Dragon Clan #2: Raymer's Story

CHAPTER FOUR

The Dungeon Master did not fit into the world of the depths, stink, and torture, but returned today for the second time. He wore a matching forest green vest, jacket and trousers, and even his thin boots echoed the rich green color and design. His hair was neatly tied behind his head with a green ribbon. Raymer noted every detail of the Dungeon Master for future consideration.

Rumor said the new Dungeon Master, a young man named Ander, did not want the appointment. The guards whispered that he was the third or fourth son of a wealthy royal with the king’s ear. His father insisted that at the age of thirty, it was time for Ander to earn his expensive tastes in clothing, food and women.

Raymer had listened to every rumor about him for weeks and now watched the Dungeon Master watch him, knowing Quint would be doing the same. Any change in routine was fodder for the imagination, and the second appearance of the young man drew his attention.

The new Dungeon Master glared at Raymer. He wore a perpetual imitation of a snarl, his teeth were white, and his face gave the impression he spent countless hours in front of hand mirrors, getting every detail of his appearance, perfect. His skin was sallow and nearly transparent as if it had never seen the sun. The guards hustled about in their duties like never before, trying to impress their new master.

Quint’s voice broke the silence. “Raymer, do you see what I see?”

“Yes. His clothes probably cost more than all the guards are paid in a full lunar.”

“There’s peacocks not as pretty as him.”

The Dungeon Master tilted his head and squinted in their direction before taking a confident step closer. “Are you by chance discussing me?”

“We are,” Quint answered in a friendly, mocking tone that made it sound as if he was an equal. “You came all the way down here to take a good look at us. We’re doing the same to you, no disrespect intended, good sir.”

To their surprise, the young Dungeon Master smiled with genuine humor. He put his hands on his hips and strode three steps closer, which placed him only ten paces away. “It seems that the three of us are forced to spend a considerable amount of unwilling time together. A lifetime, if you will.”

Quint said, “If you don’t like that idea, you can always let us out of these cells. We promise we’ll be gone from your sight and give you no more problems. Do that and there’s no reason for you to ever have to come back down here in the dungeons.”

Raymer chipped in with his support. “Yes, what’s good for us would also be good for you.”

The Dungeon Master chuckled. “Your irreverent attitudes are probably a good part of why you will both die in those cells.”

Quint, his voice still soft and friendly, replied, “I have no intention of dying in here, sir. Sorry if that’s in your plans, but I have some serious drinking and wenching to catch up on.”

“Only two prisoners serve lifetime sentences in this stinking hole at present, but I was ordered to acquaint myself with both of you. Now I have a question. Are you either of you aware of the ungodly stench of this place?”

Quint said, “Yes sir, now that you mention it, we are. If you’d be so kind as to instruct the guards to open this door, I assure you I’ll begin cleaning the stink of death from down here. Your predecessor left some of those poor unfortunates who died in their cells until their bodies rotted and the meat fell off their bones. Of course, the torture at that table near you left all sorts of unspeakable things that smell bad. This place had taken on an unpleasantness that is certainly offending. A good scrubbing by myself will help.”

Raymer held back his laughter as he waited for the Dungeon Master to respond with anger that didn’t arrive. He seemed pleased instead of angry, but the smile might be forced, and he might wish to punish them.

The Dungeon Master could withhold food and water, or leave the chamber pots to overfill again, but his options ended with those primitive punishments. The old Dungeon Master had often withheld food and water as punishment for their impertinence.

However, the new Dungeon Master just smiled and nodded, as if somehow pleased. He adopted the same amiable tone of voice as Quint’s. “It is good to finally hear someone in the palace speak with truth and wisdom. I have enjoyed this conversation more than you know.”

“So you’ll let us out? Quint asked, pretending to sound hopeful.

The Dungeon Master turned to the next guard who hurried past. “Send the officer of the day to me at once.”

“I am the officer of the day, sir.”

“Very well. When I return to speak to my two favorite prisoners, I will not gag on this awful stench again. Assign your people to wash every stone on every wall and floor. Remove anything that retains the smell or that reeks.”

