Dragonfate: Dragon's Gold
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Book 1 of the Dragonfate series. Debts and balance are everything to dragons. In a world where a misstep can make a dragon a slave to the nearest opportunist, where Ruby Dragons are feared and hated as the worst of the evil, half-Ruby Kyaza has lived a life built on distrust and violence. When the ancient magic of Dragonfate enslaves him yet again, he is thrust against his will among humans with the command to do what he has sworn he will never do again: to kill.
However, when he is suddenly indebted to Hallen, the human boy he was meant to kill, things get complicated. Though Kyaza cannot bring himself to trust a human, and though Hallen hates Ruby Dragons above all else, a magic even deeper than the slavery of Dragonfate binds them. Their lives are vastly different, the rift between their histories unbreachable; and yet, as the malice of both humans and dragons closes in on them, they must learn to work together . . . or die.
Alexis Steinhauer
Alexis Steinhauer is a cat-loving bookworm who likes tea, heavy metal music, dripping candles and dark stories. Her favorite place to be is in her nest of pillows with a book in one hand and either a cat or a laptop on her lap. She will laugh at just about any dad joke or cat meme you throw at her. Alexis is the author of Dragonfate: Dragon's Gold, Dragonfate: Dragon's Flight and Dragonfate: Dragon's Oath. She is also the author of The Felling. The Bone Harp Book 1. Her new series, Fabricated Men, is her current project and passion.
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Dragonfate - Alexis Steinhauer
DRAGONFATE:
DRAGON'S GOLD
by
Alexis Steinhauer
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Alexis Steinhauer on Smashwords
Dragonfate:
Dragon's Gold
Copyright © 2010 by Alexis Steinhauer
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
* * * * *
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Alturian Calendar
Pronunciation Guide
Prologue . . . . . . Lots in Life
Chapter 1 . . . . . Broken Cage
Chapter 2 . . . . . The Price of Freedom
Chapter 3 . . . . . Unpredictable
Chapter 4 . . . . . Twin Debts
Chapter 5 . . . . . Fourteen Days
Chapter 6 . . . . . Pieces of the Puzzle
Chapter 7 . . . . . Bound By Life
Chapter 8 . . . . . Backfire
Chapter 9 . . . . . A Twisted Quest
Chapter 10 . . . . . Compassionate
Chapter 11 . . . . . Impressions
Chapter 12 . . . . . Legend and Truth
Chapter 13 . . . . . Iridina
Chapter 14 . . . . . Claws of Fire
Chapter 15 . . . . . The Crack of Thunder
Chapter 16 . . . . . An Old Friend
Chapter 17 . . . . . Backtracking
Chapter 18 . . . . . Instinctive Slaughter
Chapter 19 . . . . . Distant Echoes
Chapter 20 . . . . . Children of Rubies
Chapter 21 . . . . . A Lonely Hunter
Chapter 22 . . . . . Blood Trail
Chapter 23 . . . . . Shadows
Chapter 24 . . . . . Fate and Fury
Chapter 25 . . . . . The Fire Pit
Chapter 26 . . . . . The Greater of Two Evils
Chapter 27 . . . . . Golden Ties
Chapter 28 . . . . . A Choice
Chapter 29 . . . . . On the Road Home
Chapter 30 . . . . . Farewell
Alturian Calendar
For Alturia it is three hundred and sixty-five days the year, and there are fifteen months within that space of time. This is a calendar of the months, the first being the first month of spring and what the Alturians see as the first of the year itself.
Months- Days-
Leythin 24
Kerrivar 24
Thae 25
Vira 24
Beyintir 24
Ionol 24
Tyellas 25
Arregea 25
Pallas 24
Myrrun 24
Arag 25
Eyle 24
Iphril 24
Sul 25
Oldre 24
Pronunciation Guide
Allysdale . . . . . AL-lihz-dale
Alturia . . . . . ahl-TUE-ree-uh
Aérean . . . . . ay-AIR-ee-an
Calaem . . . . . cuh-LAY-em
Ereya . . . . . eh-RAY-uh
Feilast . . . . . FAY-lahst
Gael . . . . . GALE
Hallen . . . . . HAHL-lehn
Iar . . . . . IE-ar
Indrasia . . . . . in-DRAY-zhuh (zh is like g in mirage)
Iridina . . . . . EER-ih-DEE-nuh
Kyaza . . . . . kie-AH-zuh
Lyethekulas . . . . . LIE-eh-THAY-koo-lahs
Malidar . . . . . MAH-lih-dar
Narlis . . . . . NAR-liss
Pylaes . . . . . pie-LAY-ehz
Sindolwyn . . . . . sin-DAUL-win
Sirres . . . . . SERE-rees
Tallyn . . . . . TAL-lin
Tora . . . . . TOE-ruh
Uuren . . . . . OO-rehn
Who has never heard mention of the stuff of Fable? It is a common enough saying for uncommon enough things. Who with an adventurous heart and a love of magic, myth and mystery has not wondered just how such a saying came to be? What is Fable? Is it a place, an occurrence, a memory? Or is it something so far beyond the reach of our everyday lives that we can never hope to understand it?
