by Bryan Davis
“Excellent,” Magnar said. “No need to stretch out this one. He is nothing special.”
“My thinking as well. In fact, let the two of us be the only dragons in attendance. It would be better if Hyborn did not see Penelope in this state. I think he has grown fond of her.”
“Easily done. I already sent him on a patrol assignment.” Magnar stretched out his wings and took to the air, flying toward the doors he had entered while calling back. “It might take a few minutes to get the vermin organized.”
With the dragon’s body out of the way, Marcelle looked at the central object on the floor, a man chained and padlocked to a stake with a sphere on top, apparently made of some kind of crystal. The sphere reflected the moon’s glow and created a white halo around the man, veiling his features. She squinted and studied his face—square jaw, firm chin, light brown hair. Yes, the man was Adrian. Even in the dimness, who could mistake him for anyone else? He stood up straight with his shoulders back, his eyes wide open. His lips moved. Was he praying? Or was he whispering to Cassabrie?
At the thought of Cassabrie, a surge of heat flashed across Marcelle’s skin. Trusting that girl was a bad idea. Since the time she went inside Adrian, he had become softer, more passive, less decisive.
She looked at her bundle on the floor. Could she grab her sword and free Adrian? Should she threaten Arxad and demand the key to unlock the chains? He had already proven his ability to defend himself as well as his lack of fear of her sword. A swipe with his tail was all it had taken to disarm her in an embarrassing fashion.
As they waited for the witnesses, Arxad raised up on his haunches. Marcelle eyed his underbelly. The vulnerable spot was there, small but easy enough to see in the moonlight. She let her gaze drift to the dragon’s face. He stared right at her, a deliberate stare.
She looked away. What could that mean? If she leaped for him and pressed the sword against the spot, would he acquiesce and provide the key? But how could she keep the sword in place while unlocking Adrian’s chains? Could Bron do it?
She glanced at her fellow promoted slave. His head wobbled, and his shoulders slumped. No. He was already under the drug’s influence. He would be more likely to stick a key in his nose than in the padlock.
Marcelle lifted the bundle into her arms and rose slowly to her feet. Arxad didn’t flinch. His stare stayed focused. As she pushed a hand under the sheet, she again broke eye contact. He likely noticed her lack of response to the drug, and her letter had made him wary. If he knew who she was, why didn’t he say so?
She listened for the sound of footsteps. Time was running out. Maybe it would be better to wait for Shellinda and Adrian’s sword. With all the people around, some of the men would surely help her. But help her do what? No plan came to mind. Relying on instinct would have to work. Just react and trust in her training.
After another minute, the clatter and shuffle of many feet filtered into the courtyard. A line of humans passed through the doorway at intervals of about two steps, most with their heads low. A middle-aged man led the way, followed by two women. Shellinda walked in next. With the tail of a sheet dragging the floor behind her, she held one arm over her waist while the other arm stayed hidden.
Barely visible far to Marcelle’s left, someone walked through a smaller doorway in the perimeter wall, a woman wearing a black dress and carrying a bag of some kind. Several people gasped when they looked her way. The woman withdrew something from her bag and knelt behind it, but the object was too dark to distinguish.
After everyone had filed in, Magnar flew over their heads and landed next to Adrian. As the dragon settled, he scratched Adrian’s ear with a claw on his wing. Adrian grimaced but said nothing.
Marcelle pressed her lips together, fuming. Those scaly fiends used every opportunity to deliver pain. They would soon get a taste of it themselves.
Flapping his wings, Arxad glided to Adrian’s opposite side. Both dragons now stood about an arm’s length away from him.
“The time has come,” Arxad called to the witnesses. “By this execution of a dragon murderer, all humans will learn once again that the lives of their masters are sacred.”
Marcelle tightened her grip on the viper’s hilt. The time had come all right. Live or die, she and Adrian would be together.
