Pariah of Dragons

by Cordelia Castel

  Foam frothed from the corners of his mouth. “I will kill you.”

  I raised my flaming parched sword. “You’ll have to get through this first, and I still owe you for punching me in the face.”

  The fury twisting his features melted into a blank mask. He stepped back, nearly tripping on a huge rock he must have dislodged from his crash-landing. “W-wait! I can split the proceeds of this job with you. Just turn a blind eye and let me go.”

  “Or I can set you alight and claim the hefty reward on your head.”

  He bared his teeth. “If I die, you will never find the dragonets. They are behind several layers of enchantments in a place you can never conceive. Come with me, and I will lead you to them. Kill or burn me, and they will die of starvation.”

  My mouth fell open. This had to be some kind of bluff. He was probably just saying anything he could to get me to think twice about attacking him. Behind him, dark figures swooped down from the sky.

  The ogre bared his teeth and reached for his fallen sword. Before he could grab it, multiple streams of yellow magic hit the ogre from all angles, encasing him in a penitentiary bubble so thick, I could barely see him.

  “I don’t think so.” Madam Maritimus flew down and landed on the ground beside me, her patchwork cloak settling over her shoulders. The light from the penitentiary bubble reflected on her while hair, making it appear the color of citrea lemons. “But you will lead us to the dragonets and reveal who hired you.”

  Muffled shouts sounded from within the bubble, but this time, a dozen witches stood around it with their staffs raised, giving the enchantment enough power to keep him secure.

  “He’s put the dragonets somewhere they can starve,” I said to the older witch.

  “Remove the silencing,” said Madam Maritimus.

  One of the witches withdrew her magic from the penitentiary bubble. Thunderous bangs echoed from within the magic, drowned out by the ogre’s roars. “Release me, you hags!”

  Madam Maritimus strolled over to the furious ogre. “Where are the dragonets?”

  Asproceros butted at the yellow magic with his horn. “I will gore your guts out and eat you all. Release me!”

  The bubble maintained its integrity, not even bulging with the contact of his horn. I folded my arms, glaring at the ogre’s futile attempts at escape. If he was so tough, why didn’t he break out of the magic and carry out his threats?

  “He’s an idiot,” said Fyrian. “A greedy one, too.”

  Madam Maritimus placed her hands on her hips. “Remove the bubble’s breathable air.”

  Green magic flashed, and Asproceros clutched at his neck, beady eyes bulging. “M-mercy, noble witches, for I will die!”

  “Tell us where you put the dragonets,” she said.

  He dipped to his knees. “A-anything.”

  “Restore the breathable air,”

  With a flare of yellow magic, the ogre rested his hands on his thighs and breathed hard. “Asproceros does not fear death. When I get free of your enchantment, I will eat your entrails with Mount Fornax’s finest chili sauce.”

  “At least we’ve identified the petty thief,” muttered Fyrian.

  “Can I try something?” I asked.

  The older witch shrugged. “If you think you can get answers quicker.”

  “Madam Maritimus,” I said in a loud voice. “D-don’t use ogrebane. It’s illegal!”

  She rolled her eyes. “This is not Steppe, Cadet. In Mount Fornax, the dragons make the rules.”

  Fyrian nodded from where she loomed over the bubble, adding a guttural roar for emphasis.

  “O-ogrebane?” Asproceros glared down at me. “That is inhumane!”

  I spread my arms wide. “If it’s good enough for Her Majesty, it’s good enough for the dragons. Didn’t she use it to destroy Rhinoceros’ body?”

  The ogre bared his crooked teeth. They looked orange in the light of the penitentiary bubble. Although flatter than those of the average ogre, I didn’t doubt that Asproceros’ mighty jaws could snap a human in half. I reached into my jacket pocket, pretending to search for a vial, and his face dropped.

  He crouched down a couple of feet, making eye contact with us both, and a triangular, pink tongue darted out to lick his parched lips. “What do you wish to know?”

  “Where are the dragonets?” asked Madam Maritimus.

  He shook his head. “I will not say.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “You will execute me with ogrebane.”

