flesh.
“A youngling,” he heard the man behind him mutter, drawing up to Brand’s side. “This one is not full-grown. Younglings aren’t as valuable as full-growns, but valuable enough.”
Brand did not know why the man was telling him that, as he had just told them he was not there to slay dragons, but his words struck him nonetheless. If that huge creature was not full-grown, if it was just a youngling, then how big would a full-grown dragon be?
He swallowed, hoping fervently that he would not meet a full-grown dragon, but in the next moment he chastised himself. He was there for the dragons—or their fire. A dragon’s fire was rumoured to be more vicious than any other fire, and seeing as Brand had never been burned, he was going to take his chances there, in that desert land known only for its warmth and its dragons and mountains that could spit fire.
Brand just wanted to belong somewhere. A realm of fire must certainly be a better place for him, who could manipulate it, than what he’d left behind.
A roar broke him out of his thoughts and Brand watched in horror as the men he had arrived with attacked the dragon—shooting arrows at its vulnerable feet, and thrusting spears towards its underside. The dragon drew back, flashing its teeth in another angry roar.
Brand stood frozen, not knowing what to do. The dragon was a wild beast, as likely to kill Brand as the three men with whom he had travelled. He wouldn’t mind the men’s deaths, he cared nothing for them and did not even know their names, but he preferred to keep his own life.
An arrow came out of nowhere, lodging in the chest of one of the men. He crumpled to the ground immediately, the arrow having pierced his heart.
Brand stared up at the sky and saw three big shapes high up. One of them dove; it was decidedly bigger than the one being attacked and with scales glinting a deep red. Atop its back sat a man, bow poised, an arrow having already lodged in the second man’s chest.
Brand stared at the man, not able to help himself. He was well built, and the fact that he was wearing only breeches showed off his toned body extremely well. His skin was golden, evidence of time spent outside, and his hair was a golden brown.
The beat of wings around him snapped him from his perusal of the man riding the red dragon, and he turned to watch as the other two dragons he had seen in the sky landed on the ground, one a brilliant green, the other the color of the sky.
He noticed briefly that both had men atop them. Another roar from the youngling dragon caught his attention, and he only managed to catch a flurry of movement in the corner of his eye before he dropped to the ground.
When he woke, it was dark. Not the dark of night, but the dark of a closed-off room deep in the ground. Brand could see nothing, but his aching back told him quite clearly that he was lying on a cold, hard stone floor. He groaned as he turned over, getting his knees under him and sitting up carefully. His head throbbed, clear evidence that someone had knocked him out over the head.
The fact that he could not see in the dark was probably supposed to terrify him, but Brand had means of seeing. His captors just did not know of them. A flame sparkled to life, hovering above his outstretched palm. Looking around, Brand saw that he was in a dungeon and that he was completely alone in his cell. He could not see or hear anyone in the other cells either.
He let the flame spark more to life, lighting up more of the dungeon. He had, through the years, mastered his strange ability and he had it completely under his control. The witch that Garrick and his lover had shacked up with had offered to teach him, but Brand did not need teaching. He could control it already. All he needed was a place to belong...
He had not belonged back home, he had not belonged at Fort Vortigern... and seeing as he was locked in a dungeon, he was probably not ever going to be welcome there either.
All because
“A youngling,” he heard the man behind him mutter, drawing up to Brand’s side. “This one is not full-grown. Younglings aren’t as valuable as full-growns, but valuable enough.”
Brand did not know why the man was telling him that, as he had just told them he was not there to slay dragons, but his words struck him nonetheless. If that huge creature was not full-grown, if it was just a youngling, then how big would a full-grown dragon be?
He swallowed, hoping fervently that he would not meet a full-grown dragon, but in the next moment he chastised himself. He was there for the dragons—or their fire. A dragon’s fire was rumoured to be more vicious than any other fire, and seeing as Brand had never been burned, he was going to take his chances there, in that desert land known only for its warmth and its dragons and mountains that could spit fire.
Brand just wanted to belong somewhere. A realm of fire must certainly be a better place for him, who could manipulate it, than what he’d left behind.
A roar broke him out of his thoughts and Brand watched in horror as the men he had arrived with attacked the dragon—shooting arrows at its vulnerable feet, and thrusting spears towards its underside. The dragon drew back, flashing its teeth in another angry roar.
Brand stood frozen, not knowing what to do. The dragon was a wild beast, as likely to kill Brand as the three men with whom he had travelled. He wouldn’t mind the men’s deaths, he cared nothing for them and did not even know their names, but he preferred to keep his own life.
An arrow came out of nowhere, lodging in the chest of one of the men. He crumpled to the ground immediately, the arrow having pierced his heart.
Brand stared up at the sky and saw three big shapes high up. One of them dove; it was decidedly bigger than the one being attacked and with scales glinting a deep red. Atop its back sat a man, bow poised, an arrow having already lodged in the second man’s chest.
Brand stared at the man, not able to help himself. He was well built, and the fact that he was wearing only breeches showed off his toned body extremely well. His skin was golden, evidence of time spent outside, and his hair was a golden brown.
The beat of wings around him snapped him from his perusal of the man riding the red dragon, and he turned to watch as the other two dragons he had seen in the sky landed on the ground, one a brilliant green, the other the color of the sky.
He noticed briefly that both had men atop them. Another roar from the youngling dragon caught his attention, and he only managed to catch a flurry of movement in the corner of his eye before he dropped to the ground.
When he woke, it was dark. Not the dark of night, but the dark of a closed-off room deep in the ground. Brand could see nothing, but his aching back told him quite clearly that he was lying on a cold, hard stone floor. He groaned as he turned over, getting his knees under him and sitting up carefully. His head throbbed, clear evidence that someone had knocked him out over the head.
The fact that he could not see in the dark was probably supposed to terrify him, but Brand had means of seeing. His captors just did not know of them. A flame sparkled to life, hovering above his outstretched palm. Looking around, Brand saw that he was in a dungeon and that he was completely alone in his cell. He could not see or hear anyone in the other cells either.
He let the flame spark more to life, lighting up more of the dungeon. He had, through the years, mastered his strange ability and he had it completely under his control. The witch that Garrick and his lover had shacked up with had offered to teach him, but Brand did not need teaching. He could control it already. All he needed was a place to belong...
He had not belonged back home, he had not belonged at Fort Vortigern... and seeing as he was locked in a dungeon, he was probably not ever going to be welcome there either.
All because
Similar Books
