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Chapter1
DRAGON DUNG
Inever realized just how sticky dragon dung can be. Like sap before it hardens. It will be a real bitch to get out of my hair.Wait, will the dung stiffen as it dries?The startling thought of being encased like an insect in amber sends a shudder through me.
I climb the rock wall faster, hoisting my body from one handhold to the next, and remind myself that the hundred pounds in gold a dragon scale will fetch is worth all this trouble. The rocks bite into my palms, my fingers are numb, and my muscles burn with the effort of scaling the cliff. I reach for the next handhold.
I chose a good day. There’s not a cloud in sight to bring rain and wash away my cover. The Vynx Fjord, a long drop and short death below, sparkles like a million pixie wings in the bright autumn sun. Across the fjord, the wild lands of the fae even look inviting, with its thick, lush trees playfully swaying in the breeze. If I were a proper lady, I’d choose this day for a picnic with a handsome suitor; but I’m no lady, and I’m far from proper. A proper lady wouldn’t dream of climbing to the dragon cliffs to steal a scale. But a black-market dealer would, and after today, I’ll be the best in the business. A fitting way to end my career. Once I cash in my scale, I’ll retire and purchase a one-way ticket on a boat out of Thaaryn—first class, of course. There, I’ll no longer be hunted.
I’ve been lucky, evading the Steel Guard all these years.Well, luck and magic.Magic may be my undoing one day, but for now, it helps me survive. Of course, if I’m caught using magic, it won’t take the Steel Guard long to discover who Ireallyam. Then I’ll be locked up for the rest of my life, if not killed on the spot. But that’s a worry for another day.
The last stretch before the dragon cliffs is the most difficult, but nothing my well-trained muscles can’t handle. I pull myself up the ledge and jump to my feet, taking in my surroundings, and listening for danger. Bones in every stage of decay scatter the path leading to the caves like the dragons just spit them out here. Perhaps it’s a way of deterring anyone else from meeting the same fate.
Vultures circle above, some are already feasting on the dragon’s leftovers. The birds and the incessant buzzing of insects let me know that the dragons are still sleeping soundly. The silence is what I fear. But the dragons always nap after a big meal, and they just came back from hunting some unfortunate creatures. Bad for the creatures, good for me. If things go poorly, perhaps the dragons will be too full to eat me.
Some people claim that a dragon’s deadliest trait is its sword-like claws, others might argue it’s the four-foot-long teeth. Then there are the fools who say it’s their fiery breath, which, I suppose if you didn’t know the simplest of spells, it could be. Lucky for me, I’m not one of those fools. But no, a dragon’s deadliest trait is its incredible sense of smell. It’s what kills you long before you even see the beasts. It’s how they hunt, how they find one another, and how they stalk, then kill intruders.
Hence, the reason I’m currently covered from head to toe in dragon shit. It’s horribly sticky and reeks something vile: a mix of rotting flesh and acidic puke that burns the nose and threatens to make my breakfast reappear.Ugh, the things I do for this job.
The wide, winding ledge that houses the twelve dragon caves sticks out of the mountain like a troll’s predominate brow. I’m on the westernmost side. The closest cave is still thirty yards to the east and around a bend, so I can’t quite see its yawning entrance. Behind me and to the sides of the bare cliff is a forest of thick pines—a good place to hide if the need arises.
As I close in on the morbid death-path, the smell of rotting flesh mingles with that of the dragon dung. I swallow the burning bile in the back of my throat and inch my way around the bones scattered at my feet. Do the dragons enjoy eating humans, or do they eat them out of necessity, to get the point across that they want to be left alone? It works for the most part, but then there are those few foolish heroes who think they can earn some misguided glory by killing a dragon.
I glance down at a partially decomposed skull attached to only a torso still in armor. A bug crawls out of the mouth, opened in a soundless scream. The final expression locked forever on his decaying face is that of pure horror. My breathing increases. A bubble of fear grows in my chest, filling me dangerously.
