by Scott Baron
He quickly fell in just behind the wiry alien, ashamed at himself for feeling the need of his captor for protection, yet involuntarily flinching as he heard unworldly shrieks and bellows from the mid-sized arena looming ahead.
“Where are you taking me? And what was that noise?”
More screaming cries that sounded like a beast had swallowed broken glass filled the air. A chorus of them, he realized, accompanied by a high-pitched buzzing sound like a swarm of flies.
Tür regarded him with a contemptuous look, then smiled. “Where I am taking you, is to your new owners.”
“Wait, new owners? What are you talking about?”
“Precisely that. I tire of you, and your unwillingness to be of greater profit to me has left little option.” He looked ahead to the building from which the shrieks were emanating. “As for what made those cries, you will see soon enough.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Knives, swords, and clubs lined the tables set up along the high stone walls of the arena. The building had a heaviness to it. A weight of centuries of use, years steeped in magic and power, and not all of it good. Charlie felt a little lightheaded just being near it, yet Captain Tür was dragging him even closer.
“Enchanted sword, sir?” a vendor called out as they passed.
“Enchanted, you say? What is it capable of, then?” Tür inquired.
“Oh, it is a powerful weapon, brave sir. Guaranteed to cut the hand of all enemies who try to wield it.”
Tür picked up the blade and swung it a few times, testing the weight. “A decent weapon, but the enchantment is but a middling one that would wear off after its first use,” he said, showing the konus bracelet glowing around his wrist.
He slid the lightly glowing blade from the sheath on his hip. “This, I can assure you, is not underpowered. You would be wise to keep that in mind when next you attempt to sell knock-off enchanted weapons.”
“So sorry, sir. So sorry,” the man groveled.
Captain Tür paid him no further heed and walked away.
“There are actual enchanted weapons here?” Charlie found himself asking, his curiosity outweighing his discomfort and anger for a moment.
“Not true powered weapons, but temporary enchantment that will do the trick in a bind. With a strong enough casting, you can achieve something close enough to the real thing for those less knowledgeable.”
With all he had seen, call it what you will, a special form of tech, or magic, or something in between, it was finally clear that there was a power at work in this most unusual galaxy that was unlike anything Charlie had ever even hypothesized to exist.
They rounded the structure, heading toward a large tent just ahead. A small gate, just big enough for a man to pass through was carved into the stone. Heavy metal bars, dark with age and something he didn’t want to even try to identify blocked all from entry.
Or exit, he realized.
Captain Tür unexpectedly allowed him to pause a moment, amused as his slave peered through the bars into the vast holding area within.
“What the actual fuck?” Charlie couldn’t believe what he saw. His shock was broken when the bellowing shriek of one of the massive beasts within pierced the air.
“Ah, the cries of the Zomoki. They are haunting, are they not?” Captain Tür said, watching his terrified slave with great amusement.
“Those are Zomoki?”
“Yes. Though I thought Gramfir had a larger collection on hand.”
A plume of smoke wafted out the opening as one of the beasts spewed a stream of hot flame and stamped its feet.
“Zomoki are fucking dragons?” Charlie blurted, stumbling back in shock.
“I’ve never heard of a ‘dragon’ before, but that’s what I get for this mediocre translation spell, I suppose. Now come along. You don’t want to be late meeting your new master.”
Charlie felt the collar tug and quickly moved his feet to keep up, all the while his mind racing from what he’d seen. Dragons. And not little piddling lizard pretenders. These were Grade-A, big-as-a-house, fire-breathing dragons.
“Who is this Gramfir?” Charlie asked, already knowing and dreading the answer.
“He is your new owner. He procures and breaks Zomoki for domestic use. Of course, they are wild creatures, and ever so violent, so the process tends to be rather labor intensive.”
Tür nodded to the heavily armed man at the entrance to the tent, then entered, Charlie in tow.
