Journey Of Thieves (Book 5) by C.Greenwood

roar and spread her wings. Before she could take flight, the massive chunks of rock rained down on her with crushing force. In seconds, she was buried beneath the rubble.
    I didn’t wait for the last rock to come to rest before rushing down the slope. Only when I stood atop the mountain of debris with the dust settling did I realize the dragon buried beneath was not going to come bursting forth again. She was thoroughly dead.
    I went to Martyn then. The brutal force of Micanthria’s blow had knocked him safely free of the rockslide. But as I knelt where he sprawled on the ground, I knew he had escaped one death only for another. His chest was blood-soaked, and there was a ragged tear where the spike of Micanthria’s wing had ripped through him. He could not live long.
    He was conscious and, on realizing I was beside him, grabbed my arm, nails digging painfully into my skin.
    “You spoke the truth? About my father?” he gasped painfully, as if there had been no break since our last conversation.
    “I swear it.”
    “And he was avenged?”
    “He was,” I promised.
    Martyn coughed, and spots of blood formed at the edges of his mouth. “I followed… because I had to know.”
    I imagined him determinedly crossing the desert on his injured leg, dragging himself from one water hole to the next these past two days, trying to keep up with me. All for an answer.
    It was growing harder for him to speak, and he pulled me closer. “I have traded my life for yours… Repay me.”
    I winced at the urgency of his grip. “How can I do that?”
    “My young brother, Jarrod. Look after him.”
    I nodded dumbly. I had no notion where I could find this Jarrod or what looking after him would entail. But I was in no position to refuse.
    Martyn gazed past me, his expression growing fixed. I sensed his life slipping away, but I couldn’t let him go yet.
    “Wait! I need the name of the man who hired you in Selbius. The member of the Praetor’s council who wants me dead.”
    But he was already gone, his hand on my arm growing slack and falling away.
    Disturbed by the way his staring eyes still looked like Brig’s, I drew down his eyelids. They would not stay closed, so I covered his face with his torn, blood-stained cloak.
    Collecting my bow from the ground near his lifeless corpse, I felt hollow inside. This young man had not been my friend, had in fact spent most of our short acquaintance trying to kill me. But in the end, he had sacrificed his life for mine, even if it was only for the chance to question me. That combined with the memory of his father made it impossible for me to be indifferent to his death.
    I became aware of the approach of several strangers and turned to face them. There were maybe a dozen winged Drejian warriors surrounding me, and as I watched, others poured out the mouth of their fortress.
    The tightening of my grip on the bow was purely instinctive. There was little point in resisting against such numbers. I could only stand resigned as the Drejians ringed me, pointing spears and arrows my way.
    * * *
    It was my first-ever glimpse of these people, and they were an intimidating sight. Although I was not particularly short, they towered a good two feet taller than me. Their limbs and torsos were muscular, nearly twice the width of those of an ordinary person. Their leathery wings, even while folded as they now were, rose high above their bared shoulders and were tipped with sharp spikes of gleaming bone, much like Micanthria’s. That was not the only resemblance they bore to the dragon. The faces were lean, cheekbones sharply prominent, and their necks and limbs were long. Their skin was leathery, with faint scaling patterning their faces and the backs of their arms. They had fiercely glowing, golden eyes and claw-like hands and feet.
    For all that, intelligence shone from their eyes. They were more like men than beasts. And despite their unnerving appearance, their attitude was strangely cautious, as if they