Dragon-Ridden (18 page)

“You can’t tell me you feel nothing
after being lured down ‘ere,” the former leader said. “If someone had done that
to me, I’d’a cut out their tongue and fed it to ‘em.”

“Oh, I’m hardly calm, or else, I
wouldn’t have stolen a good chunk of their money. However, I don’t blame them
for it. That would give them more credit then they deserved, and I won’t waste
any of my precious time on plotting revenge. Besides they’ve only done what
they needed to survive, and I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same.” Tate
hooked one arm over the chair back and made herself comfortable. She was ready
to do business. “I hardly think you orchestrated this brilliant plan to get me
down here to discuss how not betrayed I feel. What do you want?”

The man rubbed his fingers together
as he tilted his head. He straightened in his chair and slapped the table as he
came to some kind of decision. “You kept me waiting, however unintentionally,
so I think it only fair to do the same to you.”

He nodded to someone behind her.
There was a whisper of sound. Then a shooting pain in her head as she slumped
forward unconscious.

Tate sailed through the heavens
with only the stars as her companions. They flew by in brilliant streaks of
light as the ship vibrated underneath her. She watched it all in wonder.

“Tate! The team is assembled and
waiting for the briefing.”

A young man strode down the
corridor towards her. His face was serious, but his eyes were shining with anticipation.
The crispness of his uniform matched the short haircut. He was young, barely
more than a boy, but like her had already been through several battles.
However, this next battlefield would be different than any they’d fought on
before.

She looked back out at the
stars. A planet with three moons was just coming into view. So this was to be
their home for the next little while.

“I’ll be there in a moment.”

Then as dreams do, the scene
shifted and Tate was in the midst of battle. A mortar exploded on her right,
the percussion of it throwing her off her feet. She hit the ground hard,
knocking the air out of her. Gasping and with her ears still ringing from the
blast, she rolled onto her stomach and looked around. Dirt and shrapnel flew as
another mortar impacted nearby. She curled into a ball, her arms covering her
head and neck as sharp rocks and dirt pelted her.

Noise sounded like it had been
filtered through a cotton ball. Her first attempt to rise resulted in sprawling
ungracefully on the ground. She snarled at herself. ‘Get up! Get up! You’re not
dead yet!’ On quivering legs she managed a drunken beeline for an outcropping
of boulders fifty yards in front of her.

Small arms fire from a similar
outcropping of rocks 100 yards away pitted the rock she was sought shelter
behind.

She hit the dirt again, cursing.
“God damn, mother fucking pieces of shit and their God damn weapons.”

Miracle of miracles her weapon
was still clasped tight in her hands. The ground shook from another blast, this
one bigger than the last. They were detonating early. She wouldn’t make it in
time. She screamed in rage as she aimed her weapon at her enemy and pulled the
trigger.

Something heavy dropped close to
her and the vibration of it launched Tate out of her dream and onto her feet.
Her hands were clenched and ready to do battle as her heart pounded rapidly in
time with her breathing. She pressed her hand to her chest as she mentally
brought her racing pulse under control.

There was a reason Tate didn’t
sleep much. The dreams were brutal.

She winced as her head protested
her sudden movement. She gingerly felt around and jerked when she found a
particularly tender spot. She couldn’t find an open cut, but the hair around
the tender area was matted. When she examined her fingers, they had rust
colored flecks on them. They were the same color blood would be when dried.

“That’s one way to end a
conversation.”

Tate had been dumped into a small
cell carved from the same rock as the rest of the catacombs. From that, she
assumed she was still underground and not far from the Night Market. She turned
around and jerked back when she found herself face to face with Blade. He
watched her through a set of metal bars bolted into the bedrock. She was
guessing they’d been added after whoever had built the catacombs had left. The
metal looked shiny and new.

“It looked like you were having a
nightmare so I woke you,” he said.

“Ah.”

