Before I can answer, one of the men by the dying fire gets to his feet. A woman is walking toward him, carrying two lanterns—one of which she hands over to him. As its glow washes over his face, I again go rigid.
He looks unexpectedly…familiar.
I don’t have time to place his face before he turns and follows the woman to a wagon set apart from the others, some fifty yards away. They pause. Exchange a few words. Their lanterns flare brighter, and I realize the wagon is actually a wheeled cage…and something small and dark is moving between the iron bars of it.
Then comes a sound that starts as a hiss before dropping lower, shifting into something more like a mournful song.
Briar’s question still hangs in the air as I hold my breath, trying to position myself so I can see what made that sound. I take the small scope from my bag once more, steadying it on a low branch and peering through it with my good eye.
And I spot something very interesting indeed.
A dragon hatchling.
Chapter Two
“I'm officially done with this side quest,” Briar says under her breath, casting a look toward where we left our horses.
The rest of the group I've been eavesdropping on abandons the dying fire and heads into the heart of the camp, giving us some breathing room—and an easy exit, should we choose to take it.
It would be a lot smarter to take it.
So why am I still staring in the direction of that caged dragon?
“Arowyn.Elizabeth.Vhale,” Briar recites, her tone a warning.
My lips quirk in wry amusement. “Don't full-name me, BriarSageFlint.”
“Stop giving me a reason to.”
“I haven't evendoneanything.”
“No, but you're thinking of doing something. I know that look.”
“You aren't at least a little curious about what's going on over there?”
“I couldn't be less curious if I tried.”
“Coward,” I whisper back.
“That's clearly a dragon in that cage.”
“Yes.”
“And—need I remind you—we don'tdeliberatelytangle with dragons. Ashwalker code and all that.”
“It's barely a dragon at all,” I counter, handing the scope over so she can take a closer look for herself.
She frowns, but eventually she takes the instrument from me. After peering through it, she's quiet for a long time, chewing on her bottom lip, before she reluctantly admits, “I've never seen one so…small.”
“Or weak-looking,” I add.
Briar hands the scope back. I look into it again, and this time, I note everything I can about the beast: Its black scales and twitching, feather-tipped tail. The way it barely moves, even when the Mouren soldiers rap their knuckles against the bars of its cage. The shiny patches surrounding it—what I'm fairly certain is blood.Lotsof blood. Most of that dark liquid seems to be oozing from a gash in its right side. Something has torn deeply into its scales, and its right wing is a gory, shredded and crumpled mess.
“…It's seriously injured,” I realize. “Of course it is…that cage wouldn't be holding it in, otherwise; those bars aren't nearly thick enough. Not to mention the top looks like it's made of wood.”
It's so young that it likely can’t expel anything—whether fire or otherwise—that could destroy that wood. But even if it's newly hatched, it should still have enough power to break the cage into tiny splinters.
It must be close to death; that's the only explanation for how they're managing to keep it captive.
