“You destroyed a powerful dragon artifact?” Bhodian raised skeptical eyebrows, looking Trip up and down again. “A day ago, I might have believed that, but after seeing how easily you fell into my trap…”
“Look, I’m an army officer and a pilot, not a sorcerer. As you saw. My team destroyed the portal.” Technically, it might simply be buried under all the ice and rock, but Trip saw no reason to mention technicalities, especially to someone who made a living off turning a profit.
“Yes,” the man said, his voice turning dryer than the desert beyond the city, “I’ve heard Iskandian pilots are often issued not one but two soulblades after successfully completing their training.”
“That’s a long explanation. One is along to spy on me.”
Bhodian blinked a few times, then snorted. “You have a unique story, I’ll wager. I’m half-tempted to stand here all night and talk to you, but you have knowledge that I seek, and it would be best to extract it sooner rather than later. I know you have other team members in the city.”
“Extract it?” That did not sound promising.
“You could make it easy on yourself and simply tell me,” Bhodian offered.
Trip gripped the cool bars. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next.
“The stasis chambers. I will soon have one, and I want the rest.”
Soon have? Damn, did that mean it wasn’t here on the barge yet? Had this been yet another wasted trip?
“Alas,” Bhodian continued, “it seems they’ve been relocated. I want to know where they are.”
“To do now what you failed to do twenty-five years ago?” Trip asked numbly.
“Indeed. Back then, I had no idea there were more of you in the dragon’s lair. Zherie promised me you were the only one.” He grunted. “Never believe a woman, especially if you’re sleeping with her.”
Trip rocked back on his heels at the naked admission, and at the horrifying notion that his mother could have found this crime lord an appealing bedmate.
“As I said, you’re a disappointment, but if I had the opportunity to raise a number of those half-dragon babies from birth, or near-birth, I could ensure they lived up to their heritage, that they would learn young to wield the power necessary to make me a very wealthy man.”
“Aren’t you already a very wealthy man? You have a floating palace replete with trapdoors in the foyer to get rid of intrusive door-to-door salesmen. And mages.”
“I have wealth. I do not yet have a legacy. But I will. History will remember Bhodian Ygadrenon. Born a pauper, but a pauper no more.”
“Congratulations. How about you let me go so I can go home to defend my country from dragons? Believe it or not, I’m good at piloting and battling them.” Why was he telling the man that? Trip groaned inwardly. He shouldn’t feel the need to defend himself to this moneyed monster.
“I’m willing to let you go and do that if you tell me where I can find the stasis chambers and their occupants.”
“So they can be raised by someone who wants to use them for their power?”
“Do you think your Iskandian king will allow something different to happen if you take them back to your homeland?”
“I haven’t had a chance to discuss it with him yet, but they’re my siblings. I will ensure they have good childhoods and good lives, to the best of my abilities.”
“They will have good lives here with me. They will be valued for what they can do. I will treat them as the children I was never able to have, and Grekka will teach them. By the time they are your age, they will be extremely powerful sorcerers. They may rule nations.”
“Doubtful. Now that dragons are back in the world, there will be a lot more half-dragon babies born, I’m sure.”
Bhodian shrugged. “Then they’ll be prepared to succeed in the new world that is upon us. And they will serve me loyally. I will have my legacy.”
Trip wondered if the megalomaniac thought he could take over a major country. Iskandia? The empire?
“Tell me where they are,” Bhodian said, his gaze hard as it held Trip’s. “Despite your breaking-and-entering tendencies, I harbor you no ill will. I’m willing to let you go once I’ve acquired the babies.”
“All of them?”
This man was a loon if he envisioned raising eight babies all around the same age. Eight babies with magical talent. His grandparents had had trouble enough raising Trip.
“Even the animals. Though Grekka will probably take those. She does love animals. She’s quite put out with you for killing so many of her pets. I believe she would enjoy being present at your torture session.”
“Oh, has that been booked? I thought we were still negotiating.”
“I sense that you aren’t interested in helping me. You disapprove of me. As odd as it is, you believe yourself superior to me.”
Morally superior, maybe.
“I’ve seen that look before. As I said, I grew up in poverty. People looked down on me for most of my life. Now…” Bhodian clenched a fist and touched his knuckles to an amulet on his chest—it was probably made from the tainted iron and what had kept Trip from reading his thoughts in the warehouse. “People no longer look down on me. If they do, they’re sorry.” His head tilted. “I do wonder how much pain a half-dragon man can take before succumbing. Will you resist torture for longer than a typical human, or will your soft upbringing mean that you crumble as soon as the master executioner’s tools touch your skin?”
“Should I be concerned that you’ve tortured enough people to know what’s typical?” Trip asked, keeping his chin—and his bravado—up, even though his heart wasn’t in it. He dreaded the idea of losing the stasis chambers—the babies—to this man, and it horrified him that Bhodian apparently already had the little girl. Or he would soon. Trip had to fight back tears at the idea of his siblings being raised by someone who only wanted to use them for their power.
“Very concerned, yes.” Bhodian turned away from Trip and walked toward the hatch. “I shall arrange for you to be questioned within the hour.”
