Thrall - Christie Golden [92]
The cloaked man walked a few paces away and placed it on the earth. “Now, small one, let us see if you can grow bigger for us.”
One of the cultists stepped forward, bowing obsequiously. The human extended his hands. One held an imperfectly glimpsed artifact glowing with pale violet energy. The fingers of the other hand fluttered in conjuration. He spoke an incantation, and a strand of white arcane energy shot out from the artifact. It wrapped itself around the whelp, a rope of magic, and began to pull golden life energy from the small dragon. It squeaked in pain.
“No!” screamed Kirygosa, lunging forward. The man jerked on the chain, hard. Kirygosa dropped to her knees, hissing in agony.
The whelp grew. It opened its mouth and let out a small, squeaking cry as its body spasmed. Thrall could almost hear bones creaking and skin stretching as the mage drained its life energy, aging it quickly. At one point, the squeak deepened into a croak, and then into a sharp cry. One wing beat frantically; the other, still fused to its side, simply quivered.
The chromatic whelp collapsed.
The human sighed. “It almost made it to drake size,” he said thoughtfully. He stepped forward and nudged the corpse with a toe. “Better, Gahurg. Better. The Aspect blood in her does seem to render her children stronger than most, better able to withstand modification. But still, not perfect. Take it away. Dissect it, learn from it, and do even better next time.”
“As you desire, Twilight Father,” Gahurg said. Four other cultists stepped forward and began to haul the chromatic dragon away.
“What are you doing to my children?”
Kirygosa’s voice had begun low, deep in her chest, but it built to a furious shout. Again, heedless of the pain she must have known would come, she launched herself at the man known as the Twilight Father.
“Oh, dear one,” whispered Alexstrasza. Thrall knew she, too, now saw the marks on Kirygosa’s body where she had been bled or experimented upon. Oddly enough, the pained empathy in Alexstrasza’s voice gave Thrall hope. Better the hurt and the horror than the dull emptiness.
“I am making perfection,” said the Twilight Father, again tugging on the chain.
She winced in torment, then found her breath. “I am glad I must watch only one clutch of my eggs sacrificed to your obscenity,” Kirygosa spat. “My mate is dead. I will give you no more.”
“Ah, but you are still a daughter of Malygos,” said the Twilight Father, “and who is to say that fate—or I—might not find another mate for you, hmm?”
The scene shifted. Thrall’s eyes were still closed, the vision still playing in his mind. He could feel Alexstrasza’s hand, her fingers now winding around his, but the sensation was somehow distant, like a sound heard from far away. He knew what they would see next, and he knew that it would either destroy her, or enable her to save herself.
Either way, he would be there with her.
The place was a sanctuary. Thrall had known instantly what it needs must be, even though he had never beheld the Ruby Sanctum with his own eyes. It bore damage from what was obviously a recent attack, but the beautiful forest, with bright meadows and softly rustling trees crisscrossed by gently meandering rivulets, was already healing itself. As the Dragonqueen’s true home, the heart of the red dragonflight, should do.
A large male dragon lay in the shade of one of the trees. He seemed awkward in his relaxation, as if he did not often permit himself to so indulge, and continued to watch the clusters of dragon eggs through half-closed eyes.
Her gasp was pure, raw, filled with longing and pain.
“Korialstrasz,” whispered the Life-Binder. “Oh, my love… Thrall, must I see this?”
So distraught was she that she did not command or order, merely pleaded brokenly. For whatever reason—despair or hope, he did not know—the great Life-Binder, Alexstrasza, had seemingly placed herself firmly in Thrall’s hands.
“Yes, my lady,” he said, making his deep voice as gentle as possible. “Endure but a moment, and all will be revealed to you.”
And