Dance of the Dragon Sorceress [Tangere Tales 3]

by Heather Rainier

  Before they’d set out earlier, she’d decided it was a “he” after checking his posterior. She had no idea what exactly he was, so she hadn’t known what to look for. He’d settled the matter, though, when he’d curled his tail around his nether bits and grunted at her as if to say, Here now, what are you about?

  She paused to munch on a cracker, watching the structure, searching for signs of occupation. The only movement was the water coursing from the waterfall and surrounding rivulets. There might be a river at the base where she could refill her water bottle.

  Judging by the position of the sun in the sky, if she left right away she’d have enough time to reach the top of the path she’d spotted, leading up the side of the hill to the base of the structure.

  That was a relief because it would mean not having to climb and search for a route up the steep incline. But it might also mean she was visible to anyone watching.

  The thought sent a chill up her spine, but the promise of shelter in case more hail or worse weather came was more tempting. She’d been stuck out in a hailstorm once and didn’t want to repeat the experience, certainly didn’t want Flappy to go through that.

  Taking one last look around, memorizing landmarks so she could find her way back later, she set off through the clearing, determined to enjoy the downhill trek through the lush forest while it lasted.

  What a story she would have to tell Angel and Caresse when she finally found her way back to the campsite.

  Chapter Two

  Basile Vitoricus stood in the shadows of the library loft with Lord Violet the Resolute, leader of the Knights of the Order of the Dragon, looking out over the cavernous dormitory.

  “We found her thus when we returned from our search this afternoon,” Violet said quietly. “She hasn’t moved. Neither has he.”

  Down below were seven large beds lined up alongside each other. Formerly inhabited by monks who had been disbanded and exiled by the queen when she’d seized the throne, the large, supposedly abandoned space was now the secret location of the Knights of the Order of the Dragon.

  The Order had been formed many generations before by past kings of the Western Kingdom. Their mission once upon a time had been to serve as the unifying link between the people of Tangere and the land of the dragons, the Eastern Kingdom, beyond the Unsunderable Cliffs. In recent times, their mission was to serve as the protectors of the dragons, circumventing the work of the legion of Dragon Huntsmen who served the Queen. Claiming the dragons were predators bent on wiping out the human inhabitants of Tangere, her primary goals were to kill every grown dragon and to capture for her own heinous uses every baby dragon born to the inhabitants of the Eastern Kingdom. The younger, the better.

  Basile watched the witch sleep. “She had the heir with her the whole time.”

  Innocent and beguiling in her somnolent state, yet she bedded down with a dragon. Albeit a baby dragon, but soon to be the king of all dragons, not just in lineage but also in size and strength—if he lived. The thought hardened his resolve, even as it sent an involuntary shiver up his spine.

  The dragons could’ve lived separately from the humans, beyond their unclimbable cliffs, but they still believed in the alliance of old and wanted their young to be taught, for a time at least, by the Knights. It was a burden and an honor that Basile felt very strongly about, even though he was not officially a member of the Order, nor had ever been a dragon huntsmen. He longed for peace between the Western and Eastern kingdoms, a mere dream as long as Draconia held power.

  This new stranger in their midst must be quite a woman, for the little beasty was presently curled up in her long black hair, having made a cozy nest for himself among the curls. But she could also be the heir’s, and the Order’s, undoing.

  Sighing softly in her sleep, she curled a little tighter under the spell cloth that covered her. Or at least that was what he assumed it was. The intricate circular pattern must signify something. Clearly, it wasn’t an invisibility cloak because there she was, laid out on Sir Bleu’s neatly made bed.

  “Bleu likes things just so,” Lord Violet said with the hint of amusement in his tone. “There will undoubtedly be wrinkles.”

  “And repercussions.” Basile smiled. “He’s too set in his ways. Wrinkles may be the least of our problems when she awakens.”

  She scrunched her shoulders and wrapped an arm around the dragon, corralling him to her. Her lips, ruby red and enticingly full, scrunched up in an adorable pout before she relaxed again and fell deeper asleep.

