The Dragon's Lair

by Elizabeth Haydon

  They made their way out of the fringe of the forest, heading north toward the Wide Meadows. They stopped to rest that night, and the night that followed, and the night that followed that, sleeping in the fields without a fire, the horses and wagon hidden in whatever copse of trees they could find.

  Strangely enough, the farther they traveled from the river, the more they could hear its song in their dreams.

  Those three days and nights blended together. They took to sleeping in the daytime and traveling when the sun went down to avoid the dark birds that had followed them across the wide river and that hunted them by day. Though it made them tired and cranky, trading day for night kept them safe.

  Until the dark birds began looking for them at night as well.

  12

  Dragon's Breath

  My mother is not a patient woman.

  Or maybe she is. But because her patience is spread across thirteen children and my father, who requires a certain amount of patience himself, it wears thin sometimes. You can tell when it's gone fairly easily, because someone usually ends up with a cauliflower ear.

  Whenever my brothers argue, my mother's eyes start to get narrow. This is the first sign of danger. My only sister Matilde and I are pretty good about noticing this change, and we usually make ourselves scarce whenever it occurs. But my brothers are typical Nain. They are pigheaded and love to argue.

  My mother is a typical Nain mother. She likes to have peace after a long day of arguing.

  So around dinner time, she's had enough Nain nonsense.

  When Petar or Osgood or Jaymes or any of the other brothers begin to act pushy or grumpy, my mother gets very quiet. This is the second sign of danger. My mother is a woman of few words in good circumstances, so when she gets quiet, it's like all the air was suddenly sucked out of the room. It's hard to miss this change, but if my brothers or my father are in the mood for a good, rowdy argument, they sometimes overlook it.

  To their peril.

  The third sign that my mother has had enough is when she rises from her seat. This one is easy to miss, because she usually does it very quietly and quickly. Before you notice, she has sunk her fingertips into the top of your ear. She pinches harder than the vise in my father's factory, which brings any argument to an immediate halt.

  Then she slams your head into the head of whoever you're arguing with.

  The result is the peace and quiet she expects.

  And sore ears.

  And occasionally unconsciousness.

  This is a tactic I have seen the mothers of all my upworld Nain friends use, too. I even wondered if Mrs. Snodgrass was part Nain, because when I first came to the Crossroads Inn I saw her bash together the heads of two guests who had had too much to drink and were arguing in the tavern.

  It made me feel at home right away.

  I myself have been the occasional recipient of sore and swollen ears over the course of my short fifty-year lifetime. It's a feeling I don't relish, and one I have never had the urge to visit upon anyone else.

  Until I traveled overland with my friends.

  I am feeling my eyes beginning to narrow.

  THE WIDE MEADOWS PAST THE GREAT RIVER WERE ACCURATELY named. Once they had left the River King's palace behind, the Enchanted Forest faded from view over the southern horizon. The little towns and settlements along the river grew fewer and fewer as they traveled east, and soon all they could see was waving highgrass dotted with occasional copses of pioneer trees.

  As civilization disappeared, boredom began to set in. Daysleeping was hard on them all, especially Ven, whose Nain eyes saw well in the dark but did not shut out the light of the sun well. His sleep was fitful, with haunting fragments of dreams that left him tired when he woke.

  The lack of sleep did not improve the tempers in the wagon, either. Ven felt his fingers itch from time to time, as if they wanted to pinch ears and bang heads together.

  Tuck had taken to teaching them how to live as a forester does. He gave them lessons in fire building, tracking, finding water and cooking over a campfire. It kept their hands busy as well as their minds.

  Every now and then another wagon would pass by, or a traveling caravan of people on foot. If they were well hidden, Tuck and the children would let them pass without making themselves known, but sometimes it was necessary to smile and wave to keep from looking suspicious.

  One day, just such a caravan was approaching from the north when Ven noticed something behind it.

  At first he thought the clouds in the summer sky were hanging especially low. He stood up and squinted. After a moment, he could see that the clouds were up where they were supposed to be in the welkin of blue.

