She’d been mostly dead and according to the ‘wizard’ from said movie, there was a difference between mostly dead and dead-dead, wasn’t there?
Apparently so.
She sighed, drawing the sea-salt in the air back into her lungs. It was refreshing, rejuvenating and she managed to sit up a bit. Propping back on her elbows she gazed out the large cave mouth in front of her, the sights and sounds slowly working their way into her consciousness.
The Ocean. It wasn’t far, just outside the entrance if she had to guess given the close proximity of the waves.
A squawking sound. Birds? A flurry of blue and white passed over the cave’s mouth and one of them landed on the rocky lip just outside. She locked with its bright green eyes and it squawked a second time. Its long wings flapped, like it would lift off again, but was squashed by the massive talons of a…Roc?
Dinsa’s foot landed on the poor thing, sending a burst of feathers into the air and his long beak bent into her line of sight, snatching up the kill. With a flap, he pushed off the ledge and she caught a glimpse of his body as it drifted away on an air current.
Grams had said he’d been watching over her, hadn’t she? She had and he apparently didn’t like anyone, or anything getting too close…
She relaxed back on the softness under her body and took stock of the rest of the cave. It was massive, with more than enough room to accommodate the pallet of blankets and furs someone had constructed for her and Dinsa. She tilted a look to the left and sure enough, a nest of hay, feathers and more than a few bones littered one corner. His saddle rig and bridle wasn’t far from the nest, stacked neatly on a small outcropping of rock.
To the right was a set of shelves. A few books, some jars, a couple of weird looking pouch things and a small stack of bowls graced the wooden piece and a small fire crackled happily in a ring of stones. A pile of worn, battle tested armor sat next to another set of blankets and furs, along with three canvas like bags and a sword had been left leaning against the cave wall.
Someone else was here with her? But who?
Arin? No, he’d been arrested just after the fight…
Draven? No, he was in no condition to care for himself, much less someone else. Plus he was still under the effects of the spell, so why would he. And besides all that, she doubted Terra would have let him…
Terra? She reached for her twin along their link and found, nothing…
She lay back and blinked up at the ceiling, trying it again. Still nothing. No corresponding hum of her presence. No reassuring pulse that her sister was alive and well, no matter how far apart they were.
Did that mean? Had something happened to her sibling? No. No, she’d been fine. Happy even that Draven was alive.
She had no idea how long she’d been mostly dead though. A couple of days? A week? A month?
That just left one person. The Harpy Crone. It would make the most sense. She’d been part of what had brought her back after all…
Another flapping sound drew her head up. A shadow passed over the entrance but it was too small to be Dinsa. The sound got louder and within a few heartbeats a flash of brown and blue landed on the ledge. Backlit by the sun, she couldn’t see much of whomever it was other than to tell it was male and very tall.
His wings folded back and he strode forward, swinging a bag over his head as he moved off to the nook with the shelf and fire. “Hi there,” he said, setting it down near both. “Welcome back.”
Again, the two words came out casually and the smile parting his lips was friendly if nothing else. He squatted over the fire, stoking it up with a stick and she got a better look at her caretaker.
He wasn’t Harpy, not completely anyway, but neither was he not Harpy.
He had the wings. The brown and blue feathers fluttered softly in the breeze twirling through the cave and spread a bit as they settled more comfortably along his back. Unlike the rest of the race, they were independent from his arms. He had long brown hair, streaked with blue that matched the wings and his biceps rippled as he reached for one of the bowls. His chiseled features danced with shadows and a scruff of beard graced the strong line of his jaw.
He dug something out of the bag he’d brought, pouring whatever it was into the bowl. He stirred in a pinch of something from one the jars and set it on a grate over the flames.
Rising again, he moved over to where she lay and knelt. Pressing the back of his hand to her forehead he smiled, exposing the pointed teeth of a predator.
She jerked and the tingle of fear that raced along her nerves must have shown in her eyes because the smile quickly disappeared and he ducked his face away.
“Forgive me, I forget about that at times.”
The apology took her by surprise and she tried her voice. It was weak, unused and came out as little more than a gurgling croak.
“Easy, easy now,” he said, moving off to the fire again. He snatched up the bowl and returned. Wrapping a strong hand around the back of her head, he solicitously held it up and allowed the liquid within to ease into her mouth bit by bit. “Better?”
She swallowed, nodded and tried again. “Thank you.” It was still weak, whispery and frustrated the hell out of her. There were a hundred questions she wanted, no needed, to ask but couldn’t. She swallowed a second time and managed one word. “How?”
He set the bowl nearby and folded his long, well-muscled legs under him Indian-style. The leather of his pants creaked as he drew his knees up and propped his forearms on them, clasping his fingers together. His brown-blue eyes held hers as he answered that not-so-simple word. “How long were you dead? How long have you been here? How did you get here? Which would you like me to answer first?”
“All,” she croaked.
He chuckled, ran a hand through his hair and propped his cheek on a fist. “Well, let us see. You were dead for a rotation then mostly dead after that. You have been here, with me, now for four. And to answer the last, I brought you.”