I close my eyes, remembering Des’s words:Uncontrolled fear is the catalyst to death. Acknowledge your fear, then let it go. Fear can control you, or you can control it.
I take a deep breath, then another, and another until my breathing is once again level. My fear will not control me. I open my eyes again and force myself to stare at the skull.His fate will not be my own.I move forward, carefully avoiding stepping on anything. If I concentrate on my task, then I won’t have time to dwell on the death surrounding me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a movement. I turn my head just before a buzzard swoops down. With my cloaking spell, the bird can’t see me. I stumble back to get out of its way just in time, its feathers grazing my forehead. When I step back, my foot lands on a dried femur. It cracks through the air, sounding like thunder in my ears. I freeze, internally cursing the overgrown flying rat currently ripping flesh off a bone.
Maybe the dragons didn’t hear me.
The subtle vibration in the earth beneath my boots says otherwise. The plants nearby shake, and birds take flight from the surrounding trees. Even the insects stop their incessant buzzing, giving way to an eerie silence.
My heart pounds wildly against my ribs, the bubble of fear so large now that my chest feels swollen with it. I remind myself to stay calm and in control. If I run, the dragon will hear my footfalls and know where I am. My only hope is to stay perfectly still and pray to the gods above and below that this nasty dung does its job. The sound of crushing bones breaks the silence. I flinch. It grows in volume with the dragon’s approach.
My legs wobble, and I squeeze my hands into fists to keep them from trembling. The massive beast, at least ten times the size of a horse, comes into view from around the bend. It part walks, part crawls toward me, with the lethal grace of a panther stalking prey. Instead of arms, it uses a three-taloned claw at the bend of his wings to help it maneuver.
I recognize this particular dragon. It’s the alpha of the bunch. He’s not the biggest, but the others submit to him without hesitation. Which makes me wonder what he’s done in the past to earn the other killers’ respect.
Shit shit shit.
Please don’t eat me, please don’t eat me, please don’t eat me. It’s a mantra in my mind. I try to stay as silent as I can, quickly covering my mouth. Even if the dragon can’t see me through my cloaking spell or smell me through the dung, it might hear my breathing.
I can’t help but admire the cruel beauty of the creature before me. While I have never met a God or Goddess, I feel as if this creature may be the closest thing to one that I will ever see in this lifetime. Vicious spikes run over his face, head, neck, and down his stomach and back—an added barrier of protection from attacks. Teeth with razor-sharp points fill a mouth big enough to swallow a full-sized horse, whole. Its scales, each the size of my palm, shimmer in the sunlight with shifting variations of blue, green, and gray that I never knew existed. Its cat-slit eyes, with pale blue centers and silver outer lining, scan the area with obvious and surprising intelligence.
How smart are these creatures?
He’s so close that his breath, reeking of campfire and burnt flesh, warms my body. He sniffs the air and whips his long tail in a sign of agitation. This is it—the moment that will determine if the dung works, or if I’ll be eaten alive. I hold my breath when the dragon comes even closer. He lets out one huff of air through his nostrils like he’s irritated for being disturbed from his afternoon nap. I’m almost knocked down by the force of it but manage to hold my ground. The beast turns around. As his tail sweeps toward my head, I duck. He then crawls away, heading back the way he came.
That was close . . . too close.
My heartbeats slow, and a grin spreads across my face. I just came face to face with a gods-forsaken dragon.And lived. A bubble of laughter crawls up my throat until I realize I still haven’t gotten what I came for.Damnit—The dragon scale.
I continue to make my way toward the first cave with renewed determination, though a bit more careful about where I step. There should be at least a few scales on the cave floor. Now that I’m certain the dragons can’t see or smell me, I’ll simply slip in, take one, and slip out.
I’m almost to the first cave when an ear-shattering roar shakes me to my bones. I know that particular roar: a high screeching sound, two short bursts, then one long.I’ve observed the dragons long enough to recognize the call they make just before they hunt down an intruder. I internally curse.I’ve been discovered. I turn and run toward the trees. My only hope, though admittedly slim, is to find a hiding place.