“Good, I’d hate for there to be an unseemly delay,” Trip called as the man disappeared from sight, swallowed by the shadows.
A hatch clanged shut. Trip leaned his brow against the bars again, hardly caring that they were likely the source of his headache. The tears he hadn’t been willing to shed in front of his enemy came now, dribbling down his cheeks and splashing to the unfeeling hull at his feet.
10
If she could reach her pistol, she might have a chance.
The massive creature on her back—a bear?—dug its claws into her shoulder, the pain almost making her forget the bullet wound throbbing in her abdomen. She thrashed and kicked, trying to distract it or dislodge it, but the creature must have weighed five hundred pounds.
It thwacked her on the back of the head, and the strap holding her spectacles on her face snapped. They tumbled from her nose and cracked on the deck. Even though her spectacles should have been far down on her list of worries, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of concern that they would be broken. Then those claws dug in again, tearing the back of her shirt and sinking into flesh. She screamed, though she doubted anybody was around to help her. Wherever Trip was, he was sure to have his own problems.
She pounded her fist into the deck as she thrashed again, trying to work her other hand down to her pistol. With the bear pinning her, she could barely lift her torso from the deck. Even if she reached the weapon, she’d wrapped it in that oilskin. She would need time to unwrap it to fire.
Would a bullet even kill a bear charged up with dragon blood? She had a dagger sheathed at her waist, too, but she was even more pinned on that side, the creature crouching on her with its crushing weight.
Her fist cracked against the frames of her spectacles. An idea snapped into her mind. She grabbed the frames and smashed them to the deck, hoping to break the lenses. One side cracked. She flicked the broken glass out with her thumb, cutting herself but not caring.
A cold nose touched the back of her neck, and she shrieked, thrashing again. She twisted as much as she could, which wasn’t very much, keeping the broken lens in her hand. She thrust her arm over her shoulder and slashed the lens toward that cold nose. It struck the bear’s snout, but she couldn’t tell if it sank in enough to hurt.
Until a roar pounded her eardrums.
The bear reared up on its hind legs, pawing at the air, or at its nose. Its weight still had her pinned, but she could lift herself enough to yank out the pistol. She tore one-handedly at the oilskin bag as the bear sank back down, one paw landing on her shoulder, pinning it again. With her left hand, she jerked the pistol free and aimed it, hardly able to point it in the right direction from that angle.
She fired, hoping the sound would scare the animal even if the bullet didn’t land. The report thundered right next to her ear.
Again, the bear reared up, but this time, its entire weight left her.
Hardly able to believe her luck, Rysha pushed herself to her knees to shoot again. But a blast of pain came from her abdomen, and she doubled over. The bear was less than a foot away, on its hind legs and roaring in agony.
Rysha could only rise up enough to shoot it in the gut. She hadn’t been sure if her first bullet landed, or where it had hit if it did, but she saw this one burrow into the bear’s flesh.
The creature dropped to all fours, and she scrambled backward on hands and knees. If it charged…
But it didn’t. It leaped over the railing, a huge splash of water sending droplets all the way up to pelt Rysha’s face.
She gripped her abdomen, hot blood oozing through her fingers, and pointed her pistol up and down the walkway, certain some guard had been watching the whole encounter and had orders to put her out of her misery if the bear didn’t succeed.
Without her spectacles, everything was blurry, but she didn’t see anyone in either direction. That shocked her, especially given the sound of the gunfire, but she was surely due for some luck. She would take it. She just hoped she could use it.
Rysha wanted to break down and cry over the loss of the sword, but this wasn’t the time. Trip needed her.
She patted around on the deck for her spectacles, a deck wet with water—and her blood. She told herself that Trip could heal her if she could just find him. If she could survive long enough to do that, she had a good chance of living. Of course, she would have to get him away from the barge so he could use his powers.
“One problem at a time,” she whispered, her hand brushing broken glass and finally the frames of her spectacles.
She lifted them close to her eyes. One of the lenses remained intact. It was cracked, but when she set the bent frames on her nose, she could see. Sort of. But only out of one eye.
“The deadly and ferocious Lieutenant Ravenwood to the rescue,” she muttered.
She tried to push herself to her feet, using the wall for support, but all the blood seemed to drain from her head. Her vision grew dark, and dizziness swept over her. She was aware of her knees hitting the deck, but it seemed to happen far, far away. She clawed toward wakefulness, terrified she would die if she let herself lose consciousness here, but blackness swallowed her.
When she woke, gasping in pain, she stared around, confused for a moment before her memories rushed back to her. She was still on the deck, still alone, but cold now. Very cold. She touched her abdomen, grimacing when her cold fingers encountered warm blood still seeping out.
She couldn’t have been unconscious for long. Maybe she’d fainted because she’d stood up too fast.
“Sorry, Trip,” she muttered. “Might have to rescue you from my knees.”
Wherever he was, he didn’t answer.
The pistol lay on the deck in front of her, and she picked it up. Once again using the wall for support, Rysha rose, very slowly this time.
