Quest Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 1)

by Cole Pain

As Bort continued his approach, her life grew more and more precious.

  Fates, she was going to die.

  Alezza towered over her, letting her ebony hair fall around her shoulders now that it was safe from Manda’s contamination. Alezza’s eyes flickered down Bort’s massive form. “You may have her, but make sure she lives.”

  Manda choked back the tears. Why not kill her and be done with it? She was presumed dead anyway. What did Alezza have planned?

  The words Alezza had uttered days ago came back to Manda with blinding force: “Why my dear, you don’t seem excited about having me as your sister?”

  Blessed Fates, Alezza was serious! Alezza planned to marry Chris. She intended to be queen of half the Lands. If Valor told everyone they were dead and Alezza found them alive she would be revered.

  Manda’s mind spun. How could Alezza force Chris into marriage? Sending him pain was futile. Chris wouldn’t acquiesce because of his own suffering. Surely Alezza could see that already. Did Alezza think Chris would relent because of his sister’s suffering? Although the theory was sound surely Alezza would know Manda would speak the truth, no matter their torture. Chris would rather die before he married Alezza, and Chris knew Manda felt the same. Her mind searched for the answers but none were forthcoming.

  As Bort walked forward the grin left his face. All that remained was carnal lust. She stiffened, forcing herself to still.

  Manda tried to turn her gaze as Bort approached, but her eyes wouldn’t leave him. He stretched his arms, crackling bones as if he were coming to combat and not rape. He was a huge man, the largest she had seen, with a barrel chest and burly arms. Coarse hairs carpeted his chest and shoulders, but when he moved pure muscle rippled beneath his skin. His short, black, curly hair brushed the top of the tent as he sauntered forward, grabbing himself as if to present a prize.

  Chris fought to reach her, but she didn’t turn. Her gaze remained locked on Bort. Her whimpers echoed in her ears like a knell of lost innocence, lost dreams, and lost hopes.

  After this her life was never going to be the same.

  Bort’s scent hit her with the force of a brutal blow: sweat and dirt, horse and pig, sex and stench. She drew a deep breath of disgust as her chest heaved in panic.

  Chris screamed into his gag, telling her to fight. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Alezza looked on, waiting for a reason to send Chris pain. His chains echoed in Manda’s mind from far away. All she saw was Bort. All she smelled was Bort. All she heard was her own terrified moans.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to remember anything about Bort when it was done. Something brushed her face. She recoiled, unable to help herself, but when she heard Chris begin to moan she forced her body to still.

  She felt Bort next to her, heard him breathing, and smelled his stench. It seemed to last forever. Terror gripped every bone, wrapping its horrific darkness around her. There was no hope to cling to. This was her new life.

  Bort’s large hands grabbed her around the waist and tore her clothes. He pulled the gag from her mouth and tossed it aside. “I want to hear your screams, girl.”

  Manda lurched forward and bit Bort’s inner thigh. When she heard his grunt she clamped down harder, briefly feeling the elation of the kill.

  But when Chris’ screams reached her ears she heard his agony even through his gag. Bort yanked her off and slapped her. The force of the blow sent her backward, causing her head to hit the iron stake. She felt one of her teeth dislodge. Before she could recover he struck her again. The hollow echo of the blows swam through the pain. Bort’s grunts of effort reaffirmed the severity of each, but Chris’ screams sent a terror inside her no blow could inflict.

  The distant rumble of Alezza’s laugher filtered through the stench with a foul odor of its own.

  Chris’ screams lingered in the night. Manda rolled on the floor, trying to move closer to her brother when another brutal blow landed across her jaw. She heard her bone crack as blood filled her mouth. She spit it out, gagging on the taste, thinking how ironic it was that she was grateful for her own blood. It drowned the taste of dung.

  Chris’ shrieks succumbed as soon as she lay still.

  She forced herself not to move.

  The still air hovered over her, condemning her blood to dry quickly. She felt Bort’s heat and smelt his stench but couldn’t exert the energy to open her eyes. An impetuous laugh sounded around her, deep and vicious. A large hand stole over her nakedness, smearing blood or sweat – she was unsure which – along with it.

  Then Bort rammed into her, grunting with carnal lust.

