Dragon Rider

by Kay Berrisford

  Panic overwhelmed him as he flailed, helpless, the jet tossing him back into the open. A cloud-misted moon wheeled and flipped as the night sky spun full circle about him, and then he landed on his rump on something unexpectedly yielding.

  Gasping, it took Lyle a few moments to fathom where he was. He rode side-saddle on a white horse—not the land-bound mammal, but a magical cusp-of-the-wave stallion crafted from foam and froth. Cully raced beside him on a similar mount, whooping and cheering as they careered at a breakneck pace toward the shore.

  "Shit!" yelled Lyle, excitement rivalling his fright. He tried to hug the neck of his horse, but his arms slipped through it. He'd no idea how he managed not to sink through the beast's watery back, but he remained on its saddle somehow. He suspected Cully's mercurial powers had plenty to answer for, but he'd not the wherewithal to quiz her. The pebbly shore rushed toward them out of the gloom.

  The horses crashed and shattered onto the beach. The drag of the undertow proved noisy enough to drown out Lyle's embarrassing squeal as he went flying again.

  He landed on the shingle with a painful slap, and then spat a mouthful of gritty sand. Cully washed up next to him, shaking with giggles and flicking her fins, greatly amused.

  "You look like a hooked codfish," she said.

  Lyle thinned his eyes to slits, riled and tickled in equal measures. Two could play at this game. Rolling on his belly and slapping his tail pathetically—to pretend he was genuinely stuck—he drew on the ocean and connected with his magic core. Teeth gritted, he dragged the tide toward them like a magnet drawing iron.

  The roller that smashed over them proved as large as Cully's horses, if somewhat less elegant. For an exquisite split second, Lyle watched astonishment vanquish Cully's smugness as his wave dragged them back out to sea. Even that sight couldn't compete, however, with his glee a few moments later as she bounced up and down, floundering and silly, on top of the ten-foot-high water spout he'd conjured up.

  "Let me down, you bastard!" Her shrieks of mirth urged Lyle to sustain the geyser for a little longer.

  "I might," he called, though his temples were beginning to throb with the effort of maintaining his spout. "But only if you stop messing about and tell me what you came here for. It's great to see you, Cully, it really is, but you gave my poor fiancé the fright of his life on Beachy Head earlier."

  "Oh yeah, him," said Cully, with what sounded like a sneer. "Are you sure you want to marry somebody like that?"

  Dismay had Lyle dropping his waterspout in an instant. Cully crashed below then reappeared a few strokes to the left of Lyle, the veering beam of the lighthouse illuminating her from behind.

  "What do you mean by that?" he demanded, fighting off the dizziness that his magic exertions had triggered. "Ben's a wonderful man. Even after you shattered his poor nerves earlier, he still wants to invite you to the wedding."

  "Whoop-de-doo! A wedding!" There was no mistaking her sarcasm, and Lyle glared for real. Cully flattened down the remnants of her tattered t-shirt over her breasts and fluffed her wet hair. "Lyle, don't take this the wrong way. I'm sure this Ben of yours is a nice guy, if a bit square—"

  "He's not square." Beating his tail to keep himself steady amid the bobbing waves, Lyle folded his arms while instinctively unfurling his fins in a defensive posture. "He's handsome, sexy, and he's great company. He used to drive a convertible car, and that's the height of cool." Or at least, so Ben had said, and Lyle was happy to agree on that one. It sounded posh.

  "Okay, okay. He's the hottest guy in Eastbay, or wherever this ruddy place is. It's the marriage thing that bothers me. Yeah, I know you had to get engaged to break the curse, so you've probably always had your heart set on it. But it's a bit, well… nineteenth century, isn't it?" Cully reclined on her back, surfing the swell in an excruciatingly casual fashion. "Think about it this way. By marrying, you're still letting Welwyn dictate your life. He cursed you to die, languish alone forever, or get hitched. Okay, you've ended up with the less of the three evils but… see what I'm getting at?"

  Lyle squinted, as the lighthouse beam hit him full in the face. She indeed had a point, enough to form a sickening knot of tension in Lyle's tummy. Did Welwyn—even after his downfall, Lyle's sort-of-forgiveness, and death—still influence Lyle's destiny?

