Desert Fire (Legend and Lore Book 3)

by TR Rook

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  About

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  About the Author

  Also by TR Rook

  Fenris Forest

  The Huntress

  Desert Fire

  A Legend & Lore novella

  TR Rook

  Desert Fire

  by TR Rook

  Published by Arctic Circle Press

  www.arcticcirclepress.com

  Cover designed by Tina T. Kove

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except for in the purpose of reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, place, or events is coincidental.

  This book uses British English spelling.

  This book was previously published under a different pen name.

  Second edition June 2016.

  Copyright © 2012-2016 by TR Rook

  About the story

  When fires don’t burn you, you seek out the hottest flames of all.

  Brand is a warg, a wolf-shifter, and a fire mage, outcast and rejected by his people because of his true nature—and because he helped save a former friend.

  Now, with no home, no family, no friends, and with an ability he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t know where he belongs. With nothing to loose, he heads to the land of the dragons to see if their fires are hot enough to burn him.

  But once there he’s taken prison and bought to the royal palace. There he meets someone special, someone who isn’t afraid of him or who judges him, and Brand starts to believe that perhaps he can find a place to belong after all.

  Chapter One

  Prisoner

  Why am I here?

  Brand stared down at the dry ground beneath his feet, and then let his eyes roam the landscape ahead of him. The ground was dry and cracked for as far as he could see. Hills and mountains rose on the horizon, some giving off steam, a tell-tale sign that they were volcanoes.

  Brand had never seen volcanoes before, only heard of them in stories. Stories about this dry, hot, wretched land he was currently standing on. Turning his head, he looked back the way he had come. The mountain range reached out on both sides, closing off this land from the one from which he had come. Trees could be still be seen, but they had thinned the closer he had come to what was called the Dragon Territories.

  Why was he there indeed...

  His eyes strayed to a group of three men, standing at a distance from him, conversing lightly. They were lowly criminals, crude and filthy, but he had needed them to get there. They had been there before—and he hadn’t.

  And as to the reason: dragons and volcanoes. Those were the reason he was there, standing on that dry land, eyes again going to the sky, looking for the mythical creatures the other three were there to hunt. Brand was also hunting, but his intention was not to kill. He just wanted... confirmation, so to say. Confirmation of what he was, of what he could do.

  A dragon’s fire... The lava of the volcanoes... Those were said to burn hotter than any bonfire. No fire had ever burned Brand and so he was there to see if the hottest of fires could do him harm. Because if it couldn’t... he was what he was. If it could, he did not know what he was. Either way, he still could not go home.

  “Hey lad, you plan on slaying dragons with that little dagger?”

  Brand turned his head slightly, gazing down at the dagger attached to his belt. “I am not here to slay dragons,” he revealed, taking several steps ahead. His horse followed him, stopping when he did.

  “You are not slaying?” The man’s voice got dangerously low. “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I am merely curious.” Brand hadn’t exactly lied to them when he’d met them at an inn on the other side of the Black Mountains. He had overheard them talking about hunting dragons, and as dragons were said only to exist at the other side of the mountains, he had asked to join them. He hadn’t said he wouldn’t slay dragons, but he hadn’t said he would either.

  “Curious?” Brand heard boots stalk towards him. “What do you mean you’re curious, you little—“ He broke off as a big shadow fell over them.

  Brand lifted his head and stared up at the creature blocking his view of the sky. He could not see much detail, but he could see the leathered wings beating powerfully to keep the big beast up in the air.

  Brand felt his heart speed up, the excitement of seeing a real dragon overtaking him. Not that he could see much of it, as it blocked the sun, leaving itself in shadow, but there was no mistaking that outline. He had been shown a drawing of a dragon once and it had fascinated him.

  When he had found out what he could do, it had fascinated him even more—even growing so far as to be an obsession. The obsession had grown after he had been banished from the pack, never allowed to go back, and after staying at Vortigern with Garrick and his strange friends.

  He had not been able to stay there, though, so he had left in the dead of night when he had recovered, leaving only a short letter, and that was that.

  The massive shape overhead beat its powerful wings again, but differently that time, and suddenly it descended, landing heavily on the hard, cracked ground several feet ahead of them.

  It really was a big beast. White scales covered the entirety of its body, except for dark, leathery skin on its belly and feet. Its talons were easily as big as Brand’s forearm, and looked sharp enough to rip through the dry ground on which it stood. They certainly would have no problem ripping through human flesh.

  “A youngling,” he heard the man behind him mutter, drawing up to Brand’s side. “This one is not full-grown. Younglings aren’t as valuable as full-growns, but valuable enough.”

  Brand did not know why the man was telling him that, as he had just told them he was not there to slay dragons, but his words struck him nonetheless. If that huge creature was not full-grown, if it was just a youngling, then how big would a full-grown dragon be?

