Salena bit her lip. “Oh. I still haven’t been close to a dragon, not since I got the sword. I feel like a...” She glanced at Vorkan who stood behind them, acting as their scout and surveying all around them.
Salena had been trying to impress him since they had started this mission, and Zala was relieved that the sergeant was too professional to act upon his interests, if indeed he was interested. Zala did not see how he could not be. Salena, in addition to being a gifted swordswoman, had all the curves men desired, along with lustrous blonde hair and full lips.
More than once, Zala had been forced to remind herself that it wasn’t seemly for an accomplished general, one who had won her rank through countless battlefield victories, to be jealous of a young lieutenant. Even if she had just turned forty and it had been some time since anyone had noticed her curves. Even if someone did notice them, who would approach her? For good or ill, she had earned the reputation of putting duty before everything, and not even the high-ranking male officers propositioned her. Perhaps someday, if her people succeeded in defeating the dragon hordes, she could retire and find someone who knew nothing of her military career, and who didn’t mind that she bore more scars and muscles than were seemly for a woman.
“You’ll gain plenty of experience in time,” Zala said, pulling her thoughts back to the conversation since Salena was looking expectantly at her. “If the Star God blesses us, you may even gain it tonight.”
“The gods haven’t blessed us for a long time,” Vorkan murmured with a sigh.
Ignoring the archer’s pessimism, Zala rose to her feet. It was time to get started.
She dipped her hand into a pocket and grabbed a few roasted coffee beans for a buzz of energy, then headed along the edge of the pit, looking for the way down. Boulders lay jumbled along the rim, so she followed their contours, using them to hide her small team’s silhouettes from those in the mine below. Twilight approached, and the gaunt slaves continued to swing pickaxes and pile dirt into wheelbarrows, but there was still light enough left in the sky to make the trio noticeable if they weren’t careful.
Most of the slaves had their heads down, too busy working to look up. Men with whips and cudgels walked among them, quick to punish anyone who paused.
Zala glared at those men as she sought a path that led down into the pit. They were human, humans who had chosen to work for the dragons and bully their own people instead of accepting death, the nobler option. At the least, they could have been benevolent taskmasters, but many of them wielded those whips with relish, as if they believed themselves better than those they punished. Perhaps Zala would not be so quick to free those particular humans.
“There’s a road up there,” Vorkan said. “I’ll run ahead and see if it’s guarded, ma’am.”
Zala nodded to him. They hadn’t run into trouble yet, but she did not expect their luck to last. She had assumed that dragons would fly through the sky every five minutes here, less than ten miles west of Mount Slash. Perhaps they were all lounging in the jungle to the east of the dormant volcano, enjoying the fertile land they had stolen from Zala’s people.
“They’re lighting torches down there, ma’am,” Salena whispered.
“I see.”
“Will we walk right down? With our weapons? People will know we don’t belong.”
“I’m here to confront the overseer. I don’t care if he’s alerted in advance to our presence or not.” Zala’s hand tightened around the hilt of her sword as she listened to whips cracking. “I’ve killed dragons before, and I’ll kill this one.”
“You truly are fearless, ma’am.”
Not fearless. She had just learned long ago not to show her fear. She was the only female general in the Arakan Army, and she had been questioned often by subordinates as she had come up through the ranks, not because of her abilities but because the men were less confident in following women. Again and again, she’d had to prove herself capable, and she had done so, because there were few who had storm swords and few who cared more than she about driving out the dragons. But she’d found it was easier to make them confident if she showed nothing, no hint of her fears or her feelings. She’d learned to do it well, even if maintaining the facade meant keeping everyone at arm’s length, ensuring nobody learned too much about her, about her vulnerabilities.
The sound of a skirmish came from ahead, and Zala turned her walk into a run. They came upon Vorkan as he was tying up a shirtless man and stuffing him behind a boulder. A bow lay in the dust.