  Lyle considered this all briefly, and concluded that Welwyn bloomin' well didn't. The knot in his innards slid loose. The engagement alone, and Ben's vital promise of true love, had broken the curse. They'd hesitated for months about the actual marriage, and Lyle had even had moments when he'd believed it'd be better—for Ben, at least—to flee before the ceremony ever happened. He'd not feared for a second that the curse would be reinstated, or sensed any hint of the foul magic reforming.

  "You're wrong." Lyle pounded his fists into the sea, defiant. "I'd want to marry Ben if the curse had never existed. In some respects, I'm glad I was landlocked all that time. Otherwise we would never have met."

  "Okay, if you say so."

  "I do," he sniped. "And if this message you're carrying is to urge me not to marry, you can tell the Wise Mas to go tie their fins in a—" Lyle broke off, his jaw hovering open then snapping shut. Cully, still drifting like a holidaymaker on an inflatable lilo, waggled her fingers. A stream of sparkling stars shot from the tips to form letters, then words, which hung low above the agitated waters.

  "Congratulations, Lyle and Ben," it read. "I would love to attend your wedding."

  "Oh," said Lyle, his fins drooping.

  "I'm sorry," said Cully, finishing the "g" of the final word with a series of artfully diminishing loops. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted to be sure this marriage was what you really wanted. Freedom is a marvellous thing, and it was robbed from you for too long."

  Lyle fins perked up defensively again. "Marriage to Ben isn't going to rob my freedom. Anyway, what were you doing all those years I was imprisoned? Too busy enjoying your liberty to come and help me, eh?"

  He didn't desire her answer; he'd had enough. He dived beneath the waves, rushing through the bubbles of his breath, swimming as hard and fast as he could with all the venom of his anger propelling him. When he surfaced to gasp in the night air, he bit back a trail of curses. Cully had popped up simultaneously, a stone's toss in front of him.

  "I tried!" she shouted. Lyle would've dived and swum for the shore had it not been for the naked emotion in her voice, which startled him. "I tried again and again. Every time my magic was stronger, yet it was never enough. When I reached the boundaries of your prison, I felt Welwyn's steely grip about my throat and I couldn't think, let alone fight it. I'm sorry, but there really was only one way to break that curse, and only you could do it."

  Lyle believed her, though he still yearned to withdraw deep into himself, to flee back to Ben and forget she'd ever returned into his life. She paddled close and touched his shoulder. He tensed beneath her hand and refused meet her gaze.

  "Race you to the pier, Lyle?" she asked softly. "I'll tell you everything, I promise, and if you don't want me in your life, I'll leave you in peace."

  The quirk of her smile appeased him just enough. The competition hadn't been great, but Cully was still, without doubt, the best sibling he'd got.

  "Very well," he said. "But if you win, it's because I let you—and no magic tricks this time."

  "Yeah, right!" Cully turned and dived, leaving Lyle chasing through the foam in her wake.

  They reached the steel girders beneath the pier at almost the same time. Lyle reckoned he'd touched the rusting metal a hair's breadth in front of Cully, but opted to be gracious about it. Cully was already onto the next thing, scaling a girder with the speed of a cat shimmying up a tree trunk. Her fishtail changed to legs, leaving her with four limbs and four useful fins to swing her up onto a crossbeam.

  "You coming?" she called, perching on the beam and kicking her feet like an impatient kid.

  It took Lyle a minute or so to shift, climb, and slide into place beside
her. By that time, she looked as comfy as Ben did in a cosy pub. She'd even magicked up two bottles of something or other, one of which she opened with a smart click against the girder. She took an enthusiastic swig then offered it to Lyle.

  Lyle eyed the amber liquid dubiously. "What is it?"

  "Newkie Brown," said Cully, forcing the bottle into Lyle's hand. "Newcastle Brown Ale. You'll love it. The stuff I conjure up doesn't quite pack the punch of the real stuff, but it's not far off. I'm proud of it, actually."

  Lyle took a slurp, noting Cully looking on, apparently anxious for his reaction. Well, she could damned well wait for it. He leaned back against the metal strut behind him and relished the hoppy taste. Tinny pop music played on the pier above, vying with the clatter of footsteps on the wooden boards and the shouts of the folk brave enough to have a night out in November. He got a great view of the resort's illuminations from here too, and the now faint outline of the cliffs.

