The young man cowered on his sleep palette. He usually did after a beating. This one had been especially bad, not because Cramda had done more damage than usual, he hadn’t, but because he hadn’t done anything to deserve it. Cramda had taken his anger out on him and he hadn’t been involved. He didn’t even know what caused it. Had another immortal been killed? He looked at the scar on his arm from when Cramda had beaten him because Lyra had been killed. Then his eyes drifted to his leg. He couldn’t see the scar through the pant leg. He’d gotten that one when Lyra’s father, Nor’than had been killed. He didn’t understand why Cramda had been so upset. He hated both of them. He always said they were next to useless. It was why he made Nor’than stay on that other world. Besides, they were both planning to betray Cramda. But it wasn’t the young man’s place to question. He was lucky Cramda had taken him in. He was a misbegotten freak, the unwanted child of a dragon and a mortal. He’d never met either of his parents. His dad had abandoned his mother before he was born. His mother had taken one look at him and rejected him. Cramda had taken pity on him and taken him in. He looked at his reflection. He almost looked normal, but his white hair and skin betrayed him. No one could truly want him. Even Cramda barely put up with him. It didn’t matter. He was seventeen and wouldn’t live past his twentieth birthday. In a land where people lived thousands upon thousands of years, someone who would only live a couple of decades was hardly worth notice. He didn’t even have a name. Cramda called him Wyrm. Everyone else called him the boy. It was all his parents’ fault. All his problems were because he was a crossbreed. If his parents had stayed with their own races, he wouldn’t be a freak. If he were human, he would’ve lived around a hundred years. And if he had been born a dragon, he’d live two or three thousand, not as long as an immortal but it was still a lot. He didn’t want to die so young. He heard Morcri’s voice and cringed. Morcri was a friend of Cramda. He was cruel and sadistic. More than one of Wyrm’s scars had been inflicted by him. He wished he could take dragon form. His scales were tougher than his skin but Cramda had his vial. Like full dragons, he could change shape. But he needed a magical vial made from diamonds to do it. Diamonds were apparently very rare and valuable so Cramda kept it so wouldn’t get lost. He shifted on his palette. He heard a commotion in the hall. He wondered what was going on but couldn’t see much through the tiny window in his door. He wasn’t allowed to leave without permission. He rubbed his wrists and neck. The bands of copper he wore burned mages and blocked magic. He had to wear them anytime he was in a cell. Whenever he fell asleep, he had horrible nightmares, again, thanks to his heritage. If he wasn’t wearing the copper, he cast spells that caused ground quakes. No one came to his cell. He counted that a gain. If no one were there, no one would beat him. Everyone beat him. Who cared about the freak? He hated them all, but it was still better than living among humans are dragons. Either would have killed him for being a freak. They were weak, inferior creatures that feared anything they didn’t understand, and usually destroyed it. He opened his spellbook and studied it. Chances were good, he’d need the magical energy studying built up and it never hurt to review spells. As he did, he pulled his ball out of its pouch and rolled it between his hands. He had been given it long ago. For some reason, it helped soothe him when he studied. A while later, an elf woman entered. She was one of Cramda’s informants among the mortals. He stood and moved away from her. He didn’t trust her. “Cramda sent me to retrieve you,” she said. Wyrm hesitated. She wasn’t allowed to give him permission to leave his cell. “Wyrm, come. Cramda needs you. We’re just going to the entry room.” She removed his copper bands. Wyrm sighed and tucked his book and ball into the pouch. He followed. He didn’t dare disobey. Halfway there, the building shook. They hurried up to the main floor. The roof was missing. There were several dragons of various colors attacking. “Wyrm, good, you’re here.” Cramda looked pleased to see him. Wyrm relaxed a little. Cramda led him to an upper balcony to have him stay in the alcove. “I want you to stay out of sight. Draw in as much magic as you can and feed it to me.” Wyrm nodded and obeyed. He couldn’t see the battle but he could hear it. Those dragons had a lot of nerve attacking them. At one point, he heard Chapado’s voice. She was