Dragon Unleashed

by Grace Draven

  Halani sighed. “I’m not mad in the least, Mama. I would have done the same as Talen, and it’s much too nice today to sit in a stuffy wagon, even if you’re injured or sick.”

  “You really don’t mind?” Talen said in a low voice so the others didn’t hear.

  “I really don’t mind.” Halani patted her arm. “I trusted you to know what to do while I was gone, and you did.” She clapped her hands and addressed the group. “Off with you. You can all visit with Malachus later. I want to make sure you haven’t exhausted him with so much socializing.” She caught Talen’s arm before the other woman walked away. “Help Kursak spread the word that I’ve called a meeting this evening just after dark. News from Hamod.”

  A frown wrinkled Talen’s smooth brow. “Was he angry?”

  “Furious, though we’ve settled things between us. It just means a few changes from our original plan for leaving Goban territory.”

  Once the others left and she was alone with Malachus, he lost the half smile he wore. She knelt in front of him, grateful for the book’s distraction to avoid his searching gaze. She’d seen the tome among his belongings, nestled deep in one of the satchels Talen had brought when she retrieved Batraza from the stables. Her fingers itched to touch the pages filled with mysterious symbols. “You can read.”

  “I can. In six languages.” The idea made her thoughts spin. “I assume you cannot?” There was no judgment in his voice, no disdain, just mild curiosity.

  Halani shrugged. “No. None of us here can.” Though it had always been a fervid wish of hers to learn. The chance to learn one language seemed improbable.

  “You always have solemn eyes, Halani. Even more so now. Will you tell this stranger what troubles you or is this a burden to bear alone?”

  Halani touched the bandage covering his chest, checking the binding to make sure it hadn’t loosened. Her hand, browned by the sun, looked dark against his sickbed pallor. She raised her eyes to stare into his. So many secrets there. A grief as well, old and deep. He drew her to him with the power of a lodestone, had done so since she first crossed his path in the market. That fascination remained, and it had nothing to do with pity for his condition or her role as his nurse. “Alone,” she said. “Though I appreciate the offer to listen.”

  “The offer stands should you change your mind. Not all wounds are of the flesh.”

  Her vision instantly blurred at his words, and she stood abruptly. “I’ll be right back. I want to try a new poultice with some of the herbs I bought at market.”

  She fled, using the time to wrestle her tears into submission. Malachus was her patient, nothing more, and she refused to humiliate herself in front of him with angry sobs and regrets. She had value in this caravan. Loved the people who were part of it and was loved by them despite Hamod’s willingness to cast her aside and bar her from ever seeing Asil should she defy his authority again. To tell Malachus some things, she’d have to tell him everything, so she chose to tell him nothing.

  He hadn’t moved from his spot, though her mother had returned to keep him company while Halani was gone. “What took so long, Hali?” She grinned at Malachus. “Now that Hali’s here, do you need our help to stand and piss?”

  Halani groaned and Malachus chuckled. “I’m fine, Asil, though if I need help, you’ll be the first person I call for.” He turned his attention to Halani. “Should I stand so you can reach the bandages?”

  “You’re fine as you are.” She crouched down beside him, her bowl of poultice next to her, along with a towel to wipe her hands. She gestured for the book. “I’ll have Asil return this. I don’t think you want to get blood or poultice on the pages.”

  She worked in silence, carefully peeling away the bandages to inspect his wounds before applying the new poultice and rewrapping them. Asil kept up a steady stream of chatter, skipping from topic to topic without pause like a hummingbird on a cluster of blossoms.

  “Whatever you just slathered on me, it smells foul but feels good,” Malachus said.

  “Stinks like a mule’s arse,” Asil volunteered. “But Hali always makes the best salves. You’ll feel much better in no time, even if no one wants to sit by you.”

  Leave it to her flinchingly honest mother to lift her mood. Halani burst out laughing, which made Asil laugh as well, her face beaming at having pleased her daughter. In that moment Halani swore to herself she’d adhere to Hamod’s edict, do whatever was necessary to avoid banishment and the loss of her mother, even if it meant deceiving a man to aid her uncle’s larceny.

