Dragon's Capture Read online

  Gnashing its teeth over my head, it lifts a massive fist above me. I slide my feet out from underneath me and roll to the side as the fist slams the ground. I’m bounced up into the air as the ground jumps.

  “Rosalind!” Visidion yells.

  Continuing my roll to the side, I catch glimpses of Visidion landing on the creature’s back, attacking with his swords.

  I get to my feet. My thighs are trembling, signs of the growing weakness. Taking a deep breath, I raise my sword and step forward to help Visidion when a warrior’s tingling sense tells me to duck.

  A wooden swords cuts through the air just over my head. Spinning on my heel, I meet the prince’s next blow, stopping it an inch from my face. He grins, showing his fangs, nodding respect.

  The girl circles around the two of us, the staff in her hands twirling a slow circle.

  The thing roars behind me and Visidion grunts in pain, but I don’t have time to see if he’s okay. The prince and I circle, testing each other with series of quick jabs and feints. Dancing out of his reach, I come too close to the girl. She lands a solid blow on the left of my chest. At least one rib cracks, the pain blinding me for an instant.

  Prince doesn’t hesitate, attacking with a fast flurry of strikes, mid to high then back and suddenly shifting and swinging low, finally landing a blow on my right thigh.

  The leg goes numb and tries to give way. My only option is retreat. I hop backwards and try to keep both opponents in view.

  Someone planned this. The crowd is screaming and pounding their feet. This isn’t a blood match, but whoever added that monster wants it to be. Knowing it’s true does nothing to help us survive.

  My thigh tingles as blood flows back into the painful place, and I test it before trusting it with my weight. It hurts, but no longer seems inclined to give way. The wall of the arena is coming up behind me. The prince and his girl are herding me back towards it. This isn’t good.

  When I turn slightly to work my way back towards the center, they shift positions to block me.

  Now I see Visidion, locked in combat with the monster. He leaps high, bringing his sword down on the creature’s head while his tail swings and slams into its chest. The creature is bowled over, dropping onto its back, and then it shudders and lies still. Visidion stumbles over it and lands in a heap beside it.

  Prince moves in to my right, his sword a blinding blur, so I turn to meet his assault. Our swords clack together with the staccato beat of a deadly dance. Because of his longer reach, I retreat, pulling him in, but I have to keep my attention split. I keep one eye out for the girl, ready for her to join his attack.

  I’m trying to move closer to Visidion, but the prince anticipates my goal and jumps to the side, blocking me.

  Somehow, I lose track of the girl when he moves. She appears behind me and to my left, jabbing her staff into my kidney. An instant of blinding pain causes me to drop my guard. The prince makes his move. Grabbing me and spinning me around with an arm over my throat, his sword held across my chest, he turns us.

  Visidion stands there with both swords held ready. Dark bruises show on his scales, but the rage dancing in his eyes tells me he isn’t feeling the pain.

  “Let her go,” he hisses, swords making slow circles in the air between us.

  “Only one of us can win,” Prince says.

  “Win or lose, if you harm her, I will destroy you,” Visidion says, his voice low and dangerous.

  “You love her,” Prince says.

  Visidion doesn’t answer with words. Stepping forward, swords circling faster, he feints. Prince pulls back, dragging me with him. Pain shoots through me with every breath, growing worse as he drags me back. Visidion marches forward, relentless.

  I drop, letting my full weight come down on my captors arm, forcing him to hold me up or drop me. His arm tightens on my throat, cutting off my air. Blood pounds in my ears and my vision darkens as he continues to back away from Visidion.

  Visidion roars, charging.

  Prince drops me so he can meet the charging mad Zmaj. Visidion attacks with a flurry of blows so fast that I can’t follow them. Rolling to my knees, I gasp, desperate for the air but each breath comes with a sharp stabbing pain that cuts it short. Slowly my vision clears as oxygen refills my lungs.

  “No!” the female screams.

