Battle Bond: An Urban Fantasy Dragon Series (Death Before Dragons Book 2)

by Lindsay Buroker

  I’m not leaving you here alone. Sindari pointed his nose toward the exit, the flames still roiling down at it from the dragon’s maw. I’ll run out. Maybe he’ll chase me again and you can get away.

  I don’t think he’s going to fall for that twice.

  Smoke filled the interior of the windmill and made me cough. My airways tightened predictably, and I wondered if there was any point to digging out my inhaler. Did it matter if I died of suffocation before being burned to a crisp?

  The flames in front of the exit disappeared. I sensed the dragon standing right outside, so I knew we weren’t safe. He was probably inhaling for another round.

  “Hey, Dragon!” I called, mopping my brow. “Let’s talk. Why are you kidnapping children? What do you want?”

  I expected this attempt at dealing would work about as well as it had with Zav, but maybe I would be wrong. Maybe this was a chatty dragon who was misunderstood and longed for someone to listen to his plight.

  A scaled snout came into view, one of those silver-blue eyes just visible at the top of the doorway hole. It gazed at me.

  I did my best not to look toward the dead ranger and imagine the dragon chomping my head off. Chopper was in my hand and ready if he tried. I was slightly bolstered that the blade had managed to cut into him when Fezzik’s magical rounds had not, but I hadn’t even given him the equivalent of a hangnail.

  The eye squinted.

  You, the dragon spoke telepathically, his voice as powerful and resonant as Zav’s as it rang in my skull, smell of Zavryd’nokquetal.

  My mouth dropped. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it hadn’t been that.

  “That can’t be. I’ve showered and scrubbed myself dozens of times since I saw him last.”

  The eye continued to squint at me. I hoped to lure him here with my antics, but it’s been days, and I grow weary of this game.

  “Antics? Wait, you’ve been commanding the kobolds to kidnap children, hoping to attract Zav’s attention?”

  Zav? Surely, he does not permit a mongrel to call him by that diminutive name.

  “I can’t pronounce his un-diminutive name.”

  That’s pathetic.

  “Sorry, I’m half-human.”

  Yes. I can tell. Even through telepathy, dragons could manage to be supercilious. I am Dobsaurin the Most Magnificent.

  Great, he’s even more pompous than Zav. I meant the words for Sindari, but the dragon’s visible eye opened wide.

  I can hear you when you think words to your stolen dragon slave!

  “He’s not a slave,” I said as Sindari put in his own objection, an indignant roar that filled my ears.

  The Zhinevarii are promised to dragons. You have no right to that charm.

  “Uh huh. Why did you say you wanted to lure Zav here?” I asked, hoping to distract him from his new interest in Sindari—the last thing I wanted was for him to take the figurine away. “And why were you kidnapping children to do it? He thinks humans are vermin and is only here to get criminals that fled from your worlds.”

  He is insufferably righteous and resents those who prey on the small and weak, as if the small and weak are worth paying attention to. Dragons are gods in comparison to all the lesser species. Gods should not concern themselves with those who are so clearly inferior to us. But I knew Zavryd’nokquetal would come to challenge me if he found out I was meddling with the peoples of this world. I am disappointed by how long it’s taking him to respond. I know he is here on this overpopulated, scum-infested planet.

  “It’s a big planet. He could be anywhere.”

  I suppose. But he has seen you recently enough to leave his mark on you. Will he come to see you again?

  I didn’t mean to hesitate, but I had to consider the answer. Reluctantly, I admitted that Zav had found me useful several times now, so he probably would hunt me down again.

  Belatedly, I said, “No.”

  A lie. Your human half makes you weak and easy to read.

  “Thanks for the analysis, but I already have a therapist that I pay for that. No need for dragons to butt in.”

  Have we not discussed the foolishness of irking dragons, Val? Sindari asked.

  Yes, but you can hardly talk. You roared at him.

  He called me a slave. That is worse than being called a pet.

