Slave-Girl of the Dragon Rider - Lisa Skydla (best ereader for manga .TXT) 📗

This book is dedicated to my soul sister; our bond goes back through eternity. She is my motivation, my comfort, my inspiration and my support in all things my husband cannot help me with. I thank you for every conversation,every inspiration, and every smile. It is so wonderful to have you in my life.

Thank you Cat Nemois!

Your Lisa Skydla

The story is the canvas,
the language the colours,
the translator a brush,
but the author however,
remains always the artist.

Prince Felix

Sinja gazed intently over the Tenebraes steppe; something was in the air, even the yakutas were standing still, the herd normally going from one corner of the pasture to the other, eating the bright pink grass. These animals provided furs, leather, meat and milk, and were the most highly prized things in the life of a nomad. She looked again up to the heavens and the gradual transition to azure blue, the first sign of the coming dawn, her royal blue eyes scanning the horizon; she could see nothing, but could feel the threat hanging heavily in the air. The Iron Mountains framing the steppe were only visible through a white haze, but Sinja knew the great cities lay there. They had shunned the cities until now and traded their wares with small settlements or travelling merchants, the people in the cities looking down on the nomads as an inferior race.
A heavy hand laid on Sinja’s shoulder brought her back from her thoughts. Smiling, she looked into the beloved face of her father, who had come up from behind her. He too could sense the threat, and frowned. “What’s going on?” his daughter wanted to know. “I have no idea my child, but it’s nothing good” he replied evasively with an intent glance. Sinja nodded thoughtfully, half open-mouthed to ask another question as he interrupted her; “go to the yurt, this is no place for you right now.” A low rumbling made any reply stick in her throat and she turned her mesmerized gaze to the horizon from where an enormous black cloud was approaching, covering everything in its path. She recognised silver horses within the cloud, and her heart missed a beat with fear. Such horses were only ridden by the zjertas, vicious semi-demons, who took anything they wanted. “Go, now” shouted her father with an urgent push as he ran into the camp to raise the alarm.
Frightened but curious, Sinja took refuge with her aunt and mother in the largest yurt. She would have liked to help the men, but none of them was any match for these devils. It was not long until the first battle cries rang out, hissing, growling and howling accompanying the fight. It was pitch black inside the yurt and the three women clung anxiously together listening to the noises from outside. The minutes seemed like hours, and Sinja’s heart pounded up to her throat, fear holding her firmly in its grip as the dark sense of foreboding was transformed into certainty, her aunt screaming in panic as the yurt was ripped through and the interior lit up with a flaming torch. Three zjertas approached, eyes glowing brightly red in the half-darkness as their faces turned to grimaces. The semi-demons were wrapped in dark cloaks, sparing the women the sight of what lay beneath, but their faces resembled charred flesh, with noses flat as if burnt away. Sinja was struck with terror, not even able to scream as the fiends stood directly over them. One of the three growled a command, sounding like deep thunder from a distant storm, and horrified, the young nomad saw two of the demons drag her mother and aunt from the yurt; probably the last she would ever see of them.
The third zjerta approached her, licking his black lips with tongue forked and unnaturally green. Sinja recoiled anxiously, raising her hands in defence and shaking her head, but still no sound came from her mouth. The devil grabbed her with a harsh laugh and ran slowly over her slender body, Sinja sensing the claw-like hands more than seeing them. At the very moment his claw reached her breast another demon leapt into the yurt, and struck off her tormentor’s head. Completely paralysed with horror she watched the now lifeless carcass tilt forward as the black blood gushed over her gown, a scream finally breaking from her throat as she lost consciousness.
As Sinja’s awareness returned she at first thought it was all a terrible nightmare, but then saw the ripped fabric and suddenly realised this was no dream at all. A zjerta sat outside the entrance, watching her inimically, otherwise there was deathly silence. It was dark outside, which however said nothing about the time of day as the black haze obscured everything. The sages had said this cloud was fed by the evil which brought the zjertas into this world; and right now Sinja had every faith in that. Torches were set up, and her guard dragged her out of the yurt, his claws scratching the skin on her arm, but she no longer felt it. For a moment the fire threw a little light on the battlefield which had once been their camp, and she recognised the corpses of her brothers and father. Sinja was so unprepared for the shock she could neither cry out nor weep, simply staring, stunned, at the loved ones who would never smile at her again. No one had taken the trouble to close their eyes; her father seemed to be gazing at her, begging forgiveness, and she knew he had defended them to his last breath. Still no tears broke free, everything felt numbly unreal. The demon pushed her onwards, kicking the bodies aside without a care for her suffering as Sinja stood in shock, and his grip tightened to drag her half stumbling after him, unable to really take in what she had seen.