  Violet turned to him, an eyebrow raised in question. The expression was even more noticeable, given the scar that split his brow, stretching from mid-forehead to the base of his cheekbone. He was fortunate to not be blind in that eye. “You don’t want to awaken her now?”

  “No,” Basile said, shaking his head, loath to disturb the adorable sight she presented, wanting to delay the reality that she could be a threat. “It does no harm to allow her and the dragonling to rest for now, and we need the time to formulate a plan.”

  Violet’s lip curled into a crooked half-smile. “You’re usually so single-minded, ready to meet challenges head-on. Sure you don’t want to wake her and interrogate her right this minute?”

  “No. If she has powers or was sent by Draconia—”

  Violet scoffed, and what passed for laughter rumbled in his chest. He obviously was already under her spell if he believed she was innocent without even speaking to her.

  “It hasn’t occurred to you that she could be a tangere sent by Draconia?” Basile believed she was innocent but was at least trying to appear objective.

  “I got a good look at her while you were standing there, staring at her like a love-struck simpleton.”

  “I was not. I was watching for signs of evil enchantments.”

  “Whatever makes you feel better, my prince. I’ve set a guard to watch her for the time being. Mordo will alert us if there is any change.”

  They descended the main staircase leading to the reception hall, Violet walking beside him proud and true as he had with Basile’s father in the days of the king. They found most of the knights gathered in the dining hall. While they waited on the stragglers, Basile described what they’d seen in the forest.

  “We can’t allow harm to befall the young dragon,” Sir Vert said as he flicked a silver coin in the air and caught it without breaking eye contact with Basile. Born and raised in the vast forest around the abbey, Vert had a soft place in his heart for the dragons. “He is our highest priority. I say she—whoever she is—wakes up in chains. If she’s in the dungeon, then she knows nothing of our purpose. She can prove herself innocent, if in fact she is.”

  Sir Indigo leaned against the long banquet table in the hall and shook his head. “Place a woman in chains, simply because we don’t know her purpose in coming here? I don’t like it.” His defense of the woman, even though he hadn’t set eyes on her, was no surprise to Basile.

  “Who is to say that chains would even hold her, if she turns out to be in tangere form? Why have we not questioned her yet?” Sir Rouge relied on facts, and it was obvious he was ready to awaken her and question her right now and evident in the way he paced the hall. “Why do we hesitate to question her?”

  Basile said, “If she is a tangere, and her true form is deadly, we will need every available hand and sword. We’re waiting for Bleu, and Rainger is around here somewhere.”

  “Yet she is up there with only a couple of guards in attendance?” Sir Jaune asked, standing at the edge of the group, ready to act. “Where is Bleu?”

  “He was with me on the return through the rear entrance,” Sir Orange replied as he sharpened the head of an arrow. “He wanted to investigate movement. Probably just a deer foraging but you know how he is.”

  Violet gave Sir Orange a tap on the back of the head. “You know how Tiggi hates it when we have weapons at the table.”

  Sir Orange grinned and put the arrow away, seeming unconcerned. “Bleu should be here in m
oments. Until then, can someone tell me how a woman snuck into the abbey unseen and came to be sleeping in our bedchamber?”

  Basile said, “She has a sort of cloak, maybe it’s a spell cloth, perhaps—”

  “A simple bit of textiles she made to keep the sun and rain off of her head,” Violet added.

  Basile continued, “It may be that she can work charms with it to make her invisible.”

  “Then she’d still be invisible, now wouldn’t she?” Sir Indigo asked, stopping Jaune as he edged closer to the corridor leading back to the stairs. “You know as well as I do, if it turns out she is a simple mortal woman and you put her in chains and probably scared her, then you’ll never forgive yourselves.”

  “Who,” Sir Bleu spit angrily as he burst into the room. “Who—” Blustering so badly his face was turning red, he pointed to the stairs. Just then, an enormous, furry, monstrous mountain of a dog raced past him, knocking him aside.