“Gramfir!” he called out in greeting to the rotund, heavily bearded man with pale orange skin and jet-black hair. “It is good to see you, my friend.”
“And a pleasure it is to lay eyes upon you as well, Tür. It has been a long time.”
“Indeed, it has.”
“So, I received your skree message. You say you have a troublesome one you’re looking to offload?”
“Yes. This one has proven most stubborn. I had hoped to sell him into the gladiator schools, but he simply will not fight.”
Gramfir looked Charlie up and down, assessing him as one would a horse or pig. “Well, he’s got some meat on his bones, and he doesn’t appear diseased. You say he’s strong?”
“Yes, quite, in fact.”
“Hmm, well, I suppose I have been in need of a few more slaves to feed the Zomoki. Your usual fee?”
“Plus ten percent for his belongings,” Tür replied, pulling open the pack on Charlie’s back and removing several items.
“Hey, those are mine!” he blurted, recognizing his med scanner, sampling probes, and survey goggles.
Gramfir cuffed him across the head. “You do not speak unless spoken to.”
“Like I said, a difficult one,” Tür said.
“Well, since we are old friends, I’ll take him off your hands for the standard rate, plus five percent.”
“Ten.”
“Seven, and I throw in dinner and a woman.”
Tür laughed heartily. “Now that is what I call making an offer I cannot refuse. Very well, seven it is.”
The two men shook hands and the deal was done.
Charlie looked around the area. It was stocked with weapons and what appeared to be stretchers, but nothing edible so far as he could tell.
“Excuse me. You said I was to feed the dragons. But I don’t see any food.”
Gramfir and Tür stared at him a moment, then burst into laughter.
“Come here, slave,” the green man ordered. “I have to tell you, Gramfir, it’s been slim pickings lately,” he said as he raised his hand to the collar.
“I have heard similar from other traders, my friend. But it should pick up soon enough.”
“One would hope. Ngthiri oolama tangopeh.”
The collar snapped open and Charlie felt his neck free of the weight for the first time in what felt like ages. The two men continued chatting away, but Charlie again found that he now understood not a word of what was said.
Gramfir pulled a slightly heavier collar from his belt and snapped it roughly around Charlie’s neck. The metal grew warm a moment as the seam sealed, then rested coolly on his skin.
“There we are,” Gramfir said, the new translator functioning. “Collar on. Deal done now. Go, we eat, get you woman,” the large man said to the captain.
“Is good. Happiness to seeing you again, friend.”
He must be even cheaper than Captain Tür if the translation spell is this bad, Charlie lamented, looking around what was to be his new home. But what were his duties, exactly? And how much of his kit had just been sold off along with him? Did a man’s possessions go with him upon transfer? Was that normal?
A cacophony of shrieks filled the air.
“Zomoki hungry. Nava, come take new one for feeding,” Gramfir called out to one of his men.
“I’m sorry, did you say feeding?” Charlie asked, a sinking feeling in his gut.
The lackey grabbed him roughly and hauled him out of the tent, across a small patch of dirt leading into the walls of the arena. Char
lie fought back, thrashing in the man’s hands as hard as he could.
“Stop, fool!”
Charlie spun from his hands, smashing hard into the jagged edge of the wall, opening a nasty slice in his arm for his trouble, and just as the one the Tslavars had cut had finally healed completely. With his adrenaline spiking, he didn’t even notice.
“Fuck you. I’m not about to––”
“Binari pa,” the man said, ending the discussion then and there.
Charlie woke some time later laid out on a small cot. He had been washed, clothed in simple attire, his injured arm wrapped in a piece of cloth, though blood had begun to seep through.
It isn’t broken, he noted, moving his fingers. Should heal fast with the water still in my system. He sniffed the air. Is that spice? He sniffed again. It most definitely was. A sinking feeling grew in his gut as he put his nose to his skin.