  Her world was filled with agony, over and over. She didn’t hear. She didn’t see. She was aware of the blows, of the iron stake, of the groping, but it all ran together in a nightmarish quality, burning into one horrific memory.

  She tried to think of other things, telling herself it was only an illusion, that she would wake at any time, but her screams were too much, the pain was too much to rationalize away.

  The night wore on. In time she became as limp as a rag doll. From a distance she heard Bort’s savage cries, his grunts of pleasure and Alezza’s laughter. She felt the blows but they didn’t affect her. She was numb. She neither cried out nor resisted.

  Her brother still screamed, but it was a different kind of scream. She knew they weren’t screams of pain, and she knew they weren’t because of her actions, so she didn’t concentrate on them. She only prayed the Maker would be with him.

  She didn’t know how long it continued. At one point she turned to Chris. His screams had abated and he lay on his side without movement, eyes staring blankly ahead. A thin stream of drool trickled down his chin. Panic flooded through her.

  He was dead. Alezza had killed him.

  She reached for Chris’ hand and clutched it with fervent desperation.

  His skin was still warm. An immense relief washed over her despite what was happening to her own body. Her brother was alive! When his eyes cleared and he saw her for who she was and what was being done to her, a low moan escaped his lips.

  “Be strong,” she mouthed.

  “Leave me,” he whispered before his eyes clouded over and he began to convulse on the floor.

  Manda watched in horror as Chris’ face was washed not with pain, but with pleasure.

  - - -

  “Goodenspy,” Fraul said. “Aaron Goodenspy?”

  Aaron turned his piercing gaze toward Fraul. “Yes, that’s my name.”

  They had left the port city as soon as they were able and had given Zier a wide girth. They had seen regiments traveling from the crown of Newlan, but it was from a safe distance.

  Despite the ominous circumstances, Fraul was having the time of his life. He loved traveling across country, and the Avenger was an added bonus, one he was still relishing. Aaron didn’t speak at great length, but Fraul had no problems keeping the conversation alive, and Aaron seemed to enjoy his stories.

  Just being able to experience how the Avenger went about his quest was sometimes so stimulating Fraul found himself grinning like a madman. At times Aaron sensed his glee and chuckled at his mannerisms.

  Even though Aaron chose not to speak without Fraul asking a direct question, Fraul had become very fond of Aaron. Aaron was upright and moral, judgmental but truthful, and very, very blunt.

  When Fraul wasn’t focused on Aaron, which sadly enough was almost constantly, he worried about Ramie. His king was cunning, but Ramie also had the rage of a hungry manacanard, and that rage could sometimes make him lose his senses.

  Fraul rubbed his goatee and wondered if the manacanard had been reborn with the rebirth of magic. The manacanard had been his one fear as a child. When it did exist not even a dragon could escape harm. The manacanard’s magic was its voice. It could wail a mournful cry, bewitching those who heard it into seeking the voice. When they were close enough the manacanard would strike. Sometimes the manacanard continued to wail until entire legions of men had been ravaged. With a wom
an’s face, a lion’s body, and razor sharp teeth, it had an unnerving intelligence and a strength no human could escape. Once it had you the manacanard could tear your flesh like a ream of silk.

  Shaking off the thought, Fraul turned to Aaron. Aaron said his name was Goodenspy.

  There had been stories of a man with a very similar name almost since the beginning of time, although the name had probably been altered into different renditions and the modern tongue. The story of Ari Goodspeed was told to children when they were old enough to surmount its atrocities. It was a story of betrayal in the worst way, and children were told the story to have the sin of betrayal far removed from their hearts and minds.

  Ari was the middle son of the third king of the Lands. In Ari’s time the Lands were far from their current structure and modernization. The people were of small number, living in the region now known as Yor. Ari was a caring man, helping far more than his brothers, and putting himself in harm’s way when those of lower classes were in need. Ari became a peacemaker between the different settlements, and was sought after to settle disputes, keeping peace for the Lands and also his father’s rule.

  During one of his peacemaking missions, Ari traveled to a small village that had decided to rebel against his father. At the edge of a village he met a girl named Kyra. It was said Kyra was so beautiful many couldn’t look upon her because her beauty shone brighter than the sun.

