“Unfinished business?” Claudia sighed and pressed her face into her bent knees. It was always unfinished business with the ghosts who’d walked beside her since childhood.
“I believe this dragon was mortally wounded in the wars. The Corporation knows of the stone dragons, of course. And now they believe one may still be alive.”
Claudia lifted her head. She has no idea which one. With all her powers, she still needs me.
Serllia bristled, her temper dangerously close to fraying. Stamping her boot to the wooden grid, she released a shower of trapped raindrops. “Don’t pretend to be stupid with me, little Claudia. Many a mystic has tried at the Corporation’s bidding to reanimate these statues. It seems only a female dragon will do, and you are the nearest we have.”
“What do you want from me, Serllia? I’m not a female dragon.” Not difficult to guess the seer’s intent, but she didn’t intend on making it easy for her.
“You will unlock the dragon from his stone cage, but at my bidding. I will bind him with wards and spells. Make my deal with Veton.” Serllia stretched her lips in a cold smile. “What? You thought I’d gift that weakling, Othrid, a captive dragon to slaughter for his own glory with a single thrust of his sword? There’s more value in this for the Corporation than with that buffoon’s puny display.”
Horrifying as the thought was, Claudia agreed.
Veton knows the value of a slow death. The same thought collided in their minds.
“No. You’ll get no dragons from me. I’ll die first.”
Serllia unfolded her ancient body. Humanoid in appearance, like most of the beings on Prison Moon One. A catlike cast to her black eyes. She stretched out, pressing long fingers into the small of her back.
“As you wish, Claudia. This dragon’s fate now rests with you.” She raised a hand. “Spare me the protests. You would die before betraying your dragon? In his rage, he will not afford you the same courtesy. You’ve had a better offer from that wyvern guard? I will kill him the moment he moves on you. Think on this as your belly gnaws at you with hunger.”
Claudia tipped her face to the grid, inhaling the smell of the wet, fetid soil beneath her, the resinous tang of the planks holding up her prison walls. Did she do this? Stir up all this sudden interest in resurrecting dragons? Or was it the trapped dragon himself, recognising one of his own, and making waves with his desperate energy?
“I can’t perform my healing down here. Othrid’s too greedy to keep me locked up for long.”
“Othrid does what I tell him. And when Veton and I rule this camp, we will build you a cage up here, where you may work in the light.” The seer’s dark gaze bore into her for long moments. “If you survive your encounter with the dragon, of course.”
Serllia moved away in a swirl of long skirts, revealing small patches of pink-and-blue sky beyond the prison gate. The hold on Claudia’s mind faded, and for a few blessed moments she sat in the silence of perfect peace. Soon the frantic thoughts came crowding back.
If you want my help, dream dragon, you’ll have to tell me how. How can I help you stuck in this hole?
No answer. The ghostly dragon voice fled the moment Serllia jumped in. She could only wait for him to come out of hiding and reveal more of his purpose.
She shuddered, hit suddenly by a deluge of overwhelming panic. Of wanting to claw at the walls of the pit and rip out her nails dragging herself up for one last look at the light. At least she could move, take four, maybe five steps across this hole in the ground. If Serllia served her truth, the dragon suffered a far worse fate frozen in place in that stone shell.
Frozen and calling for help she might never be able to give.
Chapter Two
In his forgotten grave, deep in the High Temple ruins, Tharius, of the noble house of Dra’Kathis remembered blood and fire. His fellow warrior dragons bearing his near-dead body to the last resting place of the bravest of them all.
He could not be saved, so they chanted and sang songs to his courage, prayed for a swift journey to the Otherworld, and then withdrew, leaving him to the mercy of the gods.
As his skin cooled and turned to stone, the flame inside him died low, memories of war faded, and Tharius himself slipped slowly into the dreaming.
For two hundred years, he dreamed of life and death and the other Paradise that awaited only the brave. Dra’Te’thera, the fields of plenty on the Otherworld planes, where fallen warriors never wanted for meat and drink, or a comely dragon maiden to warm their beds and fire their loins.
