Wyvern

  Her heart jumped a beat, then sped up when she saw Malcolm trudging up the path, followed by his two toadies, Galen Horn and Jamie Knowles. They were heavily armed, weighted down with hand axes, sickles, crossbows, and quivers bristling with quarrels. All three wore pieces of Angus’s dragon armor.

  Elsbeth stifled an outraged gasp as they drew closer. They’d stolen Angus’s prized armor! She kept still in her hiding place, but the desire to march out there and confront them was almost overpowering. How did they get the armor? And were Angus and Irena all right? Fear and acknowledgement of her position tempered the desire to abandon her hiding place and challenge them. She was a woman alone on the cliffs. Matched against three armed men, there was no contest. Elsbeth shuddered to think what they’d do to her if they found her.

  She leaned farther out on the ledge, hoping to catch what they said to each other. Malcolm cursed Galen, admonishing him. His words made her blanch.

  “Keep quiet. We’ll light one torch and keep one close at hand. If we trap it in a small cave, it won’t have room to fight. A dozen poison arrows will take any beast down, even one that big.”

  Dear gods, they’d come to kill Alaric. Her stomach plummeted to her feet.

  Galen, a ferret of a man who feared his own shadow unless he could hide behind Malcolm, spoke. “What if it breathes fire on us?” His voice shook.

  “Hide behind that bit of dragon scale you took off old Angus’s armor. And stay out of the way.”

  Jamie, far more intelligent than Galen but as easily led, gave Malcolm a sly look. “What about Elsbeth?”

  Elsbeth recoiled in disgust at his lascivious tone and the echoing lechery in Malcolm’s smile.

  “The beast has probably eaten her by now. I know I would have. Nice bit o’ tart that one, but never learned her place.”

  “What if she’s alive?”

  “Then I’ll teach her to mind that disrespectful tongue by shoving my cock in her mouth. No hunched old crone to protect her here in Maldoza.”

  The image his words elicited made Elsbeth want to vomit.

  Galen licked his lips. “I’d like a go at her myself. All that nice red hair. I wonder if her cunt hair is the same color.”

  He yelped when Malcolm suddenly rounded on him, a deadly skinning knife in his hand. “I’ll be feeding you your own bollocks if you so much as touch her, Galen. I’ll share the treasure, but the Weaver woman is mine.” He turned to Jamie. “Same goes for you.”

  Jamie held up his hands in surrender. “Yours for the taking, mate. I don’t like redheads.”

  Elsbeth, sick to her stomach at their conversation and lightheaded with fear for Alaric, eased her way back down the ledge as quietly as possible. Her mind raced. She couldn’t stay here, hidden away while Malcolm and his cronies marched into Maldoza with their greed and poisoned arrows, ready to ambush Alaric.

  If she left her hiding place, they’d spot her immediately. Elsbeth knew she could outrun Malcolm, but wasn’t so sure about Galen or Jamie. Both were whip-thin men, light on their feet and likely fast. That is if they even bothered to try and catch her. They might just fire a bolt into her back and have done with it.

  She could follow them from a distance, staying far enough back so they wouldn’t hear or sense her behind them. If her luck held, they’d choose another tunnel to enter, and she could parallel them, following the track now familiar to her, and warn Alaric of their intrusion.

  The second option was truly her only one. Elsbeth crouched in the deep shadow of the crevice and said a silent prayer as the three men walked past her. They didn’t slow or stop, oblivious to her presence. She waited before leaving the safety of her hiding place to trail behind them, shadowing the outcroppings jutting up from the path.

  They kept a steady pace. She almost lost sight of them more than a few times. Only once did Jamie slow and look back over his shoulder. Elsbeth froze behind a monolith of sparkling rock and prayed no else heard the thunder of her heartbeat. When they finally reached the caves, she sighed, relieved when Malcolm and his minions entered one of the larger caves.

  During her fortnight with Alaric, she’d learned to navigate some of the tunnels, but not all. Such an endeavor required a lifetime of exploration. Anger and disgust welled up inside her. She prayed they got hopelessly lost, condemned by their own greed to die in Maldoza’s black maze of corridors without food or water. Elsbeth had never been one to wish such a fate on anyone, but these three threatened the man she loved and the child he cherished.