  Kyra knew her people were planning on taking Ari’s life if he entered their boundaries so she took Ari into town herself. During the negotiations, Kyra and Ari fell in love. The outcome wasn’t only peace but also the joining of the two lands in marriage.

  Ari and Kyra’s love was spoken of in reverent whispers. The two rarely parted. When Ari went on his missions Kyra was at his side, and the more they were together the deeper their love grew.

  Ari’s younger brother, Cyrus, coveted Kyra and wanted her for his own. One day Cyrus approached her and she denied him. She said she would never love any man but Ari and wouldn’t even consider remarrying upon his death.

  Once Kyra denied him, Cyrus’s obsession grew. Cyrus began plotting to frame Ari for the death of their eldest brother, fantasizing he would have both the crown and Kyra for his own. After Cyrus murdered his elder brother he sent guards to Ari’s house with proof of Ari’s guilt. When the guards arrested Ari, Kyra fought them, pointing to Cyrus as the true murderer. Cyrus flew into a rage and ordered the guards to chain Ari to the wall and beat him to the point of death. Cyrus raped Kyra in front of Ari, and then, before Ari’s eyes, he skinned Kyra alive.

  Fraul glanced over at Aaron. If Aaron and Ari were one in the same person the story would be a plausible explanation as to how Aaron had become the Avenger. Fraul shook the thought off. Surely it couldn’t be. Aaron was magic, and magic hadn’t been born during Ari’s time. It had appeared decades later. Besides, the story of Ari Goodspeed was so horrible it couldn’t be factual.

  - - -

  Manda could hear Bort snoring in the tent beside her. She had heard that contented sound as other men came to have their way with her.

  She had lost count as to how many. There were too many. That was all she knew – far too many.

  Alezza had watched the entire time. Her smile would be with Manda for the remainder of her days. At times, she had even heard Alezza’s complacent chuckle.

  Manda had ingrained Alezza’s chuckle to memory. If she ever needed to find her inner strength, she would remember that chuckle. It would ignite a fervor that would send all other thoughts away.

  If, she reminded herself, she was allowed to live. Chris was the one Alezza wanted. She was just someone the spider could play with before she bit. Manda was expendable, and she knew it.

  During the night Manda had realized Alezza’s plan. Throughout her demoralization Chris had grunted with erotic pleasure, not pain. Alezza had exhausted Chris’ strength by sending him intense pain all day. All he could do was welcome the other sensations. Manda didn’t blame him, but at times during the night she had almost gotten sick. Her brother sounded like the men on top of her.

  Chris would soon be Alezza’s puppet. He would hunger for the pleasure and do anything to avoid the pain. Chris would soon agree to Alezza’s demands. Then Manda would no longer be needed. She was expendable.

  Manda squeezed Chris’ hand. He was unresponsive. She tried again as she whispered his name.

  It hurt to move and it hurt to breathe. All she wanted to do was remain still, but her gut told her if she didn’t force Chris to wake he would soon be unable to recognize her. Manda inched closer, feeling a new trickle of blood flow in response to her movement.

  She hadn’t bothered to re-dress. Her clothes were ripped to shreds and she didn’t know if she had any strength to salvage anything. Besides, Alezza had promised more of the same the following night.

  When Manda brushed his face, Chris’ eyes opened and he let out a terrifying sound. It rent her heart.

  “Chris.” Her own voice sounded foreign, but she wasn’t the same person she had been only days ago. Now she knew what pain could be, what terror could be.

  Chris moaned again, but this time it was in more of a human tone. She squeezed his hand, trying to convey her love. Slowly, recognition came into his face.

  His shoulders sunk in sorrow as he took her in his arms. Everywhere he touched it hurt, but she didn’t care. Her brother was whole, and he remembered her. He whispered for forgiveness, saying he had tried to reach her, promising he would kill them all.

  She looked into his face. He had aged years in only days. His face was taut, his eyes devoid of their former zest. All that remained was doleful abandon, mirrored in her own soul, and enmity, not for what had happened to him but what had been done to her.

