They dropped to the floor with a loud thump, their bodies crashing into the small table and knocking it over. The oil lamp went crashing to the floor, and small licks of flame splattered the area. Most faded, the marble providing nothing able to burn, but one of the rugs smoldered, creating a noxious odor that stirred Nermesa from his stupor.
And as Nermesa’s head cleared and his gaze focused, he recognized just enough about his assailant to know his identity.
Wulfrim.
The Gunderman pulled a dagger from his belt. He carried no other visible weapon. A sword would have clattered and made for an awkwardness of movement his treachery forbade. Still, Wulfrim was a Gunderman, which meant that his proficiency with the small blade made him at least as deadly as an ordinary swordsman.
Nermesa’s sword still lay sheathed some distance away. Trying to buy time while he sought some manner by which to reach his own weapon, the knight muttered, “Why this, Wulfrim? What do you plan?”
“More than you can dream, Aquilonian,” was all that the bodyguard replied. “More than you can dream!”
He lunged at Nermesa, the dagger cutting swiftly in a cross motion. The knight gave thanks that he had never loosened his armor. The edge of the Gunderman’s dagger scraped against the lower rim of the breastplate. Nermesa found it odd that Wulfrim should aim at such a place rather than for a more vital one, like the throat, but did not argue his luck.
Falling back, the Black Dragon collided with the bed. Nermesa barely had time to register this before Wulfrim came at him again. The dagger came slicing down and would have torn into Nermesa’s thigh if not for the Aquilonian’s rolling to the side at the last moment. Instead of flesh, the bodyguard’s blade tore into the expensive covering.
Seeing his chance, Nermesa threw himself in the direction of his sword. However, Wulfrim quickly turned and seized him by the leg. Nermesa stumbled forward, ending up on one knee.
The Gunderman tried to pull him back with the one hand, while no doubt positioning his dagger for another strike. Nermesa kicked with his free leg and felt it connect hard with Wulfrim’s jaw.
His adversary let out a grunt of surprise, and the hold on Nermesa’s leg loosened. The knight immediately scrambled for the sheath. He seized the lower edge and dragged it toward him. The sheath fell with a clatter, shaking the sword but fortunately not tossing it free.
A brief shuffling noise from behind Nermesa was all that warned him that Wulfrim was moving in on him again. The Aquilonian swung the sheath around.
His timing was fortuitous. The sheath acted as a shield, blocking Wulfrim’s dagger. The bodyguard cursed and raised his arm. In his other hand, he now clutched the cloth again.
Nermesa slipped his own hand toward the hilt of his sword as he deflected yet another attack. Wulfrim must have noticed, for the Gunderman, dropping the cloth, grabbed at the sheath with the obvious intention of wresting both it and the sword from his intended victim.
From without, Nermesa suddenly heard the sounds of approaching men. Somehow, he doubted that they were rushing to his aid. Wulfrim surely acted on the orders of his master, and since the bodyguard’s attempt had clearly not succeeded yet, Lord Eduarco wanted to make certain that Nermesa would not escape.
Wulfrim continued tugging on the sheath. Nermesa decided to let him have it and the sword. Using the Gunderman’s own strength, the knight shoved the heavy hilt upward. It struck the would-be assassin in the temple.
Tumbling backward, Wulfrim struck the floor. Nermesa’s assailant lay there, moving but clearly stunned.
The Black Dragon had no time to concern himself with the bodyguard. Those without were already using force to break open the door, which was still bolted. Nermesa immediately surveyed the chamber for the hidden passage that Wulfrim had clearly used but could find nothing. The window was too narrow for him to crawl through. If Nermesa wanted out, he would have to use the door.
Leaping forward, he batted the bolt to the side.
Barely had Nermesa done so, when the door burst open, and three men poured inside. Nermesa noted little about them individually save that they were not Gundermen, but merely guards such as those who stopped him outside the estate.
He dealt swiftly with the first, who was still startled at the door’s sudden opening. The guard barely had time to raise his weapon before Nermesa ran him through the throat. The knight then shoved his dying foe into the next nearest figure, sending both crashing to the side.
