Dragon Sweat: Scroll 3

Incredibly, the witch bowed like a courtier before kneeling down on one knee in front of the boy. Her hands proffered up the gown to him, as though she was a squire yielding a fallen knight's shield to a newly triumphant champion. But not yet held so high up that it obscured his view of her magnificent breasts fighting each other for breathing space at the top of the tightly knotted robe.

"Master, I have rendered that miserable warlock as helpless as an infant. If we but find time to complete the chains on his sorcery as they should be done, he will be bound for years beyond counting."

"Good . . . ah, yes . . . good." Hal tried to think which of the questions beyond counting in his own head he should ask first. "But if Gregory is defeated, why are you still calling me master? Surely that promise you made no longer matters?"

She lifted her head to look up at him, her eyes as empty of emotion as a cat's: "Nay, master, I gave my word and sealed it by an oath which would rob me of all my powers if ever if I should break it. The only way I can return to the freedom I had is if you release me from that bargain. But the Great Ones must know that you do so through no compulsion of mine, or . . . or I am thrown forever into the Abyss."

"Oh." Hal felt stunned and picked his words with care: "Then I order you to never again use your spells again to make me do something I didn't want to."

"I understand your order, master. But I have never yet made you do something against your own nature."

Hal scratched the back of his head: "That can't be right. In the barn . . ."

An angry voice swept through the gate like a rampant bull's bellowing, reverberating back and forth from the castle walls: "Come here, boy, and wind this portcullis up!" The King was clearly impatient at having to tarry outside his own castle like a wandering tinker.

"Witch -- Morgana," Hal spoke quickly. "I must let the King in. T'would offend him to see you kneeling for one of his subjects but not to him. Behave towards me for now as no more than a . . . "

Hal wasn't sure of what he was trying to say because he wasn't sure how he wanted Morgana to treat him. The brief moments of power he'd already had over her had whetted his appetite for more of the same. But there was only one real master in this castle and that was the King.

"You mean, perhaps, I should behave as a dutiful and obedient maid servant who quickly kneels for her master when he feels the need for her mouth?" She looked directly at Hal's nakedness and ran the tip of her tongue around her pouting lips. It was sight enough to make any man's -- or boy's -- toes curl.

Another bellow from the King overrode any answer Hal could have made, even if he'd had the wit to think of one, which he hadn't. Nor did he need to, for the effect of her words was already plain to her and would soon be clear to all the watchers unless he could somehow prevent his uncovered flesh hardening further. He quickly turned to walk towards the portcullis and away from Morgana's temptations. But her urgently spoken words found his ears:

"Master, I ask you, pause and consider. Why should you obey that fat fool? Let him stay out there until his boots turn green."

"But he's the King!"

Morgana sneered: "Only since he killed the last bandit chief who glorified this miserable valley with the title of a kingdom. And now he's on the outside with his guards and you're inside his castle -- inside his moat and his castle walls with a witch and a dragon at your command. Why be a duke when you can be a prince? Or perhaps something even better?"

Hal gaped at her, then around the bailey yard as if the castle was a vision newly sprung out of the ground: the ancient walls, the decaying towers, the faces of the servants cautiously peering out of doorways and through arrow slits, gaping at this bare arsed boy who dared to keep King Argud waiting.

"A prince, you say? Or something even better than a prince?"

Hal wondered how it was possible for him to be asleep long enough to be dreaming such a long drawn out fantasy. And would he be able to remember it all when he was awake and emptying the jakes again? He hoped so, because he'd need all the laughs he could get by then. When he looked down at Morgana again he was so distraught that this time the deep divide between her udders might as well have been a rat hole for all the interest he could spare for it.

"Master, I found yonder warlock casting a horoscope. There are powerful matters afoot here, matters which have roots far beyond the mortal world. The runes Gregory were casting showed the name the King gave to you, my Master. I think that the warlock told him to select the title of Duke Merlinus instead of Merdinus because he foresaw into the future to divine your fortune and to advise the King as to your chances of success in finding another dragon. But what should have been a small ray of candlelight sent out into the darkness has lit some great beacon which will blaze like a flaming comet in the years to come. With the wizard imprisoned I threw the stones again, but with far greater skill than Gregory was ever capable of doing. I have discarded the dross and kept the gold, or so I perceive. Now I would test it with this robe."

