Dragon Unleashed

by Grace Draven

  With no storytelling planned after the meal, the group dispersed to complete evening checks on the livestock, begin assigned guard duty, or find their beds. Malachus grabbed one of the lit lamps hanging outside the provender wagon and trekked toward Halani’s wagon. Lit both inside and out by more lamps, it cast a welcoming glow in the darkness. She sat on a saddle pad before a small fire not far from her door, tending the flame. Malachus paused for a moment to admire the way light flickered across her features, emphasizing the width of her cheekbones, her fine jaw and slender nose. Golden highlights wove through her brown hair, tamed into a long braid that draped across her shoulder to coil in her lap. What did all that hair look like unbound?

  She glanced up and he raised the book he held. “A different tome from the one I read earlier, so you’ll be the first in the camp to hear me read from this one.”

  Halani clapped her hands, her expression delighted. She stood and gestured for him to hand her his lamp. “I’ll take it and set it on the steps. Would you prefer a stool to sit on? It might be easier for you than getting up and down from the ground.”

  “I don’t need the stool. A blanket on the ground is fine. I’m not enfeebled.”

  “True, but you’re still healing. Believe me when I tell you no one will consider you enfeebled if you choose a stool or chair, so the offer stands should you change your mind.”

  He wouldn’t and he didn’t. Even were it not a point of pride, Malachus had no intention of giving up the opportunity to sit close to Halani as he read to her.

  The second of the two books in his possession was a treatise on Winosia, its geography and resources, its kingdoms and politics. Material guaranteed to bore a child to tears, but he hoped would interest Halani. She listened to him without interruption, so focused on what he said that she visibly jumped when he closed the book.

  “I think that’s enough for this evening,” he said. “We’ve nearly burned the lamps out and have probably outlasted whoever was assigned night’s watch.”

  She gave a happy sigh. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish you could read several more hours. Your country sounds beautiful. Do you miss it?”

  Malachus ran a reverent hand over the book’s binding. “Sometimes.” He watched her coax the guttering flame in the lamp next to her back to life. “But there are beautiful things here as well.” She was one of them.

  Satisfied with the renewed light, she gestured to the book. “What part of Winosia did you live in?”

  “The land of long winter. A prefecture called Herkesh. The Sovatin monastery where I was fostered is there.”

  “Raised by monks, but you aren’t one?”

  He smothered a chuckle. He wasn’t even truly human. “No. It isn’t my calling. But I was happy there. The brotherhood fostered many children. Some became monks, some warriors; one or two even became kings.” And one day, he’d embrace his own heritage and become a draga.

  “And they taught you how to read and speak six languages.” She eyed the book longingly.

  “A valuable skill in the world, even if you can only read one.” He offered her the tome. “Here, have a look. It isn’t glass. You won’t break it.” Watching her hesitantly reach for the book reminded him of his own reluctance to take the poppet Asil had thrust at him earlier. Unlike the children he’d entertained that afternoon, Halani understood the value of such an item, not only the labor and material that went into making it, but the contents as well.

  She curved her hands over the spine, stroking the cover with her thumbs in such a way that a jolt of heat flooded Malachus’s limbs. “I’ve always wanted to learn to read.”

  His luck shone bright this evening. Halani had just given him the avenue he sought to make his offer. “I can teach you. The basics, of course, and you’d need to practice once I’ve left your caravan.”

  Her features went slack for a moment, whether from shock or disbelief, he couldn’t tell. “From this book?” Her fingers tightened on it as if it might vanish while in her clasp.

  “No,” he said, pleased by her reaction. “It wouldn’t do you much good learning to read a language neither spoken nor written in your country. I can teach you to read Sarvish. It’s the alphabet used to read and write Common. I don’t need a book to teach. A sharp stick and a patch of dirt will do for a lesson.”

  Her eyes rounded. “And I can teach others once you’ve gone.” Her voice changed timbre, as if she spoke in prayer instead of everyday speech. “Do you realize the value of your gift?”

