The tharuks laughed raucously.
The violence in their guffaws raised the hairs on Tomaaz’s neck. His spade hit the dirt in front of him. A trickle of sludge crept out of the pit. Tomaaz nudged the slave behind him and scrambled out of the ditch. Slumping on the freshly-tossed earth, he waited until everyone was clear, then leaned over, whacking the pit wall with his spade. Not too hard, that should do it. Only a trickle of sludge leaked out.
“Get in and finish it off!” bellowed a tharuk, breaking away from 568’s group. “Move it!”
Wearily, Tomaaz clambered back into the ditch. He had to time this right.
He hit the wall with his shovel, twisting it. A spurt of sewage shot out, hitting him in the chest and splattering his breeches and spade. Tomaaz scrambled out of the ditch as the whole wall caved in under the pressure of the pit’s stinking contents.
“Rest time,” thundered the tharuk.
The slaves from Tomaaz’s crew flopped to the ground. He leaned back on the earth, stinking of excrement, breathing through his mouth to avoid the stench. That should mask his scent.
A swarm of tharuks reported to 568. Their black eyes flitted across the slaves, and their tusks gleamed with trails of dark saliva. “We scented bloody bed. Two strong scents. One toward Zens’ beast.”
“Maazini, is your chain cut?”
“Yes. I’m ready and waiting for you.”
“The tharuks know the boy is with you. Get him and Ma out! Quick, before they come for you.”
Without Maazini, Tomaaz would never get out of there. Not with suspicious trackers prowling. He’d become another lump on the flesh pile. But he didn’t want the boy’s life and Ma’s life on his conscience. Or Maazini’s. “Go, Maazini, go.” Tomaaz stared blankly at the sky.
No answer from Maazini.
No trace of dragon above the hilltops. Not even a silhouette of a wingtip.
“Go, Maazini, don’t be a fool. Save them while you can.”
Although he couldn’t hear Maazini’s voice, Tomaaz could feel him. Stubborn refusal trickled over him, like a littling stamping its foot for a toy.
Tomaaz sighed. “Get out of here, Maazini.”
“There’s still time. Be careful, Tomaaz. If they suspect you, they’ll kill you.”
“I know, but I don’t want any of you to die.”
Maazini gave a mental snort.
Trackers scoured the edges of each ditch, sniffing at the slave crews, working their way closer. Tomaaz’s crew was still on break, so he couldn’t do anything to release the dread building inside him. Could trackers smell fear? Perhaps they’d sense his heart pounding.
“Stay calm,” Maazini mind-melded.
Soothing energy washed over Tomaaz, but it wasn’t enough to calm his racing heart.
“Stand up!” barked Burnt Face.
The slaves scrambled to their feet.
Trackers roamed among them, black eyes flitting from slave to slave, and snouts twitching.
A small wiry tharuk stopped by Tomaaz. “This one,” it barked. “This scent goes to the beast.”
His ploy with the sewage had been for nothing. The beast had still recognized his scent.
568 laughed. “Of course. That human feeds beast. But did it take small male?”
The trackers clustered around Tomaaz. Claws out, their nostrils quivered, snouts thrust in his face.
“Can’t tell,” muttered the wiry one. “Too dirty.”
The others nodded and broke away, stalking among the slaves.
Tomaaz held in his sigh of relief, only letting his breath escape slowly.
A heartbeat later, 568 was in front of Tomaaz. “Time to feed beast.” He motioned to Burnt Face and Wiry. “Come. Feeding time.” His laugh was laced with menace.
“Maazini, I’m coming, with three tharuks. Escape. Now. Take Ma and the boy.” The tharuks behind Tomaaz prodded him with their claws. His nails! Oh, shards! They were pinking at the edges. What about his eyes?
The tharuks marched him to the rodent pile.
“Feed beast well today,” 568 said. “Zens wants to play with beast tomorrow.”
Thank the Egg, they were leaving. Tomaaz piled his shovel with rats and a dead bird. “Maazini, get out of here.” He didn’t dare look up. But there was no flap of wings, no gust of wind to signify a dragon flying above them. And no flash of orange. “Escape, you silly dragon,” Tomaaz melded, pleading, “please, go.”
Too soon, they rounded the bend in Maazini’s branch of the valley.
The cavern mouth was dark. Tomaaz shambled forward, 568 right beside him, while Burnt Face and Wiry hung back.
An earth-shattering roar ripped through the air, and Maazini lurched out of the cavern, chain rattling and sagging gray wings drooping at his sides. His scales were dull gray. “Dragon’s scale works wonders,” Maazini melded.
Tomaaz stared blankly.
“You look like a numlocked slave,” Maazini said in his head.
“Feed it,” 568 growled.
Tomaaz tossed the rats at Maazini’s feet and retreated.
Tharuk 568 turned to Wiry, the tracker. “Smell the small male?”
Wiry shook his head. “Nothing new.”
“Your mother’s very clever. She gave the boy freshweed. See you here tonight.” Maazini retreated into his cave with the rats.
§
Zens thrust his hand in the air and, with his mind, overturned a table. Then he flipped his hand over, turning the table back onto its legs. Then he did it again. It wasn’t enough. He sent the table smashing into the wall, where it splintered, broken pieces clattering to the floor.
Now, that felt better.
A waterskin missing. A blanket. The prisoner’s rucksack. A hacksaw. It could only mean one thing. The ex-rider wasn’t dead. He scanned through 555’s memories.
Glassy-eyed, the woman stared at him vacantly, her lips blue-tinged. She looked dead all right, but there was only one way to appease his sneaking suspicions.
He addressed 000. “Triple Zero, search the human flesh pile. Make sure the ex-rider is still there.”
§
Tomaaz turned over the corpse of a littling. Vacant brown eyes stared up at him from under matted blonde hair. He swallowed. Only
