Dragon's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 4)

by D J Salisbury

  She stopped eating to watch him. “I thought humans only ate cooked flesh.”

  “Normally we do.” He tore off a second bite and swallowed quickly. He’d vomit if he stopped to taste it. But it was warm, it wasn’t waxy, and it wasn’t utterly disgusting. “There’s nothing here to burn. Unless I can have some of your twigs?” Not that he could set them afire without a Hreshith bone to use as a power source.

  “Nonsense.” She reached into her nest and pulled out a crooked, three-foot-long stick. “You may use this as a spit. You must cook your meat with a will-fire.”

  What did a dragon know about cooking? He accepted the stick reluctantly, and thrust it into the liver just before the slippery mass escaped his grip. “I don’t know how to light a will-fire.”

  She stared at him while she chewed the second hind leg. “You do a perfectly decent will-light. Will-fire isn’t much harder.”

  “I’m a failure,” he whispered. “Trevor tried to teach me, but I never could get it right. I can create mage fire with help, but not real fire.”

  “ ‘I can’t’.” Leysamura snorted and waved one paw. “If you keep telling yourself that you can’t, you won’t. It’s your own will that directs your magic and limits it. You must tell yourself you can, and work at it until you do. Oh, there will be moments of pure inspiration, but until you become adept at the basics, those moments will be few.”

  The sandblasted dragon sounded just like Trevor. No, worse than Trevor. His teacher had always given instructions, even if they didn’t make sense. And Trevor had thousands of books they could refer to. Searching for the right books had been the best part of his lectures.

  Leysamura bit off the elk’s head and chewed it thoughtfully. “I really ought to give you lessons.”

  “Would you?” Viper jumped to his feet and waved the spitted liver, which started to slide away. He grabbed the organ and thrust it back down the stick. “I mean, I would be very grateful if you could. I’m into the third level of sorcery, but I’d like to learn more. I need to learn more.”

  “Indeed.” She chewed on the right foreleg, and nodded. “So be it. Start with the will-fire. Cast a will-light on the flat stone beside you. But instead of thinking about light, concentrate on heat.”

  Viper set the liver aside and glared at the rock. Heat instead of light. Could it be that simple? He’d always asked for light in the past.

  Yes, he could demand heat. But he needed a focus. He needed a chant.

  He sat stiffly and turned his thoughts inward.

  His command of Old Tongue had improved during his conversations with the dragon, but he needed the distinctive words found in Trevor’s books. He pulled together every scrap of the language he remembered and tried to compose a quatrain. Trevor told him once that Old Tongue mixed with poetry created stronger magic than any other speech. Or did he make that up? It didn’t matter. It worked for him.

  Fire. He concentrated on heat and flames. He focused all of his will onto the flat rock and chanted:

  “Geweorthe fire!

  “Ane heitr flaume.

  “Beornan on vindr,

  “Min firy baume.”

  A small fire appeared on the stone.

  His heart soared. He’d done it! How thundering amazing. Maybe someday he’d pass sorcery’s third level, after all.

  He dangled the spitted liver above the will-flame. Steam rose from the slithery, maroon meat. He hadn’t seen anything so beautiful in… in… days? However long he’d been trapped here.

  “Well done.” Leysamura licked a trickle of blood off her hand. “You know more of the old languages than I gave you credit. Did you realize you’re mixing several together with First Speech?”

  The little flame went out. “No, I hadn’t.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Adoriel child.” The dragon licked her claws. “As long as your chant works, the language and form are unimportant. Relight your fire. Your meal will never cook at this rate.”

  He repeated his chant and the fire reappeared. “I have a lot to learn.”

  Meat sizzled. Memories of his mother’s cooking chased through his mind. He barely heard the dragon’s words.

  “Of course you do. Children always have a lot to learn.” She tossed the elk’s torso into her mouth and chewed.

  He couldn’t stand it anymore. He pulled the liver away from the fire and sank his teeth into its side.

  Her eye-ridges flew up. “It has cooked so quickly?”

