by Megan Derr
Smiling faintly, Fayth said, "A blizzard is a sandstorm of snow. Here, let me increase the strength of your warming stone." Reaching out as Najlah moved close, he wrapped his hands around the smooth, heavy red stone on a thick leather cord around Najlah's throat.
Heat spread through Najlah, and he rumbled in gratitude. Without the warming stones, dragons could not leave their homeland. Nothing else was capable of sustaining their body temperature at the level they needed. It chafed to have to rely on outside help to survive, but the sands were the sands, and they could not change, only shift. Better to shift with the sands than to resist them and be buried.
"Let's move," Barkus ordered, and everyone in camp shifted except for the bird shifters—which meant Fayth, unfortunately. Grounded by the strong winds and heavily falling snow, they would have to travel and fight the hard way. Najlah would have been happier if Fayth had possessed a stronger shift, but it little mattered in the end because Najlah would see to his safety.
They followed the wolves through the snow, moving slowly but steadily. Najlah tasted the air frequently, though it was infuriatingly difficult to taste anything other than snow, ice, and whatever was immediately before him. The weather continued to worsen, and the wolves grew increasingly angry. Najlah growled in surprise when he tasted fear on them as well, underscoring and aggravating the anger. What was alarming them?
The answer came almost before he had finished the thought. He heard the creature before he smelled it: an unearthly roar that seemed to shake the mountains. The ground trembled and even the snow seemed to falter. Fayth swore the most creatively Najlah had ever heard from him. "The bastard made a golem."
The wolves howled, something about it different from their previous howls. Najlah growled, fighting a sudden urge to pounce as that howl washed over him. There must be magic in it that called all who heard it to fight and whetted the blood for battle. Barkus growled and barked at his wolves and the other shifters, ordering them into formation. He turned to Najlah, clearly uncertain what to do with him.
Before Najlah could try to convey he was best left alone, the golem was upon them, a creature of snow and ice and magic, its head and chest smeared with the blood of the unfortunate sacrifice whose spirit had brought it to life.
It was not like Ranteth to use sacrificial magic—but it was also not like him to assassinate the king. Najlah growled pensively as he ducked out of the way and scrambled for a better position from which to fight. More troubling than the sacrifice itself was the power required to create a golem at all. Ranteth was an accomplished mage, but he was not that powerful. What had Ranteth done, what deal had he struck to gain such terrible power?
Najlah batted the distracting questions away and focused on the golem because the endlessly falling snow and biting wind made fighting nearly impossible, even without their foe being so formidable.
After dozens of brutal, bloody, and exhausting attempts to take the golem down, even Najlah gave up. His teeth, claws, spikes, and poison were useless against a creature made of ice and magic, especially in the midst of the blizzard. Fayth called a retreat, and they ran.
But then the snow abruptly turned worse than ever, pouring down relentlessly, drowning them in a world of cold white. He could not even see his own paws. Najlah roared. Damn Restuel's weather!
Something grabbed him, startling him, making him snarl in fury, but he was helpless to fight free of the golem's freezing hold. Damn it, he would not die so pathetically! Not in the cold. Not like a sorry warm-blood. He twisted and lunged at the golem's face as it brought him close to devour, tearing at its eyes, feeling momentary satisfaction when they shattered and fell apart.
The golem stumbled, screamed, and dropped him. Najlah fled blindly, shifting because his short dragon legs were useless in the snow.
And only when he was struck full force by the cold, only as he succumbed to it, did he realize that, somewhere in the scramble to get free, he had lost his warming stone.
Damn it. Killed as easily as a warm-blood after all.
*~*~*
Najlah woke up in a dark so absolute he could not see. There was not even the barest shred of light to allow him use of his night vision. Hissing in irritation, Najlah flicked his tongue and tasted damp rock, traces of earth… and wolf, which meant he was not alone. That was something.
He should be dead. He had lost his warming stone, had felt the cold before he'd passed out. How was he alive?
