In the Shadow of the Dragon King (30 page)

“You can step out of the shadows. I have an excellent sense of smell, and the five of you are about as quiet as a rockslide. Come into the light and tell me why you dare to enter the Den of Amaranthine.”

The five companions stepped into the spacious cavern. Charlotte clutched David’s arm and pointed to the monstrous shadow on the wall.

Bones crunched beneath their feet. David grimaced. Revulsion bubbled up and unsettled his insides. He forced himself to look at the source of the shadow, a hunched-over beast covered in chestnut fur, stirring the contents of a black kettle.

Trog approached the brute, his stride wide and confident. “We’re here to request your assistance.”

The beast growled. “You want nothing less than any others who have stepped before me. Why should I grant you audience and not make a meal of you instead?”

“Would you make a meal of an old friend?”

David blinked. His head spun.
Trog is friends with this, this thing
?

There was a flurry of movement. The beast stood upright and whirled around.

Charlotte gasped, and her hand covered her mouth.

David blinked, his body frozen in place.

The animal towered at least a foot above Trog. Bright blue eyes set high and narrow just above a long snout peered out from behind strands of copper brown fur. At the ends of his arms and legs were human hands and feet, not paws. Leather arm braces covered both forearms. Strapped to his chest was a leather bandolier replete with a sling, blowgun, darts, and dagger.

The wereman peered over Trog’s shoulder at Charlotte and David. Trog shifted to block his gaze. The animal laughed. “I see you haven’t changed a bit, Sir Trogsdill Domnall. Still protecting the weak-spirited.”

“Someone has to protect them from the likes of you,” Trog said. The two embraced.

David shared a confused look with Charlotte, his heart in his throat.

“It’s good to see you, old friend,” Trog said. “How have you been?”

“Blasted cold and hungry, that’s how I am! There’s hardly anything to eat up here now that the snows have come, but let’s not talk about me. It’s been months. What brings you this way?”

Trog motioned for David and Charlotte to step forward. “Slavandria sent us to you. She said you could help us across the Doomideen Pass as well as tell us where we can find a mage stone, The Eye of Kedge. Have you heard of it?”

“I never discuss business until I meet my guests. Who are the two tasty morsels with the terrified expressions? Have you bought me a meal for old time’s sake?”

Shock coursed through David. Charlotte trembled, her grip tightening on his arm.

Trog laughed. “No, they are not food.” He turned around. “David, Charlotte, this is Sir Stephen Kavenaugh, a knight of Fauscher.”

“I prefer Groote if you don’t mind,” the wereman said, “as I’m no longer a knight.”

David swallowed. Words formed in his head, but his mouth failed to move.

Groote laughed. Firelight bounced off his yellow fangs. “Look at you two, scared as little field mice. Why?”

“Y-you’re very scary,” Charlotte said, her voice breaking.

“I’m scary? Have you not looked at your companion lately?” He bobbed his head in Trog’s direction and chuckled as he strode across the room and pulled down a handful of wood bowls from a corner shelf. “This man is the most lethal knight ever to live.” He returned to the center of the room and started filling bowls. “I may look fierce, but he’s the one you have to worry about. Me, I’m straightforward. I’ll kill you and eat you. Sir Trogsdill Domnall, on the other hand, likes to play with his food before he devours it.”

Trog smiled a real smile. A small laugh escaped his lips. “Don’t scare them any more than they already are, Groote.” He took two bowls and handed one each to Charlotte and David. “We still have a long way to travel, and they need to feel safe, not wonder if I’m going to slash them in their sleep.”

Alarm flitted in and out of Charlotte’s face. She stared at her food.

David guided her to a short and wide stalagmite and helped her to sit. “They’re just joking,” he said under his breath. “Trog’s not going to kill us, and he’s not going to let Groote kill us either, okay?”

Charlotte nodded. “I know. It still makes me nervous.” She sniffed the food in the bowl and wrinkled her nose. “What is this stuff?”

“Rabbit stew,” Groote said, shoveling a handful into his mouth. Liquid dribbled down his chin onto his fur. “It’s all I’ve got. Eat or don’t eat it. I don’t care.”

“D-do you have any utensils?” Charlotte asked.

Groote threw back his head and laughed, the sound rich and boisterous. “Does this look like fine dining at Gyllen Castle, lass? Use your fingers, girl. Get a little dirty. Live on the wild side.”

