Dragon's Secret

by J. D. Monroe

  Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but Tanio’s expression was neutral. “Master Sidran requires your assistance with one of the Aesdar. He’s come back with the surviving soldiers from the east.”

  She grimaced and nodded. “Let me gather my things.” Over the last few months, she had grown accustomed to the quick demands, as Sidran stepped up his attacks on the Kadirai. She wondered if the Skymother would curse her for using her gifts this way.

  More than fifty years ago, Sohaila Mara had given up the name of her birth. Under the tradition of the Marashti, she relinquished her past life and became a sister of Mara. After sacrificing her ability to shift, she swore to use her healing gift in service of the Skymother. It was not for a Marashti healer to decide who was worthy of her talent. Mother Akshas had taught them that even in times of war, they were to use their gifts. If the Skymother objected, she would withdraw her blessing.

  Sohaila wasn’t so sure. Wisdom and integrity were as much a gift as the ability to heal. Surely the Skymother had some expectation that she would use her gifts properly. And of course, there was the simple fact that she did not want to die, nor did she want to see someone else harmed for her. Sidran had made it clear that others would suffer for her defiance. She’d already watched her two bodyguards die on a distant road, their bodies left to rot in the dead expanse. That was too much. So she prayed each day that the continued existence of her gift was a sign that the Skymother had not forsaken her.

  With Tanio starting to pace, Sohaila tossed a pair of leather gloves into the bag containing her salves and ointments, along with a set of freshly sterilized scalpels and needles. She slung the bag over her shoulder. “Lead the way.”

  The Silent Orchard had been abandoned long before Sohaila was born. Though it had withstood the Great War over a hundred years earlier, the dying land around it had long been inhospitable to life. As the survivors of the cursed Sunflight that had once dwelled nearby left for kinder places, so had the priestesses and healers who had once served here. While the stone temple was mostly intact, it had been vacant for decades.

  Or so Sohaila had thought.

  When she was brought here, bound and protesting furiously, she was shocked to see the torches lit and the dragons circling in the harsh gray sky. But the fleeting hope at seeing her own kind was quickly dashed when she discovered that the current residents of the temple were not serving her goddess. Instead, they dubbed themselves the Chosen. Serving a supposed god of justice named Vystus, they believed the Kadirai were a scourge that needed to be subjugated or driven out of Ascavar entirely.

  And they needed Sohaila.

  Or rather, they needed skilled Marashti healers, and Sohaila was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Master Sidran had accomplished impressive, if horrifying, things with the foul blood magic his people practiced. But the greatest masters of the Crimson Path could not replicate the skills of the Marashti. And so, for the time being, she was of value.

  The halls of the temple were abuzz with activity. Though Sidran and his flunkies were vague, she was no fool. She listened every chance she got. The Chosen were actively attacking the Kadirai now. A few weeks ago, six of the Aesdar and their handlers had left the Silent Orchard. She’d heard whispers of Greenspire, which was mere miles from her home. None of the Aesdar had come back until now.

  Frenzied shouts rang out right as she caught the scent of blood and decay that enveloped the Aesdar. Tanio led her out to the courtyard behind the temple, where a cold, reeking wind swirled a cloud of dust into a whirlwind. Sohaila’s heart pounded as she stopped in the archway. She had dealt with the monstrous creatures for over a year, but she would never grow accustomed to the sight of them.

  A hulking white dragon loomed in the courtyard, head tossing as it roared. Its massive tail swept across the stone, smashing into the wall and shaking the entire temple. The low stone wall around the courtyard was long destroyed, with a few sections that remained like broken teeth. Dozens of soldiers clustered outside, giving the white dragon a wide berth. Though they all wore protective amulets, its tail could easily crush someone, and its claws would tear through sinew and bone like paper.

  The Aesdar was at least ten times the size of the biggest Kadirai she’d ever seen. Its eyes glowed unnaturally bright blue, with a gleaming orb high on its brow. As it turned toward her, she pressed her hand to her chest, clasping the protective amulet she wore.

  “It’s Enzar,” Tanio said, grasping her arm lightly. “You said it helps to know.” The young man pointed to the white dragon. “The others fell. He’s the only survivor. Veraxa was too exhausted to do it.”

  A pang of guilt swept over her as she contemplated five fallen dragons. Enzar was a foolish, but sweet boy. Most of the Aesdar were. Their heads were full of Sidran’s lies, and if not for the monstrous form lurking beneath their tattooed skin, they could have been any dragon soldier she’d met in her old life. They were loyal to Sidran just like she had been loyal to her queen once upon a time. It was hard to hate them. Most of them, at least.

  She set down her leather bag and reached inside for a jar of the floral-smelling ointment she made for this purpose. In her notes, the recipe was labeled Dragon Tamer, though that was more for her own amusement than anything. She scooped a handful into her palms and rubbed them together. A pleasant tingle enveloped her hands, bombarding her with a powerful perfume.

  Now that she was watching Enzar, she saw the deep seams of red in his underbelly. Charred black patches marred his pearlescent scales, and his left wing wasn’t folded correctly, as if the joints had been snapped. One eye was partially closed, though she still felt the impact of his powerful gaze. Even knowing he had likely killed many of her kind, she hated to see him suffering.