And yet, still he waited, in his cold, dark purgatory, for a spirit guardian to come and crack the stone shell and bear him away on gossamer wings to his just reward.
But none came.
As the years bled away, anticipation turned to disappointment, and then curdled to a simmering anger.
No guardian, no sight or sound of any dragon, living or spirit, in two hundred years. Had they forgotten him? Tharius, of house Dra’Kathis, who threw his body and his blood into that legendary, suicidal, charge to save the female dragons from the wyverns’ hate in that terrible time of war? Was Dramis, the god of the underworld, sleeping the day this venerated general of the Draegon army gave all but a single spark of his life to save the future of Dra’Theria, this moon the Draegon race once called home?
Without the females, there was no hope.
And without hope, no future.
For the future of his world, he and his fellow Draegon warriors gladly sacrificed their lives.
Or believed they had.
How many other veterans of the war lay like him in this stone limbo awaiting transition? The gods had another plan for their fallen warriors? Then for Ekai-Drakensis, reveal it and send them back! They had that power.
He knew only one thing for certain. That he gave everything, and still, he failed. Was that why they punished him with a living death in this coffin of eternal stone? Why he endured this wrenching loneliness, broken now, only by the occasional gawking of some lost being who wandered into the depths of the ruined temple where they laid him after that last battle?
First, they came to steal his hoard. Some touched his petrified flesh, intoning chanting spells that did nothing to ease his plight. But lately, most of his errant visitors took one look at his stone majesty, and promptly pissed themselves with fright.
Only a few fell to their knees to pay him due reverence. Then mumbled their excuses and fled, leaving him trapped and screaming curses in the dark for the gods to take him to the Otherworld, or free him from this torment of waiting.
Free him to live again, and help bring his home world back from the devastation of the mining wars, when greedy corporations and turncoat wyverns came to pillage and steal the dragons’ treasure and wealth.
Death or life? He screamed the question until his voice cracked with age and the gods no longer heard.
I’ll lead another charge. Die again in your service. Anything, only make your wishes clear that I may act.
For too long there was only silence etched with terrible memories in an endless loop. Lacking fire, the female dragons had no defence. His troop of elite warriors could not reach them in time. Though his lungs throbbed with pain, and his wings beat with such ferocious force they tore to shreds, he failed to save them.
All dead. The females of their race violated and burned by the wyverns, who slaughtered the guards and broke into their sanctuary. The mate, chosen for him by his father, the breeding stock of an entire race, all gone in an orgy of violence, screams, and slaughter.
The festering anger inside of him ignited to a burning rage. He was ready to fight again. Oh, he was ready.
As his rage burned hot, the mists cleared and at last the voices of the gods spoke in his head.
You begged to return, Tharius. And so you will.
Send me then. Why do you delay?
A deep laugh echoed around the chamber. You were ever impatient, Tharius. But now the time is right and there are tasks yet to perform. And for that w
e have need of our brightest and our best.
I thank you for this intercession. Though his rage simmered, Tharius found the words to give due reverence, thinking dryly that this mercy might have come a little earlier.
He was not a patient dragon in life. Whatever purpose they had in mind, the gods did not intend to make this easy for him.
Have you forgotten the lore, Tharius of Drak’Athis? Life requires life from those who spawn life. The touch of female dragon flesh, the feel of her pulsing heart, is needed to reanimate your cold, stone skin. Only then will you return.
Tharius’s reply turned to bitter ash in his throat. So the gods played with him yet?
If the females of his race were all dead, who out there was left with the power to bring this dragon back to life?
One Lunar Cycle Later
Never trust an Earth girl. We’re stronger than we look.
Claudia wrapped herself into a tight ball, praying the horny beast circling overhead missed the runaway Earth woman crouched in the shade of two standing stones on the bleak, hard-baked plains they called the Wastes.