  I sent the witch an apologetic smile, but she pursed her lips. “If you fear execution, why did you return to the scene of your murder?”

  He straightened and jerked his head to the side as though affronted by the question. I wrinkled my brow. The ogre was trapped and seemingly without a magical artifact. What was the point of making things difficult by refusing to answer a reasonable question?

  Madam Maritimus sighed. “Those of you witches with weak stomachs, look away and please keep your magic trained on the penitentiary bubble. I do not wish to have my leathers splashed with liquid ogre.”

  “No!” he pressed two massive palms against the bubble. “Please, I will tell you anything.”

  Fyrian let out a smoky harrumph. “I ought to flame him for wasting everyone’s time.”

  “Not before he tells us what he did with the dragonets,” I replied.

  “Of course.”

  “Asproceros,” Madam Maritimus snapped. “This is your last chance to speak.”

  “A-all right!” He swiped at the sweat gathering in the groove between his top lip and nose-horn. “But you will hear my story in its entirety before judging. I believe you will understand my plight.”

  I glanced at Fyrian. The slitted pupil in her crimson eyes widened. It looked like neither of us understood what Asproceros meant.

  “If this is a ploy to tire the witches out, it won’t work,” said Madam Maritimus. “And I don’t wish to hear any treasonous complaints about Queen Cendrilla gifting your family lands to the dragons.”

  The ogre’s teeth clacked shut. “All right, but it was not my idea to return here.”

  “Whose was it?” I asked.

  “A group of bounty witches pursued me across Steppe. The Rueppelli sisters.”

  My brows rose. They were seven powerful witches from an offshoot clan of the Noble House of Griffon who carried out secret missions for the Magistratus. If they had set their sights on Asproceros, why hadn’t they caught him?

  The ogre turned his head to the side and leaned it against the bubble. “I crossed the border into the Savannah hills, and they trapped me in an iron maiden and dragged me back, but a dark force stopped their magic.”

  My stomach churned. “Ugh. Spriggans.”

  “That would explain why he’s back,” said Fyrian.

  “Why did this dark force rescue you?” asked Madam Maritimus.

  Asproceros drew back and shook his head. “He was interested in the witches and wanted to hire them.”

  “To what end?” asked the witch.

  The ogre reached into the pocket of his baggy breeches and pulled out a handkerchief the size of one of the flags flying over the Drogott Arena. “One moment, please.” He mopped giant beads of sweat from around his brow. “He offered them their weight in gold for a dozen dragons.”

  “And?” asked Madam Maritimus.

  “They refused.”

  I bit down on my lip. “What happened next?”

  “The dark mage took off his helmet and showed his true face.” The ogre clapped his massive hands over his eyes. “It was horrible!”

  Madam Maritimus leaned forward. “Explain.”

  “A-a baby man.”

  “Like an imp?”

  “Worse. I cannot explain. A baby and old man at the same time.”

  Fyrian and I both shuddered at the memory of the spriggan. It was hard to convey the terror of an aged baby face atop a warrior’s body.

  “He’s stalling for time,” I whispere
d to the witch. “What if he has a weapon that takes time to power up?”

  “His hands are bare.”

  “It’s in his breeches.”

  Madam Maritimus gave me the most peculiar stare. I raised my brows in question. Asproceros had pulled the broadsword, the helm-bird, and the explosive from the front of his breeches. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume he had stored some other danger down there.

  The ogre moaned. “The baby-man rained boulders down on the witches to punish their insolence. Then he turned to me and asked why I was precious to them.”

  “You offered to steal the dragons in exchange for gold?” asked Madam Maritimus.

  Asproceros bristled. “He promised me the restoration of my Noble House. When his master arises, those who supported his enemies will fall and be replaced by people of his choosing.”

  “Why did you take dragonets if he wanted dragons?”

  “I explained to him my failure with the dragon I tried to poach, and he said he would accept dragonets instead.”

  My heart pounded. Maybe Asproceros could give us information on the spriggan’s tactics. “What did he want to do with them?”