The guard backed off a step. “But sir. This has been a dungeon for over four hundred years.”

“Then it is high time for a good cleaning. See to it or face my wrath.”

“But the odors have soaked into everything, sir. The wood. Cracks in the stone. The very air.”

“I do not expect the task to be completed in a single day. However, if cleaning this sty is beyond your meager abilities, I will replace you with another who is more eager to please.” He spun and departed at a brisk walk, looking as if he headed for an important meeting.

The officer of the day gave Quint a murderous look before rushing off. The Dungeon Master paused at the stairs, turned and nodded his farewell to the prisoners, and then strode up the stairs.

When they were alone again, Quint said, “I think he likes me.”

“That was a very strange conversation, and his reaction was completely unexpected.”

“Not entirely. I think he was simply reacting favorably to my engaging personality and good humor.”

“Do you really think he’ll be coming back to talk to us again?”

“Talk to me, you mean. You didn’t say squat. In the future, you need to be more engaging with our guests.”

Raymer felt buoyed by the visit. The endless days in the cell were without change or mental stimulation. Anything new would be thought about for days, and discussed in every detail, even if he had only himself to converse with. He pulled himself up and placed his chin on the window ledge while holding onto the bars as he watched outside and hoped to see the skinny, dirty legs of the apple boy again.

Outside, the sun hid behind dense clouds that threatened rain. The window was set so low into the wall that water often flooded and ran down the inside wall in storms, water far better than was placed in their dirty bowls. The wind kicked up, and dust blew across the market. Pennants and tents rippled in the breeze while merchants fought to hold down their goods from blowing away.

Two guards arrived, each carrying a bucket of water and rags. Both cast angry looks their way. Quint said, “Be sure to use lots of soap or you’ll be doing it again.”

A minute tingle on his back alerted Raymer. A dragon was getting closer.

Looking up, he finally found the creature flying nearer and nearer. The change of direction last time could have been a coincidence, and he needed to test his abilities to communicate and understand the limits of what he might do. He’d been thinking about a mental command that would ensure he could speak to the dragon.

Turn around and fly back in the direction you came from. The order was the last thing he could expect a dragon to do on its own, which made it perfect for his test. The dragon tossed his head back and forth as if confused. It had been flying in a continuous straight direction, head pointed ahead. Now it turned its head and peered behind, but continued in the same direction. He gave the command again.

Raymer had almost given up hope when the dragon suddenly veered from its course. It continued to flap its wings and turned until it faced the precise direction it had flown from. His heart beat wildly, and he felt like cheering. The beast had actually done what he directed. The earlier task had not been a fluke, and this test provided proof he could make the dragon react. It was a necessary step for his escape.

Focusing hard on another mental image, he sent another command. Turn around again. His mental image reinforced his words. Almost instantly the dragon started another turn, forming the letter S in the sky. Soon it resumed flying on its original course.

The dragon was doing his bidding, if reluctantly. He smiled and allowed his thoughts to stray back to the subject of escaping. If he continued to touch minds with the dragon, he could explore the limits. But he felt confident that if he directed the dragon to swoop low and spit at the iron bars on the windows it would. He needed to practice and get the dragon to trust him, but the plan would work.

“Quint, do you have any more lime?”

“Well, I’ve been sort of busy, dining on fresh fruit and passing the time of day with royalty.”

“When you have some spare time I’d like to have more mortar. A lot of it. Rip a strip of your shirt and wrap the lime in it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to lose any when you pass it to me.”

“I mean; why do you need it now? So fast?”

Raymer smiled as he spoke, “The time for us to get out of here is not far off.”

The scraping sounds began again, a small snick, snick, snick as the sharp stone scraped mortar from between the bricks. Raymer glanced at the lump of straw covering the last apple and wondered if he should share it with Quint. He had nearly talked himself out of it when the scraping sounds ceased.

A short time later it started up again, but it sounded different, more aggressive. Even desperate. When a guard came near the sounds paused until he continued on. If Quint were moved to another cell, the entire plan would have to change. He didn’t bother mentioning it to Quint because he already knew.