Fable is all of these things, and it is none of them. Fable is a place where strange creatures live, where nonexistent plantlife flourishes. It is a place that cannot be found, yet a place that none of us can entirely escape. There, the impossible and the credible walk hand in hand, so close that we cannot tell the difference between their faces. Fable is the thing buried deep in the pot of gold at the end of every rainbow; it is the place where we go to dream at night; it is the place our thoughts fly to while we should be concentrating on our homework. It is a thing of wonder and danger, of tragedy and joy, of love and hate. And there is another secret about Fable: it belongs in each and every one of us, for it is only within us that it lives.
Because Fable has another name to us, one we all recognize in our hearts and in our minds. We call it imagination. . . .
Prologue
Lots in Life
Year 1239, month of Myrrun . . .
The ground shook, and the air rumbled. Blistering heat pulled rippling waves from the cracked and blackened earth. Rust-colored clouds boiled across a dark, starless sky.
This was what had become of the world. After eighty years of war, this was all that was left. Kyaza choked as the thoughts were impressed on his mind. Fighting one's own kind or battling a rival race were bad enough, but what brutal tortures did it take to destroy the land itself like this? It takes us, he answered himself silently, grimly.
His jaws hung open and his pointed tongue flickered out, tasting the smoke in the air that would have gagged any human. But though his ears and his gleaming green eyes were alert, he could detect no sign of a nearby enemy. He rose from his tense crouch, long nails gouging deep into the crumbly dirt, and flexed his sore wings—or what was left of them. Only ragged strips of skin and shredded muscle hung from the bones that had once supported a pair of proud dragon's wings, though the damage was as healed as it would ever be.
Kyaza kept his neck low, both nose and tongue testing the air with every stumbling step he took. There were no trees, no bushes, no crops here, just the shallow slopes of ash and cinders where there once had been. Skeletons littered the ground, crunching under his heavy claws, their flesh burnt away in seconds during the battle. To his right he smelled dragon's blood, and from the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a glittering, motionless hump before he looked away. Would this black field never end?
It was a long, nightmarish struggle for him. Every time he heard a roar in the distance his heart leaped into his throat and he flattened himself to the ground, terrified that someone would soar overhead and see him. Luckily his own ruby scales were spattered with blood, from humans and dragons both and from the dwarves who had also fought here tonight, so if anyone came sniffing he could probably pass as a corpse. But he was unwilling to trust to trickery alone; he had to get out of here. He had to. He could take no more of this wretched war; he was tired, so tired. Tired of slaughtering human warriors who were all but helpless before him and his draconic allies, tired of the pain that was inflicted on him if he did not obey the commands given him, tired of the stench of blood and fire. What dragon in his right mind could continue this hopeless saga for nearly eighty years?
Kyaza's claws snagged in a mangled black skeleton, and he veered blindly away, shaking it off. He held his breath to keep back the horrible smell of scorched flesh. Over and over again he staggered into dark ravines where the ashes were piled high over his shoulders, but where nothing grew. He tried not to look, tried not to feel, tried not to think—nothing could be gained by reviving such horrific memories as these called to mind. There were twenty years of them, building a neverending black path of fire and death deep into his mind. He had fought in this war far, far too long, and now it was time to escape.
Finally the ground began to lose its heat, the earth softened under his sore feet, and with a soaring heart he spied a single, swaying maple in the distance. He hurried on, his only goal to reach the lonely tree, and he was panting by the time its boughs cast soft, fluttering shadows over his back. He looked around.