  "Not bad at all," he answered at length, and then he grinned at Cully. This was a fantastic spot, and it was pleasant to be here with her.

  "Glad you like it," Cully said. "Newkie Brown reminds me of a splendid New Year's Eve I once spent up on Tyneside. Sweet Goddess Moon—the girls up there! They're gorgeous, and I swear, they're hardier against the frost than I am. It's below freezing, and they're still out in strappy tops and dinky miniskirts. I had a lot of fun. I might've broken a few hearts, though I got mine a little cracked, too."

  "Sounds exciting," said Lyle, who'd drained his bottle. The liquor glowed inside of him, helping him fight off the cold. Despite his hardiness, it was more difficult to stay warm in the open air than in the sea, especially wearing just a thin, wet t-shirt. If she was going to regale him with her every conquest from the past century or so, he wished she could spirit him up a blanket, but he didn't want to make himself look needy by asking. Creating matter from thin air seemed to come a lot easier to her than it ever had to him. Lyle could really only conjure food, and even that took great effort.

  "It was a fantastic time," she said mistily. "I've known passion, Lyle. I've roamed the coasts and romanced women from the Outer Hebrides to the Bay of Biscay. It's why I had to make sure you didn't want to join me instead of getting hitched. We could have a lot of fun together, swimming the seas and spreading the joy."

  "I'm getting married to Ben. That's my final answer on it." Lyle managed not to snap this time. She sounded sincere in her concern for him, and he couldn't deny he felt a connection with her, albeit a mischievous and competitive one.

  When he'd been imprisoned with Welwyn, he'd caught an unsettling hint of a similar vibe toward the end, as they'd got to know each other. Because of the terrible history between them, any such feelings had screwed Lyle up, head and heart. With Cully, though, the vibe was good. "I do appreciate the offer," he said. "But I was hardly a callow virgin before I met Ben. I might've been trapped in the forest, but I did receive company. I tried free love, and it wasn't for me."

  "Fair enough." Cully stretched two fins wide to catch a couple more beer bottles, which materialized from the night air. "But the offer is an open one, in case you ever fancy a change—or indeed, just a little trip together. In fact, that's the other thing I came for. You see, the message from the Wise Mas is a kind of summoning."

  "A summoning?" The notion raised Lyle's heckles. He took the bottle she passed him with a terse nod of thanks. "Nobody is summoning me anywhere less than a month before my wedding."

  "Okay, but you might want to hear me out on this one. You see, Emmet is dead."

  "What… really?" Lyle clenched the bottle hard. He'd disliked Emmet, who'd imprisoned then tried to kill him. The news still shocked. "What happened?"

  "He was captured by a gang, some rogue band of merfolk who raided our old home in the middle of the day, when they were all asleep, taking him completely by surprise. A few days later, his lifeless body was dumped on the rocks and the remainder of the family fled, too scared to remain where they'd lived for centuries. Soon after that, one of the refugees pleaded to the Wise Mas to get a message to you."

  "Why me?" asked Lyle. "I'm sorry for them, but I can't help." Not least because Emmett was pretty damned powerful. Even if Lyle, deep down, liked to believe he was a little stronger, he'd no burning desire to put this to the test by facing Emmet's killers, let alone risk life and limb for his family right now. "Besides, as far as I know, none of them ever tried to help me."

  Cully drained another bottle and smacked her lips. "I didn't see why you'd want to go either. Even if you are the greatest mage in the family since Clewell, like everyone is saying."

  "You what?"

  "You know—Clewell, that ancestor prince of ours who could shift into a dragon. Rumour has it you can do that too, Lyle, and are the first to inherit the ability in many a generation. They say you're Clewell's heir, no less. The family are desperate to see you. They're convinced you're their only hope of salvation."

  "Well, I'm not." Lyle curled his lip. The mere mention of the dragon discovered inside his head aggravated that ache of fear over his inner demons, which never truly left him. He wondered if it'd been the Wise Mas or Emmet who'd spread the word about it. Either way, it infuriated him further. "It's just rumour. I've no idea how to shapeshift into a dragon, and I'm in no position to help anyone. Sod 'em!"

