Chapter Three

The young she-dragon moaned, stirring restlessly in her sleep. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her skin looked paler than it had a week ago. Vadin noted the changes with a twinge of guilt. She suffered, and it was his doing.

“I can afford no pity,” he muttered, turning away from her moonlit cell. How much worse did the human slaves suffer, beaten into submission by their dragon masters? This creature didn’t deserve compassion. She was the daughter of a despotic monster, complicit in his brutal crimes.

When he first took her from the ravine near the fortress, he hadn’t known her lineage. The fact he’d found a lone dragon seemed fortune enough. Then he read her mind and learned her father claimed the position of ruler, fashioned after the dragon lords of old.

Like them, this tyrant had to be stopped. The humans in this region were overpowered, unable to fight their own battles, so it fell to Vadin. He couldn’t spare sympathy for one whimpering female. Her sacrifice remained critical to his victory.

Striding outside, he welcomed the brisk night breeze on his face. The day had been unusually hot and still for this windy island. The sea had lain flat as glass, the rocky bluffs seeming to ripple as they baked under the noon sun.

Now the waves were choppy, their whitecaps glowing under the moon as they pounded the shore. He breathed deeply of the salty air, letting it wash away his doubts. The path before him required absolute commitment. There was no room for a soft heart or wavering mind. Too much rested on his success.

He’d tried various types of magic on the she-dragon, but so far nothing backfired. It remained a mystery why the ice spell had imprisoned him. What differed between his sorcery then and now?

Pacing the narrow beach, surrounded by the booming surf, he pondered this question. In casting the ice spell, he’d targeted all dragons, not just one. Perhaps that was the key.

Somehow he shared a defining quality with dragons, a marker the spell sought out before activating. Instead of responding to a specific individual, the magic was triggered by a vital essence, an attribute basic to all dragons.

If only he could isolate that singular quality, he’d have his answer. But how, when he dealt with a race who changed to a second form at will?

For millennia dragons had been shape-shifters, since they first encountered and admired the eldrin. Legends told of how Aurek, the dragon hero, learned to shift his scales, spikes, and leathery wings, to take on eldrin form, mimicking those who were the first and greatest of all races. The beautiful immortals befriended him and taught him magic. And so, dragons and eldrin mingled.

How was Vadin to separate those two essences? None of his arcane books contained such a spell. Of course, true eldrin had not walked the world for many a long age. They were lost in an ancient war with demons, sacrificing themselves to save all others. Beyond that, little was known of them.

But what if he sought the she-dragon’s essence at the exact moment of shape-shifting? When changing into a drake, wouldn’t the beast’s defining qualities be revealed? Everything he knew of transformation magic led him to believe it was possible.

Anticipation fueled his steps as he hurried back from the beach. How had he overlooked this possibility? His reliance on spell-books might have become a handicap. He explored uncharted territory now and so must think for himself.

Above him, the half-ruined tower loomed, a darker shadow against the starry night sky. It wasn’t the most comfortable dwelling, but given his circumstances he couldn’t be choosy. At least it had a functioning prison cell. The roof kept out most weather, and the hall served as a ritual chamber.

Finding the island with its abandoned tower had been fortuitous. Almost as lucky as capturing a lone dragon. If he believed in gods, he’d have sworn they supported his cause.

“Get up,” he barked, rapping on the cell door. “We have work to do.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” the she-dragon mumbled, pulling a tattered blanket over her head. “Leave me alone.”

“You will do as I say.” He drew a symbol in the air and spoke an ancient word of power. “Rise.”

She complied, unable to resist the control of his magic. In silence they descended the long stairs. Gaping holes in the tower wall allowed moonlight to illumine their way. At the bottom, a rat dashed across the cracked and pitted floor, disappearing behind a pile of rubble.

Vadin considered killing the rodent, but he needed to save energy for working with the she-dragon. One rat, more or less, wouldn’t make a difference. The place was a hovel, but it suited his purpose well enough.

They entered the hall, a cavernous space, large enough to accommodate more than one dragon in drake form. This room served as his ritual chamber, while he used the kitchen for eating and sleeping. Here, he’d cleared away all the broken and decayed furniture, leaving only a table for his magical implements.

At times like this, he sorely missed his blue sorcerer’s staff. It had been a tool of great power—impossible to replace. When he woke from the long ice spell, it had been missing, along with his most prized grimoire, and several other items. While he slept, thieves apparently found and plundered his chambers. A hard loss indeed.

“Go stand in the center.” He gestured to a circle of symbols marked on the floor.

“Please. Don’t make me do—”

“Silence.” Her voice vanished as he spoke the command. She shuddered, eyes wide and pleading.

“This may hurt,” he warned. “But it won’t kill you.” His stomach twisted at her pitiful expression. She looked frightened out of her wits, and rightly so. In her eyes, he was a monster.

