The cart lurched and groaned over the dirt path; the oxen pulling it balked and had to be prodded again and again. The town's people followed it, picking their way through the weeds and potholes. The path was quite overgrown, few people coming this way in the course of their daily living. The only sounds were those of the oxen, the cart and the occasional whispered comments.
The cart shuddered to a halt at the huge stone circle. None knew what the circle had originally been erected for, but all knew what they used it for now. A strong fence had been put around the outside of the circle and in the center of the circle was a large flat stone. It was stained where blood had seeped into the rock before the next rains had come. The whole village could have set up camp inside the circle with room to spare.
The mayor waddled up to the cart and spoke to the men that guarded it, "Right now, get her up on the stone. It's almost noon and I don't want to be here then, do you?"
The men shook their head, nervously eyeing the clear sky. The reached into the poorly made cart and pulled a young woman from it. She was bound with heavy iron chains and barely clothed in a thin, torn shift. As they manhandled her over to the flat stone, the mayor gazed at the soft curve of her breasts through one of the rips.
The other villagers herded a few scrawny sheep and a cow into the circle. The mayor walked over the girl now lying on the stone. He pulled her shift open and openly fondled the firm breasts smiling at the girl, "Well now Marged, you should have been nicer to me. I could have kept you rather well."
She spit at him, aiming well. The spittle dripped off his face. "I would rather be offered up like this than spend one moment more near you, you disgusting pig-whore. I place on you a curse of impotence." She narrowed her eyes into a semblance of the 'evil eye', "And if you touch another girl, my ghost will bring the rot upon your cock."
He backhanded her, but his eyes were wide with fear, "Enjoy your death, Witch." He turned and hurried out of the circle with the other townspeople. They locked the gate on the fence and the procession began to make its way to the safety of the hill where they could watch.
Marged blinked away the swirling nausea from the Mayor's blow. She bet her face would be swollen by the evening. Of course she would be dead by then, so it wouldn't matter. She did smile at the thought of her "curse." The mayor was too stupid to know that her words alone would do nothing. He would probably be impotent from the thought of her curse alone.
Despite the sun, the air was cold and the stone colder. It pulled the heat from her body until she lay shivering, unable to free herself. She wondered how long it would hurt before she died.
She saw the townspeople standing on the hill. Bloodthirsty bastards, she thought. She decided that she would give them as little pleasure in her death as possible.
The sun crested in the pale blue sky. There was an eerie hush and then sheep stopped eating and began to bleat in panic, trotting around the large circle. Marged saw its shape against the sunlight. It was beautiful, magnificent and deadly.
The dragon glided in the sky lazily circling lower and lower. Its black scales glittered an iridescent green in the light as it swooped into the circle and landed softly. Marged was too mesmerized to be as scared as she should have been. She had been threatened with the dragon for so long, and here it was. She was breathless with the grace of its movement.
She glanced at the hill and saw most of the villagers had fled. A strangled bleat had her looking back at the dragon. It had one of the sheep clasped in its huge claws. A squeeze and it was dead. It opened its mouth, the sharp teeth gleaming. It ate the sheep, crunching it, bits of blood and bone dripping out.
Marged bit back a scream. She wouldn't give the Mayor that satisfaction. Her trembling was total fear now, the cold of the morning having gone to the innermost part of her soul. This was the face of death. There was nothing she could do but watch the deadly dance as the dragon leisurely ate each of the sheep and then the cow. She must be the sweet at the end of the meal.
The dragon approached her, blood still dripping from its muzzle. It lowered its head and sniffed her curiously. She felt its warm breath on her skin. She closed her eyes, waiting for the pain from teeth or claws. And she waited. And then waited more.
She opened her eyes and gave the dragon an irritated look. It was just standing there looking at her. She just wanted this to be over.
"Get on with it, already," she snapped at it, "Lord and Lady, didn't anyone ever teach you not to play with your food."
The dragon reached out to her with its front claws. She closed her eyes again. It would done soon, this miserable life over at last. The claws closed around her bound body and lifted her from the stone. The roar the dragon gave shook through her. It leaped from the circle, wings beating hard as it became airborne.
Marged watched in horror as the ground dropped away below them. The village was small below her and then gone. Another roar of the dragon and she fainted.
* * * *
Cold. Death was so cold. Marged shivered awake, her mind trying to understand why the afterlife looked like a torch-lit cave. The priests had spoken of a golden heaven and a burning hell. Her mother had a pleasant telling of the afterlife for the good. No one had mentioned caves, or cold ones at that.
She struggled to her feet and looked around. Dirt, rock and the long silver chain fastened into the rock. Still dazed, she followed the chain to a collar around her neck. She gave the chain several hard tugs, but it was sunk deep into the rock. She sat back down on the dirt floor. This couldn’t be the afterlife. She was a captive of the dragon or someone. She blinked back tears, refusing to give into hysterics.
"I see you are awake," a warm, silky voice seemed to caress her body.
Marged looked up to see a tall man dressed all in black watching her with a bemused smile. His long black hair was pulled back into a warrior's plait. His features were strong and sharp.
"Who are you?" Marged tried to covertly pull the ripped shift closed.
"I am Lord Bran and you are?"
She noticed he had the darkest eyes she had ever seen. They were black, not dark brown, but black like the darkest night. She lifted her head proudly, "I am Lady Marged."
He smiled, sarcasm lacing his words, "Really? A true Lady? Do pray tell, why would a small village offer up a true-bred lady to the dragon. Surely they had a pot girl or baker's daughter to fit the bill."
"I suppose I was more trouble than the pot girl or baker's daughter," Marged snapped.
"Ah, I see. Let me guess," he began to pace, "your beloved mother married the village magistrate due to financial hardships after your father died. Once she had died, you weren't open to his advances to you?"
