When Ragin regained conscious thought he had no idea how much time had passed. He guessed a couple of hours, but it was always hard to judge time when one is wracked with pain. What he did know however was that he was in a cell, with neat iron bars blocking his way. His weapons had been taken away from him, and his mind was drowsy and fogged. He cursed quietly as he realised what that meant. They had drugged him.

He sighed softly, sitting up on the bed and rubbing his temples. It was then he noticed a strange itching on his right hand. Frowning he looked at it and froze. There was a silvery scar there now, one that hadn't been there before. It was oval in shape and there was almost a sparkling sheen that ran over it. The Gedwey Ignasia. Shining palm. The mark of a dragon rider.

For almost a full minute he stared at the mark, mixed emotions boiling through him. Foremost among them was disbelief. How could he, of all people, be a dragon rider? The idea was preposterous. He hated them. More than anything else he hated them. His teeth ground together angrily as he looked away from his hand and at the bars of the cage he had found himself in.

Another thought entered his mind this time. Fear. He had only heard rumours of the man that owned this house. Rumours of terror, death, and hope. All linked to one man. He didn't like the idea that Tharin Foeswarn might have somewhat of a grudge against him for the dragon hatching like it did. Though it obviously wasn't his fault. If he had known the dragon would hatch, he would have refused to do the mission in the first place.

He sighed and shook his head. He wouldn't stay here and let Tharin do as he will. He needed to escape. He was grateful that they had let him keep his clothes at least. That made the escape so much easier. First, he checked make sure there was no one in his immediate vicinity. There were guards down the end of the prison, but they had their backs turned and wouldn't see a thing.

He carefully ran a fingernail down a crease in the top he was wearing and opened up a small zipper. A small blue vial dropped into his hand, no larger than the size of his small toe. He quickly picked off the stopper holding the vial in a gulped down the contents without hesitation. Almost immediately the drug keeping his mind foggy and magicless lost its potency, and his head cleared. Next, he ran another fingernail down his left leg, opening another small compartment.

This time he fished out a small knife, the combined length of the hilt and blade was the same length as his wrist to the end of his middle finger. It wouldn't be any use for a duel, but for quick and silent assassinations it worked rather well. He smiled as he gripped the hilt of knife in between his fingers, it was too small to grip with his entire hand, and walked over to the door. With a silent word in the ancient language, it opened quietly, and he walked out, closing it silently behind him and locking it again.

He had learnt to always be prepared for situations like this. Far too often did he find himself in a dungeon, or locked away. The first time he hadn't been prepared and was forced to starve himself to fight out the drug that kept his magic locked away. The second time... well he had left the prison within an hour, unknown to the guards until the next morning. He hoped this time worked so well.

He slowly walked toward the guards, dagger in hand and magic at the tip of his fingertips. Without hesitation he brought his arm around the back of one of the guards, then thrust the dagger up through the man's throat, piecing the voice box as he did, so that all that came through the man's mouth was a gurgle of surprise. The other turned in surprise as his comrade dropped to the ground, Ragin standing over the body with his knife dripping blood in his hand. The guard put his hand on his sword and opened his mouth to cry out the alarm.

"Theyna," Ragin muttered with a wave of his hand, and no sound came from the man's mouth.

He then moved like cat, grabbing the man's throat and pinning him to the wall, dagger pointed at the man's head. Without so much as saying anything, Ragin pieced the man's mind with his own, strangely finding the process far easier than the other times he had attempted the same thing. He quickly figured out the quickest route out of the mansion.

He went to stab the man in the throat, like he had with his comrade, but as he looked into the man's eyes he hesitated. There was a primal fear their, a fear that told Ragin this man did not want to die, but knew he would. With a grunt, hating himself for his own weakness, Ragin stepped backwards, letting the man fall to the ground.

"Slytha," he said, watching the guard's eyes role back as he fell into a soundless sleep.

Using the images from the guards mind he began to make his way through the house. Apparently, he was on an underground floor. He would need to find a flight of steps that lead into a cellar. The cellar often had people in it, mostly it was a rest room for the guards and mercenaries that Tharin hired. Of course it was, that was where they kept all the mead.

Ragin moved with practiced silence along the halls, making turns only when he was sure that no one would be around the next corner. Just as he found the stairs something probed at the mental barriers in his mind, startling him. It was only a gentle touch, but the thought of someone out there that could do that scared him. He cursed himself for being restless and quickly brought something else out of another hidden compartment in his clothes. The ring.

He had hoped he wouldn't have to use it, as it was a lot easier to tell if someone was ahead when he could probe mentally, but if there was someone else around with the same abilities then it would be safer with the ring on. Sighing softly he slipped the ring around his finger, and everything around his mind became silent. It was now up for his senses to do the probing for him.