  “Enzar,” she said quietly, putting her hands up toward him. His head snapped around toward her, jaws clacking together as he growled. A gasp erupted from the Chosen, but she ignored them. “You’re all right, an-kadi. I know it hurts, but you’re safe with me. Why don’t you come back and let me take care of you? You can trust me.”

  Enzar growled at her. The noise in his massive chest reverberated through the stone. His fear was palpable, washing over her like a cold mist. The cold weight of the amulet against her chest kept her mind anchored, but it was nearly overwhelming.

  “Come back to me,” she said, stepping closer. He bared his teeth, but he didn’t move toward her. She raised her hands and blew across them, letting the sweet, clean scent of the medicine waft toward him. Her muscles trembled with fear as she cautiously touched his snout. Each scale was twice the size of her hand, and more leathery than the dragons she knew.

  As soon as she made contact, he shuddered. The fear and pain in him washed back on her, but she held firm. Squeezing her eyes shut, she clamped down on the instinctive connection. Sinking into the healer’s trance with him like this would kill her. “Let go, an-kadi.”

  His whole body convulsed, and a searing mist burst out from his body. He roared in pain as his body began to collapse in on itself. As the white dragon changed, Sohaila moved closer and closer. The smell of decay and death was enough to make her stomach lurch, so she put one hand to her nose and inhaled the floral scent while reaching for Enzar with her other hand.

  Finally, the white dragon was gone, and a broad-shouldered male was left, trembling on his knees. His blue eyes were wild, but she stepped in quickly, grasping his bare shoulders. “Enzar,” she said, crouching in front of him. He cringed as her fingers pressed into his tattooed skin. Deep gashes on his ribs bled steadily, but she had to bring his mind back before she could help.

  “It hurts,” he choked out through heaving breaths. With a grimace, he pulled his left shoulder up. It snapped back into place with a sickening crack.

  “I know, an’kadi, but you’re back now. It’s all over,” she said, gently stroking his shoulder. “Speak with me, just like before. The skies above are blue and clear for us to fly.”

  “The skies above…” His voice traile
d into a groan.

  “Blue and clear,” she reminded him gently.

  “Blue and clear for us to fly,” he said. Though she was half his size, Enzar leaned heavily against her, resting his head on her shoulder. Despite the strangeness of it, it was oddly affectionate.

  “The ground below is warm and solid for us to walk,” she said.

  His voice steadied as he mimicked her words. As he recited the simple prayer with her, she poured a trickle of healing energy into him. His pulse slowed, and his tense muscles relaxed. Once he was calm, she opened her mind to the healing trance, sending the tendrils of power into his torso to look for injuries. The cuts on his chest were deep, but hadn’t harmed his internal organs.

  What Sidran did to the Aesdar was cruel beyond measure. Enzar was one of her first successes, making the shift without going insane. But she’d met some of Sidran’s earlier attempts, little more than empty husks waiting to be filled with magic and used until they were nearly destroyed.

  “Thank you, sister,” Enzar said in a rough voice. She helped him stand, gripping his arm as he leaned on her heavily. When he was on his feet, he bowed.

  “I’m glad you’re back with me,” she said. He smiled faintly. Sohaila glanced back to see the other Chosen gawking from beyond the courtyard. “It’s safe.”

  Lurking in the entrance to the temple was Master Sidran, flanked by two of his bodyguards. He nodded to her, sending a chill down her spine. His dark, soulless eyes didn’t match the gentle smile on his lips.

  Several of the Chosen rushed into the courtyard. Enzar’s handler, Gira, brought a heavy red robe for him. As he crouched to let her drape it over his shoulders, she cooed, “I’m so proud of you, my child.” She still wore a heavy travel cloak and a small leather pack. Though her dark hair was windblown, she didn’t have a scratch. “Let’s get you into bed. How does that sound?”

  Sohaila narrowed her eyes, watching as the woman took Enzar’s arm and led him into the temple. My child. More like her weapon.

  With Enzar safely returned to his human body, the activity in the courtyard resumed. Sidran approached her, a faint smile on his lips. His dark coat was neatly tailored, showing a solid figure. Though he was smaller than many of his soldiers, his presence was immense. “You do so well with them,” he said. “We would not be able to do this with your knowledge.”

  Her stomach lurched. “I use the gifts the Skymother has granted me. I am merely a conduit.”

  He raised his eyebrows. Two soldiers in red uniforms scurried toward them, then bowed deeply. “Sir, we have news of Greenspire.” They glanced at each other. “I’m afraid it was a loss.”

  “I had guessed as much, considering you brought back only one of my Aesdar,” Sidran said. His voice was calm, but it sent a shiver down her spine. “I will meet with you shortly, and you can explain what happened.” He rested his large hand on Sohaila’s back. The familiar contact made her skin crawl. “Allow me to walk you back to your quarters.”

  “I know the way,” she said evenly.

  “It was not a request,” he said.