Acrid smoke wafted past Nermesa’s nostrils. He felt heat coming from behind him. Unable to glance back, he could only assume that either the one skin was now on fire or some previously unnoticed oil spill had slowly burned on, finally spreading.
Then the third of the guards met him sword to sword. Nermesa avoided two swift jabs at his midsection, then shoved the man’s blade up. He shoved into the other fighter, sending both of them flying out into the corridor.
Two other men there pulled back in surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, Nermesa saw that one of them was Lord Eduarco. The noble took one look at the knight’s furious expression, let out a frightened sound, and rushed toward the stairway.
The fighter with him, another Gunderman, grabbed for Eduarco’s arm but failed. With a growl, he turned to deal with Nermesa, who had finally run his other opponent through.
A furtive glance by the Gunderman warned Nermesa that there was someone coming up behind him. The Black Dragon leapt aside just as the guard he had thrown the body of his first foe against emerged from the room. The man let out a curse as he stumbled between Nermesa and the Gunderman.
The Gunderman seized the guard and threw him aside before charging his foe. Nermesa ducked the blade. The force with which the Gunderman had swung sent the ponytailed figure turning and before he could compensate, Nermesa thrust, killing him.
A quick fist to the head of the remaining guard left the way open for Nermesa. He ran to the staircase with the intention of heading down, but shouts erupted from there just as he took his first step. A quick estimate of those voices made it clear that the Aquilonian dared not stand against them. The knight looked over his shoulder, yet not only did he not see another stairway, but smoke now billowed out of his former chambers.
With no other choice, Nermesa headed up in the direction of the tower. If necessary, he would use Lord Eduarco to bargain his way out of the estate. It was not chivalrous, but his time serving King Conan had taught him that there were moments when chivalry was synonymous with a death wish. Besides, Nermesa had a duty to his liege to uncover the truth about what was happening in Poitain.
With a two-step stride, the Aquilonian rushed up. He came to the next landing, but after a glance down the corridor suspected that his treacherous host had continued on.
From above came a loud thump. Nermesa gripped his sword tighter. Yes, Eduarco had to be up there, and the sound was likely that of the noble preparing a trap.
But as the top of the stairway came into sight, the knight saw his quarry peer down nervously in his direction. Eduarco looked as pale as death and weaved back and forth as if not at all certain which direction to go. With clear reluctance, the man finally stood his ground and drew from a sheath at his side, a fairly cumbersome sword that he did not appear to wield well.
“This doesn’t have to be like this,” Nermesa uttered as he approached. “Surrender to me, and we will ride out of here. I promise that Count Trocero will spare your life if you tell him all about Sir Prospero.”
The other knight’s disappearance had to be the reason for the attack on Nermesa. In truth, Wulfrim had initially tried to capture, not kill him. Otherwise, the cloth would have been unnecessary. The Gunderman could have stabbed him through the throat while he had been sleeping. Eduarco’s estate had to be in league with those who had kidnapped Sir Prospero.
What bribe could make the noble betray a hero of his own land to the Zingarans, Nermesa did not know, but surely it had been a very large one. Possibly, Eduarco had even accepted it in order to lavish upon his wife enough riches and such to keep her trysts to a minimum. Men had done much worse for much less.
Thinking of Lady Jenoa, Nermesa added, “Consider your beloved wife, my lord! Without you, what will become of her?”
Lord Eduarco’s fearful expression gave way to something that the approaching knight could not fathom. “Jenoa? What would become of her? If you only knew!”
He took a swing at Nermesa, an attack that only forced the Aquilonian back down a step due to its wild, unpredictable path. Immediately recovering, Nermesa thrust up.
The tip of his blade made a small cut in the Poitainian’s robe and even drew a red crease along Eduarco’s stomach. The wound barely scored the latter’s skin, but Nermesa’s former host gasped as if his heart had been cut out. In a panic, he dropped his weapon and retreated out of sight.
Nermesa leapt up after him, aware that he could not permit the man to escape. The knight charged into the tower—
And something huge and winged filled his view.
