by Tara Grayce
It’s about Brett. Trygg. Herockghyrra. Nella. All of our parents. And preventing a war.
The war twenty years ago destroyed some parts of Averell so badly the land still remains burnt and desolate. Many families, like my dad, still mourn those who were lost.
Right now, down in this dungeon, none of us can be normal high school kids. Not if we want any hope of surviving this.
“We have two pieces now, Brett. We’ll pick the lock with those.” I take in a deep breath.
“Good.” He coughs. “You’ll need one piece for a tension bar and one to do the actual picking. The tension bar will have to have its end bent ninety degrees and flattened until it fits in the lock. The other piece should have a small, slender tip.”
“Got it.” I retrieve the piece of metal I’d broken off my grate, hold it up, and switch to Averellian. “We don’t have time to wait for one of us to manage to break two pieces off. Herockghyrra has one, and I have one. We need to pass one piece of metal to the other to have that person pick the lock.”
Herockghyrra meets my gaze. “I’m not trusting you with my piece. How do I know you won’t leave me behind?”
I hold her gaze as boldly and defiantly as I can. She’s a dragon. Oddly enough, she’ll respect me more if I’m confrontational instead of meek and pleading. “I know you don’t know me. But you know my dad’s reputation. You know how honest and sincere he has been in his dealings with your Flame. Respect him. Respect me. I am my father’s daughter. I give you my solemn word I am not going to leave anyone behind in this dungeon.”
Herockghyrra’s eyes burn into me, as if she can pierce her way into my heart. I stare right back. If she wants to take a look into my heart, she’ll see I mean exactly what I say.
Her chin dips, a tiny acknowledgement that she has seen my sincerity. “All right. But I want to be unlocked first. If any of those farffles notice what is going on, you’ll want me standing guard while you pick the locks for the others.”
“How do I know you won’t just leave us behind?” In my gut, I don’t think she will, but I ask anyway. I have to hear her heart resonating in her words the same way she’d needed to hear mine.
“Dragons might have a different sort of honor than silvarans, but we do have it.” Herockghyrra’s gaze remains locked on mine. “I will not leave you behind, and I promise you, I will defend you with my life’s flame.”
“From what I saw, we’re going to have to fight our way out. There’s no way to sneak past the pack of farffles sitting at the top of the dungeon stairs.”
A slow, toothy grin spread across Herockghyrra’s face. Dragon’s teeth in a girl’s face. “Perfect.”
“Aww, you do care about us. I’m touched.” Trygg’s comment breaks the solemnity of the moment. Not that I would have expected anything less.
Herockghyrra glares in Trygg’s direction as if she can scorch the stones to get to him. “If it was just you in this dungeon, grass-eater, I’d leave you behind in a spark’s flash.”
“Oh, come now. Admit it. You’ve become fond of us, in spite of yourself. Might we even consider ourselves friends?”
“Absolutely not.” Herockghyrra sniffs, but for some reason, the sniff doesn’t contain the same amount of scorn I’d heard in it over the past few days. “I wouldn’t be friends with you for all the flame of my ancestors.”
Coming from a dragon, that is the equivalent of a big group hug and sitting down to make friendship bracelets.
“Of course not. I like being friends with you too.” Trygg meets my gaze, grins, and winks.
Best to get this conversation back on track before Herockghyrra decides to burn Trygg’s tail off the moment I have both of them free just to show how friendly she is.
“Herockghyrra,” I don’t let myself wince at how silvaran and non-dragon my pronunciation of her name sounds, “Does one of the ends of your piece of metal fit in the lock on your shackle?”
She bends down long enough to test it. “Yes.”
“Can you bend that end into a ninety degree angle?”
Herockghyrra shoots me a look sarcastic enough to have been the dragon version of rolling her eyes. She presses the piece of metal against the bar of her cell, holds it in place with one hand, and leans her weight into bending the end with the other. Except for the tightening of her jaw and the slowness that the metal bends, I wouldn’t have been able to tell it’s even difficult for her.
She brandishes the bent metal. “Now what?”