TWENTY-TWO
ADRIAN straightened his body and stood tall. With a crowd of people gathered in a semicircle and two young teens watching from close range, he had to show courage. The girl, in particular, seemed very interested. There was something familiar about her—a strong face, square shoulders, and confident stance. Who could she be? A relative of someone he knew on Major Four? Maybe. Surely such relationships existed, cousins a couple of times removed, so features could be similar even to this day.
Two other familiar faces appeared at the front of the crowd, Shellinda’s and Scott’s. Dressed in bulky sheets, Shellinda looked ready to make a bed. How had she managed to escape from the cattle camp? Might that mean that Marcelle lurked somewhere in the crowd?
A dark slender form emerged from a narrow door to Adrian’s right. He squinted to get a better look. No, not Marcelle. It was Zena. With long, deliberate strides, she sashayed toward the right side of the crowd. She carried a bag with a strap over her shoulder and hugged the bag itself close to her black dress. Breathing hushed murmurs, the people on that end drifted away, leaving her in an island of space.
She stooped and pulled the black egg from the bag. A new round of murmurs rose from the crowd. One woman began crying, and several shushed her with strong oaths. Once Zena had propped the egg with the bag and a nest of padding, she knelt behind it and watched.
Magnar flew in and, beating his wings furiously, landed at Adrian’s left. With the last flap, Magnar clipped Adrian’s ear with a claw at the end of his wing. Adrian flinched but refused to cry out.
As warm liquid trickled down Adrian’s neck, Magnar spoke in a rumbling whisper. “You will soon pray for pain of such low degree.”
With his wings pushing him along, Arxad skittered across the floor and stopped at Adrian’s right. After facing the crowd and waiting for them to settle, Arxad spoke in a commanding voice. “The time has come. By this execution of a dragon murderer, all humans will learn once again that the lives of their masters are sacred.”
“Be calm,” Cassabrie said. “They are planning a quick execution, so the pain will last only a few moments. I will help you through it.”
Adrian nodded. No sense in talking now. Soon, death would come, and he and Cassabrie would be able to talk all they wanted, and maybe they could work together to figure out how to help Marcelle, wherever she was.
“Penelope?” Arxad called.
Adrian followed Arxad’s line of sight. He spoke to the girl, the young teen who seemed so familiar. She stood next to a teenaged boy who sat cross-legged, his head drooping low.
Penelope held a hand under a bundle of clothing in front of her. “Yes?” she said in a timid voice.
“If you feel dizzy during this execution,” Arxad said, “then feel free to sit on the floor.”
Magnar growled. “Why are you delaying? Let us proceed.”
“I am following protocol,” Arxad countered, his voice too low for the others to hear. “We always pamper the promoted humans in public.”
Penelope glanced around before directing her gaze at Arxad. “Um … thank you. If I get dizzy, I will sit.”
Adrian focused on the girl’s face. Her voice sounded strained, too high to be natural. Somehow her eyes and brow seemed older than her frame.
“You must have a strong constitution,” Arxad said, again speaking to Penelope. “It is clear that your labors have given you muscular forearms and hands, especially for a girl your age.”
Penelope looked directly at Adrian. Adrian stared back at her. Who was this pig-tailed girl? So familiar, so strong in body and in countenance.
She cleared her throat before answering. “My labors have been hard. They have made me as
strong as most boys my age.”
Adrian let her words echo in his mind. Her voice was lower now, more mature.
“How do you know this to be true?” Arxad asked. “Have you had skirmishes with the young males?”
“Arxad!” Magnar bellowed. “What is the meaning of this inexhaustible query?”
Arxad stretched his head around Adrian and whispered to Magnar, barely loud enough for Adrian to hear. “I always question the promoted humans. It allows me to know when the drug has taken effect. This one is quite resistant.”
“Very well.” Magnar waved a wing. “She may answer, but this is the last question.”
Keeping her eyes locked on Adrian, Marcelle shook her head and spoke in an even lower tone. “No skirmishes. The boys always ask me to consider it a forfeit.”
Adrian sucked in a breath. What did she say? A forfeit?
Penelope dropped the clothing bundle and whipped out a black sword. She lunged at Arxad and pushed the tip of the blade against his vulnerable spot. “And now,” she shouted, “I demand that you forfeit and let the prisoner go!”
