Dragon Sweat: Scroll 5

"Master."

Hal didn't want to hear the voice. He didn't want anything to intrude on whatever level of life he was now floating on. Eyes closed, a bed of unbelievable softness underneath him, the distant but comforting sounds of Josephine's claws scratching on the dirt floor -- and, best of all, the utterly satisfying feeling of having had his seed thoroughly drained out of his balls by the expert mouth of a beautiful woman.

"Master."

He was experiencing a feeling he'd never known before -- complete and total happiness wrapped up in warm shroud of satisfaction. Or perhaps it was a feeling of complete and total satisfaction wrapped up in a warm shroud of happiness. Whichever it was, and wherever Hal was between waking and sleeping, the one thing he was sure of was that he didn't want to be disturbed.

"Master!"

There was a tone of sharpness in the witch's voice at the third word which Hal's sense of self preservation could no longer ignore. His eyelids parted to see the bright bars of light poking down through the dusty rafters from chinks in the roof of the dragon shed. The sun was no longer new born; now it was a full of shining vigor. Unlike Hal, who was fully aware that the one certain thing the coming day did not hold for him was any further peace and quiet. And even in his previous state of content distant voices had been calling out to him in anguish.

"Morgana, there are things we must do."

"Of course there are, master. I let you rest so you would be ready for the ceremony in your body, but calm in mind. Now you must collect some of your dragon's sweat to take with you."

"It's not that simple. We must talk about something."

"What is this 'something'?"

Hal stared at the smooth lines of the witch's body under her tight fitting leather clothes. The notion of any woman venturing out of doors wearing such immodest attire was still incredible to him. But perhaps no more than the idea of any woman at all calling him her master. Even one who said the word as if she was spitting out a piece of rotten meat.

"The prison tower. The prisoners that Agrud keeps in it. I mean, the prisoners he used to keep in it. No, I mean the prisoners that are there because Agrud put them there when he was king."

Morgana's finely drawn features crinkled in vague amusement at the boy's tongue tied awkwardness: the kind of amusement a cat enjoys with a mouse trapped underneath its paw.

"What of them?"

"They must be released and cared for."

"Why, master?"

"Because . . ." Hal found it difficult to find words for something which was so obvious it shouldn't require any explanation. "Because Agrud no longer rules here and there is no need to continue his cruelty. Let them out and let them be comforted."

Morgana shrugged her shoulders -- broad shoulders, for all the suppleness of her body: "If you wish, master, but not today. The ceremony must needs be held today."

Hal gritted his teeth, remembering the stench that hung around the prison keep and trying to imagine what it must be like to exist in such a place.

"You say you promised to obey me, you call me master. Then do as I bid you."

The witch shook her head: "No, you do not remember all that was said. In matters of sorcery you are my apprentice and do as I say. The ceremony to strip Gaunt Gregory of his powers must be held today and all other matters are subordinate to that great matter. The prisoners will stay where they are for the present. Come, arise and to your task."

Hal lifted his upper body to obey -- then stopped in mid movement as another thought came into his mind. Part and parcel of his first words, two impulses somehow linked together in his mind while he was half asleep, and only now had the second one been snagged and dragged out as the first was unfolded in his speech.

"No, wait, the two things are connected."

"What do you mean?"

"The ceremony with the women. Where have you planned to hold it?"

"Inside the castle tower which was Gregory's quarters," she answered. "Why?"

Hal sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through his tangled hair.

"Witch, think about what you want me to do. To gather together the dozen most desirable women in the castle and treat them like camp following whores. Can you imagine what their fathers, brothers and husbands will do once they have any inkling about the sort of magic you want me to help you perform? You may think yourself in no danger of being harmed because of who and what you are, but I'm still only Hal the shit bucket boy to these people. Turn your back on me for a minute and without your protection I'll be at the bottom of the moat with more knifes in me than the castle armory. If we must have this ceremony there needs to be some discretion in the arranging of it."

The witch folded her arms with the air of a tavern mistress ready to deal with a brain befuddled drunk: "And you have found such a pathway to discretion, Duke Merlin?"

The tone was tinged with unconcealed sarcasm but Hal cared not, for everything had suddenly fallen into place in his mind like the pieces in a winning chess game.

