A deep sigh was her only answer. More pressing matters now, like getting out of this cave with at least a sliver of honour intact.
“I was a fool to trap us here.” He stroked her fine hair, knowing he could admit that to her without penalty. She never judged, never gave him the cold shoulder. Claudia was a warrior, like him.
You think you could have resisted the call of that hoard? It gave us a night together and I don’t regret a moment of that. Our time is up; all we have left is to bargain and hope we come out on top.
Claudia pulled away, eyes narrowed in concentration. “What is it?” He listened too, for the whine of charging weapons, the scuffle of feet or the boom of battering rams. Nothing.
Serllia. She’s near.
“Who’s Serllia?” Not the warlord, for Claudia called her a she. No female would ever be a warlord.
You’d be surprised at how much this moon has changed, Tharius. Serllia is a powerful seer who has the warlord’s ear. She hates me.
“So, she will die first. I have weapons secreted here. I will arm up and confront, and you will run.”
Claudia’s eyebrows lifted towards her hairline. She had no need to voice her defiance.
“If you carry my heir, then you must live.” The cudgels and bladed weapons, he kept in a richly decorated and studded metal chest. Did he leave his battle-hammer here, or was that lost in a skirmish? Lacking his dragon’s fire, it was his only hope of getting through the wall to the escape tunnel.
Without your protection, they’ll take me and the baby, anyway. Claudia paused, eyes flaring wide, as if surprised by what she’d said. Then, she set her face and followed him to the chest. We’re in this together, now and always.
“Can you handle a weapon? I had them doubly protected by the wards. Pray the gods they survived.” No time for argument with a stubborn female. If she insisted on standing by him, she would do so armed. He threw open the lid of the chest, relieved to see he’d left it well stocked after his final visit. Three metal-forged swords, a battle-hammer, and a cudgel made of hard wood. Swords made for a man’s height and grip, not a female whose head barely skimmed his shoulder.
I can handle it. Claudia reached in and hauled out the smallest of the swords, holding it in a two-handed grip. Finely honed, as were all his weapons, it would do the work for her, if she adjusted her balance.
“Hold it like this.” Tharius enclosed her, overlaying her hands with his. No problem in his wielding it one-handed, but she must master the dual grip to make a kill.
Was this female whose gift gave life, capable of killing?
If it’s me or them, I’ll do it, Tharius.
“Do not hesitate. I would have you alive.”
Claudia propped the sword against the chest and moved to the clothing rack where a tattered selection of Ekala’s regal gowns hung. They were much of a height, he realised. Why hadn’t he seen that before?
Your mage was powerful indeed. I should like to have met him. And Ekala would be pleased that at least some of her gowns defied the ravages of time. Would she mind if I made use of them?
Claudia pulled out a full-skirted gown that fell to mid-calf, made of the softest, scraped shoa skin. The figure-hugging bodice, studded with the most precious gems from his stash, boasted a modest, scooped neckline. A gown made to reflect his status as a high-born lord of the Draegon, he gave his mate the best of everything.
Claudia touched her finger to a jagged hole and shook her head in regret.
“Take it, but you surprise me. Will that not be impractical to wear in battle?”
Claudia unhooked the gown and held it against her body. There are about half a million people out there I need to impress. One in particular. She looked up at him. I need the boots, and this, I’ll wear over my own gown so I can remove it when I have to. From now on, it’s all about the spectacle. She laughed. Tharius, we make a hell of a better-looking couple than Serllia and Othrid.
Power dressing? Yes, he understood the need for that. Dipping into the chest, he pulled out his battle-hammer and strode to the wall hiding the tunnel.
Already thinned and hewn out at the back to facilitate escape, he had little hope of the hammer penetrating stone thicker than his height, but he must try. The thought of those greedy hands breaking up his hoard made him sick inside.
Tharius, don’t waste your energy. The hoard is lost.
“Don’t say that. Never say that.” He swung, one-armed, putting everything into the blow. The hammer bounced with a ringing clang, sending shock waves through his elbow and shoulder. A fine layer of dust fell, but the stones held defiant and strong.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Claudia disappear into the gown. It fell about her, the skirt flaring. She laced the bodice as she stalked towards him.
Undo all that healing I gave you, and I’ll be mad.
“You would dare speak to me like that?” An undeserved rebuke, but how did she not realise that every failed blow to the wall was a hammer blow to his very self. “Stand back. They will not have the hoard.”
Is freedom worth the price? Claudia dipped hastily away from his next swing, running for the safety of the chest. Tharius, the rivets on that hammer are corroded, the wood rotten. It won’t hold.
The shaft broke on the next blow that made barely a dent in the stone wall. He threw it down in disgust.
Freedom. Yes, he wanted that. But such a price to pay!
Can we hide a portion of the hoard? Come back for it later?
“Once we allow them in, this place will be compromised.”
They’ll come for the treasure and leave. Once violated, this place will be considered haunted by vengeful spirits. That’s what’s kept it safe all this time. After they take it, no one will come back here.
Tharius closed his eyes, squeezing them so tightly, purple light flashed behind his lids. Why did he not think of hiding a portion of the hoard outside of the cave before sealing them both in here? Too beguiling, too beguiled by this reunion with his dazzling treasure, he’d been thinking as a dragon not a general.
