He stiffened, broke off, and stared down through the grating. Rod and Taeauna turned, did the same, and found themselves looking down at a lone woman; skeleton-thin and not young, yet somehow alluring. She was skulking along as silently as possible, staring ahead as if she knew full well she was following the now-vanished Dark Helms.
She was looking all around as she came, too, peering alertly everywhere. She didn't miss noticing the grating, and gave it a long, steady stare, just as if she could see the three people standing motionless in the dark room above her, their heads close together.
Then she moved on, out of their view, and Deldragon was shaking his head in amazement and towing Rod and Taeauna on across the room to a door on its far wall.
When they were through it and he'd closed it behind them, the velduke caused his sword to glow again, and over its faint, ghostly light told them, 'That woman; I met her years ago, in a Stormar port, and never thought to see her here. She'll be up to no good, however she came to be inside my walls. I'm going to follow her.'
'This is your home, Darendarr, and your fight,' Taeauna murmured. 'We're with you. Yet tell us more of yon woman. 'Years ago,' you said; you're sure this is the same person?'
'That face is not one I could mistake, and she has the same bag-of-bones build, the same gait; that lilt of the hips that tells you you're seeing a woman and not a young and thin lad. No, I'm sure. That's Rosera, or so she called herself then.'
'Then?' Rod asked eagerly, more than intrigued.
Deldragon gave him a wry smile. 'Once upon a time, I was a young rake, wandering around the Stormar ports and farther afield, in part because my father told me in no uncertain terms, with the aid of a bull whip, what he'd do to me if I drank and wenched my way across Galath. I was in Hrathlar, I think it was, when I saw this Rosera.'
Taeauna grinned. 'Saw her how, Darendarr? Come, we're not of Bowrock; there's no need to be coy before our ears.'
The velduke sighed as he opened a door into the next chamber, this one full of barrels, and led the way across it to another door. 'Well, let's just say she was dancing on tables in a dockfront tavern then, and so slender and supple a pleasure-lass was she that she could travel around a bed full of half-drunken men so swiftly and with such ease that I thought she must be using magic. She was agile enough a little later to squeeze out a tiny window with all their purses while they slept, avoiding the bedchamber's barred and guarded door.'
'This 'they' included you, didn't it?' Taeauna teased.
'Of course,' Deldragon sighed, 'but there's no need at all to spread this tale about. I heard much more about her in Hrathlar, after that, back in those days. Suffice it to say that she's the sort that's always up to something, making a living by sly means. So if she's here, now, it bodes ill for Bowrock. Not to mention that I dislike my cellars being full of unwanted guests I did not greet, nor welcomed, nor had even saw entering my home. Come!'
He opened the door into another dark room, threaded his way down it through a maze of stacked pots and tables of dust-covered carvings and tools, and down a stair, his blade glowing faintly and eerily in the gloom.
'I don't want to shout and chase her, mind,' he warned. 'I want to follow her and see where she leads us. And 1 doubt not but that means we'll have to be exceedingly, glorkingly quiet, unless she's gone deaf down the years since I saw her.'
'She left quite an impression,' the Aumrarr purred. 'Was she that good?'
The velduke turned to regard her, held up his blade so its glow shone on his face and she could see him rolling his eyes, and sighed heavily. Then, without a word, he turned away to thrust open the door at the bottom of the stairs, and led them out into another passage.
'How blasted big is this keep?' Rod whispered to Taeauna, who gave him a wide, understanding grin by way of reply.
Then they were stepping out into one of the largest rooms he'd ever seen in his life. Not high-ceilinged, like a cathedral or one of those towering hotels with a central atrium that elevators slid up and down the many- balconied sides of, but more like some basements he'd been in, with rough pillars here and there in odd places. Except that those basements had been cluttered and small. This room seemed to be empty of everything except pillars and echoes, and was very, very big.
'Jesus,' he muttered, not quite under his breath. 'What would something this big ever be used for?'
'Living,' Deldragon replied, striding off along one wall. Rod had to trot to keep up with him and hear the rest of his reply: 'Every jack, lass, and child in Bowrock. If dragons come mating.'
'Dragons come mating? What, they cast lustful eyes on humans and tear us apart trying to, uh… you know?'
The velduke sighed. 'You are from a far country, aren't you? Not often, but often enough that everyone remembers it all, at least in cradle-tales; every two or three centuries, I suppose, dragons get the urge to mate. She-dragons fly around seeking suitable lairs, always stone cities or fortresses men have built, and take possession of them. Usually that means shattering many of the interior buildings to form a bed of stone she can lie on, and it always means slaying or driving out any humans in the place.' 'Oh.'
'There's more than that, man. The drakes then get into the act; the male dragons. They roam the skies seeking likely-looking females lying waiting in their lairs, and try to conquer them in playful battles. If other males show up, the males end their wooing-frays and fight each other to the death, often wrecking much of the lair in the struggle, or crushing other buildings nearby when the vanquished dragon crashes to earth, dying, and often rolling around in its agonies. Those broken lairs don't seem to bother the she-dragons; they proceed to mate, then ferociously guard the area against all intrusion, including humans who've been there all along, but come to the notice of the wyrms, until the wyrmlings hatch, grow strong enough to fly, and depart with their mother. As I said, this doesn't happen often, but when it does…' The velduke stopped and swept his hand out in a slow flourish, to indicate the vast, echoing darkness before them.
'I'm a writer,' Rod whispered. 'Words aren't supposed to fail me. And 'holy shit' hardly seems appropriate, somehow.'
'Oh, I don't know,' Taeauna murmured, from just behind him. 'They cover the matter pretty well, I'd say.'
Deldragon turned with his hand on the ring of another door. 'We go through a narrow spot, here. Stay close to me.' He tugged, the door groaned open, and the ghostly glow of his blade moved into deep darkness.
The talons of the lorn were sharp, and embedded deeply, agonizingly, in his shoulders and nigh his elbows just below, on his left arm, and just above on his right. They were obviously trying to prevent him bending his arms.
Fair enough. He was obviously trying to kill them, by thrusting something strong, like his fingers, or sharp, like the little stabbing knife normally sheathed at the inside of his wrist deep into their eyes. The ropes so tightly wound around them all prevented either side getting away from the other, and with their wings bound so tightly against them, the lorn were unable to properly call upon their strong shoulder muscles to overpower the large and well-muscled human in their midst.
Wherefore one lorn was dead already, and dripping forth brains and life-blood in a slow trail of gore from one eyesocket, and another was frantically trying to drive its claws right.through the fat arm they were embedded in, in an attempt to stop the arm's owner from slowly sawing off the talons of its other claw, to clear a path to its eyes.
A vain attempt. Talon after talon was dropping off, leaking blood in the wake of the bundle, and not only were the Dark Helms not helping (a few simple blows about the human's head would have ended its attacks, surely), they were chuckling and talking of placing bets on what would happen next!
This left the most helpless lorn-the one hanging downwards, its face seeing only stone floor sliding endlessly past-seething, and the other one hissing and voiding itself in fear, as it lost talons amid much pain.
Those talons were iron-hard, but the fingers above them could be cut as readily as Garfist sliced meat on a fireside platter. And being as it didn't seem likely he'd ever see a fireside meal again, he went on carving, and remembering those sizzling juices, the spiced sauces Isk prepared so superbly, the mouth-watering taste of the best roast boar they'd fire-spitted together…
His gut rumbled loudly in sudden hunger, suddenly filling both lorn with terror and causing them to sob involuntarily. Humans ate lorn? Had they but known!