  Visidion has landed at least one solid blow and the Prince is on the ground. The girl rushes to his side, dropping her weapon. Visidion stares at her, wary, until she’s on her knees next to the prince with tears streaming down her face. Not taking his eyes off her he backs his way to my side and kneels.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, swords still ready and pointed at the girl.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, wincing with pain, wheezing as I struggle to catch my breath.

  The crowd chants as Visidion helps me to my feet. Standing, arms waving, stomping their feet the noise is so cacophonous it takes me a moment to realize what they’re saying.

  “Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!” they chant.

  An empty pit opens in my core, swallowing the warmth of my body, leaving me cold. Turning away from the girl, I look at the balcony where the king sits. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. Blood games are rare. They’re not done on a whim.

  That’s what we were told, but then adding a vicious creature to a fight isn’t within the rules we were told either. Yet there lies one in the middle of the arena. Dead or stunned, I don’t know which.

  The king rises to his feet, helped to his feet by two servants on either side who strain to lift his bulk. In a slow shuffle, he moves to the edge of the balcony to stare down. His bulbous head turns to each side, taking in the crowd. He holds one, short, fat arm out in front of him, palm down. The crowd cries out louder, demanding death.

  The king smiles, and it seems our eyes meet across the arena. His hand closes into a fist, thumb sticking out, parallel to the ground. My heart pounds in anticipation. If he orders the kill, I can’t do it, and I don’t think Visidion will either. If we don’t, what happens next? Located at regular intervals are well-armored guards who have real weapons, not wooden ones.

  The king’s hand wavers, thumb moving down then up. Down is the order for death, up means it’s over.

  Closing my eyes, I will him to move his hand up. Do not do this. Don’t break your own rules any further.

  When I open them, his hand moves.

  Up.

  It’s over. Thank all the stars it’s over. I even send a thank-you to the Seven Widows, not that I know anything about them, but if they do exist and had something to do with this, I’ll praise them.

  Visidion exhales sharply then slumps next to me. Arms around one another’s waists, we aid each other back to our tunnel and down to the rest of our team. Guards come into the arena to take the prince away and his girl with him.

  “Curse the Widows’ will,” Thrace growls as we emerge from the tunnel.

  Medics come over and assist both of us to the tables where they start tending our wounds. The medics are short, gaunt, gray men with three long fingers and a thumb on each hand. The one tending me pokes at my side and stars explode, blasting away thought until it passes. He mutters something then starts making a mix.

  “What in the hell was that?” I ask.

  “Someone is messing with the rules,” Thrace says. “We’ve got enemies.”

  “You think?” Visidion hisses sharply as the medic prods.

  “Keep your mouths shut,” Thrace says, eyes darting around to all the gladiators listening in on our conversation.

  The skin on back of my neck crawls as the hair stands on end. The waters are getting deeper and we don’t have a life raft.

  22

  Visidion

  The sound of Thrace barking orders echoes through our hut. Rosalind and I are still recovering from our last fight, so Thrace has given us time to heal. Medics come once a day, examine us, then leave. Along with the sound of our fellow gladiators’ training comes the noise of constru
ction. We’ve won enough fights now that repairs are being done to the villa.

  “There has to be some way to get a message to Arcan,” Rosalind says.

  “I can’t think of one,” I say. “He is probably being watched. We’ll have to wait for him to contact us.”

  “I don’t think we have that kind of time,” she says, hunching over, her brow furrowing with worry.

  Outside there’s a roaring sound, growing louder. Frowning, we both stand and walk out of the hut. The sound is close now, echoing off the stone walls. It pulls up outside the gates to the villa, and guards rush around in a flurry until at last one of them opens the door.

  An entourage walks in, dressed in the green and gold colors of the king. A door into the main house slams open and the master rides out on his purple monstrosity.

  “Welcome!” he says, walking up to the delegation. “May I offer you… anything?”

  “No,” a man in the middle of the group says, looking around with disdain. “I have a message from the king. Accept it so I can be on my way.”

  “Of course, what an honor,” Master says, forcing his ride to bend at the waist then holding his hands out to take the message.