"Yes. Or at least the path to the Devil's Arsehole."

He saw Morgana's brows furrow in puzzlement.

"It's a cave, in the forest, about a league and a half from the castle. If you go deep into it, without getting lost in the different turns underground, there's a place where hot mud and water come bubbling up. From somewhere deep in the ground. And the water and the mud are supposed to be good cures for all ills. The mud to lie in and the waters to drink. But it's a difficult place to get into and only the rich and the brave dare go inside."

"Why so?"

"Because there are many false turns and because, as you go further in and the air grows warmer, the mould on the sides of the caves gets thicker and many poisonous spiders live in it. But the real problem is the darkness. Or perhaps I should say the real problem is the damp air inside the cave which puts out torches made of wood. The only way to light your way inside the Devil's Arsehole is with a wax candle inside a glass lantern. Things that only the rich can afford to use. And, sometimes, even such lanterns will go out and not relight in the dampness. Which leaves any travellers lost in the dark with only the red eyes of thousands of spiders to show the way."

"So nobody goes there, then?" the witch asked, apparently interested.

"A few only, seeking whatever good the mud and water within might do them, though only if they be desperate, or perhaps so ill they no longer value their lives much anyway. Years ago three brothers began a business by bringing out the mud in wicker back packs to sell to the sick and elderly. The Gulburton brothers they were called and they thought to make themselves so familiar with the all the turns and trails of the cave that they could never get lost, even without any torches and candles."

"And did they?"

Hal shrugged: "I think not. At any rate they all went into the Devil's Arsehole one day and never came out again. Nobody knows what happened to them."

Morgana chuckled: "I daresay the castle ladies would need to be driven with whips to persuade them to venture inside such a place."

Hal tugged nervously at his fingers. He was unused to playing the advocate, especially for his own ideas. Until yesterday he'd never been important enough to have ideas.

"That depends on your powers, Morgana. If you could provide them with light enough for the journey and led the women in yourself, promising to protect them from all harm or any danger of getting lost . . . well then, they might come along peacefully enough. But no mention of any ceremony, not to them or to any of their menfolk. Give the women buckets and shoulder yokes and tell them you want mud brought from inside the cave to help ease the pains of the released prisoners. Tell them it is my command."

He was surprised to hear Morgana chuckle; even more surprised to see what looked like a flicker of respect on her face.

"Well, who could believe that a lowly castle valet could be so tricky? But why should women be used for such a job when surely the men of the castle could carry heavier loads?"

"By Odin's sword, are you not a witch, a sorceress, a magician powerful enough to make all tremble? Tell the silly bitches you're going to use spells that no man must witness, tell them you don't want their delicate eyes offended by the sight of dirty and naked inmates being carried from the Prison Tower. Tell them whatever fancy comes to your mind, it matters naught. You'll be believed instantly and obeyed without question. Provided only you can find a way to light up the caves."

The witch smiled: "That is an easy enough task I warrant, Master. Can this cave be reached by a cart?"

"The high born ladies of the kingdom can't be seen riding in a cart," Hal protested. "It would humiliate them beyond all measure before the surfs."

"The cart is only for the mud to come back in. And to carry those buckets you speak of. The women may ride their palfries if they wish. But is there track enough for oxen and a cart?"

"Yes, there's a good enough track. An hour's journey from the castle should suffice."

"Then all that needs to be done is for you to travel to the cave and wait for us to arrive. I shall summon Ymir to guide you to a place inside the cave where I shall bring the women to you."

"Ymir? I'm to go into the Devil's Arsehole with your familiar to protect me from the dangers within? Perhaps the Gulburtons will soon have some company wherever they are because I'm sure Ymir hates me."

Morgana's eyes were as distant and cold as the stars on midwinter night.

"So do I, Hal O'The Shitbuckets, never doubt it. Calling a half grown boy my master sticks in my throat like a bundle of dry fish bones. But we all serve the Great Ones and none of us dare disobey their commands. Ymir will keep you safe. And forget not your vial of dragon sweat, no matter what. That is my order to you as my apprentice in sorcery."

"Yes, witch."

