Valan kept his head down, keeping below the top of the low, stone wall as he moved to get closer to the docks. It wasn’t that he wanted to catch a ship, just that he had to get behind the middle warehouse and into the halls beneath the city.

  The halls beneath the city. Valan shuddered. This had better be worth it.

  He reached the end of the wall, and peered around it.

  The guards, so prevalent in the upper reaches of the city weren’t so obvious here. Further down, close to the piers, they were back in force.

  No way out, there, Valan observed. Not easily, anyway.

  The idea challenged him, and he pushed it to one side. He wanted to get into the city, not escape it.

  Not yet.

  He lifted his gaze, taking in the multi-colored rooftops peering over the city proper’s iron-gray walls. In the pre-dawn light, it was almost foreboding. When dawn came, sunrise would lighten the stone with color and there’d be that single, magical moment, when the walls would flash silver.

  But only when the full sun strikes, Valan remembered. I have to be inside, by then.

  Inside…

  By First Sun.

  Or he’d discover if the legends were true, first hand.

  Part of him hoped they were, and a large part of him really hoped they weren’t. A fight would be—

  Rose tinted the upper ramparts. Rose streaked with lemon. The sight usually lifted Valan’s heart; today it made it sink.

  There was so little time.

  Flicking another glance at the guards, Valan gathered himself. He glanced the other way, then back, before eyeballing the distance to the back of the nearest warehouse.

  It was either that or try to sneak through the front and hope it had a side door…on the other side…where he couldn’t see it. It wasn’t a risk he wanted to take.

  If he got trapped inside…

  It didn’t bear thinking about, so he took another look at the guards, then raced across the bare stretch of cobble to the overshadowed space between the warehouse wall and the cliff on which the city stood.

  He was wrong about the door. The door wasn’t behind the center warehouse…or it was, and there was a second door behind the first. Either way, Valan heard voices raised behind him, and took the first option to the right.

  If those voices were meant for him, and someone looked, he hoped—

  The door slammed open behind him, and a large form ran into him before he had time to step aside. It knocked him to his knees, scooping him up and tossing him over its shoulder before he had time to protest.

  “Oh my, little one. You really shouldn’t be here.”

  Valan’s reply was knocked out of him with his wind as he hit the…creature’s? shoulder.

  Not good, he thought. Also, not little.

  They took a turn at breakneck speed, the creature sliding a little as it hit the opposite wall, righted itself and bolted left. Behind them, the door slammed open a second time.

  Valan had time to think, Very not good, before the creature ran into another wall in order to make another turn.

  “Apologies,” the creature managed, scrabbling back into a run. “Almost there.”

  Almost where? Valan wondered, as it pulled him from its shoulder to its chest and threw itself into a slide.

  Gritting his teeth so he wouldn’t cry out, Valan turned his head to see where they were sliding.

  And promptly wished he hadn’t.

  The grate at the base of the wall looked plenty solid to him, and the creature’s boots were pointed straight for it.

  “You know…” he began, stopping when a large hand muffled his speech.

  “Hush.’

  Light flared around the creature’s feet.

  Magic?

  Bootsteps rang in the hall behind them, but Valan thought they were at least one turn back, maybe even two.

  Oh, gods, I hope it’s two. That way we might be out of sight—

  The grate clanged open and the creature carried him through, covering the top of his head with its hand and pressing it down.

  “Duck.”

  Valan obliged. If he had to go diving down secret tunnels with monsters he didn’t know, he wasn’t going to risk being knocked out before he reached the end.

  Oh, no, his inner voice snarked, You’d just risk having your skull crushed like an eggshell.

  Valan ignored it. That inner voice had saved his bacon often enough, he figured he could put up with its snark when it got nervous.

  They slid into the tunnel and the grate clanged back into place.

  “Did you hear that?” came in a startled voice as the creature’s slide continued.

  “Check the grate.”

  Valan tensed, listening for the outcry that was sure to follow.

  A distant rattle echoed down the tunnel shortly after.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Solid as a rock,” came next.

  Valan relaxed, and the creature slipped its hand from his head to over his mouth.