The downdraught from its great, beating wings stirred her hair, and her supernatural senses tingled, reaching out to probe the creature’s head. If it was a fire-breather, she was in trouble.
Trouble? A stifled laugh bubbled in her throat. Trouble didn’t begin to describe her predicament.
Using a combination of her talents and some stealthily placed sleeping draughts, she and the wyvern guard struck a deal. He would get her out, and in return, she gave him the dragon.
Or so he believed.
Just a matter of escaping him, avoiding the pursuing war-bands sent by Othrid, and then finding the right stone dragon and bringing him back to life.
Well, it was a plan, anyway. One with little hope of succeeding, given the furious wyvern’s ability to pick up a single human breath from over a kilometre away. A living hell awaited if he caught and hauled her back to the camp. To say nothing of the horrors he’d inflict before handing her back to the warlord.
A living hell? As if it wasn’t before. If the wyvern didn’t kill her for making a fool of him, then Serllia might well give up her dreams of dragons and make do with the satisfaction of torturing her rival to death, live on air. So many ways this could pan out.
The watchful camera box blinked impassively. It didn’t care which path this story took, only that it provided entertainment on the way.
Huddled between two of the towering monuments of the ancient stone circle, Claudia remembered her first terrifying glimpse of the devastated flatlands of Prison Moon One, the bleak terrain laid waste during the mining wars. She could still hear the hideous screams of an abducted woman who was almost torn apart by the possessive frenzy of the waiting felons.
Her heart quickened to a painful tightening in her chest. No, she didn’t want to remember poor Lucy. Or that awful moment the alien kidnappers opened the hatch doors and ordered them to run. The sight of the slavering, waiting males, some with scales and spines and strangely coloured skin, others too much like Earth men, armed with blades, cudgels, and hunting nets, haunted her nightmares.
They were special. Part of a chosen cargo of gifted women, seers, psychics and healers abducted for a Prime Time hunt the Corporation called The Chase. An incentive for the big boys to come out to play after restless viewers complained one time too many that the warlords—the high stakes guys—never showed.
They started sending champions and lackeys to fight in their stead and hunt the Earth women used as prey, and the viewers watching the live feeds got restless and demanded the big hitters start living up to their inflated reputations. So, the hunters came to Earth, looking for incentives to draw the elite felons out.
But no one played by the rules here. What need to fight and prove yourself when you were already the top of the tree? Othrid sent his champion, dressed to resemble a warlord, and it was Claudia’s bad luck to run straight into him.
The enraged wyvern flew two more looping circles, soaring high and low. Showing off its prowess for the cameras, as if playing with her for the entertainment of viewers sitting on the edges of their seats, their little click-pads in hand. They decided if she lived or died. If she escaped, or the wyvern swooped down and delivered her to Othrid.
Claudia set her mouth in a determined line. A dragon out there needed her help, and she had to get to him before those who would use and kill him for sport.
An unholy shriek pierced the air. The wyvern’s frustration and rage covered the red-tinged plains like a smothering blanket. Claudia ducked and covered her ears. Concentrate. She turned her back on the camera orb hanging in the air like a malevolent voyeur, beaming her terror to the millions of eyes watching her escape from all over the sector. Ignore it. Her gifts did not command technology, only the operators behind the machines, and they were too far away to fall prey to thrall, or any of her mind tricks.
Her powers only worked on other living beings, like the war-band Othrid sent in her pursuit.
She couldn’t help smiling at that small win, and the way she so easily read their intent, invaded their minds, and second-guessed their every move. A mixture of Corporation strategy, luck, and her talents. And luck didn’t last forever.
With her back pressed into the ancient stones, Claudia fought the creeping exhaustion whispering for her to lie down and recharge. So little energy left to fight the wyvern patrolling the sky, waiting for the Corporation’s command to dive and pluck her in its talons.
Bone tired, but when had that ever stopped her? Now it was all or nothing. A full-on mind jump to get him out of the picture. Claudia steeled herself, knowing this could all end with her falling flat on her face instead of into that ugly beast’s mind.
