Page 82 of Spellcast
Maybe something happened to him. Perhaps Tage is dead, and I’m stuck in this lair with Cyphus, chained to this boulder forever—or at least until Cyphus has enough of me and kills me. It’s what he wanted to do from the start. Eventually, Arvos will wake from his svefn. He’s never been in favor of having me around either. My lot will not improve with his reappearance.
The way Cyphus shoots me decidedly scheming looks, I know awful things roll through his mind. I would be a fool to think I’m safe just because Tage decreed it. Tage, who is gone. Cyphus, who clearly resents Tage’s authority.
I sleep sparingly, on edge, nerves stretched taut, longing for a sword or dagger, or one of the weapons in their arsenal—as though I could do something if armed and Cyphus decided to come at me. I know I could do little more than injure a dragon, but I would still feel better, less vulnerable. An injured dragon would be easier to escape than one at full strength, after all.
Besides...if my end is near, then I don’t want to waste it onsleep. I’ll sleep enough when I’m dead. I wince. Not a far-off possibility given my present circumstances.
At any rate, rest is difficult with the incessant throbbing in my side.
It’s impossible to get comfortable on the cold ground. Every breath, every move I make, my body cries out with the echo of Cyphus’s abuse. If my ribs aren’t cracked, then they’re deeply bruised, and it would be a while before I fully heal. Another thing that would make my journey home difficult, but that’s a worry for later.
I’m given food and water, and a basin in which to relieve myself. Sometimes he even offers me a washcloth to refresh myself. It’s far from dignified to tend to myself with Cyphus’s prying eyes, and I marvel at the irony of going from invisibility to feeling so alarmingly exposed, but I appreciate the opportunity to stay relatively clean, so I care for my needs, pretending he’s not looking.
I may not be able to empty my bladder without an audience, but I manage to make myself as unobtrusive as possible. Not that it spares me from notice. Cyphus takes it upon himself to hurl an insult at me whenever the mood strikes. After enduring his devastating kicks, I’m careful about challenging him again, avoiding meeting his gaze directly or responding to any of the abuses he hurls at me.
I only slip up one other time when he walks by and deliberately kicks out the bowl of steaming stew he had just delivered to me, sending the contents sprawling into the dirt. Sadistic bastard. He could have chosen not to feed me at all. Instead, he gave me the food, allowed me one or two spoonfuls, and then yanks it away, leaving me to lick up the food from the dirt if I want it badly enough.
“You brute!” I cry before I can rethink my words.
He yanks back my head with a fist in my hair, rewarding me with a backhanded slap. The gemstones in the signet ring on his finger split my cheek open. Blood trickles warmly down my face. “Watch your tongue, human, or I’ll cut it out,” he growls.
After that, I keep silent, longing for my former invisibility, willing myself to be small and unseen, not even moving when he pelts me with chunks of bread the next evening. I hold still and waituntil he grows bored and takes himself off. Alone again I move, gathering the bread in my cupped hands like it is the greatest treasure, knowing it would be the only dinner I would get that night.
During the early predawn hours of the fourth day, a boom jolts us awake. An explosion shudders the cavern, showering me with dust from the rock ceiling. Some of the smaller stalactites shake alarmingly. Hopefully one doesn’t drop and impale me.
I had managed to doze off in the near darkness, the orange-red fire casting long, dancing shadows on the uneven stone walls, but now I sit upright, a hand over my galloping heart as the world comes to life, thundering all around me with loud cracks and crashes that sound like the mountain itself is collapsing, crumbling and folding into the earth.
I would run if I could, shelter and hide somewhere—as little good as that would do—but there isn’t enough give in my bindings to go anywhere, so I stay put, trapped on the hard ground in the shadow of the boulder, my wrists chafed raw, oozing welts under the leather as my gaze whips all around, peering through the fine mist of rock and dirt that showers everything.
Cyphus appears and lurches toward the cavern’s exit tunnel, coughing through the haze of dust, his big square face a mixture of panic and excitement, and I know he’s about to plunge outside with no fear of exposure. He’s stupid and intemperate and lets hot emotion guide him. And this, among other reasons, is why he is no alpha...no Tage.
I look in the direction he’s headed as though I might see something—an army of soldiers emerging through the opening, mouths wide in war cries as they barrel into the cave brandishing their weapons.
No one smashes in, but Cyphus is about to smashout.
Bloodlust gleams in his eyes. The fool wants the fight, revels in the prospect. The days of being trapped in here with me and Arvos must have muddled his head. He’s not thinking carefully.
“Tage expressly ordered you to remain here!” I call, surging against my restraints, daring to speak, toyellafter him.
His head whips in my direction. “Shut your mouth! You know nothing of our affairs.”
“Would you go against your alpha? You camouflaged the entrance. You can’t disrupt it now! You could alert anyone to our location.”
Am I actually making an argument on the behalf of dragons? Against humankind?
Againstmykind?
I quickly remind myself that some of those humans are from Veturland and enemies of the north. I shouldn’t want to aid them.
That aside, if humans—wherever they’re from—find this cave, Cyphus will make no attempt to keep his dragon in check. Then everything Tage is trying to avoid will happen. Dragons will be exposed to humans. War would come to the Crags. More bloodshed. More senseless death. It would be the Threshing all over again. A tragedy any way you look at it.
The buzz of battle swells on the air, inching closer. Another explosion rocks the cavern, and it feels like the earth itself is caving in on us. Stalactites fall, piercing the ground around me. One narrowly misses my head.
I cry out, lifting my bound hands in an attempt to cover my head as more debris rains down from the ceiling. The flames in the great firepit flicker and gutter, nearly extinguished from the cascade of grit and dust.
“They are only humans!” Cyphus shouts. I peer out between my arms. In the deepening gloom, Cyphus’s face looks more menacing, fiendish. His teeth flash like pointed barbs as he calls out, “I’m a dragon. Do you hear me? I rule the sky. My magic will break them—”
“How do you know they’re not armed with weapons of dragon bone?” I’m grasping at straws, but I need to say something to stop him.