Almost as soon as he slipped the ring on a wailing echoed through the house, startling him for a second time. He froze, wondering if they had found him, when an angry voice yelled from the top of the stares.

"Shut that bloody thing up will ya'!" roared the voice.

"I'm sorry sir. It just started doing it sir," came the timid reply.

The wailing sounded out again, this time it was more like a screech.

"Aargh, we had managed to quieten it down an hour ago, now it's riled up again," came a third voice, "What did you do Timuld?"

"I didn't do nothin' sir," the same nervous voice from before.

While they were distracted by whatever was making the screeching, Ragin crept up the stairs and looked into the room. There were shelves stacked to the brim with bottles of wine, as well as barrels of other alcoholic beverages, such as mead and ale. In the centre was a small table with four stools, each one holding a mercenary. On the centre of the table was a small cage, with a black form bouncing around inside and scratching at the bars, wailing again. The dragon.

Ragin frowned. He hadn't thought to rescue the dragon, thinking that it would be too far out of his way and too risky to do so. For a moment the thief stood where he was, thinking as he studied the guards. They were all in their armour, with swords hanging at their sides. The youngest of the lot seemed to be the one 'at fault' for starting the hatchling's tantrum, and was trying his best to defend himself against the other three. He wasn't getting anywhere.

Ragin took in the situation carefully. He could quite easily kill the men with a couple of words from the ancient language, that wasn't the problem. The problem was what would happen when he did. He was quite sure Tharin had set up multiple contingencies if an enemy mage somehow ended up in his household.

His ring grew heavy as whatever tried to grope at his mind before tried again, and at the same time the dragon wailed, almost as though it had lost something. Ragin's eyes widened slightly as he realised that it had been the dragon trying to get at his mind all along. He hesitated, then slipped off his ring. Instantly it stopped wailing and let out a purr of delight as its conscious clashed with his.

Ragin took a step back in surprise, and quickly blocked his mind from the dragon's attempt, causing it to humph and claw at the cage, looking directly at where he was hiding. He cursed silently, hoping the guards were stupid enough to not realise the reason for the dragon's interest. But it continued to batter helplessly at his iron wall defences. He ignored it for a moment, judging the guards.

"What's it doing now?" asked Timuld.

"Got no idea."

"Probably want's te get out. Not even a day out of te egg and it already been thrown in a cage. Almost feel sorry for te thing," said a gruff voice of the last guard.

"Maybe it saw som'in," suggested the youngest guard, he was probably no more than fifteen, "Like a rat. It might be hungry."

"Well I ain't given it my food. I'm hungry as well," grunted the first guard, the one that had complained about the noise.

Ragin gritted his teeth as the surprisingly strong young mind of the dragon continued at his barriers. It peeped sadly, sitting down on its haunches. Something twinged in the thief's heart at the sound and he hesitated, before finally letting the dragon in. Almost immediately it cried out in what sounded like joy and dove in, eagerly connecting with its rider.

The connection threatened to overwhelm Ragin, as colours of emotions seemed to drown him. Most of it was happiness, though he detected points of fear and distress. He gently soothed the dragon with his own mind, and it finally quietened down, much to the relief of the guards. Once the flow of emotions settled Ragin began to impress a sense of danger to the dragon. Everything wasn't well yet.

He sighed softly as he reached out and began to probe the place for magical defences again. He only found one, and it wasn't really a defence. It was more just a mental alarm for anyone who cast it that someone had crossed the thresh hold, and it was on the other side of the room, at the exit. No danger to him yet.

He quickly instructed the dragon to curl up and hide its head under its wing. He didn't really want something so young to see what was about to happen. To his delight it understood what he wanted, and quickly curled up, leaving the guards confused and questioning. Smiling to himself Ragin walked up from the stairs, revealing himself to the guards.

"Who the hell are..." the complaining guard stood up, hand on his sword, but he hadn't even got halfway through his sentence when Ragin's dagger buried itself in his throat.

The others were quickly on their feet as well, drawing their swords in an instant.

"Foehr!" Ragin growled as one of the twelve words of death left his lips. His Gedwey Ignasia flashed from his outstretched hand.

Two of the guards convulsed, before falling to the ground lifeless. The last one, the youngest, Timuld, froze, staring at the man in front of him with quivering knees and a shaky sword. Ragin almost felt sorry for the boy as a notable wet patch formed between his legs.

"Do you want to live boy?" asked Ragin with a dangerous edge.

Timuld nodded his head slowly.

"Good, you will do exactly as I say," said the thief, "All I want you to do is run as fast as you can to the entrance of the place, and don't stop until you reach it. The front entrance."

