The Tainted Sword

Chapter XII

The crystal shattered, and Verdilith roared in frustration. The shards fell to the sandy floor, adding to the layer of crystalline fragments from other abelaat stones. The dragon flicked his tail angrily. A gold-spangled crown and an emerald scepter flew against the far wall of the lair. The crown crumpled on impact, and the scepter smashed a crack in the rock wall. Verdilith snorted, green fumes roiling from his nose.

The abelaat stones had grown unpredictable in their duration, fouling the dragon’s plans. “Worthless lackeys,” Verdilith growled, his voice rattling hollowly through the lair. He scratched one scaly cheek. “These stones are flawed! They should last hours, not minutes!” He punctuated the words with a thunderous slap of his tail and the cave rumbled like a great drum. The dragon hissed. Once he had watched Flinn for an entire night and day, whispering his magic words of despair over and over and filling Flinn with impotent rage. Previously, Verdilith could use the stones to plant evil thoughts and emotions into Flinn’s mind. The dragon’s seeds of fear and self-loathing had taken root and nearly turned Flinn’s soul black. “Now I can hardly even see him!” Verdilith roared, the sound reverberating through the cavern.

The dragon looked up at the twinkling ceiling far above. If only the woman hadn’t happened by. “Who is she?” he wondered to himself. “Who is this disruptor?” The abelaat’s attack on her had been most untimely—the tiny traces of spittle remaining in her system rendered her nearly impossible to observe through the crystals. And where Flinn was, she was nearby. Since the arrival of the woman, Verdilith had gained only brief, tantalizing glimpses of his most hated enemy. Now only one unshattered crystal remained in Verdilith’s hoard.

The wyrm shifted on his bed of gold and silver. Absently, he licked the coins and gems slipping through his front claws. One claw grasped a single large amethyst and squeezed. The gem shattered and Verdilith smiled hugely. He would be able to crush diamonds in not so many more years.

The dragon let his thoughts drift away to the latest, most disturbing glimpse he had seen through the crystal: Flinn held aloft a greats word and spoke of slaying Verdilith to regain glory.

“He evaded my trap,” the dragon seethed darkly, his sibilant voice echoing over the stone. “Those stupid orcs. I’ll have my revenge on them.” Thoughts of the orcs dispersed when Verdilith remembered Flinn’s shining sword. “Wyrmblight!” Verdilith seethed, a green cloud issuing between his teeth.

Something dug unpleasantly into the dragon’s side. He shifted his bulk on the treasure hoard and pulled out a silver urn. A leer of satisfaction flashed across his spearlike teeth as he looked at the now-crumpled item. Then, flicking the scrap away, he returned to his musings. “I should have killed Flinn the first time,” he roared. The old witch’s prophecy surfaced in his mind—One of you will die when next you meet. “Yes—and that one will be Flinn.”

But he had wanted Flinn’s death to be more than merely physical—he had wanted to kill the man’s very soul. How delicious it has been to corrupt Flinn’s honor from afar rather than simply bite him in two, Verdilith thought. He smiled. And how satisfying the man’s suicide would have been. The dragon slowly licked one claw. “But revenge takes many forms.”

Verdilith looked down at his last remaining abelaat crystal. He needed more. He slid to one corner of his lair, pulling his massive bulk up before a large brazier. Reaching into a deep alcove, he pulled forth some aromatic herbs and flowers and placed them in the brass basin. Then he raked his claws along the rugged cave wall, sending a shower of sparks down onto the herbs. In moments, a fire flared to life. The sweetly scented smoke rose to the dragon’s vapor-scored nostrils, soothing his senses. Drawing a deep breath, the dragon began to speak, the sounds rumbling low in his long neck. The ancient command words rolled out into the smoke and mingled with it.

The miasma above the brazier began to thicken and swirl. Strange, bright colors glimmered through a veil of misty ash, like lightning bolts dancing behind summer storm clouds. But at last the colors coalesced, and the smoke took on the vague shape of a human’s face.

“Your bidding is all, Master,” came a disembodied voice as indistinct as the face in the smoke.

“Bring me more abelaat crystals,” the dragon rumbled. “Good ones this time. Make them if you must.”

“Is that all, Great One?” the voice droned.