Hal held his hands apart and shrugged his shoulders: "I understand nothing of what you say."

Morgana's eyes flashed: "Then let me show you!"

Her hands flew up and so did the robe, spreading itself out and then hanging in the air above Hal's head as though pegged to an invisible washing line.

"Open this portcullis or I'll split . . ."

The roar of outraged royalty died in the King's throat as Gregory's robe stayed where it was, like a hovering eagle, with its edges fluttering gently in the breeze. Hal stared up at it, slack jawed, listening to Morgana's urgent words.

"Master, that garment is a symbol of powerful magic, handed down from wizard to wizard as each is proved worthy of the sorcerer's craft. If any ordinary mortal dared to touch it, let alone wear it, the result would be an agony worse than boiling lead. But the signs in that sorcerer's horoscope show that you are one of the chosen, one of those permitted to learn from the Great Ones. If I have read the truth aright, raise your arms above your head and we will see if the robe will settle on your body without causing harm."

Hal stood motionless, struck anew with fear. Not enough to have a King berserk with anger at him, not enough to be made unwilling master of the most evil witch between mountains and far distant seas, now he was being invited to meddle with sorcery, well known as the most dangerous thing any mortal could dare. Only the cleverest, bravest and most cunning of mortals risked bringing down occult curses on their heads, and only such vainglorious idiots would run such perils for the very heights of power and wealth. Hal had no such vaunting ambitions: well, he had, but all he really cared about was not having to empty shitepots anymore and to be free to fly in the sky with Josephine. No, he wanted no part of any wizardry, and he especially wanted no part of anything that had belonged to Gaunt Gregory, not for any temptation.

His gaze flickered from side to side, again seeking escape. A row of figures had appeared on the ramparts of the Great Tower, the tower where Argud and his most powerful subjects lived, the high and mighty nobles who knew and cared no more of Hal than they did of any other peasant. And with them were their snobbish wives who'd made his life a misery, and also, of course, the well born sons who'd so often pushed his head down one of the shit pots whenever they'd felt like it.

But Hal's attention was not on them but on the lace capped high bred girls, the daughters of all those privileged families who'd treated him as an animal -- no, even less than an animal, as something dirtier and stupider than a dog or a hog. Unlike Caelia and Chelinde those sneering chits up there had never deigned to speak a fair word to him, had never even looked in his direction except by accident and then immediately turned their faces away from his filthy rags with obvious disgust. But now they were looking, by Gwal, and only the father of the Gods himself could know what they must be thinking as they tried to understand the incredible scene below. A beautiful and barely dressed woman with supernatural powers kneeling before a naked urchin of a shithouse cleaner, offering up to him the very robe of the greatest wizard within a month's ride. Where, they must be wondering, was Gaunt Gregory? And how dare this boy and woman leave the King himself ignored and unheeded at his own castle gates?

Hal suddenly knew the iron truth buried beneath the softness of his skin: he would fry in that robe before he'd turn coward in the sight to those fucking nobles and their bastard bred families! His arms went up and he stared the witch straight in the eyes, something he'd never before dared to do.

"Give me the robe, witch."

"You are ready, Master?"

"Aye, ready."

The magicians robe swirled down to engulf him, around his arms, down over his shoulders, unrolling down the length of his body and beyond: Hal cursed at his own stupidity, for the robe was piling up around his ankles because he was so much shorter than Gregory, so all he'd done was to make a scarecrow of himself in front of all the watchers. And then he felt the first touch of the forces held within the robe -- a blue radiance surrounded him, like an instantly rising marsh mist, the smell of lava pits was in his nostrils and he waited for his flesh to be seared off his bones. Yet instead of hot coals on his skin he felt something almost as frightening, a sensation as though every ant in the forest had suddenly crowded together on his body to cover him in tiny claws -- and then that sensation also vanished as the blue halo around him faded like a doused candle. He seemed to be unharmed by what had happened, unharmed and unchanged. Not so the robe though, for somehow it had changed its length to fit him perfectly, the hem of the garment now hanging at a comfortable level halfway down Hal's thighs. Yet strangest of all was the touch of it on him, light and warm, as smooth and pleasant as the strokes of a girl's loving hands.

