by Lori Devoti
As they approached the bar that held the portal, Joarr wove his fingers between hers. “No reason to advertise our connected state,” he murmured.
She didn’t argue. The garm who ran portals in most parts of the nine worlds were no friends of hers. She had no friends, no one, except her sisters, whom she wouldn’t exactly term as friends.
Although the noise coming from inside the bar signaled the portal was doing booming business, the parking lot was empty.
A few feet from the door, Joarr stopped. “Do you hear that?”
Thinking he was referring to the clamor behind the door, Amma shrugged. Who couldn’t hear that? But before she could voice the sarcastic thought something small and dark dropped from the roof.
* * *
Joarr looked up. Three small bodies flipped off the roof and landed on the gravel beside him. He grabbed Amma and twirled her body toward his, so her face was pressed against his chest and his arm was wrapped around her. Bound together it was the best he could do.
She mumbled something and tried to shove herself away, but he held firm. With her protected as best he could, he assessed his attackers.
Short and stocky.
Dwarves.
All three were dressed in head-to-toe black with their faces covered. Each carried a short blade, a typical dwarf weapon. One dwarf, who in addition to the blade carried some kind of glass-and-metal flask, made a subtle hand signal to the others. The pair spread out, leaving about six feet between them.
Still struggling, Amma managed to pull her face free. “What do they want?” she muttered.
“Nothing good, I think.” Joarr jerked her more closely against his body and let his gaze dance over the group. The leader lifted one finger, and as a unit, the three leaped.
Joarr blasted them with ice, or tried to. In his human form the spray was much narrower than when he shifted. He concentrated on the leader and hit him square in the chest. The dwarf was knocked back against the bar’s rock wall.
The others paused and exchanged glances. They hadn’t expected his attack, or perhaps it was the ice they hadn’t expected. Very few dragons could produce ice and even fewer could produce both fire and ice. Enemy expectations, or lack of them, could work to his advantage. Something he needed to remember during this quest.
As the thought was racing through his head, he attacked again. Sticking to ice, he targeted a second dwarf. This time, however, the small being was prepared. He dropped and rolled. The stream of ice shot over his head and smashed into the bar. The building shook, and the noise inside ceased. No one, however, opened the door or peered out a window.
Beings who congregated in portal bars were not the type to get involved in others’ arguments.
“Give me power.” Amma stared up at him, anger clear in her eyes. “Let me fight.”
He didn’t have time to argue with her or even acknowledge her demand. The third dwarf was charging toward them, blade drawn. Joarr turned his ice on him, but this time aimed for the dwarf’s feet. The dwarf stumbled and fell forward, catching himself on his hands to keep from colliding with the ground. His ungraceful posture worked in Joarr’s favor. The ice solidified as the dwarf fell, locking his ankles and wrists to the ground.
His posture would have been comical, if the other two dwarves hadn’t chosen then to attack in unison.
They raced forward, both with their blades drawn. The second dwarf, the one not carrying the flask, had added an ax to his attack.
Joarr pulled in a breath and again discharged a flow of ice. He shot for their feet this time, too, but the pair jumped, landing on gravel untouched by Joarr’s attempts. They rolled, each going a different direction.
Joarr spun, pulling Amma with him. He shot ice at one dwarf then the other. Each time they leaped, avoiding his attack.
“Enough! Give me power,” Amma muttered through gritted teeth. “Or shift.”
She was right. In his human form, with one arm tied to her, he was at a distinct disadvantage. They could be here fighting the three for hours.
He did not have the patience for that. He shifted, and he didn’t hold back. His body filled the parking lot. Beside him, Amma’s eyes rounded, but only for a second. She quickly began to pull power. He could feel it being siphoned from him, but he couldn’t worry about the witch now.
He had dwarves to flatten.
Joarr nudged Amma with his foot, warning her that he was about to move. Without pausing in what she was doing, the witch wrapped her body around his leg and held on.
He smiled. Amma as an adornment. He liked it.
The dwarves had freed their companion from the ice. Now all three faced him again. He opened his jaws, ready to lay a coating of ice so thick across the landscape that those in the bar would be trapped and the dwarves outside converted into instant ice sculptures.
Two blades flew toward him, aimed at his front leg, the one without the witch. Surprised his attackers would pick a place sure to do him little damage, Joarr hesitated. Perhaps he’d overestimated the group.
