Fairytales Slashed: Volume 3

Rasnake

Tallant laughed and shook his head. "You really are excited to be going home. I don't understand it."

Milton grinned. "That's because your family is nothing like mine. If my family was as backwards and zealous as yours—"

"You'd be dead because you suck at keeping your foot out of your mouth," Tallant cut in.

"Probably," Milton agreed easily. "But only because you elves are so fussy about that sort of thing."

Tallant rolled his eyes.

Milton snickered. "My little brother will positively die when he sees you, unless his obsession has faded."

"You've mentioned before he had an interest in the markings," Tallant replied, amused as ever by the obsession with his tattoos. Everyone outside his homeland tended to gawk, like they didn't have tattoos of their own. He did concede, though, that no one had them even half as extensively as the elves of his homeland did.

He was literally covered in them—what was called a rune crown across his forehead, the master mark right between his eyes. There were more along his cheeks, called guard marks. A choker wrapped around his throat, four master marks at four points starting what were called master trails—one that went straight down his chest, another down his spine, and the remaining two went down the sides of his throat, along his shoulders, then down his arms. From these master trails, other runes spilled out, covering the greater portion of his body in patterns that made sense only to other elves and the few others who could read them.

The master trails on his arms stopped just past his elbows. His right forearm was covered in an intricate pattern of rune-work that identified him as battle-bonded. A matching tattoo covered Milton's right forearm. They had met ten years ago, and had been battle-bonded, sworn brothers, for nine years.

His left forearm was bare; it would remain so until he was life-bonded to someone.

If his family saw him, they would wail and shriek like the world was ending. They were part of a group of zealots back home, who favored pacifism above all else. They would despair to see the eldest son of the clan chief covered head to foot in the black, blue, red, and green markings of a full-fledged battle mage.

"I don't know how he might feel now, but yeah. We met one of you freaks when he was eight. He went home and stole ink and pen from the royal scribe and tried to duplicate the marks." Milton sniggered. "On his left arm."

Tallant grinned. "So what you're saying is, your brother will like me lots. How pretty did you say your brother was, by the way?"

Milton punched his arm. "You are not allowed to have sex with my brother. You're not even allowed to flirt with him."

Snorting in amusement, Tallant said, "I hate to be the one to break this to you, but it's been ten years. Someone else has handled your brother's education in certain matters."

"Can't hear you," Milton said, clapping hands over his ears and glaring murder.

Tallant snickered. "Baby."

"Ass."

"Human."

"Elf."

"Bitch."

"I'm the bitch? Who here is the pretty elf who gets propositioned more often than whores?"

Tallant kicked a leg out, tripping Milton up, nearly sending him crashing to the dirt path they walked along. "Shut up."

"Heh." Milton smirked at him.

"I really can't wait until we're finally at your precious home, so you'll be inundated in people happy to see you and you will stop harassing me. Or noticing me at all." He tensed, prepared to run. "Or noticing when I take your brother to the stable for a 'riding' lesson."

He bolted as Milton roared in protest, laughing and running at the same time, something that proved to be a bad idea as it slowed him down just enough for Milton to catch up to him and grab—

—and causing them both to trip, fall, and go tumbling ass over kettle down the hill on one side of the old path. Tallant only just barely kept them from ending up in the creek. "Ass."

"Bitch."

Tallant shifted on the ground and shoved lightly at Milton. "I'm not convinced—"

He forgot what he was going to say as a look of horror and fear filled Milton's face.

"Up," Milton said hoarsely, even as he scrambled to his feet and yanked Tallant with him.

It was only then that Tallant heard it, and in the very next breath he smelled it. Like copper and hot meat.

Dragon.

Tallant didn't know for certain, but he was pretty damn sure that they were inside the Royal Wards. Dragons shouldn't be on this side of it.

It was on the other side of the creek, growling, grunting, six dark eyes swirling at them in ominous contemplation. To judge by its size—somewhere between massive and oh shit—and its dark coloring, it was a mature male.

To judge by the scratches along its hide, something only another dragon could manage, it had mated recently. Very recently. Always a brutal, life-risking endeavor for the males, they were never in good moods when they managed to escape being killed by the female.

