Adara saw the door of the farmhouse burst open. The other two riders rushed out, and ran for their dragons. One of them was struggling into his pants as he ran. He was barechested.
The black dragon roared, and its fire came blazing up at them. Adara felt the searing blast of heat, and a shudder went through the ice dragon as the flame played along its belly. Then it craned its long neck around, and fixed its baleful empty eyes upon the enemy, and opened its frost-rimed jaws. Out from among its icy teeth its breath came streaming, and that breath was pale and cold.
It touched the left wing of the coal-black dragon beneath them, and the dark beast gave a shrill cry of pain, and when it beat its wings again, the frost-covered wing broke in two. Dragon and dragonrider began to fall.
The ice dragon breathed again.
They were frozen and dead before they hit the ground.
The rust-colored dragon was flying at them, and the dragon the color of blood with its barechested rider. Adara’s ears were filled with their angry roaring, and she could feel their hot breath around her, and see the air shimmering with heat, and smell the stink of sulfur.
Two long swords of fire crossed in midair, but neither touched the ice dragon, though it shriveled in the heat, and water flew from it like rain whenever it beat its wings.
The blood-colored dragon flew too close, and the breath of the ice dragon blasted the rider. His bare chest turned blue before Adara’s eyes, and moisture condensed on him in an instant, covering him with frost. He screamed, and died, and fell from his mount, though his harness hand remained behind, frozen to the neck of his dragon. The ice dragon closed on it, wings screaming the secret song of winter, and a blast of flame met a blast of cold. The ice dragon shuddered once again, and twisted away, dripping. The other dragon died.
But the last dragonrider was behind them now, the enemy in full armor on the dragon whose scales were the brown of rust. Adara screamed, and even as she did the fire enveloped the ice dragon’s wing. It was gone in less than an instant, but the wing was gone with it, melted, destroyed.
The ice dragon’s remaining wing beat wildly to slow its plunge, but it came to earth with an awful crash. Its legs shattered beneath it, and its wing snapped in two places, and the impact of the landing threw Adara from its back. She tumbled to the soft earth of the field, and rolled, and struggled up, bruised but whole.
The ice dragon seemed very small now, and very broken. Its long neck sank wearily to the ground, and its head rested amid the wheat.
The enemy dragonrider came swooping in, roaring with triumph. The dragon’s eyes burned. The man flourished his lance and shouted.
The ice dragon painfully raised its head once more, and made the only sound that Adara ever heard it make: a terrible thin cry full of melancholy, like the sound the north wind makes when it moves around the towers and battlements of the white castles that stand empty in the land of always-winter.
When the cry had faded, the ice dragon sent cold into the world one final time: a long smoking blue-white stream of cold that was full of snow and stillness and the end of all living things. The dragonrider flew right into it, still brandishing whip and lance. Adara watched him crash.
Then she was running, away from the fields, back to the house and her family within, running as fast as she could, running and panting and crying all the while like a seven year old.
Her father had been nailed to the bedroom wall. They had wanted him to watch while they took their turns with Teri. Adara did not know what to do, but she untied Teri, whose tears had dried by then, and they freed Geoff, and then they got their father down. Teri nursed him and cleaned out his wounds. When his eyes opened and he saw Adara, he smiled. She hugged him very hard, and cried for him.
By night he said he was fit enough to travel. They crept away under cover of darkness, and took the king’s road south.
Her family asked no questions then, in those hours of darkness and fear. But later, when they were safe in the south, there were questions endlessly. Adara gave them the best answers she could. But none of them ever believed her, except for Geoff, and he grew out of it when he got older. She was only seven, after all, and she did not understand that ice dragons are never seen in summer, and cannot be tamed nor ridden.
Besides, when they left the house that night, there was no ice dragon to be seen. Only the huge corpses of three war dragons, and the smaller bodies of three dragonriders in black-and-orange. And a pond that had never been there before, a small quiet pool where the water was very cold. They had walked around it carefully, headed toward the road.
