Draka

A few days earlier

'How am I going to get her out of this?'

The thought had hounded Makanna for days, and had finally driven her here, her secret watering hole when she absolutely did not want to be found. She had hoped to quiet her thoughts with drink, to finally be able to relax for an evening, but it was not to be. With every cup she drank herself deeper and deeper into her worries, but she was far past the point of no return. She didn't know how the night would end, but she was sure that she wouldn't remember it. Maybe she'd stumble home and embarrass herself. Maybe Herald would have finally sussed this place out, and would find her and drag her home, which was worse. Or maybe she'd wake up in an unfamiliar bed again. That might be nice. Any way it went, she was past the point of caring. She just wanted to stop thinking, for just a few hours. Was that so much to ask?

The object of her worries was, of course, Herald. It usually was. Makanna often felt confused about if she saw the girl more as a sister or a daughter. She'd certainly done everything expected of a mother for most of Herald's life. Either way Makanna was the head of the family, Herald was her responsibility, and she seemed determined to get into trouble.

The boy, Maglan, had been bad enough. Makanna didn't know for sure everything that had happened between those two, but she could guess. They'd been sneaking off together for months that she knew of, and probably longer before that.

Makanna didn't have anything against Maglan as such. He seemed sincere and responsible. But now Maglan was gone, and Herald might get her heart broken.

She really should talk to her about that.

It didn't matter though, not really. Herald was young, and heartbreak was part of growing up. That was not what worried Makanna. No, what worried Makanna was the dragon, Draka, and Herald's relationship with her.

The dragon. Even after months the very idea was ridiculous to her. There was a dragon here! She knew its – her – name! And her little sister was friends with her! Hells below, Makanna suspected that she was becoming friends with Draka, herself. At the very least she respected her. Of course, Makanna knew that she was a piss-poor judge of character, as evidenced by the many ways in which she’d been fucked over before Lalia and Valmik got her back on her feet. But she had tried not to get taken in. From the first few days, when Draka had conveniently walked into their lives and suggested that they form a partnership, and Makanna had seen Herald’s excitement, she had been suspicious. She had tried to fear and hate the dragon. Back then she had even been tempted to report the encounter, the promises she’d made be damned. But she couldn’t. Honour, the risk of hurting Herald, and the danger of throwing suspicion on them all, all of these held her back, weighing heavier than her fear, and those factors had only grown over the months since.

Besides, what would she be if she sold Draka out now? After the blood they’d shed together and the trust they’d built? The riches they’d found together? After Draka had likely saved their very lives?

Even if she’d be lauded as a hero and showered with praise, and if she could be sure that Herald wouldn’t hate her, could Makanna even live with herself?

Besides, by her actions Draka seemed like a better person than some people Makanna considered friends. Sure, she could be reckless and brutally violent, but so could Lalia who, by the way, had actually expressed some – very grudging – respect for the dragon lately. Draka was greedy, but that was hardly a damning character flaw. Makanna wasn’t averse to grabbing some silver herself. Her own greed was really a point in the dragon's favour, considering how much money they'd all made thanks to her. And while Makanna knew that the dragon kept secrets from them, her intentions towards them were always… well, not pure, perhaps, but benign at least. As far as Makanna could tell. Reading Draka could be hard sometimes, like the dragon didn’t know herself what she felt. She certainly felt protective of Herald. That, at least, was clear.

So for all of Makanna’s caution and suspicion, she couldn't actually find anything truly objectionable about Draka. Other than the fact that she was a dragon, of course, and thus a danger to them all. Probably. It didn’t seem reasonable for every culture to have the same stories about dragons without there being any truth to them.

And yet, even that wasn’t really the problem. Maybe Draka was different. In many ways she acted more like a human than what Makanna would expect from a dragon. If she closed her eyes she could almost pretend that Draka was just some odd foreign woman with a lisp. And so long as they were careful they should be able to work with her with no one the wiser.

