DRAGON GAMES, page 17
“Look what they’ve done to it,” muttered Oates. Hap groaned when he saw what Oates meant. The dragon’s legs were chained, so the creature could only shuffle. Wire wrapped around its jaw clamped its mouth shut. Cloth was bound on the end of its tail; Hap supposed the tail was barbed or clubbed and posed a threat. But he was sickened most by what they’d done to the wings. They were underdeveloped, and too small for flight. But still they were damaged, with raw scars still visible, and they could only flap uselessly at the dragon’s sides.
“They’ve cut its wings, the filthy cowards,” Oates fumed under his breath.
The chains binding its feet rattled as the dragon tried to back under the wagon. But the men wouldn’t let it hide. They jabbed with their spears, forcing it into the open, where Magador waited, twirling his ax.
Hap turned away, unable to watch the dragon’s fate. Umber watched with his palm across his mouth. Fay pressed her lips together so tightly that the color was drained from them, while the girl behind her hid her face in the princess’s tumbling brown hair. Sounds rippled through the crowd: shouts, laughter, moans of dismay. Hap stuck his thumbs in his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.
When a cheer arose, he opened his eyes for a moment, then shut them again. But an unwelcome image still pried into his brain: Magador with his helmet pushed back from his grinning face, holding a bloody prize high for the crowd to see.
Hap heard the awful, animal roar of the king: “I slew the first myself, Umber, did you know? Now my son is a dragon slayer with me! Brugador Dragon Slayer! Magador Dragon Slayer!”
Wagon wheels rumbled again, and the doors screeched open. Hap kept his eyes closed until he felt a tap on his knee. Umber was hunched before him, speaking softly. “Are you all right?”
Hap shook his head. “Can we leave?”
Umber glanced back toward the king and shook his head. “Sorry, Hap. That’s impossible. We’ve already done enough to offend Brugador and his son. You have to be strong, until this is over.”
A sour taste bubbled up Hap’s throat. “How much longer? How many more are they going to kill?”
“Two, I think,” Umber whispered back.
“How can you stand this?” Hap asked. “You of all people.”
Umber straightened, taken aback. “Sometimes there’s nothing you can do.” He returned to his seat by the king. Before long another wagon rolled out of the tunnel, bearing another dragon, and other warriors gathered around to face it. Hap covered his eyes. Once a gasp from the crowd made him look. The dragon had knocked one of its adversaries to the ground, wounding the man. But others rushed in, prodding with spears and keeping the creature at bay. Minutes later the king’s roar told Hap that another dragon had died.
By the time a third dragon had been cruelly slaughtered, he felt nauseous and weary. And just when he thought the ordeals of the day were through, he heard the booming growl of the king: “Umber! You and your party will join me for dinner.”
Oates paced their room, slamming the stone wall with one fist at each turn. “This makes me sick. You’re a powerful man, Umber. There must be something you can do.”
Umber rubbed his brow with his fingertips. “Don’t you both understand? I have no leverage here. And believe me, we must not anger this king any more than we already have.”
Hap felt a twinge in his heart. Umber had always seemed an extraordinary man, infinitely resourceful and quick to act when he perceived cruelty or injustice. For the first time since meeting Umber, Hap felt disappointed.
“I’m not going to this dinner,” Oates said, folding his arms.
“Yes, you are,” Umber snapped. “Brugador may be one of the foulest swine to ever walk the earth, but you will dine with him tonight. I’m serious, Oates. You too, Happenstance. One does not snub a king.”
There were three dozen or more at the dinner, at a rambling table cluttered with bowls, candles, pitchers, and platters. Hap found it hard to enjoy the food, since he was sickened by the presence of so many at the table. King Brugador sat at one end. There was a roaring fire in the hearth at his back, giving his vast bulk a halo of orange. Hameron was near the king, and a bored-looking Magador was at the opposite end.
Around the table were guests from other island kingdoms that were allies or conquests of Sarnica. Some shared the cruel nature of Brugador, while others suffered in his presence. Bertram sat across from Hap and offered a tight smile whenever their eyes met.
