Ayden took a deep breath and sprang up the Dragon's foreleg, latching on to his chain and pulling his head down. Ayden didn't have the wheel and axle this time, but he couldn't take time for it, nor could he risk the noise the axle made as it dragged along the passageways. He felt fairly confident in his ability to keep the beast from spraying him with fire, but no one could be completely certain. A shiver ran up his spine as he felt the super-heated breath of the Dragon on his back.
Holding the torch in one hand, the chain in the other, he pulled forward, leading the huge beast from its den.
Once the Dragon was going, it grew easier to lead him, like pushing a boulder down a hill. Now the Dragon walked steadily behind Ayden and the girl, his footsteps anything but quiet on the stone floor. Ayden glanced nervously at the side corridors.
“Does he have a name?” The girl's quiet voice pulled Ayden’s attention back to her.
“A name?”
“Yes. Your name is Ayden. My name is Kinna. The Dragon's name is...?”
Ayden shrugged. “We don't name the Dragons in the keep. This is the only Mirage we've got. We call him the Mirage sometimes, or Stupid Beast others, depending on his behavior.”
“But you've never given him a name?” Disbelief hid in her tone.
“It's not necessary for everything to have a name.”
“Of course, it is.” She paused, glancing at the Dragon over her shoulder. “Chennuh,” she announced at last. “Birthed in fire.”
Ayden snorted. “I don't know why you're naming him anyway. You're about to let him fly away, never to be seen again, hopefully, so what's the point?”
“The point?” Kinna glared at him. “The point is that everything deserves to have a handle, something to which it feels it belongs.”
A sharp laugh left Ayden's lips. “And so you think this Dragon's feelings are hurt because he doesn't have a name?”
“You're missing the point. Whether he’s hurt or not is irrelevant. I've just given him a sense of belonging, a sense of home no matter where he goes.”
Ayden shook his head. He was about to make a comeback, but he stopped. His gloved hand grabbed Kinna around the wrist, halting her.
The exit was just ahead, the route through which Ayden had intended to help the Dragon escape, but the voices they had heard earlier now echoed down the hallway, talking to the guards that Ayden had hoped to distract. But two drunk guards were one thing. Four guards, two of them sober, was quite another. It wouldn't work.
He quickly reviewed his options. Option. There was only one other way to go. Through the arena and out the hatch in the ceiling. Many Dragons had been brought in that way; never had any exited from there.
Ayden stutter-stepped to the side, yanking the Dragon's chain. The beast stayed mercifully quiet as he followed Ayden's lead. They hurried down the hallway until they reached the staircase and the great arena doors. “Go up,” Ayden whispered to Kinna. “I'll meet you on the loft.”
With a nod, she was gone, and Ayden dropped the chain while he pushed his shoulder into the winch. A moment later, the great doors groaned open. He was afraid to go too fast, but he was also terrified of creeping along. He wished he had never agreed to help the girl.
But then his secret would be out.
He sighed as he tied off the chains for the door and grabbed the Dragon's chain again. The beast had wandered a little way down the hall, and Ayden had visions of him waking Tannic. He'd be roasted on a spit tomorrow if that happened.
Pulling the Dragon back into the arena, he tugged the great head down close, his gloved hands gripping the iron collar. Fiddling with the clasp, he finally released the metal, and the chain fell off onto the arena floor with a loud clank that made Ayden cringe. He could see Kinna's brilliant hair in the loft. He hurried out the door and took the stairs two at a time, reaching the winch for the hatch in the ceiling before she'd had time to turn around.
He leaned into it, circling until the hatch gaped wide open and gleaming starlight shed its glow across the arena floor.
“How's he going to—”
“Almost done,” Ayden grunted. He charged up the last set of stairs and climbed the ladder to the peak of the roof. This was the part he was particularly unsure of.
He cleared his throat, a low “Maa, Maaaa” echoing through the depths below him.
He'd caught the Dragon's attention. The huge head lifted; the dark eyes searched the roof.