“No!” The single word was nearly a roar, sharply contrasting to the servant’s voice. “Have you done the penance I set for you?”

A brief silence hung in the air, then the words “No, I have not.”

“Do so!” Verdilith hissed. “Do not try my patience!”

“Yes, Master,” came the barely audible reply. The image wavered and disappear. Another shadowy face formed in the smoke, as indistinct as the first. It spoke.

“I understand Flinn has regained Wyrmblight.” The words were smooth, without any detectable malice. Verdilith bared his teeth anyway.

“Yes,” the dragon hissed.

“Don’t fail in your revenge, Verdilith. Your domination of Penhaligon is critical to our plans. And, I must ask—” the speaker paused “—is that item I entrusted to you still safe?”

Verdilith smiled uneasily and said, “Yes. It is where you left it.” His eyes wandered over to the one-foot—square box resting in a corner of his cave. It was a simple box, iron reinforced with steel. Not a single gem or rune graced it. Even the lock was inauspicious—a simple clasp. Its looks were deceiving, however. Verdilith had spent more than a month trying to open the box, but to no avail. The clasp simply would not be undone, despite the dragon’s best magical and physical efforts. And neither would the box break. Verdilith had carried the box to the loftiest height he could climb and then dropped it on the rocky Wulfholdes far below. A tiny, one-inch scratch was his reward.

“Good,” the voice replied. “When you are finished with your business with Flinn and I have things settled here, I will take the box from you. Do you need anything?”

“Only the abelaat crystals, but the other one is taking care of those.” Verdilith needn’t have bothered with his response, for the swirling image had dissolved into simple smoke. The dragon turned away and hissed in annoyance. He lumbered over to the precious box and picked it up.

It fit easily into Verdilith’s palm and was inexplicably heavy. Nothing rattled inside. He tried the lock again, and as usual it wouldn’t budge. The dragon put the box down and returned to his bed.

“Vengeance,” the dragon rumbled, a green cloud swirling like a dark halo about his head. “First, death to Flinn, then to the orcs… and then to you, my fine friend.”

Yvaughan whimpered in her sleep. A voice tolled incessantly in her mind, like a death knell, but she couldn’t understand the words. Her dream was starting again, and a part of her was aware of it and feared it. She rolled over, seeking her husband’s warmth, but her arms remained empty. Maldrake was away tending other matters. Silent, bitter tears fell from her eyes to the silken pillow. Her two pet birds cooed and fluttered to her side. One nestled at her ear; the second cooed again, then flew to a dark corner of the bedchamber.

Her dreams grew more frightening. The dark, many-fanged creature entered them as he had so many times before. He was moving toward her, a man-shaped beast with brutal claws. A tiny groan escaped her lips. She knew of the dream and what was to come. She struggled to control her thoughts, to force the monster from her mind, but the angular creature continued toward her. She covered her face with her arm, trying to bar the vision from her mind.

Still it came.

The thing with the shining claws came to her bedside and bent over her. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t scream—only whimper. Drawing her arms from beneath the covers, the monster stroked them lightly over and over. His claws raked her skin just hard enough for the flesh to open and ripple with pain. Then he bit her at the tender joint of one elbow. She almost welcomed the pain, for it meant her dream was almost done.

But something inside her fought back tonight, something that was suffocating. Her breath was being pulled from her body in wave after wave. Yvaughan panicked and fought her way toward consciousness, thrashing in the bed. She had to awaken, she had to, or else she would surely die. With a sudden, strangled gasp for air, the woman sat up.

Darkness surrounded her, the familiar darkness of her bedchamber. Beside her, a bird cheeped a complaint at having its rest disturbed. Automatically she soothed her pet, petting and stroking its downy buff feathers. Then something flew at her from the corner of the room, and she threw her hands around her head and gave a tiny shriek. But it was only her other bird, jealous for attention. She took it in her arms and lay back down. It cheeped plaintively.

She noticed then how weak her arms felt, how cold and drained of life. She rubbed her hands across them. They felt wet and slippery. Am I still dreaming? she thought. This has never happened before. Concerned, she reached out to the table beside her and touched the lantern. Instantly, it sprang into magical light.

Yvaughan extended her arms before her and looked at them. Blood and jagged lacerations laced her white skin. She screamed. “Teryl! Teryl!” she cried for her advisor, her only friend with Maldrake away. “Teryl!”

