Slave in the City of Dragons (Dinosaurs and Gladiators Book 1)

by Angela Angelwolf

  “You know,” he added. “For a while, our females had themselves surgically altered to give themselves fake teats.”

  “But not anymore,” Pashera said.

  “No, now they just pretend to not want them,” Tol’zen said and laughed.

  They walked in silence for a while.

  “You got to talk to your friends,” he said.

  She shrugged. “They had tips on how to avoid getting forced into breeding.”

  “It did them little good.”

  She sighed. “It turns out the best way is to not to belong to Kro’tos.”

  Tol’zen sighed. “Many things will change when … well, you’ll see.”

  Tol’zen was quiet for a bit. Then he said: “Don’t trust them. The other women.”

  “What? Why?”

  “My last slave had friends,” he said. “I believe it’s those ‘friends’ that betrayed him, and got him killed.”

  Pashera’s head reeled. She tried to absorb this.

  “My enemies – Kro’tos is just one of them – try to keep me off guard,” Tol’zen said. “Killing a slave is not considered a major offense.

  “That’s why I took you with me to treat with the bat people. My whisperers told me that such an attempt might be made in my absence.”

  A cold chill went up Pashera’s spine.

  “Try not to worry about it,” Tol’zen said, giving her shoulder a friendly squeeze. “We have a battle to fight.”

  Toward midnight, Sai’tan woke Pashera from her mat in Tol’zen’s room. She helped Pashera dress, laying out a fine skirt, her sandals, her bounce absorber top, and her slave collar. Sai’tan even offered the girl an assortment of fruit and the cheese that Pashera had grown to love.

  As the city’s bells stroked midnight, there was a knock at the door. Three warriors stood there, armed to the teeth and looking all business. They quickly escorted Pashera to the edge of the palace, where the large wheeled vehicle she’d ridden in the previous day waited. Inside was a driver and the three scientists who’d remotely controlled the human pilots. She’d expected to find U’Chan, but the scientists brushed her off, telling her that U’Chan was “busy,” as if that was explanation enough.

  The vehicle roared off – it seemed to only have two speeds, stop and fast – and quickly made its way to the gate. At first, Pashera worried about crashing in the darkness, but one of the scientists told her the machine sported an artificial torchlight system that allowed the driver to see even at night.

  Pashera thought the city would be emptier at night but that wasn’t the case. Citizens and slaves milled about. Leatherbacks of all sorts trudged, stomped or galloped through the streets. A troop of mounted warriors followed in the wake of the wheeled machine, and they all went pell-mell out of the city.

  The wheeled machine made its way to the Dragon Gate very quickly. The huge doors were open, and crowds bustled through in both directions. Giant spiders jostled in the throng, mounted by gaily colored saurians. But everyone and everything scattered out of the way of the wheeled vehicle and its mounted escort.

  Pashera looked back as they roared their way out through the gates and out the dragon “mouth.” The eyes of the giant stone face carved into the mountain were lit up at night, surveying the countryside with glowing malevolence.

  It was easy to find their way at first; they just had to follow along the spread-out train of leatherbacks, spiders, gaily-dressed citizens and riff-raff of every description. She briefly saw Vor’taso’s scorpion, and waved as they passed. But soon, the big machine left the camp followers in its dust.

  In another half an hour, the vehicle caught up with Tol’zen’s army. The crescent moon glinted off a small sea of metal helmets and armor.

  Lamps across the camp were low in brightness and hooded red in color, so when the wheeled machine shut off its artificial lamps, the effect was eerie, like they’d stopped in a valley lit by hundreds of campfire coals.

  The warriors were all dressed in metal cuirass, greaves on their forearms and shins, sleeveless chain-mail shirts that went under the cuirass and hung down over the thighs like a kilt. They also wore helmets. They all carried slug-throwers and the short-swords issued to the border guards.