David smiled. He couldn’t help it. He glanced down at his bowl, his hungry belly shouting
Do it! Do it!
He brought the bowl to his lips, tipped his head back, and let the warm stew slide into his mouth.

Sweet, tender meat all but melted between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Potatoes. Carrots. He drank in more, chewing and slurping, slurping and chewing. When done, he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt and belched, loud and long.

Trog and Groote laughed.

“At least someone likes your food,” Trog said.

Charlotte stared at David as if he’d eaten a live cockroach. “Seriously? Can you get any more disgusting?”

“Can you eat already? We’ve gotta go.”

“Why? What’s the hurry?” Charlotte brought her bowl to her lips and sipped the broth. Her head tilted back a bit more.

“I know why Slavandria made us come this way,” David explained about the crystals and the key, the Eye of Kedge. “Now, all I need to do is convince Groote to give it to me and then we can be on our way to Hirth.”

“I don’t have it, boy.” Groote rummaged through a cloth bag and tossed a leather flask to Trog. “Here, drink up.”

The words strangled all hope out of David’s body. “What do you mean you don’t have it?”

“Just what I said. I lost it in a battle of wits with a scruffy-haired boy with a sharp-witted tongue,” Groote said. “It was a delightful challenge.

The wind expelled out of David’s lungs. “No.” He shook his head. “There has to be a mistake.”

“No mistake, boy. It’s gone.”

David teetered where he sat. He had to remind himself to breathe. What was he to do now?

Trog uncorked the bottle and sniffed. “Bragsworth whiskey. Where did you get it?” He tipped back the flask.

“Off a stupid fool who thought he didn’t have to pay the toll. I assume you brought a toll worthy of the five of you passing?”

Trog snapped his fingers. Agimesh and Taccar stepped forward. “They’re yours.”

Groote laughed. “Well, I’ll be a bug-eyed toad. Where did you get this pair?”

“Slavandria,” said Trog, corking the bottle.

“Wait,” Charlotte said, setting down her bowl. “You can’t give them away. They’re not your property to give.”

“Settle down, Charlotte.” Trog stood, his face drawn. “Slavandria arranged this. She knows what she’s doing.”

Charlotte crossed her arms and turned her angry eyes on Trog. “You can’t trade them. I won’t let you.”

“You have no say in the matter,” Trog said.

“But you know it’s wrong! No life is worth the life of another!”

“Charlotte,” Trog said through gritted teeth. “Sit down and shut your mouth.” His tone carried an edge as sharp as the sword on his hip.

David tugged at her arm. She glared down at him, plopped down and scowled.

Groote’s ears twitched. He leaned forward. “If Slavandria is worried enough to send shime, then I smell a battle brewing and a nasty one. Tell me.”

Trog launched into a retelling of the last five days. Groote sat and listened.

“It’s imperative we make it to Gyllen as soon as possible. I’m sure the toll is sufficient for passing, and if you have some food to spare, we’d appreciate a bit to take with us.”

“The toll is more than sufficient,” Groote said. He stomped across the room, picked up one of many small leather bags and tossed it to Trog. “There are water flasks, bread, berries, and nuts in there, enough to keep your bellies full. The shapeshifters keep me supplied. My only regret is that I wish I could join you in this fight.”

“Why can’t you?” David asked.

“Because I will die if I leave the Pass. Avida made sure of that when she hexed me.”

“Avida?” The name sent chills through David. “W-why did she hex you?”

“She was bored,” Trog said, grinning.

Groote chuckled. “It could have been worse, I suppose.”

David’s muscles tightened. “Why did she hex you? How powerful is she?”

Groote’s nostrils flared. “She’s an enchantress. She ensnared me when I discovered what she really was. We were a couple. I tried to end things. She punished me. As you can see, she didn’t take kindly to rejection.”

“Is there a way to break the spell?” asked David. His arms trembled. His thoughts knocked into one another.

“Only if you kill her, boy. Now, go. All of you.” He turned to Trog. “You should reach Palindar by mid-night. There is a small cabin there. Take rest inside for the remainder of the night. I will send someone to you in the morning that can help you get through Einar’s territory. Do not be afraid of him. He won’t harm you.”

