M.Y.T.H. Rule
“Gleep!” I exclaimed in surprise, as a sharp-pointed horn poked me in the back. I snaked back my long, sinuous, green-scaled neck to confront the wielder of that horn. “Why did you do that?”
Buttercup, my pet’s white war unicorn, a strapping, snowy equine with a pearlescent pointed protuberance jutting nearly two feet out between his eyes, eyed me grimly over the end of the leash clenched in his teeth.
“Just keep moving, Gleep,” he said. “Please.”
I sighed and kept pulling forward. The appealingly atrocious scent that I had smelled at the nearest intersection of two dusty streets full of tents would have to go unresearched, at least for the moment. I continued onward into the thick of the colorful crowd.
At the sight of a green dragon, even a youthful wurm such as myself, most of the shoppers and shopkeepers in the broad expanse of boutiques, booths, tents, and kiosks that made up the Bazaar at Deva—red-skinned Deveels, magenta-hued Imps, pale Kobolds, handsome Whelfs, even a few assorted Klahds—cleared a path to put themselves out of immediate reach.
My kind has a well-deserved reputation for being dangerous. In the wild, these creatures might have been my legitimate prey. All that prevented them from running, levitating, or teleporting to safety seeing me walking free were the reputation of my pet, Skeeve, who although a Klahd, was well-known in the Bazaar as a master magician, and the gleaming white war unicorn holding my leash. I was considered to be “under control,” when that was far from being the truth. The only reason that I permitted myself to be treated as a dumb animal was for Buttercup’s sake.
It had come to Skeeve’s attention that Buttercup was unhappy in his enforced exile from martial action. Most bipedal creatures across the dimensions concentrate far more on safety than those with four or more limbs. For the sake of his new master, Buttercup had tried to be happy in the lap of luxury, fed only the finest mash and hay, with carrots, sugar, and apples for treats, bedded down on clean straw every night, in a palatial stable and curried daily by expert stable hands, but in truth, the unicorn longed for the days when he served as a mount to Sir Quigley. Together, they had faced terrible enemies in danger dire circumstances. That knight, who had turned out to be less than a true, honest, virtuous paladin, had at least fought in battles, the life for which Buttercup had been bred and trained.
Skeeve had no wish to put Buttercup into unnecessary danger, and therein lay the dilemma. Klahds like him, raised in small villages, away from the machinations of the great and the good, didn’t understand the defense of their nations, whereas I had been educated from the egg by my mother, who was a scholar in all the martial traditions. We denizens of Draco were frequently called in by one side or often both in a conflict. War often becomes a habit. Hence, my agreement that something should be done to help Buttercup.
But Skeeve did not like to let me or the unicorn far out of his sight. I think my pet became insecure when I was away. (Thus, I never informed him when I took Pervish leave, as they say, to pursue my own interests. I always made certain to be back where he expected to see me.)
The solution, in his mind, was to occupy Buttercup within the environment that Skeeve spent most of his time: the Bazaar at Deva. It was crowded with groups who were often inimical to one another, striving for territorial or economic superiority. A great deal of underhanded negotiation and subterfuge went on here. Betrayal was commonplace. A being who was one’s ally one day could be tempted into the enemy camp the next. Danger lay around every corner, whether it was an apothecary’s tent that could blow up at the drop of a phial of potion, a tent full of dragons, a Pervish restaurant teeming with dishes that were still mobile and smelled like death, pickpockets, rogue magicians, merchants who might cut one another’s throats if and when no one was looking, and worst of all, joke shops full of magikal prank items. In other words, the Bazaar was as close to being a war zone as any declared or undeclared hostilities anywhere in the dimensions.
The exercise usually worked splendidly. Buttercup was to take me out for walkies, usually to a point some miles distant from our primary tent, achieve a task of some ilk, then return me, himself, and the object of our trip to our tent without killing anyone or being killed ourselves along the way. If trouble arose, I had been enjoined by Skeeve not to take action on my own, but to let Buttercup handle it. I agreed, although I was always ready to lend my strength and the fearsomeness of my species’ reputation should there be need. There seldom was. Even an Ogre wasn’t foolish enough to take on a war unicorn in full barding and a half-grown dragon.
Usually.
On this day, however, my friend and companion seemed edgier than usual.
“What is troubling you?” I asked him as we trotted around the next corner.
“My horn is tingling,” he said. “It indicates the presence of a foe.”
“One?” I raised the scales over my eyes in surprise and looked around me. “The Bazaar is full of inimical entities. Why haven’t you reacted before?”
“This is one of my own kind,” he said, his large brown eyes solemn. “It is following us. We must be ready to defend ourselves.”
