Dragon Treasure by SJ Sanders

Chapter 28

Drathnor bugled furiously, his wings snapping uselessly as he plummeted from the sky. The dagrihal’s vile tentacles surrounded him. They caught at his limbs, curled around his tail insidiously, seeking his vents. Even as they fell, it attempted to spawn, but a dragon was no easy prey for such a creature to deposit its parasitic progeny.

His claws and teeth tore at the tentacles, severing them one by one as the creature squealed and thrashed around him. Above him, its mouth widened. Not so much a mouth, but the dead fangs lifting to reveal the fanged pit in its abdomen. An enraged shriek blasted over him, the piercing sound driving into his skull. The world fell silent for a moment as his ears rung, but still he slashed, the claws on his wings scratching at the eyestalks as he continued to beat his wings frantically.

He had to kill it. He needed to get to his mate.

He never should have left her side, but he hadn’t trusted that they would destroy the dagrihal spawn. He had not known for any certainty what it was that his mate had faced until his saw for himself the vile creature pull itself free from her body. A terrible blight of a creature that sought waterways with no other purpose or thought than to reproduce and feed, filling the waters with its young. Once he was certain that his mate was safe with a medic called up from the town, he had tracked down the priests entrusted with the creature’s destruction and had watched as they muttered protective incantations for the monastery, the bite of their blade severing it from life.

Snarling, Drathnor lunged, his teeth seizing a tentacle that snapped towards his head. He crushed it with his powerful jaws, ripping it from the writhing mass. Rage filled him.

The knight had been absent. The male should have been there! Drathnor had stood and watched the spawn burn, lusting to avenge and protect his mate, and it was not until its body cracked up and melted with the heat of the furnace that unease had trickled into his soul. The knight who stood at his side and pledged to him, who had grimly taken the foul creature up to be destroyed, had been far from his duty.

The dagrihal shrieked, and Drathnor’s body was yanked forward toward its maw. The tentacles, giving up all effort to implant, tightened around him and dragged him forward. Venom dripped from the two enormous fangs. The eye stalks surged up and spread wide, each turned toward him with a deadened stare as its tentacles snared their prey, the darkness of its great mass closing in all around him.

An ice plume expanded in his chest, the air whistling around them, and just as the creature would have swallowed him into its body, Drathnor let loose the ice. Jagged particles joined together as they exited his mouth, melting and refreezing together into little blades that pierced deep. They punctured its mouth, deep into its body, blood spurting with their passage. The impact with the stone courtyard was all it took for his ice to spear the rest of the way through the creature’s body, even as its limbs, in their death throes, collapsed all around him, caging him against the ground.

Bugling, he thrashed, attempting to crawl out from beneath the mass. He was aware of a crowd running toward him, but he ignored them. He had to get to his mate—his Tania. She had been taken from the monastery by that traitorous male. He had scented the knight in the medical room even when his eyes had fallen in dismay on the hunched body of the murdered healer, the copper tang of blood heavy in the air. Still, he had scented the knight and had known that he had taken her.

Tentacles were dragged away, but when Drathnor surged up to regain to his footing, they were replaced by heavy iron chains lashing him to the ground. Enchantments woven into their bindings, they seared him, engulfed him in agony, and still he thrashed, fighting against them.

They tightened, pinning him down ruthlessly. Pain surrounded him as voices chanted, their magic pressing in against him in his weakened state. Enraged he bellowed once more, and once more jerked in attempt to regain the skies only to be slammed down, darkness descending all around him.

When he woke again, it was in a large room deep within the earth. The scent of water and stone affirmed that much despite the spaciousness of the room, more than large enough to contain him in his guardian form. Two enormous transport droids, harvesters, were stationed at either side of him. The magic used to power them burnt out, leaving nothing but a metallic smell to scorch his nose.

Turning his head away from them he lay there, panting against his restraints, his pain growing at the prolonged separation from his mate as day bled into night and into day again. It ate at him, weakening him. The death of the dagrihal was his only consolation, that he saw to the creature’s death himself. The creature that had plagued his mate’s nightmares was finally gone.

His wings twitched, his body pinned in place. All around him he could hear voices rising and falling in a ceaseless chanting, voices of prayer echoing off the stones around him. For hours they had been bringing in females. The nuns entered demurely, each smelling sweet and ripe, but they weren’t for him. He ignored them and closed his eyes. Those around him might have thought he was asleep if not for the violent growl rattling within his chest, promising retribution.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention. He opened his eyes, scenting the approach of a familiar male. Unable to move his head, he turned his eye in their direction, his low growl breaking into a snarl as the high cleric stepped into view.

The priest frowned down at him, his brow knotting. “I have been told that you have not chosen.” He swept his hand out in the direction where Drathnor could smell the females gathered. “They are the finest of the region. Beautiful, disciplined women, selected by Tarachna’s hand.”

Drathnor’s tongue curled in his mouth, working up saliva to speak. “Then Tarachna can keep them,” he hissed. “Bring me my mate.”

“This again,” another sighed. “Give it up. The pit has her now. The bitch is either dead by now or will be soon. I saw to it myself.”

