The Dragon in the Sword Read Online Free PDF

aeons ago.
    It was long, slow going through that marshland. We had constantly to stop, to test the ground ahead with my pike or the gaff which von Bek now held, to look for means of crossing from one clump of solid earth to the next, to rescue one another from plunging waist-deep into deceptive patches of water, from falling into the sharp fronds of reeds which were in the main the tallest plants in the region. And sometimes we could see the building ahead of us, sometimes it seemed to vanish. Sometimes too it had the appearance of a good-sized town or a large castle. “A definitely medieval appearance, I think,” said von Bek. “Why, I wonder, am I reminded of Nuremberg?”
    “Well,” I said, “let’s hope the occupants are not similar to those currently in residence in your world!”
    Again he showed a little surprise at my detailed knowledge of his world and I made a private resolution to make as few references as possible to Nazi Germany and the twentieth century which we had in common.
    As I helped von Bek through one particularly foul section of the mire he said to me: “Is it possible we were meant to meet here? That our destinies are somehow linked?”
    “Forgive me if I seem dismissive,” I said, “but I have heard too much of destinies and cosmic plans. I am sick of them. All I want is to find the woman I love and remain with her where we shall be undisturbed!”
    He seemed sympathetic to this. “I must admit all this talk of dooms and destinies has a somewhat Wagnerian ring to it—and reminds me a little too much of the Nazis’ debasement of our myths and legends to justify their own ghastly crimes.”
    “I’ve experienced many justifications for acts of the grossest cruelty and savagery,” I agreed. “And most of them have a high-sounding or sentimental character to them, whether it be one person flogging another as in de Sade or a national leader urging his people on to kill and be killed.”
    It seemed to me that the air was growing colder and there was a hint of rain. This time I insisted that von Bek take my cloak and he at last agreed. I leaned my pike upon a hillock, close to a bed of particularly tall reeds, and he placed his fishing gaff on the ground so that he could settle the leather garment better about his shoulders.
    “Is the sky darkening?” he wondered, looking up. “I have difficulty telling time here. I’ve been here for two full nights but have yet to work out how long the days are.”
    I had a feeling that twilight was approaching and was about to suggest we have another look in my pouch to see if I possessed any means of making a fire when something struck my shoulder a heavy blow and sent me face forward onto the ground.
    I was on one knee and turning, trying to reach my pike which, apart from the short knife, was my only weapon, when about a dozen weirdly armoured warriors rose up out of the reed bed and moved rapidly towards us.
    One of them had cast a club and it had been that which had thrown me down. Von Bek was yelling, stooping to reach for his gaff, when a second club caught him on the side of the head.
    “Stop!” I cried to the men. “Why don’t you parley? We are not your enemies!”
    “That’s your delusion, my friend,” one of them growled while the others uttered unpleasant laughs in response.
    Von Bek was rolling on his side, clutching his face. It was livid from where the club had hit him.
    “Will you kill us without challenging us?” he shouted.
    “We’ll kill you any way we choose. Marsh vermin are fair game for anyone and you know it.”
    Their armour was a mixture of metal and leather plates, painted light green and grey to merge with the landscape. Even their weapons had the same colouring and they had smeared mud on their exposed skin to further disguise themselves. Their appearance was barbaric enough, but worst of all was the noxious smell which came off them—a mixture of human stink, animal ordure and the filth of the swamps. This