The Hungering Flame (18 page)

Garrett stared, unflinching, into the dragon rider’s ice blue eyes.

“
Where did you get those burns?
”
Graelle asked.

“
Brenhaven,
”
Garrett answered,
“
my parents had a bakery there.
”

“
Hmn,
”
Graelle said,
“
They are dead then?
”

Garrett said nothing for a moment, then,
“
I don’t know.
”

“
You ran away to Gloar after that.
”

“
My uncle brought me there,
”
Garrett said.

“
And you joined the worm cult?
”

“
I’m a necromancer!
”
Garrett said,
“
It’s not a cult!
”

Graelle smiled.
“
My apologies,
”
he said,
“
You must know this Zara’thul then?
”

Garrett blinked but said nothing.

The dragon rider grunted.
“
He is a challenge for me,
”
he said,
“
He sends me back one of my dead officers now and then with some idiot poem tacked to his forehead. Who is he?
”

Garrett looked away.

Graelle sighed.
“
I’m too tired to beat the answers out of you, boy,
”
he said,
“
and, unless I am wrong about him, this Zara’thul would want you to spread his legend as far as possible. So tell me how great he truly is.
”

Garrett smiled, thinking of Max.
“
He
is
a great necromancer,
”
Garrett said,
“
and I think he’s having fun fighting you. He gets bored with normal things.
”

Graelle laughed and slapped his knee.
“
Good! Good,
”
he said,
“
I am looking forward to meeting him on the field, if he will ever commit to a real battle.
”

“
He might,
”
Garrett said,
“
if you would leave your dragon home.
”

Graelle’s eyes went momentarily hard, then sparkled as he burst out laughing.
“
No. No such luck for Zara’thul!
”
he said,
“
T
he dragon
and I
are one.
”

Garrett’s smile faded.

Graelle ran a gauntleted hand over his hairless head.
“
I am not… human anymore. Not
just
human,
”
he said,
“
Kadreaan and I are joined.
”

“
You speak dragon,
”
Garrett said,
“
I heard you speak it when you made the walls bleed.
”

Graelle nodded.
“
The old language,
”
he said,
“
What do you know of it?
”

“
Not much,
”
Garrett said,
“
I think my uncle speaks it.
”

Graelle
shook his head.
“
He may know some of the words, but you can’t really speak it unless you have been given the voice to speak it with.
”

Garrett narrowed his eyes.

“
When the time was right,
”
Graelle said,
“
When he knew I was ready…
Kadreaan
breathed it into me, the burning gift.
”
He lifted his fingers to the gnarled flesh of his burned face.
“
There was a
small
price to pay,
”
he said with a laugh.

“
The dragon breathed on you?
”
Garrett asked.

“
He breathed
into
me,
”
Graelle said.

“
Wait,
”
Garrett said,
“
does that mean
I
can speak dragon now?
”

Graelle spilled his beer from laughing so hard.
“
No, boy,
”
he said,
“
He was trying to kill you, not make you his brother!
”

Garrett’s face flushed hot, but he ignored the dragon rider’s laughter and asked,
“
How did you get a dragon for a pet anyway?
”

Graelle’s laughter died instantly, a dangerous glare in his eyes.

“
I mean how did you find a dragon companion?
”
Garrett corrected himself.

Graelle’s eyes fell.
“
Kadreaan is the last of his clutch… and I am the last of the Riders.
”

“
Riders?
”
Garrett asked.

Graelle swallowed the last of his beer and tossed the empty cask across the tent. He wiped his mouth with the palm of his gauntlet and stood up. He looked around the tent, his lips pulled into a stiff frown.
“
I’m tired,
”
he said. He walked back to the table and stripped off his gauntlets, laying them beside the lamp. He paid no heed as one of the gauntlets slipped off the side of the table and fell to the dirt floor. He unbuckled and pulled off segments of red plate until he wore only a stained gambeson and scorched leggings. Then, he walked stiffly toward the back of the tent, pausing to look at Garrett one last time.

“
In the morning,
”
he said,
“
Prex will put you to the flame. Remember Kadreaan’s breath upon your skin. Compared to that, Prex’s flame is nothing. So you spit in the bastard’s eye, and tell him you’ve had worse.
”

Graelle lay down on a cot behind a stack of crates, his feet the only part of him visible from Garrett’s point of view. Within moments, his rumbling snores filled the tent. The only other sounds were the muffled voice of men passing by in the darkness outside and Garrett’s own rasping breath.

Garrett twisted, trying to see the shackles that held him the post. Some sort of broad, iron cuffs held his wrists. He twisted his right hand, gritting his teeth against the pain. He hoped that he might be able to slip his bloodied wrist and hand through the cuff. He groaned in agony and despair, unable to pull his hand free, his eyes going to where the dragon rider lay, still asleep.