"And best leave your warlock's gown here. It would be lacking in respect to your craft to wear formal dress in such a place as you describe to me."

"Yes, witch."

With his heart filled with apprehension Hal began his duties for this strangest of days by laying out the dragon riding nets ready for his journey to the cave entrance.

If there had been any clouds in the sky at dawn Hal could not remember seeing them. And if there had been any since, they were gone now. The sky arching over the tops of the trees was a unmarked mantle of blue. There were traces of white visible though, along the upper flanks of the mountains where patches of snow struggled for existence under the sun's noonday power. From Josephine's belly net the views across the forest and out to the mountains had been more beautiful than Hal could ever remember.

Probably because he'd never looked at the scenery of Giant's Pass before with any notion of one day perhaps being free to roam wherever he wanted over it. Yesterday he had been a slave who carried shit buckets, today he was in thrall to a witch, but perhaps soon he would be free to soar with Josephine up to the tops of those mountains, to breathe the crisp high air and walk with Chelinde and Caelia amongst the glittering white patches of the fading snowline. Or better still . . . Hal had a inspiring vision of reaching out a hand to drop a snowball down Mary Gorlas's ample cleavage and suddenly felt better. Until his eyes turned again to the reeking entrance of the Devil's Arsehole.

Oh, wonderful! The grass was green, the air was sparkling, his stomach was full of good food, he was clean and Josephine frolicsome. What a day to fly to the very peaks. And where was he to go instead? Into that foul dungeon of a cavern where so many who went in never came out. On the other hand -- on the other hand he knew very well what would happen to him if the men of the nobility ever suspected him of tupping their fine ladies, even if only by sorcery. Having his balls cut of and fried in front of his eyes would be the least of their revenge.

Josephine flung up her head, the flashing red stripes along her neck sounding a warning. Hal squinted up at the two black dots circling overhead which had suddenly spoilt the sky's pristine perfection. Then the high flying objects plunged together, dropping towards the clearing beside the pile of boulders which marked the entrance to the cave. It seemed as if they were racing towards the ground, seeing which one of them could reach it first, Ymir the shape changer in his guise as a hawk, his wings half folded, and Morgana astride her broom, handle up and twigs down, her knees bent as if jumping down from a hayrick instead of dropping from half a league aloft like a plunging arrow. Josephine's colors turned to an optimistic shade of green and Hal knew exactly what was going on in the dragon's mind: a keen hope that both witch and familiar would slam themselves into the grass -- or better yet, the boulders -- with killing speed.

It didn't happen. Ymir used the falcon's shape as skillfully as any true hatched member of the wild's most gifted fliers. Wings flung open, the speed of the fall somehow converted into a short, steep climb, a second where the falcon hung in the air level with the bottom branches of the nearest tree, a flutter of wing tips and the familiar passed out of sight by diving straight into the cave's dark entrance. It was an impressive performance but not nearly as impressive as the witch's fall to earth.

She was just low enough for Hal to begin taking a interested look at her leather bound legs when a sound like a chorus of fast beaten war drums sounded, blasts of hot air slapped against Hal's face and a circle of grass three paces across directly below the falling witch turned red, flared up, then blew outwards in an expanding ring of fine ash. Hal coughed, shut his eyes against the particles of fine dust and wiped his eyelids with his hands. When he opened them again Morgana was standing in the burnt circle, those lust creating legs opened wide enough for the broom to fly out from between them and then hang level like a patient horse waiting to be mounted again.

Hal grunted in surprise and rubbed fragments of ash between his fingertips. He remembered how carts being eased downhill with their brakes jammed on became hot at the wooden brake blocks and along the edges of the restrained wheels. Had something like that happened here, with the falling weight of Morgana's body somehow being turned into noise and heat so she could land safely?

Oh, the idea of his ever becoming a magician was ridiculous. Every time he saw magic performed he gained no insight into how it was done, only a childish desire to ask endless questions.

"So, master, you have the dragon sweat ready?"

Hal held up the glass vial she had given him, handling it with the care such a rare piece of craftsmanship deserved, showing the clear fluid inside to Morgana. Then he wrapped the vial up again inside a piece of sheepskin and stowed it away in the drawbag slung around his neck.

