The guards burst out laughing. "The abina is taking good care of her," one said. "Keeping her nice and satisfied. Bedding her right now, I reckon." The guard licked his lips. "Bet she's nice and soft. Bet she's hurting."

Tanin winced. He did not understand every word these guards spoke—he had been studying the southern languages for only several moons—but he could piece together the sentences well enough from the man's tone, darting tongue, and cruel eyes.

She's hurt. She needs me.

"Let me see her," he repeated.

One guard drew his whip and lashed it through the bars. The bronze-tipped thong slammed into Tanin's shoulder, tearing through skin. The guards laughed as he bled.

Along with his pain, rage flared in Tanin.

I am a Prince of Requiem. I can become a dragon. He bared his teeth. I will slay these men.

He struggled to his feet as the guards laughed. Another whip tore skin off his chest, but he did not fall.

I will shift here in this cell, he thought. Even if the chains tear off my hands and feet. He growled. I will burn these men, and I will fly out, and I will free Issari, even if I bleed to death while I fight. I will die knowing she's free.

As the guards raised their whips again, prepared to strike him down, Tanin reached deep inside for the magic of dragons.

Before his scales could appear, shouts rose from down the hall.

"A dragon!" a man cried. "A dragon flies! A dragon in Goshar!"

Tanin froze. He wasn't a dragon yet. Why did they—

"A dragon flies!"

Tanin sucked in his breath.

"Issari," he whispered. His eyes dampened, he leaped, and he shouted, "Issari!"

Cursing, the guards raced down the hall, leaving his cell. All across the dungeon, screams of fear rose from the other prison cells, echoing madly.

Tanin slammed himself against the bars, trying to peer outside into the hall. He glimpsed the guards racing away, crying of a dragon in the sky. Tanin's heart pounded.

Issari is free.

Across the torchlit hallway, the other prisoners moaned, screamed, or wept in their cells. A few hopped about like mad frogs, their eyes buggy. Others simply lay still, too weak to rise. Only one guard remained in the dungeon—the large, lumbering one the other men called Halfhead.

Tanin reached between the bars and whispered urgently, "Halfhead! Halfhead, to me!"

The jailor turned around. He was a massive man, standing seven feet tall. He shoulders thrust out like the beams of ships, and his belly wobbled before him like a bale of hay. He was easily the largest man Tanin had ever seen; he was almost twice Jeid's size, and that old grizzly bear was something of a giant himself.

"Halfhead!" Tanin whispered, thrusting his face between the bars.