“Sorry about the method.” He
gestured to a stool lying on its side. It looked like he’d thrown it against
the bars. “Lucius discourages us from entering the cells. Thinks it invites
thoughts of escape.”

“Thanks,” Tate said not quite
understanding what response he wanted.

“Want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“The nightmare.”

“Now why would I do a thing like
that,” Tate said as she lowered herself so she was sitting with her back
against a wall. “I’d have to be an idiot to give my enemy the key to what
scares me.”

“Are we enemies?” he asked.

“We’re certainly not allies.”

He propped one foot against the
bars. “Are you sure?”

“If I’d run would you have chased
me down at your master’s command?”

He thought about it for a moment,
his face still expressionless. “Yes.”

“That is why we aren’t allies,”
Tate said, resting her head against the wall. Her head was pounding and being
in the small cell was bringing back memories of a different cell. She should
have trusted her gut about going underground. Nothing good ever came from being
surrounded on all sides by earth.

With the wide-open cavern of the
Night Market, Tate could trick herself into believing she was above ground. In
this small cell she did not have that same luxury, and her sense of unease was
growing.

“You never would have made it out
if you had run,” Blade said. “He had men posted all through the market for just
that possibility. They wouldn’t have limited themselves to just a tap on the
head either. Besides, Lucius isn’t your enemy.”

Tate assumed Lucius was the finely
dressed gentleman of before. “Yet here I am in a cell. Doesn’t make me think of
him as a friend.”

“You made him wait.” Blade held up
a hand when Tate would have interrupted. “He’s just evening the score.”

“What right does he have to summon
me anyway?” Tate muttered. “I’m not some pet.”

“You sailed with Jost, correct?” he
asked. She nodded hesitantly, not quite sure where he was going with this.
“What would he have done had one of his men refused his summons? Made an
example of him right? Lucius is making it easy on you by simply having you wait
here. He could have done much worse.”

“That’s where your argument falls
apart.” Tate stood and crossed to the bars folding her hands around them. “We
worked for Jost. Of course we would answer a summons. I’ve never met this guy
before. I owe him nothing.”

“You’re a thief aren’t you? All
thieves can be called to him.”

“I’m not a thief,” Tate said,
outraged. “Why does everyone keep assuming that?”

Blade opened his hands wide as if
to say, what can you do? Tate jerked the bars once before resting her forehead
against them. She could do this. Being here wasn’t so bad. If she thought about
it, her quarters on ship weren’t much bigger than this.

Blade let her think in silence for
a moment.

After several minutes had passed
with her leaning against the bars trying to force herself not to think about
being trapped down here for years, he said, “You never answered my question.”

She lifted her head and asked
tiredly, “What question?”

“What did you dream about?”

“Why do you care?” she asked.

“You interest me.”

Lucky her. Her voice was bleak as
she said, “War. I dreamt of war.”

After that, there wasn’t much more
to say. Each left the other to their thoughts. Tate didn’t ask why he was still
here, and he didn’t ask for details. Eventually Tate sat down. Boredom set in
before long, and she was reduced to counting the pockmarks in the wall, where
previous prisoners had left their mark.

She’d reached number 239 when a man
entered and whispered in Blade’s ear.

He nodded and stood, reaching for a
key hanging from his neck. “Time to go.”

Oh goody. Tate pushed to her feet
and backed away at Blade’s urging. He probably didn’t want her trying to rush
the door in an attempt to escape. There wasn’t much chance of that. She didn’t
want to be wandering the tunnels down here for days on end, and running around
willy-nilly was the perfect way for that to happen. No. She’d wait and see what
they wanted. Perhaps she’d get lucky and all they’d want is a face to face. A
kind of welcome to the city. If not, she’d watch for her first chance at
escape.

She turned to face the wall when
Blade twirled his finger at her. It was odd being treated as a threat. Most
assumed because she was little and female that she wasn’t dangerous. They
usually ended up regretting that.