Then there was no more time for thinking, as the dragon moved faster than it should have been able to for its size, splashing through the creek like grass, coming at them with deadly intent.

Its breath was hot as Tallant just barely avoided its jaws, and he fled for dear life across the creek, trying to force his brain to work, cobbling together a stun spell and throwing it at the damned thing—

Only for the dragon to break the spell so quickly it hardly seemed the damned thing had worked at all. Shit shit shit. Scrambling up the bank, he struggled to his feet and looked around for Milton. After a moment, he saw Milton struggling up the bank several feet away.

"Hold it still, damn it, whatever it fucking takes," Milton gasped out, obviously having managed to take in water as he struggled through the creek. "If we can thrust through one of its eyes deep enough, that'll kill it."

Nodding, Tallant watched as the dragon swung back around and considered them. He obviously was weighing the merits of the back and forth creek game—that was the biggest problem with the dragons. They were too damned smart.

Bracing himself, Tallant drew all his magical energy together, tattoos hot on his skin. Then he drew still more power through the battle bond, weaving it all together into a stun spell that would hopefully hold longer than a second.

As ready as he'd ever be, seeing the dragon was about to spring, he threw the spell at it with all his might.

Even as he did that, Milton was charging, prepared to get eaten by dragon if Tallant if screwed up—trusting that Tallant would not—and as the spell landed, and the dragon was stunned, he threw himself at the dragon, climbed up its thick, sharp hide, and drove daggers into two of its six swirling eyes.

The pain drove the dragon to break the spell, and it tossed its head, sending Milton flying into the creek, buried momentarily beneath the knee-deep water.

Tallant swore and charged down the bank, shaping his magic into a spell of blinding light, throwing it to briefly shock and slow the dragon, stooping and pulling up a choking, sputtering Milton. They ran, fleeing further down the creek, running as fast as they could in the ankle-deep portions of it. Tallant swore as he hit a spot that proved deeper, and went down with a cry, pain radiating from his ankle—

As he regained his footing, they heard the ominous sounds of a pissed off dragon far too close. Desperate, scared to death, Tallant turned around and threw all of the remaining magic he could spare without passing out at, willing the stun spell to better hold this time, watching in fear as Milton charged the dragon one last time—

And drove his sword into one of its remaining eyes, barely managing it before he was once again thrown—this time into a copse of thorn bushes.

The dragon screamed, thrashed around wildly, but Tallant knew wild death throes when he saw them. He waited, not daring to move, barely daring to breathe, as the dragon thrashed about and finally collapsed, twitching for several more agonizing minutes it at last held still.

When it was clear that it would stay still, and never move again, he climbed shakily to his feet, then hobbled up the embankment into the copse of trees and bushes. "Milton?"

A pained grunt, followed by a groan, answered his call, and then Milton half-stumbled, half-limped into view. "So, that was fun."

Tallant punched him.

Milton hit him back, and they glared at each other for a moment.

Finally Tallant left off, too tired, and sat down hard on the ground, scowling at the gigantic corpse between them and the creek now. The sun was setting, and while that had been nice before, now that they were soaked to the bone it was just one more unpleasant aspect to the whole disaster. "I don't get it," he said. "I was sure we were within the Royal Wards. Why did we just barely kill a dragon? Never mind a fully grown male who just got laid."

Milton shook his head. Like Tallant, he was soaked through, covered in grass and mud—but also in petals and leaves from the bushes he'd just climbed out of, bloody here and there were the thorns had gotten him. "I don't know. We are within the Ward. There should not be any dragons here. Some is very wrong." He tensed suddenly, then started to stand. "The palace, Irene and Cecil—"

Tallant grabbed him, yanked him back down. "Milton, it's going to be dark soon. That's dangerous enough. There are apparently dragons roaming about, which isn't dangerous but flat out stupid. On top of that, we just got our asses kicked. I've got a bad ankle and no magic, and you just lost a fight with a thorn bush, after being thrown around twice. We're not going anywhere tonight. Our best bet is to camp here for the night. So close to that corpse, nothing else with bother us, and I can suitably heal us after I rest. Not to mention it will give our clothes time to dry."

Melton said nothing, but Tallant could tell by the slight relaxing of his shoulders that he'd conceded the point. Trusting he wouldn't bolt, Tallant stood up gingerly and went to go dig the blades out of the dead dragon's eyes. He groaned and immediately sat back down, ankle and lack of energy conspiring to make him dizzy and wobbly.