  The ogre shook his head. “I do not know.”

  “How did you pass through the wards?” asked Madam Maritimus.

  “The man who sold me my cloaks told me they offered absolute protection against security magic.”

  “The Sword of Lightning was too good for Jack Galloway,” Fyrian muttered.

  “It’s best that way,” I replied. “That man escaped every other kind of punishment. At least now he can’t cause any more trouble.”

  “He is if you count the artifacts he sold to criminals. What else hadn’t Evolene mentioned?”

  A gray cloud covered the moon, casting us all in darkness. Only a dozen glowing crystals from the witch’s staffs and the magic in the penitentiary bubble provided illumination. I pushed away those thoughts. Asproceros and the spriggans were more than enough to occupy my mind.

  Madam Maritimus placed her hand on the penitentiary bubble. “Thank you for your answers, but we need to know what you did with the dragonets.”

  “What about the baby-man?,” asked Asproceros. “He said I would die if I failed him.”

  “He is a spriggan. A dark fairy who can’t enter our wards and won’t hurt you.”

  “Y-you promise?”

  She nodded. “I promise.”

  My throat dried, and I glanced at the grim faces of the witches powering the penitentiary bubble. The spriggan wouldn’t punish Asproceros because the ogre wouldn’t leave the wards alive. Master Fosco had placed a heavy bounty on his head and would probably flame the ogre himself for his crimes against Mount Fornax.

  “Where are the dragonets?” asked Madam Maritimus.

  “I placed them in an enchanted sack.”

  “Where?”

  “The breeches.” He pulled at their waistband.

  I shot her a triumphant look, but she missed it.

  “Prove it,” she said.

  He reached into the front of his baggy breeches and pulled out something squirming in a sack.

  Fyrian gasped. “The flying cat just told me it was moving again!”

  “I found this interesting creature on my prowls.” Asproceros pulled out the flying cat by the scruff and held it aloft.

  The cat’s ears pulled back, and claws curled out from its front paws. With a yowl, the flying cat bared its fangs, swung around, and kicked at the ogre’s face with its back legs.

  “Filthy beast!” Asproceros dropped the flying cat and clutched at his face.

  “Make a hole in the bubble,” I said. “The cat’s in danger.”

  “Do it!” shouted Madam Maritimus.

  The magic in front of the flying cat thinned, and the little creature leaped out from the hole, spread its wings, and flew toward Fyrian’s head. Just as the hole in the penitentiary bubble closed up, Asproceros yanked the horn off his nose and blew into its mouthpiece.

  With a loud PING! the crystals on the witches’ staffs shattered, and the penitentiary bubble popped into golden sparks. I jumped back, heart exploding with panic.

  Asproceros threw his head back and bellowed out a triumphant roar. “You hags are worthless without your staffs, and now you will pay for your insolence!”

  The witches all rose into the air, propelled by their flying cloaks. Madam Maritimus unsheathed a thin rapier.

  He turned to us and snarled, the blood from the hole in his face dripping onto his snaggled teeth. Pushing my power into the Parched Sword, I swung it into his face and set Fyrian’s dry venom alight.

  Asproceros fell onto his back, clutching his burning face. “It hurts!”

  “Roll around in the dust,” I shouted.

  Phoenix strolled up to the writing ogre and punched him on the side of his head, knocking him out cold and onto his back. By now, the moon had emerged from the clouds, illuminating the ogre’s massive body. Grimacing, Phoenix reached into the ogre’s breeches and pulled out two more burlap sacks.

  Dozens of dazed dragonets staggered out of them, their wings splayed out for balance.

  “If you check those breeches, you’ll find the gold coins he stole,” said Fyrian.

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m sure the witches will examine his secret compartments when they’ve fixed their staffs.”

  She shrugged her wings. “Suit yourself.”

  “I’ll take him to Master Fosco.” Phoenix transformed into a purple dragon, wrapped his front paw around the ogre, and disappeared.

  The witches flew up into the mountain, presumably to get new staffs, and the rider cadets returned the rapier reds to their dwellings.