“When it’s over, the pain will stop, and I’ll give you a sleep charm. You can rest through tomorrow.” This concession was the most he dared. If kindness entered into the equation, his overall resolve might crumble. A heart of granite. That’s what he needed.

Once the she-dragon stood in place, Vadin took three long slow breaths. He raised his staff, this one carved from bone and set with a white stone. Words of transformation and binding poured from his mouth, while he walked the circle of symbols. They blazed to life, glowing like embers as he passed by.

Unlike the other spells he’d cast on the she-dragon, this didn’t come from a book. He created it, in the moment, following the guidance of experience and instinct. That was how the ice-spell had come to life, all those centuries ago. Taking the same approach now seemed fitting.

Tendrils of light coiled around the she-dragon, as her shape wavered. He forced her to shift, watching as her eldrin form grew fluid, limbs morphing and expanding. At that exact moment he halted the process, locking her mid-shift, with the drake just beginning to manifest.

Now came the tricky part. Holding her transformation static, he probed with magic sight, searching for the key to her dragon nature. Impressions flooded his awareness. Fear, agony, and striving to complete the shift, all surged through her, into him.

He brushed away the sensations, as if they were nothing but buzzing insects. Finding her dragon essence was the important thing. He had to dig deeper, right to her core.

Mouth opening in a soundless scream, she writhed, trying to resist his delving. It was no use. His power was unassailable, rushing through him like liquid silver. He would have his prize.

There it was, at last. He grasped for the brilliant flame, dancing at her center. Pure dragon soul, distilled.

But why was it so familiar? How could this alien spirit resonate with his own? He was a human man, born of human parents.

Wasn’t he?

Clenching her soul in the vice-grip of his spell, he turned within, searching for his own vital essence. He dove deep, sifting through the whirling energy at his center, reaching for the cord of brightest light, pulsing at the vortex of his power.

Memories of another lifetime broke through, overflowing the dam containing them. No longer hidden, they thundered through him, shaking his foundations.

He too had a dragon soul. There was no mistaking it, burning like an angry sun at his center. Vadin, born in the village of Graystone, child of a fisherman and a seamstress, was not his first incarnation in this world. He had also been Turrok, younger brother of Aurek the Great.

Though he fought against them, the memories would not be denied. The dragon, Turrok, was a part of him. All this time, he’d thought himself superior to the winged monsters, but he harbored the enemy within, his soul forever linked to a beast from the dawn of history.

Vadin sank to his knees, crushed under the weight of this revelation. Where could he go from here? Was there any way to banish Turrok’s corrupting influence?

His control over the she-dragon failed, as the spell shredded like smoke in the wind. She crumpled to the floor, unconscious, returning once more to eldrin form. A thin line of blood trickled from her nose, and her skin looked white as a swan’s wing.

****

Valla shaded her eyes, surveying the central market of Inbar. Under a cloudless sky, the wide square looked busy and colorful as a patchwork quilt. Buyers wandered from stall to stall, their baskets full of purchased goods, while hawkers shouted a constant stream of slogans and prices.

A high sand-colored wall framed the market, with arched entrances at each end. Inside this, a perimeter of palm trees offered welcome shade. It wasn’t even noon, and already the air shimmered with heat.

She wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow, wishing she and Hathos had cooler attire. Perhaps it would be worth buying some, for times like today when they took eldrin form. Leather armor might be fine in the northern mountains, but here she boiled.

Usually clothes didn’t matter, since they traveled in drake form. It was much faster that way and allowed them to easily hunt for food, as needed. The limited diet grew monotonous, but it proved less bothersome. Especially as she and Hathos were lousy cooks.

They’d kept to wild areas, as much as possible. In these lands, people hadn’t seen dragons, and their fear might prove dangerous. Valla didn’t want to meet any panic-stricken mobs.

Though she and Hathos had been traveling for weeks, it still wasn’t clear exactly where they were headed. His dreams of the gold she-dragon continued, but they didn’t provide much practical information. He learned her name, Oliana, and managed to converse a little. Unfortunately, she didn’t know where she was being held prisoner.

“By the sea”, and “windy old tower”, were her only words of guidance. It wasn’t much to go on and could easily describe a hundred different places. The time had come to gather more information.

Valla insisted they stop at a town, to question traders for news from farther south. She also liked the idea of staying at an inn for the night. A soft mattress and a bath sounded marvelous.

Hathos had been reluctant to slow their progress, but she talked him into it. Having a forceful personality came in handy from time to time. They needed a better sense of what lay ahead, and his dreams weren’t specific enough.

Usually the two of them flew at night, when the air cooled and the humans were tucked away in their beds. They rested during the heat of the day, finding hidden spots to make their camp. This morning, however, they’d shifted to eldrin form and trekked into the town of Inbar.