  He swallowed the bite of half-cooked liver. “It’s done enough.” He snatched another bite and held the spit over his will-fire.

  She just snorted.

  While he ate, Leysamura licked the blood off her hands and belly. Her gaze flicked from her grooming, to him, to the cavern opening. Finally she leaned toward him. “I’m ready to start the game.”

  “I’m not.” He set the charred stick aside and wiped his bloody hands down the outside of his coat. “Why don’t you teach me about magic instead?”

  The dragon laughed. “That might be entertaining. First tell me what you know.”

  That could take hours. But they’d be hours he wasn’t running for his life, or shivering alone in the dark. “Trevor started me out with natural history. But it wasn’t until he taught me chants that I felt I’d learned any magic.”

  Chapter 10.

  Lorel shaded her eyes against the afternoon sun. Trees towered over her everywhere but in the west, where she needed them. The path better turn south again soon. Or better yet, east, so she could go rescue the kid. Driving west made her head hurt.

  Almost time to make camp. Get the wagon across one more stream and she could get down from this miswoven bouncing bench.

  The fraying pillow didn’t help her sore butt one bit.

  Kyri-thing dozed on the footboards below the driver’s bench, taking up so much space she had to shove it aside every time it wiggled in its sleep. Weird how it came outside so often these days. Didn’t it trust them to keep going after the kid? It oughta know better by now.

  The wide stream at the bottom of the hill looked kinda pretty, all lined with moss and shiny rocks. But it rushed down the hillside like it had something it needed to do, someplace it had to go. It’d be disappointed to reach the ocean and discover it weren’t important after all. That was the story of her life, anyhow.

  On the other side, a big grassy meadow waited for her. Good fodder for the horses. No matter what Tsai or the toad said, she was gonna make camp there. This day had been long enough for a dozen worn-out warriors.

  She looked forward to scouting ahead tomorrow. Driving the wagon was thread-snipping boring. Weaver drowned in tears, she sure missed Night­shade.

  The legless lizard raised its head, looked at the noisy stream, and glanced at her. It slithered into the wagon and pulled the door shut from the inside.

  The latch clicked. It locked the fraying door? What a coward.

  “Ain’t you got no faith, toad?” She chuckled and rattled the reins.

  Water gurgled and whished like steam out of a roasting chicken. Blue and green and gold dragonflies hovered overhead, glittering like flying jewels. Birds darted between trees, with any luck laying eggs for her breakfast.

  The end of today’s boredom was in sight. She leaned back against the wagon’s door and stretched. Life was good.

  The team halted at the bank of the stream. Neither put a single hoof into the water.

  “Let’s go, earth children.” She jiggled the reins.

  The team stood still, like they’d walked up to a fence.

  She shook the reins until they bounced on their backs. “Move it, nags.”

  The horses turned their heads back to look at her.

  She grunted and clambered down from the driver’s seat. “Cowards.” She stalked down the slope and stood in front of the roans. “Don’t worry. I’ll lead you across.”

  Poppy laid her ears back. Periwinkle huffed at her.

  “None of that.” She tugged on their bridles. “Le
t’s go.”

  Periwinkle nudged her with his nose.

  She pushed his head away and wiped horse snot off her shoulder.

  Poppy stared across the stream like something over there was getting ready to eat her.

  What were they fussing about? All she saw was a wide stream with mossy banks. Lots of grass on the far side. Nothing worrisome at all.

  She turned back to the horses. “Come on, you thread-fraying nags. It ain’t deep. I walked it just yesterday. I only got wet to my waist.” Well, to her tits, but she wasn’t announcing that to no one.

  Both horses stared at her with their ears pinned tight to their skulls.

  “Listen, we’ll camp on the far side.” She tugged again on both bridles. “Think about all that grass. Lots to eat. Plenty to roll around in. Lots of time to sleep.”

  Both horses lifted their heads, forcing her to stand on her toes.

  “You stop that.” Shuttle on the Loom, these two were big. Too bad they wouldn’t let her ride them.

  She wasn’t small herself. The nags got tired of holding her up and lowered their chins a few inches.