  Unaware of her dark thoughts, Malachus joined in their amusement, holding a hand to his injured side to ease any twinges his laughter caused. “You’re like no other I’ve ever met, Asil. And that’s a good thing.” His enigmatic gaze settled on Halani. “Like your daughter. Unique. Memorable.”

  Halani blushed at the unexpected compliment. She covered her embarrassment by sending her mother back to their wagon to return her supplies and bring a basket so she could gather laundry. Once Asil departed, she checked the knots she’d tied to keep Malachus’s bandages in place. “Had I not dug the broadheads out of you myself, I’d say these wounds were older than they are.”

  “There is magic in your herbs,” he said.

  There was indeed, but not to this extent. “Hardly, and I’ll thank you not to say that too loud. We can’t stay here forever, and I don’t fancy being burned on a pyre or hanged just because I harvested a potent patch of feverfew.” He was a terrible distraction, scattering her thoughts with compliments. She stood abruptly and stepped away, putting some much-needed distance between them.

  He frowned. “Are the people of the Empire such zealots about sorcery?”

  Halani paused in straightening his blankets to give him a puzzled look. “You haven’t been long in these lands, have you?”

  “Less than a month, though I’m not ignorant of its edicts and laws. Sorcery is outlawed, punishable by death, but so is horse thieving and swiving a justiciar’s wife, yet both of those happen regularly and are rarely penalized. Why would this be different?”

  It was a legitimate question, one Halani wouldn’t mind knowing the answer to herself. “Maybe because a horse thief and the lover of a justiciar’s wife aren’t considered threats to the Empire. Sorcery is, at least to Empress Dalvila, who isn’t known for her mercy. I don’t possess magic, nor do I practice it,” she lied through her teeth.

  The long side-eye he bestowed on her made her stiffen. “Is that so?”

  She refused to be baited into defending her claim, and changed the subject. “If you feel well enough this evening, you’re welcome to join us at the communal fire for supper and a story.” She tried not to get her hopes up that he might offer to read aloud again. He had a fine voice for it.

  “An invitation I’d be a fool to refuse,” he said. “Asil says you’re a skilled storyteller.”

  “My mother likes to praise everything about me, which is lovely, but treat it for what it is—the love of a parent for a child.”

  One black eyebrow slid upward. “Your mother just said I smelled like the arse end of a mule, and no one will sit by me. Her honesty is, without question, lacking delicacy or partiality. If she says something, it’s because she believes it. She says you tell the best stories. I believe her and wish to hear them for myself.”

  Halani stared at him. She had incurred her uncle’s wrath for him, risked banishment, and questioned her own judgment in the decisions she’d made so far where he was concerned. His words reminded her why he fascinated her so. No one outside their caravan had ever viewed Asil the way Malachus did, and even then that view differed from theirs. Differed from hers. He was patient with Asil, kind, and most stunning of all, respectful. He recognized the child living within the woman’s body and still treated her observations with the consideration reserved for an adult. He had called both mother and daughter unique. Despite her efforts
to remain aloof, Halani began to think him extraordinary.

  “I promise I’ll sit by you if no one else does, no matter how horrid you smell,” she said in her most solemn tones.

  Malachus laughed. “Then I’ll be sure to save you a place.”

  When Asil returned, Halani left him to attend to the many tasks she’d put off to visit Hamod in the Savatar encampment. When word got out that Malachus might join their group to share food and hear the nightly story, several people volunteered to keep him company, despite Asil’s flat assertion that he smelled bad. Halani suspected she’d have to fight for a seat next to him.

  The meeting she’d called prior to their evening meal promised a flurry of questions and protests, and it fulfilled that promise. Halani relayed Hamod’s instructions for splitting the camp but kept his secret regarding the sale of the draga bone.

  “I still don’t understand the hurry,” Kursak said. “Trading in the towns runs heavy the entire summer, and we’re still in the beginning of it. It won’t take that long to reach Domora from here. There’s no need to split the camp while we finish our trading here, buy more carts for the new goods Azarion gave us.” He gave a brief bow in the general direction of the Savatar camp, at which the others cheered. “There’s decent wild pasture for the livestock, and the weather’s been more or less agreeable.”