Trog pulled a lit torch from the wall. “Thank you, old friend. When this is all over and done, I’ll send you some Dalvarians to digest.”

Groote licked his chops. “I look forward to it.”

Trog adjusted the bag on his back. “Charlotte, David. Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Charlotte walked over to Taccar and Agimesh and wrapped her arms around them. “Thank you for watching over us and protecting us. I think you both are very brave for staying behind.”

Agimesh lowered his chin. “No, my lady. It is the three of you who are brave. We shall see you soon. I give you my word.”

Groote grunted and kicked a bone. “Enough sentimentality. Get on with it before I throw all of you in my stew.”

David adjusted the bow on his back and the sash around his waist and edged Charlotte into the dimly lit tunnel of the Doomideen Pass.

“Now what am I going to do?” he asked. “How am I supposed to find the Eye of Kedge?”
How will I ever get Charlotte home
?

“Find the scruffy-haired boy with the sharp-witted tongue,” Charlotte said.

David hitched his bag up higher on his back and pushed himself forward. “How am I supposed to do that?”

Trog snorted. “You’re the paladin. Figure it out.”

Rains came to Gyllen strong and hard. Farnsworth roused Eric from bed early and made him join a dozen squires in the tournament hall. Along the walls stood at least two dozen pages, their young faces pale in fear. All of them shifted their weight from side to side, their mouths open like hungry little codfish.

Eric rolled his eyes. He hated runt training. He remembered all too well the abuse he took, not only from the knights but also from the older squires. Now he was in the reverse role, and he longed to be anywhere else than battering puny tadpoles half his age.

The training lasted for hours. Two sprouts were taken to the infirmary with mild cuts to their arms. The others walked away moaning, except for one.

He was a young boy with straggly, honey-colored hair and trousers two sizes too big for him, a rope cinched at his waist to hold them up. He followed Eric into the weapons room like a puppy lost from its mother.

Eric sat on the bench and eyed the stripling out of the corner of his eye.

“What do you want?” he said, removing his sparring armor.

“Nothing.”

“Why are you standing there then? Run along.”

“I can get you out of here.”

A tingle rippled through Eric’s veins. “Yeah?” he said, removing his greaves. “What makes you think I want to go somewhere?”

The boy shrugged, his eyes following Eric’s every move. “I dunno. I hear stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Eric set the armor on the shelves.

The boy tilted his chin upward, his eyes as big as a deer’s and about as innocent. “Sir Farnsworth and Sir Gowran don’t let me do things, either. They say I’m too young to be out there.”

Eric smiled. “Let me guess. You don’t agree?”

The boy shook his head. “Nope. Sestian taught me how to fight.”

Eric froze for a second. He knelt down, his face at eye level with the page. “You knew Sestian?”

The boy nodded. “He was my friend. He said the two of you were going far away on a giant quest. He said you were going to go to make the knights proud of you.” He lowered his chin and kicked his foot across the ground. “I want the knights to be proud of you, too.” He looked back into Eric’s eyes. “Can I help make the knights proud of you?”

“Why would you do such a thing? You would get in so much trouble.”

“Sestian said you were going. He’s not here anymore, so you have to go without him.”

Eric swallowed. He glanced down and away, his hand caught in his hair. “Look. I appreciate what you’re doing, but I won’t get you in trouble, okay?”

“Then I’ll scream.”

Eric chuckled. “What?”

The boy closed his eyes, tilted back his head and screamed, the sound wailing through the room.

Eric slapped his hand over the boy’s mouth. “What are you doing? Hush!”

The boy shook his head and licked Eric’s palm.

“Eww!” Eric yanked back his hand and wiped it on his pants. “What are you doing?”

“Let me help you go, and I won’t scream anymore.”

“No!” Eric swore under his breath.

Another scream filled the room.

“Okay, okay, stop! I’ll go! Are you always this annoying?”

“Farnsworth says I’m the most obnoxious prat he’s ever met.”

Eric stood and rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, I’m going to have to agree with him on that.”

***

Eric followed his new screaming companion across the lower courtyard to the buttery. Inside, they moved to the connecting storage room where Eric stood with his hands on his hips, watching the little imp move boxes out of the way of a wooden door.

Eric stared, his mouth open. He closed it. Pried it open again. How many times had he been in this room and never noticed a secret door?