consort and exactly what she was-but it was hard to think when she was touching him so. 'What are you talking about? Escape? I'll walk out of here a free man!'
Her roving hands suddenly stilled. 'You and I, we escape! I'll meet you down the road. There's an inn…'
'But I have to fight a dragon!'
Nearly invisible in the darkness, she drew back, touching no part of him. 'That's madness. Surely you agreed to pursue this book only to get out of the castle alive!'
'No, I agreed to seek the book to save-'
'Greenwillow?' Her voice dripped frost. Maybe Ruellana was a real woman after all, the man reflected. 'That elf is useless, thin as a rake and cold as a fish. Elves don't mate with humans. They toy with them or hunt them. Surely even you know that. And no man of any stripe can battle a dragon. That's the stuff of fables. The reality is you'll go into that cave and never come out, except as a pile of steaming dragon shit.'
Sunbright held his head and tried to ignore the image. It was true; he'd pictured that and worse the night long. Only enchanted knights with magic lances and mighty war-horses battled dragons. He didn't even own a shield. Of all the monsters, dragons were the worst. Even tiny wyverns no bigger than squirrels could burn your hand off, it was said. And of all dragons, red ones were the most wicked. But…
He tried to explain. 'I've no choice. Greenwillow and I are bonded by blood. Even if I survived by leaving her to be executed, I could never call myself a warrior again, or even a fighter. I'd be nothing, have nothing.'
'You'd have me, every day and every night.' Ruellana tsked in the dark. 'There are times when even the greatest of warriors must turn his back on foolish bravery.'
Flopping back against the headboard, exhausted and confused, he replied, 'This is not one of those times.'
Suddenly his arms were full of warm, nearly naked woman. 'Oh, please run away with me!' she pleaded. 'You've no idea how horrid my life is! The king is a fiend, a monster in disguise! He beats and starves me, lashes me with a whip until the blood flows! I've waited so long, and only you-'
Dazzled by all this woman-flesh, Sunbright's hands roamed from her smooth shoulders to the inviting curve of her buttocks. But his nearly forgotten brain had been dragged into the fight now, and he mused, 'Funny, your back is as smooth as a cat's. No scars, no scabs…'
Abruptly the woman tore away. The pleading stopped. Coolly, she asked, 'You'd choose Greenwillow over me?'
Part of him growled, part pleaded. 'It's not that. I said I'd enter the dragon's cave, and I shall. What happens then lies in the hands of the gods.'
One thing Sunbright knew about heroes: they were simple. Leaving mysteries to others, they made decisions, then acted on them. They never waffled or backed down.
Of course, often they died.
'Have it your way,' Ruellana said simply. Before Sunbright could grab her in the dark, she slipped away. Seconds later he heard the secret door-that was not a secret door-click shut.
Three days later, in a cold drizzle, an orc commander squinted and pointed at a narrow split in a monstrous boulder, then higher to a distant ledge marking a cave. There were nine stout fighters here, orcs and men, but the commander kept his voice low. 'This cleft marks the beginning of a trail up to the cave mouth. You'll enter here. In a while we expect to see you reach that ledge and pass within. If you don't, we'll come hunting you, and then you'll crawl inside with both knees hamstrung. Is that clear?'
Sunbright nodded glumly. This squad had 'escorted' him through the southern foothills and up the Windswept Mountains to see he didn't run off. It had not been an unpleasant trip, but its purpose made for uncomfortable silences. On one hand, the soldiers admired his stoic bravery; on the other, they thanked their gods that it was Sunbright who went and not them. Now the commander's short tusks creased his lips in a smile of gallows humor. 'Good luck.'
'Thank you.' And shifting his scabbard at his back, Sunbright entered the cleft and climbed.
Grabbing with hands and sliding feet, he found the wet trail so steep it was like climbing drizzle into the roiling sky. He wore his own clothes and gear, more or less: a new linen shirt the color of a pale sky, bearskin jerkin with the fur shorn even, leather baldric, and iron-ringed and strapped boots with sturdy hobnail soles. He carried Dorlas's war-hammer in a new holster on his belt, a waterskin, and haversack. But only Harvester was slung at his back, for no one in the castle thought he needed a bow and arrows. He knew they were right. This would be sword work or nothing.
Probably nothing, echoed an errant thought.
In short order, he reached a lip, which he crawled over, and a smell hit him like a slap in the face. A raw, reeking, eye-watering stink that took his breath away. Ducking his head first to catch a breath, he hoisted himself high enough to see.
Only slightly higher, twenty feet or more, was the shelf and cave. Here below the shelf were great, heaped mounds of brown-black gunk that reeked of sulfur and sewage. By luck, rain had dampened the odor, or it probably would have poisoned him.
'Well,' grunted the barbarian, 'bears don't dung up their caves. Why should dragons?'
Holding his nose, breathing shallowly, he cast about to the right and left and finally found a crack he could follow up to the shelf. He was actually in a hurry, he thought ruefully. Anything to escape this stink. A random thought intruded: now he knew why dragons moved their caves occasionally. Too bad he'd probably never tell anyone.
Picking over an older pile of dung bleached tan by wind and rain, he saw something glitter amidst the dried clumps. Kicking with his foot, he overturned a fluted helmet-with a brown-stained skull still inside. Ruellana's words about leaving the cave only as dragon shit came to mind and wouldn't go away.
Still, he had no choice but to persevere, ignoring the idiocy of what he was about to do. On shaky legs and trembling hands, Sunbright crawled up the crack and reached the fabled shelf.
And the yawning cave behind.
The cave mouth was tall enough to take a ship under full sail, wide enough to admit spread wings. After about twenty feet, the interior grew dark. From inside came twin smells, nauseating as they tried to overpower one another: a hot, brassy stink like rust burning off an iron pan, and the sweet, cloying, throat-gagging odor of rotting flesh. Holding his breath, the barbarian detected the faintest tiny hint of a sound, as of wood being sawed: snoring.
Shaking all over, Sunbright nearly sliced off his own ear clumsily drawing Harvester from its back scabbard. He took a step, then remembered to turn and wave at the puny orcs and men in the middle distance. They waved once, and hurried away.
Crouching in the icy rain, Sunbright admitted the cave would at least be warm and dry. Funny though, how the old legends never mentioned the heroes were afraid. Perhaps, then, he'd never become a legend. Just another skull in a heap of dragon dung.
And with those cheery thoughts, he walked in.
Advancing a short inch at a time, Sunbright had too much time to think. As a wilderness-trained hunter, he knew he could sneak through territory so not even foxes would scent him. But dragons were said to have acute senses, could even read minds. Supposedly they could hear a potential thief just thinking of robbery at fifty leagues. He didn't believe it, but that in itself wasn't much help.
Of course, he rattled in his head, he needn't actually slay the dragon. He had only to enter its cave and retrieve-steal-a big book with a ruby in the cover and get away safely.
Even if the dragon was asleep, the chances of his sneaking in successfully were remote at best. So… if he couldn't sneak in, or leave without the orcs hunting him down and flinging him back inside crippled, or kill the beast, what was left?
Not much.
He stopped, and waited, and wondered what to do. To advance and die seemed the only option.
So, how to die? Creeping like a rat? Or charging with sword outthrust and a battle cry ringing loud?
Would he be burned to a crisp, bitten in half, or simply be crushed by a scaled claw, like a demented mouse rushing a cat?
Then a rustle sounded behind him. And a voice.