"Baby," Milton said with a smirk.

"Girl."

"Ass."

"Bitch."

Smirking briefly, Milton said, "I'll get the blades. You get a fire going, because we need to get dry. I'm not sleeping in wet clothes." Grimacing in agreement, preferring not to think about what had happened the one and only time they'd been stupid enough to do that, Tallant got to work on a campfire.

Half an hour later, he and Milton were dressed in spare clothes and wrapped in their cloaks while their wet clothes dried on branches. Ankle bandaged, all cuts and bruises treated with ointment, they settled close to the fire and ate their less than thrilling camp food, too tired to put effort into cooking.

"A fucking dragon," Milton muttered. "I don't believe it."

"Me neither," Tallant said. "I really can't believe it almost killed us. After that thing with the thieves—" He scowled.

Milton matched the expression. "Stupid fucking dragon."

"Agreed."

*~*~*

Something was wrong. Tallant could see that easily enough, even without the deep, troubled frown marring Milton's face. For one, there was a distinct lack of soldiers. Anywhere. The gates were open and the drawbridge down, but not so much as a single foot soldier was anywhere in sight.

"No guards, no banners—nothing," Milton muttered. "That's not right. I don't see any people but the place is wide open and there are dragons around."

Tallant looked over the castle and surrounding fields. He could see the chimney smoke of a few houses, but from all the stories Milton had told him over the years, he thought he should be able to see more than a few.

"It's spring," Milton said. "I don't understand—the castle should be spilling over with people and activity."

"I guess we're about to find out," Tallant said as they approached the lowered drawbridge. They were barely halfway across when two men, almost completely identical in appearance, slunk from the shadows and stood in their path. "Well, now," said the one on Tallant's right. "You're a pretty elf, and no mistake. Not one to be trifled with though, a regular marke by the look of you."

Tallant frowned. He was far from fluent, but he knew enough to know thieves' cant when he heard it. Marke meant 'blood elf', a derogatory term for a battle mage.

"Watch it," Milton said, and Tallant knew he didn't recognize the word, merely the tone. "You've no place here, so get lost or I'll get rid of you myself."

The men, obviously twins, burst into laughter. The one on the left grinned. "Sorry, flik, but we were put on gate duty by Rasnake himself. We're supposed to be here."

"The what?" Milton said.

"Rasnake," Tallant said, before the twins could. "It means 'dragon killer,' I think."

The right most twin looked at Tallant, impressed and amused. "You speak the cant, marke?"

"Only a bit," Tallant said, voice cool. "Who is this Rasnake and why are you taking orders from him?"

The left most twin leveled a pensive gaze on Milton. "The King is gone mad these past ten years, and the Crown Princess joined the missing several days ago, and until this morning Rasnake was the only real leader left. As to who, well, you should know him, flik. You've got his eyes and his crooked nose, and his temper I'd bet."

"What—Cecil—" Milton burst out. "My brother—"

The right most brother stopped him with a hand on his chest, as Milton tried to finish crossing the drawbridge and enter the castle proper. "Steady, flik."

"I am not a flik," Milton said, glaring at him in a way that should have the guy worried, but Tallant wasn't going to tell him that. He also did not bother to point out to Milton that he was, in fact, flik—thieves cant for 'fire'.

"I want to see my brother," Milton said coldly, knocking away the hand on his chest.

The brothers shrugged. "No one can see him. He was arrested a couple days ago for the murder of one of the missing girls, and once he tells them where he stashed the others, they're going to hang him."

"What—" Milton roared, and tried again to cross the drawbridge. When they tried to stop him and were actually stupid enough to grab him to do it, Tallant ducked discreetly out of the way and fed Milton energy through the bond.

They were good, very good in fact, he would give them that. But Milton pissed off and worried about someone—they didn't stand a chance. He knocked the one off his feet with a punch the guy never saw coming, then drew his sword and rounded on the other, knocking the twin's sword away and hitting him hard with the flat of the blade. When the other brother regained his feet and came at him again, Milton grabbed the first, threw him into the second, then ran at both of them—

—and sent them over the side of the bridge, staring until they hit the moat with a resounding splash.

