The end was coming. Aithne could feel it, could almost see Death’s cold fingers reaching toward her. It had been five days since they had left Markarth and she knew she would not last even that much more. Though it was the first five day stretch since she had landed in this cursed land that she had not been forced to fuck someone, it was the worst five days of the entire experience. And it was not a close comparison.

 

She plodded along steep mountain road on her toes, leaving a red trail of blood in her wake, one hand covering her torn nipple in a useless attempt at surcease while her empty eye socket burned under the cloth someone had wrapped around her head to cover it up. She lagged behind the group a little more with each step, all the while wishing Death would stop flirting and just take her already.

 

It was likely a coincidence that the dragon showed up at just that moment.

 

The first warning was a high-pitched cry that echoed off the mountain walls, seeming to come from every direction all at once. Aithne half-noticed the group stop and begin to look around, but she didn’t pay any of it much mind – she continued her pained way forward, grateful for the opportunity to make up some of the distance that had grown. There was no telling what kind of punishment her new master might mete out if she fell too far behind.

 

Then the group scattered. Or tried to – a steep cliff rose upward to the right while a nearly-equally steep cliff dropped off to the left, plunging to a dark and twisted river far below. Some of the pilgrims ran forward, some ran back toward her. None of them deigned to stop to help her, of course. A sudden burst of bright flame raked over the path where the group has been standing moments before and, as a giant shadow whooshed overhead, Aithne watched in what might have been horror, had the she energy left to give her emotions labels, as the two slowest pilgrims were engulfed in flame. They screamed and flailed and one stumbled over the edge and left a blazing trail down the slope before splashing in the water below. The second pilgrim bumped into the cliff face a few times before going silent and slumping to the ground, still aflame. Aithne felt less sorry for them than hopeful that one of them might have been…

 

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Her master’s voice spoke from behind her, and her slim hope burned away just as the pilgrim’s body had. She turned and he motioned for her, so she made her mincing way to him.

 

He had found a small depression in the wall of the cliff, just deep enough for him to stand in. It afforded no protection as it was, but…

 

“Turn around and stand in front of me. Not quite so close, you stink. Okay, good enough.”

 

Silence then, for a bit. She was prepared for the feel of his knife cutting a line just above her ass and winced but kept silent, eliciting a soft chuckle from him.

 

“You are a mar…oh, here it comes. Try to be still.”

 

Aithne had stopped listening – a fully grown dragon has that kind of effect. She watched its graceful form glide with no apparent strain, its head tilting one way, then another, as if seeking something. After a moment, it found that something – its head twisted to its left and it locked eye with Aithne.

 

Or, at least, that’s how if felt. Probably the thing just saw her as a small morsel without seeing her actual eye at all. But for some reason, Aithne felt they had made eye contact. Whatever the case, the dragon tilted its wings and changed course, heading straight for her. She felt a tear slip from her eye but she didn’t duck away or try to run. Not that she could have, what with the chains that limited her movement and the spiked shoes that made every step a mincing pain.

 

But none of that mattered. Her prayers had been answered. With one breath, the dragon would melt her into nothing, and her pain would, at long last, be over. Her only hope was that the fire would reach the man who hid behind her as well.

 

But as the dragon drew closer, its mouth stayed closed. Aithne frowned in confusion as it landed with a resounding boom (a few seconds earlier than she had expected – for some reason, she was having a hard time telling how far away things were) then folded its wings so their bony protrusions became front legs. It took a step forward, then another, and again until it towered over Aithne. Then, at last, it opened its mouth and Aithne got a close and personal look at its double rows of serrated teeth – hundreds, it seemed from where she stood – and she understood. She was going to die as a dragon’s meal. Well, that was fitting, she supposed. One last male – she assumed it was male, though she was not versed in dragon anatomy, nor at the proper angle to be able tell even had she been, but it made a certain thematic sense and fit her fatalistic narrative – to take what it wanted from her. She almost closed her eye but decided against it – if this was the end, she wanted to see it through.

 

A though tickled her mind just as the dragon’s head lunged forward, mouth agape, and Aithne acted without waiting for the thought to congeal – she dove forward (piercing her heels as she pushed off) and landed face-first on the ground between the dragon’s wing-legs. She heard her master shout, “Wait, stop…” And then there was a snap, a brief scream, and then a horrible crunching/slurping sound. Blood rained down on her huddled form and, a moment later, a Sutfu-less forearm and hand splatted to the ground beside her. The wing-legs shifted, lifted, and she huddled on the ground. She was certain it was her turn but she no longer felt fear. In fact, she realized with a sort of dazed amazement that her lips had turned into a smile. A sound escaped her lungs, and it took her a moment to recognize it, it had been so long since such a sound had come from her.

 

It was a chuckle. A chortle. A gaffaw. One led to the next and then another, and then she was laughing with helpless abandon. Each exhale caused her entire body to react with amazing pain but she found she couldn’t stop. She felt a huge rush of wind above her and then the day become suddenly lighter as the dragon pushed itself up and away, apparently either disinterested in eating all the metal that wrapped around her or just unwilling to ingest clear insanity. Although it had eaten Sutfu, so, so much for that theory.

