Dragon Mage (The First Dragon Rider Book 3)

by Ava Richardson

  “Neill. Calm. Help Char.” My head buzzed with the angry command of the waiting dragon above me, and I nodded.

  “Yes. You’re right, Pax, of course.” I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and let my hands do the work that they knew, even if my brain couldn’t find the words.

  I felt for her pulse at her neck and at her wrist. Weak, but steady and regular. That was good. Next, I shifted her ever so slightly so that, if there was any danger inside of her, then the blood would not be inside her breath or her mouth. As soon as I was working, the memories started to come back. “The bolt,” I muttered, knowing that I had to see if the arrow had gone all the way through my friend. With great care, I eased my hand underneath her, to the smooth and pale skin of her back, terrified of what I might find.

  It wasn’t wet, and the skin wasn’t broken. So that meant that the arrow hadn’t gone through, but was still inside of her, which would cause a whole lot more problems.

  “But she’s still bleeding,” I said out loud, once again turning to my friend’s front. There was a large dark area of blood, and it was still horribly wet and spreading. The arrow must have caught something inside of her, and, if she didn’t stop bleeding, then she would spill her life’s essence right now, before we ever got as far as the Dragon Monastery.

  I had two options. To bind her as is, and just hope that my bandages would be tight enough to stop her blood loss. Not going to work, Torvald! I barked at myself. Char is already injured inside. No amount of bandage wedged on top will stop that!

  Then my only other option was to take out the arrow, clean the wound, and hope infection didn’t set in. I gulped. I had never performed that task before, but I had seen it done. I felt my stomach lurch once more and the ground tip underneath my feet, even though I was on solid ground.

  “Neill. Please. For dragon-sister. For Char,” Pax said, lowering her head to gently push beside me.

  I looked into the dragon’s large and golden-green eyes and nodded. “Then I’m going to need fire,” I said, and Paxala immediately turned to strike down some of the scraggy trees at the side of the field, stamp and scrape them into a sort of heap, and, with a cough, sent a spark of bright and hot dragon flame to set them.

  “Thank you. And, I’m going to need…” I looked around the remains of the hedge, running quickly to pull aside roots and weeds and leaves until I found what I needed. “Self-Heal.” I pulled a large clump, with its small and feathery leaves and delicate blue flowers. “Can you find this, Pax? As much as you can?”

  “Skree-yip!” Paxala chirruped, at once leaping boldly over our heads to land on the other side of the field, snouting and pawing at the field verges for the precious herb. It was a common weed in all parts of the Middle Kingdom, but few people knew that it also made an excellent compress for wounds, as it helped staunch blood and fight infections at the same time.

  While I waited for my supplies, I took out my knife, our watering pouches and the small nest of wooden bowls that we all carried, just in case we needed to eat or do things like this. With a grim shake of my head, I shoved my knife into the edges of the fire until my hand started to bake from the heat, and the blade burnished a bluish green.

  And then, I set to work trying to save Char’s life.

  Chapter 18

  Char, Waking Up

  “We haven’t got a lot of time,” the voice said, and I was sure that it was a voice I knew, although I couldn’t quite remember exactly whose voice it was right now.

  It was dark, I felt sleepy – and in pain.

  “I know we haven’t got a lot of time! But what do you want me to do? I’m not leaving her.” That was definitely a voice I knew. Neill.

  Neill. Rampart. The army. Suddenly, it all came rushing back to me in a flood. The dark sea of people, angry, shouting, jeering. The buzzing flight of arrows as they flew towards us, the quick and powerful wingbeats as Paxala turned – but not fast enough, as I had been hit…

  No, I hadn’t been hit by an arrow, not while flying. I was sure that wasn’t the case, as I knew that Pax would never have let me get hit. Pax was my friend, my sister, and I should say my closest nonhuman friend, as Neill was my closest human friend.

  Thock. I heard a dull thump, like someone knocking on a door, but to my mind it sounded like the noise that an arrow might make as it hit wood. I did get hit, I thought muzzily, and in an awful flood of nightmare images I remembered the anguished woman at Rampart, her pleading eyes as she started to say something to me, mouthing words without sound…

  “Run.” Was that what she had been trying to say to me? Why?