There were no women at the table. Hap wished that the princess were there. Something about Fay’s grace and beauty would have made the occasion easier to endure. And if she had been there, the girl might have been with her too. Hap was suddenly aware that he wanted to see her again, to catch her staring his way another time. He wondered what her name was.
Hap’s body tensed as Hameron stood and wandered toward them with his eye on Umber. “What did you think of my dragons, Umber?”
Umber sipped his wine. “As magnificent as I dreamed they’d be. Too wonderful for the fate you’ve given them.”
One of Hameron’s eyes twitched. He leaned closer and spoke softly. “Umber … I … actually did not realize what my patron would do with them. Those duels … would not have been my choice.”
Umber’s expression hardened. “Nevertheless.” Hameron wilted under his stern glare, and Umber drummed his fingers on the table. “But let’s put that aside for a moment, Hameron. I have a question for you. With your knowledge of the strange and magical, you might know the answer.”
Hameron straightened and put a hand over his heart. “It would please me if I did.”
“Good. What do you know about the bidmis?”
“The bidmis?” Hameron’s brow lifted. “Don’t tell me you’ve found them.”
Umber waved the question away. “It’s for my chronicles. I just want to know if you’re familiar with their legend, and their curse.”
Hameron puffed his chest. “In fact I have done my share of research into that tale. The man who awakens them is their master for life. They will do whatever the master bids, and are capable of almost anything. Tempting, isn’t it? Although the materials that I have seen hint at a dark side to their obedience. It wouldn’t be a curse without a dark side, would it?”
“True enough,” Umber said. “But I’ve always wondered—is there a way out for the master? If he wants to end the ‘curse,’ such as it is.”
“Of course there is,” Hameron said, grinning.
Umber waited for the answer.
Hameron chuckled. “Death!”
“And nothing else? No other escape?”
“Not to my knowledge.” For a moment Hameron’s arrogance faded. “Getting what you desire often comes at a price, doesn’t it, Umber? That’s the lesson of the bidmis, I suppose.” His shoulders jerked, and his smug demeanor returned. “But really, I doubt they even exist.”
Umber shrugged. “You’re probably right.”
Hameron extended his hand. “I enjoy these talks, Umber. We have so much to share.”
Umber looked at the hand for an uncomfortable moment before finally taking it. Hameron noticed the hesitation. He nodded curtly and returned to sulk in his seat near the king. A few minutes later Hap saw him whisper into the king’s ear.
Brugador guzzled the last of his wine and slammed the goblet down. A trembling servant rushed to refill it, as the king leaned forward to peer down the length of the table.
“Umber,” he growled. “What is the name of your bodyguard?”
Oates was hunched over his plate, gnawing on a meaty bone. He froze in mid-bite and looked sideways.
“Bodyguard, Your Highness? I think you mean Oates,” Umber replied.
“Oates,” sneered the king. He had a voice like thunder, and when he spoke, the room fell silent. “You’re the fellow who tossed a man into the harbor.”
Oates dropped the bone onto his plate and put his hands flat on the table. “Right. I did that.”
Brugador used his dinner knife to pry dirt from under his thumbnail. “A man as powerful as you could serve me well. I pay my private guard handsomely. Perhaps I could be your employer, instead of Umber. Would you like that?”
Oates kept his eyes lowered. “I would not.”
The king’s beard twitched. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t like you.”
There were gulps from the other guests. The guards that surrounded the table broadened their stances. Brugador grinned fiercely, and his brow shadowed his dark eyes. He turned to Hameron. “You were right, Hameron. This man is compelled to speak the truth.”
Hameron looked at Umber, flicking his eyebrows. Oates turned toward Umber as well, silently pleading. Umber raised the fingers of one hand and mouthed silent words: It’s all right.
“So, Oates, you don’t care for me,” the king said. “I wonder if you are the only one. Tell us, has Umber spoken ill of me?”
Oates groaned. “Yes.” He dug his hand into a pocket inside his vest.
