“Taggart!” Septamus banged the stone pestle on the edge of the mortar. Its sharp clatterricocheted across the room. “Enough! You will cease giving that woman power over you or I shall do something I should have done long ago.”
With a hard shake to free himself of the bitter aromatic trance, Taggart pulled his focus from the rain-spattered window. “And what would that be?”
“I will summon your mother.”
“Ye wouldna dare.”
Septamus scraped the herbal mash out of the mortar and rolled it into a noxious, oily, egg-shaped ball between two of his claws. “Try me.” The old one’s nostrils flared, then puffed twin rings of smoke to go along with his challenge. With his focus turned back to his patient, he forced the greasy brown mass between Thaetus’s dry, cracked lips. He slid his scaled forearm under the Scot’s twitching shoulders and lifted him while holding a glass of water to his mouth. “Now answer my question. Why would Sloan suffer our Guardian to live? Do you believe it has anything to do with the stolen egg?”
With a sympathetic cringe, Taggart rubbed his throat and tried not to gag while watching Thaetus struggle to down the pill. He knew the terrible flavor of that potent concoction. Its scent alone made him want to retch. “I think it has everything to do with the egg. Why else would he keep her alive? I am certain he prefers she releases the hatchling, but if she provokes him and he knows of the tenet, he will sacrifice her and hatch it with her blood. My greatest fear is she willmake the mistake of releasing it, and then he will kill her before we can save her.”
“We will need many experienced blades to lay siege upon Tiersa Deun.” Septamus eased Thaetus back down into the pillows and pulled the blankets up to the trembling man’s chin.
“Few swords would be better this case,” Thaetus whispered. His eyes closed as he turned his head into the pillow. The twitching in his limbs gradually stopped.
Taggart made a slow circle around the mahogany table centered in the room. “How long would it take to summon other Draecna from all the gateways? Gather them from every portal? Bring them forth to cross over to Erastaed?”
Septamus shook his head. “We cannot neglect the portals. Not even for something as great as rescuing the Guardian. The balance of time and space must be maintained, or the very grid itself will implode and chaos will result. There are no Draecna to be spared.”
“The nursery is full,” Gearlach interrupted. “Ye have at least nineteen eggs down there ready with nineteen healthy warriors to be. Bring forth the hatchlings and meld with them to advance their training to your level.”
Taggart ceased pacing and stared at Gearlach. He knew the blundering beast was trying to help, but had the fool lost his mind? “Only a Guardian can release the hatchlings. Ye ken that. Remember the last time the Guild tried to release them? Almost all the hatchlings and the Guild members died except for one youngling and ye ken how he turned out. How long has it been since ye read your texts? Have ye forgotten all your history?”
Gearlach swaggered across the room and thumped a knobby claw in the center of Taggart’s chest. He hit him so hard it knocked him back a couple of paces. “Ye need to reread yer own in-depth texts, ye uppity little hybrid! When ye joined with the Guardian, ye marked her for yer mate and, whether or notsheknows it she accepted ye and mixed her blood with yers. I ken this because I still smell her on ye and it’s been nigh on three months. She still reeks of yer scent, too. Hell, the kitchen still crawls with the essence of your union. Ye needto pay closer attention, ye stubborn fool. Ye now have the power to call forth the hatchlings just as well as she.”
Merlin’s bones, could it be true? He glared at Gearlach, unease rumbling in his gut as he tried to remember every ancient text he had ever read. He thought back to that night and his body thrummed to attention. Holy blazes, he hardened at the very memory. It hadn’t just been the magic of her body. He had experienced an unexplainable bonding with her and responded by claiming her with his mark. But he hadn’t told her. Not after the fright the next morning.
“Goddess forgive me.” He raked both hands through his hair.
Gearlach snickered, wagging his great horned head back and forth as he swaggered about the room. “For once I am right and ye are wrong. Now, what do ye think about that?”