  Because, in the next instant I recalled how the woman had been grabbed and thrown to the floor, as another, angry, hate-filled man had stepped forward, his bearskin cloak ragged and fur lining his gloves as he had raised the short bow almost straight to my chest. I had managed to dive – but not fast enough.

  Thock.

  “Who’s there?” It was Neill’s voice once again, and then I heard the creak as a door opened, and muttered, whispering words from the other side.

  “No. Tell them that we cannot yet. That we’re not ready.”

  “Neill, you have to…” said the second almost-familiar voice, a man’s voice, young but older than we were. Who could it be? “If we wait any longer…”

  “I told you, Jodreth, I’m not leaving Char’s side! Prince Vincent can bleeding well wait!” Neill exploded, and I tried to tell him that it was all right, that he didn’t need to stay here, but all that came out of my mouth was a dull groan, and with it, the sharper pain that brought me up, through the layers of sleep that had been hovering, and into painful, awful, consciousness.

  “Char? Is she awake? Can she hear us?” a worried voice—Neill’s—said suddenly.

  “Thank the stars, she’s waking–but give us some room! No more hovering!” Jodreth muttered, the older man’s shadow falling over me as I blinked the sleep from my eyes.

  I was in a dark room, cool with the scent of fresh mountain winds over the cold slopes. Somewhere, there was the scent of fresh bread and wood smoke. The monastery? I thought. I was suddenly ravenously hungry, and tried to push myself up on whatever I lay on, before another spear of pain lanced through my chest.

  “Ach!” I hissed.

  “Char-sister!” The voice of the dragon in my mind was suddenly close and enfolding, as I felt Paxala’s presence purring and cooing over me. It wasn’t her real body, of course, but she had thrown her mind at mine.

  “I, I’m okay, Pax,” I murmured.

  “You’re not. You’re hurt. But the wizardling said he can help you,” Pax rebuked me gently.

  The wizardling? I thought. Oh, she must mean Jodreth.

  “She’s delirious,” said Jodreth’s voice, as I opened my eyes again to see him looking at me worriedly. His clear eyes were moving in front of mine, moving from eye to eye, to see if I could focus on him.

  “The problem isn’t my eyes, Jodreth,” I said with an annoyed grumble. “I think it’s the great big hole in my chest.” I looked down to where, thankfully, I could see that there was no arrow sticking out of me, but my entire left shoulder was thickly bandaged. “I was talking to Pax, actually,” I said. I was lying on a simple bed in one of the small rooms of the Dragon Monastery (I could tell from the pale, almost yellow stone, and the window that looked out onto the edge of the dragon crater beyond).

  “Oh, of course, sometimes the herb can cause strange dreams and visions,” Jodreth was saying, putting a calloused hand on my forehead and nodding as if pleased. “A little pale, but you haven’t a fever. There shouldn’t be an infection.”

  “The herb? What herb are you talking about?” I said, as another shape moved into view over my bed.

  “Char? Thank the stars…” Neill breathed over me. He looked pale and haggard, with shadows under his eyes as he regarded me. He was wearing different clothes now, what I knew was his ‘best’ Torvald purple tunic with the drawstrings at the neck, over dark tan breeches
.

  “Neill, you look terrible. But you didn’t have to put on a shirt for me,” I tried to joke weakly, smiling. Even my face felt like it ached. How can one injury make the whole body hurt? I thought.

  “Uhr, well, you’re not exactly looking too hot yourself, Char,” Neill said with an answering ghost of a smile. “But I’m glad that you’re awake. We were all so worried.”

  “Not as worried as me,” Paxala confided in me. She didn’t recede from my mind as she usually did after our conversations, but instead she kept her awareness wrapped around mine, and I could even feel her looking out through my eyes.

  “Okay, well, it seems that I am awake now, even though I have no idea how I got here, and I haven’t a fever, and you guys have been giving me strange herbs from the sound of it…” I muttered, as Neill got me some water to sip. After I swallowed, everything became a little better by a fraction.