  He swallowed, hoping fervently that he would not meet a full-grown dragon, but in the next moment he chastised himself. He was there for the dragons—or their fire. A dragon’s fire was rumoured to be more vicious than any other fire, and seeing as Brand had never been burned, he was going to take his chances there, in that desert land known only for its warmth and its dragons and mountains that could spit fire.

  Brand just wanted to belong somewhere. A realm of fire must certainly be a better place for him, who could manipulate it, than what he’d left behind.

  A roar broke him out of his thoughts and Brand watched in horror as the men he had arrived with attacked the dragon—shooting arrows at its vulnerable feet, and thrusting spears towards its underside. The dragon drew back, flashing its teeth in another angry roar.

  Brand stood frozen, not knowing what to do. The dragon was a wild beast, as likely to kill Brand as the three men with whom he had travelled. He wouldn’t mind the men’s deaths, he cared nothing for them and did not even know their names, but he preferred to keep his own life.

  An arrow came out of nowhere, lodging in the chest of one of the men. He crumpled to the ground immediately, the arrow having pierced his heart.

  Brand stared up at the sky and saw three big shapes high up. One of them dove; it was decidedly bigger than the one being attacked and with scales glinting a deep red. Atop its back sat a man, bow poised, an arrow having already lodged in the second man’s chest.

  Brand stared at the man, not able to help himself. He was well built, and the fact t
hat he was wearing only breeches showed off his toned body extremely well. His skin was golden, evidence of time spent outside, and his hair was a golden brown.

  The beat of wings around him snapped him from his perusal of the man riding the red dragon, and he turned to watch as the other two dragons he had seen in the sky landed on the ground, one a brilliant green, the other the color of the sky.

  He noticed briefly that both had men atop them. Another roar from the youngling dragon caught his attention, and he only managed to catch a flurry of movement in the corner of his eye before he dropped to the ground.

  When he woke, it was dark. Not the dark of night, but the dark of a closed-off room deep in the ground. Brand could see nothing, but his aching back told him quite clearly that he was lying on a cold, hard stone floor. He groaned as he turned over, getting his knees under him and sitting up carefully. His head throbbed, clear evidence that someone had knocked him out over the head.

  The fact that he could not see in the dark was probably supposed to terrify him, but Brand had means of seeing. His captors just did not know of them. A flame sparkled to life, hovering above his outstretched palm. Looking around, Brand saw that he was in a dungeon and that he was completely alone in his cell. He could not see or hear anyone in the other cells either.

  He let the flame spark more to life, lighting up more of the dungeon. He had, through the years, mastered his strange ability and he had it completely under his control. The witch that Garrick and his lover had shacked up with had offered to teach him, but Brand did not need teaching. He could control it already. All he needed was a place to belong...

  He had not belonged back home, he had not belonged at Fort Vortigern... and seeing as he was locked in a dungeon, he was probably not ever going to be welcome there either.

  All because he had opted to travel with dragon slayers.

  Brand lay back down on the floor, his head hurting. There was nothing inside the cell but the floor, so there was nothing to ease his pain. The lacerations on his back twinged, reminding him of the brutal treatment he had got from the pack before he had been banished. All because of Garrick... it had always been all about Garrick.

  Pushing the bitter thoughts away, Brand used his mind to control the flame, letting it soar over the floor. He had no purpose with it, but it helped him keep his mind occupied.

  Voices from outside the dungeon startled him and the flame vanished in thin air just as the door creaked open. Brand lay still, dreading what was to come. It wouldn’t be good, not when he was locked in a cell. At least they had not put him in chains.

  He could make out the voices of three men, speaking in a tongue he had never heard before. As they entered the dungeon, he saw that each held a torch, bringing more than enough light to see by.

  Brand sat up again, not wanting to be lying down when they got to him. He did not want to be sitting either, but he was not sure he could stand, so he just had to meet them like that.

  One of them unlocked the cell and it creaked as he pulled the door open. He stepped inside, handing the torch over to one of his comrades as he did so.

  Brand watched him silently, recognizing him from earlier. He was the one who had been riding the red dragon—and who had killed the other men he was with. Not that that was any loss, but it showed how ruthless he was. And Brand was their—

  “Prisoner,” the man spoke, and it startled Brand as he realized that the man spoke in his own tongue. “You are the only one of your comrades left alive, which is not a mercy, I assure you. We do not take kindly to dragon slayers.”

  Of course Brand had to be the only one left alive, the one to take the punishment for the other three whose profession he was not even a part of.

  “I am not a dragon slayer,” Brand said, determined to stand by his own truth.

  He was backhanded fiercely. “Do not lie!”

  Brand did not reach up to touch his cheek, though his hand itched to do so. The man was strong, he would give him that, because he had just tripled Brand’s headache and his cheek throbbed painfully.