  Chris rolled to his side. Something shimmered in the dim light. Chris’ hand caught whatever it was and lifted it to her chains. When her lock clicked open Manda gasped, her mind unable to grasp sudden freedom.

  Manda replayed the night in her mind. Bort had undressed, leaving his keys in a heap of clothing. Chris had been near that pile. He had managed to take them.

  She lifted his chains and tugged at them in expectation, but he stopped her with a look. When he spoke, his voice was so low she almost didn’t hear. It was a different voice, a voice that knew torment and hate. “Manda, they’ll come after me. They may not come after you.”

  “No. You’re coming with me.”

  “Manda, you know what she plans. She’ll hunt me. Besides, I have no strength. You must seek help. Find Ren. He’ll know what to do.”

  Manda shook her head, her whole body aching. “If I leave she’ll send you more pain. I can’t do that too you.”

  “She has given me more pain than she ever could tonight.”

  A lone tear trickled down Manda’s cheek when she realized he meant her rape and not his torture. Manda looked deeper into Chris’ eyes. Her brother had known exactly what was being done to him. He had been in his own perdition while she was in hers. She wondered what was worse: being raped and abhorring it or being raped and relishing the sensations but loathing the price?

  The soft crunch of leaves betrayed someone’s movement. Manda jumped, the last of her chains falling from her ankles as a knife ripped down the back of the tent, its silver blade flashing in the moonlight. A black and gold band below the blade signified Zier’s colors - Ren’s colors. Heartbeats later Carter’s face appeared. Manda was too shocked to react. Carter moved silently into the tent and placed a finger over his mouth.

  He quickly looked away. “My lady, I’m sorry. May the Maker’s fates condemn me for being unable to come sooner.” Carter paused, heaving a sigh. “I have one horse. It’s yours, my lady. Take it and get quickly away.”

  The anguish was evident in his voice. Manda looked down at herself. Bruises so deep they were almost black covered her body and dried blood was caked in places she hadn’t realized she was harmed. She could feel the blood on her chin and chest from her shattered ja
w, but she had paid little attention to the other parts that screamed every time she moved. A gash on her shoulder seeped blood, causing her entire left side to appear horrific, and cuts from the chains continued to ooze blood.

  Carter’s red-rimmed eyes locked on her face. “Guards have been surrounding your tent all night. There was no chance for me to come. Now they have all passed out from drink after the … ” His voice broke. Chris’ hand tightened on her own.

  Carter’s eyes flickered to the tent flap. “The patrol looks into your tent every moons’ click. I made sure he passed before I came. We must hurry. We don’t have much time.”

  Manda glanced behind her, expecting an alarm to sound. When none came she quickly turned back to Chris and tried to pull him up. “No, Manda, only you.”

  Carter took off his coat and draped it around her shoulders. His voice wafted to her, soft and sorrowful. “Your brother is right. If both of you aren’t here an alarm will sound.” His eyes bore into her with stark determination. “Both of you will be here.”

  A lump rose in her throat. Carter intended to take her place and fool the guards until morning. By dawn she could be safely away. Manda swallowed back her fear and opened her mouth to insist Chris be the one to go, but when her eyes met her brother’s her words evaporated from her lips. If Manda remained without Chris she would die. If Chris remained without Manda he would live. Alezza’s plans depended on Chris living, at least for a while.

  Manda put her hands to her lips, revulsion filling her at the thought of what she was about to do.

  Carter’s voice floated to her, but she barely heard. Her eyes were riveted on Chris, knowing it may be the last time she would see him sane. Manda leaned down and wrapped her arms around him, barely listening to Carter’s soft drone.

  “Put on my uniform and run through the woods until you reach my horse. He’s by the creek, tied to a sycamore. He’s black and won’t be easily seen. Take him and find help.”

  When she turned to Carter he stood in his undergarments, rubbing chunks of soil on his body.

  He was a small man, not much taller than she, but he had a barrel chest and wide shoulders. His hair came to his chin and hung limp like a soiled rag. His sweat filtered through the air, causing her to remember her defilement. The smell became even more pronounced as she slowly pulled on Carter’s uniform. With each movement her body screamed in pain, but when the outfit was assembled she found the pants fit loosely enough to hang around her hips, protecting her most painful area.