  Lorel set her feet on the bank and leaned backwards, over the water.

  The nags ignored her.

  She yanked on the bridles.

  The horses shook their heads.

  She leaned back harder and thrust her boots against the mossy slope. “Come on!”

  The bank beneath her felt mushy. She shifted her weight and tried to move to firmer soil.

  The ground under her boots melted into mud.

  Slippery mud.

  “Coward crap!” She splashed to her knees in ice water. “Weaver’s blood!” She yanked on the bridles again and tried to pull herself upright.

  The bank collapsed under the team’s front hooves.

  The horses whinnied in protest, but slogged forward. They dragged her with them, still dangling from their bridles like a chunk of limp leather.

  But she was up to her shoulders in snow melt. “Weaver’s chamberpot, this water is cold!” She backpedaled and fought to regain her feet.

  Her boots skidded on slick rock. No matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t get her feet under her. “Loom-tangling nags.”

  The horses towed her, flat on her back, deeper into the icy stream.

  Water pushed her legs toward Periwinkle’s. Getting tangled up in either nag’s legs could take both horses down – on top of her. She yanked her knees up and wrapped her ankles around the wagon tongue, but her butt dragged in the ice melt. She battled to keep her face above water. She didn’t dare let go of the bridles.

  The wagon rattled like it was about to fall apart.

  The horses trudged forward. Now up to their chests in icy water, they lowered their heads and pulled harder.

  She caught a shallow breath before they dunked her below the surface. Her hips thudded against lumpy rocks. Weaver’s cold toes, now her butt was gonna be bruised clear up her back.

  Thick, blue-gray legs churned beside her head. Their chins brushed the surface of the stream.

  Her chest was getting tight. How long would they keep her down here? She tried to pull herself upward.

  The team lifted their heads, yanking her face out of the water.

  She coughed and clung to their bridles. Was there any way she could get hold of a harness strap? She needed to get higher before they dunked her again.

  Her hands were getting numb. She had to do something soon. But her fingers refused to let go of the bridle straps.

  Caught by the current, the wagon spun sideways.

  Lorel closed her eyes. Weaver, please don’t let the overgrown wheel­barrow keel over. If it did, they’d all be swept back to the ocean. In a thousand little bits.

  The horses plodded forward. Their knees cleared the stream. A few steps later their fetlocks dripped water and their hooves dug into wet moss.

  Her butt slid over slimy rocks, soft moss, and finally, warm dry grass.

  The wagon’s front wheels caught in the rocks. Groaning and rattling, the whole wagon straightened out until it was directly behind the team, where it belonged.

  The roans trudged forward. They towed her up the bank and kept on dragging her until they reached the middle of the meadow.

  With a long sigh, the horses stopped.

  Lorel pried her fingers off the bridles and her ankles off the wagon’s tongue. She collapsed flat on her back and gazed blankly the huge hooves on either side of her face.

  Poppy shook herself from forelock to tail, rattling the harness and showering Lorel with cold water.

  She closed her eyes. When the droplets stopped, she peeked.

  Periwinkle waited until Poppy was finished. Then he shook himself, spraying her with more cold water.

  Wasn’t as if she’d get any wetter.

  Both horses lowered their muzzles and grazed as though they’d never crossed a stream in their lives. Huge teeth chomped at the grass around her head.

  Weaver drowned in tears. Her whole body was so limp she might never move again.

  No. Sing to the Weaver. She was still alive. The kid’s precious wagon never turned over. Everything was fine.

  Kyri-thing inched its head over the edge of the driver’s seat. It gawked down at her and blinked a bunch of times. “Is the anchor injured?”

  “The anchor is just fine, toad.” Lorel pushed her sopping hair out of her face. She reached out with both hands and scratched the horses’ chins with gentle fingers. “The anchor is just fine.”

  The anchor oughta get her butt moving and unharness the team. And she would, as soon as she stopped shaking.

  The wiggler went on staring at her. “If this one is superfluous, it shall pursue victuals.”