Watch.
He opened his eyes at her insistent command. Claudia was at the stash, scooping up the smaller scales that once adorned his tail. He had not shed and replenished many of his scales, not being a dragon of great age, but those that fell were here to keep safe. Claudia pushed two scales into her bodice, then lifted the hem and slipped three more into her underwear.
Serllia will probably sense them, but it’s worth a try.
His scales, next to her most intimate parts. He shook his head. No time for that. Although the delicious thoughts helped keep the connection of interpretation open between them. He followed suit, stuffing his inside pockets with precious jewels. Shoving gold coins into the closed waistband of his hide pants.
Were such baubles of value on this moon, stripped back to this state of base survival? The warrior in him thought not. He’d choose a weapon or shelter and food over a bauble any day.
They’re status symbols to the warlords. Particularly jewels with any dragon provenance. What do you want to do, Tharius?
Claudia stood solemn before him, awaiting his decision. He thanked her for that. His pride had taken quite a blow of late, and the male, the battle commander in him, raged to assert himself.
“First, I wish to pay you compliments. Ekala never wore that gown, but it becomes you well. She had so many to choose from. The russet was not her colour, so she said.”
Another false step of his. Russet was considered unlucky for a mated dragon. He should have realised, but what did a warrior know of such trivialities?
Claudia made a sweeping downward movement, lifting the hem with both hands and bending at the knee. Draegon females bent at both knees when paying homage to royalty. Though her pleasure at the compliment shone from every pore, the mischievous light in her eyes said she teased him. She faltered a little when righting herself and he moved swiftly to steady her.
Hunger, that’s all. I’ll be fine.
You can take me out to dinner. She rose on tiptoe, lips pouted. He needed no more invitation to press his mouth to her lips, to entangle his tongue with hers. The ember burned hotter now, fully awakened, never to lie dormant again. If he must give up the hoard for the small chance of saving them both, he would endure.
“I will appear armed.”
They’ll expect that. Claudia smoothed down the gown, the name Serllia, laden with a hefty dose of hate, whirling in her head. She’s mine, Tharius. Fetch me my sword.
“You’re sure they’re out there?” A sliver of hope beat in his chest. Surely he hadn’t spent two hundred years in stone only to be fodder for the hungry eyes? The gods had brought him back for a purpose, and he wondered as he retrieved the weapons whether that purpose, in planting a new Draegon seed, had been fulfilled.
Claudia nodded and took the sword. The pale hair, the formal receiving gown together with a battle sword, made an odd picture. But he was learning fast that odd and strange were his new normality.
“Then tell me what happens next. You know more of this than I.”
Two things. The arena or a hunt. The challenger sometimes gets to choose which, but that’s ultimately down to the viewers.
“They will use you as bait?” He picked that horrible thought from her mind. No, he wouldn’t walk out of here and let that happen. But where would he hide her?
Tharius, this was going to happen wherever they cornered us. Be glad they gave us the night. It was all we were ever getting.
He lifted the sword, sighting along the blade. A familiar friend, he found it straight and true, if a little tarnished for lack of oiling. The chappe of the scabbard still set firmly in the hilt.
“They will make me fight for you, then?” He fished out a sword harness for them both. The Draegon in male form wore their swords slanted at their backs, the harness crossed over their chests. Too big for her, but she must make do. If this Serllia awaited her, he would not send her out without a fighting chance.
That’s their favourite scenario. Fight for me in the Arena, or hunt me in the Chase and hope you get to me before the wyvern I humiliated and the warlord I insulted by daring to run from him.
“And what of this Serllia?”
She’ll want it out with me. To show off a little, first. Killing me now is too simple.
“Remember that you are dragon and a seer, Claudia. That gives you twice the power.” Why did Claudia almost welcome the confrontation with this seer? More was going on in her mind than he could discern. “But do not invite trouble. That is my task.”
He was wasting time, avoiding having her open that door. He indulged himself in one last touch of his hoard, started as a collection that barely filled his palm and so obsessively grown to this beautiful stack. It hurt to let go.
He spun around, the sword held high. His dragon roared out a silent protest. It would never forgive this insult. Walk out and don’t look back. The only way to deal with this and remain sane.
He focussed on Claudia, instead, weighed down by the sword, incongruous in the formal gown. How could that invisible audience fail to be impressed when the door opened to reveal them standing side by side?
They’ll love it, Tharius. We just have to keep them onside.
He moved from foot to foot, limbering his leg muscles. Surrender was never an option, but his brother may be out there, captive to the evil Corporation who filled the vacuum left by the invaders, and he could not help him by skulking in the shadows.
General Tharius of Dra’Kathis never shied away from a challenge, and he would not do so now. He lifted the bar, threw back the bolts, while Claudia muttered incantations and touched the codes to the door.
He swung it open to find an orb hovering at the ledge to the cavern.
“Sun’s up, dragon. That means our deal is at an end.”
Tharius. Demand to know what the viewers wish to see next.