I sniffed the air. The acrid soup that passed for atmosphere in the desert environ was laden with the odor of unwashed bodies, the aforementioned Pervish cooking, and numerous other stenches. Buttercup, by comparison, smelled of his plant-based diet, the leather and steel of his barding, and sweet-sour sweat exuding deliciously from his flesh.
Then, I scented a similar odor not far away. I spun on a claw, alarming a Whelf girl wearing a tiny white veil on her long golden hair. She beat me with her shopping basket and let out a loud scream.
Loud hoof beats erupted from nearby, growing louder by the moment.
“I will save you from this foul beast, fair maiden!” a stentorian voice announced.
The crowd parted suddenly, making way for a long, sharp horn. My reactions, being far faster than those of mere Deveels and Whelfs, allowed me to step to one side, permitting the oncoming equine to charge past me.
Buttercup had been correct. The newcomer was indeed a male war unicorn, though instead of pearly white, his coat was blood red. His eyes, too, gleamed red. Like Buttercup, this unicorn was well-muscled and armored as though for battle. He wheeled on a single polished ruddy hoof and came around again, his horn lowered and aiming for my heart.
I shook my head in disbelief. To challenge a dragon, in broad daylight, with the dragon’s full knowledge and attention focused upon him? The creature must be insane. Better to put him out of his and everyone else’s misery. I took a deep breath, preparing to envelop him in flame.
“No, Gleep!” Buttercup whinnied.
“What? Why not?” I demanded, leaping to one side as the stranger charged me again. The red unicorn thundered past, emitting a neigh of frustration. He turned in a half circle and prepared to come back at me.
“Because your safety is my responsibility!” Buttercup dropped my lead from his teeth and galloped into the oncoming unicorn’s way. He lowered his horn and braced himself.
The red unicorn’s lips drew back from his enormous square teeth in a fearsome rictus. This seemed to be exactly what he had been hoping would occur. He pounded forward, aiming for Buttercup’s heart.
My friend might have been away from the field of battle for some time, but he had kept his skills, as well as his horn, honed to a fine point. As the red tine lunged inward, the white horn flicked underneath, then pushed it up and around in a perfect parry. The stranger countered the parry masterfully, then made his own riposte. Buttercup withdrew a pace, then lunged in his turn.
Parry! Riposte! Counter-parry! Disengage! Fleche! Remise! Ballestra!
The two unicorns slashed, drew back, lunged, countered, leaped, and thrust, each seeking the advantage against the other’s defense. The horns nearly drew sparks as they clashed and slid against one another. Their manes and tails tossed and flew like live creatures. Their nostrils flared majestically, and their eyes gleamed in the heat of battle.
I watched with admiration. Buttercup cut red lines again and again on the other’s scarlet coat. Blood, almost indistinguishable from the color, rolled down his side. The newcomer did not pay heed to his injuries, nor did he manage to draw blood even once. My friend more than held his own against the attacker, yet the red unicorn refused to retreat. I could have stepped in at any moment and ended the bout on the spot, yet I was reluctant to do so. Buttercup did not need me to intercede. Instead, I had the opportunity to observe and enjoy.
“Awright, awright!” A large Deveel, a butcher by the bloody white apron tied around his waist, stormed out of his tent and clomped on angry cloven hooves toward the fray. “Knock it off! Get out of here! You’re distracting my customers!”
Distraction, indeed! If he drew Buttercup’s attention away from his battle, it could prove fatal. I zipped between the Deveel and the combatants, and raised my face to confront his.
“Grrrrrrr!” I snarled, showing my pointed white teeth.
The Deveel blanched to a pale pink. I lowered my head slightly, my ears plastered low, and started to glide purposefully in his direction. The Deveel backed away, holding his hands in the air.
“Okay, I can see it’s a personal disagreement. I get it! I’m going!”
By the time I turned around, the battle had moved into a narrow alleyway. Many of the Deveels and Imps watching had taken to offering bets on the outcome. The red unicorn was at bay. His rump had been backed nearly all the way against a refuse heap over which flies the size of my nose buzzed. Buttercup had scored yet another five gashes on what hide was exposed on the red unicorn’s legs and breast.
“Do you surrender?” he neighed.
“No!” the newcomer insisted, executing another ballestra, which Buttercup easily evaded. “You surrender!”
“Me?” Buttercup asked, twisting his body into a semicircle to confront the red unicorn. “Why should I surrender?” He lowered his horn into attack position. At that range, he could not miss the stranger’s exposed belly.
The red unicorn pranced this way and that, but he realized he had put himself into an indefensible position.
I sniffed. My keen nose picked up on yet another scent exuding from the newcomer: desperation.
I interposed my head and neck hastily between the two unicorns.
“We surrender!” I said. “Halt your fierce attack, stranger!”
The red unicorn stopped to-ing and fro-ing and stared at me, his mouth agape.
