by H. C. Brown
“Mindspeak to the horses. Tell them we mean no harm.” Carefully, he moved between the horses, removing their hobbles. “Dragon, as soon as we dispatch these two sentries, tell these horses to run. Send them far away from the woods.”
Seconds ticked by. The Shadow Walkers glanced around, then returned to their game. Lumos lunged out of the gloom and grasped the hair of the closest soldier. He dragged back the man’s disgusting head and, in one swift movement, slit the man’s throat to the backbone. The Shadow Walker fell to dust. A strangled moan came from the other sentry. Then a flash of metal and a grunt from Pyro dissolved the Shadow Walker to ashes. Lumos peered into the darkness. The man’s cry had alerted the camp. Men stirred and reached for their weapons. Damn! Without a word, Lumos turned and ran for the woods with Pyro pounding along beside him.
They reached the horses with seconds to spare, with the entire Shadow Walker camp pursuing them on foot. Lumos leapt into the saddle and spun Argos around. Drawing his magyck around him, he covered Argos’ body with dragon armour, and charged into the fray. The Shadow Walkers moved like sprites, dashing from one place to the next in a split second. Each one wielded a ribbon of razor-sharp steel. Lumos swung his sword in a continuous arc. With his left side protected by Pyro, they moved forwards as one and cut down the evil-smelling beasts. Argos danced under him, moving his body from side to side to keep Lumos balanced in the saddle. Lumos called to the horse by name, encouraging the stallion to move forwards.
The continuous onslaught of Shadow Walkers blended seamlessly into the darkness, undetectable even with Lumos’ keen dragon sight. He caught a movement, not more than a shimmer in the air or a flash of metal, and aimed his attack in that direction. The battle raged on and on. His hand ached, frozen into a fist around the handle of the broadsword. His tendons burned a path to his shoulders numb with effort. He ignored the throbbing pain of overexerted muscles in his arm and continued to slash at the Shadow Walkers. Every part of his back strained painfully with each sweep of the heavy blade. His right thigh and shoulder stung from repeated cuts from the Shadow Walker’s deadly weapons. Warm blood trickled down Lumos’ arm. His bloody grip on the hilt slipped. The pain radiating from a deep wound above his knee pulsated without mercy. The Shadow Walker’s steel whips continued to slice deep tears in his dragon armour, exposing damaged flesh. The sticky crimson wetness oozing from numerous slashes filled his boot.
How many more? Gods, this battle is harder than I imagined. Cymbeline grant me strength to prevail. His mind went to Thalia. Whatever it takes, I must survive. Dragging up his last ounce of energy, he dropped Argos’ reins and, taking the sword in both hands, swung it at the heads of the Shadow Walkers.
“Die, you bastards!”
“Hold fast, Lumos, the dawn approaches.” Pyro’s voice pierced through the noise of battle.
Lumos stood in his stirrups. Under him, Argos danced sideways to keep his balance. He ground his teeth, pushing back the mind-destroying fatigue and blocked another strike, flicking the instrument of torture out of the hand of the attacker. He grunted and slashed his sword, taking down three of the Magus’ men in one blow. The swish from the soldiers’ metal ribbon-whips flicked across his back. The attacks came from everywhere. Lumos prayed that his dragon armour would hold a little longer. His magyck grew weaker by the second and had become too weak to repair the dragon skin under such continuous damage.
Knees weak from exhaustion, Lumos swung his sword repeatedly, decapitating the Shadow Walkers. The numbers had decreased, and, as the first rays of sun speared over the mountaintop, the remainder, unshielded by darkness, turned tail and ran. Giddy from blood loss, Lumos sheathed his sword. He turned to Pyro.
“I’ve sustained a few injuries and hope the blessed sun will replenish me enough to morph. Gods know only my dragon can heal this much damage.” He turned Argos to gaze at Pyro. “How did you fare?”
“I’ve not suffered as many injuries as you have. Indeed, mine are little more than scratches. I believe you were the target of this attack. My injuries are certainly not life threatening, as I see many of yours appear to be.” He cast a critical eye over Lumos. “Have you noticed neither of the horses has sustained a debilitating injury either? I would have thought the Shadow Walkers would have cut them down to make a more even battle. Mayhap they have no brains or the Magus directs them towards one goal.” Pyro flexed his right arm. “That cut to your thigh is deep. You’re losing far too much blood. I’m surprised you can still sit upright.” He ran his hand across the gaping wound in Lumos’ leg. A white light flowed from his fingertips. “There, that may slow the bleeding for a while.”