Tallant rolled his eyes. "Peace, Milton. You'll get answers out of no one if you toss them all into the moat." He peered over the edge, watching idly as the brothers surfaced and began to climb out of the moat, hurtling epithets and obscenities up at them. "Not much on gate duty, are they?" he commented idly.

Milton snorted, and strode on.

The courtyard was almost entirely deserted; only a couple of servants, some chickens, and a tired old dog filled the space. That was strange enough for any castle—but for the royal castle? The wrongness grew deeper and stranger with every step.

He turned sharply, hand going to his sword, at the sound of movement, but relaxed as he saw it was an old, haggard looking man who could probably barely manage to lift a spoon. The man's eyes widened as they landed on Milton. "Bless me! Master Milton, is that you!"

"Henry," Milton said, sounding relieved. "A familiar face. Thank god. Where are Cecil and Irene? What the hell is going on here?"

Looking suddenly twice his age, Henry said, "A lot, Master Milton, and none of it good. But it's good to see you." He flicked a curious glance at Tallant.

Milton motioned impatiently. "Where is my brother? Where is Irene? What is going on and what is all this bloody nonsense about Cecil in jail for murder—and what's with the dragons?"

Henry looked too weary to continue standing. "It is true, I'm afraid. If you'll come inside—"

"I don't want—"

Tallant knocked him upside the head, and met Milton's subsequent glare unflinchingly. "Shut up and calm down. Listen to what he has to say, then we'll know how to save your brother, flik."

"Shut up," Milton retorted sourly, but motioned for Henry to lead the way. He led them into the castle, through to a private solar behind the great hall. "This place…" Milton looked horrified, weary. "It's all wrong. Why?" He sat down heavily in a chair that had seen better days, looking around the room, looked devastated.

Tallant leaned against a table in equally sorry condition, accepting the goblet of raw, dark wine Henry gave him with quiet thanks.

Henry drank his own wine, and sat down, saying, "A year or so after you left, Master Milton, the King went completely mad. He got so bad that the Crown Princess conspired with the council to lock him up in his tower. He remains there now. The Princess took over the throne, but not another year had gone by when the Royal Wards broke near here: a two mile stretch of land where the Wards were suddenly gone. We have tried to repair it over the years, but we simply have never been able to do it. Every time we try, the work unweaves itself again. The dragons came through…" He drifted off, clearly fighting tears.

He didn't need to explain for them to understand what must have happened. No one in this country had needed to fight dragons for nearly a hundred years. Hell, even back home, dragons were no longer a threat. He and Milton had avoided death the other night mostly because of dumb luck, and partly because they had a wide enough range of experience and knowledge lent them by their travels—experience and knowledge that soldiers of a safe, cozy kingdom in a quiet village would not possess.

"We lost more than I can bear to count," Henry finally said. "The Princess sent many out to defend the nearby villages, but too many have fallen to those damned dragons. It was not until Rasnake and his friends—"

Milton frowned. "Why do you call Cecil that?"

"No one has called your brother Cecil in ten years, Master Milton. It was him and his thief friends what turned the tide, and managed to hold the line all these years. Even now, they continue to protect us while Rasnake is locked up because of those imbeciles."

Tallant poured them all more wine, then gently prodded, "What happened?"

"Fifteen," Henry said sadly. "One at first, then two more, then three, on and on it went—and now the Crown Princess herself. Fifteen young women just stolen from their beds without a trace. No one could find them, and we have scoured these woods from beginning to end. Not even a damned clue. Two days ago, some men were out hunting for food and found one of them. The youngest girl, the first to go missing—dead. She was wearing a ball gown and dancing slippers." Tears fell down his cheeks, and he pulled out a dirty kerchief to blow his nose. "She was only twelve. Her shoes were so torn up and bloodied, it looked like she had worn them out dancing, but she must have been running for her life."

Milton shook his head. "I don't see why Cecil—"

"Because she was holding a trinket he had made for her," Henry said. "No one else can make those clever little toys. She was gripping it as though her life depended upon it, and those fools took it as evidence that he is the murderer."

Tallant made a face. "That proves absolutely nothing; how can they get away with it?"

