Call of the Dragonbonded_Book of Fire_The Dragonbonded Return

by JD Hart

  That left two possibilities. He remembered the night in the Palaver Room, when Estora Elflander told of Karlana Landcraft. Karlana was twelve when she was taken in by the Sorcerers Order because of her extraordinary abilities. Maybe this Caralynn had such powers. But considering how she’d conducted herself last night ... He shook his head. No, if he was a betting man, he would put all his money on the other possibility—the girl was the pampered daughter of a rich and powerful nobleman. Either there was a reward for returning a runaway or her coddling parents would pay a sizeable ransom to her kidnappers. It was the only scenario that fit all the facts.

  The side of Annabelle’s head ached, but she was not about to complain over something she deserved. She should have sensed the fighter coming at her. For the third time since leaving Graystone, Annabelle had failed the princess. The throbbing pain was her reminder of what happened when she did not stay alert.

  Hemera was breaking over the plains. A few scattered clouds along the eastern horizon reflected the orange glow as the star evaporated the morning dew, breathing warm colors of life back into the plains. Plans never went off without some kind of trouble, so times like these brought her back to what was important—to remain calm and reflective, and enjoy life’s beauty when offered. Annabelle never needed plans to experience the wonderful rise of Hemera.

  In Hemera’s first rays, Annabelle examined the Eastlander at her side. Tall and lanky, with long hair, there might have been someone handsome under all the mud and skunk odor. But there was something more—he looked familiar. Years along the Borderlands had taught her to put every face to memory. At last, when she had placed his features, she decided to extract some information about the lad. “I believe Creeg’s Point is in the opposite direction.”

  Conner jumped as if pricked with a knife, then glanced sidelong at the Ranger with penetrating eyes. Frowning in concentration, he replied with a hint of suspicion, “I don’t recall that we’ve met. I think I would remember a Ranger.”

  Annabelle scanned the tall mountain peaks looming ahead. Peron was a streak in the sky. A cockatrice won’t give up her eggs if she knows you want them. No need to show too much interest, lest he became too guarded. She let the silence linger, noticing Veressa’s interest as well. “I nearly shot you and a rather large Eastlander out of a tree in a wooded area along Brighom Road a fortnight back. That was you, wasn’t it?” She noted a slight lurch in his otherwise graceful stride. A smile touched her lips.

  “I guess it’s good for all of us you didn’t. Otherwise, there’s no telling where your apprentice would be now.”

  Annabelle grimaced at his obvious skepticism, then noted that the boy had detected her reaction.

  “And you would be waking up, if you were lucky enough not to get your throat cut, without purse, pack, or pupil.” The lad scanned the southern horizon as if expecting someone to be chasing them. “I seriously don’t know why I risked my neck to pull you two out of such a situation.”

  Through the boy’s tongue lashing, Annabelle could see Veressa growing hotter, until it was more than the princess could take.

  Veressa rounded on him. “We would have been fine without your help. Everything was under control. And if you haven’t noticed, you are speaking to a master Ranger as if she were a commoner, so watch yourself!”

  “Enough!” Annabelle shouted at them both. The throbbing in her head would not take another outburst between her renegade companions, accusing each other of every aspect of the previous night’s calamity. Besides, Veressa’s heated interjections were preventing Annabelle from digging out what the Eastlander had discovered about Veressa’s true identity. She would not make the mistake of considering herself paranoid again. She had to consider the possibility that he was part of some elaborate façade working in concert with the thugs they had left behind. How else had he known of their attack? And why would an Eastlander think there was a need to come to the aid of ordermen? She had also witnessed how he had protected Veressa by reversing the Sorcerer’s spell. And there was the matter of his glowing eyes. Where had this freeman learned to use a spell reserved for Rangers and their guildsmen?

  Seeing the situation building for another heated round of arguing, Annabelle stepped in decisively. “Do you always speak your mind so openly?”