Lumos rolled his shoulders to ease the stiffness. His heart pounded hard enough to break through his ribs. He lifted his head to catch a few early rays of the sun. He must absorb enough magyck to morph. The weakness of blood loss had started to befuddle his mind. He met Pyro’s concerned gaze.
“Thank you. Lady’s blood, for a moment there, I thought we were both heading for the veil.”
“So did I, my friend, so did I.”
Chapter Nineteen
Thalia woke to the sound of Brew’s howl. Fear coiled in her belly—men. Without a second thought, she pushed her aching muscles into action. Jaw clenched, she sprang to her feet, reaching for the dagger at her waist. In the early morning light, the misshapen faces of two male beings peered at her with interest. At her feet, Brew hissed a warning. His long tail flicked back and forth. The cat’s eyes had closed to slits, his lips drawn back to display sharp fangs.
Slowly, Thalia sheathed her weapon and opened her hands palms up. She would summon black fire if the men moved one step closer. A shuffle of feet brought another two men behind her. She turned, keeping the four men in view. The men, rather than dressed as farmers, wore the trappings of wealth. Each carried a jewelled dagger, a fine sword, and had clothes woven from expensive cloth. Their faces had similar features, small red or pale blue eyes, with a snout rather than a nose, and a slit formed a wide mouth. Their ears sat on top of their heads and their hair stuck up like the bristles of a brush. Boars.
Thalia called on her magyck. The small orange balls formed on the palms of her hands and spun slowly. A curse rang out in the stillness. The next second, a swishing sound brought a fine silver net over her head, completely covering her. One man threw his body at her. The great weight of him drove her into the ground. The bones in her ribs caved in, stealing the breath from her lungs. A sharp pain shot through her head. She fought for one precious gulp of air. Her head swum sickeningly with shock and pain. She fought to remain conscious.
“Nightdragon, the Boars are attacking me!”
“Hold her, don’t kill her.” A Boar wearing a thick silver chain around his neck dragged the other man off Thalia. “Rutta, I said get off her! Do you have any idea how much gold we can ask for a witch?”
Rutta grunted and filled Thalia’s nostrils with his foul-smelling breath. Shaking with terror, she turned her head away. Lumos’ sleeping spell had shielded her from the sight of these beasts on the journey through Trill. These disgusting creatures traded in slaves and had now captured her. Enclosed within the net, she had no powers, no magyck to conjure to defeat these men. Thalia mentally kicked herself for not acting immediately. She had been too slow to recognise the threat. No dragon spoke in her mind. The message to the Nightdragon had been lost.
Goddess, help me.
“I had no intention of killing her.” Rutta rolled to his feet. “She had conjured a fireball—I only subdued her.”
“Bunt is correct, you could easily have killed her, and we would have lost a valuable slave.”
“Fuck you, Yulac.” Rutta dragged Thalia to her feet. “I didn’t see you or Rom planning to do anything. You were too busy playing with your cocks.”
“Get her onto your horse.” Bunt tipped his head towards the village. “I’ll have the blacksmith bind her with silver to prevent her magyck.”
“Then do we get to fuck her?” Rutta
wrapped the net securely around Thalia and threw her over his horse. “She looks young and untouched. I want first blood.”
“No. Have you no sense at all?” Bunt mounted his horse. “Look at her, she is very young. Perhaps she has not yet seen her first moonflow. A virgin witch will bring a bidding war amongst the dark Magi clans. I will send messengers and hold a special auction at the end of the week.” He grinned. “You will have enough to buy ten virgins.”
The net pressed hard against Thalia’s cheeks and cut into her nose. She could not move a muscle, wrapped so tightly within this shroud. Fear shivered down her spine, and her teeth chattered. Blood rushed to her head and, with every sway of the horse, the acrid taste of bile filled her mouth. The Boar pulled her across his thighs. Gods, she could smell the heavy musky odour of the man. His large hand kneaded her bottom. Revulsion shuddered through her.
“You will die for touching me.”
