Dragon Bound (Elder Races #1)(41)

He looked out. “Almost there now. If they’re thinking what I hope they are, they don’t know I could have gotten out. From their point of view, it must have looked like I’ve been trying to get free. I’m hoping they have underestimated me.”

Another wave of adrenaline hit. Her system was so overloaded it was starting to make her feel high. She thought back over what had happened and nodded.

“That’s it. You keep your head down, keep quiet and survive.” His gaze was fierce. “I will come after you.”

They started to slow. She couldn’t bring herself to look out. “How close do you think you are to throwing off the last of the poison?” She forced the question out of throat muscles that had locked up.

“It might take a day, maybe two. It helps we crossed over and the land magic is so abundant here.”

A day or two. In some ways not long at all. In other ways, a lifetime.

All of this was about her. She stole the penny, she was the one he came after, and she was the one who got him shot by the Elves. He held himself back from escaping from the wreckage to help her. He still wasn’t going to fight when they stopped, because she was around.

He has to wait until I’m out of the way. It’s so I don’t get killed. Maybe now we’ve come so far he’s got to wait until he’s healed. It’s going to be a race, between how fast he can get free and how fast the Power that arranged his capture can get here.

The emotion that welled at that was indescribable.

“I think you’re my hero,” she said. Only half kidding.

He stared at her, the picture of incredulity. “Most people,” he said, “think I am a very bad man.”

She studied his eyes to try to find out if that bothered him. He didn’t seem bothered by it. He seemed discomfited by her. “Well,” she said at last, “maybe you’re a very good dragon.”

The flatbed stopped. Showtime.

She kept crouched down as she peered out the wreckage. A Goblin had stepped out of a black metal gate. She had seen pictures of Goblins before but the drawings and sketches hadn’t managed to capture their robust vigor. The real ones were not only hideous but powerfully built. The language they spoke to one another was choppy, guttural and harsh. As a few came closer, she realized how bad they stank.

Still, there was something different about this Goblin, an air of authority. He held ropes of black chains with manacles. He strode closer to them but stopped a prudent distance away. He stank too.

They were altogether repulsive, and somehow she was supposed to let them put their hands on her. Another convulsive shiver hit. In a move unseen by the Goblins, below their line of sight, Dragos put a hand on her knee. She covered it with hers.

“Buck up,” she whispered to him. “Don’t be such a wuss.”

His hand clenched and his shoulders shuddered. She hoped she made him laugh again.

The Goblin that had approached said something to them. Chop chop chop. Dragos answered him in the same awful language. Chop chop.

They went back and forth a few more times. Then the Goblin stepped closer and threw the shackles. Dragos reached outside and caught them. He pulled them into the wreck. They made a lot more sense to him than they did to her because he sorted them deftly.

The dread had become so strong it was nauseating. Some of it was coming from the chains. They reeked of some kind of horrible magic.

Dragos bent and locked a manacle to one of his ankles. She hissed, “Stop! What are you doing? Don’t put those on!”

“Shut up,” he snapped. He locked a second manacle to his other ankle.

She grabbed his arm. “Dragos, there’s some kind of bad magic in those!”

He whipped around and snarled at her, eyes blazing.

She flinched and cowered from him. Her thoughts flatlined.

He finished putting the other two manacles on his thick wrists and held them up so that the Goblin could see. The Goblin nodded and shouted to the others who swarmed forward.

When they started prying the ruined doors off the car, she curled into a fetal position and closed her eyes.

EIGHT

What followed next was ugly. She couldn’t say she hadn’t been warned.

They dragged her out of the wreckage first. She kept her gaze trained on the ground as one punched her in the stomach. When she lay curled on the ground trying to breathe, they kicked her. Over and over again hard-toed boots slammed into her, interspersed with harsh Goblin laughter as they taunted Dragos, until she no longer kept silent because it was the smart thing to do. She was silent because she couldn’t get in a deep enough breath to scream.

She caught one blurred glimpse of Dragos standing in the grip of two Goblins every bit as huge as he was. His aggressive, dangerous face was blank, gold eyes as reflective and emotionless as two Greek coins.

A lifetime later, several Goblins with drawn swords walked Dragos through the squat stone fortress. One Goblin grabbed her by the hair and followed behind them. Another brought up the rear, still kicking at her now and then, although without much interest.

The group of Goblins guarding Dragos marched him into a cell. Her Goblins passed it by, down to an intersection in the corridor and to the right. Once they were out of Dragos’s line of sight, their manner became businesslike and uninterested. They took her by the arms and dragged her into another cell. They threw her onto a pile of rancid straw.