Timuld frowned softly and opened his mouth to question the order, then thought better of it and nodded his head again. Ragin smiled slightly and gestured with his hand for the boy to go, and he did, running as fast as he could up another flight of stairs, and off toward the front entrance. Ragin turned his attention to the small dark blue dragon in the cage. He gently prodded its conscious, telling it of safety, and slowly the dragon got up from its curled position and looked toward him. It peeped quietly once again, knowing that it still had to be quiet but also was too overjoyed not to give out a sound.

Ragin couldn't help but smile as he carefully opened the cage door with a spell and let the dragon climb onto his arm. It quickly scuttled upward and perched on his shoulder, looking in interest at the bodies on the ground and flicking its tongue, tasting the air. Ragin retrieved his dagger and sat down on a chair with a sigh. He picked up one of the cups of mead the guards had been using and took a draught himself, wrinkling his nose slightly at the taste.

The dragon stay on his shoulder, obviously not wanting to let him go for an instant. He chuckled quietly at the thought. Usually, a dragon and their rider would be kept together from the moment the dragon hatched, and from then they wouldn't even leave the other's side unless necessary. He felt a little sorry for the dragon and as much as he didn't want to be a dragon rider, he still couldn't help but feel relieved it was safe.

He flexed his hand while he waited, looking at the shining scar again. He noticed that he didn't really feel tired at all, despite all the magic he had used. Usually after a number of spells like that he would feel a little hard of breath. He wondered if it had been part of becoming a dragon rider. He knew that people that bonded with dragons usually had stronger-than-normal magical abilities.

After a couple of minutes of sitting there, the patter of guard's footsteps above ran past the cellar, completely ignoring it. Ragin grinned, the boy's distraction was proving useful. Whoever had cast that enchantment likely didn't know who would be passing through that gate, and with someone moving at a great speed, it was obvious that they were trying to get away.

Ragin bent down and picked up one of dead guard's swords, testing it for a moment. It wasn't of the best make, but it would do for now. He slowly crept up the flight of stairs once the footsteps had passed, the dragon still staying as silent as possible. He waited, as he didn't want to trigger the spell just yet. When he was sure that the guards were far enough away, he quickly stepped over the threshold and broke into his own run, in the opposite direction.

The dragon let out a yelp of surprise, claws digging into his shirt as it held on. Ragin moved quickly through the corridors, following the memories he had stolen from the guard from before. There was a back entrance, from which it would be a simple matter to sneak out from as he went. He was sure that the other spellcaster in this place was aware that someone else had crossed the threshold. They had probably caught the boy as well, and were now after him.

He found the door and slammed it open with his shoulder, grunting at the impact. Behind him he heard the sound of footsteps as they chased after him. He slammed the door and locked it with a spell, before running toward the massive wall surrounding the mansion. He reached it quickly and leapt upwards.

"Risa!" he said, and smiled as he rose into the air, the dragon on his shoulder yelping with excitement.

He let himself land on the edge of the wall and was about to vault over when a voice yelled out from behind him.

"Ragin!"

He turned and saw Tharin, standing at a window adjacent to the wall. In his outstretched hand he held a strange contraption, something that looked like a hollowed stick that curved into a handle. The contraption made a strange click, then BANG! Something slammed into Ragin's free shoulder, breaking through whatever wards he had easily, and sending him staggering backwards. He tripped over the ramparts before falling from the wall.

The dragon leapt from his shoulder with a wail, feeling his pain through their bond. It opened its wings instinctually, catching them on the air and gliding down slowly. Ragin fell hard, pain had exploded through his shoulder. Just before he hit the ground however he grunted a magical word and stopped in mid-air, breathing heavily. He was able to hold himself for a moment before falling once again, but he only dropped an extra metre, and it was into a pile of soft moss and mud. It still jarred his shoulder though, and he let out another grunt of pain.

The dragon landed next to him and peeped out in concern. He slowly forced himself to his feet, staggering slightly, his hand still gripping the sword he had stolen. He gasped as he glanced to find a hole in his left shoulder, blood trickling out. The joint hurt too much to move, so he gestured with his head for the dragon to get on the other one. Thankfully it understood.

He then staggered into the night, grasping his wounded shoulder with the opposite hand and the sword gripped tightly in his right. He gritted his teeth and shook his head. He would heal the wound, but whatever had hit him had not gone right through, and he didn't want to risk healing it without seeing what made the wound first.

Despite all that he found himself smiling. He was free, at least for now, and somehow he had a dragon with him. No quite as good as gold, but maybe it would work out in the end.

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Hey guys! New chapter for ya. Got this one out a bit quicker, but decided I may as well. I'm going to be doing a bit of writing this week so I may even get one or two more out. The ideas I have for this story have taken route now, and I know exactly where I'm heading... and you guys are in for a ride ;) The next chapter will be out shortly. See ya!

Pennator^^