  "You go, lad." Cully slapped his back so hard he almost tottered from the beam, then conjured up a fresh beer to sip, nonchalant as ever. "I was thinking of swinging by to check on the family, mind, over the next few days, and you could always come along for the ride. It's chiefly the very elderly left behind now, and the littlest kids. They've taken refuge in a cave somewhere in the west. Scarce a day's swim from here, I reckon..."

  Cully kept talking. Worse, despite his best efforts otherwise, Lyle persisted in listening. He scowled down at the inky waters, striving to tune his emotions away from her words, because he didn't like the temptations that swept through him. A group of homeless ragtag relatives had pinned their pathetic hopes on him. Shouldn't he at least let them know there was nothing he could do? It didn't help that the idea of being admired as a great mage flattered his ego… and heaven forgive him, the prospect of an ocean voyage with Cully appealed far more than it ought.

  Maybe going with her was the correct choice. They could be back in a couple of days, in time for Ben's family gathering on Thursday and then the trip down to Highsands Castle.

  He'd miss Ben and didn't really want to leave him. But Ben would understand, right?

  Cully was still at it: "It's a pretty hideous time of year for anybody used to a nice warm nest in a dry cave to be left homeless, don't you th—"

  "Very well!" Lyle was unsure why he was giggling, or whether his guts were churning because of the cold, his misgivings, or too much Newkie Brown. "I'll come with you to visit the family." He glowered jokily, setting Cully beaming all the brighter. "Yes, yes. You win."

  Chapter Five

  When Lyle got back to the flat, Ben was sitting at the breakfast bar, nursing a steaming mug of tea in his hands. On seeing Lyle, Ben slid down from his stool, looking relieved. As promised, he'd made the sofa up into a bed for Cully. Though when Ben noted Cully was actually present, worry lines slunk back across Ben's brow.

  "Sorry we're so late," said Lyle, gesturing Cully should slip past him before clicking the latch closed behind. "We swam to the pier then I had to get back to the lighthouse to pick up my stuff."

  "Not a problem," said Ben, offering a strained smile. "Can I get anything for you? Tea, coffee, cocoa?" Ben gulped and averted his gaze from Cully. She'd got a towel around her waist, but her wet t-shirt had ridden up to reveal rather a lot of midriff for any human stranger's comfort.

  "Nah, I'm good thanks," said Cully, apparently oblivious to Ben's delicate sensibilities as she plonked herself down on the sofa. "This is a lovely home. Very warm and toasty."

  "Uh, yes. The storage heaters kick in after 11pm. Lot of bloody good they are during the day, mi
nd." Ben looked desperately at Lyle. "Er, do you think your sister might like to borrow a shirt or something? A nice dry garment to sleep in?"

  Lyle felt sure Cully could've conjured something to cover herself if she'd wanted to, but grabbed the excuse to retreat into the bedroom. "Absolutely, I'll find something now. Oh, and can I have a quick word?" With a guilty grimace, Lyle took Ben's arm and steered him away. Neither he nor Cully had any intention of remaining there that night.

  He kicked the bedroom door shut with an accidentally loud slam. From the way Ben turned to him, raking his hair wearily, it was obvious he sensed trouble. "What is it, Lyle? What was her message?"

  "Nothing too bad, honest." Lyle perched on the edge of the double bed that filled most of the room, wondering how to break the news. When Ben sat beside him and took his hand, Lyle almost wished he hadn't. Ben was too kind and caring to be left in the lurch like this. "Would you mind awfully if Cully and I… went on a little trip together? She wants to take me to meet what remains of the family. If we leave tonight, I'll be back for the meal on Thursday with your family, if not before."

  As Lyle explained the rest of the story, including the rumours about the dragon, he watched Ben restrain a full gamut of emotions. His grip on Lyle grew sweaty and rigid, and he frowned a lot; he nodded with understanding just as much.

  "I wish it didn't have to be right now," said Lyle, "but we're back at work next week, we've no other time off before the wedding, and… going on a trip with Cully does sound fun. I figured it'd be like one of those hen and stag dos you humans have."

  And that Ben had most definitely not wanted, opting instead for inviting a few close friends for a quiet pint with him and Lyle at the pub.

  "Judging from your breath," said Ben, "you two have already started. What on earth have you been drinking?"

  "Newkie Brown." Lyle wafted his hand in front of his lips and sniffed. Yeah, he smelled insufferably beery. "It's Cully's favourite, but you don't need to worry. I never actually get drunk, remember."