Dragon's Capture Page 16

  “Ha! Not done,” Mesto says.

  “Did I ask?” Thrace barks, hand drifting to the sticks at his sides that we all know he can wield with painful force.

  Mesto shakes his head and climbs to his feet.

  “In line, scrubs,” Thrace barks. “Todd, Cenar, you’re against Visidion. Rosalind, K’sara, you’re against Mesto. Go!”

  The afternoon passes until at last it’s evening. Sore muscles and bruises throb from the day’s training. As we head to our hut, I notice more guards around the estate, but the two I took out are nowhere to be seen. If nothing else, I established one thing—no one should comment on Rosalind.

  “Whose turn for dinner?” Todd grumbles.

  While lunch is served to us, we’re on our own for dinner. We’d agreed on a rotation for cooking but no one kept close track of it.

  “It’s mine,” Rosalind says, stepping forward.

  She sorts through the pile of supplies that are left in our hut each day. It’s thin pickings, further proof that our owner isn’t well-off. I help her as she makes a stew, which is what we have most nights because there’s little else to do with the odds and ends of food given to us.

  It’s not long before the pot is simmering over our communal fire. Rosalind catches my eye and motions towards the door. I follow her out into the cool night air. It’s so much colder here than Tajss, and the nights are the worst. It makes my muscles ache more once the sun goes down and leaves me feeling lethargic.

  “That was stupid,” Rosalind says as soon as we’re outside.

  “He threatened you,” I answer.

  “No, he didn’t,” she shakes her head. “He made a stupid comment. It was nothing.”

  “It was something to me,” I answer. “No one can threaten you.”

  “It wasn’t a threat, damn it, Visidion, you can’t do this!” her voice rises.

  Her left arm trembles and she crosses her arms over her chest trying to hide it.

  “It’s getting worse,” I call her out.

  “I’m fine,” she says but I stare at her until at last she crumbles. “It’s probably withdrawal.”

  Swallowing hard, I nod. Withdrawal. She’s holding up well, but she needs epis. The humans haven’t been taking it all their lives. Zmaj can go weeks or months without feeling the effects of not having epis, but the humans need it. Their bodies are still adjusting.

  “We need a plan,” I say.

  “You think?” she snaps, but then her arms quiver and she grits her teeth.

  I draw her into my arms and hold her tight to me. The ache in my chest pulses with each beat of my hearts. Give me an enemy, any enemy, that I can face and defeat. Losing her, when we only now are coming into our own, is not something I can permit. I’ll find a way. I will save her.

  Her body melds against me, fitting into my arms as if she was made for me. Stroking her hair with light touches, keeping her pulled tight, I listen to the rhythm all of our hearts make, beating so close together. Tremors pass through her, and when at last they pass, she wraps her arms around my waist. This moment could last forever, and I’d be happy for all of it.

  A loud bang echoes across the training grounds. Rosalind jumps, pushing away from me. The sound repeats, coming from the wooden double doors that lead into the grounds. Two guards walk out of the small building by the gates, muttering loudly. They’re both weaving, probably drunk. One opens a small panel in the door and looks out.

  “Shit,” he exclaims, stumbling back.

  The other guard looks out, then moving quickly unlocks the doors and pulls one side open. A hooded figure cloaked in shadows walks through. The guard swings the door shut behind him and slides the locks back into place.

  “I’ll get the master,” the guard who had exclaimed says, stumbling over his words.

  “No,” the figure says. “I’m not here for him.”

  “Oh,” the guard says, and his hands flap uselessly to his sides.

  “Go about your duties, I’ll see myself out shortly,” the figure says.

  It’s impossible to see where he’s looking between the shadows and the hood, but it seems his attention is on Rosalind and me. I move to protect her, putting my body between her and the stranger.

  “Uh, we shouldn’t—” the guard starts.

  “Are you questioning me?” the figure asks without so much as a glance toward the guard.

  “No, uh, sir, no, back to our duties, right,” the guard answers.