“Shut it, Gearlach.” Septamus snorted and rolled his great, iridescent eyes. “Taggart, as much as I hate to agree with him—” He paused and flashed the beast a warning look before continuing, “You are her mate and thereby possess the power to bring forth the remainder of the brood.”
Taggart covered his face with both hands and sank into an overstuffed chair beside the hearth. “And what good does this newfound power do me? If they are all as immature as young William, what can I hope to accomplish with an army of inexperienced Draecna?”
“William is innocent because the Guardian brought him forth, and he has been allowed to advance at the natural rate of acceleration. He has not experienced the advantage of connecting with your mind.” Septamus re-bottled the herbs on his tray, carefully tightening the stoppers on each of the glass vials. “However, if you bring forth the hatchlings and meld with their minds as soon as they emerge from their shells, you can advance their level of maturity and battle experience to that of your own. They will not have your magic, but they will possess the power to control their blaze and should grow to nearly Gearlach’s size immediately.”
Nineteen Draecna ready to do battle and that did not include Septamus and Gearlach. Taggart scratched the stubble of his day-old beard and winced as he weighed the odds. The ancient texts onlyhinted at what Septamus proposed as a possibility. He searched his memories as growing uncertainty settled like a stone in his gut. As far as he remembered, no one had ever tried such a melding. Sorting through his teachings of the sacred tenets, Taggart recalled why. The final chapter describing the untried ritual warned of irreversible insanity for both participants if the melding failed.
But nineteen Draecna flying against his brother and saving Hannah from a cruel death? How could he not try? Cunning and evil, Sloan excelled at every level of war, be it face-to-face battle or cloak-and-dagger stealth. The young Draecna would only know what Taggart’s DNA transmitted into their minds. They would only possess his knowledge. His thirst for vengeance would remain entirely his own. Sloan had his Hannah. Taggart had no choice, and the nineteen eggs awaited.
17
Somewhere in the distance a whip cracked. The cruel snap ricocheted down the hallway followed by chains rattling and a thud.
Hannah cracked open an eye and tried to locate the source. The hissing pop of leather lashing against flesh repeated. A low moaning sob made her heart ache for the poor, suffering soul. She slid farther back into the darkest corner of her cell, curled into a ball, and covered her ears. If she kept her back pressed tight against the cold, hard wall, maybe she could disappear into the darkness.
At least this room smelled better than the first one they had thrown her into, and the only thing crawling on the floor was her. The slab radiated the coldness and was black as an oil slick. Or it appeared to be. Hard to tell with so little light. The walls seemed to be stained in places. She tried not to think about it. A faint ray of sunshine made it into the room through a single tiny window near the ceiling.
She hurt all over. From the cold. From rough handling and hard landings when they threw her. She preferred not to think about what else would happen if she didn’t find a way out of here. No senseletting her thoughts push her into hysteria. Time to stop cowering and start thinking of an escape plan.
She rose and stretched to her tiptoes, trying to peer out the window. Not really a window. More like a slit between the blocks. No luck. She was entirely too short to reach it. With a hand grazing along the wall, she felt her way through the dimness to the door. Breath held, she pressed an ear to the crack between the hinges and listened. Pathetic moans and high-pitched wails made her cringe.
The distinct clomp and drag of heavy boots made her step back. The stomping became louder, drawing closer. Her heart jumped to her throat when they scraped to a halt on the other side of her door. She backed into a corner and held her breath as keys rattled in the lock.
“Good. You be awake. Sloan tires of waiting and I damn sure ain’t gonna carry you to him. Move your arse.” A repugnant man, covered in open sores and bearing a jagged scar that started at the top of his head, crossed his face, and continued down his double chins, stood scratching his enormous belly with the end of the keys dangling on a large iron ring.
She eyed the guard. With his stubby legs and labored gait, she bet she could outrun him easily. Problem was, where should she go once she got out of the cell?
