Dragonlands(87)

She had more important things to do. It was time to kill Stacia.





Chapter Fifty-Four


Bastian's head swam in a sea of blue and purple fists. After the fog fell, it didn't take long for the army to arrive. He'd expected that, but not so soon. Before he’d had the chance to get to the city, Stacia's entire army showed up and took him captive.

They tried to fight back, but less than fifty men against hundreds of armed, trained soldiers was futile. Bastian urged them to put down their weapons. He didn't want to lose any more men in a skirmish they couldn't win. It wasn't worth the loss of life. Each man had a friend or brother or wife who loved him the same way so many had loved Connor.

That hadn't stopped five men dressed in black from knocking Bastian out. He hoped his men were being treated better than he was. Only the sway of the horse's canter and the smell of its well-timed droppings pulled him out of his stupor. The turd shot down the pallet Bastian was tied to, landing on the top of his head and rolling down the side to his ear where it finally came to rest on his shoulder. The sweet and earthy smell invaded his senses. If it weren't for the sharp scent of waste, he might have stayed asleep, lost in a dream of reuniting with Tressa.

Instead his head bonked on the wooden pallet any time it rolled over a rock. He'd have a headache, and not just from the beating.

His hands were bound at his stomach, but his head was free to loll about. He looked to his left, the poop still resided on the right shoulder, and groaned. The forest still surrounded him, the thatched roofs of taverns, inns, and shops danced above him, their roofs mingling with the trees. People milled in the street, taking a long gander at the man bound and dragged through town. They passed the tavern where he and Tressa had sat on their first day. Then came the town square where Connor had lost a battle he hadn't even been able to fight.

He was back where he didn't want to be. Bastian's wrists couldn't move. The rope only dug in deeper when he tried. Instead he closed his eyes and attempted to come up with a new strategy. He'd always relied on his brawn, Connor's words, and Tressa's ideas. With his own ability hampered, he missed his friends even more. Together they had power, greater than any of the magic or dragons in the world. Apart, he felt useless. What good was muscle when he was tied up and unable to fight?

After fifteen large rocks, nine deep ruts, and a slight twinge of nausea, the horse came to a halt. It excreted once more, giving Bastian's left shoulder its own companion.

Men in black uniforms with long swords stood over his pallet arguing.

"You cut him free from the pallet and Barden and I will hold him down."

"No, you cut him free. I want to have my hands on him when we present him to the queen. I'm the one who knocked him out in the first place. I deserve that honor."

"Only because you were lucky!"

"We're brothers of the Black Guard, you shouldn't be so concerned about how this makes you look."

A set of hands burst through their argument and pushed them aside. "You three are pathetic." The man, as large as Bastian, twice as wide, and as solid as a mountain jammed his foot into Bastian's crotch.

Stars swam, swallowing the world into a bright vortex of pinks and blues. He vaguely felt the ropes fall and thump on the ground. His upper arms were surrounded by the tight grip of two men. Only then did the pressure on his crotch subside. The world slowly came back into focus.

"Walk! We aren't going to drag you!"

Someone behind Bastian kicked the back of his knee, forcing his leg to bend. He stumbled, but kept his footing. One slow step followed by another and another.

"Good, good, keep it up now. A few flights of stairs and then you'll be given a nice chair and a place to rest." The guard guffawed and elbowed Bastian in the ribs.

Bastian ignored the pain radiating through his abdomen. He pushed away the fear over how much it hurt to breathe. Instead he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Every step would get him closer to Stacia. Closer to the woman who'd killed his best friend. Step. Closer to the woman who'd turned his life upside down. Step. Closer to the woman who was probably about to kill him. Step. Closer to the woman whose neck he wanted to snap in two. Step.

They entered the castle. Like the horse, his muddy boots left their own gifts behind on the marble floors. He smiled in triumph. It wasn't much, but it was something. Someone, other than the guards, would know he'd been here.

Bastian's tongue dragged over his parched lips, sensing every ripped piece of flesh and tasting dried blood. He needed water. It was possible he'd never drink again. That they'd just kill him when they took him before the queen. It might be close to the end.

He flexed an arm, but it barely responded. He didn't have the strength to fight back. At least not enough to win. But he'd fight until the last moment. That he knew deep in his soul. He wanted to win. He needed to win. He'd give everything he had to walk out of the castle alive.