by J. K. Barber
“Jar…” Sasha started to speak, before her words were cut off by painful coughing. White-hot pain exploded in her side and her vision dimmed briefly. Thankfully, the coughing fit was short and as Sasha’s sight cleared she saw both the ice orc and Jared staring at her. The orc’s expression was one of surprise while the hunter still wore a face twisted in feral anger. Beneath Jared’s expression though, a look of concern slowly won out over the rage. His face relaxed and he slumped against his chains. Never having completely risen, the woodsman fell fully to his knees again.
The ice orc stepped away from Jared, taking three ground-eating strides to stand above Sasha’s prone figure. Sasha looked up into the creature’s face seeing only cruel amusement. What could have been a grin revealed yellowed crooked teeth in the orc’s black mouth, punctuated by vicious looking canines on the top and bottom of a gruesome looking maw.
The beast raised its foot and Sasha tensed, throwing her arms over her face, expecting a booted heel to come crashing down. Instead, with deliberate slowness the orc tapped his iron-shod toe against Sasha’s ribs. Unbidden, a small cry of pain escaped the young woman’s lips, before she could clamp her jaw down, stifling the sound. The ice orc grinned wider and pressed his toe harder against Sasha’s side. Wholly screaming in pain this time, unable to keep quiet, Sasha did her best to twist her wounded side away from the orc’s foot, which only caused the swordswoman more pain and the sickly grinding sound of bone on bone to return.
“Get away from her, you motherless son of a whore!” Jared yelled at the orc. The beast turned to look once again at the woodsman, Sasha forgotten for the time being. “I swear to the Mother if you….” The hunter’s words were cut off as the orc rushed across the intervening distance and drove his massive fist into the side of Jared’s head. The woodsman crumpled to the ground barely moving.
Sasha began to cry out but thought better of it looking at the massive orc standing over Jared. The brute gave Jared one final kick to the back before storming out of the tent, colder air from outside rushing into the tent before the thick flap fell back into place.
Jared rolled over to face Sasha.
“Why?” the swordswoman asked weakly.
“Why what?” Jared replied, spitting more blood into the muck. The hunter painfully hauled himself up into a sitting position, resting his back against the wooden pillar to which he was chained.
“Why did you start to get up again?” Sasha looked at the man. His eyes were sunken, his thick stubble was caked in mud and blood and the left side of his face was already beginning to bruise from where the orc had struck him.
“I guess I just don’t know any better,” Jared replied, his voice heated. Sasha looked askance at the hunter, trying to figure out why his anger was directed at her. Before she could give voice to her inquiry, Sasha heard a tiny voice at her ear.
“Don’t bother,” Chyla said. Sasha couldn’t help but start, eliciting a further blossom of pain from her side. “He’s been like that ever since he woke up. I think that big blue-skinned beast likes the reaction he gets out of Jared. That’s why the orc comes into the tent so much.” Stealthily, the tiny girl moved to Sasha’s side, hovering just above the muddy ground. Chyla motioned to Sasha, indicating that she needed a little concealment. The young swordswoman rolled slightly, causing her broken ribs to protest once again, so as to shield the Nhyme girl from the other soldiers. Chyla landed lightly on Sasha’s stomach and then maneuvered her way inside the swordswoman’s thick white bearskin coat. Soon Sasha felt two small points of cold on her bare skin as the Nhyme placed her hands on Sasha’s side. Then a soothing warmth spread across Sasha’s body as Chyla’s healing magic took hold. Other than a disconcerting moment as Sasha’s ribs shifted back into place, the experience was as soothing as she remembered. Intense heat, never reaching the point of discomfort, was followed by the blessed cessation of pain. Sasha took several deep breaths, enjoying the feeling of being able to fill her lungs fully. The young warrior relaxed; only realizing then that she had been keeping her muscles tensed, afraid to move too much for fear of the pain.
Chyla, on the other hand, emerged from beneath Sasha’s coat looking exhausted. The little Nhyme brought only her head and arms above the edge of Sasha’s clothing, before collapsing with a tired sigh. “Whew,” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow. “You big people take a lot out of me. You mind if I rest here for just a bit?”