“Now I think you’re going to have to throw that to me.” I look from her to the piece of metal, and back. “As long as you hit the center of my door, the metal will slide down and land in front of the slot for my food, and I should be able to grab it.”
She eyes the piece of metal and my cell across the dungeon from her.
I don’t have to tell her she has only one chance. If she misses...if the metal ricochets or falls short...we won’t have a second chance. We don’t have a way to retrieve it.
Herockghyrra grips the metal in her hand and narrows her eyes. “You’d better duck.”
Chapter 17
Apparently, You Can Learn Anything on the Internet
I sit with my back to the door, clench my fists, and hold my breath. Is she planning to throw it through the cell window?
If Herockghyrra misses, I’ll have to come up with another plan. Maybe she can rip off another piece of her metal grate, even if I doubt I can pry up any more from mine. Maybe Trygg will succeed in getting a piece, though if he has to throw the metal piece over to my cell, we are all doomed.
Something flashes through the light from the glowstone, glinting, before it clanks against the far wall of my cell and tumbles to the floor.
Trust a dragon to pick the harder method—and execute it flawlessly. But dragons do have superior eyesight, even in their silvaran form.
“Perfect throw.” I scramble to my feet and retrieve Herockghyrra’s piece of metal. I don’t have to peer out my cell window to see her smug expression. I switch to English. “Okay. I have both pieces of metal. What next?”
“Do both pieces fit in the keyhole for your shackle?” Brett’s voice is soft, weak. I’m not sure how much longer we’ll have. Is he even still sitting up? Or curled up on the floor fighting unconsciousness?
I sit with my back to the door and test both pieces. My piece slides all the way back; Herockghyrra’s only to the bend. “Yes, they do.”
“Good.” Brett drags in a deep breath. “Are Averellian locks a lot like locks on Earth? Especially padlocks? If they aren’t, we’re going to be in trouble.”
I study the shackle around my ankle, thinking. Locks are fairly simple mechanisms at their heart. Averell has its fair share of sliding bolts and door knobs. The shackles even look similar to the pictures of shackles I’ve seen in history books in my high school classes. “I think they should be similar. Like I said, Averell and Earth influence each other. If one or the other came up with the idea of how to best construct locks, it was probably transferred to the other over time.”
“Good. That makes things easier. The basic design of a padlock hasn’t changed all that much since the Middle Ages, and if these shackles are a lot like the locks from the Middle Ages on Earth, picking them shouldn’t be all that hard.” Brett coughs and makes a noise that almost sounds like a groan.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m as fine as I can be.” Brett’s tone is so sharp, I know better than to press further. Then again, it doesn’t do him any good to question his health when the only thing that can help him is picking this lock and getting us out of here. “The bent piece of metal is the tension bar. The other one is the pick. Insert the pick into the lock, press down hard, and drag back slowly toward you along the side the jagged end of the key would be. You should feel and hear a series of clicks. Count them. That’s how many pins this lock has.”
I follow his instructions. The pick is firm in my grip. At first, I drag the pick back and don’t hear any clicks.
I try the other way, and this time as I pull the pick back toward the keyhole, I feel something click back into place. Twice. “Two pins.”
“Okay. These are pretty basic locks.” Brett makes another stifled moaning noise before his voice strengthens. “Insert the tension bar and apply a light amount of pressure in the way the key would turn. Then all you should have to do is drag your pick back and forth over the pins until they fall into place. The lock should just click open, probably in under two minutes. Honestly, this simple form of picking is more luck than skill.”
“Really? That’s it?” Somehow, I’ve always had it in my head that picking locks is harder than that.
“Yep, at least for an old lock like this.”
It takes a few seconds to figure out how to position the tension bar so that I can apply pressure to it with my left hand, steady the shackle around my ankle, and still freely access the key hole with the pick in my right hand.
With pressure on the tension bar, I drag the pick back and forth over the pins.
Something clicks, and the tension bar in my hand gives. I apply a bit more pressure, and the shackle pops open.