"By Gwal and Clud!" He raised his stupefied face toward Morgana's. "You did that?"

Morgana seemed almost as surprised as Hal himself. "No, not I. The robe it was which yielded and molded itself to your desires. There is much mystery here and I see now that the Great Ones have bound our destinies for some purpose. I have no choice but to accept you as an acolyte in the mystic arts and help you become an Adept, if so the Great Ones decree your fate."

"An acolyte?"

There was a roar of outrage as the King recovered from the shock of seeing Hal wearing Gregory's robe. The castle's ruler clenched the bars of the portcullis as if he could shake the tons of iron grating loose from the gateway. Morgana raised a hand and flicked it in his direction as casually as if shaking drops of water from her fingers. Sparks flew up and along the bars the King was clutching, the bars glowed red hot and cooled again as quickly as cinders dropped into a puddle, King Argud screamed like a ravished woman and reeled backwards, holding up blackened stumps at the ends of his arms. Morgana didn't even glance in the direction of the ruined monarch's agony and Hal knew yet again the stomach curdling fear of their first meeting. This female who could so rouse his youthful blood was more dangerous than a pack of winter starved wolves. She continued speaking as if nothing at all had happened.

"An acolyte, a novitiate in the magical arts. It means that you would become my apprentice in all matters of spells and sorcery. And in all such matters my duties as teacher of the mysteries would overreach my promise to obey you. No novice performs magic or casts spells without permission of the instructing Adept. Do you understand and accept those conditions?"

The boy felt like screaming as loudly as Argud was doing. All he wanted to do was to get out of this castle, to fly away with Josephine, away from rulers and torturers and soldiers and mad magicians, and especially away from this beautifully beguiling witch and her bloodlust. But his chance hadn't come and now she wanted him to bind his cringing soul to the black arts, to dark forces no sane soul would ever willingly interfere with. Yet, as ever, what choice did he have but to yield to circumstances? Choice! Ever since Morgana had appeared alongside his riding net on her broomstick he'd had no more choice in where he was going than a fallen leaf blown along by a gale.

But even in his fear a shining thought had suddenly risen in his mind like a gleaming salmon seen through dark waters. For one thing at least he knew, and that was that anybody having any association at all with sorcery was regarded with awesome respect by all non-magicians. No, whilst Hal was wearing this robe nobody would dare to scorn him as they had scorned Hal the turd collector. Certainly nobody who had just seen what an unleashed spell had done to King Argud.

"I understand and accept all the conditions for being an your acolyte and will obey any command you give me as my teacher," he said firmly.

"Then I name you as the novitiate Merlinus . . ." Her voice broke off as the bird shaped familiar above them screeched and stooped down low over her head. Then Morgana nodded, as if understanding.

"So, it's no accident that Ymir has shape changed to a hawk's form, nor that it is a merlin's. The Great Ones send me a message that I must do as they command, and that you shall not be called Merlinus but Merlin. So be it, I name you my apprentice in the deepest mysteries, to be known to all in the realms of sorcery as the wizard Merlin, the beholden and nominated of Morgana le Fay."

Merlin! Of all the stupid names! A wizard named after a bird, and not even a very big one; Morgana might as well have called him sparrow or starling. She tapped him on both shoulders with her long fingers. Again he felt the same hidden rush of power as when he seized hold of the broomstick. Only this time it seemed to be coming out from within his own body, out and into the witch, and he swayed on his feet, eyes closed. Already bone tired, he now felt as weary as a ford foundered horse being pulled into deeper water by an irresistible current.

"Yes, I understand your weariness, Master. There is much to do but first you must rest."

Morgana beckoned impatiently with her fingers: "You two, come hither."

Hal forced his fluttering eyes open long enough to see the Master-At-Arm's daughters approaching, their faces glancing apprehensively at Morgana. No, that wasn't right, he reminded himself, they were now the Master-At-Arm's orphans. If it had been a difficult day for him it had been a lot worse for others -- the Master-At-Arms for one, and for Gaunt Gregory, and certainly for the King himself. In fact a very, very bad day for King Argud the Defiler, now likely to be known as Ex-King Argud the Defingered. No wonder the tower ramparts were lined with white faces knights, shocked to the core as their privileged world seemed ready to collapse around their ears. For if a powerful King could be deposed and disposed of so easily, what was their fate to be?

