Fara looked down from the rocky mountain where she stood, scanning the landscape, with a swift and pleasant wind blowing through her hair. The view was gorgeous, with dozens of rocky hills, settlements and creeks that seemed like strokes of blue paint. It made her remember the days of her childhood, when she used to dream of painting miniatures and imagined decorating poetry books.

Now, she’d had the experience of a lifetime. She had flown on a dragon’s back. That was another thing she had daydreamed of since childhood. To think it happened so unexpectedly. It was surely a sign that the Heavens were on their side. She knew it was going to happen; dragons would return and save the people of her land, of Arsacia.

Despite the death of her comrades, especially of her uncle, last night had been magical; she had feared for her life and her mission, minutes before being rescued by the creature of her dreams, a noble dragon; and she had seen the world from above. She had soared above the commercial routes and mining villages, and they had ended up resembling nothing but small embers and fireflies. Maybe no human being has experienced that in thousands of years. And she had not been scared at all, after all, she had grown up listening and reading epic poetry, the tales that spoke of ancient dragons and their riders, of their unbreakable honor, and of how they never wronged the righteous or the innocent.

She imagined dragons flying over those mountains, over those caravans, guarding a unified world; like when Arsacia was the jewel of the earth.

Now, she had made contact and she had to return to her homeland. Her secret pockets still had enough gold to pay for a coach, and still enough to pay for bribes at the border.

Fara planned for the journey ahead. The place seemed desolate enough, especially for wandering in the morning. The heat of the day had started making sweat bead on her forehead. But she could not waste any more time. She dedicated a minute to her fallen comrades. Thankfully, they had taken with them more than twice the number of Demon Knights.

She continued down the mountains, thinking of the dragon. If only she could get the dragon to return. How could she convince him? Moreover, how could she find him again? The dragon didn’t seem that interested in the thief, despite the bond.

And they had not managed to take the dragon egg, which was their original plan. The mission had failed in every regard.

But it had been such an experience.

She walked through the sides of the mountain, where a path had been cleared recently.

Out of a sudden, the ground seemed to collapse under her feet. Fara screamed, bracing as she descended through a tunnel, sliding and falling so deep into the mountain that sunlight didn’t come through.

Her instincts kicked in, and she got ready to crouch and roll to mitigate the impact. Instead, she found her momentum being stopped mid air, and her body bounced supported by interlaced ropes.

She had fallen into a net. She turned around, trying to roll toward the wall and climb it, but in the darkness. She stopped just in time as she noticed sharp knives embedded to the walls of the cave. She turned around, waiting for her eyes to adapt to the environment.

Beneath her, she saw an open flame emerge from the darkness, it was a torch, its flame and the smoke behind leaving a trail. The man who carried it had long greasy hair, an aquiline nose and thick eyebrows. Another, shorter man came behind him.

“See what we caught today!” said the first, revealing an ugly grin, the light of the torch casting a sinister light on his face. “A woman.”

“Good,” replied the short one. “And she looks healthy too.”

“We've been lucky today. She fell right into the hole. And just look at that pretty face; she’d sell well in the market.”

Fara gritted her teeth. Those were worse than bandits, they were slavers.

“Come on, darling, relax,” said the one with the long hair, his eyes narrowing like those of a predator. “We’ll get you down and then you can enjoy some time with us.”

Fara thought fast. She had to get out of there. Thankfully, despite having lost her spear during the battle, she still carried the specialty of her warrior order: concealed weapons of every kind.

“Let me go,” she said, writhing and acting like a damsel in distress. “Let me go! Don’t take me, you don’t know who I am.”

“Who you were doesn’t matter,” said the long-haired ruffian. “Come on,” he said, walking to a corner and untying a thick rope that held the net up.

Fara slid a hand into a secret pocket, placing her palm over her Tiger Claw and sliding her index and thumb over to secure it.

“Come help me,” the ruffian leader told his companion. Together they held the rope, while the other side of the mechanism lowered her down. She moved about, writhing and turning.

“You caught something?” said another voice. Another ruffian stepped through the cave. “My gods, this things actually work.”

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“And look at what we’ve fished. She’s pretty. These are the kind rich donors like to take as concubines.”

“Is she? Isn’t she a little older,” said another ruffian, peeking through.

“Oh no,” she writhed about. “Please do not, I am important.”

“Do you recognize the accent?” said the short one.

“Recognize it? Who cares?” said the long-haired man, waving dismissively. “Well fed enough to be a citizen, wherever she’s from. That’s what she gets for wandering alone so far. Definitely not Murlian, though she’d sell very well up there.”

Fara’s mind raced as she neared the ground. Her act of distress seemed to be working, their guard lowering with each passing second.