  “It’s called Magewort,” Jodreth told me. “When taken by a healthy mind, it induces a sort of trance, but it also is an amazing restorative. It can keep people on their feet for days at a time, without needing sleep or food, and it can help a sick person fight any ill or injury in half the time…” Jodreth said, looking proud at himself. “But if Neill here hadn’t removed the arrowhead, and treated your wound with Self-Heal right after the attack, I don’t know if you would have ever been strong enough to get this far!”

  “Neill?” I turned to look at him wonderingly. I had no idea that my friend knew how to do such things, and also no memory of him treating me at all. Just the thock and then – blankness.

  “I helped,” Paxala swished her imaginary tail in the back of my mind.

  I’m sure you did, my sister, I thought at the dragon with real affection. Pax had never displayed any jealousy towards Neill before, but I think, given the circumstance, a small amount was acceptable right now.

  “I did what I could.” Neill shrugged, suddenly looking at his feet.

  “Thank you,” I said to him, feeling amazed. He has no idea how good a leader he is.

  “Here,” my friend said awkwardly, suddenly rummaging in his breeches pocket to pull forth something small and pristine silver-grey, attached to a coil of leather twine. An arrowhead, cleaned and fresh as the day it had been forged. “It’s a clan custom of the Middle Kingdom,” Neill said through great embarrassment, “to keep a token of the first thing that almost killed you.”

  “Who says it’s the first?” I made to joke, but, on seeing Neill’s mouth drop I hurriedly reassured him. “I love it. Give it to me.” I tried to lift my left arm to reach for it, once again feeling the pain there, but gritted my teeth and forced myself to do it.

  “Ach!” I winced.

  “Steady…” Jodreth counselled.

  Neill dropped the arrowhead into the palm of my hand. It was a dart of steel, barely bigger than my thumb. “Hmph,” I groaned at it. “Such a little thing, huh? Well, I’m glad that it’s on the outside of me now, rather than the inside!”

  “So are we all,” said Jodreth seriously, before straightening up to uncover a towel from the table side, under which sat a warm bowl of stew, a hunk of Nan’s bread, and some cheese. “You’d better eat, get your strength back, Char,” he said, before pushing across the table another, smaller clay flagon which smelled like fresh herbs and something bitter underneath it. “And when you’ve had some food, drink this. It’s more of the Magewort, and it will aid your healing dramatically.”

  “Do I have to?” I said with a frown.

  “Yes!” I was surprised as both Neill, Jodreth, and Paxala in my mind commanded me to.

  “Fine! Okay, I get the idea,” I said.

  “Now, Char, would you mind if I take this young man with me and leave you in peace? There is some business we have to attend to.” Jodreth was scowling at Neill.

  “What business?” I said, managing to push myself up this time and reach for the bread and cheese. I was a little clumsy and slow, and my shoulder ached terribly, but my mother’s tutelage came to mind. We mountain folk were supposed to be tough. We had to endure winters the like of which these Midlanders and Southerners had never seen before. I could handle a little wound like this! I dipped the bread in the stew and started to gnaw on it hungrily.

  “Char, really, you don’t have to worry yourself right now…” Jodreth was saying, tugging at Neill’s arm to pull him out of the room, although Neill clearly didn’t want to go.

  Rampart. I thought in shock, almost dropping the bread. “Is it Rampart? Neill, we have to go back! That woman didn’t want to be a part of their plan—I’m sure they’re being held hostage in there!”

  Neill furrowed his brows and looked off into the corner for a moment, which I knew meant he was struggling to think for himself and ignore what the others around him were impressing upon him. Another good sign, I had to admit.

  “You can’t go now, Char!” Jodreth said. “Maybe in a few days, if you do well, but I don’t know if I have enough Magewort to last much longer than that…” the older man was saying.

  “Neill?” I asked, ignoring Jodreth.

  “Jodreth might be right.” Neill frowned, turning his gaze to look back at me this time. “But so are you as well, Char. The problem isn’t just Rampart, however, it’s your uncle.”