Sasha couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “Not at all little one. Take as much time as you need. I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere anytime soon.” Sasha looked around the tent again. She was chained the same way as Jared, iron manacles on her wrists, attached to chains leading to a thick wooden post driven into the ground. Katya though, had her wrists bound tightly behind her with a long length of leather cord, her arms wrapped around a log driven into the ground as tall as the young sorceress. Additionally, a thick leather strap was fastened over her mouth, barely giving her enough room to breathe through her nose. As savage as the orcs were, they knew about sorcery and how to deal with sorcerers. Sasha swore under her breath, eliciting a look of concern from Chyla.
“Did I miss something?” the exhausted looking Nhyme said, making to rise.
“No,” Sasha replied. “Keep resting, I’m just not liking the situation we’re in here.”
“You’re not the only one,” Chyla said, indicating the other captives. Sasha looked at the others, with the exception of Jared, who still looked angry, and Katya who looked sad, everyone else’s faces held looks of resignation.
“Chyla, can you cut me free?” the swordswoman asked.
“Yes, but that won’t do us much good with an entire camp of orcs outside,” the Nhyme replied.
Sasha slumped, the reality of the situation deflating any ideas of fighting their way out. Mala would know how to get us out of here, she thought. She still could not bring herself to look at Mistress Mala, unsure of how to deal with the transformation she had witnessed. In truth though, it was not that Mala was different, the Great Mother knew Sasha and Katya weren’t your run-of-the-mill warrior and sorcerer. Even Jared had something that set him apart from the rest of humanity. It was the fact that Mala had kept her difference a secret from the twins all of their lives that hurt Sasha so much. Mistress Mala was more than a teacher to Sasha; the swordmistress was like a favorite aunt to the twins. With Sasha and Katya’s mother’s death, Mala had in some ways become like a mother to them, doing her best to fill the gap left by Dara’s passing. We all have secrets, Sasha thought to herself, and reasons for keeping them. But we should share them with those we trust. The young swordswoman thought of the night she had spent in the Temple of the Great Mother with Jared and the secret he had shared with her. The night seemed like a lifetime ago and Sasha feared such a tender moment would never pass between the two of them ever again.
Sasha saw, rather than felt, Chyla begin to stir. “I feel rested enough to try another mending,” the tiny girl said, though the weary look on her face contradicted her words. “I should be strong enough to heal Jared,” the Nhyme girl looked over to the hunter, apprehension on her face, “if he’ll let me near him. Last time I tried to help him I thought he was going to eat me.”
“Let me see if I can help,” Sasha said, turning her attention to the brooding woodsman. “Jared,” she said softly. The hunter turned to look at her, his face half hidden by his long hair. The rage that smoldered just behind his eyes was unmistakable though. Jared was not dealing well with being held captive. “Jared,” Sasha repeated, gently pleading. “I… we, need you to calm down, please.” The hunter cocked his head slightly, looking as though he was trying to remember something. “If you let her, Chyla can make you feel better, I promise.” Jared looked at the tiny Nhyme girl, the quizzical look on his face becoming more intense. Sasha thought she was breaking through to the man she knew. “You can trust me… us,” she added hastily. “We won’t hurt you.”
Jared stared at Sasha for several long m
oments before something in the hunter’s eyes changed. His body relaxed, no longer looking like it was tensing to spring forward, and the muscles of his jaw unclenched. Jared sighed, slumping against the post behind him. “Very well,” Jared said, his voice sounding thicker and deeper than Sasha remembered. “Get over here,” he said to Chyla, his tone indicating that he was more tired than angry.
Chyla hesitated for a moment, looking to Sasha. The swordswoman nodded, hoping she was showing more confidence than she felt about Jared’s frame of mind. It must have worked, because Chyla took flight, hovering just above the ground, and moving slowly towards Jared. When the hunter did not lash out as the Nhyme got close, Chyla quickly slipped into Jared’s clothing the same way she had with Sasha’s. Soon enough, the hunter sighed deeply as the pain of his injuries passed. A tired looking Chyla once again emerged, but this time, instead of staying where she was, the diminutive girl flew away from Jared, past Sasha and into the hood of Katya’s cloak, disappearing from view.