  Galen was the last to disappear into the cave, taking reluctant steps until an impatient Malcolm yanked him inside by his shirt front. Elsbeth waited a few moments more before shedding her pack and sprinting into the smaller tunnel leading to Alaric’s lair.

  Inside, the tunnel was treacle-black, a smothering darkness that might have overwhelmed her had Alaric not taught her how to feel her way along the walls for markings in case she ever lost her torch.

  Elsbeth had almost reached the lair when her luck ran out. Too focused on reaching Alaric before Malcolm did, she’d grown careless and missed the faint flicker of light to her right. She plowed into Jamie, knocking them both down in a tangle of limbs. A flash of steel caught torchlight. She screamed and rolled, desperate to avoid being split gullet to belly by Jamie’s wicked boning knife.

  She shrieked again at the scorching pain ricocheting across her scalp as someone yanked her to her feet by her hair. Malcolm’s blunt features swam before her eyes. He clutched her braid in one beefy hand. His breath, more rancid than ever, wafted across her face. Elsbeth gagged.

  “Well, if it isn’t the fiddler queen of Byderside. So brave, so noble. Too good for me, but you’ll bed down with a great lizard.”

  Elsbeth clawed at the hand practically scalping her. “Your own swine in their muck are too good for you, Malcolm.” She spat on him. “Murderer.”

  Malcolm only smiled, revealing yellowed, broken teeth. He wiped her spittle from his cheek, licking it from his fingers. Elsbeth’s stomach churned in protest. “Aww, Elsbeth, you shouldn’t believe all the stray talk you hear. My Olwen was content. A slap and a tickle now then, a good meal. And knowing who her master was. She forgot sometimes, and I had to remind her sometimes.” He shrugged, unrepentant. “Accidents happen.”

  His features, bestial in Galen’s flickering torchlight, sharpened. Elsbeth groaned, and tears of pain trailed down her cheeks when he tightened his hold on her hair. “Now, you tell me where the treasure is, and don’t lie. Why else would you be running through the tunnels, eh? You saw us and want to hide the gold. Saving it for yourself, were you? You’ll have to share now.” He reached out a hand to fondle her breast. “Treasure and more.”

  Elsbeth fought him, striking and kicking at him despite the agony flooding her face from her abused scalp. She didn’t stop until Malcolm subdued her by wrenching her arm up behind her back. He cuffed her for good measure. Black stars exploded behind her eyes when he struck her. He no longer held her hair, but the pain in her cheek from his blow eclipsed that first torture. Her vision narrowed as her eye swelled shut.

  Malcolm kissed her ear. “Give over, you stupid cunt. I want the treasure.”

  She jerked away. “You can have the treasure. I’ve no use for it.”

  “Good.” He let go of her arm and shoved her ahead of him. “Then get going.”

  Elsbeth stood for a moment, at a loss for which way to go. If Alaric was in his lair, she’d lead his would-be killers right to him. However, if the egg was as close to hatching as he thought, he’d be in the open cavern, keeping watch until his youngling emerged. She chose the lair.

  Malcolm shoved her a second time. “Standing there will only anger me, Elsbeth. Shall I give you a taste of Olwen’s medicine?”

  She shivered. “This way. It isn’t far.”

  With the torches lighting the path, she no longer had to run her hand along the wall for guidance. She smirked at Galen’s nervous commentary.

  “It’s a maze in h
ere. How do you find your own ass in a place like this?”

  She might have laughed at Jamie’s exasperated reply if her circumstances weren’t so dire. “Galen, you’d have trouble finding your ass standing in the middle of Crosshill Road.”

  All talking ceased at a strange, piercing scream echoing through the cliffs’ warren of tunnels.

  “What was that?” Galen froze ahead of her, looking wildly around him.

  Elsbeth didn’t know, but she could guess. The egg had hatched. She shrugged, as if unconcerned. “Just a bird. Sometimes they fly in and get lost. They usually die in the dark.” Like you will, you greedy bastards.

  Malcolm wasn’t fooled by her indifferent response. “That’s no bird.” He cuffed her again, hard enough to drive her to her knees. This time Elsbeth spat blood. “Deceitful bitch! It’s protecting its hoard, and you’re leading us away from it.”