  “What?” I looked from Jodreth to Neill. “What has Prince Vincent done now?” It could have been anything, knowing him, I thought gravely. Not that I did know him. Even calling him ‘uncle’ felt farcical to me, as he had never once showed an iota of interest in me or my upbringing.

  “He’s set up court, here, in the monastery,” Neill glowered. “And even managed to get more of his people, his knights and his servants in here while we were away.”

  “What!?” I exploded, making my shoulder twinge with pain. “But we expressly forbid him to bring any warriors inside the gate! Who let them in?”

  “Who do you think? It was Berlip.” Neill rolled his eyes. I remembered the older monk. He was one of the monks of the old Draconis Order, one who had graduated from the Abbot Ansall’s training and become a Scribe, without any magic and so unable to add the ‘Draconis’ after his name as Jodreth did. Berlip wasn’t outright corrupt as Ansall, Olan, and Greer had been. No, instead he was just set in his ways, and self-righteous. He cared about the scrolls and the books of the dragon library, but little more… At least, I hoped that was the case, anyway.

  “Berlip managed to get some of his faction on wall duty, and must have already been talking with the prince inside the walls, as, apparently”—Neill paused to run his fingers through his hair— “when we got back we found that Vincent has set up a court in the main hall, with a marquee outside in the training yard, and Berlip’s been given the position of Trusted Advisor to the throne!” Neill shook his head.

  “The man is a weasel,” Jodreth said. “I remember him when I was here. He disliked me because I was doing so well at magic, and he would refuse me access to the library,” Jodreth growled angrily.

  Neill nodded. “I’m afraid that you might be right, Jodreth. Berlip’s acting like he’s the one in charge, telling the other students and monks what to do, and how to study, and that they have to follow the prince’s commands and the prince. Vincent has been handing out peerages and rewards like it’s going out of fashion!” Neill sighed.

  “He’s trying to win over the students,” I muttered, seething. “He needs to leave us alone.”

  “He’s looking to save his own skin, more like,” Neill said acidly. “You’ve seen my brothers’ army at Rampart, Char. It’s big enough to give Vincent’s armies a tough fight, and I think the prince only came here so that the monastery would fight for him. Mount Hammal is one of the most defensible places in the Middle Kingdom.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” I sighed, making up my mind. No time like the present, I thought, tearing a great hunk from the bread, before chasing it with the entire cup of Magewort.

  “Woah there, Char, you’re meant to sip it…” Jodreth was sayi
ng, as I felt the strange herb’s effects start to course through me.

  It started as a sort of comforting warmth, one that spread out from my belly, up to my shoulders and down to my legs, numbing the pain in my shoulder until it was little more than a dull, ‘hot’ feeling. My skin tingled like I had just emerged from one of the mountain folk’s ice baths, and gone straight into the hot, steaming sauna. I could feel a quickness and taut energy in my limbs, making me want to laugh and shout and stretch.

  “Better,” I said with a grin, swinging my feet from the bed to push myself up into standing. It was a little awkward at first, as my body was still stiff and ungainly, but it was suffused with a warm numbness that eradicated any feeling of injury. This was good stuff!

  “Char, I have no idea what you are about to do, but I am certain that this isn’t wise.” Jodreth held his hands up, as if pleading for me to reconsider whatever it was I was going to do.

  “We fly, my sister?” Pax said inside my heart.

  “You won’t change her mind, not when she’s got that look in her eyes,” Neill murmured and I laughed. At least one of these people here knew me well!

  “Come on, you two,” I replied with an angry and ebullient self-confidence as I tottered towards the door, snatching up my short sword as I did so, and my black cloak. “I’m going to go tell Uncle Vincent that he’s not welcome in our academy!”

  “Oh, hell,” Neill said behind me, probably reconsidering his decision to tell me the bad news.

  Chapter 19

  Neill, Who Leads?

  I buckled on my own sword belt and cloak as I followed Char down the spiraling stone steps. We had put her in one of the tower rooms, (Nan’s suggestion, to get the fresh air and to ‘keep us busy-bodies out of the way’ – I rather think that she had been right), and so there were a lot of steps to get to the ground floor, but Char took them all without a grumble or a groan.