The problem was that Makanna had realised that, ever since meeting Draka, she couldn’t trust Herald’s judgement anymore. And because of that, Makanna was afraid that something bad was going to happen. Herald hadn’t bothered to hide her outrage when the Alchemists posted their bounty. The very first night her sister had gotten drunk and talked darkly about setting their guildhouse on fire, and Makanna could tell that those hadn’t just been empty words. Ever since the incident with the Barlean fishermen – which even Lalia had admitted that she couldn’t blame Draka for – the bounty was up to a Dragon and twenty Eagles, and Makanna wouldn’t be surprised if it hit two full Dragons soon. People were talking openly about hunting the supposed ‘wyvern’. Adventurers between jobs were organising parties to go out and try their luck. Rumours were flying about where it was last spotted, and which areas it frequented.

The forest was big. Draka was clever when she had to be, and she was stealthy. The business with the trolls had proven that beyond all doubt. But no matter how well Draka hid herself and their meetings, how long would it be until Herald said or did something unwise? How long until someone actually had some good intelligence on where to find Draka, and Herald decided to do something about it to protect her friend? Or, even worse, what if they got careless, and someone found the very distinctive Tekereteki girl spending time with a gods-damned dragon?

Because that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? Anyone being friendly with a dragon would be suspicious, but a Tekereteki? They were already suspect by their very nature. Some people saw a Tekereteki and assumed that they were there as spies, as though their very presence meant that a slaving fleet might descend on the city at any minute. Anyone else would probably be taken into custody, but a Tekereteki? They would lynch her on the spot. That was no exaggeration. If anyone saw Herald talking to Draka, they would try to kill or drive Draka off, and then they would string Herald up from the nearest tree, or just beat her to death where she stood. And once someone remembered that the tall, dark girl had family, they would come and do the same to them.

And Makanna was too damned weak to even try to stop Herald. Because despite her fears, and the weight of her responsibility to keep them all safe, she couldn’t bear the thought of Herald hating her. She’d already been relegated to third place at best in Herald’s heart, after Maglan and now Draka. To lose her entirely…

She’d tried to explain. The way Herald felt when she talked about Draka, it was… wrong. It was almost closer to religious fervour than friendship. But even hinting at that just made Herald angry, pushed her away. After the trip to the north Makanna had tried again, and for the first time that she could remember, Herald had responded with outright hostility, not just anger but suspicion. That was the last straw. Makanna just couldn’t do it anymore. She’d given up. It was unforgivably selfish, but at this point Makanna would rather die protecting Herald while she still loved her, than have her sister be truly safe but hate her.

It was all so damned stupid. Half the people in this city would kill Draka just for existing, based on half remembered myths and legends. They wouldn’t bother learning anything about her. How much good she had done, and could do. They wouldn’t see how selfless she could be, or what a strong sense of fairness and justice she had, or…

She wasn’t sure where that came from. She must be drunker than she thought if she was openly admitting things like that to herself.

She swirled around the dregs in her cup. She’d gotten through quite a few over the long evening, but wine had been a mistake. She was melancholy, and too drunk to think straight. The right thing would have been to go for stronger drink from the start, so she’d be passed out by now. She had the money for it, thanks to Draka. But it was too late to switch now. She may as well go home.

It took a false start or two, but Makanna got up unsteadily. The barman offered to send his boy with her, but she declined his repeated offer and made her way out the door. A couple of street dogs looked at her curiously but she gently shooed them off. They didn’t mean anything bad. She could tell.

It would be a bit of a walk – she liked this place because the others wouldn’t think to look for her here – but she was drunk enough that she probably wouldn’t notice. She had to stop and steady herself every so often, but that was fine. She leaned her forehead against a wall for a moment. A few deep breaths and she could keep going.

“Mercies and Sorrows, miss, are you alright?” said a worried female voice.

Makanna looked up. The street was empty besides the woman next to her, elegantly dressed in a finely dyed two-part body wrap, and she was looking at Makanna with concern in her eyes. Pfft. She didn’t want to help. Makanna was drunk but she could tell that much.

