With a smile, his father had asked, “What sort of container will you use to carry it in?”
His father had been right. What material could stand up long enough to carry the contents? The answer was--nothing. The acid ate flesh, bone, wood, and even iron. The same iron the bars of his cell were made from.
Raymer called softly, “Hey, Quint. You awake?”
“I am now that you woke me up.”
Raymer glanced around the dungeon to ensure they were alone enough to talk. “Do you have a window?”
“Why, you want to swap cells?”
“Are there iron bars on it?”
“No, the guards just trust me to stay in here,” Quint laughed, sounding genuinely amused.
Raymer didn’t laugh. “If there were no bars, could you climb high enough and squeeze through the opening?”
Quint barked a laugh. “If there weren’t any bars we’d never have this wonderful time together to waste on your silliness.”
“Because you’d climb out and be gone, I know. Listen, I may be able to make those bars disappear.”
“You’ve suddenly become a majiker? Make bunnies and prison bars disappear? If you could do that, you would have done it a year ago.”
Raymer paused until the guard passed by on his next round and went out of earshot. “I wasn’t desperate until now. There will only be one chance for us.”
Quint didn’t respond for half the afternoon. When he did, he asked, “Men go crazy living down here. Has that happened to you?”
“Not yet, but soon. I need lime.”
“Lime, like an orange?”
“No, like what is used in the mortar between bricks.”
“Building something?”
“More like tearing it down. Listen, my cell does not have a wall mortar. Your cell has a red brick one, right?”
“How’s this going to help me?”
“Mortar contains lime. I need at least a few large sized handfuls. You’ll need the same.”
Quint shook the bars on his cell violently and called out to the approaching guard. “Go tell the new Dungeon Master that Raymer’s gone bat shit crazy.”
The guard chuckled, “I thought the two of you were friends.”
“Shut up and mind your own business,” Quint snarled, his temper and frustration taking control.
“Besides, I ain’t seen the new Dungeon Master in days, so I can’t tell him squat even if I wanted to,” the guard snapped. “Dressed like a pansy, he looked and acted like he never wants to come down here again.”
Raymer heard Quint’s angry growl in response. The guard wandered off humming to himself. Heavy footsteps in the next cell told him Quint had moved to his straw pallet and probably was going to try napping his life away, again. Maybe a good idea. Raymer ran a few steps in the center of his cell, raising his knees almost to his chest, but his mind was not on exercise, and he soon quit.
Placing his hands on his temples, he concentrated and felt an odd sensation. The gentle touch of the mind of a beast flowed over him like warm water on a cold day. It was a dragon, he felt certain of it. Keeping his eyes closed and he considered the strange circumstances that allowed the mind-touch of a dragon to be gentle and soft. Raymer could feel the dragon inside his mind, and knew the dragon felt him, although if asked, he couldn’t explain it.
The dragon flew nearby, but not too close. He nudged it gently, saying he was pleased the dragon was near, like stroking the neck of a horse as it followed a rider’s commands.
The feeling ceased, leaving him exhausted and delighted. Nobody he knew personally had ever claimed they had touched a dragon's mind, but there were old stories of men who did. The loss of the sensation left him in a melancholy mood as he wondered if he would ever repeat the feat. If his escape plan had any chance of success, he had to.
“Hey, Quint. What’s the one thing you miss the most in here?”
“Men who are quiet and let me sleep.”
“What about food? Or women?”
Quint drew in a long breath before answering. “Soft, clean beds and warm blankets.”
“Above food or women?”
“You haven’t smelled the stink from my bed, or maybe you have. They threw a couple of handfuls of clean straw in here about a month ago. That was the first since I don’t know when. My back aches every day from the hard floor.”
Raymer stood where he could see a small patch of the blue sky through the tiny window and watched a single cloud slowly drift past. His eyes fell to the layer of cold, gray, straw he slept upon. “Okay, a clean bed and a warm blanket. I see your point.”
“Raymer, if you get me out of here, and we take only ten steps out of the yard I’m your best friend. Get me killed escaping outside these palace walls and in the afterlife, I’ll shake your hand and give you a hug.”
Raymer allowed his mind to drift like the cloud he had watched as he reached out and touched the dragon’s mind again. It was there, far off, but a presence like he’d never encountered. The next time the dragon flew past, he’d suggest it turn in one direction or another. If it did as he asked, he might have the beginnings of a plan that would work.
CHAPTER THREE
Raymer waited impatiently for three full days until he felt the tingling sensation on his birthmark again. He closed his eyes and tried to issue warm, friendly, and welcoming thoughts, as he’d heard some of the clan elders did when telling their dragon tales. They said that someday he would be able to “call down” dragons in battle, but the specifics were for adult ears. A year ago, he’d been only fifteen and beardless. Children were not entrusted with clan secrets.
But he’d heard rumors all his life.
He pulled himself up to the window and watched the sky. The dragon flew into view. It flew with a leisurely appearance about it. However, it turned and twisted the head on the end of the sinuous neck as if it was now searching for something. I’m here.
The dragon suddenly turned and flew directly at him. His heart went wild. He shook his head at the beast. It was too soon. His plan was not developed. Raymer’s face paled. Should he cheer or faint? But first, he had to make the dragon fly away.
No! Turn away. Turn to your left.
The dragon looked confused, the beating wings hesitating as if it didn’t understand, or didn’t know what to do. Dragons don’t know what the left is, he corrected himself. Turn to the sun. Fly to the sun.
The dragon swerved as it looked to the west, and the setting sun. As it flew faster, Raymer felt the tingles on his back diminish, but the sensation of communicating remained in his mind. A smile crossed his lips for the first time in days as he again projected friendly, warm thoughts that he hoped the dragon could understand and that it would return for more of them. The feeling of touching the dragon mind finally ceased.
His plan needed refinement. If the King or one of his minions realized the dragon was in contact with Raymer, his life would last about as long as it took for one of them to descend the stone stairs to the dungeon, swords in hands. Still, he felt like dancing around his cell as if he’d lost his mind. When the euphoria wore off, he sat and considered what to do.
The problem was two-fold. Raymer needed the dragon to understand his wishes well enough to do what he needed. He also had to keep it secret from anyone in the Summer Palace while perfecting it. But for now, he smiled.