“Maaa. Maaah.”
The great wings beat once and then again.
“Maaaaah.”
The wings filled the arena, and the Dragon pushed the air downward as he lifted his huge body from the floor. Ayden dove backward as the Dragon lurched through the opening, but the glove of his left hand slipped off his wrist, fluttering to the ground far below. “No!” he cried.
As soon as the Dragon hit the night air and freedom, he released a ground-shaking roar and circled high into the skies. It was such a glorious sight that Ayden almost forgot about his dropped glove and the disturbance the Dragon had made. The creature disappeared into the night sky as voices shouted in the hallways outside the arena.
Kinna's scared face appeared at the top of the ladder where he lay. “Ayden? What do we do?”
Ayden looked down at his lost glove. Bodies flashed by in the hallway. Realization sank in as the arena doors yawned open. They were caught. It would only be a matter of minutes before the other Dragondimn discovered that the Mirage's den was open as well.
Two figures shouted in the doorway, running into the pool of starlight.
They had his glove.
Taking a deep breath, he reached with his gloved hand for Kinna, yanking her up and over the edge of the ladder onto the platform.
“Get ready for a rooftop escape,” he breathed. He lifted her in his covered arm and pushed her out onto the steep roof, hefting himself out after her.
Chapter Seven
Cedric
For two weeks Cedric walked, and the few civilizations he found were small hamlets interspersed on wide stretches of flat land, most of it green and lush. Never had he seen so much vegetation. The Rockmonster Dwellings had produced a sickly, stilted tree now and again for a bit of shade, and of course the river bottoms were rife with thick grasses, but this greenness was everywhere.
Scorpions were normally plentiful at this time of year, but a cold spring and summer had wiped out their vast colonies. They were few and far between, and Cedric's stomach punished him painfully.
At one tiny village, he dredged up courage to go knock on a door. The woman who opened it eyed him distastefully, and when he'd asked for some food, she'd shut the door in his face. The woman at the second house did the same thing. At a third house, a man walked around the corner, eyed him up and down, and told him to run if he didn't want an arrow through his neck.
As Cedric went on, he began to realize that he didn't look like the people in these houses. He wore a leather covering across his lower region, of course; Shaya had insisted upon it, but the people he met covered large parts of their bodies, and they eyed his bare chest and legs askance, their noses wrinkling as they stepped back from him.
The lonely howls of Direwolves accompanied his walk. He knew better than to travel by night through the Direwolf Haunts, but he soon moved into the green hills of the Pixie Glade. When Shaya had described the Clans, he'd laid his head on her flanks and imagined the scenes in vivid color. Now, as he watched brilliant-haired Pixies running races and climbing trees, laughing as they danced their games, he relaxed. He still heard the occasional howl, but it didn't strike as much fear into his heart.
He sneaked into a warm barn and bedded down in the sweet-smelling hay next to a horse, sharp hunger pangs cutting into his stomach as he curled up to sleep. He'd found an apple tree earlier and had loaded his pouch with the fruit, but he needed meat.
He settled deeper into the straw, crossing his arms over his chest to ward off the evening's ch
ill. The clang of an iron cooking pot rang from the house, and conversation wafted out the house's open windows and through the cracked door of the barn.
“She's been sneaking out, Tristan. We can't trust her. Not anymore.”
“We don't know that, Joanna. Have you checked with Julian's family? What about the Pixie quarters?”
“You just don't see it, do you? You try so hard to believe that she’s what we've tried to make her, but she's not. She's growing out of our reach, Tristan, and there's not a solitary thing we can do about it. Think about the Ceremony yesterday. Think about how Julian and Sage absolutely shone, and then, there was Kinna, totally unable to handle Hazel...”
“It's not her fault—”
“Do you think I don't know that? But what are we going to do? We have a daughter we can't even claim. And somebody's going to find out sooner or later, probably the King, or—”
“Hush, Joanna!” The window shutters closed with a snap, and no more voices disturbed the quiet of the barn. Cedric nestled deeper into the straw, his eyes wide in the darkness.
