Call of the Dragonbonded_Book of Fire_The Dragonbonded Return

by JD Hart

  He was tired; that was it. Conner nodded to himself as if that would convince him. He threw a few more branches on the fire, and in the flickering glow, packed his belongings, as if being prepared for the morning would make it all better. Stuffing his pack behind his lower spine for support, he rested his head against the boulder and drifted off. But he did not sleep long.

  An unnatural breeze and the sounds of movement pulled him from a dream of fishing with Pauli while telling outlandish tales. He cautiously lifted his head and waited. His patience was rewarded by another sound, closer. He leaned forward and gripped the end of a thick branch protruding from the fire. Something was out there watching him. At least he thought so. Standing, he held the burning bough out, then declared with as much confidence and force as he could muster. “I know you’re out there. Go away.” Conner hoped his voice conveyed enough authority to scare whatever was there.

  Two glowing sea-blue orbs appeared over a hearty azalea near the edge of the firelight.

  Conner’s nerve evaporated. He gripped the log tighter. “I don’t want to fight you,” he stated. Thinking that might be taken as a sign of weakness, he continued, more for his own benefit than to what crouched behind the bush. “I don’t know why you came back, but I don’t have any food. So go away.”

  A deep voice floated back from the bush. “I don’t think I would like human food.”

  Conner hesitated. Did “human food” refer to what humans ate or ...? Wait. The beast spoke? The forgotten log he held sagged in coordination with his jaw. He thumbed through every possible explanation for what he had heard, but just two possibilities stuck out—either someone was hiding in the bushes in the middle of the night attempting to frighten a boy in the desolate wilderness, or Conner’s head wound was worse than he thought.

  While Conner debated the first possibility, the glowing orbs floated around the bush, and the scaly, black beast he had encountered in the cave stepped into the firelight. He sensed its growing impatience as it came forward. “Besides, I ate already.” It smacked its lips contently, glowing eyes squinting. Its head slipped closer on a snakelike neck.

  Conner nearly tripped over his pack behind him, unaware he had stepped back. He gripped the log in both hands, and the burning end shot up between them.

  The monster jerked its head back in surprise.

  This bolstered Conner’s confidence, though he knew that the log offered no real security against the fire-breathing beast. “Then what do you want from me?”

  The beast stared back, astonished by the question. “At the moment, conversation will suffice.”

  Conner had no desire to spend any more time with the monster, no matter how lonely it was. After all, the beast had tried to kill him. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  “I can understand your anger, human. I apologize for the incident in the cave.” The beast lowered its body before Conner, nearly touching its chest to the ground. “But you did surprise me.” It paused before adding, “And that was before I knew.”

  Conner was more fascinated by how the beast was speaking than by what it was saying. Maybe it was the flickering firelight giving an illusion that its mouth moved, and his malfunctioning brain was filling in the rest. Its words seeped through to his consciousness. Knew? Knew what? “I am not one to hold grudges, but I really do need to sleep. And I’m quite certain I won’t get a wink with you about.”

  The beast snorted.

  Conner could sense it was offended by what he said, but that was no more his problem than the creature’s feelings of loneliness. “Maybe you should find some of your own kind.”

  It stepped closer. “I do not think you understand.”

  Conner whipped the burning log back and forth before him.

  The creature’s eyes followed the flaming end with interest, but clearly without concern of being harmed.

  Conner raised his voice to draw its attention. “What I understand is that you should not even be talking. So either I am asleep or my injuries are worse than I thought.” Anger brewing, he stepped forward, taking yet another threatening swing with the log.

  The black monster retreated and grunted its annoyance.

