The Dragon Who Didn't Fly

by C. M. Barrett

  “Drugs in aerosol form,” Dal’Rish said. “Our scientists are now analyzing the substance. It first hit the guards who circle the perimeter of the prison. The members of the tactical squad who rushed out to disable the criminals also got sprayed, and the criminals got inside and immobilized the guards who controlled the locking system. We suspect that a former inmate or guard supplied detailed plans of the prison. Guardian, I in no way seek to excuse myself—”

  “I’m clear on that.”

  “But the attackers disabled security and communications to such an extent that I’ve only just heard of the incident myself.”

  The ring of Dal’Rish’s beeper interrupted him. After listening for a moment, he put it on speaker mode.

  A female voice spoke. “Commander, we’ve discovered tire tracks, apparently those of an all-terrain vehicle, leading to a nearby beach. We also see the imprints of a small passenger airplane like those used by drug traffickers. Our teletrackers saw the flight pattern of a plane that was headed south towards Tamaras before we lost it.”

  “Inform our agents there at once,” Dal’rish said. He clicked off his beeper. “Why Tamaras?” he asked Phileas.

  “A diversionary move. Malvern will surface in Dolocairn.”

  The astonishment on the Commander’s face was no greater than what Phileas felt. He hadn’t thought out the answer in his usual deliberate, logical way. It had seemed inspired by—the word that defiled reason—intuition.

  “But Malvern loathes Dolocairn and all Dolocairners,” Dal’Rish said.

  The Commander spoke logic: clear, unarguable, but wrong. Phileas clung to intuition’s wobbly perch. He’d always called Frost a wily spider, but now the former Councilor’s web glittered in blinding silvery strands, a pattern impervious to reason.

  “Guardian, can you explain this?”

  The panic in Dal’Rish’s voice made Phileas desperate for a ladder of logic to help him down to earth. “Breathe deeply, Commander. Let’s consider the facts. We can agree that Frost always clung to the Etrenzian half of his heritage and repudiated his Dolocairner ancestry. Is it possible that his denunciation served as a cover for a far-reaching plot involving that accursed land of ice and mountains?”

  The Commander’s face relaxed. “Guardian, allow me to salute your brilliance.”

  “Thank you, but I’m afraid the brilliance is all Malvern’s. He duped us.” Phileas mentally shook himself. “Remorse, however, defeats the intentions of Mind. Now we can anticipate him.”

  “We’ll take action at once,” Dal’Rish said. “I’ll get messages to our agents in deep cover as soon as possible. Do you think he’ll have the temerity to surface openly?”

  “Malvern never lacked temerity, but if he does show his face, we’ll know that powerful forces in Dolocairn, if not the government itself, are in league with him. We’ll find out soon enough.”

  Phileas was tempted to rub his hands in satisfaction. His brain sparked in preparation for battle. Only now did he realize how dull life had been since Malvern’s incarceration.

  “I think I’ll go over to the House of Healing and check on those attacked by the mysterious drug,” he said.

  “I’ll accompany you. Guardian?”

  “Yes?”

  “What about Serazina Clare? Shouldn’t she be told that Frost has escaped?”

  Phileas stopped, momentarily paralyzed with a guilt he shook off almost as soon as it burdened him. “She must be brought to safety. Have several of your trusted subordinates bring her to this building. Order a round-the-clock watch. She is not to go out unescorted. Frost may be gone, but he clearly has a well-organized network. If there’s one person other than me upon whom he’d seek revenge, it would be Serazina.”

  “I’ll tell her myself,” Dal’rish said.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  * * *

  Serazina was having the usual nightmare. She saw Malvern Frost’s hate-filled face as he aimed his gun in the dragon’s direction. As she had night after night, she leapt at him, and the bullet meant for Druid drilled its way into her.

  She sat up, screaming, and Tara pressed against her head and purred. Calm, calm.

  “What?” Berto reached for Serazina. “The dream again?”

  “More real than ever before.” Serazina looked around, half-expecting to see Frost lurking in the corner of the bedroom.

  “He can’t hurt you now.”

  Serazina was sure he could.

  She heard a knock on the door that sounded like trouble. “I’ll get it,” Berto said. He dressed quickly and went into the hall.

  “Guardian?”

  Serazina threw on some clothes and joined him. The Guardian and Commander Dal’Rish stood in the doorway, both looking grim. “He escaped,” she said.

  “How did you know?” Dal’Rish asked, but the Guardian merely said, “We believe he fled to Tamaras.”

  Images of steep mountains crowded her head. “Not Dolocairn?”

  “Astonishing,” the Commander said.

  The Guardian stepped on Dal’Rish’s foot. “Why do you think Dolocairn?”

  “I don’t think it. I see it.”

  Her voice was sharp, but he deserved it for testing her. He might as well realize she was no longer going to hide her sensing ability, even though the old fear that she’d be shut up in the Ward for the Chronically Crazy assaulted her.

  “Then you’re not afraid?” Phileas asked.

  She wished he hadn’t asked. His question opened the floodgates straining against terror. “Because he’s not here? What difference does that make? He didn’t escape unassisted and not only for the sake of freedom. He must have a plan, and he’ll try to eliminate those who stopped him the last time.”