“You do? I mean, you surrender to me?”
“Gleep, I was about to skewer him!” Buttercup protested. “Why should we—?”
I raised a claw to silence his outburst. “May we know the name of our conqueror?”
The red unicorn raised his head proudly. Both of us could see he was exhausted. Once the fire in his eyes went out, there was little left but ashes.
“I am Donnybrook, war unicorn of Marquardt, Hero of the Mesmerance Siege, and Steed of the Gallant Lady Sir Bosena of Syrah! Whom do I have the honor to address?”
“Well,” I said, “my pet calls me Gleep. That will do.”
“Hail, Gleep, Dragon of the Fair, er, Garden.” Donnybrook glanced over his shoulder at the rubbish heap. “And hail to thee, Buttercup, Victor of Hamakamand, Slayer of the Cyclopedian Thesaurus, and Reaver of Umbulicus.”
Buttercup lowered his eyes to avoid mine. I had always wondered at the history that my companion went to so much trouble to conceal. Questions could wait. The bettors at the head of the alley looked annoyed that the fight had concluded without a clear winner. A couple of them looked as though they wanted to force the unicorns to go on with their battle. A lifted lip and a low growl from me sent them in pursuit of less hazardous amusement.
“Come with me, O our captor,” I said, wrapping my tail over Donnybrook’s withers. “The day is dry and hot. We would be honored to offer you refreshments.”
“I have never admitted defeat in my life!” Buttercup hissed peevishly as I led the way back to our secondary quarters. Donnybrook trailed in our wake, as though shepherding his new possessions, or perhaps walking behind so as not to let us see how tired he was. “It is against my code of honor! Why did you force us to surrender?”
“I will happily claim the defeat as my own,” I whispered back, keeping my head close to his twitching ear. “A dragon’s honor doesn’t depend on whether or not she or he has spent time in captivity. But I chose to take a leaf from my pet’s book. Skeeve would see that this fellow was woefully overmatched against your skills. If his aim was to defeat you, he would not be trying to capture you. Therefore, I surmise that he requires you for some other purpose than as a chattel. As an ally, perhaps?”
Buttercup shook his head fiercely as though to dislodge a unicorn-fly. “Never! The Red-Pelted League and the White Company have never been allied.”
I pushed out my lower lip thoughtfully. “Then perhaps he came to ask for your help.”
“I owe him nothing. I have no reason to assist him.”
I allowed a long, slow smile to touch my lips.
“I did not say we would tender our assistance for nothing. Consider my pet and his friends and allies. They demand consideration for their expertise in solving enigmas. We can do the same thing.”
Buttercup emitted a scornful snort. “I do not equate being taken prisoner with being employed. Why would he not simply ask us to undertake a mission?”
“I would assume,” I said, glancing back at our momentary captor and taking in the scuffed state of his barding and the piecemeal repairs done on his headstall and other accouterments, “because he has no money.”
My assessment was further confirmed when we offered Donnybrook a bite of hay and apples in the lush garden that served as our daytime domicile. It was in a transdimensional space behind the back wall of a small and unprepossessing tent in the middle of the Bazaar. To look at it from the outside, the canvas was stained and much mended, suggesting the extreme poverty that many Deveel merchants feign in hopes of taking advantage of buyers’ sympathy. On the inside, it was palatial, with a stable equal to many a king’s castle in other dimensions. Skeeve saw to it that suitable food for me and Buttercup was laid out on a daily basis. Price was no object. Every item, from the oats to the fire-clams, was first-class.
I presented the sumptuous array of comestibles and was rewarded with a gleam in the red unicorn’s eyes.
“We will sample these foods in your presence, if you are concerned whether or not they are fit for your consumption,” I offered.
Donnybrook shouldered us aside. He knocked me sprawling, and I am no lightweight.
“I’m sure they are all fine,” he said, and began to chomp his way noisily through our rations, including the choice cuts of meat that were intended for my consumption. Buttercup and I glanced at one another over his back. When at last the red unicorn crunched down the last sugar cube, he stuck his head into the broad, enameled water trough and slurped away until the level of the liquid dropped visibly. He must not have eaten for days.
When Donnybrook turned away from the depleted board, I dipped my head humbly.
“And how may we serve you, good unicorn?” I asked.
“Why would you think I need your help?” Donnybrook asked, his nose raised in a haughty manner. Buttercup snorted. The red unicorn sighed, and his arched neck drooped. “Is it that obvious?”
“As plain as the horn on your face,” I said. I curled into a spiral on a bale of straw and tucked my tail around my feet. “Tell us about it, great and honorable master. Leave out no detail, however small.”
Donnybrook met our eyes. “I have behaved abominably. I need help to undo a terrible wrong. My mistress has been taken prisoner, and it is all my fault.”