  Dressed slightly differently were Serdar Kro’brin’s shock troopers, or “dragons” as the saurians called their warrior elite. These were the largest of the warriors, generally a half a head higher than the rest. They each wore a cuirass, greaves and helmet, but the chain-mail was replaced by a studded quilted shirt which was lighter, and therefore made them more maneuverable. Each one held a yast by the reins.

  These were the same types of leatherback mounts that carried Tol’zen and Pashera to the home of the bat people, and they barked and chomped at the air, thirsting for battle and blood.

  Each leatherback was loaded with two of the wonder weapons, and each dragon warrior had one strapped over his shoulder.

  The scientists and Pashera tumbled out of the machine right by a knot of people swirling around Tol’zen. He acknowledged Pashera with just a nod before asking Ny’send, who seemed to lead the three scientists: “Where do you need to set up?”

  “There are too many minds down here, they’ll muddle the control. We need to get some distance,” Ny’send said. He looked around: “At the top of that hill there. We’ll be able to see the fliers better, too.”

  Tol’zen sent the scientists and Pashera up the hill as quick as they could muster, and Commander Dal’ger ordered a squad of warriors to go with them and set up a perimeter.

  Since Pashera was a slave, the scientists loaded her up with equipment, mainly folding stools and tables. What she couldn’t carry, they gave to their warrior escort. The scientists walked up the hill encumbered only by their own egos.

  Just before she went up the hill, Pashera glimpsed Kro’brin and his unit of shock troops moving into position. Kro’brin did not look enthusiastic or hopeful. Pashera felt the butterflies in her stomach take furiously to wing. What if Tol’zen’s plan failed?

  Despite her load, Pashera walked fast. In a way, she was trying to outpace her rising sense of dread. At the top of the hill, the lead scientist sent the soldiers further down the hill to establish a perimeter, as well as distance their minds from the mental link the scientists planned to establish. The scientists set up folding tables and stools, and the rest of their equipment. They sat down, and looked at Pashera expectantly.

  “Waiting on you,” Ny’send said impatiently. All three scientists looked at Pashera expectantly.

  Pashera’s heart leaped in her throat. The only other time she’d done this, she’d had Tol’zen to lean on. Now, he was so far away. She looked at the table in front of her and the pantellion sitting there, waiting for her. Her mind seized up, then raced ahead. Her thoughts jumped from one subject to another – Tol’zen, Kro’tos, her mother, her fellow slaves scheming for freedom. The night air seemed to whirl around her, and the very stars mocked her helplessness. She sat down heavily.

  “That is not auspicious,” the scientist Yro’thra said dourly.

  Ny’send stood close to her and snapped his fingers in front of her face to get her attention. “Pashera,” he said. “Slave! What’s wrong? Do as your master commanded.”

  Pashera whimpered. Her limbs folded more, and she lay down on the grass in a ball.

  The scientists crowded around her, cursing her and poking at her. She began to mewl in panic.

  Suddenly, lights appeared behind the scientists, and they moved away from Pashera to look. She picked up her head. A small wheeled vehicle – not the racing monstrosity that had brought her to the battlefield, but something smaller and much quieter – came up the hill. It stopped short and Tol’zen and one of his aides got out.

  “What’s wrong?” Tol’zen asked, looking at Pashera in great concern. “U’Chan tells me the fliers are still sitting on the dirt.”

  “Well, look at her,” Ny’send said belligerently. The lead scientist pointed at the girl. �
��She’s useless.”

  Tol’zen chuffed and motioned the scientists away from Pashera. “Resume your stations.” He turned to his aide -- Dar’asst -- and said: “Go tell everyone to get in final position. Wait for the signal.”

  “At once, my lord.” Dar’asst hopped in the small vehicle and zoomed away.

  Tol’zen kneeled down and hugged Pashera close to him. She grasped at his arms and the panic welled out of her in great, heaving sobs.

  “Shh, shh,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”

  “I can’t do it,” she wailed. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Shh, shh,” he said again.

  She sobbed for a few minutes. When she calmed down, he sat her on a stool in front of the folding table, with the pantellion in front of her.

  The three scientists looked at them with jaded eyes.