  “I am not a dragon slayer,” he forced out through clenched teeth. “I knew those men were, but they are no comrades of mine. All I wanted was to be shown the way here. I am not here to slay dragons.”

  “You lie!” One of the other two men said, stepping closer to him, his hands curling threateningly into a fist.

  Brand stared at him, hard, not knowing what to do to convince them he was not there to harm the magnificent beasts. That he was only looking for a place to belong. He could not speak of that, of course, because it was none of their business, none but his own, and by the way they were acting, he would not find a place to belong there anyway, so better to just stay quiet.

  The one closest, the one who had backhanded him, straightened up, gaze cool as he regarded Brand. “We’ll leave him be for now. With no food or water, I am sure he will soon speak the truth.” So saying, he turned on his heel and stalked from the cell.

  The other man glared at Brand, then came closer and hit him hard, sending Brand sprawling to the floor. The fist had broken his lip and his nose was bleeding, the taste something Brand was long used to. Not to mention the fists. The standing man kicked him hard in the gut as well, not content with just hitting him. Brand curled up, but refused to groan in pain—he would not give the bastard that much satisfaction.

  He did not look up until the cell door creaked closed, and then only to roll over on his back. He was certainly no stranger to being beaten up, but he thought he was done with that since he had been banished. He had not thought he would be taken for a criminal and locked up in a dungeon in a strange country. He wondered what was awaiting him, because no matter what he said those men were convinced he was there to hurt their dragons, and they would see him punished for it.

  Brand wiped the blood from his lip and nose, ruining the sleeve of his tunic as he did so. Then he shifted into wolf-form and curled up, hoping to get some rest before the three men came back to torture answers out of him, because surely that was what they would do next when refusing him food and water did not work.

  Brand was roused from his doze at the familiar creak of the cell door opening. He fervently hoped the three men were not back so soon, because he could not take being beaten much more. But he could not move his head to see who was joining him, because it all hurt so much. It hurt too much even to shift—because even in wolf-form the pain would be unbearable.

  A cool cloth placed on his forehead startled his eyes open, and he turned his head a fraction to look at his visitor. It was not one of the three men who had been interrogating him earlier in the day, or perhaps it was the day before? No, it was someone else entirely. Not that Brand could see him, because the way he had placed his torch left his own face in shadow, but the gentleness of his hands as he washed away the blood on Brand’s face told him it just could not be one of them. Not after how he had been treated.

  “They have certainly done a number on you,” a low, soothing voice said. It was definitely masculine, so it was not a woman washing away his blood so carefully. “And yet you keep to your story.”

  “Because it is true,” Brand rasped out, his throat sore from lack of water. “I am not here to hurt anyone, least of all your dragons.” Though he could. He could hurt the men, even kill them, if he wanted to, but that would leave him a criminal for sure, and Brand just wanted to be left in peace.

  “Then who are you?” the man asked gently. “You came here with dragon slayers. Those men almost killed a youngling and the riders cannot let that pass. You were with those men, so you had to be a part of it. It is very black and white with them.”

  Brand could hear some underlying bitterness in his voice, but he could not get himself to care for anyone but himself at the moment. His head throbbed, his body hurt, his throat was sore...

  “I merely wanted to see the dragons,” he rasped out. “Yes, I came with slayers and I knew the intent of their visit, but I only came here to see them. To see
if...” He trailed off.

  “See if... what?” the man pressed softly.

  “To see if their fire can burn me,” Brand replied, figuring he had nothing to lose by divulging that little piece of information.

  “Burn you?” The man’s voice was sceptical, and Brand understood, because how many could control fire with their minds?

  Lifting one of his hands, figuring the man would take it better if he started the flame above his palm than in free air, he let it light up into a little ball, hovering only inches from his skin.

  A sharp intake of breath came from the man. In the light of the little fireball, Brand could see him. He was dressed in light-coloured clothing—breeches, a tunic tied with a colourful sash and soft boots—and a head-cloth of the same light-coloured material covered his head so that Brand could not see his hair. His face was no chore to look at though, golden-toned skin the same as the other three he had met of the desert people, lines smooth yet masculine, eyes a deep, dark colour. His plump lips were currently parted as he stared at the ball of flame in Brand’s hand.

  “No fire can burn me,” Brand told him, “because I control fire with my mind. But your dragons are said to have the most powerful fire in them, and I want to see what those flames can do to me.”

  The man’s face suddenly set into a scowl. “You want to meet an angry dragon head on, just to feel its fire?”

  “Yes.” Brand would have nodded if he could, but his head hurt too much without moving, so he refrained from it. “I just need... I just need to figure out my place. Find somewhere to belong, because I have not met anyone like me before.” For some reason, he felt it safe to divulge his real reason to the man.