The Bastard, page 20
This could be my best chance to get my revenge. If I didn’t go to meet Rolf now, I might never see him again.
Until of course, he appeared in my doorway at night, intent on slitting my throat.
It was this last thought more than anything else that decided me. I would be a fool to leave someone like Rolf about, free to do what he wished. Rolf was dangerous. Not just to me, but to everyone around me.
“Where is he?” I demanded.
The old man smiled, but he didn’t tell me where to go. Instead, he walked with me to the river that cut through the middle of Camelot, near one of the bridges. But instead of crossing that bridge, he led me to the riverbank beneath it.
“You have heard of the catacombs beneath the castle?” he asked, and I nodded. “This is an old a forgotten entrance. Rolf is waiting for you within. There’s a torch for you to use. I would wish you good luck, but doing so goes against my master’s intentions.”
I could see nothing but shadows where the man indicated. Nor could I hear anything, or otherwise find any indication that what the man said was true.
“How will I find him?” I asked.
The man smiled again. “You will have heard that the King keeps a creature of some sort bound in the greatest depths of the catacombs,” he said. It wasn’t a question. Of course I had heard about it. Everyone had heard its cries over Camelot.
“Rolf will meet you there, if you can make it within the hour. If you are unsure of your bearings, listen for the creature’s cry. Head toward it, and you will find him.”
With that, the man bade me goodbye and left me to decide what I was going to do. For long moments, I hesitated on the bank of the river. There were as many reasons not to go after Rolf as there were to do it. But he’d played his cards well. Carrots mixed with threats, all designed with one end in mind.
I couldn’t have arranged it better myself.
In the end, I had no real choice. I gritted my teeth and made my way into the shadows, quickly finding the opening the older man had referred to. Because although maybe I could have run away from the city and started a new life somewhere new, I would always be looking over my shoulder for Rolf.
And anyway, I had never been a coward, not when it counted.
The torch was there as the man had said, along with a sparker to light it. The torch caught at once, filling the air with soft, yellow light and an overabundance of thick, heavy smoke.
I made my way into the tunnels, grimly aware that I was once more dancing to Rolf’s tune even though I had sworn to myself that I wouldn’t do so again.
Perhaps, in this case, it was worth it. The danger was real, but at least it was known.
If I were to let Rolf go unchallenged, then the danger he represented wouldn’t go away. Instead, it would become unpredictable.
And that was an advantage I couldn’t let him have.
With my heart pounding in my chest, I made my way through narrow stone passages, heading generally down and toward the bowels of the castle itself.
46
Whatever poor creature gave voice to its pain and anguish in the catacombs did so on a regular basis.
About once an hour, it would cry out, loud enough for all the condemned men in jail to hear. Every so often, that cry would be accompanied by a shuddering in the rocks upon which Camelot was built. The sheer volume and strength required to shake the city’s very foundations was staggering.
Today, its cries were louder than I had ever heard them before, shrieks that sounded like rusted metal being torn, mixed with the guttural sounds of primordial danger. And they were tinged with anger. More than once, the walls shook, and I imagined some mighty beast straining at huge chains. Fearing an ambush, I unsheathed my sword. I’d hung my knob-ended staff on a sling, but it was there, too, in case I needed it. At the latest shudder, I reached out to steady myself, pressing my sword hand against the cold, stone wall and trying not to think about the way the dust shook loose from the ceiling
Rumors about the creature abounded. Some said it was an elemental creature. Or a vast wyrm. Or a monster that defied description. I’d heard every story but never thought I would be in a position to find out which was true. I wondered if Rolf had chosen this place for our duel or if he’d had no other place in which to hide.
Either way, all that mattered was that I keep my wits and try not to walk into an ambush.
As the creature’s cries increased, I couldn’t help but think it was Rolf, prodding whatever it was to encourage it, just to make sure I would find my way.
I kept my teeth clenched tightly enough that my jaw started to ache and made my way through the tunnels.
“It’s okay,” I said to Sir George, who was curled up in his usual spot on my shoulder, completely relaxed. “I won’t let anything hurt you,” I said, even though I was unsure if I could keep my promise.
I had seen my share fair share of tunnels before, but nothing like these. It was like I could feel the weight of stone, of yards of hardpacked earth, and even the buildings above pressing down on me, with no more than hope keeping the tunnel from collapsing.
So thinking, as soon as the latest shudder faded, I rested my sword’s tip on the ground and gripped the amulet Meghan had given me, rubbing it for luck.
“It’s going to be fine,” I said to Sir George. “We are nearly there.”
I started to wonder if the sense of foreboding the tunnels engendered, the perception of helplessness against the vagaries of the earth, was why Rolf had chosen this spot. Had he wanted to unsettle me?
It seemed too subtle a ploy for the Blackcoat. More likely, he wouldn’t set such a psychological trap. He would set physical ones and do his best to cut me down without the least risk to himself.
Either way, I would be ready. I marshaled my courage, murmured calming words to my pet rat dragon even though he was fine, and kept going.