For a moment, all I can do is stare. “What was that? Two seconds? And your basic padlock is just like this? Now I’m strangely paranoid. I’m going to have to upgrade the padlock on my locker and bike.”
Nothing but silence.
“Brett?” I stand, the tension bar and pick in my hand. “Are you all right?”
Still nothing. He must be either unconscious or no longer able to form words loud enough for me to hear.
I don’t have any time to waste. I stand on my tiptoes and reach my hands through the bars of my cell. The door cuts into my underarms, but I can just reach the lock. I can’t see it this time, which makes it harder.
“You got your shackle off?” Trygg presses his face against the bars.
“Yes, now don’t distract me.” I insert the pick and count the pins. Three pins this time. I wiggle the tension bar in the lock, trying to figure out what way the lock turns. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to picture the way I would normally turn a key in an Averellian lock.
I put pressure on the tension bar and rake my pick through the lock. The pins are stiffer in this lock than in the shackle.
Nearly a full minute passes before something clicks in the lock. The tension bar gives, and I turn it.
My door pops open so suddenly I stagger forward and nearly fall. Regaining my balance, I grin and hold up the lock picks. “I think I’m getting the hang of it.”
Herockghyrra glares at me. “Remember, you promised.”
“I know.” I stroll over to her cell and work at the lock. It’s easier facing the lock instead of picking it through my cell window. This lock clicks open in half a minute.
Her shackle takes longer. The lock is stiff. The pins don’t move easily.
Two long, agonizing minutes later, the shackle finally clicks. I turn the tension bar and the shackle cracks open.
Herockghyrra rips it off her leg. With a toothy smile, she saunters into the center of the dungeon. In a blink, she’s a small dragon standing as tall as my shoulder with a wing span as wide as she is long. Her scales shine a burnished red with streaks of yellow running along her wings. She stretches her wings as far as she can in the cramped space in the center of the dungeon, shaking her head and lashing her tail as if working kinks out of muscles too long unused.
When she starts for the stairs, I hold my breath. Is she going to leave? None of us could stop her, but if she leaves, the rest of us won’t be able to escape. We need her to help us fight our way past the farffles, and, once the farffles realize a jail break is happening, they’ll swarm me before I can pick any more locks.
Herockghyrra glances over her shoulder, gives me a nod, and settles into a crouch at the base of the stairs. Keeping watch, just as she promised.
Even with her watching, I don’t have time to waste. I pick the locks on Nella’s cell and shackles, then Trygg’s. As soon as Trygg is free of his shackle and his cell, he changes into his unicorn form and shakes his mane.
Heart in my throat, I hurry to pick the lock to Brett’s cell. When the lock finally gives, I fling the door open.
Brett is slumped against the wall separating his cell from mine near the door, eyes closed, body so still. Too still.
“Brett?” I kneel next to him and shake his shoulder. His head flops back and forth.
Is he alive? His shoulder is warm beneath my fingers. Would he still be warm if he had died?
I fumble for his wrist and press my index and middle fingers to his skin as I’d seen on TV. Is that a pulse I feel? Or am I imagining things?
Nella sinks onto her knees next to me. She holds her fingers under Brett’s nose. “He’s still alive, but he doesn’t look too good.”
She’s right. Brett’s face is nearly as gray as the stones around us.
“He needs unicorn horn powder.”
Trygg sticks his head into the cell and scrapes his horn against the wall over Brett’s head. I retrieve the powder left on the wall.
Nella cups her hands. A mouthful or two of water fills her palms. Unlike a human, not a drop of water drips between her hands. She holds her hands out to me. “I know it isn’t much, but it is all I can spare until I have a drink myself.”
“Thanks, Nella.” I sprinkle the unicorn horn powder into the water and stir it in. “If I hold him, can you dribble it into his mouth?”
Nella nods. I do my best to prop Brett up, and somehow his head ends up in my lap. His mouth flops partially open, and Nella trickles the water into his mouth. Brett coughs and swallows. Some of the water dribbles out of his mouth and drools over his cheeks. Hopefully enough of the unicorn horn powder got into his system.
I pick the lock on Brett’s shackle and stuff my makeshift lock picking tools into my pocket in case I need them again.