Their father worked for another farmer for three years in the south. His hands were never as strong as they had been, before the nails had been pounded through them, but he made up for that with the strength of his back and his arms, and his determination. He saved whatever he could, and he seemed happy. “Hal is gone, and my land,” he would tell Adara, “and I am sad for that. But it is all right. I have my daughter back.” For the winter was gone from her now, and she smiled and laughed and even wept like other little girls.
Three years after they had fled, the king’s army routed the enemy in a great battle, and the king’s dragons burned the foreign capital. In the peace that followed, the northern provinces changed hands once more. Teri had recaptured her spirit and married a young trader, and she remained in the south. Geoff and Adara returned with their father to the farm.
When the first frost came, all the ice lizards came out, just as they had always done. Adara watched them with a smile on her face, remembering the way it had been. But she did not try to touch them. They were cold and fragile little things, and the warmth of her hands would hurt them.
THE HIDDEN DRAGON
Barbara Delaplace
Sarah remembered exactly when she first saw the dragon. It was just a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, and vanished as soon as she turned her head to look directly at it, but she was sure of what she saw all the same: a flash of rust-colored scales on a snaky, spike-fringed tail that disappeared amongst the shrubbery.
It was a mistake turning her head. James was in the middle of one of his lectures and immediately noticed her inattention. “I expect you to listen to me when I’m talking to you, Sarah. It’s not time for another lesson in courteous behavior, is it?”
She instantly focused on him again, the all-too-familiar chill running down her back. “I’m sorry, James. I shouldn’t have let myself be distracted. It’s just something I saw out in the yard. It was so odd—” She bit her lip and stopped. Better not to have said anything at all. James was a practical man, as he often said. He had no time for fantasy or metaphysical mumbo jumbo.
“What do you think you saw?” His tone was reasonable, controlled, and her anxiety began to grow.
“Nothing, James, really.”
“You must have seen something, Sarah. You turned away from me. It must have been something very unusual for you to suddenly ignore me like that.” His voice was becoming harder.
“I thought I saw a deer.” She didn’t dare mention what she really thought she’d seen. “It must have been my imagination. I’m sorry, I won’t let it happen again.”
“A deer is hardly odd out here, Sarah. Our home is isolated and we see them fairly frequently. I think you’re lying to me.” His eyes were cold as he looked at her. “I won’t stand for that.”
The sessions in the bedroom were always worse if he accused her of lying. Better to tell the truth.
“It was just out of the corner of my eye. For a moment…” she paused.
“Yes?” His patience was an ominous presence.
“For a moment it looked like…like the tail of a dragon. But it couldn’t have been.” It couldn’t have been. “It had to have been a deer, and I just imagined the rest. I know better.”
She’d appeased him, slightly. His face wasn’t as terrifyingly frozen. “You have an overactive imagination, Sarah. We both know that. It’s something we have to work on together. Might-be
’s and what-if’s are simply a waste of time. I think we’d better discuss it in the bedroom.” He turned away.
“Yes, James.” He was right; he always was. It must have been her overactive imagination. She steeled herself and followed him.
Her back was too painful to let her sleep. So she waited until the sound of James’ breathing became slow and even—he always slept deeply after an evening session spent correcting her—then slipped quietly from the bedroom.
Once she reached the living room Sarah relaxed, alone and safe. For now, at least. The armchair was out of the question because of her back, so she settled cross-legged on the floor in front of the huge picture window overlooking the flower beds and the stream. The scene was so peaceful in the moonlight, as always. She sighed with pleasure. When she was alone and it was quiet and she could sit undisturbed—that was the best time of all.
She glanced across the lawn to the vegetable garden. She loved watching the deer that came to the brook to drink, but they were a constant threat to her salad greens and she kept a watchful eye on—
The dragon was there. Crouched quietly on the smooth lawn, neck gathered into a compact sinous curve, tail looping away in a graceful arc past the garden.