  As they walked back into the temple, two of Sidran’s bodyguards, the Talons, fell in behind them. Corrupted by his blood magic, their scent was acrid and burnt, not the pleasant smoke smell of her kind. Adron and Firsa were the ones to protect him from her ill-advised assassination attempt, and had left their marks on her face to remind her of her mistake.

  “Where is Veraxa?” she asked. Two younger healers had been brought in after her failed escape attempt. Once Sohaila learned how to make the Aesdar shift without losing their minds, Sidran had made her teach the others to replicate her results. He still only entrusted the first transformation with her, which was why she was holed up in the temple. He claimed it was for her safety, but she knew it was so she couldn’t run away. Veraxa had left the temple with the Aesdar weeks before, presumably to send them into battle.

  “She was exhausted,” Sidran said. “I ordered her to rest. Besides, Enzar likes you.”

  She was silent. Inside the temple, the halls were filled with soldiers, though it was strangely quiet. Most of them were scratched and bruised, their armor charred and dented. Several of them watched Sidran pass, averting their eyes to avoid his attention.

  “Clearly, we sustained losses,” Sidran said. “You’ll check on my men this afternoon. After that, you will use tonight and tomorrow to pack up all of the elixir and medicines you have created to aid my Aesdar. Make more if you can. If you need assistance with the manual labor, I will assign men to help.”

  “Why? Are you leaving?”

  “We are leaving. All of us,” Sidran said. “We’re heading north. With your help, the Aesdar are ready to fight. They are faster and stronger than ever, and it is time they served their divine purpose.”

  “Where in the north?” she asked. Home was to the north. It had been over fifty years since she saw the great stone expanse of Ironhold, but it would always be home. And the thought of Sidran laying eyes on it, let along sending his white-scaled monsters into it, made her stomach churn.

  “Everywhere,” he said mildly. “You do not need to concern yourself with details. Your duty will be the same as it is now. You will care for my children, using your divine gifts.”

  “And you want me to help you kill my kind,” she said. Behind him, Adron and Firsa tensed. Heat radiated from them, a silent threat.

  “As always, I will give them a chance to yield,” Sidran said. “I am not a cruel man.”

  She bit back on a harsh laugh. “Of course not.” She reached for the door and jolted when Sidran covered her hand, holding it tight so she couldn’t open the door. A warning tingle of power emanated from his skin. Her heart leaped into her throat as she glanced over her shoulder.

  His dark eyes narrowed. “You forget your place, sister,” Sidran said. “I need no lectures from you. Over the last year, I have grown to appreciate your attention to detail and thought you would appreciate the time to prepare. We move at dawn the day after tomorrow. You will be ready, or there will be consequences.” His hand tightened on hers. “Am I understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said meekly.

  He released her, scowling as he turned away. She let out a heavy sigh and shoved the door open. Firsa scurried after Sidran, but Adron remained, looming in the doorway. His arms were folded across his broad chest, fingers tapping gently against his bicep. His nails were elongated into sharp talons, dark veins tracing down the back of his hands. His bright green gaze drifted down to his hand, then back to her face. “You heard your orders,” he said. “Get packing.”

  “Why don’t you go chase your master like a good dog?” she snapped.

  His eyes widened. “You should show some respect, unless you’d like me to mark the other half of your face.”

  “Do it and see what your master says,” she replied. Despite her flippant tone, a note of fear wound through her. Those claws had sliced her face open and left her choking for air.

  Adron’s lip curled, baring smooth white teeth that evoked the sharp dragon fangs of his other form. “My mother taught me the Marashti were holy women.”

  “Then you should consider how far you must have fallen to earn my contempt,” she replied. “Leave me alone.”

  “Shak-ersath,” he muttered. “I have things to do.”

  “Good dog. Perhaps you’ll get a treat,” she said sweetly as he walked down the hall after Sidran. It was a dangerous game to taunt Adron, but she had so little power, and Sidran would not let him hurt her. It was one of her few small pleasures.

  Sohaila surveyed her workshop. The wooden shelves were packed with carefully dried herbs and paper-wrapped packets of mixtures ready to be brewed into potions and teas. As she perused a shelf of neatly arranged ceramic bowls, she heard a quiet chirp from behind her.

  The brown bird perched on a stack of books, little claws curled around a red leather cover. Her heart thumped. “Hello again. Please don’t fly away,” she said quietly. “Were you w
aiting for me?”

  Chirp.

  “Are you Edra?” she asked.

  It chirped.

  “Do you understand me?”

  Another chirp.

  “Are you just making noise because you’re a bird?”

  Silence.

  “Are you with Master Sidran?” She was careful to keep her tone even, trying not to let her dislike seep out. Silence again. “Are you looking for something here? Are you a scout?”

  A definitive chirp. Excitement bubbled up in her chest.

  “Is it safe for you to transform back?”

  Silence.

  She sighed. “Are you looking for Sidran?” Chirp. “He’s leaving soon. Whoever you’re with, they need to move fast if they want to get him. He just told me we’re leaving the day after tomorrow.”

  Chirp.

  “Will you come back?”

  Chirp.

  She nodded. “I feel like an idiot, but I’m putting my faith in you, little bird.”

  The explosive conclusion to the Dragons of Ascavar series, Wings of Flame releases in July.

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