The moment her feet touched the ground, the long-haired slaver and his short accomplice set out to open her net. She remained on her knees, hiding her palm and preparing to strike.

The long-haired man was the first to approach, ready to jump her and pin her to the ground.

The slaver, caught off guard, barely had time to react. She lunged forward, sliding her right hand across his naked torso.

The man gasped, staring in horror at how his flesh had been sheared. The Tiger Claw was deadly. It had cut deep into the man's naked flesh, and now blood was pouring down like a cascade. The slaver stared at his blooded hand, then collapsed to his knees, blood seeping through his fingers, his torch falling to the ground along with him.

Fara lunged toward the short one. He had no time to realize what was happening, for she reached her hand toward his neck and dragged it across, shearing into his trachea. His death was immediate, and he collapsed with a blank stare.

The two who had just arrived gasped in horror. One of them drew a dagger, the other one turned back, calling for help.

Killing felt strange. She had trained since she was a child, but actually killing people felt alien and wrong. At the same time, somehow, there was something revitalizing about it.

She knew that more thieves were coming, possibly with better weapons. She placed her Tiger’s Claw back in her holster and removed a long, whip like stick that she held along her girdle. Now this one was hard to use, and made a big mess.

She released it, it fell like a silver ribbon, like a steel whip, as long as twice the height of a man, and sharp as any knife.

A handful of men stepped into the cave, holding war clubs and swords. They saw the weapon and panicked, remaining still.

Fara lunged forward, shaking her whip. One of the bandits frantically tried to step back just as it caught him in the arm and torso. It cut through him as if through butter, blood splattered everywhere, he screamed in pain and others screamed in horror.

She smiled, following her would be captors through the tunnel. A few fires in the distance showed there were more people there.

Suddenly, she felt a sting in her chest. She looked down, it was some kind of dart. It was…

She felt as if her soul had been pushed out of her body, she shut her eyes and collapsed to the ground. The world around her faded to black.

***

Razam awoke in chains. He looked around, he was sitting, somewhere in the mountains, with nothing but the sky above him and a few leafless bushes. Next to him, he was surprised to see a familiar face. Her Highness Fara was asleep, her face against the sand, arms tied behind her back, legs tied at the ankles, a rope against her thighs, wrapped in a net like a potato out for market. It pained to see that bruises now covered her face and coagulated blood marked her eyebrows and lips. He gritted his teeth. She certainly did not deserve that.

“Spit on a grave,” Razam said. He didn’t remember much, just men coming at him after falling and… Well, blood damn, he was about to be sold as a slave. He saw bodyguards and mercenaries with crude weapons, and on the other side, he saw the camp, where merchants were conversing with their bodyguards. The leader was wearing a yellow turban, had a very long beard and sat on a stool by the fire. Razam’s money pouch rested on his knee.

Razam tried to move, but he noticed that his feet were also bound. Two men were approaching the merchant. They looked at him and pointed, then at her highness.

The merchant seemed surprised, he opened his eyes wide and stroked his beard. Then called for more men to come. They were, unsurprisingly, armed. Six of them, one of them grabbed a set of ropes and approached Razam. He sighed. He was going to prison again.

“Well, well, well, well,” said the merchant. Razam had not seen him before. Fara gasped next to him, but the only thing she could move was her neck. “So it is you, the Crimson Thorn, working with the Arsacians.”

Razam rolled his eyes.

The merchant squatted down on his haunches, looking at Razam straight in the eye. “You two are going to make me rich.”

“Hey, let me go,” Razam said. “It’s me. Listen, there’s no reason for selling me. I can work with you. I’m good at carpentry too. You’ve heard of me. I’d be a great bodyguard.”

The merchant turned around and spoke to one of his accomplices.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” Razam shouted.

The merchant did not so much as look back at him. Instead, he talked to the mercenaries.

“With the recent information you gave me, dear friend, I think we better stay quiet. Cover their faces and cover the carriage. Drive directly into the Murlian camp. They’d be waiting for them and… My friend, with their reward, we’ll have enough money to retire.”

Spit on a grave, Razam thought as two of the bandits approached him with a cloth sack and placed it over his head. He struggled, he tried to argue for them to stop, but it was done in seconds. The light had been completely blocked and he couldn’t see a thing. Now, they forced him to his feet and marched him toward the carriage.

Razam grunted in anger. He tried to force the ropes open, but all his struggle was in vain. He sighed, then thought of the distinctive voice inside his mind. It was far, but it was still there.

“Dragon, are you there?” He said in his mind.

There was no response per se, just an awareness.

“Hey, guess what, now I’m the one who’s tied up.”

The voice in his head gave a distinctive response:

“I have other duties now, human. Maybe you can get out of here on your own.”