The demon paused in front of a group of four other zjertas and three humans; one of the devils bore a silver star on his forehead and she realised this must be their clan chief. They began to talk, a mixture of hissing, rumbling and clacking Sinja couldn’t understand. It took a while, then the leader nodded, and she was met with a cold but human glance. The men immediately sprang into motion, two holding her while the third closed iron shackles around her neck and wrists, the heavy iron chaffing painfully on her delicate skin and she could hardly lift her hands, so great was the weight of the manacles. She already knew the significance of these shackles, the mark of slavery; she had been sold to slave traders, but even this realisation could not touch her. A chain was attached to the iron collar and Sinja was dragged away from her former camp. Considerate treatment was not to be expected, so she tried to keep up with the long strides of the men, and after an exhausting forced march of over a kilometre they emerged from the black cloud of the zjertas to be dazzled by bright sunshine. The steppe was still pink, but where the demons had ridden the ground was an icy strip; the farther they moved away from the dark haze the brighter the grass became, until it had regained its natural sparkle.
Sinja was pushed roughly into a tent, where several people already sat huddled together. No one looked up, no one moved, not even as she was chained by the right ankle to another prisoner, the dull eyes of the new slaves only being turned toward her when the entrance closed behind her, but still no one spoke. Why this should be was something Sinja could not yet even suspect. She looked at the others, hoping one of her relatives was among them, but recognised no one. The pain clenched in her heart as she realised she was probably the only survivor. For quite some time they simply sat, the heat in the tent becoming unbearable, partly because too many people were crowded together under the tent. Hunger and thirst rumbled in their insides, but no one got up to demand something to eat or drink. Sinja’s eyes flashed angrily, replacing the numbness inflicted by the loss of her entire family, perhaps precisely that making her careless. With difficulty, she stood, but the man next to her shook his head. “Don’t, they will only make you suffer” he whispered, then the tent was again pervaded by unspeaking silence. Her mother had often told them tales of the slavers and their cruelty, partly to keep her children from going too far into the steppe. These stories now came back into her mind, and she decided not to risk her luck.
It was already dusk when a bowl of water and a crust of bread were thrust into her hand. It wasn’t much, but would secure her survival; that more would not be coming was immediately clear, Sinja quickly drinking the water and chewing the crust before anyone could take it away again. Shortly afterwards they were driven out into the open and ordered to dismantle the tents, irrespective of her gender, no one was spared. The heavy tents were loaded onto a few yakutas, the young nomad constantly stumbling over the chains, receiving kicks and punches as reward for her clumsiness. She staunchly held back the tears, with no more than a contemptuous look for her captors. When the tents and supplies were loaded they were driven out into the wilderness, chained together like animals. Through clenched teeth the slaves tried to stay on their feet; if one fell, more often than not they would take their neighbours with them, and then they all had to endure the fury of the slave traders.
They moved toward the mountains throughout the night, with the moon bathing the steppe in turquoise rays. Particularly at night, the Iron Mountains gleamed in a mystical dark light, and Sinja remembered the tales she had heard about the cities. Previously she had begged her parents to visit one of these settlements with her; today she would gladly forgo the experience. The mountains alone scared her, and the idea of being taken to one of these huge cities, hewn into the rock, made her tremble. Silently they walked through the desert, each trapped in their own nightmare, driven by the three slavers on their horses. Shortly before sunrise they were forced to build the camp again, and then herded back into the tent. There was no bread and water this time, and so Sinja fell asleep, exhausted, but fear of the future and grief for her family followed her.
“Hey you, wake up, and follow me” came a voice from in front of her. Somewhat dazed she opened her eyes, only to look straight into the face of a slaver. Before she could move, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her up. Sinja noticed someone had removed the chain on her ankle, but before she could even think of escape she was