Rough hands grabbed her wrists and
pulled them behind her back where cool metal slid around them, binding them
there. Probably not a welcoming committee then. She was turned to face Blade
who still stood by the door. Not taking any chances that one.

Blade led the way through a series
of tunnels. Tate didn’t bother keeping track of the twists and turns. She was
already hopelessly lost and knowing the way back to her cell wouldn’t help.

They came to a halt in front of a
metal door. It was the only door Tate had seen since the one leading into the
underground. That reason alone would have peeked her curiosity, but the design
etched into its metal held her attention in a way a simple door would not have.
Figures were etched onto the top third of the door. One figure spanned the
space of Tate’s hand from fingertips to palm.

Other designs were scratched into
the metal beneath the others. These had come later. Tate could tell because the
tint of metal was different in these grooves as compared to the ones on top.
The hands that had done the bottom carvings were shakier and much more uneven
than those on top.

Distantly she felt the manacles on
her wrists being released as she became engrossed in the design. She stepped
forward to run her fingers along the smooth edges of the characters. They were
cool to the touch and smooth.

It was a word. Or words. Tate would
have bet anything on it. Her eyes struggled with the shapes. It was so
familiar. Its meaning teased her but remained just out of reach.

She grew excited as her fingers
traced the etchings faster, the meaning behind them coalescing at the back of
her brain. Her lips were forming the words as the door opened with a silent
whoosh. Just like that the meaning disappeared.

Her hand was still raised as she
made an inarticulate sound of protest. A clue, something she recognized, once
again snatched from her grasp just as she was beginning to understand it.

She found herself unable to take a
step forward, sure that if she did her past would be lost to her. A shove took
the choice out of her hands.

“Move it. We haven’t got all day.”
She stumbled forward, almost tripping from her momentum. The unnamed guard went
to shove her again. Tate erupted, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his
back. She wrapped another arm around his throat, fitting his trachea into the
crook of her elbow and leaping to put her feet to the small of his back.
Slowly, she straightened her legs forcing him to arch backwards to keep his
neck from being broken.

A sharp prick to her neck restored
a small measure of clarity. Enough for her to realize she was growling, a low
vicious rumbling pouring out of her chest. Blade was holding a blade to her
throat. He pressed forward enough for it to prick her skin, a bead of blood
welling up to slide down her neck. He really was appropriately named.

When Tate stopped growling, he
withdrew the blade to rest lightly against her skin.

“Release him.” His voice brooked no
argument.

Tate’s hold on the guard tightened
briefly as Blade stared her down. With a huff she released his neck, pushing
against his back with her feet. He flew forward while she launched into the
opposite direction. As soon as her back touched the ground she was rolling to
her feet and crouched defensively, her arms held akimbo as if they held claws
that could slash her enemies. For a moment all she could see were scales and
black claws. She clenched her hands into fists and the moment was gone, claws
and scales replaced by human flesh.

Damn dragon. Its aggression spilled
out at the worst of times.

It was difficult not to snarl as
nastily as any dog. She managed to keep any sound from leaving her, but her
lips curled to show nonexistent fangs.

Blade made no move against her,
letting her work through the rage. He gestured another guard back when he tried
to approach. Gradually, Tate relaxed muscle by muscle. It was a hard fought
battle not to rush blindly in, growling and snapping like some dumb beast.

Eventually, Tate stood upright, her
arms hanging limply by her sides. She cursed her loss of control. She hadn’t
had an incident like this since her third month at sea. She’d thought she was
past this. The dragon tamed.

Tate scrubbed her face and pulled
her mental defenses tight around her. No need for anyone to know how much her
loss of control bothered her.

Now that the haze of rage had
passed she was able to notice things she had been too preoccupied to pay
attention to before, like the fact that she and Blade weren’t the only ones in
the room. No. Tate’s outburst had an audience. It was a hell of a way to make a
first impression.