  What he was seeing, hovering just above the highgrass, was billowing smoke.

  "Blimey!" Char said beside him. Ven jumped. "Look a' that! The field's on fire!"

  Ven pulled out the jack-rule from his pocket. His hands were trembling so much that he almost dropped it in the tall grass around him. He opened the lens that saw far away and peered through it.

  The caravan he had seen coming in the distance was not a slowly moving line of carts with goods bound for market but a scattered group of wildly rocking wagons and people running, mostly children, their faces pale with fear. The white smoke was hovering over blacker clouds that hung above rippling orange waves of fire, some of it burning wide swathes of grass, some of it ripping across what had once been thatched roofs of houses and a barn.

  Amariel grabbed his arm, almost making him drop the jack-rule.

  "Fire!"

  "I know—"

  "Is it the king? Is the king trying to set fire to you again?"

  "No, no," Ven said quickly. He pulled away from her grasp and stared through the lens again.

  Past the billowing smoke he could see dark shadows of men and women beating the grass with what looked like blankets and sticks. A line of figures snaked from what appeared to be a pond to the largest of the blazes, passing buckets of water along to the center of the fire. To the north, another more distant group was shoveling dirt onto the grassfire, their dark shapes blending in with the smoke.

  "Ven, get up here and drive the cart," Tuck shouted as he vaulted down from the wagon board. He came around to the wagon bed and dipped a rag in the water barrel. "Keep well ahead of the flames—head east, just out of range." He wrung out the rag and tied it around his nose and mouth.

  "Where are you going?" Ven asked.

  Tuck nodded in the direction of the bucket line. "To lend a hand."

  "I can go, too," Char offered. "I had ta help put out a fire at sea once."

  "I can help," added Clem, who had just finished praying for rain.

  Tuck nodded. "Get a kerchief and come along."

  "Me too," Ven started, but Tuck waved him away.

  "No, Ven—you stay here and keep the others safe. You're Nain—it's best if you stay out of it. Clem, Char—stay only at the edges and keep away from the flames. Help beat the sparks out—nothing more." He turned and waded into the smoke.

  I felt as if I had been slapped across the face. For a moment I couldn't move, sitting in the back of the wagon as my friends climbed over the edge and ran off to help Tuck.

  I wasn't certain why being Nain meant that my assistance was any less valuable, but then I thought back to what the king had said.

  First, you must understand that each of the kingdoms over which I am high king has its own ruler, its own set of laws. I may be in charge of all of them, but only loosely. Some of the kingdoms don't get along very well.

  Could my being here make the people of this region blame the Nain for this fire? he thought. His stomach turned at the possibility. Especially since the king is hoping that my being here will help end the hostilities, not make them worse.

  Next to him Amariel began to choke and cough. Ven turned and saw that she was holding on to her neck where her gills had been, struggling to breathe. His stomach tightened at the grayness of her face. Beside her, Saeli was kee
ping low, trying to keep the smoke away from herself and the keekee in her braid.

  His hands shaking, he jammed the jack-rule back in his pocket, fumbling with the button. His handkerchiefs fell out and onto the floor of the wagon; one blew over the side into the burning grass. He scooped the other two up from the wagon floor and shoved them into his pocket behind the jack-rule, finally getting the button to close.

  He crawled over the provisions and onto the wagon board where Tuck had sat, grabbing for the reins. Even though he had never driven a team of horses, he called out nervously in the same way Tuck had done.

  "Het!"

  The wagon lurched forward. Ven heard a thump in the back as the merrow fell to the floor. Oh, this isn't going to be pretty, he thought as he struggled to keep the team heading east. I hope she doesn't spit at Tuck once we get away from the fire.

  He pulled back on the reins once they got out of the smoke. The horses slowed their pace and came to a halt. Ven sat up on the wagon board and looked around.

  Behind them it seemed that the fire had begun to die down. Fewer streaks of orange rippled across the grass. The smoke continued to rise in rolling clouds that caught the wind and began to stretch out toward the northeast. Ven pulled his shirt up around his nose to shield it from bitter stench as it passed over him.