The crowd gasped. Several women screamed. A loud buzz carried throughout the courtyard, spiced here and there with profanity.
Adrian stared at the girl’s stern profile. Marcelle!
“What?” Magnar roared. “How dare you!”
Marcelle glared at him. “I am a daring person. It’s what I do.”
While Arxad stood high on his haunches, completely still and stoic, Adrian fought the chains, rattling them loudly as he grunted, “Got to … get loose!” He jerked, twisted, and wiggled, but the chains wouldn’t budge.
“Arxad!” Magnar shouted. “Just knock her away like the annoying fly she is, and I will turn her into ashes.”
“If you do—” Marcelle pushed the sword, piercing Arxad’s belly. Liquid trickled around the point. “You will find that I am like lightning! He will be dead!”
Cassabrie screamed in Adrian’s mind. “You witch! Don’t kill Arxad!”
Adrian gulped. Yes, Marcelle would do it … in a heartbeat. Only one chance. He looked down at his pocket. “Cassabrie,” he whispered. “The key is still there. Arxad said it worked on every lock in the Zodiac. Leave my body and unlock me.”
“First I have to save Arxad.”
Adrian’s voice burst out without his command. “Marcelle! Look out!”
“What?” Marcelle spun toward him. “Where?”
Magnar leaped and slapped her with a wing. She flew across the room and slid along the tiles, forcing the crowd to scatter. Magnar launched a blast of fire in her wake, but she rolled out of the way and into a throng of scrambling legs. The people didn’t bother to help her up. They just ran to the perimeter wall and watched.
Summoning all his strength, Adrian lunged against the chains. They loosened a little but not enough. He thrust his hand toward his pocket. No chance. With his arms pinned, he couldn’t reach.
Marcelle leaped to her feet. Magnar shot another stream of flames and swept it toward her. She jumped, flipped over the river of fire, and landed upright on the other side, the sword still in her grip. “You will have to do better than that!” she yelled. “Come to me in close combat, and I will introduce you to the pain your whips inflict on my people.”
“You are such a fool!” Magnar waved a wing toward the crowd behind her. “Men, capture her and bring her to me. For every minute that she continues to defy my authority, one of your children will die.”
“Cassabrie!” Adrian hissed. “Get the key!”
Cassabrie said nothing.
Adrian growled through clenched teeth. “Cassabrie! Do what I tell you!”
“Patience, Adrian. Patience. More decisions are yet to be made.”
Adrian clenched his teeth. What did that mean? Had she gone mad?
Four men stepped from the crowd, each one trembling, perhaps fathers who feared for their children’s lives. They formed a ring around Marcelle and closed in.
“No!” Adrian shouted at the men. “Now is the time to loose your chains. If you work together, you can be free!”
Magnar shot a fireball at Adrian’s arm. The flames splashed across the chains. Although the metal acted as a protective sleeve, one of the tongues scorched his hand.
“Augh!” He tried to shake his arm, but the chains held him fast.
Arxad leaned closer to Adrian. “Now you know why we consider Starlighters so dangerous. The way they use their power is unpredictable. She has become much more than a guide, has she not?”
Marcelle turned slowly, her sword extended as she barked a challenge. “Just because you’re human, do not think I will spare any of you. For the sake of liberty for all, I will shed the blood of a few.”
The men halted and looked at Magnar as if asking what to do now.
“Kill the murderer,” Magnar said to Arxad. “The girl will be next on the stake.”
Arxad reached a hand toward the sphere and spoke to Adrian in a soft tone. “This is the choice you made. I fear that I cannot alter your course now. Yet, when it is over, you will be free to do as you please.”
“Yes,” Cassabrie said. “When we are joined in spirit, we will be invisible to the dragons. We can work together to free the slaves. Once you are in my condition, you will understand how much more powerful you can be.”
Shaking his head hard, Adrian yelled. “If you would betray Marcelle, I don’t want to be with you! Get out of me! Now!”