Eventually, after I had walked perhaps a mile or more and judged myself right beneath the castle, the passageway opened up, and I found myself staring at the most majestic sight I had ever seen.
Rolf had led me to a magnificent underground chamber, large enough to house half of the castle.
The roof was held up by mighty columns, and the whole area was lit by torches set into the walls. The floor had been polished smooth and inlaid with differently colored rock depicting intricate scenes. Yet much of those scenes had been worn away.
This underground room held a feeling of ages, from the way the floor was worn to the damage on the walls and the columns.
Claw marks, mostly. And it was easy to see how they came to be.
The worn images on the floor reflected the paintings that covered the walls. It was like a tapestry, a history told in images, and that history was of dragons.
Just like the one held chained in the chamber.
It was monstrous. Like Sir George in shape, but bigger than anything I could have imagined. It towered above me in the same way I towered above Sir George, and I couldn’t help but stare in amazement.
How had it come to be there? Such a creature… How could anyone have trapped it? And even though I could plainly see all four of its feet were bound in thick metal chains, I couldn’t believe even they would be strong enough to keep such a monster in place.
As I watched, my purpose for coming here all but forgotten, the monster reared up above me, it’s sinuous neck so long that its magnificent head almost touched the ceiling, its efforts shaking the chains so much that the walls shook. The dragon uttered an ear-piercing shriek of anger and rage.
Somehow, I heard the dragon’s anger in the very depths of my mind. It was as if some primaeval part of me, in some arcane way, was able to share part of its soul.
And in that shriek, I caught a lingering pain and an overtone of madness. Suddenly, I felt a huge pity for the imposing beast, knowing that its years of captivity had driven it mad.
At the same time, I had to move. Because as I stood there staring, it let loose with a brilliant stream of flame.
I hurled myself behind one of the columns and stood with my back against it as the air around me burned.
The air filled with the smell of sulfur, and the edges of the column melted.
Incredibly, Sir George wasn’t afraid of the fire. Instead, he seemed excited, unfurling himself from his spot and pawing at my shoulder, making a chirping sound and adding his own puff of smoke to the mix.
As soon as the fire faded away, Sir George launched himself from my shoulder and sped over to his bigger relative.
“Sir George!” I yelled after him. “Stop!”
But the miniature dragon didn’t listen. Instead, he circled his larger cousin as if greeting an old friend. I stared, heart in my mouth, hoping he wasn’t going to get his wings singed.
But there was nothing I could do about that, anyway. The dragon wasn’t the only dangerous creature in the cavern.
From where I was crouched behind my column, I could also see Rolf, looking at me from afar, laughing at my cowardice, then strolling toward me as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Rolf’s swagger, his sneer, and his physical presence were just the same as before. He didn’t even bother to draw his weapon, just strode toward me as if there was nothing I could do to stop him. And he was very nearly correct. With the dragon filling my senses like a living god, its thoughts and feelings echoing through my mind, I could barely form a coherent thought to save myself.
It was like I was instinctively driven to pay more attention to the monster than I was to Rolf, and he used that to his advantage. He drew his sword as he walked, casual like. And I knew if I didn’t move, he would skewer me without hesitation.
I blocked all thoughts of the dragon from my mind as best as I could. The torch in my hand was useless, so I hurled it at Rolf and scrambled to put some space between him and me.
Rolf batted the torch aside with the edge of his blade, a casual flick that told me much about his familiarity with the weapon. He used his sword like an extension of his own arm, as if it was made of his own flesh and bone.
The torch flew wide of the mark and clattered to the ground.
Instead of attacking with my sword, I sheathed it and unlimbered my knob-ended club. For this confrontation, I favored its weight and could still use much of what Lady Emmeline had taught me.
“Why did you bring me here?” I demanded.
Rolf paused in his advance, just far enough away to engage but near enough to talk freely.
“To kill you, of course,” he said. “I felt sure you would come. That’s your problem. Always has been. You’re too eager to please.”
My expression turned into a grim sort of smile. Rolf was underestimating me. Perhaps he was more than I could handle. Perhaps he would end my life in this chamber while Sir George cavorted with the dragon.
But perhaps he would not.
“Why here?” I demanded. “You could have brought me anywhere in the city. What’s so important about bringing me here?”
At this, Rolf tilted his head just a little, as if studying me from a new angle. “You really don’t know, do you?” he asked.
“Know what?” I asked, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.
Rolf’s grin took on its characteristic wolfish edge. “You surprised me once,” he said. “When you appeared outside the jail. You see, I really thought you were dead. Hanged for your crimes. But to see you again, alive and in the flesh…” He shook his head. “I needed to understand how that could be. And that although I knew something of what you were before, now I needed to know more. So I set my man a task. I asked him to look into you and find out what made you special. What made it so you could survive being hanged.”
Despite my anger, I found that I was listening.
“You will be amazed what he found out,” Rolf drawled.
“What is it?” I asked.
At my undisguised eagerness, Rolf laughed. Instead of answering, he started moving again, casually sliding to his left while keeping his sword pointing my way.
“Should I tell you?” he asked. “Or should I just kill you without you ever knowing?”