The doors to her chamber flew open, and the mage ran toward her. “Lady Yvaughan!” he called. “Is something wrong? Has someone disturbed your rest?” In the room beyond, her other birds fluttered and cried out in alarm. How wonderful that they care for me, she thought suddenly.

Teryl tottered to the bed and sat on its edge. Tearfully, Yvaughan stretched out her arms to him. The mage’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, lady,” he whispered. “What have you done? What have you done to yourself?”

Yvaughan shook her head in growing horror. He thinks I did this! she thought wildly. She shook her head again, desperate that he understand. “Teryl, this is not what it seems! I didn’t—”

The advisor put his hand on her shoulder and pressed her back into the waiting pillows. “Calm yourself, my lady. I will fetch bandages and a cool drink for you.”

“Teryl, you don’t understand!” Yvaughan cried as the man walked away. “I didn’t do this! There was a monster, and he—”

“The monster of your dreams?” Teryl inquired as he reached the door. “Come, come, lady. We all know dreams cannot hurt us.” The mage left the room, and Yvaughan pounded her fists impotently on the silk coverlet beneath her hands. Why doesn’t he believe me? she asked herself. He is my friend! More hot tears fell from her eyes.

“Here we are, lady,” Teryl said, coming back quickly. He held up a goblet of wine and pressed it to her lips.

Yvaughan choked on the pungent bitterness. “What is this?” she asked.

“Something to help you sleep peacefully through the rest of the night. Didn’t you take the draught I made you earlier?” Teryl asked accusingly.

Between swallows Yvaughan replied, “No, I didn’t drink it. I didn’t think I would need it, Teryl.”

“But you always sleep so poorly when Lord Maldrake is away, lady,” Teryl chided. He set aside the chalice and began applying salve to her injuries.

“That’s true, but… tonight was no different from the other nights I’ve had this dream, Teryl,” Yvaughan responded slowly, her tongue suddenly thick. “Except that tonight I fought back.”

The mage pursed his lips. “And that, my lady, is obviously how you hurt yourself.”

“But I’ve dreamed the attack before, and there were never any marks on me then.”

“Ah, but you didn’t wake up those times, did you? That’s because you never hurt yourself before tonight, which is why you woke up this time,” Teryl said sagely.

Yvaughan tried to clear her muddled mind. “What… what are you saying, Teryl? That I deliberately hurt myself?” The man nodded, a twitch gripping his shoulders. “I’m afraid so, lady.” He applied one last dab of salve and a bandage. “There, that’s the last of it.”

“But I don’t understand, Teryl,” Yvaughan’s voice dropped to a whisper. She could barely keep her eyes open. “I don’t understand. Why would I want to hurt myself. Why?” Teryl gathered his things together and looked down at her. Her cloudy mind thought it heard the words, “You’ll find out soon enough, lady. Soon enough.” The mage turned on his heel and left the room.

Sir Brisbois nervously paced the flagstone bridle path leading to the back of the stables. White puffs of breath escaped his lips in the cold, biting air. “It’s just like Maldrake to make me wait,” the knight muttered as he paced up and down the winding path, blowing on his hands to warm them. A few knights galloped past. Brisbois looked up for a moment, then turned away immediately when he didn’t see Maldrake. The knights merely nodded and continued down the path.

On their heels came another knight, who halted his steed beside the pacing man. Brisbois sighed inwardly, then gazed with irritation at the rider. It was Sir Lile Graybow, the castellan of the castle.

“Good morning, Sir Brisbois,” Graybow said affably, his gravelly voice cheerful and sincere. He was seated on a golden mare and bedecked in his finest armor.

“Good morning to you, Sir Graybow,” Brisbois said brusquely. When Graybow made no move to continue down the path, Brisbois was forced to add, out of deference, “And where are you off to this morning?”

“I’m visiting some of the villages of Penhaligon today,” Graybow said smoothly. After a pause, he continued, “I’m going to institute some of the peasantry tax relief measures Lord Maldrake and I devised.”

“Tax relief… measures?” Brisbois asked slowly. He and Maldrake hadn’t made any plans since the deal with the horses had fallen through.