“How so?”
“Do you know the dimension of Monsteros?” We nodded. Though I had not visited it myself, I knew its reputation well. “There is a long and endless war going on among many families. My mistress and I took arms on behalf of one of the clans against the tyrant, Jorjarrm.”
“Gleep!” At the sound of that name, I straightened my spine. “Did you say Jorjarrm? He is still alive?”
“Yes. He is the lord of Monsteros. We fought hard, but we were greatly outnumbered. Most of the Red-Pelted League were captured or killed. Too few of them remain free to rally.” He eyed me. “I was reluctant to come to ask for Buttercup’s assistance, knowing that he has come to be allied not only with Klahds and Perverts, but with you. Monsteros has an army of dragons at its beck. But we need to set my mistress free. Winter is coming, and the inhabitants of Monsteros expose their prisoners to the elements—those that they do not take as slaves or slaughter outright—in order to take wagers on how long an individual captive will last. I am afraid that Lady Sir Bosena will die. She hates to be cold.”
“Pray go back to the beginning,” I said.
I sat back as the red unicorn unfolded his tale of woe, complete with shadow fencing to depict how he and his mistress had defeated many foes, until they were overcome.
“So,” Donnybrook concluded, with a breathy sigh, “I rushed to the open spell we were to have used as an escape. That propelled me through the dimensions to Deva. I knew of Buttercup’s alliance, and hoped to … I mean, he would be a worthy conquest.”
Buttercup glared at him.
I tented my claws on my belly and tapped them together one by one. I was not disinclined to assist him. Donnybrook was angry at the lord of Monsteros because of his mistress’s captivity. Buttercup bitterly resented being made chattel to an old rival. I was angry, because I knew the reputation of the ruler of Monsteros. Smoke shot from my nostrils, making my companions cough at the sulfurous fumes.
“What we have here,” I said, after a long and thoughtful pause to dampen my temper, “is a three-gripe problem. I believe we can solve it, but we must move swiftly.”
“How?” Buttercup asked. “We don’t have the ability to dimension-hop.”
“But my pet does,” I said with a smile. I went inside the cottage to the magikal safe that housed a number of valuable items that my pet wished to protect against misuse. I spun the wheel with my claws and retrieved his D-hopper. Skeeve had never mastered it, being only a young Klahd, but I knew how to operate it safely.
BAMF!
O O O
The temperature of Monsteros was not only far colder than the Bazaar, but markedly chilly when compared with the garden from which we had departed. One could not determine the color of the sky through the thick, iron-gray clouds that covered it. Snow began to fall. It settled upon the coats of my companions, but melted off my scales because of my natural heat.
“What are we going to do?” Donnybrook asked, puzzled. “There are only three of us. We cannot hope to win through to Jorjarrm’s castle.”
“Yes, we can,” I said. “I will make sure of that.” I knew my eyes glowed. Donnybrook jumped back in alarm.
“Why do you hate him so much?” Buttercup asked curiously.
“Because,” I said, fire escaping my jaws, “he collects dragons. He has enslaved dozens of my kin over the decades. My mother told me of her grandsire, who went there for promised gold and disappeared. We kept his hoard warm for ages, but he never returned home. These dragons do not fight for him willingly. We will win through.”
“But he is all-powerful, and he keeps an enormous army,” Donnybrook said. “We can’t defeat him. That’s why I … er … retreated.”
“He will admit us without question if we give him a present,” I said, and smiled. “Me.”
We trotted through the snow, passing checkpoints full of hairy soldiers. Denizens of Monsteros were large, ogre-like beings with thick beards and glass circles on frames made to protect their eyes, and caps made of leather that kept the endless snow off their shaggy pates. The two unicorns kept me on a tether. I pretended to pull them from side to side, rushing up to each guard post to greet the Monsters with a cheerful “Gleep!” and an affectionate lick.
Naturally, the guards let us pass. We left them wiping off the slime. I should not have favored them, but I was trying to make a good impression. I disliked being here, but we had given our word to Donnybrook to assist him.
At last, we reached the Wide Castle, the center of government, and the site on which so many of the Red-Pelted League of unicorns had fallen. The Castle itself was monstrous in scope, covering the landscape as far as the eye could see, but with only one gigantic entrance—a curtain wall protected by an iron portcullis. This would not be easily escaped.
A couple of the guards escorted us from the gate to the keep itself. A shaggy Monster herald, wearing a tabard whose charge could be described as “Per pale, dexter, on a field, gules, a flame, or; sinister, on a field azure, a snowflake, argent,” led us into the great hall and announced us. It seemed they were accustomed to admitting tributes that delivered themselves.