 

It felt like it took a long time before the laughs turned softer and finally faded, leaving her feeling hollow but light, as if she was floating on a breeze. For that moment, she felt nothing but bliss.

 

Of course, that couldn’t last. Her pain came back in a rush between one breath and the next, and she cried out, then covered her mouth, then remembered and almost started another laughing fit. Then a thought occurred to her,  and her eyes widened. She turned over and sat up as quickly as her pained body would allow and looked around. There was, of course, no sign of Sutfu. Except his arm. But that meant…

 

“No. No no no no!” She struggled to her feet, piercing her heels again before she remembered the thrice-damned spiked shoes, and hobbled to the place her last master had been hiding. There was nothing there, of course. She let out an annoyed grunt and turned toward up the road, shuffling as quickly as her chains and shoes would allow until she reached the place  where the group had first been attacked. There were a few bags and packs scattered around, but none of them looked like Sutfu’s. She had a brief memory of it tied to his belt when she went to him in the depression but she hoped against hope she was wrong and looked through the bags left behind.

 

As expected, none of them were Sutfu’s. Desperate tears began to trickle down her face as she hobbled back to the depression. She looked all around the area but found nothing but blood and Sutfu’s hand.  She began to curse under her breath, then the curses became louder and louder until she was screaming them at the sky.

 

“That is quite the vocabulary you’ve been hiding.”

 

Aithne wheeled around. Or tried to. Her right foot bent awkwardly, twisting her ankle, and the spike on the right shoe jabbed her heel as she fell over, eliciting yet more curses.

 

Yuf shook her head and knelt down. “I take it that is Sutfu?” She motioned at the blood and the arm. Aithne glanced at it, then back at Yuf and nodded.

 

“I see. Well, I shall not mourn him.”

 

Aithne snorted but her brain had finally caught up and she retreated inwardly, wary. Technically she had no master, but she was still chained and branded and…

 

“We need to get you out of this ridiculous setup. You have already slowed us down so much. Not your fault!” Yuf held up a hand, apparently attempting to forestall an expected protest, but Aithne knew better than to attempt a retort. “Where is his pack?” She looked around but Aithne shook her head. Yuf frowned. “He’s gone, you can speak, girl.”

 

Speak? When was the last time she had tried? She opened her mouth and tried to make her swollen tongue form words. “It’s  gone. With him.” Her voice sounded strange to her, like it was someone else’s. “He had it on his belt. The dragon…ate it. And him.”

 

“I see.” Yuf frowned, looking down at her chains. “Well, maybe we can get a blacksmith to knock them off. Although it will be awhile before we  reach a settlement big enough to have one. I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer with them a bit longer. Maybe we can do something about the shoes, at any rate.” The both looked at the shoes and Yuf shook her head again. “I’ll never understand the kinds of minds that come up with things like this. Here, let’s try this.”

 

By the time Yuf had managed to use her dagger to snap off the spikes, the other pilgrims had regathered. Apparently the first two and Sutfu had been the only casualties. They made camp by the road where they had first been attacked while Yuf and one of the men banged and bent and twisted the metal of the shoes until they managed to get them off Aithne’s front feet. The ankle straps were still locked and unassailable, but they managed to bend the metal connecting them to the lower part of the shoe enough that, eventually, it snapped and the lower portions were gone, leaving Aithne with, in effect, very ugly anklets.

 

“At last,” Yuf said as she tossed the mangled pieces of metal aside. “I’m sure we have some boots that will fit you.”

 

“Thank you,” Aithne responded. She had not anticipated how fantastic her feet would feel without those horrible shoes. She spent several minutes just standing, feet flat on the ground. It was an amazing feeling.

 

“Well, you’re welcome, though it was as much for our benefit as yours. Hopefully you will be able to keep up and, once your wounds have healed a bit, we can put you to work. Real slave work, not what Sutfu was doing.”

 

Her words pierced Aithne through the heart, though she struggled not to show it. She had hoped – had once again allowed herself to hope! – that her slavery was over, that Yuf had taken pity and was going to remove the chains and let her go. But, of course, that wasn’t the case. Slaves were property. If you found a horse wandering around without an owner or, better, if your companion had a horse and he (the companion) were to suddenly get, say, eaten by a dragon, you wouldn’t just let the horse go. It became your horse.

 

This was no different. She would have made the same decision in Yuf’s position. In fact, she wouldn’t have even seen it as a decision. It just was the way things were. Yuf knew it and, with a sort of growing sense of revelation, as if an obvious truth had been in plain sight all along, Aithne realized she knew it as well. It was exactly as Borkul had told her - it didn't matter what she had been. She was a slave, and that was what she would be until the day she was finally allowed to leave this twisted world once and for all.

 

She bowed her head. “Yes, mistress. This slave will do her best.”

 

And so she would.

 

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