The sky was empty, although the fiery clouds still flashed with lightning and the ferocious growls of dragons faintly reached his ears. The land was likewise deserted; it spread from the blackened sea of ashes that he had left, and faded slowly to the brown where he stood: grass that was dead, but not burnt. Farther on, among the sheer rocky hills that rose in the distance, the grass grew tall and thick and green, and rippled in a gentle wind. Relief flooded Kyaza's weary mind like a freshwater tide, cooling his burning wounds and easing his fears. He had made it. No one would find him now. He looked down at himself. Well, he could easily become less conspicuous. . . .
Kyaza closed his eyes and bent his head, seeking in his mind the words he had heard on the day of his birth, the words that were so beautiful they were like a soothing music to him. It was not his mother's voice that he remembered speaking them, but his father's. Quietly, lovingly, as he cradled Kyaza in his arms. Tears made Kyaza's eyes itch, and he blinked rapidly to be rid of them. Then he let his voice rise in a low hum, curling his tongue into the smooth string of words, letting them flow over him, letting their melody lull him into a peaceful stupor. He closed his eyes to the world, and his own voice carried the words unconsciously.
When he opened his eyes he was lying at the roots of the maple tree, with a sweet breeze whispering down from the hills and stirring his hair. The smell of fire had been blown away, but soot still clung to his skin . . . to his human skin. When he looked for his claws, he found a small boy's hands, and when he reached up to touch his face his fingers slid over human cheeks, eyelids, ears. Scrapes and bruises covered his arms and chest, and his head hurt as though he had rammed it onto an anvil. Blood trickled in dark veins down his back from the searing wounds that scored his shoulder blades. But even so, he was human, and that meant he was safe. No dragon would attack a nameless human beggar.
A quiet laugh broke from Kyaza's lips. Was that him now? Had he gone from an invincible dragon who had killed hundreds in this war, to a harmless ten-year-old boy? He had never made the change to a human before, though he had always known he could. Before now, someone had always been watching him, ready to give him new orders or send him off to someplace else. Now his masters were all dead or departed, unable to reach him. Finally he was free to leave.
Free. The word tasted good. Kyaza stumbled to his feet, and his vision swung in dizzy circles, making him put his hands to the maple's trunk for support. Surely humans did not see like this. He shook his head vigorously, and the ground settled. Now, where am I? He looked around, eyes falling on the steep hills. There must be a hiding place somewhere in there.
Kyaza almost took a step, but then stopped and looked distrustfully down at his feet. They seemed so small! Could they possibly bear his weight? Silly, he scolded himself, you're human now. You probably weigh about a hundred pounds. Indeed, his footprints were not even visible on the springy yellow grass. Kyaza snorted at his own foolishness and stepped forward.
Wind rushed past his ears, and his chest rammed into the earth, driving the air from his lungs. He looked up in bewilderment to find himself flat on the ground. How on Alturia had that happened? He crawled back up, just a little unsteady, and frowned at himself. Of course. You don't have a tail! His eyes widened as the realization hit him, and he could have slapped himself. No tail. He had been relying on its counterweight to keep him upright, and without it he had simply shifted the core of his weight to his chest, leaned forward, and fallen because he was top-heavy. He supposed other humans could walk like that anyway, but this was the first time he had ever had to get used to a human's balance. He could forgive himself.
More carefully, Kyaza took a deep breath and put one foot forward, keeping his body upright.
A massive shadow swept over the ground directly above him, and his head jerked up in fear to see a dragon's silhouette sailing low through the sky. It was carrying something in its claws; probably a human from the battle, who would either be a slave or a meal later on. Kyaza swallowed and shrank against the maple's trunk, glad that he was so small. Even if the dragon saw him, it would probably take no interest in him. A flock of birds erupted from the tall grass as the dragon swung over the hills, and one snap of the beast's massive jaws snatched three of them from the air. The birds' shrill cries pierced the sky as they fled, pumping their wings frantically. Kyaza turned his face away from their fear.
Much too slowly, the great beast vanished and left him alone. The fields and the hills stood bleak and deserted, and aside from the swaying of the tall grass there was no movement. As Kyaza carefully moved from the maple tree's meager shelter, he cast a worried glance to the sky. The sunset had faded, leaving the clouds cold, dark and menacing, devoid of fire. The birds had disappeared. Again, nothing moved within his range of vision. He glanced down at himself again, then doubtfully back toward the battlefield. He supposed he should take some clothes from the fallen . . . but he was loathe to go back, and there would no doubt be bodies farther away anyway, from those who had attempted to flee. He would find some from them, whether they fit or not.