  Elsbeth raised her hands to shield her face from another blow. “No! I swear, the treasure is this…”

  “Hold your tongue, bitch.” Malcolm hauled her to feet and gripped her arm hard enough to numb her fingers. “Jamie, you lead. Galen will take up the rear.” His yellow teeth gleamed in the half light as he smiled a malevolent smile. “If she escapes me, shoot her.”

  They no longer relied on her for direction. Instead they followed the myriad screeches and chirps resounding throughout the tunnels and growing louder as they moved deeper into the cliffs.

  Elsbeth swallowed a defeated sob when they emerged from one of the tunnels opposite the cavern from where she and Alaric had come on their earlier visits. The sudden quiet made the hairs at her nape rise. The birds nesting on the stairstep ledges had flown once again, and only the spring’s lively bubbling broke the silence. They were being watched, and it wasn’t a friendly perusal.

  Jamie must have sensed that predatory scrutiny. He raised his crossbow and did a slow turn, gaze passing over the many caves and concealing clefts cut into the cliff walls.

  Galen, oblivious to any danger, whistled. “Would you look at this. No one would guess such a place sits in the heart of Maldoza.”

  Malcolm growled at him. “Just keep your eyes open. Something that big can’t hide for long.”

  Jamie never took his eyes off the three caves diagonal to him. “Whatever it is, it knows we’re here and is watching us.”

  “Smart lad. Certainly more so than the lackwit next to you.”

  Everyone, save Elsbeth, jumped at the new voice amongst them. Her knees almost buckled in relief at the sight of Alaric, as a man, standing across from them, looking no more concerned than if he’d encountered them at a handfasting or in a tavern. Three crossbows, loaded with poison-tipped bolts, sighted on his heart

  Malcolm jerked Elsbeth in front him. “Well now,” he said in a casual voice, as if he were about to ask Alaric to join them at the pub for a pint or two. “Who are you?”

  Elsbeth didn’t call out, but pleaded silently for Alaric’s forgiveness for leading his enemies here. He gave her only a brief nod of acknowledgement.

  His voice, polite and even, belied the black fury in his eyes. “I might ask you the same.”

  Malcolm raised his bow. “That’s no business of yours, friend.”

  Alaric never looked away from Malcolm, though he tensed when Galen and Jamie walked the course of the walls on either side of him, intent on getting behind him. “And who I am is none of yours. I’ll say it once and only once. Release the woman and leave while you can.”

  Malcolm laughed. “Is that so? And who made you king of the cliffs? Seems to me, we have the advantage here, unless you’ve a fancy for taking an arrow in the gut.” He squeezed Elsbeth. “And you,” he sneered, fetid breath almost making her faint. “So noble, so long-suffering. Saving Byderside by doing a lizard’s bidding.” Shards of agony lanced her bruised jaw at his bruising grip. “Getting tupped by a drifter is more like it.”

  “Let her go.”

  Malcolm smirked. “Come and get her, lad.”

  Alaric shrugged and vanished.

  Elsbeth’s surprised gasp was lost amid the shouts of her captors.

  Galen swung his bow in a wild arc, heedless of whom or what he aimed at. “Did you see that? He just disappeared!”

  “You just don’t look in the right places.”

  Galen’s features paled at the realization that Alaric had reappeared directly behind him. “What…?” was the last thing he uttered before Alaric snapped his neck in a quick, efficient motion.

  His lifeless body struck the rock floor with a soft thud. Jamie, round-eyed with terror at witnessing his companion’s death at the hands of a sorcerer, took aim at Alaric.

  Half strangled by Malcolm’s clutching hold, Elsbeth cried out. “Alaric! Their bolts are poisoned!”

  Malcolm hissed and clapped a hand over her mouth. It did neither him nor Jamie any good. Alaric’s smile was chilling. He strode toward Jamie, undeterred by the threat.

  Jamie cursed and fired. Elsbeth screamed behind Malcolm’s hand. At the moment the bolt would have struck Alaric full in the chest, he disappeared a second time. The arrow shot through empty air and hit the opposite wall before falling harmlessly in a puddle of water.

  “No!” Jamie bellowed, hands shaking as he scrambled to reload before Alaric reappeared. Like Galen, he had only a second to stare as Alaric meted out a similar fate.

  Alaric disappeared a third time. Malcolm, alone now with Elsbeth as his hostage, backed against the cavern wall. He dropped his bow in favor of his skinning knife and held it tight against her throat.