Her warmth caressed his body. “Adrian, take care what you say, for I am not betraying Marcelle. I am following a plan that is greater than you can perceive. Soon you will understand that what I am doing is necessary for the good of all.”
Arxad set his hand on the sphere. Above, Trisarian’s glow cast a narrow beam into the crystalline surface. It burst into a dazzling globe of radiance. Heat shot into Adrian’s head and knifed into his spine. Scalding pain roared from limb to limb.
He cocked his head back and bit his lip, but the agony burst through in a gut-wrenching scream. His voice rose into the dark sky until he ran out of breath, exhausted.
Gasping, he looked at the courtyard. Sweat poured. It was so hot, so terribly hot. How much longer could he stand it? Arxad said that a lie wouldn’t work, but he had to give it a try. Panting heavily, he breathed out, “I want Marcelle to die.”
The sphere flickered but not enough to alter the searing radiance. Arxad was right. He lacked the power.
Marcelle dove headfirst and somersaulted between two of the men. Magnar blew another jet at her. She leaped to the side. This time, she slipped and smacked her head against the tile. As she rose to her feet, her legs wobbled. Blinking, she staggered from side to side.
The sphere continued pouring heat into Adrian’s body. His eyes burned. His tongue dried out. He couldn’t breathe a word. It wouldn’t be long now. Death was closing in.
Magnar blew yet another ball of fire. With a quick step to the side, Marcelle dodged again, but the fire in her eyes had vanished.
“Zena!” Magnar shouted. “Let us end this spectacle. Disarm the girl and have the men bring her to the stake. I will guard the prince.” He flew to the egg and settled next to it.
As if gliding across a stage, Zena walked with graceful steps, her long lines evident. When she drew near, Marcelle spun toward her and pointed her sword. “Back away,” she growled, “or I will give you a good reason to look like a corpse.”
“Very clever.” Zena stopped just out of reach. “But you have no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“A corpse, I think. You look more dead than alive.”
“You are very perceptive.” Zena lunged toward her. Marcelle thrust the viper and plunged it through Zena’s midsection. Zena halted and looked down at the blade, then, with a savage swing, slapped Marcelle across the face. Marcelle staggered back and fell to her bottom.
Zena grasped the viper’s hilt and drew it out of her body. Then, with a nonchalant toss of her head, she called to the men. “Take her.�
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The four men rushed toward Marcelle. With two on each side, they grabbed her arms and hoisted her to her feet.
Zena pointed at the stake. “She is next. Take her to Arxad.”
As they dragged Marcelle, she struggled mightily, kicking and biting. One man let out a yelp, but their slavery-hardened muscles kept her in check.
While Zena returned to the egg and Magnar shuffled toward the stake, Marcelle looked directly at Adrian and began screaming as she thrashed. “I will slay every dragon in this sick and twisted land, and then I’ll go back to the world of humans alone! You spineless slugs deserve your chains! No one who is too cowardly to fight for his freedom deserves anything more than the marks of a whip on his back and the disdain of the tyrants who drive them to despair. If all it takes is a verbal threat to your little ones to turn your backbones into butter, then you can just die and rot here! A real man would fight! A real man would charge into battle! A real man knows that freedom is a greater gift to his children than safety from an oppressor’s threats. If a woman has to put on a man’s trousers to shake you from your cowardly delirium, then so be it! I will die fighting for that cause!”
As the horrible torture purged his brain of all other thoughts, Marcelle’s words stabbed Adrian’s soul. What had he been thinking? How could he possibly give up this fight now? It was time to draw a sword!
Battling the chains with all his might, he squeezed out a desperate cry. “Cassabrie, I beg you. Let me go! Don’t let me die a coward. Let me fight at Marcelle’s side!”
“Do you want to be her partner,” Cassabrie asked, “no matter what?”
“Yes! No matter what!”
A wave of cold washed through his chest. Streams of light poured from underneath his shirt and collected in a feminine shape in front of him. The crowd began to buzz, some pointing. When Cassabrie appeared, Adrian spat out another plea. “I have to help Marcelle!”