Tantalizing odors wafted through the market. Chicken frying in seasoned butter and garlic, sweet bread smothered in cinnamon glaze, the tang of fresh fruit, and the perfume of exotic flowers. Flamboyantly dressed merchants shouted the merits of their wares, from woven rugs, to pottery, to caged monkeys and parrots.

Valla soaked it all up, relishing the banquet of sights, sounds, and smells. Everything seemed new and fascinating, a world away from her northern home. If only Hathos wasn’t in such a hurry to leave. She could enjoy exploring Inbar for days.

“It’s overwhelming,” he murmured, clearly not enjoying the experience as much as her. “Where do we begin?”

“Over there.” She pointed to a troupe of performers, entertaining a small crowd at the edge of the market. “They’re sure to have traveled south.”

“Shouldn’t we try someone more discreet?”

“Why? Nobody knows who or what we are.”

“But we don’t exactly blend in.”

He was right. The local humans were olive-skinned and slight in stature. Most wore tunics and robes, in a bright rainbow of colors. A few men carried curved blades at their belts, but none of the women appeared to be armed.

“Inbar sits at a crossroads,” she said. “They can’t be too squeamish about strangers passing through. Besides, I see a number of other foreigners around the market. We have nothing to worry about.”

He scanned the stalls and gave her a tense nod. “Very well. Let’s get this over with.”

They began making their way toward the traveling players, but Valla managed to sidetrack their progress more than once. First she bought spicy meat, wrapped in a pastry. Next she admired a table of glittering scarves and another of knives with intricately carved hilts.

When she paused at a fortune teller’s tent, Hathos protested. “Valla. Come on. We need to keep moving.”

“Relax. I’m just having a little fun. Life can’t be serious all the time.”

“If you had my dreams, you’d see how urgent this is. Any delay could cost Oliana her life. She gets weaker with each passing day.”

Valla followed him away from the fortune teller’s tent, swallowing the last bite of her meal. After they questioned the troupe, she’d have to buy another pastry. It had tasted delicious.

When they arrived at the far side of the market, the players were performing a musical number. Drums and reed flutes blended beautifully with the jingle of bells around the ankles of the dancers. The crowd swayed and clapped their hands, the sound amplified by a tight semicircle of wagons.

When the song finished, a musician stepped forward to address the audience. His eyes and hair were black as polished onyx, his rich voice intoxicating as wine.

“While we pass the hat for your generous gifts, consider this. The more you give, the longer we’ll stay in town. If you enjoyed our show, come again. And remember, we’re always happy to arrange a private performance.”

His gaze lingered on Valla, looking her over with obvious appreciation, giving a suggestive wink and a smile. Her own lips pulled into a grin, before she could stop herself. What a pretty young man.

“I’ll question him,” she whispered to Hathos. “You try the women. Dazzle them with your good looks and charm.”

Hathos rolled his eyes but followed her suggestion, walking over to the trio of dancers. Before Valla could make a move, the dark-haired musician approached her.

“You have the look of a barbarian queen,” he stated. “There’s something wild in your eyes, like a hunting falcon. Am I lucky enough to be your chosen prey?”

She laughed. “So, you’re a poet?”

“I’m whatever your passionate heart desires.” He gave her a smoldering look, undaunted by the fact she stood at least three inches taller than him.

“A bad poet, I see.”

“But fabulous at everything else.” He swept a bow.

“Everything?”

“I’d love a chance to prove my skill.” Again he winked, his voice like crushed velvet.

“There’s no slow build up with you, is there?” She cocked her head, amused by his blatant attempts at seduction.

“Life is short,” he responded. “Why waste precious time, when we could be sharing paradise?”

“And this approach works on women?”

“Enough of them to keep me happy.”

“And are they also happy, afterwards?”

“Most definitely.” He moved closer. “Let me show you.”

“Tempting, but I’m not here for pleasure. I need information.”

“Ah, I see. What sort of information, and how much are you willing to pay?” He shifted gears without batting an eye, raising an open palm for money.

Valla had no intention of paying him. She considered whether to proceed with flirtation or intimidation. Both approaches had merit, though intimidation usually proved quicker. She rested a hand on the pommel of her sword and narrowed her eyes.

“I’m confident you’ll answer my questions for free.” Her voice carried an edge of steel.

The musician retreated a step, his smile slipping.

“Don’t bother with him,” Hathos said, returning from speaking with the dancers. “I have what we want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Looks like I won’t need you after all,” she said, giving the musician a small wave and leaving with Hathos by her side.

As they walked through the market, he shared what he’d learned. Dragons were rumored to live in the far south, still hundreds of miles away. Trading caravans and traveling troupes wouldn’t venture past the Shinnari River, as they believed it to be the northern border of the dragons’ territory. No one knew what had happened to the humans who lived there.