In The Lair of the Draca (Book 2)

In the Lair of the Draca (Book 2) Chapter 85: Old Woman's Egg

A soft hand caressed Julian's cheek. He stirred, distantly believing himself to be in the arms of his love. "...Lu-lu? Whath happ-- mmph!"

In a panic, he shot up and shook himself awake. Whatever this was, it didn't feel or look right: cold granite walls sloomed on at least three sides, and he'd been stuffed-- naked-- into a sleeping pelt made of mountain goat wool. There were shelves on the walls, huge clay jars and digging sticks in the corners. There was even a lazy fire crackling down a short corridor near where the entrance must have been.

But-- what was this? Julian's palms found their way to his cheeks. He cradled them gingerly, but even delicate pressure sent pulses of nausea-inducing pain through his temples. His mouth and cheeks had been packed with-- something. Had someone tried to kill him? And were they debating even now a short distance away, perhaps discussing what to do with his clothes and where to get rid of his body?

He had to get dressed, and he had to get out. Now.

Julian used the tips of his fingers to dig at the packing. Thick wads of stuffing fell into his lap. When he saw that it was soaked in blood so dark that it almost looked black, a bleak terror contorted his heart. More blood filled his mouth, overwhelming his swollen tongue with the cloying after-taste of iron. Coughing and spluttering, Julian collapsed onto his elbows in just enough time to turn aside and spit out the blood. Reflexively, he licked his lips. It was then that Julian realized his teeth were missing. All that remained were clotted blood and swollen gum tissue.

Overcome, Julian fell into a faint and was instantly revived when the gentle hand from earlier slapped him in the face. The agony that inundated was too much. He rolled over and howled his woe, braying like an afflicted coyote.

"Do it! Slap him again!"

There were muffled giggles. Julian groaned and shifted onto his back. A rosy-cheeked toddler was there, staring eagerly into his face. "You haf no teef. Like baby," it said, and there were more giggles as two older children materialized from the granite corridor.

"Ila, slap him."

"No."

"It's funny. Slap him one more time!"

Ila raised a hand. Unable to help himself, he lashed out with one foot and kicked the ruddy toddler flat onto its back. "Get away from me, you little shit!" Julian hissed. This was all the push-back the children needed. They dispersed in a flash, jabbering in those bird-like chirps which had sounded so beautiful when Luchek--

Luchek.

"Wha-- where am I? And where are my cloffes?" Julian demanded angrily to no-one. He was cold, naked, and furious...and he remembered now. The raft, the hideous water-draga which had ravaged the refugees, and being tossed about in the frigid water like a flimsy child's toy.

He wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be away from this place. He and Sashek had talked about warning the people of Looks Thrice; they knew intimately what terror would befall the village's inhabitants if they couldn't come up with a course of action. But really, he couldn't even do that! He could do nothing at all without Luchek. He set his throbbing jaw in painful determination. Julian made a mental vow to set out for Luchek before the night was over.

Would people die? Most certainly. Many of them. Hundreds, even. But if Julian couldn't save his venerated Luchek, what would happen would just-- well, have to happen. Julian was utterly lost without Luchek.

He would die without Luchek.

"I need my clofffes!!" Julian demanded, hating himself for his new, toothless lisp.