  South of the village, the people who had been fleeing had stopped and were standing now, watching the fire die down. Ven's throat tightened as he saw mothers and fathers being reunited with their children. He thought back to his own parents, and the day they had heard the news that the ship he had been inspecting had been attacked by Fire Pirates. He tried to put the thought out of his head as he watched a soot-stained mother kneel and throw her arms around a little boy standing in the still-green grass.

  A cough behind him drew his attention back to the wagon.

  "Saeli, Amariel—are you all right?"

  The little Gwadd girl emerged from behind the water barrel. Her normally rosy face was pale, her eyes glistening, but she nodded. She opened her handkerchief, and the tiny keekee fell out, wheezing and coughing in a tiny voice.

  The merrow pushed herself up from the wagon floor and turned her gaze on Ven. He steeled himself for the glare, wincing in preparation for the spit. But Amariel merely nodded, coughing slightly, and waved the thinning smoke away from her face.

  Beyond them he could see the shadows of Tuck, Clemency and Char emerging from the burned village. Behind them was a tall, thin man in soot-stained work clothes holding a shovel. When they got within a few feet of the wagon, the man turned to Tuck and extended his hand. Tuck shook it as Clem and Char climbed unsteadily back into the wagon, reeking of the caustic smell of burned grass.

  "Thanks for your help," the man said to Tuck, who nodded.

  Saeli passed her handkerchief over the back of her hair, then wrung it out. Ven saw the tail end of the keekee disappear into her braid.

  "You all right?" Ven asked Clem and Char. His best friend nodded while the curate-in-training pulled the wet kerchief from her mouth and nose, coughing.

  "Any idea how it started?" Tuck asked the farmer.

  The man cast a glance into the wagon. His eyes fell on Ven.

  "Dunno," he said, staring at him. "Been happening a lot around here of late. Word has it that the Nain settlements to the north of here have been suffering the wrath of a dragon. We've been keeping our distance, but occasionally a spark carries on the wind."

  Tuck nodded. "Bad luck in summer, when the grass is dry anyway."

  The farmer cleared his throat. "Bad luck to be living south of people without sense," he said, still staring at Ven. "You have to be a natural-born fool not to know it's suicide to anger a dragon—especially that one."

  The king's forester glanced Ven's way as well. Ven thought he saw a look of sympathy in his eyes.

  "Strange, if it's dragon's breath, why it smells like a normal summer wildfire," he said pleasantly.

  The words tumbled out of Ven's mouth before he could stop them.

  "Excuse me, sir—that one? Do you know this dragon's name, or anything about it?"

  "He's not from around here," Tuck said quickly as the man's eyes narrowed.

  The man looked at him for a long moment.

  "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," he said finally. "The only dragon I've heard tell of anywhere near these parts is Scarnag."

  "Scarnag?" The word scratched Ven's eardrums like a nail. There was something intensely painful about it, almost evil.

  The farmer nodded. "They say it means scourge, a cause of great suffering, like a plague, an earthquake, a war." He looked over his shoulder, then looked back pointedly. "Or a wildfire."

  Ven's curiosity was rising along with the acid in his stomach. "Do you know why he's so angry at the Nain, sir?"

  "Couldn't tell you," said the man. "Don't know much about dragons—never seen one. In fact, you're the first Nain I've seen. If someone asked me a few years ago, I'd say both dragons and Nain are nothing but made-up creatures in children's stories. But, unfortunately, just as it appears that Nain are real, it seems dragons must be as well."

  "A lot of the people I know think humans are just legends," said Amariel under her breath. "Hmmph."

  Clemency was picking up the fallen sacks of provisions and restoring the wagon bed to order. "Anything else you might be able to tell us, sir?"

  The man's expression softened as he looked at her.

  "Only that the beast rises from the ground, instead of swooping down from the sky, as dragons are said to do in stories. I'm told that the earth opens unexpectedly, like a terrible yawn. You hear the roar, but by then it's too late."

  Ven felt Char shudder beside him.