  “Do you have to look this way to accomplish your task?” Tol’zen asked Ny’send.

  “I supposed not,” the saurian said grudgingly.

  “Then look away. Look anywhere else.”

  Grumbling, the saurians shifted in their seats and dragged their tables with them.

  Between her own sobs and ragged breath, Pashera found another sound – Tol’zen’s calm, measured breathing. She listened to that noise, that peaceful, soothing noise, and it calmed her down.

  “Better now?” he said.

  “I think so.”

  “Good,” he said with a grin. “Let’s go give it to the Sky Pirates.”

  He sat her on her stool and rested his hand on her shoulder. Feeling his strength, she was able to focus on the pantellion. At first, nothing happened. Then she was floating free in the night sky.

  She floated higher. There, far to one side, was the old fortress that the Sky Pirates used as a base. Topped with high spires, it teemed with the dim sparks that she knew marked life. She could feel hundreds – at the Fortress, especially in the spires, but also at a camp by a nearby stream.

  Weren’t there supposed to be only 300 Sky Pirates? Pashera didn’t know the exact number, but she could see more, many more than that as she rode higher and higher in the night sky.

  “There are at least a thousand of them,” she said to no one in particular.

  “Pashera,” Tol’zen’s calm voice came from a distance. “Focus on the task.”

  She tore herself away from the night and swooped down on the camp. Kro’brin’s dragon warriors stood at ready, about halfway between her hill and the fortress. They waited, low to the ground, the reins of their mounts gripped tight.

  Behind them was the rest of the army. Everyone was waiting. For what?

  “The task at hand,” Tol’zen’s voice came from far away.

  Pashera’s freed consciousness went back to the hilltop and looked at her own body and Tol’zen. How handsome he was. Oh wait, the task. She reached out and picked up the consciousness of each of the scientists, easily identified by their burning, buzzing mental light. They were straining, straining so hard, trying to reach so far away. Pashera mentally smiled at her power as she gathered them up and then strode back across the valley to Guadalquivir.

  She found the building where the scientists practiced their flying; an “aerodrome” Tol’zen had called it. Sure enough, there were the same three human minds she’d contacted last time. They were even more scared this time around, if that was possible. One by one, she swiftly pushed the mental being of a scientist toward each human. One by one, the slaves fell under control.

  Her task accomplished, Pashera drifted back over the valley. She could see the mental control of the scientists as three thin ruby-red lines stretching across the night sky. The light of the crescent moon played across the valley like waves of silver, and that distracted her momentarily. The night wind sang, and it was music to lift her heart.

  Wait, the fliers were airborne now – one, two, all three! The third flier had a terrible time controlling its altitude. Pashera helped the scientist and the human pilot work to pull that flier higher, higher.

  The other two fliers followed in her wake. All three of them went higher and higher still as they flew across the valley.

  With a shock, Pashera realized the humans weren’t sitting at controls on the ground like last time. Instead, they were inside the fliers themselves. She kicked herself for not realizing that this is exactly what the scientists had been training for.

  She flew ahead of the fliers across the valley. In her mind’s eye, the fortress was being circled by a hundred dim lights. The bat people! But they were too low, if the bombs were anything like Tol’zen said they would be. She reached out, trying to warn the bat-men. “Higher, higher,” she urged them.

  Maybe it was her goading, maybe it was just a stroke of luck. But the bat-folk started to gain altitude.

  The first of the fliers approached the fortress. Its human pilot was truly panicked, riding a loud, bucking, rattling, incomprehensible flying machine, and doing so as a passenger inside his own skull. The human mind raged, pleaded and wailed as the saurian mental master moved the human fingers over the controls. Pashera reached out to try and calm down the human. She opened up the same mental toolkit the chair had shown her when she’d contacted her mother.

  At first, the human pilot ignored her. Then he reacted positively. He thought of his own mother, and her calming presence was conflated with Pashera’s.