The air was cold, but he could not actually feel it. No, he felt very warm indeed. Not as hot as he would have liked, but sufficiently warm. He flicked his tongue out again, getting a sense of his surroundings. Moving cautiously forward, he took only a couple of steps before he struck something: warm, solid, covered in fur and cloth. He bent closer, tongue tasting the scents of Barkus, blood, and magic residue. Najlah growled as he carefully checked Barkus over for injuries. He found a scratch on his forehead and meticulously licked the blood away, healing fluid filling his mouth from the glands that held it. He rumbled at the taste of Barkus' blood, the feral edge to it. Shifters were so much better than humans, even if most of them preferred to think of their human form as their true one.
The warmth sustaining him grew to true heat as he continued touching Barkus. So Barkus had done something that kept him warm. An interesting wild magic, but it made sense in such a cold place.
Najlah gave the head wound a last swipe, satisfied it would stay closed and heal well, before he moved on to locating other injuries. There was one long, nasty gash on Barkus' arm that was easily licked clean and sealed up, otherwise there were only minor cuts and bruises.
Exhaustion washed over him; he must not be as recovered from whatever had happened to him as he had first thought. Rumbling, he curled alongside and on top of Barkus and fell immediately back to sleep.
When he woke again, it was to the smell of fire and roasting meat. Growling, Najlah stretched out, feeling much better than he had the first time he'd woken. He glanced toward the fire and saw Barkus, who had been closely watching whatever he was cooking, but looked up as Najlah moved. "You're awake."
Najlah growled at that because he had been awake first.
Barkus chuckled. "Fayth was right: you're actually pretty easy to understand. Then again, I can cheat a bit now. I figured you must have been awake before, given there's not a drop of blood on me and I know I was covered in it when I collapsed. I also woke up covered in dragon, and I am absolutely certain that was not the case when I passed out."
Was he complaining? Najlah gave a short, low, inquisitive growl. Barkus stared at him, mouth turned up ever so slightly at one corner. Najlah stared back—and then tensed when he suddenly felt that Barkus had not minded at all. Najlah hissed and drew back.
"So the bond did fully take," Barkus murmured. "Good. I was worried that, in my battered state, I had done something wrong. It's been a long time since a non-wolf has been brought into the pack bond, and I have never brought anyone into the bond. That duty is generally left to more senior wolves."
Najlah flicked his tongue out and growled.
"Come and eat, and I'll explain. It was the only way I knew to save you, given you were practically white when I found you."
Najlah prowled closer, unable to resist the fire. Rumbling in approval, he thrust his head into the flames and wished only that it was big enough to crawl onto.
He froze when he felt a hand touch his head and looked up to stare at Barkus, face shadowed but eyes still clear, glowing faintly in the dim, flickering light. Barkus was touching his head, even as flames licked at his hand. Najlah knew humans, even shifters, could not touch flames without burning. He did not know of anything that could endure bare flame except dragons and the irritating, but so delightfully crunchy, firebirds.
Barkus laughed briefly and withdrew his hand. His smile was one of pleasure, triumph, and a touch of arrogance that he wore rather well. "Like I said, you were nearly dead when I found you and that stone you wore was gone. I tried to war
m you up, but my body heat wasn't enough to sustain you. The only way to save you was to make you part of the pack, let you use the heat of the whole. It seems to be working, but let me know if you get too cold. While the bond is in place, however, be aware that we can share thoughts and emotions to a degree. The longer it's in place, the stronger it grows, the clearer everything we share will become. Hopefully we will find the others soon and one of your friends will better be able to help you."
So he'd been right about the wolves communicating silently back at camp. The Lukos were as beautifully crafted by their Shide as dragons were by Tahjil. Najlah leaned forward over the fire and nudged at Barkus' hand, still hot to the touch.
"Joining the pack means sharing all that you have, but there's never any telling how the sharing will manifest with non-wolves. I do not know anything of dragons, so I hope I have not done you any harm. It is clear you have made us impervious to damage from fire; that will be infinitely useful."
Moving around the fire, Najlah leaned up and nosed Barkus' cheek, flicked it briefly with his tongue, and tried to… think and feel loudly that he was fine and grateful and it was a debt to be repaid.