Rolf had a talent for getting under my skin, but I was done with dancing to his tune. I straightened up and set my jaw.
“Perhaps you will start spilling your secrets when I start breaking your bones,” I said.
With that, I advanced on him.
I came close enough that the end of my club was touching the tip of Rolf’s sword. The Blackcoat’s grin remained firmly in place and seemed to have taken on a mocking aspect.
“Tell me,” I said.
Again, Rolf laughed out loud. But this time, he moved as well, lunging quickly to one side in a move I had seen once before, displayed to perfection by Lady Emmeline. Rolf’s execution was only marginally slower, marginally less fluid.
And still dangerous.
I spun in place, bringing my club around in a low arc, aiming for where Rolf’s lunge would take him, aiming to slip under his thrust and smash his ribs.
I was almost quick enough, just as he was. I felt the tip of Rolf’s sword catch in the fabric of my coat, over my shoulder. Somehow, he had caught himself in time and managed to leap away from my club. I faced the Blackcoat again, the distance between us back to what it had been, my heart beating loudly in my ears.
“Very impressive,” he said. “You’ve been practicing.”
“Yes I have. Practicing against your men,” I said.
If the barb hit its mark, Rolf didn’t give any sign. Instead, he just gave a loud bark of a laugh and began his circling again. “You’ve heard the legends, I take it. The origin of our King’s surname?”
I wondered where he was heading but didn’t answer. Instead, I kept a firm grip on my knob-ended club and circled him in the same way he was doing to me.
“Pendragon,” Rolf pronounced. “Legends say that he and his ancestors have the blood of true dragons flowing in their veins. That they could transform back and forth between dragon and human form as they chose. But that talent has been lost to the ages, and our good King Arthur Pendragon cannot do so, even though he shares that same blood.”
I’d heard the legends. And in a world where people like Meghan could enchant discs of wood, I was more than willing to believe them. But I had no more intention of letting Rolf see my interest, so I said nothing.
“That’s why he is keeping our magnificent friend here in the bowels of the castle. It is said he feels a certain… kinship with the beast. That his blood resonates with it, as if it wants to awaken that power again.” Rolf’s grin took on a malicious aspect. “Our good King seeks to find a way to reawaken that blood.”
Rolf’s words stopped me in my tracks. Kinship. The idea of blood resonating.
What did he mean, exactly?
And why was it that at the exact moment I had stepped into the chamber and seen the dragon for myself, my own blood had been almost vibrating in my veins? If I hadn’t been watching Rolf so carefully, I could have given in to the urge to sense that creature again. It was still there, but I was desperately trying to ignore it.
Was that the same thing Rolf was describing?
As if to punctuate the point, the dragon chose that moment to shatter the air with another mighty roar. I heard its frustration and rage as if it was my own, and I had to concentrate very hard to stay in the fight.
Once again, Rolf lunged at me, this time using a sliding technique that made for a much more subtle and dangerous attack. But this time, I read it easily, using my knob-ended club to block his blade, and then he was gone once again.
Rolf nodded as if in approval. “Very good,” he said. At the same time, he was still laughing, still smiling, still acting as if he held all the cards. “When my man looked into your past,” he continued, as if his attack had never happened, “he found something interesting. Did you know that the King ordered all his children slaughtered? That twenty years ago, he demanded each child to be drained of their blood so that he may drink it himself?”
I’d heard rumors of such but hadn’t paid them much attention. I could see no earthly reason why anyone would choose to do that, much less a King.
“His rationale was that he wanted to concentrate his own blood, you see. To see if that would help to ignite it.” At this, Rolf offered a casual shrug. “It didn’t work, of course. Even though he drank the blood of all his named sons and daughters and then started in on his bastard children. And that is why our good King Arthur, famed throughout the land for his enchanted sword, has had no living heir for the past twenty years.”
It seemed that Rolf was being just a little incautious, that he wasn’t paying me due attention, and I decided to use the opportunity. But instead of charging in with my club and chancing the outcome, I simply plucked one of the daggers from my belt and flipped it towards his face.
I did it quickly, with no warning. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been a fatal wound, but even if the dagger hit hilt first, it should have been a distraction I could have used. And it was one of those I’d coated with Meghan’s pain poison, so if it managed to scratch his skin…
But, just as he’d done when I’d thrown the torch, Rolf flicked his sword, catching the blade at the last moment and sending it to one side.
I snarled in frustration, and charged after him anyway, aiming to batter Rolf’s sword with my club and keep at it until an outcome was reached.
I expected Rolf to stand and fight, matching me sword against club. But instead, he danced lightly out of my reach, effectively running backward until my charge ended. Then he stood once again, his damnable grin still on his face, and spoke again.
“There were rumors at the time of one of the King’s bastards surviving. Rumors that a witch helped to spirit the boy away, and has protected him from a distance ever since.”
As Rolf spoke the words, I hesitated. Could he possibly be saying what I thought he was saying?
It was the moment Rolf was waiting for. He launched himself at me, not with a singular strike, but with a flurry of blows, each swift and strong, and aimed to hurt.