But for now, survival was his foremost goal. The battle had moved farther away; he would probably be safe if he didn't draw attention to himself. Kyaza did not trust himself to run, not yet, but he hurried as fast as his stumbling feet could carry him away from the devastation of the war.
Year 1248, month of Arag . . .
Deep in the Feilast Woods, Kyaza held up a hand to halt his companions, and knelt to examine the deep imprints of a bear that crossed the worn trail. He nodded slowly, brushing the claw marks with his fingertips. It's all right,
he said over his shoulder, these are at least two days old. The bear was probably just wandering by.
You're certain?
asked Ereya skeptically. She was a tall, dark-haired woman who stayed close beside the wagons at all times and wore long, glittering green robes. The others with the caravan whispered that she was a sorceress, but Kyaza didn't really believe that.
Kyaza sighed. Though he had remained in human form for nine years and the Dragon War had ended more than seven years ago, he had spent nearly all that time on the plains or in the woods, avoiding other humans, and his appearance of a tall but thin fourteen-year-old boy did not instill confidence on the occasions when he ran into them. He was only escorting this caravan because he needed gold to pay a smith to repair his broken dagger, and it had already been a very long week working with them. But living for the most part alone, hunting his own food, building his own shelter and mending his own clothes had given him much more skill than most of these people could suspect. He knew what he was doing.
Yes, certain,
he answered her, straightening. Positive. Sure. Absolutely convinced. Are you satisfied?
He did not look for an answer, but glanced at the foremost wagon, which was laden with sacks of grain, and motioned for it to pass him. Of course Ereya waited, glaring at him, until the second wagon was passing before she moved. Her back was stiff and posture haughty, but that only amused Kyaza. If he wanted to, he could leap on her and claw her heart out in seconds . . . or simply turn into a dragon here on this narrow road and yawn to scare her out of her wits.
The last cart in line carried a passenger: the round, red-cheeked merchant who owned most of the goods here. As usual Kyaza fell in beside this wagon, not only because the merchant was the only person back here, but because he did not really care if Kyaza responded to his constant chattering or not. Silly humans, he thought, watching the trail. Don't they know how much attention noise like that attracts in the wilderness?
Well if they did, they were good at hiding it.
Kyaza pulled his cloak close around his shoulders and pushed his red hair off his forehead. It was a chilly evening; winter was drawing near, and even though the dragon's fire within him kept the cold at bay, every other human here was huddled deep in their robes, and he always had to pretend to be one of them. But it was only another hour's walk to the edge of the woods, and then he could leave this caravan and be alone. He was tired of glancing in any direction to see someone's gaze flick rapidly away from his catlike green eyes.
He heard a branch crack somewhere above, and looked up quickly, halting in his tracks. The merchant glanced at him in surprise and pulled on the reins, slowing his horse as well, but before the rest of the wagons could follow suit Kyaza waved him on. It's nothing,
he assured him. Getting jumpy, Kyaza? Disgusted, he shook his head at himself and walked on alongside the wagon.
When the dry leaves rattled to the side of the trail he listened closely, but did not even turn his head. When a startled crow shot from a nearby tree, filling the air with its hoarse call, he assumed it was frightened by the wagon. But when he heard a feral snarl just to his left, he tugged his short sword from its sheath and swung to face a massive black bear. His eyes widened in alarm. Run!
he shouted to the merchant, slapping the horse's flank with the flat of his blade. The horse neighed shrilly, reared its forelegs in the air, then crashed to the ground and bolted, breaking forcefully through the underbrush in its hurry to pass the others on the narrow trail. The other wagons rolled away, swerving wildly.
Kyaza turned back to the bear—and jumped back immediately as it swiped a huge paw at him. Easy, friend,
he said, backing away, we're leaving your territory, I promise.
He knew the bear could understand him, but it did not look appeased. It lumbered forward, lips pulled back from its dagger-like fangs. A deep growl thundered in its chest. What have I ever done to you?
Kyaza wondered, as his back hit a tree.
The bear lifted its paw again. Kyaza ducked to the side, but an arrow whizzed down into the dirt just beside his foot, surprising him and making him trip. He groaned as the bear's claws raked his arm. He changed his sword to his left hand and moved away from the animal, under the shadow of the trees. His eyes scanned the half-bare branches above the trail, and a lump closed in his throat when he saw not one, but at least ten men perched in the trees. Each wore brown and moss-green to blend in with the natural scenery, and each held a bow in his hand. Kyaza turned to flee, but stumbled to a halt when two more black bears faced him.