He didn't remember falling asleep, but he jerked awake after what seemed like only minutes, roused by the quiet clop of hooves on the stones outside the barn. A mittened hand pulled the door open, and a girlish form led the animal inside. A waft of cold, moist air shuddered over him, and he cringed deeper into the straw.
The girl's attention was on the horse as she led him into the end stall and pulled the bridle from his head, stroked his neck, and slid the saddle and blanket from his back. She dumped some grain into the trough in front of him and curried his back while the horse nosed through the food.
“You did well tonight, Render,” she whispered. “We survived, and you were where I needed you to be at the right time.”
“A horse that can do that is worth its weight in treasure,” Cedric said.
The girl gasped and whirled, her hand pressed hard against her chest. Her eyes found him immediately. “Who are you?”
“A stranger.” He eyed the horse who inhaled the grain in the trough. “Might I beg a bit of food? I'm very hungry.”
She stared at him with wide green eyes. “I'll go see what I can find.”
She moved to the door, glancing at him repeatedly, hurrying through the darkness toward the house.
Cedric wondered what the girl's parents would say if they discovered her taking the food. He thought back to the conversation he'd overheard. Was this the girl who was slipping away from them? He wondered idly where she had gone to arrive back in the dark hours of morning.
When she returned, relief flashed across her face, and Cedric suddenly understood that she had been afraid he would steal the horses. Not a bad idea, actually, now that he thought of it. He would get much farther much faster if he did.
But he was no thief. Shaya had taught him that truth and honor would conquer in the end, even if it sometimes seemed that lies and injustice were the traits that rose to the top.
“It's like chaff, Cedric,” Shaya's gentle voice had explained as she'd smoothed his hair one evening before a glowing fire. “Chaff is light. It rises to the top of the harvest, gets caught in the wind and blown away. The real meat stays below, held there by its abundant weight of goodness. Do not be impatient, my son, when you fight to see the light. It will come in its own good time.”
How he missed her.
The girl relinquished the tray into his hands. He tore into the cold chicken and brown bread, half forgetting to chew as he filled his starved stomach. The girl watched him in silence, sliding to a sitting position against the barn wall, her arms wrapped around her knees.
Cedric made quick work of what was on his plate before sipping from his tumbler, his stomach pleasantly appeased. He peered at the girl over the rim of the cup.
“Where did you go tonight?”
Surprise flickered across her face. “Out.”
“Your parents were upset.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know that?”
“I heard them. So did you have any harrowing adventures?” His fingernail scraped a piece of chicken wedged between his teeth.
She frowned. “I really don't think that's any of your business.”
“No, but it does make me curious. You've got an ugly scrape down the side of your cheek that doesn't look like it came from that horse.”
The girl traced her cheek with a finger, a blush flooding her face. She stood. “If you're quite done, I'll take the tray back now, and be off with you.”
Cedric glanced regretfully at the piles of warm straw around him and rose. He straightened to his full height and bowed, his arms stiff at his side. “I do appreciate the use of your barn for my bed for one night, as well as the food you were kind enough to spare me.”
She stared at him, and Cedric was confused. Shaya had spoken to him about the proper way to interact with people of like kind, but she seemed surprised. He mentally shrugged it off and turned for the door.
“Thank your parents for me, as well, though they don't know that I'm indebted to them.”
She nodded once, and Cedric stepped out into the gray light of predawn. The chill hit his bare skin, and he made a mental note to kill a goat or deer before long so he could fashion a mantle from its hide.
* * *
It took another two weeks of walking before he saw signs of a denser population. Here, the homes weren't just feeble structures along the ground. There were stairs that led to houses on top of houses, and other houses on top of those. The grass had no chance to grow in the streets; too many people crossed the dirt ways, narrowly avoiding each other, several even brushing against Cedric as they passed.