"You need not shout, dragon," Barkus said with a laugh. "Am I allowed to touch you as I did earlier? Wolves are very free with touching, but I know that's not so with others."
Najlah nipped him lightly on the chin, leaving an indentation of his teeth but not quite drawing blood. Barkus laughed again, and his hands were large, rough, and curious as they smoothed along Najlah's scales, the ridges of his spine.
There was no stench of fear on him, not even the slightest trace. Only the smell of wolf and man, hot blood just beneath the surface, sweat, faint touches of want that were echoed in the strange mental bond. Najlah was not yet certain he liked the connection, but it clearly had its uses.
It was nice not being feared. Fayth had taken months to lose all traces of it, and no one in the palace was comfortable whenever Najlah and Ajith got into an argument. He could not help it that human fights were so very tame and not even half as loud. It was also not his fault that Ajith was a damned cheat and so things got a little messy.
He rumbled and pushed into the touches, enjoying the way Barkus pressed and did not act like Najlah might break. Barkus huffed a laugh, provoking Najlah to nip his jaw again before resting his head on Barkus’ shoulder. It was not something he typically did with strangers, and he sensed the wolf bond was affecting him, but warmth was warmth, and it was heady to be touched without fear or hesitation after so long.
When the touching finally stopped, he growled in dissatisfaction, but withdrew and began to eat the meat that Barkus threw at him. He did not know why it had to be cooked, but food was food and he would take it.
"You don't want to eat these raw. They have a very bitter taste if not cooked. It's a common prank among older children to trick the younger ones into it. Fell for it myself, once. I got my sister back by throwing her in cold water. My mother was not amused with either of us by the end of that day."
Najlah made noises of amusement and called up memories of Ajith pranking him the very same way, tricking him into eating a spotted lizard. The nasty taste had lingered in his mouth for three days. He'd gotten revenge by dyeing Ajith's horns white. That prank had earned him much admiration in their mother's den.
Barkus laughed, loud and long, the sound booming and echoing around the cave they were in. Warm pleasure unfurled in Najlah. Feeling satisfied from making someone laugh was strange but not unwelcome. "I bet you have caused a great many people a great deal of trouble. But come, as surprisingly pleasant as this is, we still have to find our way out of these caves and back to our friends and the hunt for a traitor. Are you sufficiently fed and rested?" He chuckled when Najlah growled. "Then let's see about getting out of these caves. I don't know this particular section, but my nose says wolves have been here before, so there is likely a way out." The scent of magic filled the air, and then Barkus stood before him as an enormous black wolf. He chuffed and rubbed against Najlah's cheek before turning away and, with a commanding bark, vanished into the dark.
Growling, Najlah followed after him, tongue flicking out to see what his eyes could not. Out in the snow, he had been much hindered, but caves… caves he knew. Caves he could handle better than any warm-blood.
When Barkus halted at a cluster of tunnels and gave a low, puzzled whine, Najlah moved past him, tongue flicking out to examine each tunnel, tasting old wolf and faded blood, damp and rock and rot. He tasted a hint of freshness, something living, hot, wet blood. It was barely there, but it was enough. Twisting his neck around, he growled at Barkus before spinning away to prowl into the tunnel, onward through the relentless dark.
The smell of blood grew stronger as they slowly made their way, sharp and bright on Najlah's tongue. His claws clicked on the cave floor, scales scraping as his tail moved sinuously back and forth. He could hear Barkus close behind, smell him, but the lure of fresh blood overpowered all else. Someone was bleeding out and not going to live much longer.
He increased his pace, growling loudly to warn off anyone else who might be there but had gone unnoticed. They spilled into a wide open cavern that hosted a single large orb of magelight. Najlah remembered an old conversation he'd once had with Ranteth, who had tried to explain tame magic to him, but Najlah had rapidly grown bored. It sounded too intricate, too time-consuming, to be worth the trouble even if it could do such things as those balls of light. He'd rather have his well-honed body and wild magic.