That just led to a hundred other questions, all of which flittered through her brain in rapid-fire succession. But she could only get a single word past her lips. “Why?”
He cocked another smile at her, his blue-brown eyes twinkling. “Why were you dead or why did I bring you here?”
She coughed, hard and mucus tickled the back of her throat.
He jerked into action, holding the bowl to her lips for a second time. “Easy, drink, it will help.”
She did, the cooled liquid soothing and breaking apart the crap so she could swallow it clear. Laying her head back, she sucked a rattling breath into her lungs. “Both,” she finally replied.
He set the bowl down again then gently swiped the hair off her forehead.
She could feel it was thick with her sweat, or something equally as nasty and matted beyond saving. She could only cringe at how god-awful she must look and/or smell right now.
His long fingers stroked down her cheek then drew back. “You were dead because The Crone Mother knew it was the only way to sever the link between you and your sister. And I brought you here because she asked me too afterwards.”
Another hundred questions slammed through her brain and she closed her eyes, trying to find a word that would get her the answers she wanted. She couldn’t and opened them again, allowing the frustration to show on her face. She finally hit on one and used it. “Where?”
Again, he got cryptic and if she’d been stronger in that particular moment, she would have slapped him.
“Where are we or where are the others?”
She rolled her eyes and his responding chuckle didn’t help.
Without her having to ask, he answered both. “We are in the mountains just over the border of the Harpy lands in Dhra’go. As for the others, the last I was told, your sister and her King were heading for Lad’ak.”
Her heart pounded painfully as she managed another word. “Arin?”
A look of dread pinched across his features. “The War Advisor was being transported to Bra�
��ka to stand trial.”
There was more, she could see it on his face and hear it in the pause that stretched across the silence. “And?”
He huffed out a long breath, running a hand through his hair again. “The Nval was attacked by Griffon’s during the trip.”
Fear pulsed along her nerves, jackknifing through her stomach and sending it up under her ribs. “Survivors?”
He sucked one corner of his mouth between the points of his teeth. “Captured as prisoners of war.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Arin struggled to find some comfort in the confines of the cage. But the way the bastard of a guard had left him, there was none. Not only had he chained his neck, wrists and feet in place, but he’d added rope to his elbows, knees, waist and shoulders, pulling each piece of his body taut with the metal bars. Even his hands had been wrapped with the coils and pinned to the upper rungs. The only parts he could move when it was done were his fingers and head.
He strained at the coils over his palms, trying to wriggle his thumb free enough to saw through the strands with a claw, but with his elbows stretched toward either side of the cage, he just didn’t have any leverage.
Maybe, if he could get the muzzle off.
Sitting up as high as he could against the coils over his shoulders and around his waist, he twisted his face toward the bars, hoping to catch some part of it and slip free of the tight metal.
Relaxing when all he managed to do was put a crick in his neck, he leaned his head back with a thump and waited…
Two rotations had passed since they’d left him in the bowels of the ship and no one, not even his old friends within the ranks, had come to check on him. That was fine, but he could have done with some water. Even a sip to quench the dryness in this throat would have been nice.
But, no one had come, no matter how many times he rattled his chains or thumped his booted feet against the bars. He’d had to give up on the endeavor as darkness fell on the third rotation. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten and exhaustion finally won out, lulling him into enough of a sleep to rest…
A muffled explosion, followed by yelling jarred him awake again sometime around high dark and he jerked, just able to make out some of the commands from his fellow guards.
“Griffons!”
“Attacking!”
He struggled, twisting and yanking at his bonds. If someone would free him, he would fight! Draven had told him the bastards were one of the factions who’d declared war and he would gladly rip open a few in defense of his Kingdom.
But no one came.
The battle sounded extremely short-lived and one sided, a fact confirmed when two of the beasties ducked under the bulkhead to the cargo bay. They were dressed for war, their blood covered armor catching the light from the lamp over the doorway.
“Ah yes, there you are,” the Griffon in the lead said. He bent his Eagle-like head close to the cage and tilted it over, his golden-brown eye blinking once. “I was worried they might have killed you.”
That made no sense, but if they were here to rescue him, why weren’t they untying him? He gave the cuffs on his wrists a rattle, lifting an eyebrow.
A laugh barked out of the beak. “You would like out of there?”
He nodded.
“Oh, I think not.” He turned and gave an order over his shoulder. “Bring him.”
Two Orc’s slipped from their respective backs, booted feet thudding on the deck. Sheathing their weapons, they grabbed the ends of his cage and carried him back above without a word.
Well, that explained it. If the Orc’s were already in league with the Griffon’s, things just got dire indeed. And they weren’t the only ones either. As they exited into the moonlight, Ogre’s were herding the surviving guards toward another ship that had pulled alongside The Nval. Bodies of the Roc’s, their Riders and his former troops littered the deck, their blood pitch black against the metal of the ship. A single tear pooled in his eye and slipped down his cheek for his fallen comrades, before anger the likes of which he’d not felt in a hundred Suns consumed him.
They would pay, all of them!