“Aww, shit,” he said with a defeated sigh. He was what smelled good. They’d bathed him, put him in clean clothes, and even spiced him to make him smell nice. After all, they wouldn’t want to serve a dragon a smelly meal.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Scars were abundant among the staff in the arena. Nearly all bore the signs of their work with the deadly beasts. Some were missing limbs, while others had jagged pink flesh where a claw or tooth had done damage. Still others looked partially melted, unfortunate survivors of dragon fire.
And Charlie was one of them now. The new guy. Looking around, he realized there weren’t any old slaves to be seen. It made sense, he supposed. Older means easier to catch. Only the young and spry might hope to survive a while.
Contrary to his initial impressions, their job actually was to bring food to the beasts.
“We food bring,” a one-armed man said with a morbid laugh. “But sometimes, they still hungry.”
The others laughed as well. Gallows humor of the short-lived.
Enormous metal trays, rent with gouges and dents, were piled with food. It seemed the dragons were omnivorous, based on the hodgepodge assortment stacked high.
“Here. We put on stretcher. Carry for to eating,” a moderately burned man said, motioning toward a rickety old conveyance made of wood and cloth. Gramfir was too cheap to even spring for a basic hovering platform despite the short distance it had to be carried.
“Seriously? We go out there with food and nothing else?”
“Is how it done.”
“But why? I mean, couldn’t they just throw it into the arena instead?”
“Oh, that. Them make wagers who eaten. Is popular game.”
Charlie felt hysteria creeping up on him. This is it. This is how I die. Eaten by a goddamn dragon in some distant galaxy, no less. Look at me now, Ma! Dragon food. If only my friends could see me, they’d never believe it.
“Food slaves, pick up and go,” their overseer commanded. He was, Charlie noted, a Wampeh.
“You don’t happen to drink blood, do you?” he asked casually as they passed him on the way into the arena.
The horrified, offended look on the man’s face said a lot. Namely, that even among the Wampeh, those who drank blood were frowned upon.
“I take that as a no?” he said to the pale man. “Well, that’s good to know.”
Charlie and his litter-bearing partner cautiously made their way out into the open space of the arena. Large boulders dotted the landscape, some inked with the dried blood of whoever had the misfortune of being smashed against it by the flick of a mighty tail.
“Holy shit, these guys are big.”
The smaller dragons were perhaps as big as a garage. The larger were the size of a small house. All of them were lounging along the edges of the arena, watching the tiny creatures entering their space with mild interest, like a lion might observe prey it wasn’t sure if it really felt like chasing and devouring.
They seemed benign enough, but that could change in an instant.
At the sight––or smell––of food, the dragons roused themselves. That was when Charlie saw the heavy golden collars affixed around their necks. The runes were constantly shifting, aglow with an internal flame. Judging by the size, the metal rings were insanely powerful. To require that level of control, he figured the creatures wearing them must be immensely strong.
The others quickly gathered up trays of food and began approaching the dragons, the meals held out like an offering before them. A smaller black dragon eagerly chomped down a tray of food, servant and all, then searched for more, while a yellow dragon waited until the blue alien carrying its meal was close before lunging and making the man drop the tray out of fear. It then ate the food slowly, amused at terrifying its prey, like a sadistic cat might toy with a mouse.
There were over a dozen dragons in all, and the strange buzzing sound they gave off that filled the air was driving Charlie to distraction. One particularly large dragon, its scales the color of deep rust mixed with dried blood, sat farther back, not seeming very enthused about the goings-on. Of course, that was the one he was tasked with feeding.
Well, if I’m going to go, I have to admit this is one hell of a way. He strained his muscles and picked up the last tray from the litter, then carried it right to the looming animal. It was even larger than he first thought, he realized as he grew near. A pair of golden eyes watched him with intelligent curiosity as he placed the tray on the ground before it, sliding the tray closer, keeping eye contact the whole time.
“Here ya go, fella. Hope you like it,” he said, flinching in spite of himself as he heard a scream as another hapless alien was devoured somewhere in the arena.