He backed up yet again, and felt a solid trunk at his back. The three bears closed in around him. He bit his lip. He would need to change into a dragon to get out of here. What do you want?
he asked the bears, holding the blade of his sword out to them. Fury lit all their dark eyes, and the sounds that rumbled from their chests were growls, not purrs.
Kyaza jumped as an arrow thudded deep into the trunk by his arm, and in the moment he was distracted, the nearest bear struck the sword from his fingers and reared up. Kyaza raised his arm as a shield and shut his eyes, desperately recalling the words that would change him back into a dragon . . . but instead of attacking him again, the massive animal just placed both paws on his shoulders, pressing him hard into the tree but not hurting him. Its long claws curled around his shoulders. His breath coming quickly, Kyaza looked up into the animal's angry gaze. Its mouth was open slightly, nostrils wide and eyes sharp, and shining ropes of saliva hung from between its fangs. But despite its mad appearance, it made no move to harm him.
You see, even without being able to speak to them we can get the animals to obey us.
Kyaza's gaze flicked to one of the other bears, where he saw Ereya standing beside it, stroking its thick shoulder. She smiled coldly at him. I must admit, when I was told that a dragon had gained the ability to permanently walk among us as a human, I was skeptical. But just observing your behavior for the past week has been enough. . . . I am glad I paid to join this caravan.
She stepped closer and sank her fingers into the fur of the bear who held him pinned. So, one of the Ruby Dragons has not fled quite so far as we thought. The famous Kyaza Blackstone, murderer of thousands, has fallen beneath our net at last.
I don't know what you mean,
stated Kyaza, managing to hold his voice steady. Not that you ever make much sense in the first place.
Ereya laughed. I make sense to the humans who belong in Alturia. You, on the other hand, are a mystery to all of us. Just how could a fourteen-year-old boy from nowhere find his way around the woods so well? And how could he have the irrational courage—or stupidity—to stand against a bear and send the rest of the caravan running?
She came closer still, and ran one long finger across Kyaza's arm where the bear had cut him. He shuddered. Why does your blood smell like smoke, and why does the warmth of your body linger within it for so long once it is spilled? What makes your blood hot enough to cast steam into the air?
She reached past the bear, which gave a warning growl, and placed her hand over Kyaza's heart. I know. It resides here . . . where your fire must dwell while you look like one of us.
She laughed softly and withdrew. Oh yes, Malidar knew what he was doing when he sent me after you.
Kyaza swallowed. Who are you?
he asked, and this time his voice shook slightly. What do you want?
Ereya's smile was icy, satisfied. We call ourselves War's Peace,
she replied, and it is our appointed task to keep the people of Alturia safe from beasts like you. And as for what we want-
she climbed up onto a bear's massive back as if it were a horse. The animal did not protest. We want the treasure that is so essential to you that your heart must make way for it. There are many uses for a dragon's fire, and it is very difficult to get through most of their scales. But with you, it will be easy.
She nodded briefly to one of the archers above, and before Kyaza could react, an arrow soared down under the bear's thick leg and transfixed his shoulder, sticking out the back and into the trunk of the tree behind him. He gritted his teeth as the bear finally fell back and released him. He sank to his knees, breaking the shaft, then pinched the arrow hard and pulled it out. Already his vision was turning grey; the arrow must have been poisoned. He threw the shaft away and pressed a hand to the wound. What have I done to you?
he asked angrily, struggling to his feet. I was willing to protect you all!
She sneered. More likely you would have led us to a convenient clearing and eaten every one of us.
No.
Kyaza shook his head, but that only made him feel dizzy. A soft, warm weight was pressing down on his mind, muffling his thoughts. The archers were dropping from trees on every side, and a few of them were leading horses from their hiding places. No.
He swayed on his feet. He had to get out of here, he knew he did. If these people dug into him for his fire, he might not survive. Dragons had died before from it; their massive bodies could not support themselves without the added heat of the fire. It kept them warm while they flew through icy skies, while they nested high in the snowy mountains. But Kyaza could hardly stand, and the forest was a dark, fuzzy blur to his eyes.
Take him,
instructed Ereya. Her robes glittered as she turned the bear away, and the other two animals tottered up to stand on either side of her. But be gentle.
Hands reached for Kyaza's arms, but he struck them away. Leave me alone.
