Blood of Dragons

‘I’m not,’ Selden croaked. He was having trouble standing. The ground was solid under his feet; he knew that, and yet the sensation of rising and falling persisted. He’d lived too long in the hold of a ship. The grey light of early morning seemed very bright to him, and the day very chilly. He remembered attacking his keeper, and why he’d done it. He’d hoped to force the man to kill him. He hadn’t succeeded, and the man who had beaten him had taken great satisfaction in causing him as much pain as he could without doing deadly damage. For two days, he’d scarcely been able to move.



Selden made a lunge, snatched his blanket back and clutched it to his chest. The merchant fell back from him with a small cry. Selden moved as far from him as his chains would allow. He wanted to put the blanket back around his shoulders but feared he would fall over if he tried. So weak now. So sick. He stared at the men who controlled him, trying to force his weary brain to focus his thoughts. He was in no condition to challenge either of them. To which would he rather belong? He made a choice and changed what he had been about to say. He tried to clear his throat and then croaked out his words. ‘I’m not myself right now. I need food, and warm clothes and sleep.’ He tried to find common ground, to wake some sympathy from either man. ‘My father was no dragon. He was from Chalced, and your countryman. He was a ship’s captain. His name was Kyle Haven. He came from a fishing town, from Shalport.’ He looked around, hoping desperately as he asked, ‘Is this Shalport? Are we in Shalport? Someone here will recall him. I’ve been told I look like him.’



Glints of anger lit in the rich man’s eyes. ‘He talks? You didn’t warn me of this!’



The merchant licked his lips. Plainly, he had not expected this to be a problem. He spoke quickly, his voice rising in a whine. ‘He is a dragon-man, my lord. He speaks and walks as a man, but his body is that of a dragon. And he lies like a dragon, as all know that dragons are full of lies and deception.’



‘The body of a dragon!’ Disdain filled the Chancellor’s voice and eyes as he evaluated Selden. ‘A lizard perhaps. A starved snake.’



Selden debated speaking again and chose silence. Best not to anger the man. And best to save what strength he had for whatever might come next. He had decided he stood a better chance of survival if he were sold to the courtier than he did if he remained with the merchant. Who knew where the man might try to sell him next or to whom? This was Chalced and he was considered a slave. He’d already experienced how harsh the life of a slave could be. Already known the indignity and pain of being something that someone owned, a body to be sold. The sordid memory burst in his mind like an abscess leaking pus. He pushed it aside and clung instead to the emotion it brought.



He clutched at his anger, fearing it was giving way to resignation. I will not die here, he promised himself. He reached deep into the core of his being, willing strength into his muscles. He forced himself to stand straighter, willed his shivering to cease. He blinked his rheumy eyes clear and fixed his stare on the rich man. Chancellor Ellik. A man of influence, then. He let his fury burn in his gaze. Buy me. He did not speak the words aloud but arrowed the thought at the man. Stillness grew in him.



‘I will,’ Chancellor Ellik replied as if Selden had spoken his words aloud and for one wild moment, he dared to hope he yet had some power over his life.



But then the Chancellor turned his gaze on the merchant. ‘I will honour our bargain. If a word such as “honour” can be applied to such deception as you have practised against me! I will buy your “dragon-man”. But for half the agreed price. And you should count yourself fortunate to get that.’



Selden more felt than saw the repressed hatred in the merchant’s lowered eyes. But the man’s response was mild. He thrust the end of Selden’s chain toward the Chancellor. ‘Of course, my lord. The slave is yours.’



Chancellor Ellik made no move to take it. He glanced over his shoulder, and a serving man stepped forward. He was muscled and lean, dressed in clean, well-made clothes. A house servant, then. His distaste for his task showed plain on his face. The Chancellor didn’t care. He barked out his order. ‘Take him to my quarters. See that he is made presentable.’



The servant scowled and gave a sharp jerk on the chain. ‘Come, slave.’ He spoke to Selden in the Common Tongue, then turned and walked briskly away, not even looking back to see how Selden lurched and hopped to keep up with him.



And once again, his fate changed hands.



Day the 25th of the Fish Moon



Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders

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