  The Guardian nodded again. “That’s why I’m ordering you to move to the House of Justice and full-time protection.”

  The idea of safety seduced her until she remembered it meant loss of freedom. “I won’t be imprisoned. Would you?”

  “I’m ordering you.”

  “And I’m refusing your order—with all due respect.”

  Though the Commander looked horrified, Berto stifled laughter. The Guardian glared at him.

  “Aren’t you worried about her safety?”

  “Of course I am, but it’s never done me any good to worry about Serazina. What if you’d ordered her not to go into the swamp and meet the dragon? Malvern Frost might be ruling this country.”

  “And he still wants to,” Serazina said. “None of us are safe anywhere.”

  The Guardian’s lips tightened. “I accept that—with reluctance. Since you refuse to be reasonable, will you accompany us to the House of Healing? Perhaps you could help heal or at least study the victims of Malvern’s attack.”

  That was an offer she couldn’t refuse.

  * * *

  Although it was a short walk from the cottage to the House of Healing, Tara noticed that Serazina saw danger in every clump of bushes. After the third time she jumped and cried out, Berto took her hand.

  About time. Once Berto would have immediately reached out to comfort Serazina. Now the demands on each of them pulled them apart. Serazina worried about what the Guardian would ask of her now that she was the Heroine of Oasis. Berto faced his own torments. Having given up on the idea that the boy would become a political leader, Phileas had commissioned Berto to paint a series of murals depicting the Night of the Dragon, as Druid’s triumph over Malvern Frost had come to be named.

  If Berto had a cat’s sense, he wouldn’t assume that Phileas favored him only because of his relationship with Serazina. Even Druid, a dragon unfamiliar with human concepts of art, had spotted Berto’s genius when the boy had drawn his image in the sand.

  Tara sensed deeper problems, swimming in murky waters as foul as those of the swamp. These issues stemmed from the human word, “relationship,” a concept alien to the kitten. She wondered whether she should find ways to reconcile the unhappy couple or encourage a division that might le
ad each more surely along their paths of destiny.

  Orion always said that when two possibilities beckoned equally, the path of least resistance usually proved to be the best choice. He would further say that when one was dealing with a number of pressing questions, those that could be most easily neglected deserved to be let alone. He would tell Tara she had more important responsibilities at the moment.

  And he would lecture to Tara about a lot more. When her mother’s ears flattened against Orion’s verbal assaults, Emerald called him a pompous windbag. Moving to the city to live with Serazina had freed Tara of Orion’s endless supply of wind. Despite this, she missed him—but not as much as she missed Emerald, who would be a much better cat to ask about relationships.

  Now, though, was the time for telling. Orion, Emerald, and other cat leaders needed to hear about Malvern Frost as soon as possible. Someone had to get to the swamp and tell the animals there. For once, Tara wished that Gris, the newshawk, were around.

  She scanned the trees and saw the round eyes of an owl. “Brother Moonfriend,” she called. “I need help.”

  “And why should I help a competitor for the mouse supply?”

  “This year has given us many mice because cats urged them to procreate with greater vigor. Hasn’t that news reached you yet?”

  The owl hooted. “And I suppose you were one of them?”

  Tara raised herself on her hind legs. “I am the kitten who faced the dragon in the swamp.”

  “Who?”

  “Tara, kitten of the Quest.”

  The owl shuffled on the tree limb. “Oh, that kitten. In the city we don’t take much notice of rural happenings. However, I do have an opening in my schedule. What do you want?”

  “An owl relay, if possible. Malvern Frost, Dragonslayer, is on the loose, probably headed to the icy country of Dolocairn. What he plots may cause harm to all creatures, owls included. The animals of the forest and swamp must learn this news.”

  “Very well.”

  Tara could have gone for a little more enthusiasm, but Orion had always said that graciousness was its own reward. Orion again! Was his entire body of wit and wisdom buried in her little skull?

  “Thank you, night brother.”

  “Just don’t eat all the mice before I come back.”

  The owl winged his way west.

  Tara caught up to the others as the humans were about to enter the security door of the House of Healing. “I’m sorry, Guardian,” the guard said. “ No animals allowed.”

  Apparently the salvation of Oasis by animals, especially cats, was yesterday’s news. Tara was trying to decide whether to scratch him or piss on his shoes when Serazina picked her up and brought her face to face with the guard.

  “This kitten helped to save the lives of everyone in Oasis. When the dragon came to put out the fire that would have destroyed Oasis West, Tara organized cats to keep his scales wet.”

  “That little thing?”

  Tara hissed again.

  “Little, brave, and heroic.”

  “Does that mean you’re Serazina?”

  Tara saw the girl physically shrink away from fame, her shoulders hunched, her neck nearly contracting, as if she were trying to pull her head inside her body. This unnecessary modesty would have to be addressed very soon.

  Phileas took control. “This animal is allowed.”

  His black eyes burned red spots on the guard’s cheeks. The youth buzzed them through.