There was a figure lying in the middle of the room, bound and gagged, mostly wrapped in a torn, filthy, wet cloak. That cloak was familiar. As Najlah got closer, he both saw and smelled something he did not expect: Ranteth. He let out a roar of fury, spikes coming out of his spine, tips wet with poison, tail lashing and thudding hard enough to echo thunderously whenever it struck the ground.
He prowled toward his prey, snarling and growling, crouching low in preparation of a pounce but was cut off when Barkus stepped between them. Barkus bared his teeth and growled. Najlah snarled in reply, bringing his tail up to strike. Barkus might have his appeal—and Najlah did not want to hurt him—but he would not be denied the chance to avenge family and be rid of the despicable traitor.
Barkus growled again, hackles up, then barked sharply three times, and Najlah could suddenly feel what Barkus was trying to tell him: It was not Lukos or Savages who had injured and bound Ranteth. There was someone else in the caves who had done him harm. If there was one other, there was probably more, as it was never safe to travel through caves alone. Even the dumbest human knew that.
Najlah relaxed with a cranky growl and padded toward Ranteth to investigate more closely. The urge to tear out his throat was strong, but Najlah had resisted greater temptation. It would be sweeter when he was certain it was right. If an unknown party was skulking about, they needed to know who and why before any sort of action was taken.
Instead of killing Ranteth, Najlah nosed at the wound that would kill Ranteth before much longer. Someone had stabbed him with a thin blade, leaving a small but almost always fatal wound. Najlah would not be able to heal such a wound in his current form, unfortunately. The idea of leaving himself vulnerable grated, but the wound was too small to get at with his dragon mouth. Hissing, Najlah shifted to his human form and then bent, closing his mouth over the wound, drinking down the blood that spilled until his healing fluids started to work, staunching the flow of blood and sealing the wound. Pulling back, he licked away the remaining traces of blood on his mouth.
He growled softly while he looked Ranteth over. The growl turned into another hiss when something caught his eye. He sank his hands into Ranteth's dark hair and tugged his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at a dark, intricate mark low at the side of Ranteth's neck, nearly on the back of it.
"That's Gormestia magic," Barkus said, crouching down beside him. "Well, one of their magic marks. Sigils, they call them."
Najlah wrinkled his
nose at that. They had to write their magic down?
Barkus smiled fleetingly. "I agree it's stupid. My question, though, is what Gormestia has to do with any of this? Restuel has no quarrel with them, and hasn't since the last war two centuries ago. What would provoke them to assassinate our king and start a war?"
Old anger boiled up inside Najlah as he realized the attempted assassination was part of a larger, more complicated matter. Snarling, he pulled up the memories and shared them with Barkus.
Visitors plagued Tahjil incessantly, everyone wanting to see the demons with their own eyes when all Najlah's people wanted was to be left alone. The bastards from Gormestia had helped themselves to a young, red scale bitch, and when they were done, they'd left her for dead—or so they had thought.
But the red scale lived just long enough to whelp three half-human kits, too weak to survive, and the tragedy spurred her den into a nasty, relentless fervor that had left hundreds of Gormestians and dragons dead. It had not been the first time Gormestia had committed a wrong, but it was by far the greatest of their crimes because women were sacred, and a bitch who had been violated, broken, and ultimately killed, her kits dead alongside her…
Gormestia had asked for help, but not a single dragon had lifted so much as a claw to stop the violence, only to help the slaughter. Najlah had been among the attackers, happy to spill Gormestian blood, devour their organs, and crunch their bones, leave nothing behind that could be used for the burials Gormestians gave their dead. Afterward, the word 'demon' became more prevalent than ever, whispered in fear or screamed as a justification for slaughter.
It was the people of Restuel who had stepped forward to help Tahjil smooth matters over with other countries, help calm the renewed fears of demons. For the sake of peace, Ajith had volunteered to leave home, travel as an ambassador and help show the world that dragons were not monsters. Najlah had refused to let his brother go anywhere without him. Ajith was a horned brute, a den-keeper, protector of the nest, meant to guard the kits and help the women. He wasn't a hunter and fighter like Najlah.