“‘m fine,” Makanna lied. “Just need… y’know.”

“Now, now, Makanna,” the woman said. “There’s no need to pretend. We’ll take you somewhere you can sober up.”

The words registered slowly in Makanna’s mind. “What –” she began, but a strong arm wrapped around her, while a hand pressed something thick over her mouth. As she jerked in surprise she felt a quick, stabbing pain in her thigh, and she looked down to see the woman removing a thin, inch-long needle dagger from her leg. She screamed and kicked, but the cloth muffled her cries. Blood welled from her leg as she watched, and she almost immediately began to feel dizzy. Dizzier.

“There we are,” the woman said, wiping the short dagger on a handkerchief. “Hold her down until it takes full effect. I don’t want any fuss on the way.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said a voice behind Makanna, and she was forced down and pinned on her back, the cloth still pressed to her mouth. The man was strong, and he was heavy. In her state, there was little she could do.

Makanna’s leg had gone numb, and the woman’s words finally made sense. Right. Poison. Some kind of numbing or paralysing agent. Couldn’t do much about those. Couldn’t even fix the wound in her thigh. Too hard to focus.

As the poison spread through her she stopped struggling. When she couldn’t move her body any more the man released her. She looked at his face. There was something… had she seen him before? He looked so ordinary. His lips had been split at some point, but that was his only distinguishing feature.

Oh, yes, she thought before everything went dark. She did recognise him. The dead man.

How strange.

Makanna came to slowly.

Her thigh throbbed and she was still drunk, she noticed that much immediately, but the logical part of her mind took in her situation: she was in a small room, seemingly cut out of stone, lit by a single lantern hanging from the ceiling. She was in a chair, with a table in front of her. Her wrists were manacled to the surface of the table.

She looked at the iron bands holding her fast for a moment, then tested them. They were tight enough to hurt when she strained, and the table was too heavy for her to move. Fear welled inside her, and it only grew when she heard soft footsteps behind her. She craned her head to look, and a short man walked past her, rounding the table. He didn’t even look at her until he’d sat down in the chair opposite her.

“Where am I?” she croaked, unable to keep the fear out of her voice. “What do you want?”

The man observed her for a moment, his eyes hard and piercing. “So predictable,” he said finally, his voice a squeaky tenor. “Do you know how many of the people I’ve had in that chair said the exact same thing?”

Makanna didn’t answer. Danger oozed from this man, and a feeling that the wrong word might set him off. Better to stay silent unless an answer was necessary.

“To answer your question,” he said, “I want your cooperation. That’s all. My boss wants something, and you can help us get it.”

“What?” she asked, before she could stop her mouth. Damn wine.

The man frowned. “I was getting to that. I don’t know if you recognized my associate who brought you in, but let me be very clear. Makanna, we know who you are. We know that you helped the Grey Wolves disrupt one of our operations recently, one where several of our people died. And we think that you know more than perhaps anyone about the… creature that was present. You will help us capture it.”

Makanna blanched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man frowned again, and placed a bundle of rolled up leather on the table. He unrolled it slowly, and Makanna felt a cold sweat break out at what she saw. Needles. A long, thin knife. A small hammer. And a cleaver.

“All we want,” the man said, “is your cooperation.” His voice was calm, but Makanna could feel the cold fury behind his words. This man, more than anything, wanted to hurt her.

What followed was a waking nightmare, and when they left her Makanna was half delirious with pain. They put the chair back under her, but they left her manacled to the table so that she couldn’t even cradle her ruined hands.

“This is where I would normally start on your face,” the short man said into her ear, breathing hard from his efforts. “Luckily for you the boss thinks that you could fetch a good price, so she’s forbidden me from removing anything. I’ll just have to think of something else. See you tomorrow.” A door slammed heavily behind her and she heard the clinking of a chain, and she was alone.