Garrett’s shoulders slumped. He breathed deeply, fighting off the panic of his situation. He gave a hard jerk at the chain, but this only drew a fresh stab of pain from his wrists. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to think clearly. He opened his eyes and looked around, hoping to find something within reach of his foot that might help him. He strained his neck around to look behind him, finding nothing but the hard-packed dirt floor.

He felt the post behind him with his fingers. The chain of his cuffs ran through the eye of a metal ring, itself welded to a thin band of cool metal that wrapped around the base of the wooden post. Nails, driven through the metal band, anchored it in the wood.

He centered a chain link inside the metal ring and pinched it between his fingertips. He twisted it, trying to use the link as a lever to loosen the ring. Sweating from exertion, his fingers slipped, and the tip of his middle finger jammed through the center of the link, making him cry out in pain. He massaged his bruised finger with his thumb and panted, trying to think of something else.

His eyes went to the doorway, certain that someone had heard his cry, but no soldiers appeared. Graelle’s snoring droned on.

Garrett cleared his head and felt again around the base of the pole. This time he held his left wrist as close to the
ringbolt
as possible to allow the shackle chain to slip through, giving his right hand greater reach,

The metal band that held the bolt only wrapped half way around the circumference of the pole. It had a loose edge, just beyond the point where the nail fixed it to the wood.

Garrett breathed faster, afraid to hope for too much. He twisted his body to l
ie
on his side, using his feet to pivot himself around the base of the pole. He stretched until he felt a fresh trickle of blood roll across his left palm, but he was able to hook the edge of his right shackle cuff over the raised corner of the metal band.

Garrett bit his lip against the pain, his eyes stinging with sweat, as he used the iron cuff to pry loose the thin metal band. He twisted his arm until he could feel the shoulder starting to pull from its socket, but, suddenly, the whole end of the metal strip slipped between the iron cuff and the raw skin of his wrist.

Garrett squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold in a whimper of pain. He opened his eyes again, summoning every ounce of rage within to lever the shackle cuff against the wooden pole
, working the cuff deeper into the widening gap between the metal band and the wooden pole
.

At last, t
he nail pulled free.

Garrett gasped for breath, nearly weeping with relief. He dragged himself into a half-sitting position and then threw his weight against the bent metal strap. The remaining anchor nail tore free, leaving only a splintered hole in the wood. The mangled strap and its welded bolt rattled behind him as Garrett rolled away from the tent post, still affixed the shackle chain.

Garrett lay there on the floor, breathing slowly. He started to laugh, uncontrollably, trying as hard as he could to keep quiet. It came out as a dry, manic hiss. He couldn’t stop smiling.

He rolled across the dirt floor to where his boots lay and managed to elbow himself into a kneeling stance. From there, he gathered his strength and got to his feet in a wobbly sort of stoop.

He tried to bend low enough to slip his bottom through the shackle chains, in the hopes of getting his hands in front of him. After a moment he gave up, nearly falling over from light-headedness. He toed his boots into line and tried to wiggle his feet inside, but this as well proved too difficult in his weakened state. He kicked them away, staring at his discarded hood and resigning himself to its loss. Then his eyes went to the table.

He had to slide his rump backwards onto the table and lean back to reach the stoppered tube with his hand behind him. He swayed, nearly falling over, but he got hold of the scroll tube and leaned forward, pulling it with him.
He g
rasp
ed the tube behind him in both hands as he stood up straight again.
T
he bent bolt cuff, still dangling from the shackle chain, rattled against the wooden tube
when he took a step
. H
e froze, h
is eyes
going
to where the dragon rider slept at the back of the tent, but Graelle did not stir.

Garrett crept toward the entrance flap on bare feet and peeked out. Fires burned in the darkness beyond, and armored men moved between red tents. He abandoned any hope of emerging, unseen, through the doorway. He looked around the inside of the tent again. He padded quietly to the side of the tent, finding a gap between boxes where he could crouch beside the outer canvas. He had no idea what waited on the other side, but he had to chance it. Lying flat on his belly, Garrett slipped a foot beneath the tight canvas where it touched the ground and pushed his leg through.

No one cried out in alarm. He wriggled his way through with some difficulty, emerging in a narrow lane between Graelle’s tent and a neighboring tent. Garrett panted, weak from hunger, as he struggled to his feet once more and made his way toward the back of the tent row, scissoring his legs in a sideways walk between the close canvas walls.

He reached the end of the lane and saw another row of tents beyond that, just across a grassy lane. He poked his head around the corner of the tent and looked right into the startled faces of a pair of Chadiri patrolmen.

Garrett raced across the lane, feeling the dry grass crunch beneath his bare feet. He heard the sound of swords scraping from their scabbards and a man shouting,
“
Foe! One! South Depot!
”

Garrett flung himself between two tents, bouncing between the canvas walls as he ran down the narrow corridor. He heard the whoosh of a blade and the
whump
of steel on canvas behind him. A moment later, he staggered out into a gravelly lane, faced with yet another row of tents. He growled in pain as the sole of his foot came down on a particularly pointy bit of rock.