"Your dragon had best depart now. Has she enough sense to return here when the evening shadows are long, if you so bid her?"

"She is no dog, to be needs taught tricks," Hal answered sullenly. "She lives and thinks as do you or I. Speaking to her with my hands is as easy as speaking to anybody else with my tongue."

He passed on Morgana's instructions to Josephine, to be answered with green and yellow patches of understanding, mixed with purple patches showing indignation and unhappiness. The dragon was in just as surly a mood as the boy at having to take orders from the witch. Hal nodded in agreement, then shrugged his shoulders. Josephine took one final baleful look at Morgana before she leapt into the air as spritely as a frog off a lily pad, flapped her wings twice thrice, and then wheeled away on their outstretched length.

"Something amiss with your girlfriend, boy?" the witch asked, a sneer in her tone. Hal realized that there were some movements in his dragon body language which were no secret to any human onlooker.

"Only that she regrets not having burnt your tits off while she had a chance."

Morgana smiled more openly: "Don't be stupid, Master. You can't kill witches that way."

"You can't?"

"Of course not. When did you ever hear anybody say the weather was as hot as a witch's tits. Ha, ha!"

Hal looked at her slantwise: "Come to think of it, I've never heard anybody say that a joke was as good as a witch's jokes. Now I know why."

Morgana's very appealing lips snapped shut as tightly and quickly as a sprung bear trap.

"Into the cave, please. As quickly as you like, Ymir is waiting."

"How am I supposed to see where I'm going?"

"Look into the hole and see the shadows being cast inside. Ymir has taken the shape of a giant glow worm. All you have to do is to follow him."

"A giant glow worm . . . right. You couldn't just give me a magic lantern or something?"

"There is no need, my familiar will see you safe. Now leave, quickly, before the women get here."

Hal took a final breath of crisp fresh air and walked boldly into the cave. At least he hoped he looked bold: going underground with no companion save an oversized worm was an event he hadn't anticipated and didn't relish at all. Five heart beats later he leapt out of the cave, skipping over the litter of fallen rocks as if the Christian Devil himself had been waiting in the gloom to drive a red hot spear into his backside.

"Morgana! Inside . . ." He struggled for breath. "Legs! Claws! Fria und Odin!"

"Legs, master?"

"A dozen of them! There's a cockroach as big as a hound in there!"

Morgana shook her head in open despair at her pupil's stupidity: "Master, didn't you know that glow worms are really beetles with shiny patches on their backs?"

"What?"

"Glow worms are not really worms -- they are not worms." The witch seemed to be trying to speak through clenched but perfectly white teeth. "Glow worms are beetles. Luminous beetles. So Ymir has taken the shape of a beetle; not a worm, nor yet a cockroach, but a beetle. A perfectly harmless beetle. Now will you please follow him and stop wasting our time?"

Hal swallowed a mouthful of the mountain air as if it were a lump of stone and gripped his hands together to stop them trembling.

"Oh, sure, I'd love to. There's nothing I'd rather do than crawl into the Devil's Arsehole with a bloody big beetle for company."

"This was all your idea, remember? And if you think to see nothing worse than Ymir as an apprentice magician, you have much to learn, young Hal."

The boy struggled to make light if his panic. If the witch could joke, then so could he.

"Call me master when you're calling me an idiot."

"Yes, master."

She bit the words off as if they were rats and she was a terrier breaking their backs. Hal had a sudden flash of memory, of the streaks of shit on King Agrud's royal rump as he staggered away from his castle with smoldering stumps where his hands had been. By Loki's drawers, he must be mad to be playing the fool with this woman!

"I'm sorry, Morgana, I was just startled, that's all. Now I know what to expect I'll get on with it."

He crept cautiously back into the cavern entrance, back into the gloom and towards the glowing patch where a green glow threw a ring around the cave's interior, casting strange shadows amongst the overhead rocks, the almost circular walls and the sandy floor. Though none of the shadows were anywhere near as strange as the humped and glowing wing case standing nearly as high as Hal's knees and supported on several pairs of hairy, many jointed legs. Legs that were moving up and down the gigantic beetle's body in a sort of ripple effect, as if they were all taking turns to stamp down on the sand with impatience.