Silence smothered the room. Hap could barely breathe as Brugador, clearly enjoying this unusual game, went on with his questions. “Really? What did—hold on, what are you doing there?”
From his pocket Oates had pulled his muzzle—a piece of leather that covered his mouth and tied around the back of his head. He worked frantically to knot the strings. “I’m putting this on,” he answered, his voice already muffled.
The king slammed his fist on the table, upending the goblet and spilling a dark pool of wine. “Take it off! Put it away!” The king’s soldiers leveled their weapons.
“Do as he says, Oates,” Umber said.
Oates’s shoulders slumped. He stuffed the muzzle back in his pocket. “Why did you bring me here?” he said to Umber. The rims of his eyes had begun to redden.
The prince leaned forward, baring his teeth. “What did Umber say against my father, you great oaf?”
As Oates fought the irresistible urge to reply, it seemed to induce a terrible pain. He groaned, and spittle flew from the gaps in his gritted teeth. When he answered, it was a hoarse mutter. “He said Brugador is one of the foulest swine to walk the earth.”
“What else?” said the king.
“He said you murdered your way to the throne, and you smell like bad meat.”
Hap looked at a circle of shocked faces around the table. Three of the guards had crept behind Oates, eager to strike. Beside him Hap heard Umber whisper, “Didn’t know his memory was that good.”
“Another question for you, Oates,” Brugador said.
“Please, no more,” Oates said. He covered his face with his hands.
Brugador looked like a beast closing in for the kill. “Hameron told me that Umber would be offended by my Dragon Games and would try to put a stop to them. Does Umber intend anything of the sort?”
“No,” Oates muttered, shaking his head. “He says it is not our place to interfere.”
The king nodded. He thrust a dirty finger toward Bertram. “Furthermore, Oates, you and Umber have been seen in the company of that man there: Bertram Charmaigne. The so-called peacemaker who came here to tame my son and me. Some suspect that Bertram might be in touch with my enemies inside and outside my kingdom, plotting to overthrow my rule. Is that true, Oates?”
Oates thumped the table with his fists. A tear trickled down his face. He turned to glare at the king. “No. Bertram said there can be no rebellion and no invasion. Your army is too strong, and your enemies are too afraid. So your foul kingdom is safe.” Oates’s chair scraped as he stood up. “That’s enough. I’m leaving. And I’ll thump anyone who tries to stop me.”
The guards behind Oates exchanged nervous glances, and their swords quivered in the air. Magador stood up, with a knife in his hand that flashed in the torchlight.
Brugador’s enormous chair groaned as he leaned back and laughed. “Ha! Let the truth teller go! He’s done me a great favor.”
Umber prodded Hap’s arm, and they both stood. “My ward and I will take our leave as well, Your Majesty,” Umber said. “And I must apologize, of course, for those unkind words.”
Bertram got to his feet and bowed toward both ends of the table. “If you will pardon me, it’s best if I leave as well. For good, I think. My efforts here have clearly amounted to nothing. Perhaps time will soften your heart, Your Majesty, and we might speak again. In the meantime I will leave with the morning tide.”
As they left the room, Hap heard a muttered joke and a burst of laughter behind them.
They walked at a brisk pace through the castle halls. Hap was sure the king’s men would spring from every corner with swords stabbing and axes flying. Normally, the presence of Oates would reassure him, but the big fellow trudged along in a daze, sniffling and staring at the floor.
When they reached their room, Umber eased the door shut. While Oates stood with his great shoulders heaving, Umber did a curious thing: He lit three candles and placed them on the windowsill. “Take a seat, Oates,” he said when he turned around.
“Right,” said Oates. He seized a chair and flung it down with such violence that its shattered pieces clattered off every wall as Hap and Umber danced to avoid the flying debris. Oates crumpled to his knees and clutched his hair. “Umber,” he said with a moan. “I could not help it. Oh, why did you let me come with you? Why do you say anything at all when I am around? Look what I have done. They’ll try to kill us before we leave. You know they will. But they’ll have to take me first, I promise you.”
