Chapter 23: The Untouched

Completely focused on the three hooded men, she missed the fourth figure in the shadow of a doorway. A heavy pair of iron boots hit the sand with a thump and a man in gray robes turned towards them, arms outstretched, but holding nothing. A grin revealed three crooked teeth, all that were left. “You sure look like you are headed for the arena.” Compared to his appearance, his voice was surprisingly soft and well spoken.

Brandon swallowed hard and tried to get back into his role. For the moment, as long as the man’s arms waved around like streaming banners and his friends sat back in their alcove, Sylph would watch and listen. Her muscles remained tense, and senses keen for any suspicious movement and she ready to pounce at a moments notice. Brandon cleared his throat. “I considered a visit, but my employer wouldn’t like any more scratches on his goods.”

“Ah,” the man in gray said, and his smile widened. “No need to damage any goods today. It may not be as big and imposing as our old Arena in Senbo, but the fights lost no charm.”

Sylph’s stomach churned. No arena in a slaver city could be charming. She was certain that they were unofficial. The man laughed and extended his hand, which Brandon shook hesitantly. It sounded like a scam, one she had heard before, but unlike in Carthia or Halfhill’s arena, she was not sure how to handle this. Smashing his face was, by the looks of his dented nose and missing teeth, a popular outcome. His three friends would make sure it would not come that far. But they would expect the scammed human to lash out, not the dragon. That was how this city thought. Dragons were no threat.

“Your slave looks capable of dodging a few attacks and give a few hearty bites, so let’s talk business,” the man said.

He would propose a bet on her loss against some chump that was clearly not skilled enough to be an actual opponent. He would prey on Brandon’s lack of knowledge. “I don’t have the time for fights.”

“Please, consider the offer.” On ‘please’, his men rose from their alcove. On ‘offer’ they were three tail lengths away. Sylph tensed up.

“Maybe I can listen to your proposal.” Brandon stepped closer to Sylph. It was not an exceptionally large step or too obvious, but he had placed himself out of immediate danger and gave her a free path towards their attackers.

“In that case, call me Aron,” the man offered. He snapped his fingers, two of his people sprinted off into the alley behind the building. A second later, they came back with two barrels, which they placed as seats. Aron sat down with his legs crossed and Sylph let the tension flow from her body. They were not in the mood for a fight, not yet, and intended to talk shady business.

“I can spot a good duelist. And they seem very well trained, good muscle for someone their age.” He eyed Sylph sharply. “There is money to be made in losing against my champion. Let’s say twenty to eighty for a good fight and loss tomorrow?” Aron stretched out his hand.

Brandon looked at her for guidance, but she had none to give. Entering an unknown arena in a slaver city was out of the question. It could have no way out. But this scam had very little opportunity to just leave either. “Thirty to seventy and there will be a bit of blood on your side for spectacle,” he said with unjustified confidence.

“Thirty seems a bit high if I am the one with the risk,” Aron pondered, and took out a piece of parchment.

“You are the one with risk? My fighter could rise through the ranks with ease. How would a loss look?”

Aron cocked his eyebrow. “If they are not even your champion, that should hardly matter.” With that, their game was up. Neither she nor Brandon knew about a difference between fighter and champion, maybe one was expendable.

A massive shadow slipped out of the alley behind them. Enormous paws strutted through the sand as if they owned the city, but with the carefulness and controlled steps of a thief, or duelist. With their size, they must have waited, motionless, for something, or someone. She could hardly believe that she missed someone that massive. Then again, she had missed quite a lot of things recently. The city noises were unfamiliar and, not knowing what to look for, made it hard to focus on what mattered.

“Aron, I see you found a new snotty whelp to make your champion. Maybe this time he even has teeth. And still, you rely on scams because you don't believe he can win more than a beating.” A deep, sonorous voice rumbled through the street and a second later, a fully grown Sol slunk around the corner, head and neck first, and barged into the forced barter. He wore no collar on his amber scales, but hundreds of scars riddled his body. His well-toned muscles showed he was no stranger to a fight. Sylph noted his wings were the right size and showed no signs of mistreatment.

Aron’s face paled as he stared at the toothy smile bearing down on him. “Since we were so rudely interrupted,” he stammered, “I’ll find you again at a more convenient time.” The shiver in his formerly so confident voice betrayed him. Whoever that dragon was, his presence alone was enough to send them running.

Aron turned around once he thought himself safe, at the other end of the alley. “Being the Untouched does not give you the right to interrupt my business. Ever thought about finally using that prize of yours, Dust?”

The large Sol chuckled after him. “I merely asked about your champion, Aron. I did not engage you or your business. You left on your own. And for that cursed gift you keep pondering, more of me would make it even harder for your champions I fear.”

“What a waste of a grand-champion.” Aron spat out, and his group dispersed into the alleys.

Grand-champion was a hefty title for a dragon to wear in a city that enslaved them. Dust turned to face them and the power radiating from his well trained body did give weight to the title, at least in Sylph’s opinion. Not every great fighter had that much muscle, it was impressive nonetheless. He glanced over at Sylph, then spoke to Brandon. “Wandering these streets as an outsider is a mistake. The official sign up to the arena is up that way,” he nodded towards another side street. “Follow it to the end and take a right.”

He stopped to sniff the air and his nostrils flared up as his head spun to Sylph, as if stung. She tensed up, there was no fooling a Sol’s nose. What he smelled, she did not know, maybe Tim's blood, her wound or something that did not belong in the great desert.. His gaze lingered on Sylph for a second longer before he pried himself away. “I’d suggest not straying from the major streets again. You’ll find all you need right there.”