The dragon shifted its enormous mass and leaned down to sniff the offerings, food and human alike. It moved oddly, he noted, and after building up enough courage to look away from the enormous teeth that could be his end, Charlie saw the problem.
The end joint of the dragon’s wing was broken. Whether it was injured fighting another dragon, or had happened during its capture, he couldn’t quite tell, but the injury seemed quite fresh.
Suddenly, it wasn’t a dangerous beast. It was a creature in need, albeit a creature that could devour him in a single bite. It felt a little crazy, but he figured he was a dead man either way, so Charlie started talking to it as his plan developed.
“Hey, buddy. I can see your wing is hurt. I studied emergency wilderness first aid training, and I’m pretty good at setting broken bones, especially after my ship got blasted to this God-forsaken galaxy and crashed in that stupid Balamar Wasteland.”
The dragon paused a moment, then continued eating, watching him as he talked, but making no move to take a bite out of the delivery boy. At least, not yet.
“So, I know you can’t understand me, but if you’ll let me, I think I can help you.” Charlie walked closer, the dragon shuffling back slightly at the totally unexpected act. People ran from it, not the other way around. This was most unusual.
Gently, he reached out for the injured wing. It was massive, unlike anything he’d ever splinted before, but bones were bones, and the anatomy was starting to make sense.
His hands touched the leathery skin, and the most incredible rush of energy shot through his body. It was incredible. Orgasmic, almost. Suddenly, with that one act, all the suffering leading up to that moment almost seemed worth it.
The dragon twitched a little, but nothing more.
“Okay, look, I can’t just leave you injured like this. I’m going to try to fix your wing, if you’ll let me. I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t eat me while I did.”
Charlie trotted over to the discarded litters he and the others carried the food out on and dragged them closer to the dark red dragon. He then began disassembling them.
“What’s he doing?” someone in the stands shouted.
“Is it letting him go?” another asked in confusion.
“Nah, it’s Old Red. Five to one he’s eaten in under two minutes!” another yelled, and with that, a new betting frenzy was underway.
Charlie i
gnored them and lay the bits near the curious dragon. The creature was watching him with the curiosity of a seemingly lazy cat that could quickly swat a mouse at any time if it wanted to.
“I’m just going to talk you through this, even though you don’t speak English,” he said, chattering more to soothe his own nerves than anything else. “What I’m going to do is use these pieces of wood to hold your broken bone in place so it will heal straight. But to do that, I’m going to need to align the break first. It’s going to hurt, but please don’t eat me.”
As quickly as he could, Charlie began tying lengths of strong wood in place, laying the foundation for the big moment.
“Okay, now, here it comes. It’s only going to hurt a second,” he said, then yanked and pulled, jamming the crooked bone back into alignment.
The dragon shrieked and spat a stream of fire into the sky, but miraculously, it didn’t harm him.
Cautiously, Charlie turned to look at the dragon. It was watching him with great curiosity, but suddenly, he didn’t feel any fear. It was as if they had come to an understanding, of sorts.
“Well, all right, then. Let me get you properly wrapped up here,” he said, admiring his handiwork. “Yeah, I think this should heal just fine, though I don’t know how fast you guys mend.”
The wound at the break wasn’t too deep, but the blood flowed anew once the bone was set, splashing on Charlie’s arms as he worked fast to not only tie off the splints, but also staunch the flow. In just a few minutes, both tasks were complete.
“Ow, that stings,” he griped as he wiped the iridescent red blood from his arms with a leftover scrap. It stung particularly badly where his injury was wrapped, but if a little infection was all he got out of this, it was worth it. “Okay, you should be all right, now. Just don’t flap your wing for a few weeks.”
Charlie felt amazing as he backed away from the dragon, his adrenaline running high and his spirits even higher. And the dragon felt something too. After finally being shown kindness after a lifetime of ill-treatment, the enormous beast held back and merely watched as he walked away, letting him go free without biting off so much as a nibble, much to the dismay of the betting public.