They walked past the great bed to the opening big enough for a dragon to alight and take flight. He saw the scuff marks where claws had cleaved stone as his grandfather in ages past, then he and Ekala, his squire and her body maid, landed from their flight. He might take down the orb with one blow of his sword. Or he might reach out too far and topple into the void, absent the ability to shift to his full dragon and fly to safety.
Too much of a risk to do other than comply. The rest on his hoard had restored some of his former strength, but he was nowhere near his full power.
You’re sure, Claudia that this is the only way?
It’s the only way we’ll live to fight another day. Don’t mention your brother. Don’t give them anything else to play with.
I do not like this game.
And yet we must play or die.
And so it seemed. He would have sooner leaped from the cliff edge and given himself to the gods once more. But, his last rash action to protect his mate came to naught. That could not happen again.
“So,” he said, spreading his arms wide, the sword hanging negligently from his fingers. “These watchers, what do they want next of us?”
“A reveal of whatever you’ve been hiding behind that door, of course. And then a game or two.”
“It’s protected, you’ll never get inside.”
“You breached it, so the protection will be weak. Our mystic will get inside.”
Serllia. Claudia spat the seer’s name into his mind and then spoke to the camera. You’re letting Othrid in on this?
“Othrid will feature at some time, yes. But that is another game entirely.” The operator behind the eye grated out a laugh. “For now it is all about the hoard. How many will die fighting for your treasure? The viewers are voting already. And Claudia, they’ve already voted you extra points for the gown. Your dragon there could learn a thing or two from you.”
Let it go, Tharius. Look, I’m putting down my sword. They have wyverns, Othrid’s war-band and Serllia. We’re outnumbered. We were always outnumbered.
How can you be so calm, so accepting? He was shaking. Rage turning his vision red, anguish threatening to cleave his heart in two. Grey clouds rumbled overhead, matching his dark mood. Not yet at his full, fighting strength, frozen in this half-shift. And at the whim of this speaking orb that sought to dictate to a general of the Draegon army? Tharius gripped the sword, touching the hilt to his chest in the Draegon salute.
Because that’s how it is. Claudia tugged on his arm, urging him back from the ledge. We can win this, but not today.
Walk away, and he could well imagine the frenzy of greedy eyes and hands descending on his precious hoard. Did that really matter more than their lives?
Yes. His dragon’s silent roar rattled his brain.
No, you have her to think of, his male countered. Do whatever keeps her safe, even at the cost to your pride.
Two more eyes, larger, angular, slid in to flank the orb.
“Step away, dragon. They’re waiting for you downstairs.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then we’ve brought along a little help.”
A dark shadow rolled across the grey sky, and every muscle in his body tensed at the most hated sound. The whining, staccato beat of wyvern wings. The traitors rose from the depths of the void like avenging demons, four of them flying in to alight on the cavern ledge in a seamless shift to male form.
Tharius nudged Claudia, covering her with his body and the angled sword.
Precious little protection against a quartet of healthy wyverns, stalking them with death in their eyes.
“No, don’t touch them.” The controller barked out his command. “Disarm and capture, the viewers want them alive.”
“The cursed female is mine.” A craggy, scar-faced wyvern lunged at Claudia, who’d already anticipated his move and ducked away. She looked terrified.
“Touch her, and
you die where you stand.” Tharius stood rigid between them, in the grip of the battle calm now, where reckless thought gave way to clarity of purpose, and everything narrowed down to him and the threatening wyvern.
“Escort them down,” the controller ordered. “Prepare the scene for the hoard reveal.”
Don’t look back, Tharius. Don’t fight them, or we’ll never leave this cave alive.
Am I to give up my sword like a youngling pissing his pants at his first battle?
Your job is to live through this trial. She pleaded with her eyes. Give the viewers what they want, and we get to write the rules of the next encounter. Do you understand?
He did not, but the wyvern eyed his mate with more than a male’s lust. Violent death lurked in that gaze, and he could not protect Claudia injured or dead. Tharius extended his arm, the sword point facing down, yielding his position with such fierce reluctance that the wyverns curled back their lips and sneered, visibly enjoying his humiliation. Claudia seemed able to bend her honour with the winds of fortune, but he felt only the betrayal of everything he’d ever held dear. Urged by his dragon, he almost snatched it back for one last glorious stand.
They’ll kill you. Too many of them. And when you’re dead…
The wyverns would have her, all four of them in front of those floating eyes and the watchers beyond. Tharius’s fingers slackened. The sword clattered to the stone floor.
Now all he needed to do was move.
His feet would not obey. It took every jot of his male’s will to persuade the dragon to release its hold and take the first humiliating step to the stairs.
Outside the cave, the storm unleashed its fury, battering at the stone, rocking the eyes, and sending rain streaming across the floor of his lair. One of the wyverns pulled away the rotted rags covering the bed and dumped it onto the floor, another jerked at the remains of the hide wall hangings, tearing them from their poles in wanton acts of destruction.
What else did he expect from wyverns? Tharius watched them with a growing sense of detachment. Had he not already said his goodbyes? Walked away to war, knowing the chances of return were slim?
STONE DRAGON: A Prison Moon Series Romance Novel Page 20
