Grolf stomped to one end of the cavernous room and wrestled open a narrow, rusted door that revealed an unlit space beyond. The heady reek of rotten vegetables and rancid meat, overlaid with a hint of spices, wafted out.
Something lay shrouded in gloom just inside: a shape—the size and general lumpiness of an under-sized horse, wrapped in a heavy net. Grolf leaned in and grasped a handful of thick cords, the rope rough to the touch, and hauled the net with its contents into the center of the kitchen.
The three trolls stared at the creature huddled in the binding.
Grolf eyed the diminutive dragon. “What do you think it was doing so far north, Sarge? There aren’t supposed to be any of its kind near the Knife Ridge Mountains and the borderlands.” In his curiosity concerning the beast—which was the first dragon, small or otherwise, that he had ever seen—he utterly forgot to drop his n’s and s’s when speaking to his commander.
The sergeant narrowed his eyes at his subordinate’s suddenly educated tone. “Do I look like someone who can read its mind?”
Blister cleared his throat. “I dunno about readin’ minds, but I reckon it might be able to understand us.” He gulped, gazing into the luminous dark eyes that loomed large in the young creature’s head. The captive turned its head to one side and peered up at its tormentors, seeming to listen to every word.
As if realizing what was going to happen, a single, glistening tear trickled down the length of its copper-colored snout.
Slasher, reaching for the long, curved dagger at his belt intending to cut the beast’s throat, paused to gaze at the solitary liquid stream.
All three watched spellbound as the droplet slid to the end of the young dragon’s nose—hanging there for a breathless moment, motionless—before it tumbled with a gentle splat onto the greasy flagstone below.
None of the trolls moved. There was a muted pop, like the sound that a bulbous, bright bubble might make when bursting—followed by an inrushing of air and the suggestion of a slight vibration in the floor.
Grolf was the first to recover. He raised his eyes to look at the dragon, exclaimed in surprise, stepped back, and trod on Blister’s right foot.
Because of a distended and very painful bunion, that unfortunate troll howled in pain, cursed, and hopped away, crashing against the overburdened table that stood nearby. The impact upended a large stone bowl brimming with water that sat near the edge and delivered a cold torrent onto the open oven—dousing the flames in one billowing, hissing cloud.
Slasher cursed and rounded on the yowling Blister, who had slumped onto a stool, both hands gripping his throbbing foot in a grimace of agony. “Watch what you’re doin’, ye great big…” The words failed in his mouth, however, as he caught sight of the net, and instead he finished with: “Hey, where’s my supper gone?”
The shape in the net had shrunk. In place of an undersized dragon of vaguely equine proportions, there was now a skinny creature with long, thin, pale legs.
Matted, dark hair hung down to its shoulders, and on its upturned face was an expression which to Grolf looked like restrained fury, mixed with fear. One thing was the same, though. The eyes were full, lustrous, with pupils of the deepest black flecked with purple—and stared out from a thin, grimy face.
The sergeant turned and glared at the apparition in the net, leaning forward and gesturing at it with his pointed dagger. “Where’d the dragon go? It couldn’t have escaped from the net. And what in the name of my feckle-faced ancestors is that?”
Blister had taken off his boot and was massaging his blighted toe, muttering under his breath. Grolf and Slasher, meanwhile, stood in front of the strange object in the net, which had gotten to its knees and was gazing up at the two hulking trolls.
Grolf scratched his chin. “I think… I think, it’s a human cub, a female—I’ve seen drawings of them. I believe it was only pretending to be a dragon. Or maybe the other way around. I’ve read how some humans can transform into dragons—and dragons into humans—by using elemental energy.”
“Don’t be daft, what’s a man spawn doin’ way up here?” Slasher’s stomach chose that moment to render a rumbling, gut-shaking growl—causing the waif-like girl in the net to rock back on her heels in surprise and terror.
“Now look what you’ve done, Sarge. You’ve frightened her.” In his agitation, Grolf once more forgot to drop his vowels and consonants.
“I don’t care if it—she’s—so scared she soiled herself. What about my supper?”
They both stared at the shape in the net.
“I suppose we could always eat that,” Blister said. He had put his boot back on and now stood near his two bemused colleagues.
Grolf shook his head. “Nah, there’s not enough meat on it to feed the three of us, let alone give some to the captain.”
The prisoner’s head turned, and she peered up at Grolf, looking directly into his eyes. He gazed back. In that moment, he felt certain there was a sharp mind behind the dark, penetrating eyes—something he couldn’t say about many of his fellow Midnight Brigade members.
As if on cue, Slasher grunted. “The cap’n, damn, he’ll be disappointed—he told me he was lookin’ forward to dragon; he’s never tasted any before.”
The sergeant whirled on Blister, the head of the mace whistling over the recumbent figure in the net, who ducked just in time. “Private! Go see the cap’n. Give him my compliments and tell him the dragon’ll need more time to, to…”
“Marinate.” This was from Grolf, forgetting himself yet again.
Slasher hesitated and stared at Grolf for a moment. “Like he said.”
Blister nodded, turned, and stomped up the circular stairwell leading to the battlements above. “Why’s it me, again? I always has to go an’ break bad news to the cap’n. He ain’t goin’ to like this.”
A yell curtailed Blister’s muttering as he reached the top of the stairs and stepped out onto the walkway. A string of curses followed, along with a sharp slithering sound that ended in a meaty thud.
Slasher’s face split in a broad grin. “An’ watch out for the ice up there. It’s more slippery than a waterfall covered with, with…”
“Ice.” Grolf couldn’t help himself, regretting the word as soon as it left his mouth.
The sergeant narrowed his eyes and glared at Grolf, who gazed back without flinching. “You makin’ fun of me, Corporal?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sarge. Just trying…“—he mentally corrected himself here— ”… tryin’ to do me duty.”
“Fine. See that you do.” Slasher bent down to stare at the figure on the floor, who still hadn’t uttered a sound since she had first appeared and spoiled the sergeant’s supper plans.
But Slasher wasn’t one to give up. He pushed the dagger through the net, the tip almost grazing the wide-eyed girl’s cheek. “Human cub, huh? I reckon you’re right about that, Grolf. Never tasted human flesh, neither. I wonder if they make good eatin’? I reckon I’d like to find out, anyways. We can tell Captain Argolde that the dragon didn’ cook up good, so we tossed its carcass over the battlements.”
Grolf saw a sudden expression of fear start in the creature’s eyes at the sergeant’s words. She can understand us, he thought, I’m sure of it. And in that moment, his lifelong love of helpless strays asserted itself. He made a decision that he wouldn’t let any harm come to the skinny, lost, human cub that had ended up in the garrison’s kitchen, supposed dragon or not.
Not only that—he resolved with a determination that his mother and father would have recognized only too well—he was going to help the captive escape.
~~~