  The two guards walk backwards, keeping each other upright, into their hut. The hooded figure walks across the open area towards us. My tail swishes through the dirt, my scales tingle, and my hands close into fists, ready for anything. He stops a few feet away. Just then, as if the stranger has planned it, the moon comes out from behind a cloud, shining bright, silver light down on him. Moving slowly, he takes the sides of his hood and lowers it. As the hood drops, moonlight gleams on tan scales and reveals the Zmaj from the arena.

  “Sorry for the subterfuge,” he says. “Unfortunately, it’s necessary.”

  My throat tight, tension in all my muscles, and expecting an attack at any moment, I swallow before speaking.

  “Who are you?” I ask the most obvious question.

  “My name is Arcan and I know you’re Visidion and Rosalind,” he nods to each of us as he says our names. “When I saw you in the arena…”

  He trails off not finishing his thought. We stare at each other for a long moment until clouds cover the moon again and cast us back into darkness.

  “I was surprised to see a Zmaj,” I say, filling the void.

  “You were!” he snorts, shaking his head. “How did you escape the Devastation?”

  “I didn’t,” I say.

  “You didn’t?” he shakes his head side to side. “But… the planet was destroyed. There’s no life left on Tajss.”

  Instead of answering him, I meet his gaze with a stare, schooling my face to reveal nothing. I don’t know if he’s an ally or not, but something tells me we’re on dangerous ground.

  “How did you come to be here?” Rosalind asks, redirecting the question to him.

  He sighs, shoulders slumping, and gazes into the darkness.

  “I thought I was the only one,” he says, voice heavy with despair. “No one could have survived. The entire galaxy thinks Tajss is gone.”

  Fear, cold and creeping, seeps out of my core at his words, but I don’t know why. The words call something, vague and uncertain, in the bijass. Memories I once had but are now lost to the fog of the bijass.

  “It should stay that way,” I say.

  He turns his attention back to me, then shakes his head. “It’s too late for that,” he says. “I think.”

  “Why are you here?” Rosalind asks.

  He straightens, clears his throat, and then rolls his shoulders. “Right,” he says. “You’re in danger.”

  “Of course we are, we’re slaves sold to be gladiators,” I snap.

  “No, worse,” he says, ignoring me. “The situation here is not stable. The ‘king’ is a crime lord who holds his position through fear. He claims he’s descended from Prince Astirian but everyone knows that’s a lie.”

  “What does any of that have to do with us?” Rosalind asks.

  “Not you, him,” Arcan says. “Tajss was believed dead. The Zzlo aren’t hiding the fact they captured you there. That means there’s life on Tajss.”

  “And they want the epis,” I say, the cold chill in my guts finding its form and spreading across my limbs.

  “Yes,” he says.

  “Rumors are all there are right now,” Arcan says. “But they will be coming after you. Some want you dead, so they can bury the secret and use it for their own ends. Others want you to lose, so they can steal you. There are many plans for you. But it’s enough to say you have changed the landscape of Krik and thereby the galaxy.”

  My thoughts race as dim memory struggles to emerge from the fog of the past.

  “Will you help?” I as
k.

  Arcan stiffens, his tail stops moving. My hearts beat loud in my ears, counting the passing moments. Thoughts play behind his eyes, and I have to wonder what it is he’s really after.

  “I’ll do what I can,” he says.

  “We need a plan,” Rosalind says. “A way off this planet.”

  Arcan nods as he starts to go. “Yes, you do,” he says over his shoulder.

  “How are you going to help?” I ask, as he reaches the door.

  He stops, one hand on the door, head bowed. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’ll be in touch.”

  The door closes behind him, and one of the guards comes stumbling out to replace the locks. When he turns and sees Rosalind and me, he steps towards us.

  “Get in,” he barks, pointing at our hut.

  Silent, we go back in to our dinner. Everything has changed. It’s changed in ways I can’t foresee yet. Rosalind and I eat in silence, getting through the dinner. When we’re finally lying beside each other in our small room, she rests her head on my shoulder, an arm draped across my chest.

  “What does it mean?” she whispers.

  “I don’t know,” I say, honesty pouring out in those three words. There’s a cold, hard ball in my guts.