  “Show yourself, you sneaking bastard! Face me if you have the bollocks!”

  Alaric’s derisive voice echoed within the cavern. “Fine words from a cur that uses a beaten woman as a shield.”

  Malcolm pressed the blade against her skin even harder. A stinging pain and the warm trickle of blood froze her in place. Elsbeth didn’t dare breathe hard. Malcolm’s grip on the knife was hard, but terror made his hand shake. He could easily slit her throat by accident.

  A low snarl resonated through the cavern. “Harm her again, and you’ll be dead before you take another breath.”

  Malcolm jerked her off her feet when Alaric suddenly appeared almost on top of them. He lashed out, yanked the other man’s knife hand away from Elsbeth and hurled him several feet to the side as if he weighed no more than a basket of yarn. The knife slid across the ground until it came to rest near the bolt from Jamie’s failed shot.

  Alaric addressed her without taking his gaze off Malcolm. “Elsbeth,” he said softly, and she was startled by his use of her proper name. “My offspring is watching all this from that cave directly across from you. She’s deciding which of you to attack.” Her mouth went dry at his words. “Whatever you do, stay in place. Don’t run unless I say so. Prey runs.”

  Elsbeth nodded and swallowed, fighting down the instinct to do exactly what he said not to do. She looked to the cave he indicated, saw the shift of dark shadow among lighter shades and the brief glow of silvery eyes. So intent was she in watching for any movement from the hatchling, she almost forgot Malcolm until he started shouting curses at Alaric.

  The villager gained his feet and held up his fists. “Come on then. No magic tricks. If you have any balls, you’ll fight me fair.”

  Alaric’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Fair? What do you, with your armed henchmen and my woman as your hostage, know of fighting fair?” He closed the distance between them in two strides.

  His first blow shattered Malcolm’s nose and sent him careening against the wall. Malcolm howled but regained his feet, blood pouring down his face. Alaric gave him no chance to recover. Another strike, followed by the brittle snap of bone, made Elsbeth wince. Malcolm’s right arm hung loose at his side.

  Alaric continued his brutal pummeling. The two men were of equal size, but Alaric had the strength of a wyvern and used it on his adversary with merciless intent. He batted Malcolm around the cave much as a cat with a captured mouse, herding him
ever closer to the cave where the hatchling watched and waited.

  Finally, Malcolm fell to his knees, breathless and wheezing with pain. “Mercy,” he pleaded in a voice clogged with blood. “Don’t kill me.”

  Alaric cocked his head. “I’m not going to kill you.” Elsbeth shivered at his smile, empty of all humanity. He looked to the cave, where an excited chirping began. “She is.”

  Malcolm followed his gaze. His eyes rounded in horror. “No!” he screamed. “No!”

  The newly hatched wyvern leapt out of the cave. Scarlet-scaled, with a whip tail and tightly folded wings, the young female stared at her prey with the silver eyes she’d inherited from her sire. She slammed a clawed foot down on Malcolm, pinning him in place.

  Alaric turned away and sprinted across the cavern. He grabbed Elsbeth’s hand. “Run now, Beth, and don’t look back,” he shouted over Malcolm’s agonized screams.

  They raced into the tunnel leading to Alaric’s lair. Elsbeth easily kept pace with Alaric, terror and Malcolm’s screeches at her back giving her feet wings. They stopped only when they reached the lair. She leaned over and took several deep breaths, grateful to no longer hear Malcolm’s cries. “Dear gods,” she panted. “I’ll have his screams in my nightmares for years to come.”

  Alaric’s silver gaze was pitiless. “If he didn’t serve a more practical purpose, I’d have ripped him apart myself.” He brushed gentle fingers over the uninjured side of her face before tracing them to the cut on her neck. “He put his hands on you,” he raged in a quiet voice.

  “I’m well enough.” She touched a sore spot on her jaw and winced. “Though my teeth hurt a little.”

  Alaric cupped her face in his palms. She jerked instinctively away, trying to avoid more discomfort. “Peace, Beth,” he said. “Let me do this.”

  A silky warmth flowed from his hands. Elsbeth sighed as it seeped into her skin, easing the ache in her mouth, the swelling of her eye. He caressed her face and throat for several minutes until the pain was completely gone, and she could see fully once again.