  “I do when there is injustice, whether perpetrated by thugs or by an ungrateful harpy!” He shot a glaring look over Annabelle’s shoulder.

  “A what?” Veressa’s voice went up an octave. She dropped her backpack. “All right, that’s it. If I had my bow, I’d end this right here.”

  The boy responded with a laugh, which developed an edge of hysteria.

  “Look!” He pointed a finger in the princess’s direction with a taste of anger. “In the past fortnight, I have been chased, mauled, beat up, arrested, stuck with a sword, shot at, and spelled. And for three days, I have endured the constant harassment of a”—he gestured vigorously in the air—“a thing wanting nothing more than to eat me for lunch. So threats from an insolent apprentice do not exactly frighten me.”

  Veressa stepped toward the boy, taking an ominous stance. “Oh, frightening you is the furthest thing from my mind.”

  Annabelle considered telling Conner that a prudent and wise man would be concerned about his well-being around this particular “apprentice.” Noting the determined look on Veressa’s face, however, she bit back the words. It was too late to offer him fair warning. Besides, maybe it was time this conflict came to a more conclusive end.

  Veressa took the opening.

  The girl shifted her feet and came at him, raising her arm in an awkward attempt of an attack. Conner fell for the ploy. Committed to blocking her unbalanced assault, the girl spun in a circle, shifting to a crouching position before him. Caught off guard by her speed, Conner pushed his other arm forward to block her changing attack. He could only look on as her moves played out in a single fluid motion.

  Completing her spin, she reached up, gripped his wrist hard, and twisted his hand downward, wrenching his elbow up. The pain took him off balance. Planting her left foot in front of his, she drove her shoulder into his stomach and twisted her left hip up with a quick snap. His light body was lifted from the ground. Reaching a horizontal position over her back, her legs uncoiled, forcing Conner’s hips and legs to follow the upward motion of his spine. A hard yank on his wrist sent his body in full rotation. Head, shoulders, buttocks, and legs slammed into the ground simultaneously, stealing any air left in his lungs.

  Deftly, Veressa released his wrist and walked away, snatching her pack as she passed Annabelle. She never looked to see if her preceptor followed.

  The Ranger hesitated, stepped to the boy’s side, and bent next to him. “For what it’s worth, I thank you for your assistance last night, Conner Stonefield.” She smiled kindly as he gasped his first breath. Veressa was out of range, yet still she whispered. “Caralynn does too, though she would never say so.” She gently patted his cheek, then trotted off after Veressa.

  When Annabelle caught up, Veressa spoke without looking to measure her preceptor’s reaction, not wanting to give the Eastlander any impressions she might be looking his way. “If he is from Creeg’s Point, what is he doing out here alone?”

  Annabelle was surprised the princess wanted to continue the conversation. “I would have thought it obvious considering his age.”

  Veressa grunted. “Well, I feel sorry for whatever unfortunate creature has to share its life with him.”

  It was several minutes before Conner could sit up. He painfully gulped air strong with the odor of skunk. Every muscle in his body ached and his headache had returned. He squinted toward the two silhouettes shrinking against the backdrop of the bright star. “Sure,” he breathed, rubbing stiffness from his neck. “Well met.”

  Entangled

  An hour after parting company with the Eastlander, the silence was still palpable. But Annabelle continued to hold her tongue. It was best to let the princess work off her anger at he
r own pace.

  Finally, Veressa broke the silence, still boiling. “A harpy! He called me an ungrateful harpy!” Annabelle did not reply. Finally, with a softer voice, she asked, “I’m not ungrateful, am I?” She stared at her preceptor. Veressa respected Annabelle because the Ranger never held back if something needed to be said.

  The teachable moment is lost on the sleeping unless a teacher is there to awaken the student, her own preceptor used to say. So Annabelle deflected the conversation in a different direction. “Why don’t you admit why you’re really angry?”

  Veressa turned away. It was often her response when she did not want to discuss anything that required a hard look at herself. “Whatever do you mean? It’s quite obvious why I’m angry.”

