Agent of the Dragon

Amilar watched Rhysa as she returned from the realms he’d sent her to. His smile showed satisfaction as he read the signs he expected. Now she was ready to be released. He undid the straps and helped her sit up.

Rhysa felt odd without the straps holding her. They’d take her to the privy, or the bath, or had her do exercises, but it still felt weird to just sit without straps holding her in place. She looked at Amilar; he smiled and stroked her hair, let his hand caress its way down her arm.

“Now, you are almost ready. I’ve had to delay my plans while you were here.” His lips thinned slightly, but he controlled his annoyance. “You killed one of my major tools, and the Royals killed the second shortly after I brought you here. When I am finished with you, we can move forward with my plans at last.” Rhysa leaned into his caress. He chuckled. “I’ll have a bed brought in immediately. I think we’re done with the gurney you’ve been strapped to.” Rhysa smiled.

Amilar stepped back and seemed to collect himself. “I’ll get that done right now. Wait here until I come back.”

“How long will you be?”

“It’ll be a few hours, I’m afraid. Get some sleep.” He leaned forward and kissed her.

Her blood leapt, but she nodded. He left the room and spoke to someone outside. A few minutes later, two men carried a bed in. When they left, they took the gurney and straps. Rhysa was still naked; she looked around. No one had brought her any clothes. She sat on the bed to wait.

It was perhaps ten minutes later when she heard the lock on the door open. The guard came in quietly. She took a steadying breath, lay back on the bed, and made her voice husky--a feminine version of Amilar’s voice. “Come here.” She didn’t try to hide the smile his reaction to her voice caused; he would misinterpret it. “Are you going to just stand there? Clothed?”

Rhysa let her hand trace patterns on her belly as she watched him undress. Everything she’d learned from Venusia and Camyrn fell into place. She could almost pity the guard--almost.

When he crawled onto the bed, she spread her legs for him. Casually, she placed her left hand on the back of his head, just above the neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

She kissed him until she felt his arms weakening, then she released the kiss, but kept her hand on his head. With the back of her right hand she caressed his right cheek from eye to jaw. She looked into his eyes, and with a spasm of her arms, she twisted his head and snapped his neck, continuing the motion to push him off the bed.

The body hit the floor with a dull thud. His clothes were too big, and would get in the way. Being naked might be conspicuous, but it also tended to be very distracting for others. She grabbed the guard’s sword and dagger and slipped out of her room.

Rhysa emerged at the end of a long flagstone hall wide enough for three to walk side-by-side. The empty hall extended to her left and was long enough to hold two doors in addition to the one she’d just left. A glance through the other doors confirmed the rooms were identical to the one she’d just left. A heavy wood door reinforced with iron bars closed the end of the hall.

She held the dagger in her left hand so the flat of the blade lay against the inside of her forearm. It wasn’t much protection, but naked as she was, it would at least allow her to deflect off-center strikes without losing her arm. Prepared as much as she could be, Rhysa strode to the door at the end of the hall, bare feet silent on the cool flagstones.

The door muffled the sounds coming from the other side. She pressed her ear against the crack between the hinged side of the door and the jamb. Even so, she couldn’t hear much more than the occasional word. What she understood was tone and register of each voice.

There were two identifiable voices: the first voice was deep and harsh, the second was the slightly hesitant tenor of a young man trying to fit in. After a few minutes of listening, she gathered they were talking about the man she’d just killed, and laughing at what they imagined him doing to her.

In her mind, she heard Jayse’s voice. “Action may get you killed--hesitation will. The right time is now." Rhysa took a deep breath to control her racing heart, then softly tried the door. It was locked. Without the overlay, there was nothing she could do on her own. She knocked, hoping there wasn’t a specific rhythm the guards were listening for.

A bar slid back. The door began to open. When it was open enough so the guard couldn’t slam it shut by leaning on it, she rammed it with her shoulder. The young guard opening it stumbled backwards, his mouth opening on a startled cry.

She made a lightning decision, and clicked his mouth shut with a quick jab of the dagger pommel, then smashed him flat with a fist wrapped around the solid hilt of her sword. She dodged around his inert form to confront the older guard who had drawn his sword, but not yet set himself.

With her blade-protected forearm, she trapped his blade against his chest and ran him through with her own sword. The force of her rush pushed them both against the far wall. She held him there until he went limp, then she pulled her sword from his heart. He fell, and she listened for any further sound--nothing; her rush had overwhelmed them and was over in a few seconds.

Rhysa cleaned her sword on the dead man’s tunic, then she examined the younger guard. He still breathed, but would sleep for quite some time. She looked around the room: there was a door in the far corner of the wall to the right when she’d entered, and a counter in front of that second door blocking a direct line between the two doors; presumably that’s where logs would be kept of people coming in and out. On the right hand wall was a weapons rack containing several swords and daggers, a couple of spears, and two crossbows with cases of bolts hanging on the wall next to them. Also on the rack were the boiled leather gambeson that would have saved the guard’s life from Rhysa’s first thrust. Against the left wall was a table with three chairs and a large cabinet.