Whatever happened, the audience would love it.
If only she could see the outcome of this particular battle. The biggest irony of all? She never saw her own future with these cursed talents. No snatched glimpses of victory, no helpful visions to guide her. She couldn’t even heal herself if things turned violent. The healing gift rarely worked on her own body.
How unfair was that?
Though she strained to see it, the outcome of this particular confrontation remained stubbornly blank to her.
The wyvern banked sharply to fly off to the west, its bulk diminishing to a speck in the sky. Claudia measured the distance between the stones and the foothills of the great mountains rising at the horizon. Now way she’d make them without being spotted.
Mind jump, or nothing, now.
Don’t give up. If it gets close enough, you can do it.
If she didn’t believe that, she might as well let it catch her.
The wyvern tipped sideways, forming a hideous silhouette against the sky as it soared to the East, and the Black Lake in a manoeuvre calculated to string out the drama for the paying audience. A move that gave her a space to focus and be ready when it came hurtling back.
Shading her eyes, she watched it grow larger in the sky, blotting out the sinking sun. Each mud-coloured scale, the razor-sharp talons, shifted into sharp focus as the beast dropped like a hurtling missile. A shrill screech of demonic sound on a blast of scorching breath pinned her to the flat stone. For an agonising moment, she was unable to move. The beast sucked air into its nostrils, releasing her from its grip. Claudia ducked away and behind the stone. Small shelter, but enough cover to regroup, while the creature huffed and flapped with clumsy lunges, hindered from getting too close by the towering stones.
Palms pressed together, she concentrated every scrap of power left to her. Time it right, draw it into the open, and wait until almost close enough to touch. Put on a good show for the cameras and keep the audience clicking in her favour. Earn that extra day of freedom.
With nowhere to hide from the talons, she had nothing to lose.
Breathe. Push off the stones and run, face upturned to the horned and leathery wyvern pinning her in its sights.
“Is that all you have, yo
u ugly beast?” Tipping her face to the sky, she yelled out her defiance, holding the hovering wyvern’s heated gaze. “You’re just a bag of hot wind. And what’s more, you can’t see me. You can’t see me, do you hear? I’m invisible to you.”
Thrall and misdirection. Her only hope now. If she failed to jump into that creature’s mind and twist it into knots, it had her.
With a jolt that sent her reeling backward, a door opened into the wyvern’s mind, and she was in.
Claudia pictured herself wearing an invisibility cloak. An old trick, she held on to the image with grim desperation. The wyvern stopped in midair, staring at the baked ground. A swirl of confusion muddled its thoughts. How did its prey managed to disappear right before its eyes?
I’m over there, running back into the Wastes. Claudia planted the suggestion, and the great head turned. The fluttering wings, keeping it hovering above her, ruffled the air, blowing hair across her face. She needed more twine to tie it back. A decent comb to drag through the knots.
She needed a lot of things she wasn’t going to get.
The wyvern put up a valiant fight for its will. Thrall depended on absolute focus, and she’d pulled a miracle or two out of the hat for stunned onlookers, but this was a wyvern in full shift. A creature slowly becoming wise to her tricks.
And behind that hovering camera, countless eyes watched and willed her to fail. Negative vibes streaming from the cameras sapped at her strength, threatening to cut the connection between her and the wyvern.
In desperation, she plucked a fist-sized rock from the ground and waved it at the creature. Its face creased in a puzzled frown. Claudia flung the rock out into the Wastes and ducked back behind a standing stone.
“Go and get me, you giant horny toad.” Go for it. Please go for it.
The wyvern tipped its head, studying the ground. An agony of waiting, and then it stretched its wings and fell into a glide, skimming the dirt, talons opening and closing on the rock. Claudia bent double against the force of its beating wings, watching it lift and hover for the camera, talons curled around the imaginary prey.
STONE DRAGON: A Prison Moon Series Romance Novel Page 3