Cramda’s sister and a traitor as far as Wyrm was concerned. She chose to help defend mortals against her own people. She had been locked in the dungeon. Perhaps the commotion he’d heard was her escape. Had the dragons come to rescue her? It didn’t matter. He knew a spell that would help, but he needed his vial. The spell required a lot of magic. He couldn’t cast it and still feed Cramda. “Give me my vial,” Wyrm told the man. “I can use it to help.” “Stay in human form,” Cramda instructed. Wyrm nodded and took the pouch. He pulled out his vial and opened it. As he drew in magic, he fed a sliver of it to the vial while sending the rest to Cramda. His guardian went down to the battle, keeping the link intact. The noise of the fight was deafening. The sound of spells being cast and dragons roaring hurt his ears. He wasn’t used to so much noise. He risked a peek at the battle, but couldn’t see much. He coughed. The place was burning. Dragons were breathing fire and both sides were casting fireballs. The smoke was getting thick. By the time he’d stored enough magic for the spell, his eyes watered and his throat burned. He could barely breathe. He cast the spell and drained Chapado’s magic from her, putting her into a trance. Moments later, Morcri ran up the steps. He was surprised to see Wyrm. “Wyrm, good. Come,” he commanded. “Where? We need to fight.” Wyrm braced himself for the expected blow, but Morcri didn’t bother. “Retreat and regroup. Cramda’s already left.” He continued on. Wyrm started to follow but started coughing uncontrollably. Morcri frowned. “Here, drink this.” He handed the young man a healing potion. Wyrm took it gratefully and drank it. His eyes stopped stinging, as did his throat. It was still hard to breathe, but not as bad. “We’ll have a healer fix you when we’re safe,” Morcri said. Wyrm followed him. Wyrm never left Cramda’s house. He’d lived in the city for seventeen years and had never seen it except through glass or by scrying. He didn’t see it now either. He was too intent on keeping up with Morcri and trying to breathe. They entered another house. Cramda was scrying the senate, reporting that Chapado had led an attack of dragons and destroyed his home. Morcri pulled Wyrm away from the mirror so none of the senate could see him. He had a healer fix his lungs and heal the beating. Wyrm looked around. There were half a dozen immortals, including Cramda and Morcri. There were also some mortals that worked for Cramda. Cramda wasn’t the only one scrying. Most of them were. “What are they doing? Do they need my help?” Wyrm offered. Morcri frowned at the thought of anyone needing his help. They were immortals. He was just a lowly crossbreed. But they often did enlist his help in casting. He was quite good at it. “Not now. You recover. We’ll have use for you later,” Morcri told him. “Cramda.” The mortal who owned this house came over. He was one of the stronger mortal mages. “I just spoke to one of our contacts in Menthanla. They didn’t go to Sen-gan.” They were looking for someone, Wyrm realized. It was probably Chapado. But how could they expect her to be in Sen-gan already? Menthanlan was a kingdom in the mortal lands. Sen-gan was its capital. The problem was it lay on the other side of the desert. There was something out in the desert that warped magic. Wyrm was the only one capable of transporting directly across. No one else could, not even the immortals. How could mortals have done it after fighting so long? Wyrm kept quiet. It wasn’t his place to ask questions. Besides, the man was still speaking. “Several healers left the palace there. It looks like they were transported away by a woman fitting Morina’s description. My contact didn’t know where they went but the number of healers indicates they were probably helping those who attacked here.” Morina was helping? She was Cramda’s other sister and another traitor. Worse, she was also an Ertonian guard. She was supposed to be protecting them. “Sir,” one of the guards loyal to Cramda entered. “I was just at your house. It’s good to see you made it. Not all of ours that went down were killed. There was a healer in the group who was putting people to sleep. They won’t be available for a while. Once they wake, they still need to be questioned by the senate.” “What about the mortals?” “There were none left. They even took the bodies.” “But where?” “Off-world. I found a pinhole. They went to Earth.” Wyrm frowned. Why would they go there? There was no magic and too much copper. Cramda smiled. “Perfect. Gather whoever is left. We’re going to Sen-gan. If we take the palace and the royal