‘Where?’
‘There are others you must meet, humans, who are my friends, and who hold the safety of this world paramount. Perhaps after you’ve met Pug and his associates you’ll rethink your feelings of superiority.’
Gulamendis looked dubious but said nothing.
Tomas closed his eyes and spoke softly, but the words were powerful and Gulamendis felt magic forming. They stood motionless for nearly five minutes, then came the sound of gigantic wings and a shadow passed over them. Gulamendis looked up; if his first sight of Tomas had shocked him, what he now beheld nearly forced him to his knees.
A great golden dragon hovered above them, lazily beating its wings. In some speech only Tomas could understand, it seemed to question the human-turned-Dragon Lord, and Tomas spoke aloud in the same language.
‘He’s agreed to carry us.’
‘Carry us?’ said the Demon Master.
The dragon touched down as gently as a falling feather, lowering his head until it rested on the ground. ‘Come,’ said Tomas, walking over to a portion of the neck where he could climb aboard. ‘Sit behind me and behold more of this world you call Home.’
Gulamendis was mute. He could barely nod and it took all his resolve to meekly follow Tomas and climb aboard the dragon, behind him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Plotting
Sandreena awoke.
Her hand had reached for the haft of her mace before she was fully conscious, to attack whoever stood above her. A strong hand grabbed her wrist and prevented her from finding her weapon and she found herself too weak to break that grasp. A voice spoke softly, ‘None of that, now. You’re safe.’
She blinked and realized there was no mace next to her. It had been taken by whoever those Black Caps had been. She had had a sword, but now it was gone. She blinked again, trying to focus her eyes and remember where she was.
She lay in a simple bed of wood, on a straw-stuffed mattress suspended on a rope lattice, in a small monk’s cell. Her memory returned. She was in the Temple in Ithra. She had arrived almost dead on her feet, her horse in little better condition . . . she didn’t know when. She tried to speak, the face above her indistinct in the dim light of the room. ‘How long?’ she managed to croak.
‘Almost a day,’ said the voice. Now she could tell it was a man. The hand released her wrist and a moment later slipped behind her head, helping her to sit up a little as a cup of cold, clean water touched her lips. She sipped and as moisture awoke her thirst, started to drink. After she’d drained the cup, she could speak more clearly. ‘More.’
The man stood up. He had been kneeling by her bedside, and she now got a good look at him. He was a dark-haired man, somewhere in his mid-thirties. Heavy set, but not fat. He wore a deep plum-coloured tunic and simple black trousers of fine weave, and his boots were also finely crafted. He appeared unarmed. His features were plain, even unremarkable, but there was something about his dark eyes that said he should not be underestimated.
‘Who are you?’ she asked weakly.
‘I’m Zane.’
After another drink of water, she said, ‘Just Zane?’
He shrugged and smiled. It was a simple expression, but without guile. That made him either straightforward or dangerous. She’d assume the latter until the former proved its worth. ‘Well, if you care to use them, I’ve a couple of titles, one from Roldem, another from the Kingdom of the Isles, and I may be entitled to some honorific from Kesh, but I’m not entirely sure. Zane will do.’
He turned to indicate the figures outside the door. ‘The monks tell me you’re called Sandreena and that you are a Knight-Adamant of the Order of the Shield of the Weak. Is that correct?’
‘Yes,’ said Sandreena. ‘I’m assuming you’re harmless, or else the brothers would never have allowed you into my quarters while I was unconscious.’
He feigned a look of injury. ‘Harmless?’ He shook his head slightly. ‘I’m no menace to you, certainly, but harmless?’ He sighed as he sat back down next to her. ‘You need your rest, but before you fall asleep again, there are a couple of things I need to know.’
Feeling herself slipping back into unconsciousness, she said, ‘That may have to wait . . .’
*
Zane was still there when she awoke again, but he was dressed differently. She could see that the light from the high window above was different, too: grey. ‘Ah, there you are, again,’ said Zane. He had been standing near to the door, watching her, and now came to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘Water?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ she said and allowed him to help her drink. Gathering her thoughts, she asked, ‘Who are you again?’
‘Zane,’ he replied.
‘I mean, who sent you?’
‘Ah, that,’ he said, standing up as she appeared more lucid this time and able to drink without aid. ‘I am presently a friend of the Father-Bishop Creegan. Well, associate is perhaps a better choice of words.’