  She was pretty sure it wanted to go hunting, seeing as it always did when they camped. “Sure thing, toad.” She didn’t need it hanging around. It wasn’t good for nothing, anyhow.

  It slithered to the ground and squirmed off into the trees.

  The words that critter used. ‘Victuals’ was the sort of thing her grandma liked to say. Scary that she was starting to understand its chatter.

  Tsai rode over the hill on the far side of the meadow. “Too Tall! Are you hurt?” She kicked Sumach’s ribs, and they galloped up to the wagon. “What happened?”

  Lorel sighed. “I went swimming.” Would be too hard to explain what really happened. Too humiliating.

  “Yeah, right.” Tsai slid off her mare and trotted closer. “You, the team, and the wagon?”

  “But not the toad.” Fraying toad could’ve stretched clear across that little stream. Probably wasn’t strong enough to help her, though. For looking so scary, it was pretty wimpy.

  “I’ll unharness the horses.” Tsai stepped between the team, grabbed Lorel’s hands, and tried to pull her up. “Get inside and put on some dry clothes.”

  “Gotta make camp first.” Trouble was, she was shaking so hard she could barely sit up.

  “After you’re dry.” Tsai gave up on tugging her upwards. “There’s a good spot over there. After you’re dressed you can come help me.”

  “Right.” Lorel grabbed Periwinkle’s collar and dragged herself to her feet.

  But Tsai had to prop her up so she could climb up to the driver’s seat. And hold the door open so she could crawl under it.

  And Tsai had to help her change out of her wet clothes.

  “What’s wrong with me? I just got a little wet.”

  “Battle fatigue.” Tsai yanked open Lorel’s clothes chest and pulled out her last clean shirt. “Farouh Nighthawk said something about a new and terrifying experience knocking the sap out of a warrior. Don’t remember the details, I’m afraid.”

  “But I wasn’t scared, just kinda helpless.” And real embarrassed.

  Tsai snorted. “Probably the first time in your life you felt downright helpless.”

  Had to admit, it didn’t happen often.

  Tsai draped her wet clothes over the cold stove.

  Lo
rel dragged on dry trousers. Dirty dry trousers. The kid would have a litter of piglets if he saw her dressed like this. Not that she needed to worry about his nagging any time soon.

  Something thudded in the kid’s private cupboard. What was that? She reached for the knob.

  “Don’t open it.” Tsai dove for her hand.

  Too late. The cupboard door opened.

  A little pile of chewed-up leather bits jumped out. What on the Loom?

  Tsai screamed and leapt up to the upper bunk.

  Oh, yeah. “It’s just the kid’s old boot.” The one the serdil chewed up. She never did squeeze the whole story out of him.

  The tangle of brown leather and filthy wool hopped in little circles on the floor. Wasn’t much floor inside the miswoven wagon, so it couldn’t go far.

  “I don’t care what it is.” Tsai pushed the toad’s magic weapons to the back of the bed and stretched out on the kid’s bunk. “I’m not coming down until you lock it up.”

  “It won’t hurt you.” She didn’t think so, anyway. Anything that belonged to the kid was pretty easygoing.

  “Lock the bog-drowned thing up!”

  “Oh, all right.” Lorel pounced on the wiggly thing, snatched it up, and shoved it back in the cupboard. She slammed the door. Hard. “Happy? Come on. We got work to do.”

  Tsai pouted at her, but slid down to the floor and hightailed it out under the door.

  Lorel shook her head and dug through her clothes chest for the jacket she’d given up as too small. Getting squished was better than shivering all night. Real warriors never shivered.

  Tsai had Poppy unharnessed by the time Lorel climbed out of the wagon. Between them, they got both roans and Sumach decently groomed before the sun went down, but they had to scramble to get camp set up. Finding wood in the dark was a pain in the shins. And knees. And hands. Those fraying pinecones had blood-woven sharp spines.

  But eventually they collected enough wood for a campfire. “Go grab some matches, would you?” She was almost too tired to climb into the wagon again.

  Tsai stared at her like she’d jumped off the Shuttle. “You said Viper has a stash in his cupboard.”