family, she’ll cooperate. Wyrm wondered why Chapado would care about the royal family, but who could understand a traitor? “Wyrm, you will take us to Sen-gan, just outside the palace.” Wyrm nodded and complied. With all he’d taken in, plus the magic, he’d stolen from Chapado, he had enough to transport everyone. He had scried the palace before, but he hadn’t realized how big it was. He stared a moment. Cramda assigned some of the mortals to act as a distraction. He gave the rest instructions. Wyrm was to transport them into the throne room, grab the king and any other royal family and transport them to a place Cramda called the catacombs. It was a place of magic, a maze of tunnels that ran under the palace. It was perfect for hiding hostages. They transported into the throne room. Wyrm ended up behind the king. “What the…” The king himself pulled a sword. That surprised Wyrm. He hadn’t expected the man to be armed. He looked around quickly. There was no one else that he identified as part of the royal family and the guards were already moving to action. He transported the king to a random place in the catacombs. Then he cast a sleep spell on him and waited. Cramda would find him. It was too easy to get lost down here. The wait wasn’t long. Cramda and Morcri came, followed by two humans that Wyrm didn’t know. “They left the palace, my lord. I don’t know where,” the one sniveled. “The spell on me only works on those in the palace, not the barracks or the prison and not down here. And while I’m down here, I can’t detect people in the palace.” “Where were you? You should have been helping us,” Cramda demanded. Wyrm braced himself at the tone. When Cramda sounded like that, Wyrm often got hit. “He was in the prison, my lord,” Morcri explained. Wyrm felt amusement at Morcri’s use of a title for his friend. Normally, he didn’t bother but to assure the mortals and especially the humans saw him as an authority, Cramda insisted on it in front of them. “He had been arrested for disobeying the crown prince. Several prisoners escaped when we released him.” Cramda shrugged. “So be it. If they go up to the palace, the guards will kill them. If they leave, they’re no worry to us. “Take Kortu back upstairs so he can be of use to us,” he instructed. “My Lord, if I might point out, this man may be a liability if captured. They could force him to locate you and your troops,” the other man pointed out. Cramda nodded. “Morcri, cast a spell on him to shield him from being scried. And take him up to the palace. You can find your way, can’t you?” “I can.” Morcri nodded and led the man called Kortu away. “Wyrm, bring the king and come. We’ll find a room large enough to work from.” Cramda headed further into the catacombs. Wyrm picked up the unconscious king and followed, as did the unknown human. The king wasn’t heavy to Wyrm. Dragons were much stronger physically than other races, and so was Wyrm. Cramda found a room that looked as though it may have once been some workroom. Wyrm used magic to restrain the king for when he woke up. He cast the spell as strong as he dared. Cramda and Wyrm cast shields to block scrying over several portions of the palace to hide their movements and where the king was. “Wyrm, I think you should rest for a bit. We don’t know how long it will take for them to return.” “Who?” Wyrm asked reflexively, then he realized what he’d done. He braced himself. “My sisters, of course, and the dragons who helped them.” “But why would they come here? This is a human palace.” This time, Cramda did hit him. “Don’t you ever think for yourself? The dragons are Tricot and half of them are mated to humans.” This was a revelation. He thought he was the only crossbreed. “Really?” Cramda hit him again. “Don’t you pay attention?” Wyrm knew that information had never been revealed to him. If he could growl, he would. He realized he had his vial. He could change, but then what? “My Lord,” the unknown man spoke. “Perhaps the boy should rest now. I love a good beating, but we need the boy in good health.” Cramda frowned. For a moment, Wyrm thought he’d hit the man, but he didn’t. Apparently, he needed him too. “Come, Wyrm,” he said and reached out a hand. Wyrm took it and Cramda transported him to another part of the catacombs. “Get some rest. Fill your vial, sleep. You shouldn’t cause ground quakes down here.” “Can I take dragon form? It’s been a while.” Cramda nodded. “That’s fine. Stay here until I get you. You’ll get lost out there.” Wyrm nodded and took dragon form. He lay down. He wouldn’t mind eating, but he didn’t say anything. Cramda had more important things to think about.