  Perhaps you will do. The dragon—Dob-whatever—studied me with new contemplation.

  I’d liked it better when he’d been breathing fire at me.

  Deliver a message to him. Tell him that my family does not appreciate his sanctimonious meddling, and that I have been sent to put an end to it. Permanently.

  “Deliver a message? I’m not a Post-it note.” I couldn’t imagine anything more dreadful than being pulled into what sounded like dragon politics.

  Other than dying. I supposed this was a step up from that. And, with luck, the children had made it safely back to their homes by now.

  Tell him, or I’ll flambé this structure with you and your tiger in it.

  “I’ll let him know.”

  Excellent.

  The dragon backed away, sprang into the air, and flew off to the east. I wish he’d gone west. West was the Olympic Mountains and the Pacific Ocean. East was Seattle, my apartment, and millions of people.

  As I stumbled outside, relieved to suck in a breath of fresh air, my phone buzzed. Expecting Willard again, I answered without looking at the number.

  “Ms. Thorvald,” Mary Watanabe, my therapist, said. “I’m glad you answered.”

  I wished I’d let it go to voice mail.

  “Oh?” I couldn’t help it that I sounded wary. She didn’t call for social reasons.

  “Have you been working on the 4-7-8 breathing technique we discussed? Are you finding it helpful for lowering stress in difficult situations?”

  I coughed and dug out my inhaler. Right now, my lungs were too full of smoke for breathing exercises. They were busy working on just breathing.

  “I didn’t have time during today’s difficult situation, but I’ve tried it a bit.”

  “Excellent. You mentioned being willing to try yoga too. Have you gone to a class yet?”

  “I’ve been busy.” I eyed the smoking windmill. The roof was burning heartily.

  “Well, make room in your schedule. I was at a class this morning, and I learned of an opening at the Lotus Leaf Studio in Ballard. It’s a membership-only facility, and the instructors are very good. They really care about their students. They don’t just arrange your body in the right positions while in class but work on changing your mindset and teaching you to bring the tenets of yoga into your life as a whole. Of course we’ll continue to work on the personal issues you’ve acknowledged, but I think it’ll really help you if you can learn to take that philosophy into your daily life.”

  What would really help me would be if dragons would stop trying to set me on fire.

  6

  A salty breeze tugged at the strands of hair dangling free from my braid as I leaned on the railing of the ferry taking me back to Edmonds. My Jeep was down in the car compartment with boxes of hard cider, wine, and chocolate in the back, gifts from the grateful orchard owners.

  The children had made it back safely, though I didn’t think their parents had believed their story of being locked in a windmill by a dragon. Ayush, who must have had more encounters with magical beings in his life, had listened with wide terrified eyes. He’d been concerned that kobolds were still in the area and had spoken of listing the property and going back to being a software engineer in Seattle. I hadn’t had the heart to tell him that far worse things than kobolds lurked in and around the big city.

  Seagulls squawked as they flew overhead, and I couldn’t help but look up to make sure they weren’t fleeing a dragon. The sky had cleared and the sun had come out, so it would have been easy to spot the new one and even easier to see Zav’s black form. Neither dragon was in sight.

  How was I going to contact Zav? It wasn’t as if he’d given
me his cell phone number before disappearing.

  Normally, I wouldn’t care about delivering a message to him, but if there was a new, meaner, and more vindictive dragon in the world, he was the only one who could deal with it.

  Fezzik’s bullets hadn’t done anything on that magical hide, and even Chopper had barely cut it. I imagined fighter jets launching nukes at a dragon and wondered if even that would do the job. Dragons could probably make a shield that bombs would bounce off before they got close.

  My phone buzzed, and I groaned. Who, now? I’d given Colonel Willard a verbal report of the incident—as usual, she wanted a typed report sent in by morning—and told Mary I’d go to a yoga class and see her later in the week for a session. I didn’t want any more obligations, or to talk to any more people.

