Free Brother of the Dragon by Paul B. Thompson and Tonya C. Cook Page B

onto the upper steps. She landed hard and rolled, coming to a stop against the niter-encrusted wall. Her tumble scattered the loose debris, sending some of it rolling into the yawning pit. She realized many of the “stones” she’d been lying on were actually human bones.
    “Take her, boy, and use her as you see fit!” Sthenn cackled. “When you tire of her, bring her to me – though beautiful rodents likely taste much the same as ugly ones.”
    The dragon lowered himself backward into his hole. His feculent laughter echoed upward long after his monstrous form was lost from view.
    Zannian knelt by Beramun and helped her sit up.
    “Don’t touch me!” she snapped.
    He withdrew, but said, “Mend your attitude. Those who break the laws of Almurk end up here, as meat for the Master.”
    “How can you serve such a monster? How can you feed your fellow humans to him?”
    “Sthenn is the source of our future greatness. With him as our master, we will forge a great tribe and conquer the plains!”
    Beramun ignored his helping hand and stood, bracing herself against the sticky wall until her knees ceased shaking.
    He watched her through narrowed eyes. “You can live as the chiefs mate or die as his slave. The choice is yours. Until you decide, you’ll work like the others in the tannery.”
    He indicated she should precede him up the tunnel. She limped past, bruised from her hard landing, and they walked in silence. The long tunnel eventually ended on a blank wall. Looking up, Beramun saw an opening. A ladder made from peeled saplings was positioned in the hole. Weary, her entire body aching, she began the climb up.
    When they emerged, she saw it was still night. Zannian pointed wordlessly to the pen where the other captives slept. Head held high, Beramun limped into the low-walled prison.
     
     

Chapter 5

     
    Tiphan and his young helpers left the valley through Cedarsplit Gap, climbing into the low-hanging clouds as they went. Everything they wore or carried soon acquired a thin coat of ice. Once they crested the pass, they encountered a frigid wind that cut through their furs. By the time the sun rose above the eastern range, all three travelers were numb to the bone.
    Tiphan consented to a pause in the lee of a promontory for refreshment. Strengthening drafts of Hulami’s best wine got their blood coursing again.
    “The wind shouldn’t be so bad on the downslope,” Mara remarked.
    “I hope so,” said Penzar, lips blue with cold. “Tosen, now that we’re out of Yala-tene, can you tell us where we’re going?”
    In reply Tiphan opened his hip pouch and took out the scrap of Silvanesti map. He spread it on a convenient rock and pointed approximately halfway between the eastern rivers.
    “Here,” he said.
    Penzar touched the ragged edge of the tom map reverently. “This is elven?”
    “Yes. It represents a place, like you might draw a picture of a person you know.” Tiphan drew his knife and deftly scratched a few lines on the rock face behind them with the bronze blade. Mara and Penzar squinted at the image. It was a simple face – round head, eyes, nose, the suggestion of a mouth.
    “This might be anyone,” Tiphan said. “So I add —” He scored a curling line from the back of the image’s head. “Now who is it?”
    Penzar said, “Mara!” and the girl echoed, “Me!”
    “If I drew a three-sided lake with a waterfall at the broad end, you’d know what place it was, wouldn’t you?”
    The boy grinned. “Of course, Tosen.”
    Mara was studying the crude likeness on the rock. She glowed with her pleasure at having been chosen as the subject of her leader’s lesson, but she quickly resumed her serious countenance.
    Standing out from the sheltering boulder, she said, “The wind dies. Shall we go?”
    As they crossed the high divide between east and west the wind subsided. It was still freezing and extremely dry – too dry for snow or ice – but the sun was bright, and they made good