Grief shattered his heart. He had hoped the pain along the bond had been just from separation, but if she were dead… he only could hope that he would follow soon enough. He sagged to the ground, a groan of pain sighing from him.

Dephery’s head shot around, and he lowered his eyes. “My lord, we were not expecting you. Your orders have been obeyed to the—”

“Yes, I know,” the cool voice interrupted. The scuff of another set of footsteps approached at a casual pace. “But seeing how the magic failed in the droids against this creature, my presence is necessary.”

Dressed in heavy mage robes, the male stepped in front of Drathnor and stared down at him for several minutes before pushing back his hood. Lips twisted with amusement in that hard face. Long hair that had once been worn loose and bound into simple braids was now bound in an intricate weave along the side of the male’s head to fall loose around his shoulders. Jerard, the supposed servant knight of the temple, stared down at him disdainfully as he folded his hands in front of him.

From his grief, rage surged like a great storm and Drathnor fought his bonds. His wings struggled against the chains, his teeth snapping despite the weight of the chain over his muzzle. He would destroy the male!

The deceiver!

He bellowed his rage, his claws scraping uselessly against stone.

Jerard, False Knight, stood before him, robed and bearing the stench of a corrupted mage! Although he didn’t have the taste of the wizards of old, the parasitic taint to his scent was strong, fouling the air around him. He had to have hidden it with simple human magics to cover the smell, but now that Drathnor had it, he wanted nothing more than to destroy the one person who had brought pain and death to his mate.

The human smirked and shook his head.

“Now, why the anger, lord dragon? I have seen to it that you have the choicest offerings. The female you ended up with was not suitable for our needs. She is too strong to have allowed what we require. These, however, are soft and submissive.”

“I will accept none but my mate,” he snarled. “Where is she?”

“Perfect vessels for acquiring the one thing that I need—dragon’s living seed to breach Tarachna’s veils. I will get it one way or another so you may as well not resist. Now tell me, dragon, do none of them fire your blood… not even one?”

Drathnor hissed, a cold mist billowing from his mouth in answer. In his weakened state, he couldn’t do more than send a moderately cold blast, but it at least it conveyed exactly what he thought of their offering.

The mage sighed and stepped back. “Once again, I find myself disappointed. Very well. As I said, there is more than one way to get it. If I can’t get what I need the easy way, then there is another—less pleasant—way.” His lips curved once more in a haughty smile. “A dragon corrupted and lost in bloodlust will spill his seed just as eagerly when his excitement is roused.”

Drathnor twisted within the chains in denial, his wings snapping beneath the groaning confines of the chains. Jerard ignored him to cast an irritated look at the high cleric grasping his arm with long, thin fingers.

“My lord, you said that mating the dragon to one of our women and retrieving the blessed seed was necessary for the temple. That the seed will empower our monastery and make it blessed in Tarachna’s eyes as you used to join with her power. You said nothing of blood! These are devoted nuns of the goddess…”

Jerard ripped his arm away, his eyes glittering. “We will do what is necessary,” he snapped, shoving the old cleric away from him. “If I have to wait for the dragon to blood every female in this monastery to gain a drop of his seed, I will do it! The host that lay beyond the gates beyond the darkness will be mine!”

Shaking his head, eyes rounded with horror, Dephery shook his head. “Those things! You swore that they were only sentinels of the goddess.” His hand clawed at the mage’s robes. “You swore after what happened to that thief that you wouldn’t permit any others to cross the worlds when you united with the goddess. What you speak of cannot be allowed. I can’t allow it!”

Spittle flew from the priest’s mouth as he lunged, his staff upraised as he called upon his power. The center stone glowed a brilliant green, but his spun words turned into shrieks when Jerard rasped a command and a column of green fire licked up from the earth, consuming the cleric. The light died, and the staff clattered to the ground as Dephery’s screams filled the room. A shocked silence fell for only a second before the nuns began to scream fearfully and even the priests bolted with cries as they tried to escape.

Drathnor could not see, but the smell of burnt flesh thickened, and then men fell quiet, leaving only the frightened sobs of the females. From the corner of his eye, he watched as a nun, one he vaguely recognized, slipped into his field of vision as she withdrew from the others. Tears streaked her face as she stared down at the charred remains of the priest. Her eyes returned to him, pleading, but he closed his eyes as the mage’s voice lifted, his words slicing through the air, driving painfully into Drathnor’s skull.

He couldn’t save the nun.

He couldn’t save his mate.

A void descended around him, and a hunger erupted through him, consuming him. His muscles bulged with strength, and the enchantment of the chains broke as he surged to his feet, his wings spreading wide. A roar burst forth, and in his darkness, he heard them screaming again. The screams of women, the excitement filling his blood at the chase, his lance hardening within his sheath as blood splattered over his fangs and tongue, it was all he felt.

Distantly, he heard the soft cry of a female as she fled. Buried deep within his madness, he grieved the destruction and hoped that the one female would be safe.

His grief then turned to his mate. Although he mourned for her death, he was grateful that she would never see the monster he now was. How he had loved her. Within his mind, he bellowed, and he might have heard the sad bugle break free from his lungs before the madness swept over him again and he was lost to the chaos of his mind.