  “Of course it is. But you’re not saying it.” She waited for her statement to have full effect, a tactic she had picked up from observing the queen interacting with the girl. “You’re not angry because he interfered in our business. You’re angry because for once, a man has actually caught you in a situation requiring his assistance. You’re not even angry at him, Veressa. You’re angry at yourself and at your own vulnerabilities.” She was not done, but it was best to feed the girl in small bites.

  After a minute, she proceeded, this time delicately. “But even that is not all of it. I have seen you hold your own in a room full of noblemen and ordermen, then systematically dismember them to a man with eyes and tongue. But back there, for the first time, a man stood toe-to-toe with you, and you were helpless to do anything about it. So you used the argument as an excuse to physically attack him. You had to prove you were superior—and not to him, because he didn’t care either way. What’s unfortunate is he really did come to our rescue, and you treated him like ... well, like a commoner.” Annabelle threw the princess’s word back at her. There were times she disliked being the girl’s preceptor, but Veressa needed one if she was to become a truly great queen.

  Veressa gazed skyward to hide tears of embarrassment. She watched Peron dip and flutter carefree in the morning sky. Annabelle’s arrow had struck true. But Veressa could not chance her preceptor noticing there was more. The Eastlander had sheltered her from the Sorcerer’s attack and something had happened that shook her very core. She had lashed out in confusion and fear. Even now, she could feel the deep pulsating currents she shared with Conner. She could feel him climbing up a narrow trail carving its way deep into the mountains. She inhaled to hide the tension surging through her. At least there was some solace knowing he would never discover her true identity.

  Newfound Urgency

  After finding the trail that would take him back to Skye, Conner stopped near the summit of the first mountain. Hemera had burned away the remnants of cool morning air on the plains, so he was glad to be back in the highlands. Though the Rangers were lost among the green summer grass toward the eastern horizon, he could sense Caralynn. He shook his head at the stupidity of such a thought. All this time alone with that beast is making you nuts, Conner. He scoffed at himself for entertaining such foolishness. Coming upon a thin stream, Conner removed shirt and pants infused with the smell of rotten eggs and sulfur, tossed them down a ravine, then bathed before donning his last set of clean clothing. At least he had gotten the information he had sought—the location of the grandmaster Shaman Rollingsworth. Pushing away the infectious image of Caralynn’s blue eyes, he took the trail with a weariness greater than any he had known.

  Hemera was nearly overhead before Conner arrived back at the cavern. He expected to find his bond asleep, but instead the dragon lay stretched atop a large boulder above the entrance, his black body and wings molded against the warm rock. “Aren’t you up a bit early today?” Conner asked, but was disappointed when the facetious question was lost on the creature.

  “I considered flying south to meet you, but you did say you would return here,” Skye responded formally. He made no attempt to move from the boulder.

  Conner rummaged through his pack and dug out a ration and two apples. He would need to eat quickly, so he bit ravenously into an apple. “That’s okay. I passed a trail leading west just south of here. We will need to make our way to the southwest. But I’d rather you not create widespread hysteria across Griffinrock, so we’ll stick to the mountains as long as possible.”

  Skye did not bother to lift his head. “So you discovered where this great Shaman lives?”

  The dragon’s apathetic demeanor was grating on Conner’s nerves already, but Conner also sensed a strong undercurrent of excitement. He studied his bond with interest. “Yes. If we leave soon, we could arrive there the day after tomorrow.”

  Skye lifted his head and squinted at his bond. “What is that smell, Conner of Stonefield? How long has it been since you bathed?”

  Conner’s irritation deepened at the dragon’s formality given what they had endured the previous day. He looked innocently at the dragon. “What? Bouquet-of-skunk? Why it’s the latest craze among us humans.”

  Thankfully, this silenced further questions from the dragon, who was probably happy not to know any details about the strange human custom. Conner finished his meal in blissful silence.