Henry's face twisted with bitterness. "They are desperate for blood, for explanation, for resolution. They want someone to blame for something, and they were never happy that she married him."

Milton frowned. "Huh? Who married who, and who is they?"

Henry eyed him cautiously, then said gently, "They as in the council, or what's left of it. When the dragons attacked and everything started to go so wrong, the Princess feared for her Kingdom should she suffer the same madness as her father, or die in the midst of all this trouble. She did not want foreigners coming and taking the kingdom, nor did she want a civil war tearing it apart from the inside. She married Rasnake so that there would be someone she trusted on the throne, should the worst come to pass."

Tallant winced. The only two things Milton talked about constantly—incessantly—were his little brother and Princess Irene. Milton had only left twelve years ago because the King had caught him and Irene together in a very compromising situation. He had told Milton to leave or be hanged. Milton had left, but he wore the pendant the princess had given him as devoutly as Tallant wore his fate token.

"Married—" Milton's face went oddly blank. "My brother married Irene?"

"She felt it was her only option," Henry said gently, eyeing him warily. "They are friends, the very best of; you would have to talk to them to better understand. Unfortunately, that is not possible right now."

Tallant stirred. "I know he is in jail, but I am afraid that we really must see him. Surely leniency can be granted for a brother returned after twelve years, and greeted with such devastating news."

Henry turned to him. "Begging your pardon, but who the hell are you?"

"My name is Tallant Delarma. I'm a battle mage and Milton's battle bonded. He was gracious enough to invite me to his home, on his long-awaited return. I am sorry that we arrive to find the situation so dire. I promise we will do all that we can to assist in these troubles. But first, I feel we must speak with Cecil."

"Battle bonded, huh? I guess you're the polite half," Henry said with a trace of humor. "Milton and Cecil both are too…"

"Flik?" Tallant offered dryly.

"Yes," Henry said, smiling again briefly. "Far too flik for manners." He turned to Milton, brief levity fading. "I'm glad you're back, Master Milton. Maybe you can fix everything that has gone so wrong with Rasnake, with her Highness—with everything."

Milton stirred at that, frowning. "Why is he called that? My brother reads books and carves toys for children. He was a scholar and could not hold a sword properly to save his life."

"Strife changed him," Henry said quietly. "He can hold far more than a sword, and has saved all of our lives innumerable times. I warn you now that the man you are about to see has nothing in common with the boy you left behind twelve years ago."

"Take me to him," Milton said, and rose.

Henry nodded. "This way." He led the way out of the castle and across the back fields, to where the jail was located in one of the south guard towers. "Master Milton, please keep in mind that much has happened. The little boy you knew is gone—"

"Open the damn door," Milton snapped.

Sighing, Henry unlocked the heavy door. Tallant stepped forward to pull it open, for which Henry looked immensely grateful. Henry entered first, followed by Milton, and Tallant trailed along behind them.

The back half of the tower had been turned into three cells, all heavily barred and even more heavily locked. Two were empty, the furthest containing a single man. There were only two windows, one in each of the outermost cells, and so Tallant could not see anything very clearly.

He stared curiously at Cecil—Rasnake?—but he simply could not see much in the limited light. Not a small figure, he could determine that much. Not as tall as himself, Tallant would hazard, but it was impossible to say as Cecil was sitting on the floor. Still, like Milton, he seemed to be broad-shouldered and made of tight, lean muscle. He also seemed to be wearing nothing more than leggings and an under tunic. He did not even seem to have shoes. Had they dragged him out of bed?

"Ho, Henry," Cecil said, his voice a bit deeper than Milton's, a bit rougher. "You brought me visitors?"

"I brought your brother," Henry said quietly, and slipped away out of the tower.

Silence fell in his wake, and then Cecil slowly stood up. Tallant had been wrong—Cecil matched his height, might even be a shade taller. His hair fell in thick, dirty clumps around his face, as he approached the bars. His hands were dirty, calloused, covered in scrapes old and new, burn marks—the hands of a fighter, a warrior. But Milton had said a thousand times his brother was a scribe, an artist. In Tallant's experience, such significant change seldom happened in a person, and never for good reason.

"Well, well," Cecil said. "The mighty Milton returns at last. After twelve years, I'm surprised you could still find the place, or even bothered."