He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. This arrow isn't poisoned to kill, he realized. They designed it only to put me to sleep. His eyelids wanted to close. His mind was slowing; this time, when the men gripped his arms he did not try to free himself. They pushed him up into a saddle, where one of the other archers climbed up behind him and held him in place.
Dimly, he heard Ereya say, Let's go.
Then the woods went dark.
Chapter 1
Broken Cage
Year 1257, month of Ionol . . .
Traitor, the voice whispered. Monster. Murderer. Why are you here? Why do you dwell in our lands, breathe our air, consume our food? What gives you the right to walk on the same land as we do? Filthy creature, your hide should adorn our walls.
Kyaza's eyelids fluttered, and his arms and chest felt the iron chains as his body arched, rebelling. But the hypnotic voice dragged him back under, drowning him in nightmares. He saw blood spurt into the air, arrows sail through the sky, a wash of flame scorch corn fields to ragged cinders. Claws ripped at the ground, and the clouds bled with the light of a cold sunset. Faces flicked through his mind, frightened, angry, agonized . . . every one of them fixed on him. A cracked moan escaped his lips.
That's right. The voice was deep, satisfied, resonant with power. It pierced his thoughts like a needle, shredding them and blanketing his mind with horrific images. You are weak. You should never have tried to battle us. You know we are superior to you; you feel how your own helplessness forces you under my control. And why is that?
A stabbing pain jolted through Kyaza, making him cry out.
And again the voice settled over his thoughts, pinning him, stealing his breath and his strength. New images of torture invaded his mind as the voice went on, Of course you cannot answer me. You haven't even the ability to speak. So . . . I will tell you the truth. A low chuckle filled Kyaza's mind. We are superior to you because you underestimated us. You believed we could be your slaves. You believed we were nothing more than useless ants, meant only to provide food and craft treasures for your kind. And you were wrong.
The voice continued to murmur into his mind, but he could not focus on it once the pain intensified. Burning agony roared through his bones like an unchecked flame, rushing from his fingertips to his heart, where it began to slowly force its way out. A chill seeped into him beneath it.
You know you deserve it, the voice mocked him. This pain is nothing compared to what you caused others during the war.
Tears stung Kyaza's eyes. His fingers clutched with painful strength at the sharp wooden corners beneath them, and his body was wracked with the sobs he had not the will to restrain. He felt the knife pierce his chest for a second time, cutting deeper, then the blazing fire rushed out of him, leaving him cold. His strength drained away as exhaustion overtook him, and he fell motionless. Unchallenged, the voice's power probed his mind to the furthest, darkest corners, and even though its thoroughness was excruciating, Kyaza was too weak to react.
Finally, the pain ended and the voice was lifted away from him. Kyaza's tattered thoughts returned to him, and he drew a shuddering breath as his eyes slid open. A cracked stone ceiling filled his field of vision, and he wearily tilted his head to take in his surroundings. The room was small, lit by a single guttering candle that sat on a table beside a jagged-edged knife, but brighter than the candle was a smooth crystal orb, which was lit from within by the glowing golden flames swirling at its core. Kyaza's flames. Dark blood bubbled from the wound on his chest and ran in shining veins across his skin; the knife was slowly dripping more of it. The smell of the liquid—warm and smoky—was thick in the air. He closed his eyes, too cold and tired to make sense of his confused emotions.
The two men in the room spoke quietly as they began to loosen the chains that held Kyaza down to a second table. He knew neither of them owned the voice of his tormentor; indeed, one of them was little more than a boy. The deep voice's words echoed in his mind, choking him: traitor, monster, murderer. Were they all true?
The younger man slipped an arm under Kyaza's shoulders and lifted Kyaza's arm over his own, then pulled him off the table. Kyaza could feel him trying not to flinch away—his muscles were much tighter than they needed to be to support Kyaza's wasted form. The man moved him to the wall and let him lean against it, the stone achingly cold against his bare back, and went to retrieve Kyaza's shirt. He stood by while Kyaza tiredly pulled it over his head again, blood from his new wound seeping into the already stained cloth.
Get him out of here,
said the older man carelessly, beginning to scrub the bloody knife with a rag. His companion nodded silently and, almost carrying Kyaza, brought him out of the cramped room.