  “Malachus is too injured to make the trip with us,” she said, bracing herself for the response to that statement.

  “Why does that matter?” Marata frowned. “He’s lucky we didn’t just leave him in the field with the other two. What if we were in a hurry? Are we supposed to sit here and twiddle our thumbs until we can have the provender wagon back? Dump Malachus at a boardinghouse or brothel in the nearest town. He’s a fat enough purse to cover any care they give him. Besides, I don’t like the idea of someone cursed among us. What if it rubs off on one of us?”

  His question elicited grumbles of agreement, though fewer than Halani expected. She’d prepared beforehand for this and been coached by Hamod on how to answer a question like Kursak’s. “How many times have we all ‘visited’ a barrow, knowing there was probably a basket full of protection curses laid upon it? And now suddenly you’re frightened of one?” The cook’s face pinkened as a sheepish expression chased away his frown. “He’s no danger to us, and except for that one moment, which was nothing more than a bit of smoke and a lot of unnecessary panic from all of us, he’s been a model patient and guest.”

  There were more grumbles but no counterarguments put forth. Satisfied she’d cut the legs out from under Marata’s protests, Halani turned to Kursak. “If we leave earlier than the other merchants, we won’t have the same competition in selling our wares than if we left when everyone else did. Uncle will take half the caravan and travel ahead with those goods most desired and earn the biggest profit. The remaining half will follow with the supplies we plan to keep for ourselves.”

  “No one has a nose for making the best profit like Hamod,” Marata said.

  Kursak nodded. “Fair enough. We’ll decide who goes with Hamod and who stays with me.” He nodded toward the place where the provender wagon was parked. “I’m assuming since you’re his nurse, you’ll be traveling with me.”

  “Aye, though Mama will go with Uncle.” Halani’s throat closed up. She’d made sure Asil wasn’t here to protest, tasking her with keeping Malachus company.

  Surprised looks greeted her statement, and Kursak’s scrutiny made her squirm inside. “Are you sure about that, Halani? She’ll throw a fit and wonder why you’re sending her away.”

  “I’ll talk to her. No one say anything to her until I get a chance to speak with her about it.” An unpleasant task requiring a delicacy Halani wasn’t sure she possessed. She’d wait until tomorrow to approach Asil. With any luck and the blessings of the gods, her mother wouldn’t pitch a tantrum and would be agreeable to leaving not only her daughter but her new favorite friend.

  Later, when the cool breeze eased the day’s heat and swept away the clouds of biting midges, Halani paid a visit to Malachus’s mare. Batraza whickered a greeting, her ears swiveling forward when Halani held out her offering of a carrot. It hadn’t taken long for the camp to realize that while the other horses refused to tolerate her presence in the corral with them, she didn’t require staking or hobbling to keep from wandering. It was as if she sensed her master’s presence nearby and chose to stay close.

  She crunched contentedly on the carrot while Halani petted her neck and ruffled her mane.

  “You’ve made a friend of her forever. Carrots are her favorite food.”

  Halani turned as Malachus approached, noting how he still favored his side and put most of his weight on his uninjured leg.

  “I pilfered them from Marata’s stores,” she admitted, taking another carrot from her apron pocket to give to the mare. “Say nothing or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  Malachus chuckled, a melodious sound that sent a pleasurable tingle down Halani’s arms. “And what would Marata say if he knew?”

  Halani stroked Batraza’s nose. “That we’ll all starve now and be forced to eat your horse. And of course he’ll blame it on me.” She laughed when both Malachus and the mare snorted at the same time.

  “If your camp is one carrot away from starvation, Batraza here would be in the stewpot.” Malachus ran a hand down the mare’s withers, gliding around Halani’s hand. “Your cook has a flair for the dramatic.”

  Before Halani had taken on the role of their band’s principal storyteller, Marata had been the one who entertained them after supper with tales fantastic, tragic, humorous, and glorious. Halani had learned them all from him, a legacy he’d passed on to her and encouraged over the years.