The blackness encroached again, but she paused, taking deep breaths, willing the moment to pass. She kept one hand to her abdomen, doing her best to staunch the bleeding. Her other hand was numb, but she kept her fingers curled around the pistol. She was well aware that she didn’t have many more bullets. Had she been smart, she would have brought an extra box of ammo, but she’d assumed she would be using Dorfindral out here among a sorceress and magical animals.
“Worry about that later,” she panted.
She eased down the walkway, her shoulder against the wall, and reached the corner of the palace. She’d gone toward the back of the barge instead of the front, hoping for an unguarded rear entrance. The deck widened, and she heard people shouting, but it was coming from the other side of the palace. She didn’t see anyone outside in the back.
Leaving blood all over the wall she was using for support, Rysha made her way to a door. As she reached for the latch, a nearby roar made her jump.
“Get ’em, come on!” a man yelled from the other walkway.
“Just get them to my ship,” a woman shouted. Grekka? “Once they’re over here, I can control them.”
More roars answered her.
Rysha almost ignored it all to go through the door, but she shuffled toward the corner, clenching her pistol tightly. If she had the chance to shoot Grekka while she was over on this barge where magic didn’t seem to work well, shouldn’t she take it? Rysha didn’t know if she could act the role of a sniper and shoot someone in cold blood, but after the woman had left her to die, she didn’t feel kindly toward her. And the blood trickling through her fingers was warm, not cold.
No less than eight animals roared and yowled on the side walkway. At the far end of it, a man with a whip and a huge prod with a glowing orange tip tried to coerce more animals into the narrow passage. At first, Rysha thought the prod was glowing with magic, and wondered how that could be, but then she realized it was from heat. That tool was more like a branding iron than a simple metal prod. As she watched, the man applied it to an ape’s hindquarters. The creature jumped forward, yowling and beating at the wall.
Maybe this was why nobody had heard the gunshots, or, if they had, hadn’t been able to go investigate. They had been too busy herding the deadly animals. At least the scene suggested to Rysha that she hadn’t been unconscious for long.
She spotted Grekka, her black-and-silver hair gleaming under the palace’s outdoor lamps. Unfortunately, Rysha didn’t have a good shot at her. A winged lion stood in the way, its tail swishing as it faced the woman. The woman who was keeping complete chaos from breaking out by tossing what appeared to be cubes of meat into the animals’ mouths.
“That mage hurled the ramp into the harbor,” someone yelled from the warehouse barge. The vessel had lined up with the palace barge, side by side, and it was only a couple of meters away.
“Throw a damn board down,” Grekka yelled.
“We’ll get them across it,” the man with the heated prod added with determination.
Rysha backed away from the corner. She might get a chance to shoot Grekka in the back if she waited long enough, but she also might pass out from blood loss if she lingered. Better to find Trip, especially if this maneuvering of the animals was keeping the crew occupied.
Thank the gods, the back door was unlocked. She didn’t have bullets to waste shooting off locks, and Grekka would definitely hear a pistol going off that close.
Rysha eased the door open. There was a step up, and her stomach objected painfully when she lifted her leg. She lurched sideways, almost tumbling down a stairwell.
The stairs were to the left of a straight passage with a galley opening to the right. More animal noises came from the route ahead, and at the end of the passageway, a well-lit marble-floored room was visible. A humongous snake slithered into view, then continued out of it again. A man carrying something that looked like a rat on a stick trailed after it.
“Come on, Droofy. Your friends have all gone home. It’s time to get back in your cage.”
The snake handler didn’t glance down the passageway toward Rysha. Fortunately. She looked into t
he dark galley and debated whether to try the stairs or to venture into that well-lit front room. She would have to deal with at least one person if she went that way. And one snake.
Voices came from down the stairway, and her ears perked. Was it her imagination, or did that sound like Trip? They came from too far away to hear words, but she was fairly certain…
Wincing, Rysha levered herself onto the stair landing. Her legs were going numb. This reminded her unpleasantly of the bite she’d taken from the giant tarantula. Though at least she’d managed to kill the tarantula. And hadn’t lost a priceless magical sword in the process.
As she descended the narrow stairs, moving as quietly as possible, she realized the odds of her making it back up them without help were poor.
“Please be down here, Trip,” she breathed.
A scream of pure agony echoed from below, and she fell against the wall. Her stomach sank. She’d never heard Trip scream in pain, but she was certain that was his voice.
She rushed down the stairs as quickly as she could, fighting pain with each step. At the bottom, a large cargo hold took up the entire lower level of the barge. A portable brazier in the center danced with flames, highlighting a man standing in front of a cage. Long tools stuck out of the fire, and the man held one that appeared to have been freshly removed, for the tip glowed cherry red. It was similar to the prod being used on the animals.
He pushed the red-tipped tool between the bars. The person trapped inside tried to dart away, but he’d been shackled, his wrists and ankles chained together and clasped to the locked gate. He couldn’t move enough to avoid the prod or lift his arms enough to knock it away. His shirt had been torn open, and the scorching iron found bare flesh. He screamed again. Trip screamed.
Unraveled Page 14