  Malachus stared back at her, wondering why she was blind to her own worth. “Do you realize the value of yours? We wouldn’t be having this conversation were it not for your care. Teaching a few letters is small repayment, I think.”

  She shook her head. “It isn’t just letters. It’s a door to a hidden world I know is there. I just can’t open it yet.” She returned the book to him, fingers lingering on the cover. “Can we start tomorrow?”

  He grinned, pleased by her excitement. “The sooner, the better.” He set the treatise in his lap, took the stick she’d been using earlier to stir the fire, and moved the coals around to stir up the flame. “May I ask you a question?” At her quick nod, he met her curious gaze. “Why aren’t you married?” Her owlish blink at his inquiry tempted a grin, but he suppressed it, not wanting her to think he mocked her.

  “Why do you ask such a thing?”

  Because you’re beautiful in every way. Sanctuary in the storm. A companion anyone would want at their side, be they draga or human. Instead he said, “Because most women your age are.”

  “Ah, a delicate way of saying I’m an old maid.”

  Malachus groaned inwardly. He’d expressed himself poorly and she’d misconstrued his words. “That isn’t what I meant.” He trod more carefully. “You’re a woman of standing among your folk, with skills to spare and a kindness this world hasn’t beaten out of you yet. That you’re unmarried is surprising. That you don’t have a line of suitors from here to the Goban market wanting to court you is remarkable.”

  Halani’s cheeks reddened, her indignation giving way to an embarrassed pleasure at his straightforward praise. Her gaze dropped to the ground, and she fiddled restlessly with her skirt pleats. “You’ve a gift for honeyed speech,” she said.

  “It’s honest speech, honeyed or otherwise.” He waited until she lifted her gaze to him once more. “Why aren’t you married?” he repeated. “Or even courted?”

  One eyebrow rose. “I have been courted. Many times. Courtship doesn’t always lead to marriage. I’m unmarried because I choose to be. I’ve yet to meet the man I want to bond with, and I refuse to settle for less.”

  His heart swelled at her answer, though there was no reason why it should. Halani was merely a bright candle along the dark road he traveled. He’d remember her fondly after he left, nothing more. Still, a nettle of disappointment stung him at the knowledge that there would never be more between them. “And what if you don’t find that person to whom you want to bond?”

  She shrugged. “My life will continue as it has,” she said in a cool, uninflected voice. “I don’t measure my days by when I may or may not find a husband. I will be happy in other things. Life is more than just a marriage. I am more than a woman waiting to become a man’s wife.”

  In that moment, Malachus forgot to breathe. What would she say, he wondered, if he suddenly grasped her hands in his and begged her to journey with him once he was well enough to travel?

  The thought—and the temptation—startled him. He was losing his senses to even entertain the idea. There were far too many reasons why it was not only impractical but also ludicrous.

  “It is,” he agreed. “And you are.” He turned the subject yet again, still shaken by the wild notion of asking her to go with him on his quest to regain his mother-bond. “When does Kursak plan to move the remaining camp?”

  A shadow
passed through her eyes, and she stared at a point beyond his shoulder. “A week, maybe a little less. There’s still a lot of inventory to account for and pack, three more wagons to buy, and the teams to pull them. By then you might be able to ride Batraza without too much discomfort, but I don’t see you galloping merrily over the fields.”

  The image her words painted made him grin, though the way she’d suddenly avoided his gaze as she spoke made him wonder. And while he knew his body better than she did, she was right in her estimate of how much he’d heal by the time the camp moved.

  “And here I thought you eager to be rid of me,” he teased.

  “You just offered to teach me to read,” she said, her smile wry. “Don’t tempt me to shackle you to one of the wagons and keep you here until I can read all the languages you can.” Halani rose from her place beside Malachus and dusted off her skirts before giving him a stern look. “I’m off to bed. We’ve an early day tomorrow and a lot of work.”