As we were ushered in to the vast vaulted room, which was supported by massive white beams that looked like the ribs of ancient dragons, I beheld dragons of every size and shape being pressed into service in the most menial of tasks. A white dragon spewed pools of water over the polished stone floor, which were then rendered into steam by small red dragons. Any scum that floated up was scorched and eaten by a flock of tiny yellow dragons no bigger than my claw. Each of them caught my eye, then looked away in embarrassment. Magnificent denizens of Draco, reduced to servants and housekeepers! I was outraged. But that was not the greatest humiliation. Other dragonkin served as messengers, flying by with scrolls clutched in their claws, as pest-catchers, or worse yet, as furniture.
At the end of the room was a massive throne made of bent swords, broken shields, crushed helms, and the skulls and bones of innumerable creatures. In this repellent seat reposed an enormous monster. I had never seen him in person, but his infamy lived on in legend and song. He was a huge, burly, ogre-like being with a massive beard that overspread the fire-and-ice device on his stained, knee-length, split-skirted tunic. He brandished a huge multipart scepter in his right fist. His booted feet were propped upon the back of a slim, female copper-skinned dragon. She looked angry but was obviously unable to move.
We halted below the dais. To my horror, I began to feel that the female dragon was lucky to have the feet of the tyrant resting upon her. What was wrong with me?
“Hail, Jorjarrm, ruler of Monsteros!” Donnybrook said, through teeth clenched on my right lead. “We bring you a gift!”
“Cute!” Jorjarrm said, leaning forward and peering at me through his glass lenses. Disgusted with myself for the appeal I felt from him, I opened my eyes as wide as they would go and pranced up to him. “I could wear you for a brooch.”
Suddenly, I felt as though I wanted to be petted and dandled by this Monster. I climbed up into his lap and slurped his face with my long tongue. Jorjarrm laughed and batted me away gently. He was so huge that I could curl up on his legs like a kittensnake on my pet’s. I could not believe it, but I wanted to do just that. I gave Jorjarrm another lick, then hated myself for the compulsion. This Monster had imprisoned my grandsire, and now he had cast some kind of geas on me. I shot a look at Buttercup, pleading for help. The white unicorn pawed the floor, not knowing what to do. The closer I was to the ruler of Monsteros, the more I felt a fraternal connection to him. Could he truly be the Brother of Dragons?
“What shall I call you?” he asked. Monsteros natives were slightly akin to my dimension of Draco, so I could understand him, although he spoke with a terrible nasal accent.
“Gleep!” I exclaimed.
“Gleep, then!” Jorjarrm leaned back and laughed heartily. He brandished the massive wand. “Come here, boy! I must dub you. Come and join the Mystical Company of Monsteros.”
So that was it! The wand created the compulsion. If it touched me, I would fall helpless to his command.
“But I already adore you,” I said, dodging the scepter as I tried to keep my wits about me. “I do not need to be put under a spell.”
In answer, he grabbed me by the neck and bopped me on the skull with the tip of the wand. The blow was cursory, but the effect was overwhelming. My head rang with a tone like a bronze bell that grew louder and louder until my senses were dazed. When it faded at last, I gazed at Jorjarrm. My heart filled with admiration. I could not think of a place I would rather be than in his lap. I crooned and turned over so he could scratch my chest. I couldn’t imagine why I had ever wanted to defeat him.
“That’s better,” Jorjarrm said with a jovial laugh. “You are adorable, but I already have plenty of dragons. What shall I do with you? I know! I shall give you to my bride-to-be as a wedding present!” He swept the scepter to include Buttercup and Donnybrook. “All three of you!” The red unicorn visibly twitched. Buttercup nudged him and shot him a warning look. “Call for my bride!”
With a loud fanfare, the doors of the audience chamber were flung wide. Prancing female monsters clad in flowing yellow lace danced into the room. They carried baskets of scented white flowers which they scattered onto the freshly scrubbed floor. I saw the cleaner dragons, now huddled in a corner, sigh heavily.
Two Monster heralds blew lustily on trumpets. In a moment, four Monster maidens appeared, dragging between them the female that must have been Jorjarrm’s bride. To my astonishment, she was not a Monster herself, but a Syrene, a race akin to Klahds. She was tall, strong and raven-haired, but dressed in a flowing white gown that was a dozen times too large for her, and her tresses had been braided clumsily around a shimmering diadem.
“Mistress!” Donnybrook whinnied, rearing eagerly. So that was Lady Sir Bosena! The ladies-in-waiting dragged her to the dais and threw her on the steps. Before she could right herself, Jorjarrm reached down and picked her up with one massive hand. He set her on his lap as he had done with me. She slapped him in the face. He only grinned.
“She’s feisty,” Jorjarrm said, gazing at her in adoration. “I love that. Look, my darling! I have presents for you!”