  Conner jabbed a long stick at the burning embers of his meager fire, sending glowing sparks high into the black sky where a million stars winked at him. The waning face of Erebus was rising over the eastern mountains, casting the rocky landscape into deep grays. The gentle sounds of tree frogs and crickets filled the cool night air, while the noise of water rushing over river rocks below echoed up the gorge. He was well past exhaustion from hiking all day, and his stomach was full. Still, restlessness kept needed sleep at bay. “Do you miss your family, Skye?”

  Two glowing eyes coalesced in the darkness near him. It was the first time Conner had asked a question about the dragon’s heritage. “Cloudbenders are social dragons, Conner, more so than the other three families.” His gaze went to the northwest. “So yes, I miss my kind.”

  After a moment, Skye added, “But we do not have families as your kind. We are not attached to the need to see only those in close lineage as family. Our entire Cloudbender community is our family. Each member participates in sustaining communal life. One day I may have such responsibilities.”

  “But your name reflects your paternal lineage,” Conner noted with confusion.

  “Yes, and every dragon knows every other’s entire line going back to the Ancients. There is great honor in recognizing birthright, Conner.” Skye snort-sniffed a deep chuckle. “We live a long time, so we have short lines. My father’s father, Bello Cloudbender, was an Ancient.”

  “Was,” Conner repeated aloud. Conner expected to sense sadness through their link, but instead felt pleasure. Skye was happy Conner wanted to know about him. In some strange way, Conner was honoring the dragon with his questions.

  “There were eight ancient Cloudbenders made by the Shaman creator. Only four still breathe.”

  Conner remembered a name Skye had once used to call him. “What is a guivre?”

  The dragon snorted his pleasure at the question. “They are dragon hatchlings that live in the nursery of ash and mud. Once guivre grow wings, they become amphitheres.” Skye twitched as if from some distressing memory of his youth. “They are troublesome little nymphs requiring constant supervision by the Keepers. Those surviving their first molting become wyverns like me.”

  Conner considered mentioning that Skye was once one of those “troublesome little nymphs.” Too much like Pauli, the dragon surely paved a route to Trouble Lane. He realized he was humming the tune to “Riders of the Order.” “What do you know of the Dragonbonded?”

  Skye examined the stars overhead before speaking. “There is not much in our dragonsong about our bonding with humans. Little more is known about the Cloudbenders that bonded with humans. They spent very little time with the family after bonding. Our songs say this is because humans cannot survive in our den, though I have my doubts about that.”

  The dragon’s comment sounded suspi
ciously like stories Conner had heard about Dragonbonded, aloof and secret, disconnected from human society, wanting little to do with others’ affairs. Conner continued jabbing at the fire while calling forth what little he had heard about the legends. He wished he had paid more attention to the old tales.

  The dragon continued. “During your War of Breaking, the humans of the other orders feared the Dragonbonded as much as the common people revered them. They must have possessed truly amazing powers, for the Dragonbonded were few compared to the number of ordermen. And yet they brought about the end of your war.”

  Conner recited the words he had heard many times about the secretive order. “‘And yet with all their power, none possessed the will or desire to rule the lands.’” He lay back on his bedroll. “You said bonding with a dragon did not make one a Dragonbonded.”

  “So what does?” The dragon completed Conner’s thought. “I believe the Dragonbonded had to complete a test before they were accepted into their order. Those who failed were sent away, exiled, I think you would say. But I do not know what the test involved or why one was needed, Conner.”

  His incessant questioning was not going to quench his restlessness, so Conner let the night sounds tug at him, and he began to drift in and out of sleep. He imagined being one of those mysterious black-dressed Dragonbonded, six hundred years ago, respected by noblemen and serfs alike. He envisioned standing atop a white castle tower, waving the blood and ink flag of the Order of the Dragonbonded. At his side was the beautiful Ranger Caralynn with her bright blue eyes looking up at him in adoration while a mass of people cheered him from below.