  It made no sound, but Valan understood. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already worked out sound carried in the tunnels. The tunnel steepened and they continued to slide and he switched focus to how that might be.

  The creature wore leather armor, carried weapons at its belt. None of that was good for sliding over stone…and then there was that. The tunnel was smooth. It looked like stone, but it didn’t feel like stone. It was dry as bone—another reason they shouldn’t be sliding.

  They should be catching on things, getting stuck, having to shuffle forward on their butts, not sliding like they’d hit a patch of moss on the cobbles.

  Magic, he guessed, wondering what kind and if his sister had felt it. Hold on, Doreia.

  The incline steepened, dropping them swiftly between stone walls, and Valan caught his breath. He was wondering how far under the city they were, and how much farther they had to go, when the stone ended abruptly and they fell.

  The creature’s arms tightened around him, its hand, once again, covering his mouth as they fell.

  “Now comes the fun part,” it told him, keeping its voice low, and speaking three precise words that sounded more like a growl than any language Valan had ever heard.

  Magic swirled around him, riding over and through and igniting his blood. He roared into the monster’s palm, twisting to try and drive an elbow back into its chest as the rage overcame him.

  He registered a grunt as the world slowed, vanished, and reappeared.

  They landed in a stone-walled circle of green and the creature held him tight, grunting as he fought to get free, as the anger in his blood drove him to find the source of magic and destroy it.

  “Now, I understand why you hid,” it rumbled, letting him twist out of its grip and giving him an extra spin to send him stumbling away.

  It was ready when he came back in toward it.

  “If I’d known, I’d have put you under when I grabbed you.”

  It dodged Valan’s charge, swaying around his flashing fists and knocking his kick aside.

  “But you looked half-elven,” it added in an even tone.

  The words made little sense to Valan as he came in, again, slicing out with a forearm sweep, the monster knocked aside. Valan dropped beneath its counter punch, then drove up, putting his strength behind the move.

  The creature gave an exasperated sigh.

  “I do not have time for this,” it huffed, and magic surged over him.

  This time it was a different kind of magic and his blood didn’t respond.

  “I should have recognized the eyes,” the creature continued, its form settling to something Valan recognized, even through the battle haze controlling his limbs.

  He ducked, weaved, and spun putting all his strength behind the fist he drove toward its chest.

  It caught his fist in one large, clawed hand and backhanded him with the other, hitting hard enough for him to see stars and rock him sideways. The reverse blow made the stars explode and dropped him to the ground.

  The world winked out long enough for him to land, but not long enough Valan couldn’t cushion his fall. He caught himself on his hands, saving his head from colliding with the ground.

  Valan propped, then pushed himself to his knees, using his hands to steady himself. The world spun and the creature hadn’t moved so he didn’t try getting to his feet. Besides, he had to find his sister and he didn’t know where the monster’s magic had taken him.

  It crouched in front of him, shuddering into the heavily muscled form of a Northlands barbarian.

  “So,” the man said, regarding him with vivid green eyes, “Your trigger is teleportation magic, but not shifter.”

  Valan swallowed, blinking as his stomach threatened to return his lunch. A second swallow settled it, and he raised his head enough to meet the monster’s gaze.

  “I did not know my parents.”

  The stranger studied him as though assessing the truth of his statement.

  “Yet you know what I’m referring to.”

  “My sister is…wants…to be a mage.”

  Understanding dawned on the man’s face.

  “Ah.” He looked around. “And she is why you are still here.”

  “I need to get her out of the city.”

  “Of course, you do,” the man agreed, his form rippling to something still human but still muscled like a soldier. He stood, offering Valan his hand. “Perhaps we can help each other.”

  Valan remembered the man’s real form and hesitated.

  “I don’t see—”

  The man reached down to grip his wrist and drag him to his feet.

  “No, and that is not a discussion for the Landing Circle. Come with me.”

  Do I have a choice? Valan wondered.

  “You will always have a choice.” The man’s voice echoed in his head, but his grip didn’t ease. Instead, it shifted from his wrist to his bicep and he dragged Valan’s arm across his shoulders. “In the meantime, let me at least give you time to recover.”

