he had opted to travel with dragon slayers.
Brand lay back down on the floor, his head hurting. There was nothing inside the cell but the floor, so there was nothing to ease his pain. The lacerations on his back twinged, reminding him of the brutal treatment he had got from the pack before he had been banished. All because of Garrick... it had always been all about Garrick.
Pushing the bitter thoughts away, Brand used his mind to control the flame, letting it soar over the floor. He had no purpose with it, but it helped him keep his mind occupied.
Voices from outside the dungeon startled him and the flame vanished in thin air just as the door creaked open. Brand lay still, dreading what was to come. It wouldn’t be good, not when he was locked in a cell. At least they had not put him in chains.
He could make out the voices of three men, speaking in a tongue he had never heard before. As they entered the dungeon, he saw that each held a torch, bringing more than enough light to see by.
Brand sat up again, not wanting to be lying down when they got to him. He did not want to be sitting either, but he was not sure he could stand, so he just had to meet them like that.
One of them unlocked the cell and it creaked as he pulled the door open. He stepped inside, handing the torch over to one of his comrades as he did so.
Brand watched him silently, recognizing him from earlier. He was the one who had been riding the red dragon—and who had killed the other men he was with. Not that that was any loss, but it showed how ruthless he was. And Brand was their—
“Prisoner,” the man spoke, and it startled Brand as he realized that the man spoke in his own tongue. “You are the only one of your comrades left alive, which is not a mercy, I assure you. We do not take kindly to dragon slayers.”
Of course Brand had to be the only one left alive, the one to take the punishment for the other three whose profession he was not even a part of.
“I am not a dragon slayer,” Brand said, determined to stand by his own truth.
He was backhanded fiercely. “Do not lie!”
Brand did not reach up to touch his cheek, though his hand itched to do so. The man was strong, he would give him that, because he had just tripled Brand’s headache and his cheek throbbed painfully.
“I am not a dragon slayer,” he forced out through clenched teeth. “I knew those men were, but they are no comrades of mine. All I wanted was to be shown the way here. I am not here to slay dragons.”
“You lie!” One of the other two men said, stepping closer to him, his hands curling threateningly into a fist.
Brand stared at him, hard, not knowing what to do to convince them he was not there to harm the magnificent beasts. That he was only looking for a place to belong. He could not speak of that, of course, because it was none of their business, none but his own, and by the way they were acting, he would not find a place to belong there anyway, so better to just stay quiet.
The one closest, the one who had backhanded him, straightened up, gaze cool as he regarded Brand. “We’ll leave him be for now. With no food or water, I am sure he will soon speak the truth.” So saying, he turned on his heel and stalked from the cell.
The other man glared at Brand, then came closer and hit him hard, sending Brand sprawling to the floor. The fist had broken his lip and his nose was bleeding, the taste something Brand was long used to. Not to mention the fists. The standing man kicked him hard in the gut as well, not content with just hitting him. Brand curled up, but refused to groan in pain—he would not give the bastard that much satisfaction.
He did not look up until the cell door creaked closed, and then only to roll over on his back. He was certainly no stranger to being beaten up, but he thought he was done with that since he had been banished. He had not thought he would be taken for a criminal and locked up in a dungeon in a strange country. He
Brand lay back down on the floor, his head hurting. There was nothing inside the cell but the floor, so there was nothing to ease his pain. The lacerations on his back twinged, reminding him of the brutal treatment he had got from the pack before he had been banished. All because of Garrick... it had always been all about Garrick.
Pushing the bitter thoughts away, Brand used his mind to control the flame, letting it soar over the floor. He had no purpose with it, but it helped him keep his mind occupied.
Voices from outside the dungeon startled him and the flame vanished in thin air just as the door creaked open. Brand lay still, dreading what was to come. It wouldn’t be good, not when he was locked in a cell. At least they had not put him in chains.
He could make out the voices of three men, speaking in a tongue he had never heard before. As they entered the dungeon, he saw that each held a torch, bringing more than enough light to see by.
Brand sat up again, not wanting to be lying down when they got to him. He did not want to be sitting either, but he was not sure he could stand, so he just had to meet them like that.
One of them unlocked the cell and it creaked as he pulled the door open. He stepped inside, handing the torch over to one of his comrades as he did so.
Brand watched him silently, recognizing him from earlier. He was the one who had been riding the red dragon—and who had killed the other men he was with. Not that that was any loss, but it showed how ruthless he was. And Brand was their—
“Prisoner,” the man spoke, and it startled Brand as he realized that the man spoke in his own tongue. “You are the only one of your comrades left alive, which is not a mercy, I assure you. We do not take kindly to dragon slayers.”
Of course Brand had to be the only one left alive, the one to take the punishment for the other three whose profession he was not even a part of.
“I am not a dragon slayer,” Brand said, determined to stand by his own truth.
He was backhanded fiercely. “Do not lie!”
Brand did not reach up to touch his cheek, though his hand itched to do so. The man was strong, he would give him that, because he had just tripled Brand’s headache and his cheek throbbed painfully.
“I am not a dragon slayer,” he forced out through clenched teeth. “I knew those men were, but they are no comrades of mine. All I wanted was to be shown the way here. I am not here to slay dragons.”
“You lie!” One of the other two men said, stepping closer to him, his hands curling threateningly into a fist.
Brand stared at him, hard, not knowing what to do to convince them he was not there to harm the magnificent beasts. That he was only looking for a place to belong. He could not speak of that, of course, because it was none of their business, none but his own, and by the way they were acting, he would not find a place to belong there anyway, so better to just stay quiet.
The one closest, the one who had backhanded him, straightened up, gaze cool as he regarded Brand. “We’ll leave him be for now. With no food or water, I am sure he will soon speak the truth.” So saying, he turned on his heel and stalked from the cell.
The other man glared at Brand, then came closer and hit him hard, sending Brand sprawling to the floor. The fist had broken his lip and his nose was bleeding, the taste something Brand was long used to. Not to mention the fists. The standing man kicked him hard in the gut as well, not content with just hitting him. Brand curled up, but refused to groan in pain—he would not give the bastard that much satisfaction.
He did not look up until the cell door creaked closed, and then only to roll over on his back. He was certainly no stranger to being beaten up, but he thought he was done with that since he had been banished. He had not thought he would be taken for a criminal and locked up in a dungeon in a strange country. He
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