  The fortress was directly ahead now, and far below. The saurian master pushed the buttons to arm the lethal bombs. Then, using the human’s hands, he grasped the controls, and pushed the flier into a deadly dive! The flier’s nose dipped, its loud, rattling thrum became a howl, and it streaked toward the ground below.

  The human mind reeled from Pashera’s touch as the man desperately wanted to do anything, ANYTHING, to stop the fortress from coming up so fast.

  Pashera thought something must have gone terribly wrong. Panic welled up inside her, too, and she tried to help, but she just didn’t know what to do.

  And then in last shriek of thought, the human mind was gone. And the night sky exploded in a brilliant mushroom of light, as the flier and its payload crashed into the fortress. For a split second, it vanished behind the walls. Then the whole earth heaved and flashed, and a tremendous column of smoke and flame rose up in the sky. At the same time, an ear-splitting roar ripped through the night and the air concussed so hard that Pashera felt the blast on her face.

  The column of smoke rose higher and higher, higher than the nearby hills, higher than the mountain home of the Devouring God. There it hung for a moment in the air, like the silhouette of some great tree, lit from the inside by internal fire. Finally, the pillar spread out in cloud of dust and debris.

  At the same time that the pilot’s mind winked out, more than a hundred dim lights in Pashera’s consciousness, marking Sky Pirates in the fortress, suddenly evaporated as well. Many, many others cried out in terror. But they weren’t connected to her by the Sumsentia – the human pilot was. His death was a gut-blow to her soul.

  Devastated by the human’s sudden, savage death, Pashera collapsed.

  Tol’zen caught her in his arms. She came to in his embrace, his worried face looking down at her. Then she started flailing, sitting up and pushing him away.

  “Murderers!” she shouted. “Monsters!”

  But wait! There were two more fliers. She sat up and spun the pantellion again. She focused on it.

  “Pashera,” Tol’zen said behind her.

  She ignored him. By the time her consciousness got back in the air, the second flier was already in its death dive. There was nothing she could do – the flier and its terrified human cargo slammed into another part of the fortress.

  The ground concussed again, and the air face-slapped all the onlookers on the hill. Another pillar of smoke and fire rose in the air.

  She grasped through the ether for the third flier. This time, however, she found that all three saurian scientists were already in mental contact. U’Weet controlled the human pilot, whil
e the other two reinforced the connection in the absence of Pashera’s help.

  Mentally, Pashera clawed at them. They ignored her, like a wall of ice. So, she opened up her mental toolkit and found an ice-pick. Deliberately, with great force, she began shredding the mental wall protecting the scientists’ minds.

  They convulsed from her psychic attack. Pashera grinned, a vicious slit that split her face. She saw that, with more time, she could crack the protective covering around the brains of these saurian scientists like a turtle shell. And there was no way they could stop her.

  She knew that the way the saurians were using the human pilot was why the human slaves, Amaz and the others, wanted so desperately to be free of their masters. The masters didn’t see the humans as people at all. Instead, they were just tools and playthings to be used and abused, and tossed aside. By all the gods, she would help her new friends win their freedom if it was the last thing she ever did!

  The psychic wall shattered. One by one, Pashera tore the saurian control minds away from the human.

  The scientists fought her for control, but in the mental world, she was far stronger. She took her hatred of the saurians, her wish to blast them all to ashes, and wielded it like a cudgel. She felt the saurian minds tremble before her and fall away. As she glimpsed into their minds, they glimpsed into hers. And what they saw terrified them.

  And then it was just her and the human pilot. Finally, free! Together, they pulled on the controls, and the flier yawed from its original course. But too late! It slammed into the ground outside the fortress, part-way to the hill where Pashera and the scientists battled for mental control. The impact was bigger than the others. The reverberation in the earth went on for long seconds. With no fortress to absorb part of the blow, this one blasted and lifted tons of earth up into the air, sending the dirt up and out in an ever-expanding cone, powered by the white-hot fire of the flier’s bombs turning to atoms all at once. Clods of dirt and dust rained down on all the warriors, and cinders and grit rushed out in a great smothering cloud to choke them all.