“He’s the only guard, ma’am,” Vorkan whispered. “Up here, at least.”
“Understood. Good work.”
Under the cover of twilight, they descended a long dusty road into the pit. A team of humans, harnessed like horses, pulled three ore carts up, their heads down, their gazes cast toward the earth. They were naked, and their ribs jutted out. Even in the dark and even through the dust on their bodies, Zala could see fresh bruises. Two carried lash marks on their backs.
None of them looked up when Zala and the others passed. She wanted to tell them that they would be free soon, but there was no use getting everyone excited until her team dealt with the overseer. Though Zala had spoken bravely about defeating the dragon, she couldn’t help but worry and glance often toward the sky. It was true that she believed she could slay one dragon, especially since one chosen for this kind of work was probably weak for its kind. She had fought the more powerful ones many times, and those had been harrowing experiences. Thus far, she had always survived, but she had often lost much.
If the dragon troops were warned of this incursion and showed up to help, Zala was well aware that her small team was deep within enemy territory. They could not fight off a force of dragons. Even two would likely be too many to deal with.
Salena sucked in a sharp breath, and Zala followed her gaze toward the bottom of the road where it flattened out and led into the pit. Most of the slaves had their noses toward the ground, but one stood straight, his head turned toward her group. He stood near a torch, so she could see his shoulder-length brown hair, his broad shoulders and muscular body. Like the other slaves, he was naked, but he wasn’t gaunt. He was lean without any extra fat on him, but no ribs stuck out from his torso.
A vibration hummed against Zala’s hip. It would have startled her if she hadn’t already started to think that this man was either an extremely recent addition to the mine or he was a shape-shifted dragon. There was a proudness to his stance, a challenging expression on his face. It was not the visage of a slave. Could this be the overseer?
Drawing her sword, Zala strode down the road. She headed straight toward him, and Vorkan and Salena hurried to keep up.
There was no fear in the man’s—or dragon’s—eyes as he watched her approach. Her blade glowed faintly, a grayish hue, like the clouds before a storm. Rainbow colors glimmered, swirling within the gray. Several slaves noticed her now, gasping and lifting their heads to stare. The dragon-man watched her eyes, rather than the blade.
As she drew close, Zala realized he couldn’t be the overseer. He was chained, as the other slaves were, one ankle locked into a heavy iron manacle. The chain led to an iron ball twice the size of the ones that kept the other slaves from running. Zala did not know if shape-shifted dragons retained their massive strength or not. Her people often worried about spies, but she had never caught one. The haughty dragons probably considered taking human form beneath them.
In addition to the manacle, this slave also wore a silver collar with a polished ruby at the center. It looked expensive. None of the other slaves wore any kind of jewelry.
Zala stopped in front of the dragon-man, close enough to see the color of his eyes. They were a striking violet, a rich color she had never seen on a human. But she had seen it in dragons, and there was a familiarity to his eyes that left her feeling uneasy. Still, he was clearly a prisoner. If the manacle had left her with any doubt, the bruises would have assured her. Even though he faced her, she could also see where
a whip had struck his back and curled over his shoulder, leaving fresh welts. There were older scars as well, ones that suggested he had been here for some time. Odd that he wouldn’t simply make the scars disappear. Couldn’t he shape-shift and become anything he wished? For that matter, couldn’t he return to his dragon form and break free of the manacle? Perhaps the collar had some magic about it and prevented that.
“He can’t be the overseer,” Salena whispered, coming up beside her. She, too, had drawn her sword, though it dipped as she stared at him. She gaped at his crotch before flushing and jerking her gaze to his face.
Yes, he was a handsome and sublimely proportioned man, as his nudity allowed them to see, but why wouldn’t he be? He could look like whatever he wished.
“Whoever he is, you should kill him, ma’am,” Vorkan said. He stopped several paces away and stood with his back to the rock wall of the pit, watching the slaves around them and also glancing back the way they had come. “They’ve taken this tiger’s claws from him. Don’t know why, but you’ll never get an easier chance to kill a dragon.”