  But when I saw Nin Chattrakulrak’s name on my phone, I answered right away. Nin, owner of the Crying Tiger food truck and creator of magical weapons, never called me.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Val? I need to hire you.”

  It was after eight, but the June sun still hadn’t set when I reached Occidental Square, the spot where Nin’s food truck was parked today—and most days. The dinner rush had subsided, but kids wandering over from the busy outdoor Ping-Pong tables stood in line, paddles and ten-dollar bills clenched in their hands.

  Nin’s assistant was handing out paper-wrapped packages of the truck’s signature beef and rice dish while Nin worked outside with a brush and bucket of soapy water. She was scrubbing graffiti off the side of the truck. Most of the message had already been cleaned off, but I could still read the word DEATH next to a noose around a clumsily painted skull. Despite the poor art, the message was an ominous one.

  “Val!” Nin dropped her scrub brush in the water and rushed forward to grip my arms.

  The kids in line looked curiously at us, or maybe at the polar opposites we represented. Five-foot-one Nin with her brown skin, tiny frame, and black hair currently dyed fuchsia versus pale, blonde, six-foot me looking like someone out of a comic book on the Valkyries my mom had named me after. I’d never been able to see much of my elven heritage in my face, but I also had never met my father and could only go by a painted portrait my mom had over her fireplace. My features were a little finer than hers, but I’d been in my twenties before I’d believed her origin story for me.

  “What’s going on?” I patted Nin on the arm.

  She smiled and waved at the onlookers, then drew me around to the side of the truck. The special side. I ducked as we entered the little room sectioned off from the kitchen and smelling strongly of leather, metal, and gun oil.

  Here, Nin had built Fezzik and continued to craft magical ammunition for it. That ammo might not have been effective on the dragon, but it could kill most magical beings.

  A new order was in progress, a kris dagger with wavy edges that oozed menace. Guns hung on pegs on the walls, and parts rested in boxes under the counters on either side. All manner of tools were scattered around the compact area.

  “You know that I have competitors in the magical-weapons business, right?” Nin spoke in her usual precise, calm English, but worry burned in her dark eyes.

  “Sure. Before you showed up, I had a pistol made by Grifford down in Tacoma. I think he’s still in business.”

  “He is. He specializes in small arms. And have you heard of the Pardus brothers?”

  “They’re up north, aren’t they?”

  “They work out of Bothell, but they sell magical guns all over the city. They were the major dealers of enhanced weapons here before I got into the business. In the beginning, they did not bother me or seem to care about me, but lately…” Nin extended a hand toward the wall with the graffiti outside.

  “They did that?”

  “I do not have proof. I did not see it happen. Tida and I were inside setting up this morning, and it was raining, so we had the window closed. When we opened for lunch, a customer pointed it out. It said my name and death is coming, and you saw the painting.”

  “Painting is an optimistic label for that skull. Let’s call it graffiti. Why do you think the Pardus brothers are responsible, rather than some teenager acting on a dare?”

  “They have threatened me before. Two weeks ago, Otto and Kurt came here to order food and tell me I had better get out of the weapons business or they would ship me back to Bangkok in a crate. In pieces.”

  “Oh? In front of witnesses?”

  “They spoke softly so others would not hear.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I told them,” Nin said in her typical sweet but determined voice, “that if they tried to hurt me or my assistant, I would use my pliers to rip off their balls, dip them in batter, and fry them in hot oil.”

  “Good.”

  “They were not convinced. They said I had better close my other business or they would return. They are angry because, lately, some of their clients have left them and are purchasing weapons from me. You know my grandfather was a gnome tinkerer who learned his trade from a dwarf master smith, right? I am very well trained. I make high-quality weapons.”

  “I do know that.”

  “My weapons are superior. Their clients know this. That is why they are coming to me. What good is a weapon that a troll can snap in half?” Nin shook her head, her straight pink hair flopping about. “I do not want to give in to bullies, but it is scary and frustrating. They are full-blooded magical beings and much stronger than I am. I believe they are shifters. I wish my grandfather were here now to advise me.”