Umber knelt by Oates’s side. “Oates, my friend. Put your mind at rest. I’m the one who must apologize to you.”
Oates looked up. His lip trembled. “What? Why?”
A sly grin teased the corner of Umber’s mouth. “I’ve been using you. You’ve been manipulated, by me and Bertram. But it’s for a good cause, I assure you.”
Oates stared, wagging his head from side to side.
The skin between Hap’s eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean, Lord Umber?”
The sly grin blossomed into a wide smile. “Oates told the truth as he knew it. But he was really passing along a lie. There will be an uprising after all. I’ve been corresponding with Bertram for months, my friends. Brugador’s enemies are going to attack from many fronts, with foreign assistance. It will happen before dawn this very night, in fact. And during the confusion we’re going to get away with the dragon’s eggs.”
Hap gaped at Umber, feeling dizzy. “We’re going to take the eggs?”
“Steal them, actually!” Umber nodded happily, and then his eyes widened with alarm as Oates sprang up, gripped the front of his shirt, and lifted him until his legs dangled off the floor.
“You used me?” Oates cried, shaking Umber.
“Not so loud,” Umber said, patting Oates’s forearm. “I had to, Oates. Bertram said the king was growing wary and thinking about calling all of his forces back to the city. That would have doomed the rebellion. So we used you to throw him off the scent, you see? Tonight they’ll celebrate far too much, and the timing of the attack will be perfect.”
Oates lowered Umber to the floor with a dazed look in his eye. Then the big fellow started to hum to himself and began the oddest jig Hap had ever seen, grinning, twirling his arms, and kicking his legs. “Ha!” Oates sang. “I told a lie! I told a lie! Can you believe it, Hap? I actually told a lie!”
The dance and song were so absurd that Hap had to laugh along with him. “But Lord Umber,” Hap finally said. “How are we going we steal the eggs?”
“We’ll need some help, of course,” Umber replied. There was a scratching sound at the window. Just beyond the three candles Hap saw a familiar head and multilegged body, dangling outside at the end of a thin strand of silk.
“That was quick,” Umber said. “Hello again, Arabell!”
CHAPTER
21
“Are you sure nobody but me can see the Silkship?” Hap asked. He braced himself against the sill and held his breath, because Arabell was climbing up his leg and onto his shoulder, cooing with delight at the sight of him.
“Not in this darkness,” Umber replied. “Just you, and Arabell, perhaps. I believe the spider-folk can see pretty well in the dark.”
Through the window Hap watched the ship rise into the night sky, hundreds of feet above the castle. The oval shape was perfectly apparent to him. In fact the ink between the stars above was the only true darkness he ever perceived. “Did Pilot know you planned to steal the eggs?”
“I told him during our journey. And I used Bertram’s courier, Parley, to send him a note this morning. Pilot’s been hovering overhead since dark, waiting for my signal.”
The sight of Arabell had wiped the delighted expression from Oates’s face. “Why is that creature here?”
Umber rubbed his palms together. “With her help this ought to be as easy as a walk in the park.”
Hap frowned. He could only imagine the obstacles in their way. The halls of the castle were patrolled. The door to the chambers below was guarded. The eggs were locked in a crate, and only Hameron had the key. And the city was surrounded by walls and gates. Besides that, some assassin, most likely Magador, had tried to kill him once and was probably still lurking about.
“Hold on,” said Oates. “If there’s going to be a rebellion, why do we have to steal them? We can just wait for this pig of a king to be dethroned and ask the rebels for the eggs.”
“Rebellions are messy, unpredictable things,” Umber replied. “In the chaos of battle anything could happen to those precious eggs. Besides, we can help the cause with this burglary. The king will be distracted and unbalanced before the attack even starts. Let’s hope it all succeeds, my friends. This is a place ruled by barbarians, and you can’t even get a decent cup of coffee.” He clapped his hands. “Let’s begin! Oates, snuff those candles and put out the lantern. Hap, see if anyone is lurking in the courtyard who might notice us. Arabell, darling, can you weave us a ladder?”