“No,” she whispered. There weren’t any such things as dragons. Maybe she was dreaming? But she could feel the shaggy texture of the rug under her hands, smell the cool freshness of the night air whispering in through the half-open window, hear the breeze rustling the leaves just outside. Her dreams never had this sharp reality of the senses.
The dragon uncoiled its neck and stretched out its head, seeming to test the air for some exotic scent. Moonlight shimmered off its scales, stealing away their daytime hues. Sarah watched the creature’s supple movements, her startled fear briefly forgotten as the massive head quested to and fro, then swung back toward the garden. It nosed gently among the herbs bordering the garden’s edges. She had an absurd impulse to shout at it to leave her favorite lavender alone, when it came out of its crouch and moved toward the house.
Sarah scrambled to her feet as her fear rushed back over her. She had to be imagining this! She backed away from the window, ready to run—where? part of her mind laughed hysterically. What protection was a window or a wall against a thing the size of a dragon? But it wasn’t real, another part of her mind shouted. She backed into the coffee table and lost her balance, reached out a steadying hand—
—and when she looked up the dragon had disappeared. The lawn was empty. Somehow that was even more discomfitting. She knew she should go to the window—that’s what James would do. No, he’d go outside, flashlight in hand, firmly resolved to show her the reality of the situation. There would be no dragon if James was here.
But she wasn’t James, and it was very late. She was tired and confused; her back throbbed dully. There were painkillers and sleeping pills in the bathroom. She decided to make use of them to get some sleep—then she wouldn’t have any more visions of mythical beasts in her yard.
The next morning James remarked solicitously on her wan appearance. “You should look after yourself better, Sarah—you’re not getting enough rest.”
“I feel fine, James.”
“All right, then. I’ll see you tonight.” He gave her an abstracted kiss, his mind already on the demands of his job in the city, and was out the door.
She heard the car drive off as she finished her coffee and sighed. She’d slept, but the dragon seemed to lurk in one corner of her mind, and her slumber was restless. Somehow she got the impression it was a sentinal, watching for something.…Enough of this! she thought briskly. It was only a dream. Or hallucination. Or something. What she needed was a friend to talk to.
James didn’t seem to appreciate how lonely she was out here. The place had been a good buy and was a good investment. But there were no neighbors, and she had no car to enable her to visit the city. (“After all, we really only need one car and I have to use it to get to work. Besides, you have lots to do, keeping the house and the garden shipshape. You don’t have time to waste gossiping with idle women.”) And somehow since their marriage, she’d lost track of her old friends, until now all she had, really, was her husband.
Oh, but this was self-indulgent nonsense, as James always said. He was right—she did have lots to do. And it wasn’t going to get done if she just sat here drinking coffee. She picked up the dishes, and headed for the sink. Time to get started on the “lots to do.”
She’d fully intended to start in on the dishes and the other housework, but when she glanced out the window and saw the dewy freshness of the morning, she couldn’t resist the temptation. She could do the housework later—now was the time to enjoy the garden.
Sarah loved growing things. Fortunately, James felt a well-kept garden added to the value of their home, so she could indulge in her love with a clear conscience. The warmth of the sun, the droning of the bees, the green and the fragrant scents, all combined to soothe her spirit and leave her in a tranquil frame of mind. She knelt to inspect some lambs’ ears. They were coming along nicely, and she stroked the soft furry leaves with pleasure.
She stood up and was about to go to the vegetable garden when she noticed a depression in the smooth expanse of grassy lawn. And there was another, some feet away from it. Muttering “moles” to herself, Sarah went over to inspect them. Each had several gouges in front of it, and there were a few dead leaves scattered about, their rusty-red color standing out sharply against the green background. She bent over to sweep them into her hand and realized she’d never seen any quite like these: long narrow ovals which gleamed dully, like leather. They were leathery in texture, too. Now what sort of plant would have leaves like that? A cactus, maybe? But cactus didn’t grow around here; there was too much rain. And conifers simply didn’t have needles like this.…
Then Sarah stopped deceiving herself and knew the depressions were footprints. And the leaves were scales.
