The Scarlet Dragon (The Witching World Book 5)

by Lucia Ashta

  I could only imagine how the townspeople of Dillbasin would have reacted to us if we were possessed of our usual elegance. We hadn’t had the chance to change clothing or groom ourselves since the fierce battle with Count Washur. We slept on meager cots last night instead of the accustomed comfort of feather mattresses. And yet, as we rode through the main street of town atop our fine horses, I realized that to these poor people, we seemed like royalty.

  It took forever to get through town, even though the town wasn’t that large. Each desolate stare prolonged the journey. By the time we finally exited the dilapidated gates of Dillbasin, I felt almost as miserable as they did.

  Mordecai and Grand-mère continued far ahead of us, winding their way down the rough road to the cave where they left hidden Grand-mère’s firedrake, Mathieu, and the dragon. When the path became wide enough for Brave and I to ride side by side, he drew close.

  “That was pretty awful, wouldn’t you say?” I said.

  “I would, though it was no worse than the previous times,” Brave said.

  “I hadn’t realized you’d been to Dillbasin before.”

  “Many times. Father insisted that I accompany him on matters of the estate. He said I needed to learn how to handle myself in case anything were to happen to him.” Although they both knew nothing would.

  “Is it always as bad?”

  “Yes. Dillbasin is part of my father’s feudal lands.”

  “Oh,” I said. That explained a lot.

  Brave didn’t offer anything more. I proceeded, albeit cautiously. Brave was only just beginning to open up to us. I still didn’t know if how he felt about his father had changed much. After all, despite all that his father had done to him, he was still his father, and the man with whom he’d spent his entire life. “I presume that your father isn’t a kind and benevolent overlord?”

  “He is not.” Brave’s reply was curt, but not angry. I took that as a good sign, but didn’t pursue the topic any further. I knew little of politics. Still, I knew enough to understand that the rule of an unjust feudal overlord would be more than sufficient cause for the anguish displayed so close to the surface in his vassals. All of them—the men, women, and children—were likely overworked and undercompensated.

  I allowed the conversation to lapse into silence out of respect for Brave and the turmoil that necessarily accompanied the uprooting he was currently undergoing. Sir Lancelot, ever aware of etiquette, seemed to sense what I did and subdued his usual garrulousness.

  By the time we spotted Mordecai and Grand-mère’s equines off the side of the road, the calm gait of our horses and the greater distance between us and Dillbasin’s sorrow had done much to soothe my unsettled nerves. I dismounted dreamily and automatically went to the horses to tether them to mine. Undoubtedly, Mordecai would again accompany Grand-mère and his patients on the dragon’s back.

  I tensed sharply, startling from my reverie of nothing in particular. “What is it Sir Lancelot?” I asked. His talons dug into my flesh, even through my dense cloak and undergarments.

  “The dragon,” Sir Lancelot squeaked out.

  “Oh, thank goodness.” I relaxed. “I thought it was something terrible.”

  “Didn’t you hear me? It is something terrible. It’s a dragon.”

  “Will you please loosen your grip on my shoulder, Sir Lancelot?”

  “I’m sorry, Lady Clara. I forgot myself.”

  “It’s all right. There’s nothing to be afraid of. This dragon isn’t dangerous. Grand-mère rides him. He responds to her wishes.”

  “I’ve seen your grandmother atop the ferocious beast. However, that doesn’t, by any means, imply that he isn’t dangerous.”

  I turned my head to look over my shoulder and gave the owl an is-it-really-as-bad-as-all-that look.

  The owl’s already intent wide-yellow-eyed look grew even more so. “Lady Clara, it would appear that you and I should review the dangers of dragons. You seem to be unaware of how truly dangerous they are.”

  “All right. I’d love to learn more. However, isn’t it possible that this could be a good dragon?”

  “This dragon? The one previously kept by the Undead Dark Lord himself? No. No way. Besides, I have yet to meet or hear of a good dragon. They’re always vicious. They’re always terrible. And they’ll always kill you if you allow them the chance.”

  My expression was skeptical.

  “I hope you learn the truth of my words before any danger comes to you, Lady Clara. Dragons aren’t creatures to be taken lightly or underestimated in any way. Underestimating them may well cost you your life.”

  From where I stood, I peeked inside the dark recesses of the large cave. I couldn’t make out anything. “I was able to walk past the dragon and enter the castle, after he swatted at us of course. You probably didn’t see it if the impact of the fall injured you. The dragon didn’t do anything to me as I passed him.”

  “Then it’s worth exploring the possibility that you might have inherited some of Lady Ariadne’s magical skill with dragons. What she’s able to do with this dragon isn’t common. Quite the contrary, it’s absolutely extraordinary. I’ve never heard of this level of adeptness with dragons before. Please be careful, Lady Clara.”

  “All right, Sir Lancelot. I will be.” And when I grabbed the bridles of the two horses, I was. I trained my eyes on the cave to make sure the dragon was still nowhere in sight, and I tied the horses to mine without turning my back to the pitch black mouth of the cave. I mounted my horse again and retreated several feet from the cave for the peace of mind of my little friend, if for nothing else. When an enormous pair of bright yellow eyes shone from the recesses of the cave, I was glad for the added distance between us. The eyes were frightening, and when the rest of the dragon’s face came into the light, they didn’t become any less so. Maybe Sir Lancelot had a point. I backed the horses up another few steps.