  The messenger hands a paper to him, then turns and walks out the door without another word. The guards swing it shut as the roaring sound comes back to life, and yellow dirt is thrown through the opening. The machine he rode here in leaps into motion and speeds away.

  The master tears open the letter, paper dropping away. All of us, gladiators and guards, watch in anticipation. I watch his eyes widen, his head shake and then tilt to one side. A slow smile spreads across his face. He walks his ride up to Thrace, who is standing with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Thrace!” he exclaims, waving the paper. “Good news!”

  The paper flutters towards Thrace, who plucks it out of the air then reads it. His eyes narrow and his mouth hardens into a tight line.

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “This throws out all the rules.”

  “Look! Look at the rewards!”

  Thrace reads it again and shakes his head negative. “Not worth it,” he says.

  “You don’t get to choose!”

  Thrace straightens, glowering, and for a moment it’s about to happen. Thrace could take out the master. We all know it, and so does the master. Metal on metal echoes as the guards shift, leaning forward, hands on weapons. They’re ready to go if Thrace makes a move.

  Thrace blinks and seems to cave in on himself. He sighs and turns away.

  “Ha! What is it?” Mesto asks the question on all of our minds.

  Thrace looks at me then Rosalind. “You two will fight in the next arena for top ranking,” he says.

  A sigh of relief slips out. I’d expected much worse, fighting Brisong is a welcome opportunity. I’ve wanted to put him in his place for a while now.

  “Okay,” Rosalind says. “So why the long faces?”

  “I don’t know what you mean ‘long faces’,” Thrace says. “But it’s not a normal fight. It’s a Blood Game.”

  A collective gasp fills the silence that falls.

  “No, that can’t be,” Todd says.

  “Not fair,” Cenar adds.

  “That isn’t all,” Thrace says, glaring at the master. Chills race along my scales while waiting for him to say what else there is. “Everything is on the line. If you lose, the master loses everything.”

  “Why do we care?” Rosalind asks.

  “He loses us,” Thrace answers. “All properties of the loser become property of the king.”

  The chill turns so cold my body slows, aching muscles tremble, but deep in my core a fire burns.

  “Ha!” Mesto says.

  “It doesn’t matter, the Zmaj will win,” the master says, bouncing with excitement.

  “What do you get out of this?” I ask.

  “Ha, ha, ha!” he laughs, a screeching sound that tears at my ears. “Fame! Fortune! King will give me the pick of the surviving gladiators and one million credits!”

  Of course the stakes had to be high, otherwise why post them.

  The master turns his ride and goes back into the house, his laughter echoing in my ears long after he’s gone. Thrace stands still as a stone, saying nothing, staring ahead. A Blood Game, Rosalind at my side. No wooden weapons this time. They’ll be real, edged, and deadly. How can I protect her?

  The weakness is growing worse. If she wasn’t in epis withdrawal, maybe she would be competitive, but the fight isn’t for days and each one she weakens. Time slips away like the sands of Tajss blowing in the breeze.

  “Enough, begin training!” Thrace barks, cutting through the gloom of my thoughts.

  No one moves, staring at Thrace as if waiting for a new order or a change of heart. Shaking my head to clear it of the cold and building anger, I move to the weapons rack, picking up my wooden swords.

  “Wait,” Thrace barks, jerking all of our attention back to him. “Blood games require a new strategy.”

  He turns and walks over to a door that is always locked. No one has ever opened it or entered it since we’ve been here. He pulls a key from his pocket, opens the door, and steps into the shadows. When he comes out again, his arms are loaded with weapons. Real weapons.

  The guards shift, shiny new armor rattling as they do. Thrace ignores them as he walks to the middle of our semi-circle and dumps his load on the ground. The metal weapons clatter and spread out before us. Looking from the weapons to Thrace, a fresh glimmer of hope awakens in my core.

  Crouching, I sort through the pile first, picking out two large swords, big enough that a smaller person would need two hands for each of them. Setting those aside, I spot a trident and an idea crystallizes. I stand up and hand it to Rosalind. She frowns, staring at it, then her eyes light up and she takes it.