  “He passed away before you left home, right?”

  “I am not sure if he died. He disappeared many years ago. And my father was already gone. He was a deadbeat and an alcoholic. My mother was not sad when he left, but that was when we had to go into the city to live. We struggled to make ends meet. That is why I want to earn enough here as a businesswoman to bring my mother and all my sisters to America and buy them a house.”

  That part of the story I’d heard before, and I nodded and patted her shoulder. “You will. You are good. I’m sure many of your clients would be happy to help you convince those guys to leave you alone.”

  “I would like you to help me, Val. You are the best, and you are my friend.”

  The words touched me more than I would admit, but they worried me too. As I’d told my therapist, I made it a point to avoid developing friendships, lest people be hurt or used against me by my enemies. It was a lonely life, but it was safest for those around me.

  “Thank you.” I patted her on the shoulder.

  “How much would you charge to make the Pardus brothers leave me alone? I do not want them assassinated. I have no wish to do anything illegal or hurt them, even though they have threatened me, but I worry that their threats will escalate to more. I will compete fairly in business against them, but they do not wish to use fair tactics.”

  “I understand, but are you sure someone else wouldn’t be better? It sounds like you need a negotiator, not an assassin.” How was I supposed to get these guys to leave her alone when my main tactic was brute force?

  “You have recent experience with a dragon.”

  All too recent. “I don’t think Zav will go set fire to their workshop, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “No, but they are now telling everyone that they can make dragon-slaying weapons. I do not believe this is possible for anyone but full-blooded dwarf and gnome masters in their native worlds. I do not believe it can be done at all with materials found on Earth.”

  “Why are they telling people they can make them?”

  “Demand is very high right now. Many people saw your dragon flying over the city a few weeks ago. Also, there is footage out there of the kraken in Lake Union, and the houseboat residents are afraid more sea monsters will come. The police will do nothing. They do not admit that magical creatures exist.”

  I rubbed my face. “Zav isn’t my dragon.”

  Nin shrugged. “You have spo
ken to him. Regardless, people are afraid. There is a huge demand for weapons that can protect humans from dragons. And the Pardus brothers claim to have them. They are selling their inferior weapons to scared people who believe they will work on a dragon. Val, people will be killed if they try to shoot a dragon.”

  Especially if they shot at the new dragon.

  If I couldn’t deliver a message to Zav, what might Dob do next to gain his attention? Something a lot more dramatic and showy—and deadly—than kidnapping a few rural children?

  “I know you are experienced at dealing with the magical and also sensing magical artifacts and weapons,” Nin said. “If you go there and see their offerings, you will know that they can’t slay dragons. You could tell people, so they know.”

  I wasn’t exactly a spokesman to the magical community—or the human community either—but if Nin wanted my help, I would do my best.

  “I’ll go visit them and learn what I can. Maybe paint threatening graffiti on their walls.”

  Nin smiled. “Good. Thank you. How much will you charge? I must negotiate with you, as I have learned from the entrepreneurship—” she pronounced that word with extra care, and I almost mentioned that I could barely say it either, “—lectures I take online. Even though you are a friend, this is business.”

  “I won’t charge anything. You’re my supplier of my weapons.”

  I wondered if the Pardus brothers somehow did have guns capable of piercing scaly dragon hides. If they did, I hoped Nin wouldn’t be offended if I bought one. I would still threaten them on her behalf, but if dragons were going to keep showing up in the world, I needed a way to defend myself and others from them.

  Her smile turned into a disapproving frown. “Val, this is a business deal. We must agree on a fair price, and you must be paid for your time. Also, it is possible you will be injured in your encounter with them. Have you met them? They are strong and dangerous. I know you are also very capable, but you must be paid for the risk you will take.”

  “What risk? I’m just going up to see if they have any good weapons for sale.” I winked.