  The farmer turned back to Tuck, then nodded at Char and Clem.

  "Thanks again for your help—you too, children. I've got to get back to my family."

  "Good luck," said Tuck. "All right, everyone, settle in and we'll be on our way."

  "Where are we going?" Ven asked as the forester climbed onto the wagon board beside him.

  "I think we should keep heading northeast, away from the fire. The Gwaddlands lie beyond this place. Great open meadows, rolling hills and valleys, with trees here and there. Your friend wishes to visit her family, and I think it is a good idea to get out of sight among those who know how to hide well. We need to move quickly, however. The smoke will only cover us so long."

  "Cover us?"

  Tuck looked up into the sky. Ven followed his gaze.

  Hovering above the thick, billowing clouds, flying in circles, were birds.

  Hundreds of them.

  Black as the smoke.

  13

  Eyes in the Sky

  CHAR LET OUT A MISERABLE SIGH.

  "Bloody sky-rats," he murmured. "Like sticky black pitch on the deck of a ship. No matter how much you rub it off, it still keeps comin' back."

  "Shhhh." Tuck looked into the sky. His voice was quieter than the crackling of the remaining fire. "Hard to say whether they're looking for us or just scavenging—there's a lot of carrion after a fire, mice, moles that didn't make it out." He picked up his crossbow and loaded a bolt, then slowly raised it to his shoulder. "Ven, keep driving. Hold the reins loose, and let the horses walk at their own pace. If I fire, snap the reins."

  Ven nodded and took the reins, slippery with sweat, back into his hands.

  Behind him he could hear Clemency move closer to Saeli. The small girl was breathing rapidly, and he could almost hear her heart beating.

  We can't possibly outrun this flock, he thought. And Saeli knows it. The memory of the ravens pulling her hair made his mouth taste like metal. If I'm this scared for her, I can't even imagine what she is feeling.

  "Steady," Tuck whispered.

  The wagon rolled quietly through the high grass beneath a blanket of smoke that was growing thinner with each moment. Every bump or rock that they hit caused it to shudder, making the children shudder as well. Ven kept his eyes straight ahead, wait
ing for Tuck to move.

  He sat as still as he could, until a drop of rain hit his nose.

  Ven started.

  Great, he thought. Now we get rain when the fire's already almost out. Just my luck—it's going to wash away the smoke, and the ravens will find us. I hope all Clem's prayers are answered, because I bet she's praying now.

  "Steady," Tuck repeated. It was almost as if he could hear Ven's thoughts.

  The children held their breath, and the forester held his fire, for what seemed like forever. The veil of smoke grew hazier and hazier until at last they could see the sky beyond it.

  It was much darker than it had been.

  "There's a small thicket of trees and scrub to the north a little ways, Ven," Tuck said quietly. "Can you see it? Just nod, don't speak."

  Ven could see the black outline of what looked like several evergreens ahead in the distance. He nodded.

  "Steer the wagon in that direction," the forester instructed in a whisper. "Pull back gently on the left rein to turn, then when the horses are heading for the thicket, loose the reins."

  "Are the birds still circling?" Ven whispered back.

  "Shhhh. Yes."

  Ven did as Tuck said. The wagon turned slowly to the north, the horses seeming to know where they were headed. Finally they rolled to a stop inside the thicket. The only sound was the breathing and occasional snorting of the horses.

  They remained frozen as the light in the sky above the treetops faded into gray, then darkness. Finally, as the stars began to emerge behind the wisps of smoke carried on the breeze, the forester put down his crossbow.

  "They're gone," he said. "Let's make camp—Ida, Saeli, you sleep under the wagon, and anyone else who can fit as well. The birds don't appear to be following us, but if they are nighthunters, it's just as well that they see nothing warm-blooded if they fly overhead."

  Silently they climbed out of the wagon, Clemency first, followed by Ida, then Char. Ven handed Saeli down to Clem and turned to see Amariel staring above at the stars.

  "Amariel?" The merrow didn't seem to hear him, so he moved closer. "Amariel, come on—we need to make camp."