The blades struck home, painful, but no more so than a mosquito bite would have been in his human form. He shook his leg, dislodging both knives. Then eyed the dwarves again. The followers stood back. They seemed to be waiting for something, but the leader ran straight at him. The dwarf’s blade was sheathed but his flask was still in his hand.
He landed on Joarr’s leg near the spot where the other dwarves’ knives had struck. Joarr could feel him there, like a tick or other small pest. He shook his leg, but the dwarf hung tight.
Amma yelled, but Joarr couldn’t hear her words. Then she cursed loud and clear, and magic, white-hot, seared into the leg the dwarf clung to.
He glanced down. Amma stood with her feet wedged against his leg. Her bound arm was extended so the chain that connected them was taut and her body was angled away from his. Her golden hair streamed from behind her and silvery power flew from her free hand. Power that was directed at his other leg…or the dwarf; he couldn’t be sure which.
There was another curse, this one from the dwarf. He jerked his ax free. Without pausing to aim, he threw the weapon. It whirled end over end toward Amma. The witch didn’t move, didn’t try to stop the deadly missile flying toward her. She simply fired off another attack of her own.
Both struck. The chain snapped, cut by the ax, and Amma and the dwarf both fell to the ground, leaving Joarr shocked and unable to process what had happened for a second. Then as he stared at Amma’s body tumbled like a broken doll onto the gravel, it all set in.
He roared.
Fire erupted from Joarr’s belly and flew from his lips. In seconds all three dwarves were nothing but ash. A cold wind blew from behind him, scattering the residue over the previously white portal building, coating it with gray.
A hollow feeling of defeat, despite his victory, settled in Joarr’s stomach. His gaze fixed on the witch, he shifted.
He walked to her, not bothering to create clothing for himself as he did. He didn’t feel the cold; he could survive in an ice storm or a river of lava completely bare. Blood trickled down his arm, the wounds from the dwarves’ blades already healing. He knelt beside Amma and brushed her hair from her face.
Her skin was pale and her eyes closed. He scooped her up and held her against his chest. She was cold, too cold for any being except a dragon.
He lowered his lips to hers and breathed hot, rejuvenating air into her lungs.
Her body shuddered and her eyelids fluttered. She looked up at him, her eyes as clear and blue as they ever had been, and groaned. “Damn. Why did I do that?” She flexed her fingers. Hair-thin lines of power sizzled from her fingertips. “All of it gone.”
Joarr smiled, then turned his head, hiding his relief at finding her well. His arm still supporting her around the waist, Joarr lowered her feet to the ground. Amma leaned against him, shaking her head and mumbling to herself. As she gathered herself, he created clothing in his mind—his standby favorite: white pants and shirt.
Dressed and his emotions under control, he tipped up her chin, so he could stare into her face. “What did you do?”
She shoved her hand against his chest. He loosened his hold, allowing a few inches of space between them. “Saved you, I’d guess.” She pointed at what was left of the dwarves—their blades, axes and the strange flask. As she moved, the chain that had connected them swung free, knocking into Joarr’s side.
He grabbed hold of the end and wrapped it around his fist, letting her know with his body language that he still had control.
She narrowed her eyes. “I saved you.”
“Really?” He gripped the chain tighter. “Convenient how the dwarf’s ax hit this chain and not you.”
“Would you prefer it had hit me?” she asked, her eyes wide and innocent.
Joarr growled. He didn’t and she knew it. Why he didn’t, he wasn’t sure. He shouldn’t care. She was a thief, and though she said she had saved him, she had actually freed herself.
He didn’t trust her. Didn’t trust that she wasn’t behind the dwarves’ attack in the first place. The whole thing was too convenient for her.
Her jaw jutted to the side. “The chain is severed. Am I sad? No. But am I free? No.” She shook her head. “I should have let him do whatever he was doing.” She gestured to the flask.
Curious now, Joarr walked toward the object, tugging her along as he did.
The flask lay on the ground. Its stopper was out and a half inch of what Joarr recognized as blood lay congealing on the bottom. He picked up the flask and held it to the light. He tipped it side to side. The liquid inside moved but slowly, confirming his guess that the blood came from his own body. Dragon blood was much thicker than any other beings’, smelled and tasted of metals. He raised the flask to his nose and inhaled.
“Mine, or some other dragon’s, but considering the circumstances I’ll go with mine.” He held the open flask to Amma.
She took a whiff, her expression turning analytical. “Any legends regarding dragon blood?” she asked.
Joarr tapped the glass against his palm. “Not that I can think of.”
Amma reached for the flask.