  “I’m trying to decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing,” she says.

  “So am I,” I answer, squeezing her tighter to me.

  21

  Rosalind

  We’ve had three arena fights since Arcan came to visit and no word.

  The effects of withdrawal are increasing, becoming harder to hide. Visidion covers for me, but our team knows what’s happening. I can’t hide it from them, and soon I won’t be able to hide it from our opponents. I’m slowing down. My muscles aren’t responding as quickly. Spasms and weakness come and go as well. My body is declining, betraying me. I don’t know if it’s the lack of epis, or if the cancer, which I’d thought to be in remission, is advancing.

  Dirt falls from the ceiling as the crowd erupts into a new round of cheers and stomping. Mesto and K’sara are fighting in the arena. I can only hope the cheers are for them doing well. We are all climbing the ranking ladders in the arena and are known forces to watch. Thrace is a good trainer, one of the best, if the rumors through the pit are to be believed. The other gladiators show him respect they don’t give to anyone else. All of them except Brisong and his partner Rikon. They’re dominating the ladder with a long winning streak. Fifteen wins with no losses.

  Soon Visidion and I will challenge their position at the top, and they know it. We avoid each other for now. Dirty looks across the pit, glares and murmurs from them, while Visidion and I ignore them. This pisses Brisong off, which is what I want. It always makes me smile.

  “You two are up next,” Thrace says. “Come here.”

  He motions with his head towards a far corner of our prep area. It’s not exactly private but it’s far enough away from the others, and with the noise of the crowd over our heads, it would be difficult to eavesdrop. When we stand before Thrace, he stares at us with his fiery, unblinking eyes.

  “Yes, sir?” I ask, prompting him to speak.

  “You two are fools,” he says, shaking his head.

  Visidion and I exchange looks of confusion.

  “What do you mean?” Visidion asks.

  “You,” Thrace says, pointing at Visidion. “Being here, being what you are, has set things in motion. You think I don’t know about your meeting with Arcan? Do either of you know the absolute shitstorm you’ve started?”

  “Thrace—” Visidion says, but Thrace cuts him off with a sharp motion of his hand cutting through the air.

  “No,” he says. “You don’t. There is no getting off this planet. Accept your fate, shut your mouths, and pretend that you didn’t come from Tajss. Anything else and you two are stupider than a mokul pack in heat.”

  “We have to get back,” Visidion says.

  “No, you don’t,” Thrace says. “You can have a good life here. What is back there for you? You can have it all here.”

  “No, I can’t,” Visidion hisses. “You’ve seen it, don’t try to tell me you haven’t. Rosalind is sick, she’s getting worse. She has to have epis—”

  “No!” Thrace barks. “Don’t you say it. Don’t say that burnt word, by the Seven Widows.”

  The edges of Visidion’s scales tint red, and his tail stops moving, rising up. Anger is getting the best of him. I have to stop this. I run my hand along his upper arm to his shoulder. He doesn’t turn to look, eyes locked on Thrace.

  “Visidion, let’s hear what he has to say,” I say. Visidion doesn’t say anything or move except to nod. “Thrace, continue, please.”

  Thrace’s eyes dart to me before he speaks.

  “That burnt plant lies behind everything that’s wrong with the entire galaxy. Entire planets laid waste in the quest to control who gets it. Right now there are rumors, but that’s it. No one believes the Zzlo, they’re the biggest liars in the universe and will say anything for a credit. If you let them know that Tajss isn’t laid waste, if they figure out the epis is still there, it will all start again.”

  “Help us,” I say. “Haven’t you trained us that the best way to avoid being hit is to not be there when the blow lands?”

  Something flickers in his eyes, his lips tighten, but then he shakes his head.

  “Using my own words against me,” he says.

  “NEXT!” a booming voice echoes down into the pit.

  “Go,” Thrace says.

  I can’t get a read when I meet his eyes. I don’t know if I’m getting through to him or not. Will he help us or betray us? Walking up the ramp to the gates, cold sweat drips down my back, and my breath comes in short hitches.