There was a flash of claws,
giant
claws, then Nermesa was sent hurtling across the tower chamber. He had a mad glimpse of Lord Eduarco gaping in fear, a thick wing larger than the knight himself and, just before he struck the wall hard, the haunting, mocking visage of Eduarco’s bride.
“So kind of you to finally accept my invitation,” the voice of the Brythunian temptress cooed. “You are just in time to help me with the feeding of my darling pet.”
The thing that had battered Nermesa around gave a shriek that shook every bone in the Aquilonian’s body. He twisted around, eyes finally focusing on the creature. It was a bird, a raptor, such as the falcons used by the nobles of Aquilonia to hunt rabbits and small game birds.
Only this bird—with its wings expansive enough to fill the tower chamber, a beak large enough to crush Nermesa’s skull, and a body greater in mass than the knight’s—clearly did not subsist on such small fare. In fact, under the behemoth’s wide, tree-sized perch lay a recent carcass torn asunder. A goat’s carcass, which reminded Nermesa of the bleating that he had thought he imagined.
And as he tore his eyes from the grotesque display, they fell upon other examples of the giant raptor’s dining.
Only these were not the bones of goats.
No, by their skulls, they were clearly those of men . . .
7
NERMESA LOOKED FOR his sword, but it lay under the broad, wooden perch near the goat carcass. That left him only his armor to protect him from the avian giant and, from the massive scratches already along his breastplate, that protection was scant indeed. It was only because the raptor was chained to its perch that the creature had not slain him outright. In its eagerness, it had not waited until its prey had gotten closer.
Of course, that was likely the fault of Jenoa, who stood near the one wide, arched window in the tower with a braided whip in her left hand. Over the seductive gown she had draped a large, brown robe that fell almost to the floor. It was a wise addition to her ensemble, for bloodstains covered it. Clearly, the raptor was not a fussy eater, not that such a fact seemed to bother its mistress.
And on the other end of the chamber, near the entrance, Lord Eduarco quivered. Unlike his wife, he stayed most definitely out of reach of the carnivorous bird. Nermesa had the suspicion that the noble was wise to do so.
“See what is going on down there with Wulfrim, you dolt,” the golden-haired woman commanded her husband.
“Surely he can handle himself—”
She brandished the whip. “Do you want it found out by the others that we failed to help him if he was wounded? Do you want them coming here? Find Wulfrim so that he can take his prize to his masters! Hurry!”
The cryptic remarks scared Eduarco more than either Nermesa or the bird did. Bobbing his head, the Poitainian anxiously crawled along the side of the circular room, every few paces skirting the tall, iron torch stands lining the walls. A moment later, he vanished down the steps.
Nermesa had not been idle during those moments. He had been scouring his vicinity for anything strong enough to use against the bird. Nermesa had thought of grabbing a bone to use as a club, but all the larger ones had been splintered in two, a sign that the raptor’s beak would make short work of any makeshift club. Some of the pieces did have sharp, jagged edges, but as swords or lances they were hardly desirable.
And then, of course, there was the matter of Lady Jenoa.
She, in turn, now focused on him. The frustration and anger with which she had spoken to her husband had vanished, replaced once more by the seductive tones the Brythunian had earlier used.
“My darling Nermesa, I’d hoped you would come to see me under more
intimate
circumstances. I would have greeted you in another chamber, where we could have enjoyed our own pleasures . . .”
“After which you would’ve fed me to this thing?”
Jenoa shook her head. “Not unless necessary, dear Nermesa! You would have slept in my bed until Wulfrim came for you, surely much more pleasant than lying alone in your
own
, your last minutes of freedom spent uselessly . . .”
The woman was mad, and Nermesa did not hide that belief in his expression. Nevertheless, Jenoa’s attitude did not change. She rolled the whip into a loop as she continued. “I can still make things very comfortable for you while that dolt sees to Wulfrim, but, of course, now you’d have to be chained. You look to be a very strong man . . .”
Nermesa contemplated pretending to acquiesce to her insane offer but knew that Jenoa was not naive enough for that. Instead, the Aquilonian surreptitiously studied the window, wondering whether he could reach the ground if he managed to get through the opening. Of course, that meant getting past not only her but the raptor as well.