  He rose with her, sorry to see the evening end and already looking forward to the next one. He bid her good night with a bow, her gaze a warm stripe down his back as she watched him leave.

  The provender wagon seemed a lonely place, and he lay on his bed, staring up at the plain ceiling before closing his eyes and opening his senses to the mother-bond.

  No clear images appeared in his mind, and its beacon no longer felt as sharp or clear, as if hidden behind a miasma.

  He refused to panic. Doing so accomplished nothing and did more harm than anything. If he stood any chance of recovering the bit of bone, he had to stay calm and clearheaded.

  It might have been only moments that passed or hours as he sought to strengthen the connection between himself and the mother-bond. The miasma obscuring it refused to dissipate. This was purposeful sorcery. Whoever had the bone knew someone hunted it and worked to hide it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Halani had saved a man’s life and been given a world in return. Malachus’s offer was a gift from the gods. She was a free trader woman destined to always travel on roads well-known and well-worn. They were as familiar to her as the lines on her palms and the ones creasing Asil’s face. The rest of the world beyond the Empire had always been the stuff of dreams and imagination, until Malachus said he’d teach her to read. She’d remained awake the entire night, her heart thundering and thoughts spinning in anticipation of that first promised lesson. It was better than chewing her fingernails down to the quick worrying needlessly over Asil and missing her presence in their wagon.

  Malachus’s teaching exceeded every expectation, and she went to bed each night after that initial lesson dreaming of symbols drawn in ink and linked together so that sound became meaning and meaning became story.

  Three days after Hamod took part of his band off for Domora, Halani was in the Goban market with Nathin’s wife, Ruviti, to work the last day at their stall. The market’s crowds had waned, though the streets remained busy. People browsed more than bought, biding their time and hedging their bets over which merchants would simply pack up and leave and which would discount their wares in order to capture that last sale. Halani prepared for a long day of coaxing people to their table. There would be no discounts. Hamod had never been one to follow that trend, and she let those who stopped to peruse their goods know that the price quoted today wouldn’t change the closer they got to evening.

  The smile she offered her latest visitor was wide and sincere. Gilene, looking every bit an ataman’s beloved consort, waved as she approached. Halani left her place behind the table she manned to hug her friend before leading her into the stall’s shade.

  Halani gave Gilene’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “This is a nice surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here.” She’d wanted to meet with Gilene a final time before the Savatar broke camp but hadn’t put much hope into it.

  “I went to your camp first but they said you were at the stall.” Gilene greeted Ruviti, accepting the cup of water offered her with a smile and thanks. “I didn’t see Malachus, but I assume he’s either dead or healing nicely if you’re here and not hovering over him.”

  Halani grinned. “Not dead and feeling well enough to get bored and restless.”

  Gilene downed her water. “That was good. Better than wine. It’s hot enough to melt leather out there today.” She toasted Ruviti with her empty cup. “Did he say where he’s going once he leaves your caravan?”

  “West, I think, though he hasn’t really said much about it.” The thought of him leaving sent a rush of relief through her, followed by a hollow sadness she didn’t like to examine too closely. “I’m glad you’re here, but I don’t think you came to see me to help sell our wares.”

  Faint sorrow passed over Gilene’s face. “We’re leaving today. One of the Savatar, a man older than the Gamirs, swears we have bad weather coming. He can feel it in his bones.” Halani’s eyebrows rose, and she leaned out of the shade cast by the stall’s awning to peer at the bright, brutal sun in its cloudless sky. Gilene laughed. “That’s what I think, too, but the Savatar take his word as truth, so Azarion wants to be within the borders of the Stara Dragana before it becomes too much of a misery to travel. I wanted to see you and say goodbye before we left.”

  “I’m glad you did. I have something for you.” Halani left Gilene to delve into a crate pushed farther back in the stall. She returned carrying a small bag sewn of costly imported velvet tied closed with braided silk cord and offered it to Gilene. “It isn’t much, but Asil and I thought you might like something we made together.” She watched as Gilene carefully opened the bag, upending it. A small bundle bound in the same silk thread as the braided cord dropped into her palm. “A charm of protection, good fortune, and good health,” Halani said. “A blessing of earth for fire, and a token of friendship.”