  The reaction renewed Conner’s confidence. Maybe it was expecting a response to its apology. “If it matters, I forgive you for your actions back in the cave.” He waited, but that did not get the expected response. Maybe the creature was slow. A more direct approach was needed. “Now please, just go away.” Conner drove his fear for the beast out of his mind. Heaping the burning branch on the fire, he strolled to where he had been sleeping and gave his best imitation at looking nonchalant, careful not to bang his head against the rock as he sat, eyes never leaving the beast. He forced his eyes shut, pretending to fall asleep, but intently listening for any alarming noises. Minutes flowed by. Unable to stand the tension any longer, he opened his eyes to rebuke the beast one more time, but it was gone.

  “What do you make of that?” Johann puzzled to the Alpslander woman next to him.

  Pallia shrugged, not able to find any words that would assist them in knowing what was going on below.

  Since Pallia had no comment, Johann continued. “I have heard tell the Eastlander folk have strange customs, but I didn’t believe them until now.” After pausing, he added, “This is Midsummer’s Night. Maybe it’s some peculiar ritual to the Cosmos.”

  The two stood along the edge of an old road leading north away from the collapsed cave Vault had used for his escape. Farther on down into a hollow and through a sparse patch of trees, they could make out the orange glow of a fire. Near the fire, they could see someone swinging a burning branch back and forth, as if trying to draw their attention.

  “It doesn’t matter what he is doing. It is clear he believes he is no longer being tracked.” She studied the trapper in the full glow of Erebus. “Get Carlon. I see no reason to waste time setting up camp here when there is a perfectly fine fire down below.”

  Johann grinned. Nodding at her command, he left to find his younger brother.

  Pallia pondered Morgas’s words of caution. However, it was hard to watch Vault flail about with his branch and not think he was anything but a country bumpkin.

  For the second time that night, Conner awoke to strange sounds. This time, the firelight was glowing brighter than when he had fallen asleep. He sat up stiffly to the sight of three figures huddled about his fire. Newly added logs popped and crackled on the glowing embers.

  A woman about thirty stared over the fire at him as if she had just noticed his presence. “I hope you don’t mind us taking advantage of your fire. We have been traveling a long way.” She gave him a faint smile that did not convince him she was happy.

  Maybe it was natural among mountain people to share campfires. “No, not at all. Help yourself,” he mumbled groggily with a wave, feigning politeness and giving her a similar smile before adjusted the cloth hanging over his eye.

  The three sat around the campfire in silence as they ate ravenously. The woman moved like a seasoned fighter, the sword strapped to her back a sure giveaway. The two men, however, carried no visible weapons, dressed instead like freeman trappers common near Cravenrock. Still, Conner could have cut the tension with a knife.

  The woman finally broke the long silence. “I am Pallia, and that”—she pointed to the large wolf studying him intensely—“is Galven. This is Johann and Carlon Narkain.” The two men nodded as if noticing him for the first time. Appearing for its introduction, a white ferret poked its head from Johann’s vest, pink eyes inspecting the new human. Pallia jabbed a thumb at the new arrival. “And, of course, Goose.” The ferret squeaked in response to its name.

  Silence fell over the camp. Finally, Pallia asked, “And you are ...?”

  He responded instinctively. “Conner Stonefield,” then bit his lip. Too late. He noted the expression on Carlon’s face, the clue he needed to puzzle together what he already feared. Conner dropped his head and sighed. “I suppose you know me as Vault.�
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  This seemed to please the woman. She nodded. “You are a hard person to catch up with.”

  Conner sighed again, this time in resignation. Well, at least there were no more pretenses. He preferred it that way. He studied the woman in return. “Where is your other comrade?” He got a partial answer from Carlon’s surprised look. So there was someone else. “I hope he was not injured in the avalanche,” he probed.

  “No, he’s fine,” Johann responded with a smile.

  Pallia rewarded him with a scathing look. Johann looked away.

  Well, it was clear who was in charge. But given the feel of newness in their relationships, maybe the missing man was the true leader, which begged a vital question. Where was he?