Joarr pulled it back. “How about you? Know any legends regarding dragon blood?” he asked. “Or potions perhaps?”
She lowered her brows. “No.”
“And you’d tell me if you did?”
She shrugged. “Not if I’d sent the crazed dwarf ninja contingent.”
He smiled and handed her the flask.
She ran her fingers over the metal decorating the glass. “Strange a dwarf would carry a glass bottle. They’re all about metal.”
She was right. The flask hadn’t been created by a dwarf. Given a choice, a dwarf would make everything out of metal—could make almost anything out of metal. So, there had to be a reason this flask wasn’t. Like maybe it was created with a specific purpose in mind—to collect dragon blood perhaps, to keep the minerals from a metal container from mingling with the already metallic blood?
He took the flask back and, after some consideration, tucked it into his pocket. It might become useful. It might help him discover why the three dwarves had attacked.
“What about this?” Amma pulled on the chain he still held fisted in his hand.
Yes. What about it? Joarr frowned. It would mean finding an elf to have it repaired properly, and he didn’t think Rike or the other Ormar would appreciate the detour.
“If you run, I’ll find you,” he said.
Amma angled her head. “And if I don’t?”
He stepped closer and ran the back of his finger down her cheek. “Ah, you think I should trust you?”
She raised one brow. “What choice do you have?”
He stared at the metal links in his hand. The magic was broken; there was no way for him to repair that, but there was also no reason for Amma to realize that. He grabbed the last link and slipped it back through the loop still attached to the manacle on his wrist, then shoved them back together.
“There,” he said. “All better.”
“Impressive.” Her tone was dry and her expression less than thrilled.
He wove his fingers through hers and pulled her hand up to his mouth. After placing a kiss on her knuckles, he gestured toward the bar. “Show me I can trust you and maybe I’ll change my mind.”
“Change your mind and maybe next time I won’t let the dwarf bleed you dry,” she replied.
“Ah, sweet Amma, how could I risk the loss of your company?” With a laugh, he opened the bar door and tugged her inside with him.
Chapter 6
The bar was like every other portal bar Amma had been through—dirty and crowded with customers lacking the most basic of personal hygiene. And not one of them looked up when she and Joarr walked in. If anything they took an extreme interest in whatever drink sat before them.
Joarr was tall, broad-shouldered and, by his size alone, intimidating. Impossible to miss. There was no way the other occupants hadn’t noticed his entrance.
Joarr, she guessed, knew this, too. He glanced around with the brazen confidence she’d come to expect from him. Then gestured toward a booth already occupied by two elves. As she and Joarr approached, they both grabbed their beers and scuttled to the back.
“Friends of yours?” she asked, her tone dry.
“Dragons, I’m afraid, have few friends.” Joarr motioned for her to enter first, then slid onto the seat beside her. “It takes a special confidence to be friends with a dragon.” He fingered the hand-crocheted lace that decorated her blouse. “Are you confident, Amma?”
Joarr seemed to dominate the booth. Amma resisted the urge to put space between them. There was really nowhere for her to go. Instead, her eyes wide, she replied, “Are you asking me to be your friend, Joarr? How…sweet.”
He tilted his lips in a smile that made her wiggle in her seat and her heart race. “Friends? No, that’s not how I see us.”
The bartender’s approach saved her from having to form a coherent answer.
Not surprisingly, the bartender was a garm, a wolf-shape-shifter. Garm ran all of the portals Amma had been through. This one stood beside the table, silent, a white bar cloth tossed over his shoulder. When Joarr didn’t look at him immediately, he turned to go back to the bar.
“Have any dwarves through today?” Joarr called.
The garm turned back. “I’m not in the information business. You want a drink or to buy passage somewhere, let me know.” His hand touched the towel on his shoulder, a simple gesture, but the tension in his body was clear.
“Drinks would be good.” Joarr glanced at Amma. “Don’t you think?”
Not knowing what game he was playing, she didn’t reply. In fact she wasn’t even sure why they were at the portal. She had expected Joarr to ask her where she had gone to sell the chalice, but he hadn’t. Perhaps he’d intended to, but the dwarves’ attack had changed that plan.
The chain rested heavy on her leg. With her free hand she reached down and touched it. Joarr had bent it back into place, but she was no fool. She knew more about magic than any dragon could. Whatever power had been embedded into the metal couldn’t be repaired so easily. Her guess was the thing was nothing more than a simple shackle at the moment. Meaning if she could regain her power, she could escape the binds.