BLOOD OF THE DRAGON GOD

Chapter 10: Chains of the Dragon

The dark does not just hide the truth; it swallows a man whole until he forgets the color of the sun.

Logan hung from the stone ceiling of the deepest cell in the capital, his toes barely scraping the damp floorboards. The dungeon smelled of old rot, stagnant water, and the copper tang of his own blood. Heavy iron bands clamped around his forearms and ankles, linked together by thick anti-magic chains that hummed with a sickening, pale blue light. Every time Logan tried to draw a full breath, the metal surged, sending sharp needles of agony through his skin and suppressing the dragon fire in his veins.

The heavy iron door groaned open, letting a sliver of torchlight cut through the damp blackness of the cell.

Lord Malakor stepped inside, his dark purple robes rustling smoothly against the wet stone. He did not look like a man who had just unleashed demons upon his own people. He looked perfectly clean, his silver staff clicking softly against the floor as he stopped a few feet away from his prisoner.

You look remarkably pathetic for a descendant of the Dragon God, Malakor said, his voice smooth, carrying a quiet mockery that made Logan’s jaw tighten.

Logan pulled against the shackles, the blue metal flaring instantly, searing his wrists and leaving raw, smoking burns on his skin. He choked back a scream, spitting a mouthful of dark blood near Malakor’s polished boots.

Is that the best your high mages can do? Logan gasped, his voice raspy and dry from hours of silence. My grandmother could forge tighter restraints than these.

Malakor chuckled, tapping his silver staff against the stone. Arrogance is a family trait, it seems. Your father Brandon possessed the exact same stubborn streak. He thought he could hide from the council too. Look how that turned out for him.

You murdered him, Logan said, his eyes narrowing in the dark.

The academy cleaned up an old mess, Malakor replied casually, waving a hand as if discussing the weather. But let us talk about you, Logan. The little demon show in the lower district was quite spectacular, don't you think? You handled my hounds beautifully.

You slaughtered innocent people just to make a point? Logan growled, his muscles bunching as he strained against the ceiling hooks.

I slaughtered no one, Malakor said, his eyes glinting with a dangerous brilliance. I simply created a localized spatial anomaly to see what you would do. It was a test, Logan. I needed to see how much of the ancient blood had truly awakened inside that peasant frame of yours. And I must admit, bringing down a wild wyvern with a single whistle exceeded my highest expectations.

You are insane, Logan said.

No, I am ambitious, Malakor corrected him, leaning closer until Logan could see the cold satisfaction in his gaze. The king is old and blind. The high mages are cowards who hide behind golden walls. The true power belongs to those who can command the old forces. I am building a new order, Logan. And you are going to be my vanguard.

I would rather let the hounds eat my flesh piece by piece, Logan spat.

Malakor smiled, a slow, chilling expression that made the cold in the room feel ten times heavier. I expected you to say that. Peasants always have such a misplaced sense of nobility. But you see, I am not asking you to risk your own life. I am asking you to decide the fate of your friends.

Logan froze, his heart skipping a beat. What are you talking about?

Captain Garrick and Investigator Vivienne, Malakor said, his voice dropping to a smooth whisper. They are currently being held in the upper barracks under suspicion of high treason and complicity with a dangerous mutant. The high council is preparing the execution warrants as we speak.

They had nothing to do with this, Logan yelled, his voice echoing off the damp walls. They were defending the city.

The council sees what I tell them to see, Malakor said, stepping back and straightening his robes. So here is your choice, dragon rider. Swear absolute loyalty to the dark mages. Sign the blood oath to serve my new order, and I will personally ensure that Vivienne and Garrick are cleared of all charges and returned to their ranks. Refuse me, and you will watch them hang from the palace gates before the sun sets tomorrow morning.

Logan stared at him, his breathing heavy, his mind racing through the dark options. If he signed, he became a slave to a monster. If he refused, the only people who had ever protected him would die because of his bloodline.

I will give you until dawn to think about it, Malakor said, turning toward the heavy iron door. Do not make me regret my generosity.

While the cell door slammed shut, plunging Logan back into the suffocating darkness, a very different conversation was happening two levels above the dungeons.

In the dark corner of the secondary armory, Captain Garrick was quietly sliding a sharp steel dagger into the sheath of his boot. Vivienne stood beside him, her face still pale from the day's battle, but her fingers were moving with a quick, restless energy as she checked the components of three small glass vials filled with an explosive orange liquid.

The guard rotation changes at midnight, Vivienne whispered, her voice tight with anxiety. There are four elite sentries at the main gate of the lower vault, and two more directly outside Logan’s cell block. The mages have placed a magical alarm on the stairs.

I will handle the sentries, Garrick said, tightening the straps on his iron chest plate. You focus on neutralizing that magical alarm. If the high mages get wind of us before we reach the lower tier, they will collapse the tunnels and bury the boy alive.

We only have one shot at this, Garrick, Vivienne said, looking up at the scarred captain. If Malakor catches us, Alistair won't be able to save us from the executioner's block.

The king is losing his grip on the council anyway, Vivienne, Garrick said, his voice dropping into a low, fierce rumble. I promised Brandon I would look after his boy, and I am not letting Eldon’s lapdogs butcher the last dragon rider because we were too scared to swing a blade. Are you ready?

Vivienne nodded, slipping the explosive vials into her inner cloak pocket. Let us go get our wild card.

Deep below the stone floors, Logan hung in the pitch-black cell, the silence of the room pressing down on his ears. Malakor's words kept repeating in his mind, a relentless poison that made his chest ache more than the iron bands around his wrists.

He thought of Vance dying in the mud on the northern border, his empty eyes staring at the sky. He thought of Vivienne holding her breath as the wyvern descended, trusting him completely with her life. He thought of Garrick pushing him to his absolute limits just to keep him breathing.

They didn't save me just so I could become a tool for a traitor, Logan thought.

A deep, primal rage began to stir in the center of his chest, hotter and more intense than anything he had felt before. It did not care about the anti-magic metal. It did not care about the pain. The ancient Dragon God bloodline, insulted by the chains of lesser men, surged into life with a violent, unstoppable force.

Logan raised his head, his teeth bared in the darkness.

The pale blue light of the anti-magic bands began to flicker wildly, sparking and sputtering as the sheer volume of Logan's internal energy overwhelmed the runes. His eyes snapped open, no longer human, glowing with a dangerous, brilliant gold that illuminated the entire stone cell.

The iron links around his wrists began to vibrate violently, the metal turning a deep, angry orange as the temperature in the room spiked. The smell of burning iron filled the damp air, the chains growing red-hot from the sheer, unrefined heat of his anger.