The Mother must have been watching over them, for no sooner had Chyla disappeared from sight than the tent flap flew open again, filling the tent with an icy blast of cold air. The same orc that had been beating Jared before stepped in, and the hunter was immediately on his feet, straining against his manacles. All the calm that Sasha had elicited from the woodsman was gone in an instant. Two more orcs stepped into the tent as well, flanking the first. They shared a few words in their guttural language, gesturing at Jared and laughing heartily. This only served to inflame the hunter more as tiny bits of spittle flew from Jared’s mouth as he raged against his bonds. After a moment watching the woodsman thrash about, the trio of orcs moved past Jared. Sasha pulled her legs in, hoping to fend off any intentions the beasts had towards her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Katya do the same. Neither needed have bothered though. Instead, the orcs bypassed the twins, grabbing one of the other soldiers instead. Valiantly, but vainly, the man tried to fight off the three blue-skinned brutes, receiving a wicked beating for his efforts. When the orcs were done, the soldier, a dark-haired man older than the twins but younger than Mala, was dragged unconscious from the tent.
Sasha was ashamed she did not know the man’s name as the tent flap closed and the poor man was hauled away, never to be seen again.
Despite the cold climate in Snowhaven, Sirus still felt like he was sweating. Do dragons sweat?, he wondered. He glanced around at his clutchmates, a word that was still odd sounding in his head and looked more closely at them. Huge Walron, fearless in his immensity, bowed before the Ice Queen, touching his chin to the frozen ground of the Warrior School’s training yard at her feet. Five Shadow Walkers, their lifeless gazes looking on impassively, stood along the inner walls of the large enclosure. Through the connection he had with all the other dragons, Sirus felt Walron’s emotions. The enormous drake was proud to have been picked by Salamasca. Despite the fact that his obedience was compulsory, Walron felt it was his place, as the strongest amongst them to be the Empress’ mount. A position he considered to be one of honor.
Sirus pushed his mind further, trying to slip sideways into Walron’s thoughts, similar to how he used to communicate with the animals of the forest, in an attempt to further probe his clutchmate’s mind. Almost imperceptibly, Walron twitched the end of his massive tail and Sirus saw the great dragon’s eye turn towards him. Though Walron did not move his head, Sirus felt the full weight of his larger brother’s presence upon him. In his mind, Sirus had just enough time to see an image of both of Walron’s draconian eyes glaring at him before the connection between the two was severed, like a massive portcullis slamming down. Sirus knew Walron was there, could see him through the gate that had been shut, but could not reach him.
A shudder passed through all the other dragons. Misae, Niambe, Sindai and even little Isa all raised their heads suddenly.
What happened? Misae asked. I can sense Walron, but his thoughts are closed to me. Sirus could feel Misae’s mind turning. The smartest of the dragons, having already learned how to read and speak Illyander and even beginning to piece together the guttural language of the ice orcs, Misae was trying to figure out what had just happened. Sirus had the mental image of a young girl standing before a drawbridge puzzling out how the gears, pulleys and levers worked.
How? asked Isa, through their connection, though Sirus had a different sense from the clever little drake. Sirus pictured a young girl studying a closed door, not trying to figure out how it worked, but attempting to discern a way to pick the lock.
Walron, what are you doing? asked Sindai, his voice deep and strong across the link between the dragons. Fearless, even in the presence of the Empress of Ice, Sirus could sense the panic in the young drake. Never before had one of the clutchmates shielded their mind from one another. From their thoughts Sirus gathered that they didn’t even know it could be done.
Niambe simply turned her head and stared at her larger sibling, the hurt obvious in her eyes, even had Sirus not had the benefit of the mental link with all the other dragons.
Sirus tried to invade my mind, Walron finally said across their shared consciousness, briefly allowing them access again. He was trying to steal my thoughts. Walron’s mental tone reminded Sirus of when he had confronted one of his former students about a fight with another young boy. Sirus knew that his charge had not started the brawl; however the way his pupil had savagely beaten the other youth was grossly out of proportion to the threat presented. For a brief moment Sirus saw Jared’s face in his mind’s eye and wondered how his foster son was faring.
Walron! Sindai thought. Sirus wasn’t trying to steal your thoughts. He’s your brother. All his thoughts are open to you as yours should be to him… to all of us.