  The others pick out weapons, each to their liking, then we’re standing circled around Thrace.

  “Someone is manipulating the games,” he says. “It was obvious after the last bout, but now it’s clear. The rules are gone. This is no longer a game of rank and prestige. It’s survival. The only question is, will you?”

  “Sir, yes, sir!” we answer, speaking in unison.

  “Good. Pair off,” he barks.

  We set to work, rotating teams and training harder than we ever have. Thrace is right. We’re fighting for survival.

  The sun’s last rays slip across the training grounds. Aches and pains plus my muscle-deep exhaustion blot out my thoughts. Rosalind is leaning on the trident, breathing heavily. Cenar sits on the ground with Todd next to him lying on his back wheezing. Only Mesto seems as fresh as when we started, his apparently inexhaustible supply of energy not yet tapped out.

  “Good,” Thrace says. “You might survive. Your dinner is ready, eat.”

  I offer my arm to Rosalind and she leans on it, giving me a brief smile. A long table has been set out laden with food. Whether this is Thrace’s doing or the master splurging on us, I don’t know or care. The food is good, rich, and flavorful, the best we’ve had since arriving. Eating with the gusto of a starved body, I down several helpings before finally feeling full. Thrace joins our circle and eats with us, another new thing.

  “Thrace, what is going on?” Rosalind asks.

  Thrace chews slowly, staring at the plate before him.

  “I don’t know,” he answers, after swallowing. “I’ve been here a long time. This doesn’t happen. Blood games are for criminals or retirement. They’re rare, and never for someone climbing the ladders. A gladiator’s value is in long-term entertainment. A bet of this size, by the king himself?”

  Arcan’s words come back to me. Epis. It has to be about epis and Tajss. When we were captured, I’d resigned myself to never seeing Tajss again. That brought with it a certain appeal. On Tajss, Rosalind and I were prevented from being together by duty and the demands of our positions. All of that was behind us, but it turns out there’s no escaping responsibility.

 
My presence here has set things in motion. Unwelcome things are coming for Tajss, and they’re not ready. Closing my eyes, the weight settles on my shoulders. My plans to escape had been to save Rosalind, but this makes it about more than our personal concerns.

  “Who gains what?” Rosalind asks. “What are the politics of the situation?”

  Thrace shakes his head. “I don’t know. Too many, too varied, but there’s only one thing that ever stirred up the galaxy this much.”

  He stares at me, not saying what he’s thinking, but I know. Rosalind does as well. His suspicions are the same as mine. The king wants to know if Tajss is still viable. He wants epis and control of its distribution. Power in this galaxy was and could be again defined by the one who controls epis.

  Tajss needs to fade back into obscurity. There are only two ways for that to happen. The knowledge they want is in Rosalind and me. Either we escape or . . . The other alternative isn’t an option.

  “All right scrubs, sleep,” Thrace says, rising to his feet. “There will be new strategies to drill tomorrow.”

  He walks away, fading into the black of the night, leaving us sitting in the dark. Todd and Cenar climb to their feet, Cenar’s body making loud grinding noises as the rocks that serve as his skin rub together. The two of them walk into our hut followed by Mesto and K’sara. Rosalind and I sit alone in the dark. She lays her hand over mine.

  “We have to get back,” she whispers.

  “Yes,” I agree. “It’s bad. Worse than I could have expected.”

  Putting an arm around her shoulders, I pull her into a kiss. Her soft, delicate lips ignite the fire, and my first cock is instantly hard, throbbing with need and desire. She is all I want, all I need, and what I would give to be able to push aside everything else and have her.

  She presses against me, the soft mounds of her chest smashing between us, making my core a raging inferno. My cock pounds with need, and blood drains from my head to fill the demands of my dick. Leaning further into her, I bend her before me until she’s on the ground and I’m over her. My massive erection tenting out my pants, I press my hips down, grinding against her. She groans, hands running along my arms and up across my back, lightly stroking my wings.