She didn’t think that she had told them anything. It hadn’t taken her long to lose her dignity, but she had her pride and her honour. She didn’t think that she had told them anything that they could use, at least. It was hard to remember what she might have said as they…

She’d stopped crying at some point, but now she looked at the bloody, twisted ruins of her hands and a low, keening wail escaped her before she bit it off. She had to focus. The pain was so bad. But healing herself was an order of magnitude easier than healing someone else, and now that she was alone and no one was hurting her she should be able to…

The soothing warmth of her magic flowed into her hands and the other parts of her that they had abused, taking the pain away and starting the healing. Perhaps she was only prolonging her torture. But all her fingers were still there, and if she didn’t begin healing now the damage might become permanent. If she was careful they shouldn’t be able to tell what she’d done.

With the pain finally subsided she looked around as much as she could, trying to find anything that might help her escape, but it was useless. The room was bare, the door was heavy and chained shut, and the table was too heavy for her to move. She didn’t give up, but she didn’t see any point in using more of her energy than necessary. She would need it.

She laid her head down between her arms, and fell into a restless sleep.

She woke on her own in darkness. The lantern had burned out, and she didn’t bother with her darksight spell. It would be a waste of energy. No one came to give her food or water, and so she just waited and rested best she could, trying to keep her fear in check. Trying not to imagine what they might have planned for her.

She might have been awake the whole time, or she might have slept again. It was hard to tell. But she sat bolt upright, her whole body tense, as the chain on the door rattled. The door creaked open. Light spilled in, and she felt a pat on her cheek.

“Good day to you, Makanna,” said the short man. “Did you sleep well? You looked tired.”

He replaced the dark lantern in the ceiling with the one he was carrying, and then stepped out of the room briefly. Makanna blinked against the light, and looked up at the man as he came back in and stood at the table. He was… amused, she decided. The anger was still there, but controlled.

The man reached down and squeezed her hand gently, and she did her best to whimper pitifully.

“I might have overdone it last night,” the man said. “So sorry for that. Let me make it up to you!”

He reached out his hand behind Makanna. She tensed, but nothing happened. She only heard movement, and when the man brought his hand back he held a familiar looking bottle, which he placed on the table in front of her, among the blood and the nails.

It was a healing potion. A good one, judging by the style and markings.

“I would like to offer you a deal,” the man said. “Your cooperation, in exchange for that potion. Help us capture the creature, and you can have your hands back.”

Dragon. Just say it, Makanna thought. You know what she is. Just say it!

She took a long, shuddering breath. “No,” she croaked, her throat still raw from screaming. But despite her refusal she couldn’t tear her eyes from the potion. She wasn’t sure that she had enough healing in her to restore her hands completely, not without food and proper rest. That potion would–

“You know,” the man said brightly, “I thought you’d say that!”

He stepped outside the room and called something in… Barleian, Makanna thought. After a moment she heard yelling. It got closer, and louder, and when she recognised the voice her heart froze.

“No,” she whispered, as a large man carried a larger, furiously struggling and screaming bundle into the room. It was Herald. She had a split lip and a swollen eye, was gagged and bound hands and feet, and gods bless her she was still fighting like she’d take on the whole Tavvanerean navy.

The large man dumped Herald into the chair opposite Makanna, and they looked at each other. “Oh, baby,” Makanna croaked. “I’m so sorry.” So much for her pride and honour.

Herald looked at Makanna’s face, then down at Makanna’s hands, and her struggles calmed somewhat. When she looked back at Makanna her eyes brimmed with tears, and she screamed something through her gag.

There was a loud crack as the small man casually backhanded Herald across the face. Her head snapped around and she sat still in the chair, dazed. Makanna flinched, but didn’t say anything. The fury was back in the man.

“I rarely make an offer twice,” he told her, “but for you, I’ll make an exception. Your cooperation, in exchange for that potion.”

Makanna looked at the man and said, "I'll do anything you ask."

"I know that you will," he said.

Then he drew a long dagger and stabbed Herald in the gut.