Raymer half-listened as he watched the vendors, many sitting on blankets, displaying their goods in front of them. He searched the crowds for peddlers of apples. Each time he spotted one he tried to match the clothing with the feet and legs of the boy from a day earlier.

An argument broke out between a seller and a buyer, with the buyer giving his opinion of either the price or quality in a shrill shriek as others rushed to mediate the situation. A man weighing enough for two, with gold rings on every finger, as well as both ears, placed himself between them. He offered to settle the dispute for a fee, but when he had no takers, he calmly stepped back and allowed them to trade punches to the enjoyment of the crowd.

All eyes were on the fight, with several shouts of encouragement to one or the other. When it was over, both were dragged off by palace guardsmen. Raymer noticed a bundle of carrots lying at his fingertips, the thick green tops tied with a small piece of twine.

Raymer had no idea how it had arrived, or how long it had been there. He grabbed the bundle and pulled it inside. But he stayed hanging from the bars and watching for a glimpse of his benefactor. Nobody was paying any attention to the cell window. Indeed, nobody seemed to be near since none cared what happened to those held in the dungeon and the road that went by the window. None cared but one unseen benefactor, it seemed.

Raymer felt certain it had been the same boy. But why? Once may have been an accident. Twice a plan. He heard the guard returning and dropped to the floor and sat quickly, hiding the carrots behind his body.

The single thought occupying his mind was that someone was helping him. The incident with the apples could have been an accident. The carrots proved it was not.

The guard walked straight to his cell door and waited until Raymer looked up innocently.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me today that opening that cell door won’t cure.”

The guard was a younger one, new to the dungeons. He took his position seriously and tried to demand respect from the prisoners, but his efforts were not entirely successful. He was also more observant than most, his mind not yet dulled by the monotonous days standing guard. “You always watch me when I pass. This time, you didn’t.”

“I was thinking about escaping so intently, I didn’t hear you approach.”

Quint picked up on the conversation as if sensing something might be wrong. “Have I ever mentioned to you that my family is wealthy and will reward anyone who aids me in gaining my freedom?”

The guard stood taller than most and was thinner. His hair hung in limp curls, and his face bore the scars of many sores, but his eyes were bright and inquisitive. He turned to face Quint. Raymer slipped the carrots under his leg.

“Tis true,” Quint continued. “Enough to make a poor prison guard a rich man.”

Raymer glanced around looking for another place to hide the carrots but finding none.

The guard said, “Even rich men hang until dead when they cross our king.”

“True enough,” Quint agreed. “But there are times a man needs to risk his neck for the chance to live a good life away from these cells. Let me ask you, are you prepared to die an old man while guarding these same cells?”

The guard hesitated before turning on his heel and abruptly marching off.

Raymer spoke softly, “From his reaction you may not need my help in escaping. That guard can be bought. Reach your hand out to me.”

The string slipped off the carrot tops, and he split the bunch into three carrots for each of them. He reached out and found eager fingers to accept them.

“Carrots! I cannot remember when I last had one of these. Reach your hand out and accept my payment.”

Raymer found another small roll of cloth containing a fistful of mortar. He placed it with the first, but if he were going to use it to neutralize the dragon spit on the iron bars, there would have to be much more. Quint would also need a substantial pile for himself.

He carefully hid the carrots in the straw and took a bite of the one before the guard returned. He chewed and experienced tastes he loved.

When the guard came back into sight, he strode right to Quint’s cell. “How would a guard know he’d be paid to carry the message unless he had the coin in hand first?”

Quint burst out laughing.

“I just don’t want to be cheated,” the guard explained. “You would have to pay me first.”

Quint paused in his laughing long enough to say, “I will tell you that my family is wealthy and lives in a far off land called Northwoods. My father is an Earl, almost equal to a king. He lives in a castle on the Endless Sea. A messenger sent there by you would return with more coin than you would see in a ten lifetimes. They would send an assassin here to deliver your gold. If you betray me, you’ll lose your head faster than the King can hang you.”

The guard looked like he had swallowed a hot coal before he resumed his endless rounds.

Raymer said, “I don’t think he’s going to accept your deal.”

“Too bad for him.”