“Thank you very much.” Brandon turned to leave, as did Dust.

Sylph’s tail twitched. He was their chance for some info about which way to look for her parents. “Wait,” she blurted out, “we are looking for eggs.” Dust stopped. His ruby-red gaze turned hard, and she realized that question had been a mistake.

“Speaking out unprompted like that, where are your manners?” His white teeth blinked in a half-smile and Sylph wondered if he joked around, took it seriously, or something in-between. The tone of his voice suggested neither. His gaze switched to Brandon, who took a cautious step back. “Opposite side of town,” Dust rumbled and turned back away.

Sylph stopped to stare as he left, not daring to ask again even though she had so many questions. “Brandon.” She turned around, “Why didn’t you ask him? I am not the one that is allowed to do so.”

“Did you see him?” Brandon pulled back the sleeves of his tunic to reveal the raised hairs on his arms. “How he looked at us? I thought he was gonna murder us.”

“He never took an aggressive stance at all.” Sylph recalled how he stood, that half-smile and the sharp gaze downwards. For a human, looking upwards at rows of sharp teeth might be a tad unnerving, but Brandon was used to dragons. Albeit in Sawaila, they usually lowered their heads to eye-level. A little marble in her head started to roll. “He did act strange. A Sol that is not a slave, older than any dragon we saw here, strutting around in the open but talking with no confidence. They called him grand-champion. And he gave us a hint on where to go, but not more. I think he is on a metaphorical leash, and knows exactly how long it is.”

Sylph turned towards the dromedary. At this point, she was convinced that it would not even blink if the world were to end right in front of them. But right now, she found some calming solace in the empty gaze. “This is all awfully confusing. I feel like I started a book in the second half and don’t know how any of the world works. For once I wished this town had a traveler’s guide that nobody reads, like Carthia does.” She shook her head to re-order her thoughts, but they remained all tangled and wild. “All these dragons could fight back. There are enough of them here. There has to be something going on that stops them,” Sylph snarled and shut her mouth as quickly as it opened when she heard a pair of footsteps getting closer. “For now, we should get back to the main street and head to the opposite side of town, like Dust said.”

“Do you trust him?”

She shook her head. “I don’t trust anyone in this city, but he helped us out of a scam and the word of a dragon in this city is worth more to me than any human’s.” She turned back to follow the street. “Besides you, of course. I hope that goes without saying.”

They followed the same road Dust took to leave until they reached the colorful main-street once more. The difference in mood was palpable. If she closed her eyes, it was just like Halfhill, and it worried her more than anything else. These dragons should not be happy to sell food or carry bags. It was not right.

Heeding Dust’s words, they never left the well traveled streets again until they reached a secondary wall deeper inside the city. From beyond the rusty gate howled noises, tiny, desperate, and pained. Voices that went straight from her ears into her bones like an icy knife.

“No,” Sylph whispered, and the rope turned stiff as she stopped in her tracks. Brandon stopped as well, but they already attracted glances, glances they could not afford. She knew what to expect. She heard it, she felt it, she could not stop now even if it made her sick to the stomach. Sylph did the only thing that came to mind, she turned her gaze downwards. Even looking at nothing but the back of Brandon’s shoes and the down-trodden sand below, the sounds were all too clear. A constant heartbreaking whimper filled the air and drained her chest of any fire that had remained before. It all blended into a haze in her head. Reality and memories intermingled and squelched blazing fire into every corner of her body that extinguished before it could take hold. For the second time in her life, she was trapped and powerless, forced to simply listen to misery. Pieces of eggshell crunched beneath her pfods as they continued down the street. “Need to tame’em yourself,” somebody said. “About to hatch,” another said. The conversations Brandon held went past her like a whisper in a storm.

It was there on the grimy street that she realized she was a coward. A damn coward that could not face reality with her own eyes, took the easy way out and let Brandon handle everything.

An eternity later, Brandon finally spoke. “You can look up now.” His voice was as weary and glum as she felt. Sylph raised her head and looked down a street full of dragons. The wings of the youngest were all tightly bound with an intricate knot and they were chained to walls on flimsy chains. The older ones, their heads as high as the man selling them, had their wings freed but too small. All of them were thin enough to count their ribs. They had to be the unluckiest ones that never even got sold, although she doubted anybody could be called lucky in this town. It was a choice between wyvern dung and cow dung.

The longer she stared, the more her mind raced back to her hatchling days, back to her own captors and the stable. They were broken inside, much like she used to be. There was no magic or mystery going on. It was tradition; it was how it always had been. The chains were not what bound them; it was far deeper ingrained into their heads right from the moment they hatched. They did not have a family; they had an owner, somebody that decided what was best for them and if that was all they ever knew, they would not know any better. “I was lucky,” she realized. If Void had not shown up to free her, she would have ended up at her owner’s mercy. If Veria had not shown up after Void died, she would have fallen below the clouds along with his ship. If she had not been stolen, she would be chained to the wall on a grimy street. The thought gripped her heart like a rock and skipped it over a pond as her mind trailed after it. She did not believe in fate, but what if this path her life had taken was the best that could have happened to her?

Brandon continued to inquire about her parents. She tuned it out after a while and simply trudged after him. “You or the dromedary,” Brandon’s voice ripped her out of her dark web of thought.

“Sorry, I wasn’t listening,” Sylph whispered.

“These people all want to buy you or the dromedary.”

“Ah,” Sylph murmured, “Nothing else?”

Brandon weakly shook his head. “We should find an inn for the night. Back in the nicer part of town.”

Maybe sleep was what she needed. She wanted to forget these sounds and images as soon as possible. She would even take a hard smack to the head as help.