Admittedly, nobody had really enjoyed being a subject in Argud's realm, not even his nobles, but at least he'd been a ruler who'd never left no doubt at all about who was giving the orders. Now all was confusion and doubt and the inheritor of power seemed to be the midnight haired sorceress brazenly showing off her half naked body. She had driven both ruler and wizard from their throne and tower as easily as a dairymaid taking a stick to a pair of laggard cows, and yet she herself was to be seen kneeling in homage before a castle shit house cleaner, a scrawny little rat daring to wear a wizard's robe as if he had a right to such a thing.

Oh yes, the world was mad and Loki the ice warriors' trickster god loose in it, but this was play acting no watcher felt eager to take any part in, for it was being performed on a perilous stage. Strong hands were grasping sword hilts in instinct, but not even the vainest or bravest liege lord felt any urge to step forward and claim power by right of title and muscle. A single glance downwards at the crippled Argud staggering away over the drawbridge with long brown stains down the back of his breeks was enough to convince even the highest born to stay hidden in the audience until the world became sane again, and women and boys were safe once more for the aristocratic pleasures of fucking and kicking. What you did to which depended on your choice of pleasure, of course.

Morgana beckoned her finger at Chelinde and Caelia: "Your master is tired. Carry him to the royal bedchamber: you know where it is?"

Heads nodded: "Yes, mistress," Caelia said doubtfully.

She knew very well where the royal bedchamber was, having lived in nightly dread of being sent there for the King's pleasure ever since she'd flowered into maidenhood. What made her hesitate now in obeying Morgana's orders was in wondering what the witch meant by 'carry'. She and Chelinde could both see how tired Hal seemed, but even as thin as he was, carrying the boy across the courtyard and up the narrow spiraling staircase of the inner keep was a task that seemed beyond their joint strength.

"Take hold of him, you wenches. You'll find him no burden."

Chelinde reached out gingerly to take Hal's hand and gave a shriek of fright as he slid towards her at a touch. It was a cry that Hal would have echoed save for his tiredness, for he was as astounded as the girls. He seemed to be sliding over the cobblestones as if he was on one of the ice slides the castle boys fashioned in the depths of winter. And when he looked down he could see why, for the soles of his feet were no longer touching the stones but floating a little above them. Only a finger's width mayhap, but that small distance was enough to make him as helpless in walking as a newly born foal; he could stay upright only by putting his arms around the girls' shoulders and letting them walk him towards the tower as if he was as drunk as his father on market night. And if he wasn't drunk, he was certainly helpless; a glance over his shoulder showed Morgana walking behind with a smile on her face -- perhaps a sardonic sneer at yet another demonstration of her incredible powers was a more accurate description.

"Have no fears, Master, your feet will touch the ground again. After you have slept."

"After I've slept? Why only then?"

"Because without the burden of weight on your body you will rest better than on any feather filled mattress. And the girls will serve as your maids-in-waiting, for whatever help you may need."

His newly appointed servants of the bedchamber suddenly suffered an immediate and intimately shared attack of giggles. Hal didn't have the slightest doubt that both of them were thinking of various experiments they could carry out on a weightless male body entrusted to their lustful care. Well, they could forget any such ideas for the time being, he was too tired for any tupping.

At least that was what he thought then, especially with his mind distracted by Caelia's and Chelinde's inept attempts to maneuver him around the corners of the tower's narrow corridors. It wasn't their fault, it was simply the discovery that even though Hal was suspended above the floor he wasn't weightless after all, and if pushed too quickly in one direction it needed just as much effort to stop his body as it did to start moving it. Neither could the boy complain about their female inability to understand cause and effect, for he did something far more stupid than either of them when he slipped from their grasp and went sliding towards the wall again. He put up his arms and fended himself as hard as he could. Which sent him flying clear of them as if running ahead, but slowly spinning like a top and heading down the corridor at an angle which meant an even more violent impact about ten paces further on -- if paces entered into the calculation for somebody whose feet weren't touching the floor.