  Tara began sniffing the moment they entered the room where victims of the prison assault were lying. The odor emanating from the skin and clothing of the patients reminded her of the perfume of ginger flowers, but it was far more powerful.

  Romala, Chief Healer, called from a corner where she was tending to comatose men, and the group moved to her side.

  “Has anyone identified the drug used to immobilize the guards?” Phileas asked.

  “The scientists have narrowed it down to some species of alpine weed. That means Dolocairn.”

  “Dolocairn, indeed,” Phileas said, “but that doesn’t indicate the country’s direct involvement. Its drugs are distributed to all the other lands. Anyone could get some. I want to be very cautious about pointing the finger of blame until we have irrefutable evidence.”

  “Understood,” Romala said. “I won’t make this information available to anyone else.”

  “Thank you, Chief Healer.”

  According to Serazina, the Guardian and Chief Healer were sexually interested in each other. Based on this exchange, no one would ever know it. Analyzing human relationships was a task without reward.

  “Guardian,” Serazina said, “I can sometimes detect the properties of a drug by smelling it. This reminds me of the odor of the would-be assassin, but I sense something else . . . and I think it’s fatal.”

  Phileas frowned. “Let’s see if you’re right. I’ll go into these wounded minds and discover the nature of the damage done. Chief Healer, shall we do this together?”

  Tara knew humans were underdeveloped, but why couldn’t they sense the wealth of information leaking from the brain cells and blood of the injured people? It was time for a cat to take control of the situation.

  “Tell them I’ll investigate, too,” she said to Serazina.

  Serazina repeated that to the other humans. “Her?” the Guardian demanded.

  From guard to Guardian, most humans could benefit from a good cuffing about the head.

  “Tara has great skills,” Serazina said.

  “We’ll see whether our conclusions match.”

  Talk about gratitude.

  They chose a human, and Tara padded around the perimeters of his awareness. She noticed that he had no memory of what had happened immediately before the attack. A thick, black curtain separated the events from the man’s awareness.

  The kitten shoved the curtain aside to hear the echoes of what must have been the human’s last conscious thoughts.

  Something sure smells awful. I wonder what Lorens brought for dinner. Smells like a rotten—

  He smelled rotten, too. Though the odor was subtle, its poisonous tendrils inched through his body, eating up cells in the course of its passage. It might be days before this human died, and he didn’t seem to be suffering. The pain response, like all other sensibilities within him, was silent.

  She reported this to the humans.

  “I didn’t notice any signs of physical illness,” the Guardian said.

  Romala frowned. “Neither did I. Of course, Serazina came to the same conclusion as the kitten did.”

  “We haven’t tested either of their abilities. You and I are highly trained Healers, and I thought the drug’s effects appeared identical to what we noticed in the assassin who tried to kill me last summer.”

  Poor Serazina looked crushed. She had the misfortune to care what other humans thought of her. Tara didn’t care, well, maybe a little, but she knew she would be proven right. She was sorry it would mean the death of Frost’s victims, but she’d warned them.

  The Chief Healer still looked uncertain. “If only we knew more about Dolocairner pharmaceuticals. We’re unprepared for this assault.”

  Tara, still in search-and-discover mode, caught the Guardian’s unguarded thoughts.

  My fault again. Phileas the Failure.

  His mental odor had a bitterness that she connected to the distinctly human emotion of guilt. She wanted to tell him that it was more deadly than the most dangerous drug. If a kitten leapt at prey and missed, she either decided that failure had improved her odds for the next pounce or practiced leaping for a while. Humans wore failure and self-blame like a heavy coat of winter fur.

  To his credit, the Guardian didn’t linger long in these muddy waters. He turned to Serazina, and Tara saw that he’d made a decision. “Oasis is again in crisis, and I want to go into it better prepared than before. For all my mistrust of intuition, I am mandated by our recent history to respect it.”

  “I agree,” Serazina said.
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  “Do you agree enough to accept a position on the governing Council when I nominate you?”

  The girl shrank again. “How will that help?”

  “The events of the past several months have proven to me that we must have young people helping to govern our land. In addition, despite your deplorable habit of relying solely on intuition, you hit on the right solutions often enough that we need your insights. Thirdly, you are the Heroine of Oasis. The decision will be popular, and I need all the popularity I can get, especially with Malvern’s escape.”

  Acknowledgments

  To the cats who have graced my life, thanks for teaching me ease, relaxation, and appreciation. Someday I may even learn.

  I also want to thank the assortment of wild animals who visit or live on my land for sharing their habits and behavior and providing hours of inspiration and enjoyment. While I might wish that the wing-and-sting contingent were a little less well represented, nature has its own plan.

  I hope the humans who have helped don’t mind that the animals came first. It’s their turn.

  This book would not have happened without the support of my writing group. Some of us have been together since 2000, and you are all invaluable to me.

  I also want to thank my mother and grandmother for teaching me how to tell stories.

  My deepest thanks to my son, Hawk, for his enthusiasm about this project and for everything else.

  To keep this list from assuming encyclopedic proportions, I had to leave out many of those who deserved recognition. To all those unmentioned, you are nonetheless deeply appreciated.