“I apologize for this indelicate meeting. I’ve never met a dragonborn before, and as such, we had to take every precaution.”
He’d never heard his curse referred to that way. His uncle merely called it his affliction. But whatever he called him didn’t matter. Erich tested the ropes tying his arms behind his back and his feet together, and felt the sting of binding runes. It muted his connection with the dragon and sapped his strength. Meaning he had the strength of an ordinary man, leaving him helpless and at this hunter’s mercy.
“Are you saying you don’t usually knock guests over and tie them up?” Erich remarked.
“It used to be I killed your kind on sight. Too risky.” He leaned back against a desk, crossing his arms, as they glared at one another. After their brief staring contest, the man exhaled out his nose and turned his back on Erich to reach for a bottle of wine. He poured two glasses of dark-red Sundland wine, and then he raised one toward Erich as if he could take it from the man’s hand. It felt like a targeted insult. Either this man knew who Erich was and was using his favorite thing to mock him, or this was a cruel twist of fate even Fritz couldn’t have foretold. The hunter lifted his glass to his lips and sipped at it slowly. After making Erich watch him take his time enjoying his drink, the hunter set down his glass.
“Now, we can either speak to one another as civilized men, or I can turn you over to the Midnight Guard to do with you as they wish.” He picked up a piece of parchment from the desk and showed it to Erich.
The artist’s depiction of him wasn’t perfect, but was close enough that anyone who saw him near the poster might give him a second glance.
“If we are going to speak like men or boys, why are we playing games?” Erich asked.
“As my associate tried to explain before, I have a business proposition for you.”
Erich wanted to spit on the man’s shiny boots, but he had enough sense of self-preservation to say, “Alright, let’s hear your proposition.”
The man dragged out the moment by picking up the second glass and swirling its contents.
“First, let me introduce myself. I am Leonhard Harnisch, head of the Hunters’ Guild here in Basilia and a collector of rare and powerful creatures, such as yourself.”
Erich ground his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He knew this man by reputation only. The Basilia hunters were rumored to be backed by the church and had grown wealthy and powerful. And their leader entertained the city’s elite with his illegal chimera-fighting pits, where he put beasts, and sometimes men, up against one another in death matches. He knew why this man had sought him out now. Why they’d captured him rather than killed him. He wanted Erich for his spectacle. Erich supposed there were worse fates. He could have his guts cut out and dried into jerky as some strange remedy for the foolish.
The man crouched down in front of him. “Can you control your shift, Prince Erich? Or is the blood too thin for that?”
“I’m corrupted, not dragonborn or whatever you think I am.”
The man waved his hand. “Corruption, curse, dark magic. I’ve heard it called many things, but it’s not what your kind were always called. Not before.” He picked up an old book from his desk, thumbed through it, and held an open page to Erich. There was a drawing of a man, a man-dragon with scales and small wings, as if he were halfway through transforming.
The book didn’t interest Erich. It didn’t matter if there were others. All he knew was the curse was killing him. “So you’ve seen creatures like me in books. And you want me to transform, what, for you?”
“No, I want you to fight in the arena. I think it would be spectacular.” There was a greedy glint in the man’s eyes that made Erich’s mouth turn to ash.
His dagger lay on the desk, the handle toward him, perhaps another mockery. Erich’s hand ached to take hold of it and drive it into this man’s throat. But he had to bide his time instead.
“You’d have me choose between death in a pit or death by execution?”
The man crossed his arms and studied Erich for a moment.
“I’m a businessman. I don’t make investments that I don’t expect to pay off. If the legends are true, you’ll perform well against whatever I throw at you.”
“And then what? I keep fighting until my untimely demise?”
“I do treat my champions well.”
“And is there some sort of reward for winning?” He was taking a big gamble. But if he’d learned anything from spending time in the underbelly of the continent for close to six years, it was that big risks were the ones worth taking.
A smile spread across Leonhard’s features. “Rather bold to be making deals, given your position. But yes, I reward those who please me. Tell me, what would you like should you survive?”
“When I win your match… help me get into the temple.”
“Who says I have that sort of sway?”
“You’re organizing pit fights with corrupted under the nose of the Avatheos. You’ve got to have someone in your pocket, or many someones. There’s no way the Midnight Guard hasn’t caught wind of your operation.”
“You have my measure, it seems. Fair enough. You win, and I’ll give you access.” He shrugged. Then he looked past Erich, toward what Erich assumed was the door, and called, “Come in.”
The door creaked open. Erich assumed he’d be dragged to a holding cell or something, but instead, someone came in and yanked him onto his knees. They pulled back the collar of his shirt, and Erich fought the urge to struggle against them. Once they had his neck exposed, he felt something hot against his shoulder. That was when he did try to thrash, but whoever was behind him had an iron grip on him, and he couldn’t move.
