The morning’s first rays colored the sky as Tyrez soared above snow-capped mountains. His mind, however, was not on the view, but on the search of the night before.
The Dires had tracked the Mover to the Old Market Square area, where her scent trail had mingled so thoroughly with others that it had effectively vanished. She’d blended so well with those who wandered the streets that Neil suggested she’d come off them to begin with. A valid point. If it was true, she would be a challenge to locate.
Located deep in the Arandagian mountains, Rathsmire City was the center of the Dragon’s empire. Most Dragons sought to live high above ground level, usually in mountainous terrain. They constructed their cities by carving and reshaping cliffs and stone. Impervious to cold, they nevertheless preferred warmth. In ancient times, they tapped into the heat of semi-dormant volcanoes for their aerial homes, but now they pumped geothermal energy to attain the perfect temperature.
This region of Arandag was a realm of lush grasslands and dense forests maintained in a virtually pristine state. The realm was not the original home of their kind, but they had ruled over it for so long that most no longer remembered. Although never plentiful, Dragons were an old species. And a long-lived one. Large sections of the palace itself had remained virtually unchanged since Dragons first set foot here, thousands of years ago.
Tired as he was, Tyrez still had one more stop to go before he could rest. The Dragon equivalent to jail was housed in a separate facility some distance from the palace. Tyrez dropped through the clouds and backwinged onto the ledge. He nodded to the Dragon guards as he shifted back to human and paced down the hall that led deep into the mountaintop stockade.
Much rested on them interrogating this slave boss. Fifty years was not a long time for a Dragon. It was possible this slaver had been active when Firashe’s mother had been captured. Details of the sale could lead them to the Warlock.
It was a long shot, but it was currently all they had.
The big Dragon shifter found his brother sitting on a bench across from the containment cell. It had to be strong to contain a Dragon, and it was. But at the moment, Razir was watching the curvaceous Dragona who stood just outside the bars.
Corika was a Dragon Reader, the Cryptid name for a telepath. His brother had wasted no time calling on her talents.
At one time, Dragons hadn’t held back from using violence to obtain information. But Dragons were resilient, and difficult to torture. The rules of civility frowned on such things, and long ago they’d switched to less invasive means.
Less physically invasive, anyway. Corika was an excellent Reader whose skills were much in demand. She was effective against many other species. But Dragons were as tough mentally as they were physically.
When Tyrez appeared, the Dragona broke off from staring at their captured slave boss and walked toward him.
“Have you been successful?” Tyrez asked.
She shook her head. Like most Dragonas, Corika had a luscious, shapely figure, but at the moment, a frown marred her beautiful features.
“Not yet,” she admitted. “I started on the other two. They spilled, but didn’t know enough to be useful. I think this guy does, but his fear of what his fellow gang members will do to him if he lets go of information is overwhelming. Much stronger than any fear he has of you or me.” She curled a lip back from her human teeth. “We may need to call in bigger guns if you really want this.”
Bigger guns? Tyrez grimaced. “How big?”
Her violet eyes flashed. “The Examiner is a busy woman. You’d have to wait a long time to get her here.”
Tyrez ground his teeth. “This is important.” The Examiner wasn’t a Dragon shifter, but rather a powerful humanoid with telepathic powers whose job involved tearing secrets from the most resistant minds. Often it left the recipient of her attentions in a rather dismal state afterward. But then, they’d had a choice.
“Everything she works on is important,” Corika pointed out.
Razir growled. “What could be more important than tracking down this Warlock? Especially if he is an Archmage? It could affect us all.”
Corika sighed. “The council dictates her priorities. We could at least get in the queue. But we could also see if one of her acolytes was available at an earlier date.”
Dragons had been around far longer than the Cryptid council, and they had not always seen eye to eye with the council’s mandate. Its primary purpose was to safeguard all Cryptids—humanoids, beastoids, plantoids, and shifters. Cryptids were defined as any creature not native to a realm that used crystal power and gateways to travel between them. The council protected the secret of their existence in realms where the principal residents remained unaware of either them or the gateways. For instance, in the human one, the council spent its energy on keeping Cryptids a secret fromhomo sapiens.
That priority didn’t always sit well with Dragons. There were too many times when keeping secrets meant that transgressions were swept beneath the realmian rug, so to speak.
The Dragon Emperor bowed to the council on most things. But Taran wasn’t their father. He shared Tyrez’s disdain for many of the council policies.
In this case, getting into the Examiner’s queue might delay them for weeks.
“Taran may be able to light a fire under them,” Razir offered.
“Father is not happy with him,” Tyrez reminded his brother. “Taran disobeyed direct orders to stay out of Legion matters.”
Razir shook his head, purple eyes flashing. “Father understands how important this is. He will intercede for us.”
Tyrez switched focus. “Have you spoken with the women they were holding in that basement?”
Razir’s mouth straightened. “They are pretty traumatized. They don’t know anything useful. One might be the female Jacques was hired to find; she fits the description. She’s pretty tight lipped about it. All she said was that the Nazantian gang takes requests for special slaves from clients. They are willing to pay a fortune for them.”
