He checked the body twisted on the floor, blood flowing from her mouth or nose and one ear. She had a pulse. He let her keep it. The strikes he'd used, a human would be dead or in hospital for months. Between her training and the Old Blood, she'd be fit to fight again within a week.
Her hand had opened, and something glinted from the floor -- a button, attached to a shred of blue cloth. He knelt close, not touching it. A metal button, probably brass, with Duncan's family crest.
He left it.
He straightened up and took a couple of limping steps. She'd still managed to get in a shot or two, going down. Amazing. His left leg -- he'd swear she was already out cold when that kick caught him. It'd cost her a broken ankle from his own reflex trap and twist.
His hands hurt. Damned woman had a hard skull. And she hadn't told him where the labyrinth hid. She'd used up at least five of the ten minutes he could count on, to find it and walk it and escape. Just like Dierdre, to set him another test. He looked around.
Shouts echoed out in the corridor, and he heard the latch clicking. The door thumped instead of opening. Dierdre had set a bar across it. With this lot, that might hold a minute, maybe two.
Chapter Eighteen
Khe'sha sniffed the dark witch again. She smelled of treachery and lies. She smelled of machines and lightning, of strange unnatural liquids and acrid powders and herbs that could kill or heal. She smelled, faintly, of Shen, but she'd explained that by her scouting of the stone tower on the hill.
{I do not trust you.}
Treachery and lies made dangerous weapons, teeth sharp on both ends that sank into your own jaw when you tore your prey. You used them sparingly, and only when necessary. But this witch never told the truth unless it served her better than a lie. She probably even lied to herself, when it served her purpose.
She stood within biting range now, and he could settle that question with a quick lunge and snap of his jaws. She rested her hands on the fat bulge of her belly, standing calm under his nose, and smiled up at him. She must be defended, to act so confident.
"And I don't trust you either, love. But you need me, and I need you, and neither of us will get what we want if we don't work together."
{I must not leave the nestlings.} Even revenge couldn't break that duty. Sha'khe lived in them. He saw his dead mate in the line of one's snout, the infant crest of another, the iridescent scale-patterns of a third. Even so fresh from the egg, Sha'khe lived in them.
The witch looked puzzled. "The tower threatens all of them. Your enemies killed your mate. They stole your hatchling. Don't you think they'll kill you, when it serves their purpose? Don't you think they'll use what they learn from Shen against you and against your nestlings? Why else would they steal her?"
Khe'sha couldn't remember telling the dark one of Shen's name, only of his rage at the sneak thief. But he must have mentioned her name and sex. And the witch was right. The tower threatened all his hatchlings. If they had stolen one, they could steal the rest. If they killed Sha'khe, they could kill him.
"When you attack the keep, you defend your nest." She echoed his thoughts.
But the world was hungry, with teeth and claws everywhere. He must not tell this witch too much; she would have power over him. {If I leave the nests untended for long, I will find nothing left to defend when I return.}
She cocked her head to one side, studying him. "And what besides the tower would be a danger to you? I've seen those little dragons, seen their teeth. There's nothing in this swamp would threaten them."
And then she paused, running one finger over her cheek, and smiled. "Ah. I see, love. Those teeth. And I'd wondered why you set the mounds so far apart. Ah, but they must run you ragged."
Her mind was too quick for him, and she had learned too much. Now he could tie a smell with that watching shadow in the mists. Rage flashed through him, burning hot. Khe'sha gathered his muscles for the lunge.
* * *
He blinked. He looked up. Up, into the dark witch's face. His chin pressed into cold muck at the swamp's edge. If he could read Old One expressions right, her face looked amused. Amused, and mocking.
"So Brian was right."
{?}
"Old family history, love. Brian guessed that he could stun a dragon. He was right."
Khe'sha tested one toe, stirring the muck on the swamp bottom. His foot moved -- awkward and twitching, but it moved. He'd eaten a dozen Old Ones, maybe more. None had ever shown this Power. Her strength swelled with her belly, just as she had said. Between them, they could destroy the tower.
But this witch knew far too much. His rage still burned. He thrust against the mud and twisted his head for the killing bite.
* * *
"Don't try that again, love. The next time, you won't wake up."
He opened one eye, bleary, and focused on the shape in front of him. She looked paler than before, and her eyes squinted as if the bright sun hurt her head. And he smelled her sweat, acrid and tinged with the hatchling in her belly.
{I . . . must . . . protect . . . nests.}
"You won't do it that way. You waste our time and my Power by even trying."
He measured the way she stood, swaying slightly, the way her hands cradled her unhatched young. He sniffed her again, finding weakness on the breeze.
{I doubt if you have the strength left to kill me.}
"Ah, but do you dare take the chance? What