  “What the hell is that?” Lord Violet said, staring the enormous canine down as it stood at the fireplace and then shook its wooly coat out, sending water droplets flying everywhere and raising steam out of the fireplace.

  “It’s raining outside, I take it?” Indigo asked with a wry tone as he held out an open palm to the dog, which came close enough to sniff before giving him a play bow.

  “Yes. And it’s a dog, obviously,” Bleu muttered. “I found it outside the abbey, chasing a rabbit. It’s hungry, and we can always use a good watchdog, so I let it in. So what? Now, can someone please tell me—”

  The dog had the audacity to lift its upper body and place its paws on the table and stare at them as if it were part of the group.

  Violet scowled at the beast when a globule of its drool dripped from its heavy jowls onto the table. “Orange, would you mind taking this creature to the kitchen to be fed. It looks hungry enough to eat us right in our seats.”

  Rouge grimaced and waved his hand in front of his face. “Did the mongrel just fart? Get it out of here!”

  Orange chuckled and then held his nose. Grabbing the loose rope collar, he said, “Come, gassy mongrel, I will see that Tiggi gives you something to eat. And Rouge is right. If you stink the place up, you won’t be welcome.”

  “Arr,” the dog complained as it was dragged from the room.

  “Never mind the fucking dog!” Bleu pointed toward the stairs. “There is an intruder in our private chambers.”

  “Lower your damned voice,” Lord Violet replied, his tone one of challenge.

  Bleu’s jaw jutted as he breathed in and out through his nose. “The guard, Geron, would not let me enter, says someone is in our bedchamber, and-and-and—”

  “And what?” Basile asked, concerned that she had exceeded all their worries and was even now morphing into some hideous beast, readying to destroy them all.

  “Geron said he is-is—

  “Is what?” Violet asked. “Spit it out, man!”

  “He is sleeping in my bed!”

  Sir Vert snorted loudly with laughter. “Sleeping in your bed? Touching your things. And no doubt wrinkling your covers, denting your pillow, maybe even farting, you obsessive bear.”

  “You are saying that merely to frustrate me! I like things just so, and if what you say is true, then the fool will pay.”

  “Relax, Bleu,” Violet said as he clapped the agitated knight on the shoulder. “Consider it your sacrifice in this war. She will fix your covers when she awakens, I am sure.”

  “She?” Bleu bit out. “It is a she? In our abbey? What is a woman doing here? It’s not safe. The dragon huntsmen, the dragons. The heir is still missing!”

  “She’s currently babysitting the heir.”

  “She’s what?” the knights all asked at once.

  “I was getting to that part,” Basile said. “She found the heir and brought him here.”

  “How did she know to bring him here?” Sir Rouge asked. “Was she seeking our stronghold, or was she bringing him to safety? And you wanted to put her in chains?”

  “Yes, but is she truly just a woman?” Rainger asked as he joined them. “I felt the spell she cast upon us, practically from the moment we first saw her. Didn’t you, Basile?”

  “I did. But I’m looking at this from all sides.” He was trying to think like his father had, to be objective.

  Would that his father had been more objective the first time he’d laid eyes on Draconia.

  “Yes, it is true that Draconia could’ve sent her, and she could well be a tangere, but can you for one moment imagine that Draconia would allow someone, in true form or in tangere manifestation, to be that beautiful?”

  “You were fooled by a pretty countenance?” Sir Jaune muttered.

  Violet held up a hand to interject. “Not fooled, simply observing and making a point. Draconia is as vain as she is power hungry. I was judging the woman’s appearance from a distance. If you saw her in the woods you were a bit closer, yes, Basile? Rainger?”

  Basile nodded. “She is beautiful, possibly more beautiful than Draconia. Certainly more…harmless in demeanor.” The memory of Draconia touching him, tracing her sharp nails up his biceps gave him a sudden chill. That such beauty and such evil could occupy the same space was unfathomable and made him no longer trust anything or anyone at face value.

