He smelled the earth and dampness. It grew darker and darker as drips of water plunked onto stone and wet ground—the only thing breaking the ever-growing silence. Varek didn’t need his eyes to know that he was in a cave. He’d spent many centuries deep within his mountain after the dragons had been sent away. He knew the scent of dankness well.
For a moment, he’d thought maybe Merrill and the others were playing some kind of jest on him. But just as soon as that went through his mind, he dismissed it. Whatever was happening had an ominous vibe to it. This wasn’t a practical joke.
The sound of metal scraping against metal was as loud as a shot. He was hyperalert, his senses buzzing as they took in everything. He listened to the footsteps and realized that four men carried him, and four others followed. One set of footfalls was quicker and lighter than the rest. A woman? A kid? Varek knew not. Yet.
“Bastard is heavy,” one of the men at his feet murmured through clenched teeth.
There was no reply.
Varek was intrigued by the accent. He couldn’t place it, which didn’t make sense because he had the ability to identify any accent on Earth. They spoke English, but the inflection sounded like a mix between Welsh and Irish.
More metal scraped, then what sounded like a heavy door swung open. The footsteps began to shuffle, then turn. He wanted to tense up because he knew they were about to toss him onto the ground, but he made himself remain relaxed. When they did dump him, he bit his tongue to make sure no sound escaped.
The pole he was tied to was dropped on his head.
“Fool,” a male to his left growled.
Another man near him whispered an apology and hastily began to untie Varek’s wrists and ankles. Within moments, he was free. The scuffle of scurrying feet moving away told him they not only knew who he was, they also feared him. He’d let them believe he had been captured, but the minute he discovered who had imprisoned him and why, he would bust out of this prison and return to Dreagan with the news. The longer Varek had to wait for that information, the more his fury grew. The door creaked angrily before being slammed shut. He heard the lock click into place. Then eight sets of footsteps walked away.
Leaving him alone and still very much in pain.
Varek remained still. He counted off seventeen minutes until he cracked open one eye to look around. The way he was angled, he could only see half of the area—and no one within sight. He counted another six minutes before he opened both eyes and slowly rolled onto his back.
The metal clanking at his wrists got his attention. He lifted his arms to see that both wrists were bound with thick shackles wider than his palm and attached by hefty chains. They had not only thrown him into a cell, they’d bound him, as well? He clenched his teeth in ire and stopped himself from yanking on them, showing everyone just what they could do with their fucking restraints.
His thoughts drifted to Dreagan, where his brethren—led by Constantine, King of Dragon Kings—resided. The thought of his family allowed Varek’s anger to recede and calmness to take hold. Information. He needed information before he left.
He drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. The darkness of the cave didn’t bother him. With his enhanced senses, he could see as well in the dark as he could in the light. His hearing was superb, as was his sense of smell and taste. Varek looked above him to the rounded ceiling of the cavern that appeared as if someone were pushing it down from above. It hung down so low, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand up straight.
He sat up and noted that three sides of the prison were nothing but rock. The fourth side was made of metal bars in an arching design, short on either end and rising to meet the ceiling in the middle. The cave was about ten feet deep, seven feet wide, and five feet high. Beneath him, the ground was damp and hard. He rotated his neck, trying to work out the stiffness there. He had other discomforts, as well. His jaw felt as if he’d run into a granite boulder. He was pretty sure a rib or two was busted, and his right forearm stung.
Varek turned his arm and spotted the dark stain of blood. When he lifted the sleeve of his shirt, he found a two-inch cut. It wasn’t particularly deep, which meant it should’ve healed immediately. Why hadn’t it? The more he stared at it, the more unsettled he became. Uncaring if he had information or not, Varek wanted to get out of the cave and back to Dreagan and the other Dragon Kings. He yanked against the manacles, expecting them to break apart and fall to the ground.
They didn’t budge.
He frowned and attempted it again. And again. And again. No matter how hard he tried to break the bonds, they held fast. Never in all his long years had anything ever held him. For the first time, Varek knew real fear. The kind that settled into the bones, the soul…the psyche…and never let go.
Panic rose swiftly, clawing at him. Slicing and tearing until he was consumed.
Varek fought to gain some measure of control. Sweat beaded his forehead and dripped down his face and back. Breathing became difficult, to the point where he had to forcibly make his lungs expand to take in air. But by concentrating on his breathing and not fighting the anxiety threatening to devour him, it eventually loosened its hold enough so he could think clearly once more.
When the worst of the dread had passed, Varek hung his head, letting his chin drop to his chest as he shoved his fingers into the packed earth. Minutes passed as he simply sat there and let the reality of his situation sink in. Somewhere along the way, he realized what was wrong. He could no longer feel any magic.
His head snapped up. Concentrating, he forced his fingers deeper into the firm earth, tearing his nails and skin, but he didn’t notice. The magic of Earth had always been a constant. It had always been there, ready and willing to share itself with the magical beings of the realm. The magic was stronger in some places like Dreagan, but it was always there for those who knew what to look for.
But there was nothing here. Not even a whisper of magic.
The unease Varek had felt earlier returned, this time deeper, darker, more insistent. That’s when he knew he was no longer on Earth. That realization was like a punch to the gut. He searched his mind, trying to discern what had happened to bring him to another realm. The last thing he remembered was being with Merrill on the Orkneys.
Merrill.
Varek jumped up, forgetting that the ceiling was low, and banged his head on the rock. He ducked, holding his head as a shooting pain ran through him before dropping to his knees until the dizziness subsided. When he pulled his hand away, he felt something on his fingers. That’s when he saw the blood.
A glance at the cut on his arm showed that it hadn’t healed since he’d first noticed it.
“Och. I’m fucked,” he whispered.
Returning one hand to his head, he crawled on his other hand and knees to the bars and tried to peer down the corridor. There were other cells. Some had their doors open, some closed. He couldn’t tell if anyone was in them or not. Part of Varek hoped that Merrill was here somewhere, but another part prayed that his friend wasn’t. Because if Merrill had managed to escape, then he would realize that something had happened and get the others to come looking for Varek.
He slumped against the metal bars and pressed his face to them, then closed his eyes and thought back to the Orkney Isles. He recalled arriving on the islands with Merrill. They had basked in the beauty that was the Orkneys before Merrill convinced him to go swimming. Merrill had the uncanny ability of finding caves beneath the water, and Varek had gone with him.