“The only present I want is to go home,” Bosena said. She struggled to get down, like a toddler trapped on a great-aunt’s lap. I couldn’t imagine why she would want to.
“Look at them, beloved,” the Monster insisted, pointing at us. “It’s a dragon! Just for you.”
“A dragon?” Bosena asked. “You have hundreds of them! How many dragons do you need?”
“You can never have too many dragons,” Jorjarrm said, practically. “And two unicorns! A matched set, red and white. They are your wedding presents from me. The dragon is called Gleep.” He gave her a hopeful look. I realized he truly wanted to please her, but it was not an easy task.
For the first time Bosena turned to look at us. When her eyes met Donnybrook’s, she stopped struggling. Jorjarrm let her go. She slid off his lap and walked down the steps of the dais. When she reached Donnybrook, she grabbed him by the horn and forced his face to the floor.
“How dare you desert me!” she bellowed. Her voice echoed in the stone-roofed hall. “I would not be here if not for you!”
“I could not help it, mistress,” Donnybrook said to her shoes. “I am sorry!”
“A hundred demerits, for leaving me in the hands of this imbecile!”
I giggled. I was ashamed of myself, but I giggled. She released Donnybrook and slapped me in the face. I only gazed at her. If she was the beloved of my master, Jorjarrm, she could do what she wished with me.
“Isn’t she marvelous?” Jorjarrm said, beaming.
Bosena spun and glared at him. “And you! What makes you think you can marry me against my will?”
“How can you question fate?” Jorjarrm said with a shrug. “Take her away,” he ordered his guards. “This woman of Syrah addles my brain! You three, go with her! Soon, my little dumpling. Soon!”
Bosena stormed out, the rest of us in her wake. I was very happy to accompany the Syrene addler from the room. She fascinated me, too.
The moment we were in her quarters, which were built on an epic scale, like most of the kingdom, the lithe woman rounded upon Donnybrook again.
“So you have returned. How will you make up for your misconduct? Desertion is punishable by death or exile!”
“I brought these wise ones with me,” Donnybrook said, bowing his red horn before her. “They will figure out a way for us to escape.”
“What can we do?” Bosena asked, pacing up and down. She had to hike the capacious dress up in her arms to keep from tripping on it. “Jorjarrm fears nothing.”
“That is not true,” Buttercup said suddenly, tossing his silky white mane. “He fears dragons.”
“How can you say that, when you see that all dragonkin are his prisoners?” Bosena asked. “I have watched him humiliate wyverns, wurms, dragons, dragonets—all scaly beasts are his toys.”
“My companion has the right of it, my lady,” I said, nodding as the truth became evident to me. “It’s the wand that gives him control.” The greater the distance I achieved from Jorjarrm and his scepter, the clearer my mind became. I shook my head vigorously to rid myself of the effects. “It holds us in thrall.”
“Then we must break it,” Buttercup said.
“But how?” Bosena asked. Now that she had scolded Donnybrook, she stayed by his side with her arm over his withers and stroking his mane.
“Do you have any power over him?” I asked. “He said that you addle his mind.”
“Oh, that? That’s nothing.” Bosena waved a hand. “He is not used to females who defy him. His previous seven wives were cream puffs. I have no wish to become number eight. How did you get here? Do you have an escape plan?”
I rattled my head. Her mind was so clear, it prompted me to reassert my own wits.
“We have a means of escape,” I said. “We have an ancient device. A D-hopper.”
“Well, use it!” Bosena said, glancing at the door. “Any minute now, the Hierarch will arrive to perform the marriage ceremony. From what the servants tell me, weddings here are bloody affairs. Jorjarrm has draped me with gems and gifted me with jewels, more than I have ever had in my life!” She gestured a table so laden with treasure that it made me long to roll upon it. “But all I want is my freedom. Let us go now.”
I hesitated. “I don’t wish to leave him.”
Buttercup nudged me in the ribs with his horn. The point went right between my scales.
“Ow!”
“We are away from him now,” my friend said. “You don’t have to pretend to be fascinated by him. It’s disgusting. Come to your senses!”
“It’s not pretense.” I glanced toward the iron-barred door. “The wand is very powerful. It keeps me under a certain measure of control even when I am not near it. It is the way he holds my kind prisoner. I dare not move against him as long as he holds it.”
“Well, you’re free enough of it now,” Bosena said. “Use the D-hopper, and let’s go!”
I hesitated. “I could help us escape, here and now, but I fear for the safety of my kin. So many of these would be left in thrall to the Brother of Dragons. What about the rest of them?”
“It’s too bad,” Donnybrook said, “but you can’t really help them. We can get away. We can’t take all of them with us in order to get them away from him.”
I stared at him as if I had never seen a red unicorn before. As a matter of fact, I hadn’t.
“You have a point,” I said.