He studied the face of Ogre, Orc and Griffon, committing each to memory for the day he would have his revenge! He shook in his bonds, filled with a blood lust that only intensified a thousand fold with a comment he heard as the cage was passed from one ship to the other.
“Golix will be pleased,” an Ogre said.
“Indeed,” a nearby Griffon replied. He nodded toward The Nval’s bridge. “We will take her west where she will be refit for glorious battle.”
A cheer rang off in to the night and the hearts in his chest contorted in fury…
***
“You need to try, Kyleri.”
Terra rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I know. It just hurts, so much.”
Draven’s slipped around her waist and his soft laugh ruffled the hair on top of her head. “You get used to it.”
She elbowed him in the ribs and he grunted appropriately though she hadn’t really hurt him. “What if I don’t want to get used to it?”
“It is who you are,” Draven whispered, nuzzling the back of her head.
He was right, damn him. She was Dragon Born and that meant she had the ability to take on the other form. But so far, she’d only managed to shift parts of herself, like her hands and feet, before the pain was just too much.
“I never thought you for a weak-willed damsel.”
She spun and smacked both hands against his chest. “I’m not.”
He was smiling and a blast of wildfire curled through her belly. She cupped his cheeks, the scruff of beard on his jaw tickling her palms. His molten eyes blazed, running through the same myriad of colors they always did and his nostrils flared on a long intake of air.
The deck of The Magu rolled up a gentle wave, jostling them closer.
Draven dipped his head, growling possessively against her ear. “Fly with me, Kyleri. I need you.”
She twisted her hands into his shirt. The shudder of longing that rushed over her sent her brain reeling in a thousand different directions. She really did want too. The dream flight hadn’t left her memory since the day she’d had it! But it was so hard. Maybe if she’d been born here, or even grew up knowing what she was, it would be easier. But she hadn’t, so it wasn’t.
The really sad part? She could feel the Dragon, hear it calling to her, tugging at what was left of her soul to be set free…
Burying her face in his chest, she changed the subject. “How long will it take us to get to Lad’ak again?”
He clasped both hands together in the small of her back, squeezing gently. “30 rotations.”
“So, I’ve got time then,” she quipped softly.
His laugh rumbled under her ear. “Yes, love. You have time to become presentable for my Grand Parentals.”
A relieved sigh left her lungs and she lifted her head to see his eyes, quite nervous about meeting what remained of Draven’s family. “Will they like me?”
He frowned a bit then kissed the tip of her nose with a light peck. “They will love you.”
She raised up on tiptoes and demurely pressed her lips to his. “I hope so.”
He wasn’t going to allow just a chaste kiss though. With a groan, he drove a hand into her hair, tilted her head and swept his tongue into her mouth. The wildfire simmering in her gut, suddenly ignited into a volcano. It broiled through her body, erupting through her pores to coat her in a wave of silver and blue flames.
Panting, she pulled back, holding her hands out to watch the fire slither and lick along her skin. She twirled a hand over and it followed, crackling happily. Some bit of her brain recognized she should be petrified by this new development but she wasn’t. She was actually ecstatic and looked up into Draven’s eyes so he could share the moment.
He was smiling wider than she’d ever seen and a heartbeat later, his own flames snapped to life, covering him in a writhing sheet of red and silver.
>
His arms tightened at her back, pulling her closer and he whispered seven words against her lips. “You have lit the Dragon’s Fire…”
***
Lanni stood on the ledge, staring across the ocean stretching against the horizon.
It’d been four days since she’d awakened in the cave and while the physical was mostly healed, the ache in her soul hadn’t even begun to ease. Arin was somewhere out there. He needed her and she’d be damned if she let him down.
A rustle echoed through the cave as Rygan packed up the last of their stuff. She pushed off the rock and headed back to help.
She rolled up the furs she’d slept on and used the best nonchalant voice she could muster. “Where do you think they’ll take him?”
Rygan tucked the bowls and books in one sack, the jars and pouches in another before answering. “Rasa.”
The word was clipped, almost forced and she paused halfway through rolling up his bedding. “You don’t have to go with me.”
He rose, the bags dangling from his large, strong hands. His wings shifted, fluttering in that way he had when he was getting agitated. “Yes, I do. I made a promise and a Harpy never breaks a pledge.”
She debated, briefly, about reminding him he was half-Ogre but a look at the swirling brown-blue of his eyes and his fingers clenched tightly around the handles of the bags said it probably wasn’t the best of ideas. Tucking both bedrolls under her arms, she headed for Dinsa and stowed them across the saddle. Scratching under his neck, she accepted his nuzzle then swung up on his back.
Rygan handed up the rest of the gear and she tied it down in the second seat. He adjusted the plates of armor on his shoulders and chest, tightening down the sword at his hip. He swung a look back at the cave and something she couldn’t read flashed across his face.
Depression? Ok, maybe, but why? What did he have to be depressed about?
Sadness? Again, why? He’d been happy these last four days, hadn’t he?
Mostly. At least he seemed that way while he was taking care of her. But now that she was up on her feet, what had changed?
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