  “Are you okay?” Visidion asks, worry in his voice.

  “I’m fine,” I answer, shifting my grip on my wooden sword.

  Visidion nods, any words he would say cut off by the clank of the gate being raised.

  “PEOPLE OF KRIK!” the announcer’s voice booms through the wooden doors. “For your amusement and betting pleasure, the terror of Tajss and his female will face off against Anaseien Exiled Prince of Alva and his Pari!”

  The crowd gasps and oohs their pleasure, and the gates swing open before us. We march out of our tunnel, timing it so our opponents emerge from theirs at the same time. I’m shocked to see a human female marching next to a tall, purple alien. The alien is as tall as Visidion but more human in build, though he has long pointed ears, and fangs show in his mouth along with the purple skin. He has two wooden swords and she has a wooden staff.

  Stopping ten feet apart, we face each other, waiting for the signal to begin.

  To their credit, our opponents show no signs of fear. It has been common for the others when they see Visidion because of his size and reputation as a fighter. The crowd quiets until the only sound is a light breeze flapping the banners in the wind.

  My heart rate slows and the calm centering takes over. The female I’m facing is about the same size as I am, but slightly bigger in build. She holds her staff competently and stands prepared, making it clear she knows what she’s doing. She has bright green eyes that are alight with intelligence. This is a rank fight—they’re two rungs over us, second place. If we win this, our next match will be against Brisong and Rikon. Tension builds in the air around us. Someone is playing to the crowd as they murmur and shift in their seats. Anticipation becomes palpable then, right when it feels it must burst, the bell sounds.

  The female flips backwards, landing neatly with staff at the ready. Her partner moves in to attack Visidion, but that’s not the way we’re playing the game. As the prince attacks, Visidion steps to the side towards me, and I step in front of him, blocking the prince’s attacks. The loud clang of wood on wood echoes. He hits so hard my hands go numb. His eyes widen in surprise at the move, but then it dawns on him what we’re doing, and he whirls towards the girl.

  Visidion is flying through the air, wings spread
wide, gliding down towards her, his swords a blur before him creating confusion about where she should place her defense. She backs up, moving fast. Too fast. She stumbles then is flailing to keep herself upright. Visidion lands, swords swinging in.

  “NO!” the prince screams, running towards his female.

  Exactly as we planned. He turns, giving me his back, concern for his partner overriding his self-preservation instincts. Aiming for the base of his neck, I swing. The ground next to Visidion shifts as my sword swings. A dark hole opens, and then something leaps out with a screeching sound. Visidion turns his blow from the girl to the new threat, barely bringing it up in time to defend himself.

  The thing hits Visidion straight on, knocking him to the ground. It looks like some kind of cross between a gorilla and a bat mutated into a nightmare. Black fur covers its massive, heavily muscled body, while large, leathery wings flap from its back. Its face is humanoid but filled with rows of sharp teeth and two large fangs that rise from its lower jaw. Huge fists slam down on Visidion with bone-crushing force. The girl screams and backs away, so the Prince circles the monster, heading for her.

  Fear pulses in time with my heart, but I race forward, pushing past it, sword held ready. As I approach, the creature looks up and roars, baring its fangs. It hits the ground on either side of Visidion, and the vibration of it runs up my legs.

  Cutting to my left, I force it to turn to keep me in its sights. Visidion struggles beneath it and tries to slide free, but the thing grabs him with a hand that’s big enough to grip him by his chest and casually slams him into the ground. Visidion grunts. I have to do something.

  Breaking into a run, I circle the monster, making it turn faster, focusing its attention on me. On the other side of the creature, the prince has his female in his arms, but seeing my approach, he pushes her behind him, bringing his swords to bear.

  Rather than risk facing him as well, I sidestep, moving to the beast. It swings. Ducking backwards, I bend in half, swinging my sword into its bicep, landing four blows on either side of its arm while sliding across the dirt on my knees. It screams in pain and surprise, pulling its arm back, but then it lowers its head towards me. Foul breath washes over me as it roars, leaving my ears ringing. Visidion slides out from under it, forgotten by the creature.