  At first glance, the charm looked like a twist of leaves and stems tied together by a length of plume grass. But for all its modest appearance, it fairly hummed with devotions and invocations of earth magic. At this short distance, Halani heard its song, a sweet tune to soothe the soul. She and Asil had spent several hours on it, chanting prayers as they harvested, dried, and tied the foliage together.

  Gilene held it reverently. “I will treasure this.” She pressed it to her cheek and closed her eyes. “I can hear it sing to me.”

  Halani grinned, delighted at the knowledge. Gilene was an agacin, a daughter of fire instead of earth, but she still heard Halani’s magic in the charm. She and Asil had done it right.

  Gilene withdrew something from an inner pocket sewn into her sleeveless tunic, allowing it to unravel on a length of glittering silver chain. “I have something for you as well.” She handed it to Halani, who spread it across her fingers so that it hung in a display over her hand. Nearby, Ruviti gasped.

  Three charms attached to different spots on the chain spun and sparkled like raindrops on a spider’s web. The chain was constructed of three smaller delicate chains, attached by links that created a scallop design when worn on the neck. Halani exhaled a slow breath of admiration, peering closely at the charms. Not just abstract designs but graceful renditions of silhouettes representing the profiles of a woman’s face, a horse’s head, and a draga’s wing. “This is extraordinary,” she said, glancing at Gilene. “Beautiful. I’ve never seen the like.”

  A pleased smile wreathed Gilene’s thin features. “There’s a story to it. The Savatar believe the goddess Agna fashioned three beings into existence. The draga was her first child and her most powerful. Shaped from fire, lightning, and stone, it commanded the skies and spoke the language of earth. The horse was her second child, fashioned from river waters and the long grasses. The Savatar sometimes call Agna the Great Mare. Woman was her third child, the youngest and least powerful, but most like Agna in aspect. She is Agna’s avatar, the priestess who serves the will of the goddess. Apart, the three are incomplete, weak. United, they’re unbreakable.”


  Chills raced down Halani’s arms. “The explanation is as amazing as the piece itself.” She placed it carefully over her head, locking the charms together until they made a medallion of swirling shapes. She posed for Gilene. “What do you think?”

  “I think it looks wonderful on you.”

  “So do I,” Ruviti said. “Wait until Talen sees it. She’ll be drooling over it and harassing Marata to find something like it for her.”

  Every fine piece of jewelry that found its way into the caravan always found its way out again to a trade table. The jewelry Halani and the other free traders wore was limited to colorful gimcrack beads and bits of carved bone. Halani would have to battle Hamod to keep him from trying to sell Gilene’s gift for a tidy sum.

  “Like your charm, it’s worn as protection against evil and illness.” Gilene hugged her. “I hope you’ll think of me when you wear it.”

  Halani returned the embrace, blinking back tears. “I’ll think of you even when I don’t. If the Goban market is here again next season, I’ll talk Hamod into coming back. I hope you and Azarion can return too.”

  When they parted, Gilene sniffled. “So do I. Farewell, friend, and safe journey back into the Empire.”

  She hugged Ruviti as well before slipping into the stream of market customers. Halani watched her until she disappeared from sight.

  They made their last sale just as Nathin arrived with a small crew to dismantle the stall. Halani stayed long enough to help Ruviti wrap and pack up the items that hadn’t sold, then got out of the men’s way as they took down frame poles and stacked pallets. She and Ruviti walked back to the caravan together, Halani tired but eager for the coming evening and her reading lesson.

  Kursak met her as she headed toward her wagon. “Gilene find you?”

  She touched the spot just below her throat where the charm rested hidden under her shirt. “Yes. She said one of the Savatar is predicting bad weather on the way, so they’re breaking camp now to beat the rain.”