“He’s not the one we came for.” Zala did not object to the idea of killing dragons—indeed, her life’s current goal was to destroy as many as she could—but the idea of sticking her sword into a defenseless opponent repulsed her. Even if he was a dragon, he appeared bereft of his powers.
“With all due respect, ma’am, so what? Whatever he’s here for, it could be temporary. When he’s served his time, they’ll put him back in the skies again to kill our people.”
“A valid point.”
The violet-eyed slave watched them as they spoke, but his face held a neutrality that implied he did not understand. He would likely be livid if he knew what Vorkan was suggesting.
“Do you speak our language?” Zala couldn’t think of a reason why he would—the dragons had never attempted to speak or negotiate with humans before appearing in the world and starting their killing spree. But if this one had been here as long as his scars implied, maybe he had listened to the other slaves and learned a few words.
He considered her, gazing into her eyes with a scrutiny that she found unsettling, though she was careful not to show it. His eyes didn’t glow or flash the way she had seen those of other dragons do, but there was an otherness about him, despite his handsomeness and his perfection of form, and she could have guessed what he was without the humming of her sword.
For the first time, he broke eye contact with her, but only to look down her body. At first, she thought it some look of sexual interest, but she silently laughed away the notion. He would have been perusing Lieutenant Salena if that was what he had in mind. No, he was looking at her storm sword. His gaze shifted to Salena’s blade before returning to Zala’s face.
“You’re here to free the slaves,” he said, speaking slowly, as if he hadn’t had a reason to use his voice or her language often. Still, his words were understandable. Indeed, he even had an intriguing accent and a pleasant baritone.
She reminded herself that his voice, like his looks, had been chosen at a whim. They meant nothing, and she would not allow herself to find him attractive or appealing. Vorkan was right. Killing him would be the smart thing to do. If that collar hadn’t stolen all of his powers, might he not be warning the overseer right now? She knew that dragons could communicate telepathically, though her people could only speculate as to their range.
“And kill the overseer,” Zala said. She saw no reason to deny it.
His gaze sharpened, its intensity almost making her squirm.
“Really.” He almost sounded pleased. He certainly sounded interested. “Free me.” He pointed at his chain. “I’ll help you.”
Vorkan snorted.
“We don’t need your help, dragon,” Zala said.
“Talon,” he said.
“What?”
“My name.”
“Nobody here cares,” Vorkan growled. He stepped forward, an arrow nocked in his bow. The weapon would never kill a dragon, or even scratch one of their scales, but if this dragon currently lacked his powers, perhaps he would be vulnerable to it.
Zala lifted a hand, a slight movement, to stay her archer. Vorkan frowned, but he did not point the arrow at the violet-eyed slave.
The dragon—Talon—squinted as he regarded that arrow, then his gaze returned to Zala. “Do you know where he is?” he asked.
“The overseer?” Zala asked. “We’ll find him. We found you easily enough.”
His mouth twisted with wryness. “I am not hidden.”
“Is he?”
“Free me, and I’ll take you to him. Your sword can cut through metal, I know. Perhaps it could even cut this.” He waved at his collar while his lip curled. He had learned human expressions well in his time here.
“Seen one of our storm swords before, have you?” Vorkan growled. “He’s killed our people, ma’am. Maybe even our wielders. Talking to him is foo—dangerous.”
“I’m gathering intelligence,” Zala said, giving him a cool look for that slip.
“Ask the other slaves, ma’am. I’m sure anyone here can take you to the overseer.”
That was probably true. Several people were watching this exchange, and Zala looked toward them. Most avoided her eyes, glancing toward the far side of the pit, as if they feared reprisal. Not surprising, since a few of those taskmasters remained out. One was walking in their direction now, less than a hundred meters away.
“I can help you kill him if you free me,” Talon said.
