Hazel
“If you’re a god, why do you smell like a fish?” I hear myself respond to the Shellycoat.
It would appear my inner landlady can’t help but produce a saucy retort to a pompous arse who needs bringing down a peg or two.
And Beal the Shellycoat falls into the category of the most pompous and annoying of the group. Had he darkened my door as a customer, he would have been instantly barred.
And no doubt slunk away shouting insults.
The Shellycoat sneers at me before turning back to the Thegn.
“You told me I would get what I was promised if I assisted in removing the Brag’s mate from him. I want what I am owed and I want you out of my stronghold.”
“Patience,” the Thegn replies. “Admittedly not your strongest attribute, Beal, but perhaps on this occasion you could have some?”
Beal glowers. I spot his dark eyes have deep glowing embers embedded within them. He is not a monster you would wish to cross.
With a huff of breath, he turns away from the Thegn, and in a clanking of shells, he strides past me and into the rock face.
I gasp at his departure.
“Well, little female…” The Thegn is right next to me, a foul smell emanating from him as he looms over my head.
I have nowhere to go and I shouldn’t have let Beal distract me.
“How about you let me have my sword back,” the Thegn says. “Then perhaps I can return you to your Brag mate and all will be well.”
“How about I stab you, and I go back to Warden without giving you anything?” I suggest.
My heart is pounding, but if the Thegn wants something from me, then potentially I have the opportunity to make a bargain.
But not yet. Somehow I know this isn’t the right time. I’d do anything to get away from the Thegn, to be reunited with Warden…except this is the Yeavering, and nothing is ever as it seems.
Or as easy as it makes out. It’s testing me. I don’t know why. I hardly even know who I am, but the Yeavering wants something from me, and this is how it finds out.
“Feisty,” the Thegn says, patronisingly. “I can see why Warden chose you.”
“How about I chose him?”
“Unlikely, or you’d have never ended up in the Underhill. It’s a place only monsters like the Brag can go.”
I get the feeling the Thegn wants to tell me more, but he’s deliberately probing to find out what I know.
And I’m not inclined to tell him.
“I have a tavern to run and places to be, so unless you have anything else you hope to intimidate out of me, I will be leaving.”
I take a breath and duck past him, racing in the direction the Shellycoat took. There has to be an exit somewhere, providing I don’t run into Beal.
“There’s nowhere to go, little one,” the Thegn calls after me, clearly not interested in giving chase. “Only the Shellycoat and my pet Dunnie, but they’d love to meet you.”
I pull the sword from its sheath, and as I approach the wall Beal seemingly disappeared through like a ghost, I see it is an optical illusion. There is, in fact, a way out of this strange courtyard. I swiftly sidestep it, and it’s as if I can breathe again once I’m away from the Thegn.
I’m not out of this place yet, however. And now I’m probably going to run into the worst set of hench-monsters this side of Masters of the Universe.
But I still have my sword, and for once I don’t feel bad about using it. Especially if I might be able to use it on the thing which made it do the awful things which haunt my dreams.
The Thegn could end up getting it back in a way he really didn’t want, providing I can kill it. Unfortunately it doesn’t look like the sort of creature who would give up existence easily. Like most things in the Yeavering, there’s probably a trick to it.
I creep down a passage. Light comes in from a crack overhead, and the walls are caked in sand. The scent of the sea is strong, blown in by the breeze outside.
Is all of this fortress as draughty?
A deep voice echoes distantly to where I’m moving forward.
Could it be a way out? I have no way of knowing, and I’m certainly not going to be able to climb out of this place, so I follow my ears, hoping they lead me somewhere, anywhere but this strange corridor which gives me the creeps even more than the weird throne area.
The echoes resolve into a deep grumbling voice, which starts and stops like a poorly aspirated motorcycle engine. It is getting louder until finally, there is a gap in the monotonous passage, and I see a set of steps leading down.
Sword in hand, I carefully place one foot after another on them, descending as quietly as I dare. The voice has stopped, and I shift my grip on the hilt, making myself ready to deal with whatever is at the bottom.
Finally, the spiralling stairs open up onto a flagged floor. I press myself hard against the stone wall and risk looking around.
I’m in a long gallery, bordered on one side by more sand-covered stone wall and on the other by a long series of arched windows, open to the elements and with a view over the sea.
Here and there are pieces of furniture, salt stained, peeling, as if they’ve been dredged up from the deep.
I’m at the top end of the gallery, and in the corner nearest to me is a heap of what looks like both bedding and seaweed.
Is something living here? Or at the very least, sleeping in this windswept ancient place? What would possibly want to be here or reduced to living here?
Before I can work out an answer to the questions I’m posing, I hear a familiar sound. Hooves ring out on stone flags, and I spin on the spot, ready to face the Dunnie.
“Warden!”
“My lady!”
He gallops towards me with the most tremendous clatter, sparks flying up from his shoes, and I’m caught up in his warm, fragrant embrace, his muscular form lifting me from my feet and his lips on mine.
My big bad Brag is here, and it’s time we dealt with the Thegn once and for all.