  “Should we go with them?” asked Fyrian.

  I shook my head. “This counts as an unauthorized mission. If Master Fosco’s in a bad mood, he’ll expel me.”

  “Best to keep out of his way, then.”

  I glanced around. We were still on the dry side of the mountain, and the ground had sustained little damage. “Isn’t this where we first met the wild dragon? Where’s his cage?”

  Fyrian dipped her head toward an overhang. “Over the—”

  I turned around and gaped at the empty cage. “Did they move him to the holding stalls?”

  “They would have announced it in the last Council of Dragons meeting,” she replied.

  I clenched my fists. “Then he teleported. I knew he was a purple dragon!”

  Fyrian tilted her head to the side and squinted. “But Fosco said there were runes on his cage.”

  “They put runes on your walls when they arrested Niger, and you rubbed them off. Maybe he scratched them.”

  A worried rumble sounded in the back of her throat. “I don’t think the tamers would be that careless. Especially when you said the wild dragon was behind the attacks.”

  “How else would you describe how he escaped, then?”

  “I don’t know,” she said in a small voice.

  Shaking my head, I strode over to where Fyrian sat on the ground. It looked like I would be seeing Master Fosco, after all.

  A man wearing a black cloak emerged from around a corner and froze. Platinum hair hung loose over his shoulders, and he narrowed pale eyes at me. “Fairy!”

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  He bared his teeth. “I know all about your plan to poison the dragons.”

  “A-Alba.” Fyrian’s voice shook. “Run. I’ll fight him off.”

  My stomach dropped. If this man was as dangerous as Fyrian implied, turning my back on him would be suicide. “I’m not poisoning anyone.”

  “I heard you tell your friend about the people making a poison base for you.”

  “That’s wro—” my mouth fell open. “You’re the man from the mess hall who dropped a bowl of chicory.”

  “The very same,” he snarled.

  Fyrian blew a stream of fire at the man, but he stepped through it. Some of her flames caught the sleeve of his cloak, setting it alight.


  I gulped. He didn’t even bother to douse the fire. What kind of man was he?

  “N-not a man,” she said.

  I pointed at his flaming sleeve. “You’re a master dragon!”

  He curled his lip. “A what?”

  “You’re the wild dragon.”

  “And you’re the fairy who subjugated None-Of-Your-Business’s mind.” The male spread his arms wide, setting his hands on fire. “When I’ve beaten you senseless and rescued this green female from her enslavement bond, I will kill you and your ally, King Magnar.”

  Chapter 20

  Every ounce of blood in my face plummeted to my trembling feet. I blinked hard, not quite believing what I had heard. Fyrian shouted through our bond at me to run, but numb shock dulled my senses. The man prowling toward me made no sense. If I poisoned the dragons, Fyrian would die, taking me along with her.

  Fire continued to burn along the male’s sleeves, and he advanced toward me with the languorous pace of a glacier tiger stalking trapped prey. With every step, the stones crunched beneath his feet. Moonlight reflected on his pale hair and skin, and his malicious, quicksilver eyes gleamed with the promise of murder.

  Behind him, Fyrian roared. “Run!”

  “I-I can’t.” In the face of a larger, stronger, faster predator, running would only turn a person into prey. I had to face him down and fight. Even if it meant losing.

  Stepping back with my left leg, I raised the Parched Sword and bent my elbows into my sides. Every bone, every muscle and sinew, trembled with anticipation. If he came at me, I would aim for his throat. “You’ve got me all wrong. The poison isn’t for dragons. It’s for spigg—”

  “Fairies have been trying to kill us since they banished our creator. You are no different.” Mayhem danced in his eyes. “What does this poison do? Another loyalty elixir to make us fight for you like mindless slaves?”

  I inhaled a sharp breath through my flared nostrils. The wild dragon-man had obviously been eavesdropping into the conversations of other dragons and used the information he had gathered to exact revenge on those he thought were being abused. It was no wonder he wanted me dead.

  “Listen to me,” I said through clenched teeth. “The poison is for spriggans.”