Thea Harrison - Dragon Bound

A day or two. In some ways not long at all. In other ways, a lifetime.

All of this was about her. She stole the penny, she was the one he came after, and she was the one who got him shot by the Elves. He held himself back from escaping from the wreckage to help her. He still wasn’t going to fight when they stopped, because she was around.

He has to wait until I’m out of the way. It’s so I don’t get killed. Maybe now we’ve come so far he’s got to wait until he’s healed. It’s going to be a race, between how fast he can get free and how fast the Power that arranged his capture can get here.

The emotion that welled at that was indescribable.

“I think you’re my hero,” she said. Only half kidding.

He stared at her, the picture of incredulity. “Most people,” he said, “think I am a very bad man.”

She studied his eyes to try to find out if that bothered him. He didn’t seem bothered by it. He seemed discomfited by her. “Well,” she said at last, “maybe you’re a very good dragon.”

The flatbed stopped. Showtime.

She kept crouched down as she peered out the wreckage. A Goblin had stepped out of a black metal gate. She had seen pictures of Goblins before but the drawings and sketches hadn’t managed to capture their robust vigor. The real ones were not only hideous but powerfully built. The language they spoke to one another was choppy, guttural and harsh. As a few came closer, she realized how bad they stank.

Still, there was something different about this Goblin, an air of authority. He held ropes of black chains with manacles. He strode closer to them but stopped a prudent distance away. He stank too.

They were altogether repulsive, and somehow she was supposed to let them put their hands on her. Another convulsive shiver hit. In a move unseen by the Goblins, below their line of sight, Dragos put a hand on her knee. She covered it with hers.

“Buck up,” she whispered to him. “Don’t be such a wuss.”

His hand clenched and his shoulders shuddered. She hoped she made him laugh again.

The Goblin that had approached said something to them. Chop chop chop. Dragos answered him in the same awful language. Chop chop.

They went back and forth a few more times. Then the Goblin stepped closer and threw the shackles. Dragos reached outside and caught them. He pulled them into the wreck. They made a lot more sense to him than they did to her because he sorted them deftly.

The dread had become so strong it was nauseating. Some of it was coming from the chains. They reeked of some kind of horrible magic.

Dragos bent and locked a manacle to one of his ankles. She hissed, “Stop! What are you doing? Don’t put those on!”

“Shut up,” he snapped. He locked a second manacle to his other ankle.

She grabbed his arm. “Dragos, there’s some kind of bad magic in those!”

He whipped around and snarled at her, eyes blazing.

She flinched and cowered from him. Her thoughts flatlined.

He finished putting the other two manacles on his thick wrists and held them up so that the Goblin could see. The Goblin nodded and shouted to the others who swarmed forward.

When they started prying the ruined doors off the car, she curled into a fetal position and closed her eyes.

What followed next was ugly. She couldn’t say she hadn’t been warned.

They dragged her out of the wreckage first. She kept her gaze trained on the ground as one punched her in the stomach. When she lay curled on the ground trying to breathe, they kicked her. Over and over again hard-toed boots slammed into her, interspersed with harsh Goblin laughter as they taunted Dragos, until she no longer kept silent because it was the smart thing to do. She was silent because she couldn’t get in a deep enough breath to scream.

She caught one blurred glimpse of Dragos standing in the grip of two Goblins every bit as huge as he was. His aggressive, dangerous face was blank, gold eyes as reflective and emotionless as two Greek coins.

A lifetime later, several Goblins with drawn swords walked Dragos through the squat stone fortress. One Goblin grabbed her by the hair and followed behind them. Another brought up the rear, still kicking at her now and then, although without much interest.

The group of Goblins guarding Dragos marched him into a cell. Her Goblins passed it by, down to an intersection in the corridor and to the right. Once they were out of Dragos’s line of sight, their manner became businesslike and uninterested. They took her by the arms and dragged her into another cell. They threw her onto a pile of rancid straw.

One Goblin said something. Chop chop. The other laughed. They left and the grate of a key sounded in the cell door lock. Sounds faded from the corridor.

She lay on the horrid straw for a while. Then she crawled a few feet, then collapsed and lay on chill, dirty flagstones. She may have blacked out. She wasn’t sure. The next thing she became aware of was a blue-black beetle walking across the floor.

She tracked its progress. It fell headlong into a crack and got stuck. She dragged herself over and watched it some more. It managed to get turned around so its little head poked out of the crack. Feelers waved and its front legs worked, but it couldn’t get enough purchase to crawl out.

Her fingers crept across the floor until they found some straw. She took a shallow handful. She wiggled the ends deep into the crack and lifted up. The beetle popped out and waddled on its way.

When it disappeared, she sighed, rolled over onto her back and levered herself into a sitting position. Her thinking came back online.

Do one thing at a time. Take one step.

She crawled to the wall. Step.

She got first one foot underneath her, then the other. Step.

She straightened her shoulders. When she was pretty sure she had her balance back, she opened the locked cell door and walked out.

The dragon lay spread-eagled where they had bound him. He was chained twice, first with the magical black shackles. The second set was attached in four points to the floor. He stared at the ceiling, thoughts weaving in a serpentine path. Every few minutes he would pull at the floor chains. He ignored his bleeding ankles and wrists. He could feel a weakness growing in the chain on his left arm and concentrated on that.

His cell door opened. He turned his head, the serpentine path turning lethal.

A battered, filthy Pia backed into the room, and Dragos became sane.

He began to shake. He watched her listening at the cracked door for a few moments before she pulled the door shut. She turned around. When she caught sight of him, her shoulders sagged.

“Oh, for crying out loud.” She rolled her eyes. “ Two sets of manacles? Now I suppose we need two sets of keys. This day keeps getting better and better.”

“Come here,” he said. He gave the chain anchoring his left arm an enormous wrench. The chain groaned but didn’t break. “Come here. Come here.”

She cocked her head, her weary gaze becoming very sober. She limped across the cell and collapsed to her knees beside him. “They beat you too,” she said. She touched his ribs with a light gentle hand.

His shaking increased. Talking to her before the Goblins took her had been easy. He had explained to her with his usual calm ruthlessness how he thought things might go. Overall she had seemed to take it well. He approached the confrontation as he always did, ready and focused to meet any upcoming challenge.

Then that first Goblin had driven his fist into her stomach, and he had gone bat-shit crazy. Every kick, every blow she suffered was like corrosive acid in his veins. He wanted to howl and rage. The dragon strained to rip their hearts from their chests while they watched.