Chuckling, Giant John replied, “And I’d like to see your children.”
Marlies smiled. “You may see one of them soon. My daughter, Ezaara, is now Queen’s Rider.”
“Queen’s Rider?” Giant John gaped.
Marlies laughed. “Watch out, John, you might swallow a passing tharuk!”
He hugged her again. “Speed on wings of fire.”
She snorted. “That would be nice, but Liesar isn’t here, so I’ll just have to use my feet.” Marlies waved and entered the cave.
Giant John watched until she was out of sight, then unharnessed the horses, and took their saddlebags out of the secret compartment. He pushed the wagon to the edge of the ravine, and gave it a shove. It dropped, splintering into pieces on the rocks. The current tugged, sweeping some parts away and leaving others stranded.
The tracker’s words echoed in his head, chilling him. “Zens is making new creatures. To kill every male, female and small human. And all your stinking dragons. Gone. Just you wait.” Giant John shivered. New monsters? Someone needed to find out. Shards, he should’ve told Marlies. Was it too much to hope she’d stumble upon the secrets Zens was hiding?
After fastening the saddlebags on the horses, Giant John roped one behind the other and swung into the saddle. He took one last glance at the mountainside as the last rays of sunset melted into dark shadows, and muttered, “By the dragon’s tail, I hope she makes it out again.”
Tharuk Attack
There it was again—the slow creak of the prison door opening. Then soft footfalls.
Creeping to his feet, Hans felt in the dark for the jagged piece of wood he’d prized from his bed yesterday. As his hands closed around the makeshift dagger, a splinter drove into his palm. He clamped his teeth together to stop himself from grunting and stood with his back against the side wall of his cell.
At the other end of the prison, a strangled screech was cut short, followed by a muffled thump.
That was the guard out of the way.
Hans braced himself as the stench of tharuk wafted down the corridor, preceding a lumbering beast. It always made his stomach curl and brought back terrible memories. The sharp iron of their victim’s blood was in his nose again, as he waited, silent, in the dark.
The gorge rose in his throat as the tharuk—a shadow in the darkness—stopped at the cell opposite.
Of course. They were coming to break Bill out. To use him as a pawn, once again. The crow had obviously passed its message on, somehow.
The tang of the guard’s blood rose through the tharuk’s stench. The monster must be covered in it.
With a jangle and a clank, Bill’s cell door was open. A thud. A muffled groan from Bill, then his simpering.
“Oh, thank you, Master. I’m so grateful you came for me. Lovely to see you, absolutely lovely.”
“Drink this,” the beast growled.
Hans heard Bill chugging back fluid, then stumbling to his feet. Swayweed tea, no doubt.
“Ow, not quite so tight, Master,” Bill said. “I’m coming with you, right now.”
“Keep your voice down,” the tharuk growled as it swept Bill down the corridor and out of jail.
For long moments, Hans waited, pressed against the wall. He cocked his head. There were no cries of alarm outside, no sounds of fighting. So, the beast had come to grab Bill ahead of the main attack.
Now, to get out of here, get weapons and defend the township. Hans reached his arm through the bars, stretching the wooden dagger toward Bill’s cell in the dark. He waved the wood back and forth, until it thunked against the edge of the cell door, but it was too short to reach the keys. Hans turned back to the bed. There was plenty more wood where that came from.
Wait.
From outside the prison came stealthy whispers and the chink of armor. The reek of tharuk drifted through the window. There were no warning cries. Dread coiled through Hans’ stomach. Tharuks were infiltrating the village, so Ernst’s perimeter guards must be dead. If only Klaus had listened.
He needed more wood. Hans threw the mattress off his bed. The noise he was about to make could bring tharuks running, but if he didn’t get out, he’d be trapped. Hopefully the racket would alert the settlers. Hans kicked the bed in the weak spot where he’d torn off his dagger. Just a thunk in the dark. He booted it again and again. The planks groaned but held solid.
“What’s that?” a guttural growl rumbled outside Bill’s window.
“Probably 731 smashing up the jail.”
“But we weren’t to start until—”
A scream cut through the air. Everything outside went mad: roaring, yelling, torches flaring through the barred window. Agonized screeches as tusks and claws met flesh.
It made no difference how much noise he made now. Hans jumped high, his boots smashing down on the bed. The wood groaned. He jumped again, thrusting his full bodyweight downward. With a jarring crash, the bed splintered. Pain sparking through his calf, he snatched up a length of wood and poked it through the bars. Erratic torches cast light through the windows, allowing him to skewer the enormous loop of keys onto the end of his stick. Hans jiggled them, trying to get Bill’s key loose from the lock.
Through their cell bars, inmates cried out, then grew silent as they watched his struggle.
Hans jiggled the key again. The end of his stick broke off, falling to the ground, and the keys were still stuck in Bill’s shrotty lock.
A deep snarl made Hans’ neck hairs stand on end. A torch flared to life.
“Speed it, mate,” someone hissed. “A beast is coming.” The inmates disappeared from their barred doors, taking refuge at the back
