Hazel
The Night Lands are a dangerous place, and chances are the Underhill is as bad. Especially if Long Meg and her daughters are something to avoid. But I won’t ride past a creature struggling, whatever it may be.
Although as I get closer and I see the thing, all pale and covered in some sort of slime, I will say I have my doubts. But as I made Warden stop, I’m not giving up.
“It’s a Wyrm,” Warden growls. “We should leave it alone. Wyrms are not to be trusted.”
“Help me,” the Wyrm says.
Warden instantly transforms into his centaur form, stamping his feet and rearing. I watch him for a while and turn back to the Wyrm.
“I’m going to throw you my belt. Can you pull yourself out?” I ask, because the thing looks quite tired.
“I’ll try,” it says.
I stick my dagger in the second sheath at the back of my neck and unwind my belt. Warden stops making a fuss, but I ignore him anyway, flinging out one end of my belt to the snake creature. It falls next to it, and with a painful movement, the Wyrm takes hold of the leather with its mouth.
I pull, but despite the grip the thing has, it doesn’t move.
“Here, female,” Warden says. “Stand aside.”
As much as I bristle at the term female, if Mr. Big Brag is going to offer assistance by throwing his not inconsiderable weight around, I’m not going to say no, so I hand him the belt, and he gives it one almighty pull.
With a slurping sound, the Wyrm is freed, but the force Warden has put into his pull means it flies through the air, and before he can do anything, it’s wrapped around him, and the pair of them tumble to the ground in a tangle of mud, scales, and legs.
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” the Wyrm says, sliding free of Warden and over to me, shedding most of the mud in the process.
Warden spits and wipes off his face, mud streaking his chest and slime everywhere.
“We weren’t going to leave you,” I say to the Wyrm. It’s probably just over five feet in length, and it has four little feet and a pair of wings, like a little dragon. It also has long, dark eyelashes which I wouldn’t have expected on a reptile.
“The Brag would.”
“Yeah, probably best to ignore him. I do,” I say in a conspiratorial whisper. “I am Lady Ryle and the Brag is Warden.”
There is a whirl in front of me, and the Wyrm has transformed into a small, dainty woman, dressed in pink and white, crystals glittering on her dress. Her eyes remain blood red.
“I am the Laidly Wyrm,” she says. “But my friends call me Peggy.”
“Wyrms.” Warden snorts. “Nothing but trouble.”
“I am bewitched,” Peggy says. “Cursed to change into my Wyrm form whenever I feel strong emotion like fear or love. Cursed otherwise to roam until I find someone to lift it and return me to my usual form.”
“Not like Fenrother at all.” Warden rubs at the scruff on his chin. “He enjoys being a Wyrm.”
“I cannot understand why anyone would want to be such a creature,” Peggy says, wringing her hands. “I came to the Underhill seeking those who set the curse, to beg them to free me.”
“There are no Faerie here,” Warden intones, seemingly getting larger as he looms over the Laidly Wyrm. “Only Long Meg,” he booms. “If you fell afoul of her, then there’s no hope for you.”
Peggy cringes, and I slam my hand against Warden’s chest, pushing him back.
“Really?” I glare at him.
Warden shrugs but continues to look bigger than ever…and I think he might be growling low under his breath.
“Long Meg and her daughters give no quarter,” Warden says. “And if this Wyrm is here, it bodes no good for us to be near her.”
“I don’t need your help, Brag,” Peggy says with an element of force I admire.
After all, I feel small in the presence of Warden in his Brag form. Peggy is minuscule. I think he could stamp her into the mud with one of his huge hooves and not even feel it. But Peggy stands her ground and I’m impressed.
“But…” I interject into their staring match. “If Peggy got in, we can get out, can’t we?”
“The lines will show us the way,” Warden grumbles.
“The lines are not to be trusted,” Peggy says to me, turning her back on Warden. “Long Meg has influence over the entire of the Underhill. She does whatever she wants here.”
“I trust the lines,” Warden says. “They cannot lie.”
I look between them, not sure which one to question further. “How did you get here, Peggy?”
“We fell through a portal from the Night Lands,” Warden adds unnecessarily.
“There is only one way in, or out, that is voluntary,” Peggy says. “You’ll need to find the Heddon cave.”
Warden snorts out a loud breath. “And risk the wrath of the Shellycoat?”
“He let me in, he’ll let me out,” Peggy says.
“The Shellycoat only ever wants a taste of your soul. Don’t tell me you let him.”
Peggy is very pale, but at Warden’s words, she flushes a crimson colour.
Warden shakes his head and paws the ground. “I don’t know which is worse, to travel in the company of one who has been cursed by Long Meg or one who freely gave up her soul to be feasted on by the Shellycoat.”
“No one’s perfect, Warden. Not even you. I could remind you of what you did to my tavern.” I glare at the big Brag. “But I don’t have to, do I?”
Warden paws at the ground, averting his gaze from mine.
I can’t forget the way he kissed me, but I can’t forgive his behaviour here and now either. How can he be like this to the tiny creature in front of us? I won’t let him.
“Why don’t you come with us?” I ask Peggy. “Perhaps we can find another way to lift the curse rather than you having to be here alone.”
Peggy gives me a wan smile.
“You are very kind, dear lady,” she says. “But the only other method of lifting my curse lies with the one who set it. I have to fall on the mercies of Long Meg and hope she grants me passage,” Peggy says sadly. “I have no choice but to continue my journey.”
I’m torn between wanting to help her and needing to get back to my tavern. My needs seem so small compared to hers.
“If Long Meg finds us here, she will make sure we never leave,” Warden intones.
“What the Brag says is true, my lady. You should go, while you still can. I’ll be okay,” Peggy exhorts.
I make a growling sound under my breath, noting Warden’s hind quarters dancing at the noise.
“Fine,” I say eventually. “But take this.” I hand her my dagger. “Protect yourself.”
“A Wyrm has plenty of weapons,” Warden says.
“Thank you.” Peggy closes her hand around the hilt. “I will not forget you, Lady Ryle.”
For some reason, the look she gives me is far more knowing than it should be, but before I can say anything, a hot wind, in complete contrast to the damp and cloying mist which surround us, blows through the pillars of stone.
“We need to go,” Warden says with an element of urgency. “Long Meg is coming.”
A fear I didn’t think I had anymore grips my stomach.
“Goodbye, my lady.” Peggy gives me a wan smile and transforms into her little dragon once again, her wings flapping hard as she makes it into what could be described as the sky.
“I promise you, my lady”—Warden stands next to me in his human form—“she will survive. Wyrms always do.”
“Then we need to get out of here. What are the chances we’ll find the Heddon cave?”
“I still believe in the lines. If I’m right, they’ll lead us there,” Warden says, but his face is solemn. “And we’ll have to deal with the Shellycoat when we get there.”
At my side, I feel the weight of the sword like I never have before. Warden’s presence, despite my annoyance at him over the Wyrm, should be comforting.
But with the sword and the damage it can do, I’m not sure it is.