Standing, I face Nella, Trygg, and Herockghyrra. All of them, even Herockghyrra, are watching me. Waiting for me to come up with the plan.
I’m not sure why they have decided I’m the leader. But apparently that’s what I am.
I straighten my shoulders. “As both Nella and I saw, we can’t sneak past the farffles. They are packed in there at the top of the stairs. So our only way out is to hit them fast and hard and hope we can get through. Herockghyrra, you go first. You’ll have to clear the way. Trygg, you go next. You’ll have to fend off any that get past her.”
Herockghyrra snorts a cloud of smoke.
“If any get past her.” I add, even though it probably doesn’t hurt if Herockghyrra is angry. “Nella and I will carry Brett. We’ll have our hands full, so it’s up to the two of you to make sure we don’t get bit too many times.”
Herockghyrra and Trygg both nod.
I heft Brett to his feet and flop one of his arms over my shoulder and hold it there. Nella takes Brett’s other arm. She wrinkles her nose. “He’s even more dried out than I am.”
She can probably sense the water in his body. Feel the heat in his skin even more than I can.
Right now, it would have been nice if I knew a bit of magic. Unlike almost every other race in Averell, silvarans don’t have a second form. All we do have is an aptitude for magic, but studying magic takes years. It’s a lot like a doctor or a scientist. Magicians have to study long hours for decades. I won’t even start doing basic spells until I’m sixteen. Up until now, all I’ve learned is theory.
I give a nod to Herockghyrra. “All right. Let’s go.”
She breaks into her grin, even toothier in her dragon form, and sidles up the stairs as if on her way to a shopping trip.
Trygg clops up the stairs. Nella and I follow, dragging Brett between us. Even sharing Brett’s weight, I struggle to haul him up each stair.
Nella and I are only half way up when Herockghyrra roars. Squeals and shrieks fill the air, and I try not to think about swarms of farffles being scorched by Herockghyrra’s flame. But these farffles are enchanted. They
would swarm us if given half the chance.
We reach the top of the stairs and step into a room filled with smoke and ash and the stench of burnt hair and meat. I do my best not to look at the scorched rabbit bodies around the edges of the room.
Nella gags and presses one hand to her mouth. I hurry us through the room as quickly as possible.
As we step into the hallway, Herockghyrra roars and shoots another long tongue of flame in front of her. Trygg lowers his head and jabs at a farffle that got past her, keeping the farffle from biting the softer scales along Herockghyrra’s stomach.
“Keep moving.” I pant and heft Brett higher. His head lolls forward. “We have to get out of here before she has a chance to stop us.”
Trygg takes a moment to glance over his shoulder at me and shake his mane. I agree with him. Herockghyrra hasn’t exactly been subtle about this escape. We have to hurry.
We round the corner by the collapsed tower and sprint down the next corridor. Fewer farffles oppose us this time. Are they retreating instead of trying to face Herockghyrra? I wouldn’t blame them. Herockghyrra is fierce in her dragon form, her eyes burning with the same intensity and glint as the fire licking around the corners of her mouth.
One more corner, then we’ll be able to see the exit.
Brett’s body sags against me. My fingers are growing slick with sweat, and I struggle to keep my grip on his arm and around his waist. On his other side, Nella is shaking. Her lips are cracked, her eyes glassy. She isn’t in much better shape than Brett, but she keeps doggedly bearing his weight.
Herockghyrra bursts around the corner, Trygg’s hooves clacking on the stones in her wake. Nella and I stagger after them.
I nearly step on Herockghyrra’s tail, throwing myself sideways into Brett and Nella as we lurch to a halt.
Herockghyrra heaves in and out, sounding like a bellows in an old-fashioned blacksmith’s shop stoking a flame. Trygg paws the ground with a hoof and brandishes his horn.
I tighten my grip on Brett as my heart sinks into my toes.
Across from us, Melltra stands in front of the exit in her dragon-monster form, a swarm of farffles bouncing around her feet and hissing. Purple smoke leaks from between Melltra’s jaws.