“Yes,” Graybow said archly. “I was surprised you didn’t want to meet with us, Brisbois, but Lord Maldrake told me you no longer wanted to be a part of the committee. Of course, when we presented our plans to Baroness Arteris, we had to tell her of your decision. She was quite distressed. A shame, really.”

Brisbois put his gloved hands behind his back and clenched them. He smiled civilly. Collect yourself, Brisbois thought. Graybow could be trying to rile me for all I know. Maldrake’s in for quite a conversation, if he ever arrives. “Ah, thank you, Sir Graybow,” Brisbois said formally and gave a little bow. “You’ve been most… informative.” The castellan nodded and then moved his horse off at a trot.

Many long minutes passed before Maldrake came down the bridle path. His horse was cantering sideways in a highly stylized and controlled parade march. All Maldrake’s concentration seemed centered on making the horse take deliberate, measured steps. Brisbois was freshly irritated. He took off his gloves and slapped them into one hand. His friend had made this appointment seem urgent. Apparently equestrian practice was more important. Brisbois wouldn’t put up with such insults.

With a flourish, Lord Maldrake dismounted from his horse and bowed elaborately before the knight. “Brisbois!” he shouted with great affection. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Maldrake,” Brisbois growled. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

“Oh, please, Brisbois,” Maldrake looked pained. “Isn’t there something else we can talk about?”

“Yes, there is,” retorted Brisbois. “We can discuss just exactly what you’re doing with Graybow, or we can discuss what happened to Yvaughan!”

“Oh, that,” Maldrake scowled. “Nothing more than she deserved.”

“Maldrake!” Brisbois shouted. “She’s your wife! Don’t you care about her?”

The young lord crossed his arms and looked both bored and annoyed at the same time. “Look, Brisbois, there’s something you should know. I was never in love with Yvaughan—not even in the beginning. Our feelings were all one-sided—hers. I only wanted to marry her because she was a Penhaligon and Arteris is far too icy for my tastes. Marrying Yvaughan was a good move for me, and I’m grateful for your discrediting her previous husband.”

“Maldrake—!”

The blond lord held up his hand. “As to Yvaughan’s deserving anything, the only thing she deserves is to be thrown from the highest tower!” Maldrake’s green eyes flashed, and his pale skin turned red. “That woman killed my son, Brisbois, and you want me to be worried about her? Those little scratches she gave herself are nothing! I wish she’d clawed out her jugular—”

Brisbois shook his friend. “Stop it, man! Can’t you see? Yvaughan’s innocent! She didn’t kill that pitiful being you called your son! And she didn’t wound herself. It’s that damned wizard who did both!”

Maldrake knocked away Brisbois’ hands. “Never touch me again!” he hissed through clenched teeth, his canines shining in the bright morning sun. Brisbois stepped back involuntarily.

“Maldrake…” he whispered.

The lord stabbed his finger against the knight’s chest. “I told you about Teryl Auroch. He didn’t kill my son or injure my wife. And even if you are right about his harming Yvaughan, he did it to please me. He succeeded—” Maldrake’s eyes flashed “—where you failed.”

Brisbois stared unblinking at his friend. He had always tried to do his best for Maldrake; how could he be faulted for trying? Brisbois held out his hands. “All right, Maldrake,” he said in a subdued voice. “Whatever you wish. You asked to see me. What did you want?”

Maldrake smiled. It was a thin, reptilian smile, and it chilled Brisbois. “Flinn is on his way to the castle.”

“When?” Brisbois felt fear trickle into his heart. He had done more than enough to earn Flinn’s wrath.

“Soon,” answered Maldrake. “In the next few days.”

“What are you going to do?” Brisbois asked.

“What am I going to do, Sir Brisbois?” Maldrake responded coyly, then shook his head. “You have it all wrong, my friend. All wrong, indeed.” He put his arm around Brisbois’ shoulder. The knight stiffened and Maldrake shook him, smiling all the while. “Relax, Brisbois, relax.” They began walking toward the stables, the trampled snow crunching beneath their boots.

“What do you have planned?” Brisbois insisted, knots forming in the muscles across his shoulders and back.

Maldrake laughed and looked at Brisbois. “Listen, and I’ll tell you.” He shook his head, his green eyes wide. “The best part is, neither you nor I will have to do a thing.” Maldrake’s laughter filled the morning air.