Kyaza's mind was a cold haze of pain. His breath was ragged, and the sweat that covered him stung the open wound on his chest. There was a hole in the front of his shirt, sliced there by the knife the first time they had cut him, years ago, as he lay half-awake in their guarded campsite before they even reached the prison. Kyaza's fingers lingered there now, gingerly tracing the edges of the cut through the hole and feeling the split scars that overlapped around it: the scars that marked the other times he had been cut open for his fire. They were just a little to the right of his heart, where the knife had been angled around his breastbone and in. These men would make sure the wound was cleaned, but they would not try to seal it, for they knew that time would pass and it would eventually heal itself. Why waste time on such a wretched creature as he was?
Still supporting Kyaza, the young man fumbled with a heavy key and pushed it into the lock of an immensely thick door. The hinges grated together as it swung forward. The stone room beyond was small, with a bed of straw against one wall and a tiny, barred window high on another. This is home, thought Kyaza bitterly, as the man pulled him through the door. As always, when he entered the cramped room, his breath came in shallowly and dizziness made his feet unsteady. He was caged again.
Something slid over the small window, casting the room into darkness, and the man with Kyaza looked up and went rigid. The air rumbled with the sound of a furious growl, and the man flung Kyaza to the ground as he turned to flee. But before he had even reached the door, the ceiling cracked, and there was a deafening explosion of rock and dust as the wall with the window was shattered. A glittering ruby claw shot through the grey cloud and curled around the man. He screamed and struggled as he was lifted into the air. Kyaza blinked dust from his eyes and looked up reluctantly, and horror jolted through him as he saw the human man brought right up to the face of a giant, red-scaled lizard. Thick orange membranes blocked out the sky.
The dragon's scales gleamed bloody red, but her eyes were the piercing orange of the flame that burned within her. Four thick horns twisted from her skull, and her jawline was ridged with smaller white spikes. Her massive wings were arched high behind her, each ribbing bone tipped with a single curled talon. Her razor teeth gleamed as her lips parted in a terrifying grin.
No,
whispered Kyaza. He dragged himself to his hands and knees and tried to crawl away from the giant beast. The man's screams ceased abruptly behind him. There was a moment's silence, then a crunch that made Kyaza feel sick, and hot breath blew into the small room.
Where are you going, little one?
The dragon's voice was not harsh or threatening, but suspicious. One of her long claws hooked under Kyaza's stomach, flipping him onto his back. He caught his breath as pain shot through his spine. The dragon leaned into the ruined room—her head barely fit—and crushed one massive claw over him. The weight of it pressed him flat into the ground, compressing his lungs so he could barely breathe. A heavy rock clattered from the ceiling, landing only a few feet from Kyaza's hand.
Go away,
gasped Kyaza, pushing vainly against her hard claw. She did not even seem to notice. Leave me alone!
She bent and lowered her nose to him, teeth parted slightly. Choking, he turned his face away from her foul breath. She shifted her foot, exposing the wound over his heart, and inhaled deeply through her nostrils. Anger lit her gaze. It is you,
she muttered. What have these humans done?
She growled, lifting her claw, and swung an angry glare at the door, which was held shut by a mound of rubble. Using the dull outer curves of her claws, she pushed Kyaza across the floor away from it and tried to force her head in farther. The stone, already weak, crumbled away and fell in a rocky rain all over her head and neck. Her neck hung less than a foot above Kyaza. Nothing was touching him, but Kyaza felt like a heavy weight had dropped onto his chest, smothering him. He pulled his knees up to his chest and held a hand to his throat, trying to suck air into his lungs.
The Ruby Dragon began to claw away at the rubble by the door. Voices could be heard on the other side, shouting, and someone was banging frantically against the wood. Hello? Entar, are you in there?
Someone shoved against the door so hard that it rattled. Entar!
The dragon pushed the last of the rocks away and paused. Of course she knew that she could not ram this door, not with her horns already scraping into the ceiling. She crouched down, tucking her wings against her back, and a growl escaped her throat.
Did you hear that?
asked a fearful voice behind the door. He must have changed back!
Nonsense,
snapped another. He can't do that without his fire, and we know where that is. Here, help me.
The dragon tensed, sliding a tongue along her teeth, waiting for them to come bursting in.
Kyaza raised himself painfully on one elbow. He had no wish to watch any more death, even to his captors. Leave them alone!
he said, his voice hoarse with the strain of breathing the shallow air. Aérean!
