. "How long do I have?"
"By dawn I have all guards at eastern door and walls changed to Blood Harrow. You have until dusk when I need to change them again."
"During daylight? Are you mad?" Yajgaj pressed the knife against his belly again and growled. "Fine, we'll find a way. Once we're in, where do we go? What about the other soldiers?"
"I keep path for you to Calephas's laboratory free. You know the way." Gwythyr nodded. "Some go that way, others take the armory and bailey walls. I will try to have more soldiers out in the city looking for you tomorrow so it be easier. Do you understand?"
Gwythyr nodded. "I don't know if I can trust you, Yajgaj, but you haven't turned me in. I'll try to talk them into your plan."
Yajgaj smiled and let the soldier go. He sheathed his bone knife and nodded. "Good. I like you, Gwythyr. I let you keep your thumbs."
The man's face twitched as he backed away a few paces. "One thing more. How do I get out of the castle?"
He laughed beneath his breath. "The same way you always do. The western sea door. I watch that one for you tonight."
Gwythyr swallowed uncomfortably and nodded. He stiffly turned and walked down the hallway to tend to his new task. Yajgaj watched him go and then hurried to where he could watch to make sure he did as he was told. Tomorrow everything would be decided one way or another. Either Gmrok and Calephas would be dead, or the rest of them would. The Lutin smiled and knew that his Blood Harrow elders would be pleased with such a choice.
April 15, 708 CR
In his human guise the wounds along his neck and chest did not appear as vicious
as they had when last he'd been in his natural form. Pharcellus had not dared
take that form since he left the meadow and the two birds behind. He hoped and
prayed that they would be able to find Elizabaeg safely.
Despite the utter blackness of the night, the stars and moon obscured by the
thick branches overhead a well as the tumbled, hilly terrain, Pharcellus had
no difficulty in choosing a path that allowed him to move quickly without bringing
himself any further injury. That same path would keep his pursuers from finding
a consistent and comfortable pace, which meant it would keep them following
him all the longer.
Getting that beastly mage away from Fjellvidden for a time was the only hope they really had.
At least he had been wise enough not to tell Vysterag where Elizabaeg had gone to hide. Even if the shipwright did know about the mill, the birds ought to be able to reach it first. But what could any of them do? This Gmork was far more powerful than he'd reckoned.
A branch caught him in the face and made him wince as the needles brushed across the scars on his neck. He'd been injured on other missions for Metamor and he'd faced enemy mages whose skill was not exorbitantly exaggerated in his retelling of the tale. And he would brave any wound for the sake of Lindsey. But had he lingered a few seconds more in that hallway Gmork would surely have struck a mortal blow. He'd been fortunate to escape at all.
I will return for you, Lindsey.
Pharcellus's path brought him rather abruptly to a wide clearing with ridges to east and south overlooking the river gorge. He paused, and hands on knees, bent over to peer down into the depths. The slopes were fashioned from lichen-encrusted granite with slender pine trees and moss clinging to every scrap of earth nestling in the folds of rock. The northern bank of the river, for the first time, was actually below him at least twenty hands if not more.
The dragon in human guise took a deep breath, exhaled it slowly, and peered into the darkness in the west. He hadn't heard the sounds of pursuit for some minutes. Had they given up? He'd heard them chasing him for the last hour, crashing through the brush and gaining on him steadily. But then it stopped, and even his sensitive ears, much better than a mere human's might be, could detect no hint of Gmork and his pups.
There were two possibilities. Either they had given up or Gmork knew some magic to silence their approach.
His eyes wandered to the northern bank of the river. Though it was draped in tall pines as sharp as the ridges of a dragon's back, he knew that they would find it difficult to cross such an expanse.
And even if they did, it would bring them that much further from Fjellvidden and his friends.
Pharcellus ran one hand across his wounds and decided that it was worth the risk. He took one last deep breath, and once his lungs were filled, his chest continued to expand as his attire blended into his flesh, turning a deep gray and hard. His head stretched outward, face elongating into a sharp muzzle with horns sticking straight out from behind his head. A long ridge grew down his spine, and from his back erupted broad wings that stretched to cover the meadow. A tail, thick and adorned by fine scales and tipped with a flat spade, grew over his swelling haunches. Hands and legs swelled, fingers tipped with dark claws that gripped the earth and supported his sudden increase in weight.
The dragon shuddered as the pain that he'd hidden beneath the human disguise sluiced through his mind. With slow steady beats he moved his wings up and down, eyes blinking the weariness away as he turned his head from side to side on his long scarred neck. He lifted one claws forearm to his neck and upper chest expecting to find fresh blood seeping out, but thankfully the wounds had closed. He hoped that even so brief a flight as he was about to attempt would not reopen them.
Tensing his muscles, Pharcellus leaped into the night air, feeling a rush of cold greet him. The rushing waters beneath him roared up through the chasm, and the trees fell beneath him in every direction. Beyond the northern slope was a series of open rocky meadows interspersed with trees. He felt a surge of relief and pumped his wings three times to gain the altitude he needed to reach the nearest of them. The river passed swiftly beneath him until it was hidden by the first line of trees clustering at the edges of the northern bank.
The ground however sloped more steeply upward than he'd expected. He tried to turn his wings back to give him one last burst of air but it wasn't enough. He plunged through the last line of pines before crashing chest first into the meadow and its stony floor. Agony gouged his mind from his back and wings, and with a quick glance he felt his heart sink. Through his right wing he'd torn a large rent. The flaps of tough leathery skin drooped and bled.
Crouching low on the ground, Pharcellus craned his neck around so that he could lick with his long, thick tongue at the wounded folds of flesh. He kept his left wing folded at his back as he nursed the right, whimpering in misery at the injury to flesh and to draconic vanity. What good was a dragon that could not fly? That the wound would heal and he would fly again in a month or two was the furthest thing from his thoughts. Pharcellus felt the gash as if it were in his soul.
He could almost hear the elder wyrms reproaching his mother for his involvement with humans. "Dalliances with humans only end in tragedies for dragons!" How often had he heard that one when he visited his people. Even the other dragons who helped Metamor often reminded him that a certain distance needed to be kept between their hearts and the short-lived peoples they helped. Humans could be good, but, so short-lived as they were, they could not fail in their ignorance to hurt too.
Pharcellus grunted and stared disconsolately at the tear in his wing. What had been a broad expanse of flesh, tough and vivacious now hung limply and vicious. This grievous wound had come from trying to help the humans, even if they did look like birds. Would the elder wyrms lower their snouts in a knowing rebuke?
Aye, the birds were short-lived. But they were his friends and his responsibility. And Lindsey. Lindsey was so much more. Regardless of the wisdom of his mother's infatuations, Lindsey was his half-brother. Blood could not be ignored.
And for that, he managed to say softly, "I will bear this too."
Pharcellus used the spell that would make him human in appearance again. Even after his body dwindled into the red-haired and bearded adolescent form, he still felt the pain of his wound like a whiplash up and down his back. He stumbled into the woods to the west, wincing as he moved.
Until he finally collapsed beneath a shelf of rocks shadowed by sheltering pines. A bed of needles and moss awaited him. Pharcellus blinked weary eyes as he tried to push himself back to his feet. His arms gave out beneath him and he lay there, darkness slipping over him like his mother's sheltering wing.
A few hour's rest. That was all. A few hour's rest and then he'd continue.
And those were his last conscious thoughts until morning.