“You smell so sweet, so fresh.” Rutta squeezed Thalia’s buttock. “I’ll have you, witch, and you’ll still be a virgin.” He laughed. “There’ll be no retaliation, you have no master. My guess is you’re alone in this world. If you were mine, I’d not let you travel alone—nor would any man who owned you.”
Thalia turned her head and pinned him with her gaze. The Boars considered females as property. She would use this information against this pig.
“Aye, I have a master and he’ll tear you apart. If you touch me, he’ll kill you slowly, and I’ll watch and laugh as you die.”
“Then why is he not with you?”
“My master left me here to wait for his return. He has business in Longbrook.” Thalia forced air into her lungs. “He’ll be most angry I’m not where he left me.”
“You do not carry his mark.” Rutta slapped Thalia’s backside. “If you did have a master’s mark on your leg, little witch, we would not have taken you.” He snorted. “The Boars do not steal other men’s slaves.”
Mark? Did these men brand their slaves like cattle? May the goddess, help me. The horse stopped and Rutta dismounted, sliding heavily to the ground. The Boar’s large hands scooped Thalia from the horse’s back. The moment her feet touched the ground, her legs buckled, and the blacksmith’s shop moved in and out of focus. Lifted under one of Rutta’s thick arms like a roll of carpet, Thalia relaxed. Struggling, she had learnt from experience, only made things worse. A blast of heat hit her face from the blacksmith’s furnace. Beside her, Bunt barked out orders. He took the heavy silver chain from around his neck and thrust it at the blacksmith with the order to melt it down and make shackles.
“I will not place hot metal around that child’s wrists.” The blacksmith raised himself to his full impressive height. “Do you want her to keep her hands? For as sure as I’m a smithy, the metal will burn them clean off her arms!”
“You must fit them so they cannot be removed.”
“Then I’ll make them to carry a lock. When they’re secured they will not slip off her wrists, you have my word.” The blacksmith met Bunt’s gaze. “Or find another butcher to do your work.”
“Very well.” Bunt took a leather purse from his pocket and handed the blacksmith a gold coin. “I need a place to keep her contained. Do you have a secure cellar?”
“Aye, the door is over there.” He pointed to a stout wooden door at the back of the shop. “I’ll allow you to use my cellar, but not if you plan to rape this child.” The smithy’s lip curled. “I know your kind and I’ll not have depraved behaviour under my roof.” He lifted his hammer. “I’ll have this finished by noon.”
“Good, we will wait in the tavern. One more thing—I need a silver rope to secure her hands. She is a witch and will burn down your house if left un-silvered.”
“Use my belt.” Yulac slid the chain belt from around his waist and handed it to Bunt.
If they remove the net, I’ll only require a few seconds to contact the Nightdragon. Thalia turned to Bunt—perhaps she could reason with him.
“Please, sir, I beg you do not bind me with silver.” She met the Boar’s steady gaze. “I am weak. I haven’t eaten in three days. I’ll not use magyck—you have my word. In truth, I only know the fire spell and I would not burn down this cellar, for it would burn me as well.”
“A fine tale indeed.” Bunt regarded her with interest.
Not wasting a second, Thalia called to the Nightdragon. “Help me, Nightdragon. The Boars have captured me in Hartly. I’m in the blacksmith’s cellar. They are making silver shackles for me.”
“Lumos is injured, but will recover. We will come before the sun is high.” The Nightdragon’s voice echoed in her head.
Hot tears of relief spilled down Thalia’s cheeks. Lumos was injured but alive and soon he would find her. She lifted her chin, turning her attention back to Bunt. “You would be wise to treat me well.”
“I am treating you well.” Bunt tipped his head towards Rutta. “I could have easily given you to Rutta but I believe you will fetch a far bigger price untouched.” He gave a snort. “The dark Magi enjoy the fear in a maiden’s eyes, the rigidness of body, the screams of pain.” He touched Thalia’s cheek. “You would have enjoyed the life of a Boar’s slave. We prefer our females complacent and wet for ease of fucking.” He dragged Thalia’s arms behind her back, securing them tightly with the silver belt.
Thalia’s arms throbbed with pain. Bunt spun her around with brutal force. As her back hit the damp, brick wall, air rushed from her lungs. She glared at Bunt. His lust-filled gaze had fallen to her breasts. In this position, her thin tunic stretched across her chest, defining her nipples. Thalia’s lips pulled back over clenched teeth and she snarled.