Why did you do it? Misae asked, still trying to figure the matter out.
How did you do it? Isa chimed in, though Sirus knew that her inquiry was more mischievous than Misae’s.
Who’s Jared? Niambe inquired of Sirus, shocking the former human to fully attend the conversation at hand.
Sirus tried to frame a response that the other dragons would understand, but before he could fully translate his relationship with the other young woodsman, terrible pain flared out across his shoulder, spreading like lightning through his veins until he lay gasping on the frozen ground. Almost before he could register what had happened, the pain was gone leaving its horrible memory behind. Normally such pain erased whatever rebellious thought had entered his head, however, such was not the case this time. This agony had been inflicted directly and deliberately by the Empress herself. As Sirus’ vision cleared he saw his tormenter standing in the snow in front of him.
“Is there something I am distracting you from, traitor?” the Ice Queen asked. Standing imperiously before Sirus’ prostrate form, Salamasca prodded one of the pointed ends of her staff lightly into Sirus’ draconian snout. Though he barely felt the Empress’ weapon against his hardened translucent scales, Sirus knew the gesture was not intended to inflict pain. It was intended to drive home her dominance over him.
“No,” Sirus spoke, his voice weak but resonant in his large chest. Pain flooded him a second time, as sudden and as fleeting as before. Again, he was left panting in its wake. As Sirus opened his eyes he saw Salamasca standing before him still, a haughty look on her face, gloating at the pain her enchantment allowed her to inflict on the dragons with a mere thought.
“No, what?” the Empress demanded, again driving her staff into Sirus’ nose, this time with a touch more force.
“No, mistress,” Sirus replied, trying to make his voice sound as subservient as possible. In his mind though, he pictured pinning the Empress of Ice to the ground with one clawed talon and ripping her head off with the other. Involuntarily, one of his talons rose at the thought. It was a minute gesture, but it was enough. Pain flared to life along the scar in his shoulder, quickly erasing the thought from his head. He was left with a vaguely blissful feeling and a compulsion to obey Salamasca’s desires. Think
ing back to his discussion with Tomas and the other dragons on the Sapphire Isles, Sirus fought the impulse, but more subtlety this time. He would obey the Empress’ commands to the letter, if not in spirit.
The Ice Queen put the top of her staff under Sirus’ chin, compelling him to lift his head up so that she could look him in the eye. “Do not think that I have forgotten you, Sirus,” she said, her voice cold and hollow like her heart. “It is because of you that all this has been made possible.” Salamasca gestured with her hand to encompass the other dragons. “Had I not broken you, I would not have figured out how to enslave the others.”
Though he was sure the Empress had meant to shock the other dragons and turn them against Sirus, he was unworried. He had been unable to hide his thoughts from the other dragons since his rebirth. In truth he didn’t even know it could be done until just now. However, even if he had known, he would not have hidden his shame from them. The story of his imprisonment and the tortures inflicted upon him by Roane in the Ice Queen’s name were what ultimately led to the others accepting Sirus, despite the fact that he was obviously different from them. His pain and torment were a galvanizing force amongst the dragons, adding to the anger they felt at being compelled into obedience by the Ice Queen’s black magic. Together, the two misdeeds had united the dragons to devise a plan to somehow rebel against the Empress’ arcane shackles; a unification that was now in doubt. Sirus eyed Walron over Salamasca’s head, wondering if the huge dragon’s loyalties had waivered. Unfortunately, Walron had once again closed his thoughts off to the others.
“Now, answer my question!” Salamasca, her volatile temper once again flaring to life, slammed her staff into the side of Sirus’ huge head, this time with all the force her thin undying arms could muster. Again, he barely felt the force of the blow itself; though the pain caused by the Empress’ spell could not so easily be shrugged off. All around him, Sirus’ clutchmates winced as they felt a fraction of the pain through their connection; all his clutchmates excepting Walron that is. While the other dragons sent feelings of comfort into his mind, Sindai even trying to figure out a way to take some of the pain onto himself to lessen the agony that Sirus had felt, the largest of his brothers and sisters was still walled off from the rest. Niambe looked at Walron, an expression of confusion, sadness and even a little bit of fear on her draconian face.