  “You hit me hard,” Valan managed.

  “Had to,” the man replied shortly. “When the rage strikes, there are only two ways to end it.”

  That much Valan had learned.

  “What am I?” he asked.

  “Soon,” the man promised. “First we need some privacy, and while this might be a sanctuary, but it is not a safe place.”

  It was a contradiction that actually made sense. Valan had experienced many such places in the past six months, enough to know that no sanctuary was sacrosanct. Too many personal interests collided within them.

  They left the circle, passing through a low-arched gate to enter a cobbled street walled by houses build directly into the rock.

  “Where are we?”

  “The caverns,” the man replied shortly, then relented. “An undercity to the undercity.”

  Valan looked around, the effort making his head swim and his stomach lurch.

  “Do. Not,” the man commanded, and anger ripped through Valan’s blood. “Oh, for pity’s sake.”

  Thunder rolled through Valan’s head, and darkness followed. When he woke he was propped in a seat against the wall of a small timber-walled room, his head pounding with pain. The pain intensified as he opened his eyes, and a bucket was thrust into his hands.

  “You have my apologies,” the man…creature…barbarian said. “I should have realized transportation magic was not the only kind you would react to.”

  “Why?” Valan managed weakly, his stomach having won its battle with his self-control.

  He went to set the bucket to one side, then stopped.

  “Because there is rarely just one kind that sparks the rage. Most Northmen have two or three.”

  “Great,” Valan groaned, propping his head in his hands.

  The man regarded him with puzzlement. “How do you not know this?”

  “How?” Valan asked. “Because until the Oshalan came here I didn’t know I was a Northman. I just thought I was some half-elf bastard.”

  “You’re that, too,” the stranger told him bluntly, and Valan grimaced.

  “Not funny,” he managed, and managed to focus on the man’s face. “So, you’re a dragon?”

  “And you are the kind of bastard that will be killed on sight by the Oshalan’s allies.”

  “I know,” Valan agreed. “My sister, too.”

  He pushed upright. “I have to…”

  His head spun and his stomach rebelled.

  The man watched him, not a sign of sympathy on his face.

  “I have people searching for her. Are you twins?”

  Valan started to shake his head, then stopped.

  “Half-brother,” he managed, then corrected himself. “I mean, she’s my half-sister. I mean…”

  “And is she also half-elven?” the stranger prodded.

  Valan frowned. “No. Our…fathers? I think our fathers were different.”

  “And you ended up in the city,” the barbarian said.

  “We were left here,” Valan managed, failing to keep the sudden stab of hurt from his voice.

  “Left?” the stranger’s interest sharpened.

  “I don’t know why,” Valan said, answering the man’s next most logical question.

  “I wasn’t going to ask.”

  “Sure, you were,” Valan assured him. “Everyone does in time.”

  The man looked at him, and Valan read the truth in his gaze. He managed a weak smile.

  “See?”

  The man’s lips twisted in chagrin.

  “That does not change the urgency,” he stated.

  “I don’t understand why they’ve come,” Valan admitted. “The city’s a long way from the road to the capital.”

  “They’re not after the capital,” the stranger said.

  “Then what?”

  The stranger lifted his head, staring at the wall behind Valan. “That I do not know.”

  “These Oshalan. They’ve lived on our border for years. Peacefully.”

  “So…the same mother, but different fathers and your sister is not half-elven,” the dragon said. “Yet you are?”

  Valan sighed heavily. “Doreia is fully elven.”

  “Yet they seek her.” The dragon said it, as though trying to understand what was behind it.

  “They seek all half-breeds,” Valan said. “Half elven, half orc, half-sea-half-wood elf, half-Tindraki-half-Plainsman, it doesn’t matter. The Oshalan give them to their allies, and—”

  He choked on the words, unable to say what came next. The dragon had no such difficulty.

  “They kill them,” he said. “Horribly by our standards.”

  “Our?” The word was out before Valan could stop it.

  The dragon’s mouth twisted, his next words holding a wry edge.

  “I have lived in these lands longer than you, boy.”

  Valan ducked his head, but the dragon went on.

  “At least I know why they have come,” he said.