Aérean just snorted, and tensed as the door banged open and two men stumbled into the grey wreckage. They looked around for an instant, dazed, then she lunged. Kyaza crumpled to the floor, covering his eyes, and tried not to listen to the sounds that had haunted his nightmares for so long. Crunching of teeth, wet snapping of bone, the roar of fire and the thunderous roll of a furious dragon's snarl. Aérean's claws clicked and scraped against stone. She roared when a flash of bright green light blazed through the protective darkness of Kyaza's eyelids, but then someone screamed, there was a burst of flame, and all fell silent. No birds sang, no squirrels chattered. Not even the wind blew outside.
The Ruby Dragon withdrew from the ruined room, craning to see if anyone else was approaching from outside, and almost at once Kyaza's head cleared. Still shaken, he again raised himself onto his elbow and drew a grateful breath, filling his lungs. He looked across the room. There were no bodies, but the floor was scorched and blood spattered the wall. Ice seemed to chill Kyaza's veins, and he looked away quickly.
Aérean snorted out a puff of orange flame, then crouched very low to the ground and extended her head toward him again. Climb onto my back, Rubyscale.
No,
Kyaza panted. He doubted he would have been able to obey her, even if that had been what he wanted. His limbs were shaky and weak; it was all he could do to stay as upright as he was.
What?
The word was a snarl.
I said no.
He looked up into her blazing eyes, each the size of a huge pumpkin, and swallowed his fear. I will not go with you.
Her claw jerked out, slamming into his shoulder and smashing him to the ground. There was a sharp snapping noise, and Kyaza gasped as pain pierced his left arm. Blood throbbed in his upper arm where he knew it was broken. The dragon's eyes widened; she looked almost anxious as she pulled her claw away. Rubyscale?
That's not my name!
choked Kyaza, struggling away from her as tears of pain spilled over his cheeks. Cold tears.
She hissed. Whether it is or not, I will not stay to see this a moment longer. These humans had no right to any of this.
That doesn't mean you had to kill them.
He could feel the warm blood flowing over his chest from his own wound. If he exerted himself much more, he would bleed to death. But he could not be taken away, not again. When she crawled close enough so she could have bitten him in half, his good hand blindly searched the ground for a rock of the size he needed. It was not easy, since most of them were massive boulders he would have been unable to lift even if he were whole and healthy.
Aérean's eyes were narrow. How can you forgive them? They nearly killed you, Rubyscale.
So did you.
Finally, his fingers closed around a fist-sized rock with one jagged side. And I said I would never kill again once the war ended, not without need. I am tired of watching your slaughter.
She chuckled deeply. What an un-dragonlike attitude. I suppose you turned vegetarian as well?
Kyaza's fingers gripped the rock so tightly that it hurt. You won't have me again.
He lifted the rock, clenched his teeth together, and brought it to rest over his chest. Aérean sniffed. She leaned in very close, so close that her rotten breath made him grimace.
Are you going to kill yourself, Rubyscale?
"That is not my name." Kyaza remembered what it was like to be in the war, always a slave to someone else's will, always waiting in ambush, always killing people who probably didn't deserve it. He knew Aérean would force that on him again, and told himself to just thrust the rock deep into his chest and take that away from her.
But something else stopped him. Fear invaded his chest like a flood of ice; entirely against his will, he hesitated. Do you really want to die, Kyaza? Do you really want to end your own life? No. No, he did not. If a rock had suddenly fallen from the ceiling and crushed him he would have been grateful, but he could not kill himself. He could not. He choked. He would kill himself anyway: this terror would be the death of him. Biting his lip, Kyaza shut his eyes, and the rock clattered from his fingers.
Good.
The dragon sounded satisfied. She reached both forelegs into the room and gathered Kyaza, too weak to protest, up in her claws. The scales were rough, but she did not handle him with her serrated nails. I will not drop you,
she promised, curling him in a warm cocoon between her feet. She pulled out of the room, lifted her head to the sky, and drove her hind legs into the dirt, launching herself upward with a mighty sweep of her wings. Kyaza clung weakly to her scales, hearing the air rush past as she carried him from his prison. Both fear and relief flooded his mind—fear of the future, relief that the past was gone—the emotions so raw that they warded off the pain from his arm and chest. The ground sank away, and with it went the sprawling stone building that had been his home, his prison, for so long. Finally, his exhaustion overtook him.
For the first time in more than eight years, Kyaza's dreams were not pierced with agony.
Chapter 2
The Price of Freedom
Kyaza opened his eyes to the glitter of gold on red stone. It felt like there was still a knife stuck in his chest; he pressed his hand over the wound as he sat up.
Mounds of gold were heaped against the stony red walls of the cavern, and chests of silver teetered against their sides. Jewels