Free The Dragon's Son by Margaret Weis

she gasped. She started to draw her
blade. Another blow across her shoulders drove her to her knees. A blow on her
right arm cracked it and she cried out in pain and anger.
    The men aimed first at Bellona’s head and her sword arm; then, when she was
dizzy and weak, they hit any part of her they could reach. They beat her even
after she was down, clubbing her about the head and shoulders and savagely
kicking her.
    Ven heard the sister scream and Bellona curse and then darkness took shape
and form and the stench of sweat and filth. A man seized hold of him and flung
him out of the way to get at Bellona.
    The holy sister caught Ven as he stumbled and dragged him across the road,
away from the battle. She held him fast, pressed against her ample form, and he
could feel her body tense and quivering. He watched them beat Bellona senseless,
beat her into the ground. They stopped only when she lay still and had ceased
to moan.
    Another man emerged from the darkness. He was a huge man, with rounded,
hulking shoulders and an overhanging brow. He was the biggest man Ven had ever
seen, even counting the so-called giant posturing in the freak show at the
faire. The huge man had taken no part in the attack. He eyed Ven as he walked
over to Bellona’s limp and bloodied body. Only then did he wrench his gaze away
from Ven. The man poked at Bellona with the toe of his boot.
    “Find the money,” he ordered his men.
    A last kick, to make certain she wasn’t shamming, and two of the thieves
rolled Bellona over. One thrust his hand inside the breast of her wool tunic.
    “You will burn in the fires of hell for this,” cried the holy sister, her
voice shrill. She kept fast hold of Ven.
    The huge robber barely glanced at her. “I was hell-bound from birth, Sister.
This only greases my way.”
    His cohort was still fumbling about beneath Bellona’s tunic.
    “I can’t find it,” he muttered.
    “He’s not looking. He’s having too much fun playing with her boobies,” said
another with a snigger.
    “I don’t plan to stay here all night watching you getting your jollies,
Watt,” said the big man in acid tones. “Be quick, before someone comes.”
    Clouds blotted out the starlight and thunder drowned their voices. Lightning
flared across the sky and Ven reached out with his mind and took hold of it.
The bolt crackled and sizzled in his grasp, blazed in his vision, so that he
was blind and dazzled. He flung the lightning at the man who was mauling
Bellona.
    The bolt struck the man, sent him flying backward. He landed heavily on the
road, his body jerking and twitching. The smell of burnt flesh brought Ven
fierce joy.
    “I was right, Grald,” said the holy sister. The nun’s
hands, resting on his shoulders, tightened. “He is the dragon’s son.”
     
    Draconas crouched beneath the trees, the river at his back, the boy and the
nun before him, so close that Draconas could have reached out his hand to touch
them. Draconas remained hidden in the darkness, still and unmoving, barely
breathing, watching and waiting.
    Having followed the trail of the cart, Draconas had ended up back at the
fairegrounds standing in front of the cart and its load of furs and swearing. By
the time he realized that he’d been an idiot, Bellona and Ven had a long head
start. Draconas set off along the southern road. He gave their descriptions to
travelers heading into the city, and received confirmation that the two were
ahead of him and not that far ahead, either. Although he had raced after them
with his dragon strength and speed, he had arrived too late to save Bellona. He
could try to save the boy.
    Draconas had been about to make his move when Grald stepped out of the
darkness onto the highway. Draconas hunkered down, forced to rethink his plans.
    Grald was a dragon in human form, much like Draconas. The two had met before
in a bone-crunching contest that had left Draconas half-dead. Draconas had been
looking forward to the day when they would meet