  Yet again, Pallia studied the boy with admiration, certain he was no rube. Within a few minutes, he had extracted more information about the small troop than she would have willingly given before his safe return. But that was not her concern. The lad was well past exhaustion and sporting a nasty head wound. An injured, weary captive would slow them down. “You should get some sleep, Conner. We will start back to Cravenrock with first rays. If I have your promise you will not try to escape, I will not be forced to tie you up. Do I have your promise?”

  The boy grinned wryly. “I hate when people ask me to make a promise I can’t keep.”

  It was not at all the answer Pallia expected. “Very well. Carlon, please take care of our guest.” She tossed the younger brother several long leather strips, then departed to scan the perimeter and place dead branches at strategic points to alarm them of anything coming into the camp. The boy was alone, but with his luck, she was not going to leave anything to chance.

  His ankles and wrists tightly bound by the leather strips, Conner adjusted his weight against the boulder. He had never been a gambler, but for the first time, he’d seen no reason not to take a chance. And it paid off. An unbound prisoner would have been watched closely throughout the night, promise or no. But one secured hand and foot? Well, that was a different situation.

  Strategically positioning his head, he closed his eyes to slits, watching the three trackers prepare the camp with a weariness Conner felt throughout his own body. Pallia assigned Carlon to take first watch, so the man reluctantly shuffled off toward the road. Before long, the other two forms were breathing rhythmically, with the large, gray wolf stretched out before Pallia.

  The several days Conner had spent locked up in Cravenrock’s undercity with Kriston had left the two with little to do, so the young thief had shown Conner how to tie, and more importantly untie, various types of knots. According to Kriston, the simple trapper’s knot was used by trappers to hang drying pelts on long strings. It was also the type Carlon had used on him. Watching the forms for any sign of movement, he pushed his elbows together. The straps loosened. He worked at the dangling knot for several minutes before it fell away. Easy as growing weeds, he thought, fighting back a triumphant smile.

  A successful getaway was going to require using a few of the clerical spells he had been taught, so this was a good time to test a theory. After working blood back into his fingers, he whispered the Stealth spell, “Ora eftos kryptoichos,” then waited to see if he had been detected. He was pleased to discover there were no clerics among his captors. His eyes on Carlon by the road, Conner pulled his feet toward him, releasing the knot but leaving the straps dangling about his ankles.

  This was where his escape plan got fuzzy. Slipping away into the dark would not work. Worse, if he failed, he would not get a second chance. To stay awake and work through his anxiety, he practiced tying various knots in the leather strap that moments before had bound his wrists. Kriston, the little kleptomaniac, would surely have had a plan by then. The Stealth spell would not last long, so he would need to act soon. What he needed was a distraction to allow him a chance to slip away.

  As if on cue, a large branch snapped near the riverbank farther north. Galven caught the sound too and leaped up, crouching, large, white fangs flickering in the firelight. Pallia was up a moment later with her large sword in hand.

  When the other sleeping form did not move, Pallia kicked it hard, hissing in frustration. “Get up. We may have company.”

  Johann flailed in his blanket for a moment, disoriented by the rude awakening, then stumbled from his roll in alarm. He pulled a large knife from his waistband, his head swiveling side to side in an effort to locate the unseen enemy. Another branch snapped, louder and closer. Carlon noticed Pallia’s alarm and started back, but she signaled him to stay by the road. Sword at the ready, Galven at her side, and a groggy Johann on her heels, Pallia cautiously pressed north.

  While all three’s attention was on whatever was making noise, Conner incanted the ancient words to the Cloak spell, “Ora eftos apokryptofanos.” Snatching up his backpack, he disappeared over the boulder heading south, running like a man possessed.

  He decided staying along the riverbank was less risky than taking to the road above. He danced nimbly between boulders and over wet rocks glistening in Erebus’s full light. Occasionally, he tripped on a rock or stumbled into the stream. His palms soon were bruised and bloody. But he kept his legs churning.