“I give you fair warning, release me now or suffer the consequences for touching me. I am no man’s slave but my mate is on his way and he’ll slaughter you all.”
“You have spirit.” Bunt reached for the doorknob. “But I’m not foolish enough to believe such a story.” He turned and grinned at the others. “She would have us believe she is mate of a Fae or Shifter.” He turned back to Thalia. “You’re too young. The rules of these people are set in steel. A child of your age would never be permitted to leave their realm, let alone travel without an elder.” He rubbed his chin. “Mayhap you are a Nomag with the gift of a little magyck.”
Thalia concentrated on the love she had for Lumos. Her handsome Fae male had said her eyes held the flames of a Dragonfae mate.
“Look into my eyes, Bunt. I am the mate of a Dragonfae. I’ve called to him and he will come and bring down the anger of the Nightdragon—let me go and save your sorry hides.”
“Good gods, now she threatens us with a myth.” Rutta swaggered towards Thalia. “I hope you fuck as good as you lie, witch.” He grasped Thalia’s breasts.
Thalia shuddered, turning her face away from the Rutta’s putrid breath. His touch was a painful reminder of Erik’s brutality. She twisted away.
“I hope you die a long, slow death, pig.”
“I’ll not make these shackles if you touch that child.” The blacksmith threw down his hammer.
“We’ll not touch her.” Bunt opened the cellar door and pushed Thalia inside. “Move down the steps, witch.” He followed her down into the gloom. “There, the place has a small window so you can watch the spiders catch cockroaches.”
“Damn you.”
“Ah yes, a fine way to make sure I feed you.” Bunt chuckled. “Well, I won’t feed you. Not until you show me respect.” He turned and marched back up the stairs.
Thalia slumped against the damp wall. Relief flooded through her the moment the door had shut behind Bunt. The silver belt cut deep into her flesh. Ignoring the pain, she moved her fingers, seeking a way to remove the binding. Sweat trickled down between her breasts and the metallic scent of blood rose up from her heated body. On the floor, crimson drops fell from each throb of her damaged fingers. She tipped back her head and screamed, “Lumos, help me!”
* * * *
Weak, so weak. Lumos sat on the damp g
rass absorbing the sunlight. His aching back rested against a boulder. He had no memory of how Pyro had moved him to this spot. He overlooked a field of poppies, their petals as crimson as the pool of blood surrounding him. After the battle, and his magyck spent, he had clung to Argos’ neck, unable to morph into the Nightdragon. Now the sunlight and beauty before him had restored some of his powers but not enough to free the dragon. Pyro, his face a mask of concern, knelt beside him. With gentle hands, Pyro retied the strip of cloak covering the gash in Lumos’ thigh.
“Thank you. I would be through the veil now if you’d not fought at my side.”
“You must try to call the dragon. Lean on his strength, Lumos, or you will surely die.” Pyro met Lumos’ gaze. “With our magyck so depleted, we are both in danger. In these circumstances the dragon will boost your powers at least enough to heal you. Come now, Lumos—call the Nightdragon.”
Lumos tipped back his head. “Soon—gods, I’m too weak to breathe.” He closed his eyes. The urgent roar of the Nightdragon speared into his mind.
“You would allow our mate to be raped by Boars? Thalia is in danger, held captive, bound by silver. I will not allow this to happen again. Set—me—free.”
Lumos pushed back at the dragon. His muscles ached. Hot searing pain shot through his leg. Grasping the boulder for purchase, he staggered to his feet.
“I will save our mate.”
“No, you are too weak. Use my magyck to force the change.” The Nightdragon roared in anger. “There is no time to waste.”
His flesh rippled, muscles strained. He turned to gaze at Pyro. Through the emerging dragon’s sight the Fae before him shimmered with a glowing red halo.
“My dragon will soon take control. Thalia is in danger.”
“I am the Nightdragon. I will be free.”
The world of pain vanished. Lumos fell into a cocoon of weightlessness, melting into the Nightdragon. He turned his massive head to the deafening roar of the Firedragon, tearing great furrows into the ground beside him. Lumos the Fae would heal inside the dragon. He had no choice but to let the beast take control. In two steps, the Nightdragon took to the air, the wind filling his wings like the sails of a battleship. Beside him, the Firedragon hovered in an updraft, the great beast’s eyes glowing red with anger, his maw open, lips pulled back over lethally sharp fangs.