  She’d been too busy looking after Malachus to treat the camp to her usual nightly storytelling, leaving the task to Marata. Tonight, if Malachus didn’t need her, she’d resume that duty.

  “Is all well with you and your folk?” He searched her face with a steady gaze. “You still wear a troubled look.”

  The plan to split the camp wasn’t a secret. The impetus for doing so was, and Halani kept that between her and Hamod. “The Savatar ataman was very generous to us for bringing Gilene here.” They were still sorting through the piles of gifts. “We have more goods now than wagons to transport them. A lot of what we bought in the Goban market will be resold within Empire borders. Selling for a profit is often a matter of timing. Half of the camp will leave tomorrow for the capital, Domora. The other half will stay here with the supplies we keep, buy a couple more wagons and mules, and meet the others later.”

  A stillness settled over him. “And you?” he said. “Do you leave first or stay with the second group?”

  Butterfly wings fluttered in her belly. Halani ignored them, admonishing herself for even recognizing their presence. “You needn’t be concerned. I’m staying to see you healed enough to continue wherever your journey takes you.”

  Somehow his ink-dark eyes managed to turn even blacker. “I’m glad you’re staying. I enjoy your company, Halani of the Lightning, and hope to prolong it.”

  Butterfly wings turned to bird wings, flapping about her insides, beating against her rib cage. She’d never been one to flirt with or swoon over a man. The other women in the caravan always said she was too guarded, with a gaze that peeled back more layers than a would-be suitor cared to reveal.

  This man didn’t court her, but he didn’t retreat under her scrutiny. He was reserved and enigmatic, a mystery that invited exploration and fascinated her a little more each day, even while she remained wary of him. She was certain he was somehow connected to the draga bone. Most of all, he made her mother laugh.

  “Then you’re in luck,” she said. “You’re stuck with me—and the pitchers of willow-bark tea I still expect you to drink.”

  She bit back a pleased smile when later he proclaimed himself fit enough
to join their group for supper. Asil, giddy as a bride on her bonding day, danced in a circle in front of him, eliciting a chuckle from him and a promise that he’d sit by her through the meal and, if he still felt up to it, the storytelling.

  Most welcomed his addition to their gathering with smiles and inquiries into his health. A few eyed him suspiciously, including Marata.

  The cook leaned down as he filled the plates Halani held out to him from the large pan positioned over the coals. “He doesn’t need to be here, Halani. He’s an outsider.”

  “But not an outcast,” she countered. “Would you have it known that Hamod’s folk ignore the rules of hospitality and shun their guests?”

  “I like him.” Talen circled the fire, bearing a tray filled with cups of hot tea to pass out among the group. “He’s polite to all of us who actually talk to him, and is pretty to look at.” She winked at her scowling husband.

  Supper that night was an even livelier affair than usual, spurred on by Asil’s unabashed excitement over Malachus’s presence and his repeated assurances that he intended to stay for the storytelling he’d heard so much about from her.

  “What do you want to hear?” Halani asked the crowd ringing the communal fire. She sighed inwardly when a chorus of voices rose in one refrain. “The Sun Maiden!”

  Of the hundreds of stories to be shared, that one was by far the most popular and the one she most disliked telling. Celebrating the heroism of a man who slew so majestic a creature as a draga simply for fame and fortune never sat well with her. She glanced at Malachus sitting at the perimeter of their circle, just at the edge of the firelight’s reach. Asil sat next to him, face beaming with a child’s delight.

  Malachus, on the other hand, no longer wore a jovial look. His grim expression made her wonder what had caused the sudden change in mood.

  Over the years, Halani had learned how to tell the story of the draga Golnar and the Empire hero Kansi Yuv so that it was her audience who did most of the telling, with strategic guidance from her. The free traders recited the major scenes of the tale: how the brave Kansi Yuv lured the greedy Golnar into a narrow ravine where a beautiful golden statue called the Sun Maiden waited. A draga’s lust for treasure, especially gold, was its weakness, and Golnar couldn’t resist the temptation to possess the bright statue.