Dragon’s Empire – 5. Society of Shadows. Natalie Yacobson

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      There were no more caustic remarks. The laughter rang like a bell and fell silent, but none of those who heard the cheerful, ominous shimmering was able to utter a word. What if their next utterance brought something more frightening to life than just a chilling sound? Royce squatted, wrapped himself in his blanket and whispered something with his lips, as if he wanted to call for help. He was the only one in the company who seemed to realize that the laughter was coming from on high, and so he stared stubbornly at the ground, as if afraid to notice who might be watching him now, hovering in the air just above the heads of those who, unlike winged creatures, are chained to the ground.

      Of course, I’d rather burst out laughing than smash someone’s head in, but the dragon inside me hissed. He wouldn’t have cared if he’d been censured, proud of every angry word he received, but laughing at him and not believing in his powers was a serious insult.

      «What is the matter with you?» Rose mentally asked. She felt that the hand that gripped her waist was hot, not like flesh, but like a piece of iron. It was no longer thin, accustomed to the hilt of a sword and feather fingers touching her velvet camisole, but long golden claws. Claws so sharp that it was unpleasant for me, I involuntarily twitched, wanting to scratch someone. And I didn’t want to hurt those bums at all. They were just joking, bragging to each other, and they’d been drinking too much to hold themselves accountable for their own bluster, but the dragon didn’t care.

      I set Rose on the ground, as far away from the fire as possible, so she couldn’t reach me until I’d finished the massacre. I walked slowly toward the drunken men myself, hoping that if I delayed the moment of encounter, my anger would subside a little and I could spare some mercy. The dragon couldn’t break free of the cage my body served, but its bony paw was trying to guide my every move.

      From the friendly circle around the fire someone stood up, pulled his sheepskin vest up tight, and started rummaging through the bales of provisions. I recognized the braggart who’d promised to tear out the dragon’s claws before it could attack him. He knelt down, trying to get the still untouched wineskin from the bottom of the bale. Before we were alone on the desolate mainland, the tricksters had stocked up on quilts to flee the biting night frost and good food. I jumped easily over some sort of bunk. The absolutely silent movement could not attract anyone’s attention to me. The first victim was already mapped out. The false daredevil who had broken away from the group of companions was an easy target. He was unaware of my swift approach and the preparations for my throw, but his gut must have sensed something bad, and he flinched. He dropped a bag in his hands, and some mere copper snuff-boxes, apples, dried bread, and faded circles of silver coins fell to the ground. An equally dirty cloud rose from the scattered sniffs of tobacco over the ashes. My braggart coughed, cleared his throat, and cursed through his teeth in a very casual way, not even noticing that he was about to undergo a fatal change in his life. He was almost in my clutches. He should have been thinking of a last repentance, but he tried to gather his belongings from the ground and did not stop scrambling around until the ends of my boots almost grazed his palms.

      Inwardly he shuddered, and I could see it in the slow way he lifted his head to look at me, as if he wanted to distance the fatal moment. Surprisingly, he didn’t mistake me for a charming stranger, though I hid my claw behind my back. He recognized death in person. Was the image created on paper so vivid that readers could immediately recognize the prototype in life? Or maybe it was my face that had such rage written all over it that it was impossible to mistake me for a harmless passerby.

      Royce was awake at the fire. He couldn’t see me, but I got a good look at his frail neck, which I would easily break as soon as I had my first victim. The so-called victim tried to crawl away, but I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and with a hard jerk he was on his feet. Sharp as if specially sharpened gold claws stroked the stiff bristled cheek. The prisoner trembled, aware that this simple caress might leave permanent scars on his skin.

      «You wanted to meet me,» I whispered, almost touching the pierced earlobe with my lips. «You wanted to see how easy it was to kill a dragon. So where’s your resolve?»

      The hilt of his sword was sticking out from under his vest, but he made no attempt to touch it, knowing that such a feeble act of self-defense would be useless. Any attempt to escape the golden claws was doomed to fail. Beneath the padded skin of my human arm as I clutched his shoulder, the captive felt the steel muscles, and realized how insignificant his strength was before such a treacherous and mysterious creature. Fear pervaded his body in a daze, and I, on the other hand, had a demon in me. I wanted to fight, I wanted the prisoner to resist me, and then the rage would be stronger.

      «I get it,» I grinned. «You were expecting our encounter to take place in a dark alley, in a sleeping city, but this is nothing. That’s why you were embarrassed.»

      With a quick, slight nod of the unruly golden-blond head a light flickered into the gray wasteland, and the outlines of the narrow streets and the houses pressed together seemed to rise up out of nowhere like the sight of a shipwrecked city beneath a ship’s keel. Here we were standing in the narrow street, the hood of the nearest lantern giving off little light, as if we could see it through the depths of water. It is only a mirage. The prisoner made no attempt to escape, so I drew his sword from his girdle, and handed it to him with the hilt forward.

      «Take it, show me how easily you can tear my claws!»

      As his numb fingers tightened around the hilt, I coolly and deliberately slashed his throat. The city, with its dim lights, remained forever his deathbed hallucination. The desert lay before me again, and the same fire was blazing. The glowing head rolled back to my feet. I stepped over it. Royce was the first to rise from his seat. That was the only thing that saved him from death. He shouted something to the effect that his comrades had to defend themselves, that they were paid up front to guard the borders, but in a fraction of a minute there was nothing but blood at his feet. The lad staggered back, wondering how he could squeeze any useful idea out of his cleverness this time. He thought feverishly about a rescue plan, but time was running out. He jumped deftly over the fire so that he and I were separated by a wall of fire, but he stumbled and fell and seemed to twist his ankle, or maybe dislocated his shin, I wasn’t sure. At least something was wrong with him, because despite the threat to his life Royce couldn’t get up and run.