So the dragon was real. Here’s the evidence I can hold in my hand. She felt a strange sense of relief. I’m not out of my mind, thank God! she thought. I really did see it. But of course that led to the next questions: Where did it come from? And why is it here?
Though she pondered all morning as she watered and weeded and pruned, she couldn’t seem to make sense of it. One thing she did know—there was no question of telling James about this, even though she had solid, tangible evidence of the dragon’s reality. She couldn’t; she didn’t know why. But something within her rose so strongly in protest that she didn’t dare even question the assumption.
By noon Sarah was finished in the garden. Her muscles ached; she was more than ready for a break. And the gurgling of the stream was a seductive reminder of how good the water would feel. Taking her cap off and wiping her perspiring face, she walked down the slope of the lawn to the brook. At the edge, she sat down and removed her sneakers.
“Ahhhhhh,” she sighed as she dabbled her bare feet into the cool water. “Just what the doctor ordered.” She leaned back but decided she’d be more comfortable on her stomach; the bruises on her back were still too sensitive. She rolled over and rested her chin on her forearms. It was so relaxing just listening to the sounds of the stream, not having to worry about anything. Not even James’ demands, said a tiny voice within.
The fugitive thought made her start guiltily. Why, James didn’t demand much. And it wasn’t as if she had anyone else to worry about, what with no children. Compared to the workload so many women carried these days, she was fortunate indeed that all she had to worry about was James.
She realized she was hearing more than just the sounds of the stream—there was also a sound of crunching or snapping, as if something was being broken in half. And it seemed to be coming from James’ workshop.
The workshop was some yards away from the house and shaded by several towering evergreens; an insulated line was strung from the house to provide electricity. Squirrels lived in the evergreens and had made both the workshop roof and the p
ower line part of their personal elevated highway. Probably one of them was simply working its way through a lunchtime pinecone, but Sarah thought she’d better check just in case it had decided to gnaw through the power line instead—a couple of the trees’ inhabitants had developed a regrettable taste for electrician’s tape. She got to her feet and picked up her abandoned sneakers, then walked back up the slope.
She was halfway up the hill when she realized the sound wasn’t coming from the roof of the workshop but rather midway between the two buildings. And it was too loud to be made by a snacking squirrel. Squirrels didn’t hiss to themselves either. Tension tightened her stomach as she reached the top. She had an uneasy feeling she knew what might be making the sounds.
Her premonition was right. The dragon had returned.
Its head lifted and turned sharply toward her as she appeared, and Sarah stepped back nervously. But it made no move toward her and simply regarded her calmly. As in her dreams, it gave a sense of purpose, of watching for something.
She noticed the creature seemed to have brightened in color since that first glimpse yesterday. Its body glowed a rich mahogany red, while the crest of spikes that ran the length of its neck and back were copper-colored in the sunlight. So were the powerful claws on each foot.
Sarah gasped in dismay when she realized what was between those front feet: one of James’ fly fishing rods, now a splintered ruin. Obviously that was the source of the snapping noises that had first attracted her attention. But how had the dragon gotten hold of it? Her glance darted to the workshop, where James kept his fishing tackle. Several rods leaned against the wall, while others were scattered about in the grass. Now she remembered; he’d been working on them yesterday evening. Keeping a watchful eye on the dragon, she went over and restored them to order.
But she wouldn’t be able to explain the broken rod to James. What could she do? Fear welled up inside her as she thought of what he might do. The only thing she could think of was to hide the remains of the rod in the garbage, and pretend—convincingly, she desperately hoped—that she had no idea what happened to it when he noticed it was gone. She knew he’d notice; by malicious chance the dragon had destroyed the one rod he’d be sure to miss, his favorite black graphite.
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