  Conner came to a shallow, rocky section of the stream and crossed to the other side, hoping to bewilder his pursuers, though his heart held no illusion such tactics would work for long. His head began to throb again, pounding with each beat of his racing heart. Still, on he ran.

  Carlon was so enthralled with what his comrades heard that he failed to notice their captive vanish into the night. When he did glance back toward the campfire, he blinked, then sprinted to where the only remaining traces of Vault were the strips of leather he had used to bind the boy. He may be slow of wit, but he knew well that Morgas would hold him personally responsible for Vault’s escape. The drama playing out on the other side of the fire forgotten, Carlon leaped upon the boulder. The moonlit traces of the boy’s footprints along the rocky riverbed were all he needed to take up the chase. Carlon never glanced back.

  Galven growled irritably, sensing Pallia’s frustration, then licked his muzzle, for once unsure what to do. He waited for his bond’s dark form to decide.

  Following the sounds to the north had produced nothing, raising concerns that they were meant as a distraction. Pallia and Johann returned to find the camp deserted. Pallia snatched up the leather straps she had given Carlon to bind Conner, noting the dozen various knots running the length of the cord. So the boy was toying with them, mocking the group’s attempts to return him to the Assassin. Worse, he might have gathered enough information about his pursuers to keep them at bay. When they caught him next time, she would personally hobble his hands and feet together until he was back in the Assassin’s charge.

  Johann ran to the road, then headed south in hopes of keeping Conner to the stream.

  Pallia signaled to Galven. Tracing Conner and Carlon’s tracks through the riverbed, they took up the hunt once more.

  The sounds of footsteps behind had been growing steadily louder for half an hour, but Conner refused to yield. Though his head throbbed with each step, fear kept his legs moving. But soon, he realized even fear would not be enough. If he could no longer count on outrunning his pursuer, then he would stand and fight. And he would need to make his stand before his energy was completely sapped.

  Staggering to a halt, Conner reached down and hefted a long branch. It would have to do. Winded and worn, he turned and drove one end of the stick into the loose dirt, his feet spread wide as a statement of defiance.

  This time, he would not be taken so easily. The realization of it all ending here, so far from home before he had been bonded, filled him with pangs of sadness. Erebus was nearly overhead, casting eerie shadows about him. Still, he waited, footsteps nearing.

  By the time Carlon appeared between two large trees, he was prepared for whatever the Cosmos had planned. Carlon pulled up hard, his surprise expression visible in the shadowy light.

  Cautiousl
y, the man drew a knife and came in slow. Conner waited, eyes measuring each stealthy step, looking for an opening. Two paces away, Conner moved, putting all his reserves into the only strike he would get. Holding the staff near one end, he whipped it over his head as he spun about. Extending his arm, he fired the weapon at the man. Conner thought, having surprised Carlon several times already, such a strategy would not work. So when it did, Conner was more shocked than Carlon. The tip of the makeshift staff struck Carlon’s extended hand, sending his blade careening into the night. Unfortunately, Conner had aimed for Carlon’s head. The stick continued on its course, whirling out of Conner’s weak grip and striking the man on the shoulder.

  Carlon staggered from the force of the impact. But the astonished look on Carlon’s face vanished, eyes narrowing with rage. Shaking his knife hand, Carlon snatched up Conner’s weapon. In a fashion similar to Conner, he tested its weight and stepped forward. Only Carlon began to spin the stick expertly in his hands.

  Carlon had never been so humiliated. He was fully prepared to take the blame for letting the boy escape, but Vault’s surprise attack was an affront to his decency. Besides, the knife had been a gift from his deceased father. He wanted nothing more than to break the stick over the boy’s bandaged head.

  It was only the thought of further humiliation in telling Morgas he had disobeyed his master’s command to return Vault alive that stayed his actions. But he would need to subdue the boy until the others arrived. He stepped forward, picking Vault’s forehead to be his target—just enough to subjugate the feisty lad.