Cedric had never been close to anyone before except Shaya, and as he turned his head to take in everything, his temples pounded with sharp jolts of pain shooting to the backs of his eyes. He pressed his hands over his face, anxious for some relief. But none came. Only more noise and bustle and people pushing and shoving to get to where they needed to be.
They were everywhere, hanging from the open windows of the stacked houses, lining the paths. Several of them had long sticks in their mouths, out of which curled a ribbon of smoke from the bowled end. Children ran, babies screamed, horses clopped past pushing people out of the way.
Was this what Shaya had wanted for him? To find his people?
No, he didn't belong here. Not in this prison. Not with this mass of humanity surrounding him.
Shouts behind Cedric turned him. Six horses coated in the red and gold markings of West Ashwynd pushed through the crowd. The leader shook his whip at anyone who stood too long in the road impeding their progress. People shoved to get out of the way.
Cedric's legs froze. It was all too much—the noise, the shouting; the chaos keened wildly in his ears. He couldn't move. He could only stare at the advancing horses and pray to the Great Star to take him home, to remove him from the insanity.
“Oy! Loony. Clear the road. The King's General is on 'is way to the Palace.”
The bearded face peering at him from beneath the helmet looked fierce, and warning bells clanged in Cedric's mind. He commanded his legs to move, and slowly, he managed to back up.
Not quickly enough, however.
Two feet hit the sand in front of him. Thick calves coated with curly, dark hair hid behind leather guards that laced clear up to the kneecap. A wide leather belt cinched a white tunic, but the sword that swung in the sheath snagged and held Cedric's attention.
“Taking your time, boy? We don't 'ave all day to wait on you.”
Two hands grasped his arms and spun him around. The guard's leather gauntlets chafed Cedric's bare side.
At Cedric's grunt of protest, the guard shook him, and Cedric's teeth closed on his tongue. He tasted blood.
“Who do you think you are, standing in the middle of the King's Road, blocking traffic?” Another guard slid off his horse and advanced, his frame tall and menacing.
“I
didn't know this was the King's Road.” Cedric's s's lisped across his injured tongue.
A burst of laughter erupted from the man's lips, and he backhanded Cedric across his cheek. “Fool. How could you not know?”
Cedric shook his head to clear the pain. His lips felt thick now. “How am I to know it is the King's way when I have never before seen this city or walked these streets?”
The man stared at him, his dark hair framing the craggy face, the thick gold bar that pierced his ear. With a jerk of his head, he nodded to the guard that held Cedric's arms. “Bring him in.”
Cedric's arms were twisted farther behind his back, and he was wrangled toward a horse.
Every instinct of self-preservation rose. Cedric writhed and strained against the man's iron grip. The guard cursed under his breath as he wrestled with him.
One wrist slipped free. Then the other. With a bound, Cedric broke away, sprinting into the crowd of gaping onlookers.
“After him!”
Cedric glanced over his shoulder. They weren't far behind.
He dashed down the street, stumbling into people, brushing by anyone that stood in his way, darting down an alley and reemerging on the other side. A market scene opened in front of him—vendors selling fresh fruits and vegetables, baskets, carvings, and everything.
“Got you, vermin.” The guard grabbed for his arm, but Cedric whipped it out of reach, leaping over a watermelon stall, scattering the heavy green fruits across the cobblestones. Red flesh and black seeds burst from the split fruit, and the guard who had followed Cedric slipped, sprawling across the stones.
Cedric leaped sideways, bowling over the fruit vendor, who cursed and shook his fist. Cedric bolted up a set of rickety wooden steps that wound up the side of a building. One flight, two, three. A flat roof drew near. The noise of pursuit beat an ominous rhythm behind him. His lungs pumped, and every skill he'd ever learned in the Rockmonster Dwellings, every trick for survival, every instinct kicked into high gear. He vaulted onto the pitched top of the building and sprinted across the expanse.
Kindle the Flame (Heart of a Dragon Book 1) Page 8