“I know,” Donnybrook said, holding his magnificent head up with pride. “It is my greatest weapon.”
Buttercup snorted in disdain.
“Not that one,” I said. “We can’t get them away from him.” My smile spread until every one of my splendidly sharp teeth were on display. “But we can get him away from them.”
“How?” Buttercup demanded.
I draped my tail companionably over Donnybrook’s shoulders. “As my red friend here suggests. But we’ll need a diversion. Let us confer.”
O O O
A huge musical chord rang out. We had waited in the chamber as the ladies-in-waiting kirtled up Bosena’s gown so it almost fit, then began to lade her with the gem-crusted bracelets, necklaces, anklets, and rings that Jorjarrm had given her.
“I will need your help,” I told Buttercup. “Once I am close, I cannot act against him.”
“I am ready,” Buttercup said. “You have set the D-hopper to the right address?”
“I have.” I took a deep breath as the ladies stepped back from Bosena. As much as a smooth-skinned biped could, she looked beautiful. Straight-backed, she picked up her bouquet—which concealed the D-hopper—and marched grim-faced out into the hall. We followed close behind.
It seemed as though every Monster in the kingdom had come to see the festivities. Guards had to make way for us through the throng of hairy faces and glass eyepieces. Several of the females were weeping into lace handkerchiefs at the sight of the wedding party. The room smelled overwhelmingly of their furry musk and gallons of perfume. I sneezed my way forward.
The carpet leading up to the dais was freshly strewn with flowers. Bosena trod over them, releasing more sickly-sweet scent. She kept a grim smile pinned on her face. It looked as though our subterfuge was going to work!
As she got close, however, a pair of guards closed in on her.
“What is this?” she asked, alarmed.
“Just a precaution,” Jorjarrm said, grinning down at her from his horrible throne. “Ah, what’s this?” One of the hairy guards had pulled the D-hopper from the center of the flowers and held it out to his master, who examined it. “A D-hopper! Primitive little thing. But why hide it, my love?”
“It’s a special gift to you,” Bosena insisted. She climbed up into his lap and twined one arm around his neck. With the other, she whipped off his glasses, pressed her lips against his, and planted a hard, passionate kiss on him. His arms flailed in surprise.
When his concentration broke, I regained enough of my own willpower to leap up the steps and seized the D-hopper from his limp fingers. Donnybrook and Buttercup bounded up beside me. Jorjarrm pushed Bosena away and stared at us
“It’s a trap!” Jorjarrm cried, staring at us. “Guards!”
A dozen troops thundered toward us as I bit down on the controls.
BAMF!
O O O
When we could see again, we were in the middle of a wide-open, grassy plain.
“Guards, take them!” Jorjarrm ordered, retreating within their circle.
Bosena kicked the nearest Monster in the chest and took his sword. She backed away from her would-be husband and stood with us. The guards looked at the four of us disdainfully, and then charged. The unicorns lowered their heads.
Lunge! Parry! Thrust! Retreat! Counter-parry! Advance!
If I had any doubt that I had chosen worthy allies in this enterprise, they would have been dispelled on the spot. Though we were greatly outnumbered, Donnybrook repelled every attack that came his way, and remised with his horn, plunging it into a foot here, an arm there, earning howls from the guards upon whom he scored. Buttercup held forth brilliantly, showing hornsmanship that was a treat to watch. The Syrene warrior seemed to care little that she had no armor. She took on two of the largest Monster guards, swinging, slicing, and whirling like a one-woman army. I roared toward the guards, setting their fur and armor on fire with my modest flame and clawing at tender extremities.
All around us, across the broad meadows, from the burned, twisted trees, and from the puffy white clouds in the blue sky, myriad dragons of every shape, size, and color began to descend. The Monsters and their lord were so distracted by us that they didn’t notice the newcomers until we were surrounded by a ring of dragons, some so large that I could have walked into their ears without ducking. The dragons seemed to sense the power contained in the wand, and they did not like it.
One of them, a magnificent silver-scaled dragon with huge blue eyes like my own, watched for a while, then reached out a massive claw and tapped Jorjarrm on the shoulder.
“Excuse me. Haven’t we met?”
The lord of Monsteros spun on his heel and found himself staring upward and upward and upward to meet the giant’s eyes.
“Uh, I don’t believe so.”
The giant dragon crouched until his chin was resting on the ground. “Oh, I think we have. You don’t remember me? Smog, son of Fog, son of Grog? You kidnapped my baby sister, Cuprica?”
In Dragonspeak, Cuprica was the kind of name bestowed upon a red-scaled offspring, such as a copper-colored dragon. I fancied I knew where Cuprica had ended up.
“And what about my son, Winnower?” asked a blue-skinned matriarch with wrinkled lips around her still-sharp teeth. “We were so close, and I never hear from him, not since you lured him away.”