“As I’ve told you, I don’t anticipate needing help.” Zala took a step to the side, intending to deal with the taskmaster. She would question him and find out where this overseer was.
“Ma’am?” Vorkan lifted his bow and jerked his chin toward Talon.
Zala hesitated. The taskmaster would be there shortly. Should she let Vorkan kill the dragon? Or do it herself?
No, this was not the battlefield, and even if he had committed countless crimes against her people, she could not order a slave’s death. Besides, might not an existence here be a worse punishment than death?
“Leave him,” she said.
Before she had done more than turn away, Talon spoke again.
“Shaylinor,” he said.
A chill went through her at hearing her name on a stranger’s lips—on a strange dragon’s lips. She wouldn’t have guessed that the dragons cared enough about humans to know any of their names.
“You are known to us,” Talon said quietly.
“Good,” Zala said, refusing to feel cowed or fear that she might be singled out for some special punishment in the future. She was a commander, one of only a handful who had found success against the dragon hordes. Of course they knew of her.
The taskmaster jogged up, his face dusty, his eyes searching them.
“Who are you?” he whispered, glancing at her sword and at Salena’s weapon too. His gaze lingered on some of the lieutenant’s other parts as well, her curvier parts. “Are you here to get us out?”
Zala clenched her jaw to keep from saying something foolish. She had seen this man whipping the other slaves. She had no wish to save him. Yet, he could help them, take them to the overseer. And it wasn’t her place to judge. She was here to free humans, even those who had been despicable.
“Yes,” she said.
“Be careful of that one.” The taskmaster frowned past her at Talon. “He’s a dragon.”
His hand dropped to the handle of the whip on his belt.
“Do you whip him often?” Zala asked, though she wasn’t certain why. Of course the humans would take a chance to punish a dragon if they suddenly were in a position above him.
The man licked his lips. “Sometimes, but he’s—” He lowered his voice. “He’s scary, even though he can’t do anything. I mostly leave him alone, but don’t worry. He’s the overseer’s favorite. He gets worse than everyone else because of it.”
“Favorite?” Zala asked. She should have been asking where the ov
erseer was, not what he did to the slaves, but she wasn’t sure what the taskmaster meant and found herself wanting clarity.
“Yes.” The man chuckled nervously. “Guess he shouldn’t have chosen such a pretty face. Usually the overseer molests the women, but he takes our pretty dragon too.”
For the first time, Talon wasn’t looking at Zala, or at any of them. His jaw clenched, and he stared at the rock wall, his expression hard.
“I don’t understand,” Zala said.
The taskmaster scratched his jaw. “I mean he rapes him, ma’am.”
“No, I grasped that, but isn’t the overseer a dragon? Why would he care about humans? Or dragons that look like humans?”
Had they made some mistake? Was there nothing but a human holding these people in slavery? One who, like the taskmasters, had chosen to be loyal to the dragons? If that was the case, she would be berating herself for not having led a raid here much sooner. She had known about this place for almost two months.
“Oh, he’s a dragon,” the taskmaster said. “I’ve seen him shift shapes and fly away to make reports. But I guess when dragons become human, they get all the human urges along with it.” He shrugged and glanced at Salena, at her breasts specifically.
Zala knew her young lieutenant could take care of herself—she’d practically been born with a sword in her hand—but she found herself wanting to punch this idiot in the face. Would it be sacrilege to admit she would rather have the dragon-slave for a guide?
Zala looked back toward Talon. His jaw was still clenched, and he wasn’t looking at them.
Maybe he actually would work with them if she offered him his freedom. No, it would be ludicrous to trust him. He would say anything to get out of here, and then he would shift into his natural form as soon as he could and become an enemy again. Of course, she could free him of the shackle without freeing him of the collar. What if he hated the overseer enough that he would consider betraying his people? Would he also hate those who had placed him in this hell?
“Dragon,” she said, wanting to make sure she had his attention.
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