She stripped the young guard, grateful she’d managed to take him out of the fight without damaging the uniform. His clothes were large, but not too large to cause problems. After dressing in the young guard’s pants, socks, and boots, she held up the tunic, glanced down at her chest, and set the tunic aside.

After a few minutes of searching, Rhysa found what she needed in the cabinet: an emergency medical kit. She didn’t bother digging through the large backpack, she just upended it and let everything fall to the ground. With everything spread out, she quickly found the roll of bandaging cloth. Unfortunately, it wasn’t wide enough to do the job without telltale bulges. Her eyes stopped on the dead guard; a brief examination found a section of his tunic large enough and unsullied. Instead of dulling her own dagger, she grabbed the one from his belt and used it to cut a piece of his tunic large enough to completely cover her breasts.

She placed the section of tunic over her breasts and began the awkward and uncomfortable process of flattening them as much as possible with the bandaging cloth. With her breasts bound as close to flat as she could manage alone, she hoped the large fit of her stolen tunic would cover the rest.

After making sure of her work, she donned the young guard’s tunic and, buckling a sword belt over the tunic, sheathed her sword and dagger. Then she went to take a crossbow and a case of bolts. Upon reaching for the crossbow, her eyes fell on the leather gambeson. In her haste, she’d forgotten about the armor. It was meant to go under the tunic. It would have let the guard live long enough to at least strike once; it might save her life. She sighed, exasperated with herself, as something else occurred to her: the gambeson made the care with which she’d bound her breasts superfluous.

Rhysa removed the tunic, but left the bindings in place. A short struggle with straps and hardened leather later, she managed to put the gambeson on. Then she put the tunic and belt back on.

She took the crossbow and a case of bolts, then clipped the case of bolts to the back of her belt, checking to see if she could grab a bolt quickly. Then she cocked the crossbow, loaded it, and cut the string of the remaining crossbow. Satisfied with her preparations, Rhysa went to the door on the other side of the counter.

The door was heavier than she expected, as though a spring pushed against her. When she slipped through, it was into a wine cellar. The door closed behind her, and she looked to see a wine rack against a stone wall. Counter-balanced and set up to swing easily, but held closed with a spring, then.

A noise from the other end of the wine cellar called her attention back to her task. She ducked behind a large wooden rack holding barrels of common wine. The sound of boots on flagstone told her it was another guard, rather than a servant. From her vantage point, she could see the rack that stood in front of the secret door.

She watched the guard approach and kick a certain stone under a nearby rack. The door opened slightly, and he paused. The guard sniffed the air. Tension ran through his body as he drew his sword and opened the door further.

She stepped out and raised her crossbow; she took careful aim, then deliberately scuffed a boot across the flagstone. The guard spun, sword ready. Rhysa’s bolt passed completely through the guard’s throat and embedded itself in the cabinet on the far wall of the guard station.

Rhysa ran forward and caught the hand holding the sword. The guard gurgled as he failed to make his lungs breathe through blood. She let his body hit the floor, but kept the sword from ringing against stone.

Now that she was in the door, she could smell what had caught the guard’s notice: the coppery scent of blood, and the result of internal muscles relaxing after death. She hauled the weakly twitching guard into the room and hid him behind the counter, removed the bolt from the cabinet and, seeing the wood had damaged the bolt, tossed it onto a corpse. She reloaded the crossbow, and left the room again.

This time, Rhysa made her way to the far end of the cellar without incident. She paused at the end of the stairs; a faint pressure, like the faintest of winds on her skin, told her something missing had returned.

Sight revealed the overlay around her, and something deep inside her relaxed; Amilar had not found a way to remove a mage’s ability. She glanced behind and saw some kind of shimmering barrier. The urge to investigate was difficult to resist, but she forced herself to focus on escape.

The return of the overlay gave her a few more options. She created a disguise, making her appear like the young guard she’d knocked unconscious. If she lowered her voice, she might pass for a young man under stress.

She made her way up the stairs without trying to be silent. As she’d expected, the door at the top opened into the kitchen. Rhysa stood on the upper landing, and took time to think about the layout. If she had a hidden dungeon and retraining facility where the only entrance was through the kitchen, what precautions would she take? She wouldn’t want to disrupt the kitchen operation any more than necessary, so the door to the rest of the house would probably be near the wine cellar door. The head cook wouldn’t want a guard standing outside the door to the wine cellar and getting in the way...most trips to the cellar would not be for the dungeon. If there were any guards, they would be outside the door between the kitchen and the rest of the house.

Rhysa had a reasonable idea of how things were likely laid out; it was time to act. She let the crossbow hang down the length of her leg, partially hiding it from view. With the slightly frantic air of someone who’d nearly left for the privy too late, she pushed through the door into the kitchen.

She emerged in the corner of the kitchen, and there was a door a few feet in front of her on the wall to her right. She hurried to the door, opened it, and nearly panicked when she found herself looking into a pantry. Not looking to see if her error had been remarked, she closed the door and hurried along the wall. There was a snicker behind her, but she reached the next door on the same wall without further incident.

Rhysa was relieved when she opened the door, and found it led to a wood paneled corridor. No guards on the door, so she stepped through and closed the door. Her relief fled when she turned--Lord Amilar stood at the other end of the passage.

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