“It’s been twenty years since I heard from my beloved Mamie,” a stocky bronze dragon with eight rows of terrifying white teeth said. “She would never have stayed away so long without popping back now and again for a visit. Is she even still alive? Well? What did you do with her?”
Jorjarrm turned to me in horror. Under his fur, his face had gone ghostly pale. “This is Draco. You brought me to Draco?”
I offered a ferocious grin. “You said you can never have too many dragons.”
“Protect me!” Jorjarrm grabbed me by the neck and shoved me forward. He battered me on the back of the head with his control wand. I wanted to protest, but every blow drew me farther and farther into his thrall. “You will defend me, Gleep! Attack them! I order you to save me!”
I looked up at the gigantic winged beasts that surrounded us.
With the wand, Jorjarrm ruled my soul. For my pet, I might have lain down my life, but for this dragon-stealing Monster? I had no choice. I was under his spell. I bid a silent farewell to Skeeve. In a moment, I would die defending someone who did not deserve my sacrifice. I stepped forward, my flame pouring forth, to challenge Smog. Every eye on the plain seemed fixed upon me.
“No!” whinnied Donnybrook.
The red unicorn reared in the air and knocked the wand from Jorjarrm’s hand with flailing hooves. He seized it in his teeth and ran.
“Come back here! Guards, with me!” Jorjarrm bellowed.
He thundered after Donnybrook, his enormous feet causing the ground to shake. But the red unicorn did not go far. He turned at bay, a gleam in his bright red eyes.
“I failed my lady once. I will not fail her again.” He dropped the wand to the ground and brought down both front hooves upon it with all his strength.
It exploded in a ball of blue flame. Shards of it struck me in the chest like bolts of lightning.
“No!” Jorjarrm bellowed. “If you only knew how long I labored upon that wand!”
“Don’t worry,” Smog said, his left claw darting forward. He captured Jorjarrm and drew the struggling Monster up to his gigantic blue eye. “You will not be needing it any longer.”
He rose onto his haunches, spread his broad silver wings, and leaped into the sky. Other dragons captured his Monstrous guards and flew off with them, too.
“No, let me go, let me go, pleeeeeeeeease!” Jorjarrm cried.
His voice faded into the distance. Watching him go, I felt nothing but relief. The compulsion had died with the breaking of the wand. I was free, as were all the dragons left in Monsteros. Any moment, the more sophisticated magicians among them would begin to return home to Draco. I turned to my companions.
Lady Sir Bosena stood with her back to her unicorn’s flank, her borrowed sword out, her eyes wide in terror.
“My lady,” I said, gently, “pray forgive the little subterfuge. You are perfectly safe here. Donnybrook has saved us all. These fine people,” I indicated the remaining dragons, “have no interest in you.”
“Oh, my, I just remembered!” Winnower’s mother said, smacking the side of her head with her claw. “I left that sea monster only half cooked! Where is my mind?” She took off, followed by a score of smaller dragons, presumably her offspring. Others departed in her wake.
“Donnybrook deserted me!” Bosena glared at her unicorn.
“He fled only to get reinforcements,” Buttercup said. “Us.”
“And in so doing, he freed not only you, but hundreds of dragons,” I added. “He is a hero. He adores you, my lady.”
Donnybrook lowered his horn modestly. Bosena shook her head and threw her arms around his neck. I realized by her scent that she was qualified not only by courage but also by the legendary rule to have a unicorn.
“To me she is always The Woman,” Donnybrook confessed. “Thank you for your help, honorable dragon and Unicorn of the White Company. I am sorry that I have no gold to reward you.”
“Our fees are fixed, except where we waive them altogether,” I said, after sharing a glance with Buttercup. My white-coated friend looked happier than I had ever seen him. The martial exercise and victory had done him a world of good. “In this case, naturally, they are waived.”
“Oh, I can pay them,” Bosena said, unhooking one of the gaudy necklaces Jorjarrm had given her. “Crom knows we don’t need much. These are worth a king’s ransom. Won’t they do?”
“Just the one,” I said, taking it delicately. I had previously noted Donnybrook’s threadbare barding, and Bosena would have to buy all new armor. I looked around the empty field. “Now, where is that D-hopper? We have to get back to the Bazaar before Skeeve returns and finds us missing!”
About the Author
Jody Lynn Nye has written dozens of books and more than 120 short stories, most of them with a humorous bent. She collaborated with Robert Asprin on his famous humorous fantasy series, the Myth-Adventures of Aahz and Skeeve, and has continued it since his passing. Her latest books are Fortunes of the Imperium (Baen Books) and Wishing on a Star (Arc Manor Press). Find her on Facebook and Twitter, and on her website, www.jodylynnnye.com.