  Crossing his arms over his wide chest, Sir Rouge said, “But what if that’s her appeal—to lure the heir close and beguile her way into our midst so Draconia’s armies can locate and attack us?”

  “Always with the questions,” Violet murmured. “But they are good questions. Now that we are all here, this is what I propose…”

  He spelled out their plan, a good one, and then as a group, they ascended the stairs. The dog would’ve followed them, except Orange once again intervened, tying it to the railing at the ground floor landing. It stood there, watching them avidly.

  They could have taken the corridor at the first landing, which led to the main entrance of the sleeping chamber, where Geron posted. Instead, Basile directed them to take the next flight, as well, and then they followed him down to the library. The expansive room had a loft-like landing and a circular staircase at one end, which overlooked the sleeping chamber below. With the heavy draperies over the tall windows drawn as they were, the loft was hidden in shadows. They normally read by the illumination of the fireplace or candlelight, but even those had been extinguished.

  Mordo, the other guard, stood at the railing overlooking the bedchamber and nodded to them when they entered. He beckoned to them and pointed down below.

  He whispered, “She only just awoke, sires. She’s a fair little creature to look upon. Not sure why you wanted a guard. The little mite has stayed right near her.”

  Basile clasped hands with him and nodded his thanks. “We’ll take it from here, Mordo.”

  “Let me know if I may help again, sir. She’s a happy sight for sore eyes, if you know what I mean.”

  Rainger grinned and shook his head, whispering, “Another man under her spell.”

  Basile turned at an odd noise, and they all stood silent as the tomb at the loft railing, watching her movements below.

  She’d folded the spell cloth, and the heir now sat upon it, his gaze rapt as he watched her while she tidied the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles she’d made in the spread.

  Bleu reached for the hilt of his dagger when she pulled her duffel bag to her and dug around in the pockets.

  “Here we go, this is perfect,” she said in a musical tone. “I’m glad I had these. It’s the least we can do, right?”

  “Nurk,” the baby dragon chirped, bobbing its head.

  She went to every bedside and put a lump of something on each pillow, taking a second to tidy each one in turn.

  “What is she doing?” Rainger whispered at his side. “Tidying? She’s not small enough to be a brownie.”

  “Shh. I can’t hear her.”

  She rubbed her hands together with glee as she returned on quick feet to Bleu’s bed.
Bleu made a tiny growling sound when she climbed on the bed with her little boots made of brown leather and laced with red ties just above her ankle.

  She sat down in the middle of the bed, legs crossed in a pretzel shape. The baby dragon clambered over and climbed the sleeve of her tunic until he was perched on her shoulder, watching every move her delicate hands made as she dug around in the duffel.

  “I know that mini speaker is in here somewhere. We’ll have to ration the battery until we can find a plug to charge my player, though. I doubt they have any here,” she said, looking around at the spare accommodations. “But at least we’re safe from the weather.”

  “She chatters on so, doesn’t she?” Rainger said without taking his eyes from her.

  “Shh.”

  “Mister McFlapperson, you’ll look back on this day as the day your best friend introduced you to reggae. Thank me later.” She held up the little box she’d been fiddling with and attached a tiny cube to it. “You are about to have the thrill of your life.”

  Along with the other men lined up at the railing, Basile leaned forward slightly, half fearing that she was about to work some evil magic, but entranced nonetheless.

  From literally out of nowhere, a drum began to play, sounding hollow and slightly tinny. The baby dragon pulled its long neck back so its head scrunched on his shoulders, and then he squawked.

  “Nurk!”

  “I know, right?” she replied agreeably. “This is my favorite Bob Marley song.”

  The dragon squawked again, hopped down from her shoulder, and bobbed his head in rhythm with the drums.

  Basile couldn’t make out the words being sung, but he could tell it was simple music, not some chant to cast an evil spell capable of destroying them.