  But when Grand-mère bounded out of the cave behind the dragon, with Mathieu, Mordecai, and Marcelo and Sylvia’s floating bodies close behind her, Sir Lancelot’s fear seemed unfounded. Grand-mère didn’t appear to have a care in the world. She nuzzled Mathieu and whispered something meant only for him. Then Mathieu stepped away and Grand-mère went to the dragon.

  With evident appreciation, she trailed a soft, unblemished hand across scales that sparkled in the sun. The deep red of the scales looked almost black in the light of late afternoon, lending the dragon an altogether magical appearance—as if being a mythical dragon weren’t enough. Grand-mère walked beside the dragon’s body, petting him all the way, careful always to caress his scales in congruence with their downward direction. She reached his head and leaned further into him, the skin of her face against the scarlet of his own.

  Sir Lancelot momentarily tightened his hold on my shoulder, and I winced with the sharp pain. He didn’t apologize. He was too concerned for Grand-mère’s safety to consider good manners as he normally did.

  Just as she did with Mathieu, Grand-mère cooed into the dragon’s ear. I watched the dragon’s eyes with astonishment as contentment broadcast itself across them. I could plainly see that at least part of what Sir Lancelot said was accurate: Grand-mère had an extraordinary way with these mythical creatures.

  I’d never experienced Sir Lancelot to be wrong. Perhaps he was right about all of it … which could only mean that there might be something to his idea that I too had a propensity toward working with these magical animals.

  As sprite as any teenager, Grand-mère hoisted herself onto the dragon’s broad back. She was at home atop this gargantuan creature. That truth announced itself all over her radiant face.

  My grandmother was not only alive and better than ever, but she was also a dragon rider. With her long copper hair falling to her waist in feminine curls and honey eyes that seemed to glow, she gave the impression of being exactly who she was: an enchantress. A gentle breeze brewed and lifted her hair so that it flew out behind her. She was a dragon charmer and a firedrake charme
r, and I suspected that she was also a man charmer based on the look of pure adoration that adorned Mordecai’s face.

  I would have laughed to see this old magician evidently infatuated if it were not for the fact that I, too, was in awe. Grand-mère left little room for any other reaction, and I suspected without looking to confirm, that Brave was also staring at her. Those women of the nobility that lamented about the failing beauty that comes with age over tea and biscuits had obviously never met Grand-mère.

  She was either oblivious to the attention or so accustomed to it that it didn’t faze her. She looked down at Mordecai. “Are you coming?”

  “Oh. Um. Yes. Ah. I’m coming,” Mordecai said. I worked hard to conceal my amusement. I’d never seen Mordecai so flustered as he hovered first Marcelo’s body, and then Sylvia’s, over to the dragon’s back. Then he grabbed hold of the dragon’s wing and lifted himself, but slipped. On the second try, he made it up, looking every bit the rattled practically-immortal magician. The beads in his long beard seemed to jingle long after he settled behind Grand-mère.

  She began to direct the dragon. Brave and I retreated quickly to give the dragon the wide berth he needed to maneuver. As Brave and I backtracked toward the road, I noticed the trampled bushes and trees for the first time. The dragon had trodden them on his initial approach into the cave.

  “Do you know the way to Bundry?” Grand-mère asked.

  “No,” I said while Brave said, “Yes.”

  “Good,” Grand-mère said. “If we get separated for any reason, we’ll meet you there. It will be good to get the patients into the comfort and warmth of a home. My dragon friend can’t fly too slowly or he loses his momentum, and he can’t fly too low or he’ll frighten half the countryside. We’ll have to fly ahead of you for big stretches, but we’ll circle around to check on you as often as we can.”

  Mordecai nodded. “Until we are within Bundry’s walls, we cannot assume that we’re safe. Ride fast and remain alert.” He gave Brave and me a wary glance that could have been because of the elusive threat of Count Washur, or it could have been because he wasn’t yet certain of Brave’s allegiance. It looked for a moment as if Mordecai were about to change his mind, that he thought better of it and was about to disembark, realizing that he shouldn’t leave me alone with Brave and no real protection against attack whilst we were out of sight from the dragon.

  But then the giant rose into the air. Mordecai hastily encircled his arms around Grand-mère’s waist, throwing a concerned look at his patients over his shoulder. By the time he looked toward us again, we had shrunken to the size of dolls. When the dragon finally achieved smooth flight with his enormous wingspan, the firedrake Mathieu took off after them.

  We couldn’t follow yet, however. It took Brave and I several minutes to calm our horses. I was grateful that these weren’t ordinary horses, or it would have taken longer. Most of them had accompanied me on that first dreadful climb of the mountain that approached Irele, when Marcelo lay dying, strapped to the cart in back. It was in large part due to the horses’ tireless efforts and compassionate understanding far superior to that usually attributed to animals that Marcelo survived the climb with time for Mordecai to bring him back from death.

  Here we were again, with Marcelo close to death.

  When the horses regained their composure, Brave led the way. I thought the journey might actually be nice. We should have enough daylight to complete most of the journey before dusk. The chill that accompanied early spring was presently absent, yet the crisp, clean smell of the air enveloped us. Gertrude was settling into sleep behind me on my saddle, curled into the folds of my cloak to keep from sliding, and Sir Lancelot was finally relaxed.

  Perhaps my experiences of the last few years should have prepared me for what was waiting for us once the dragon was fully out of sight. Maybe I should have known that the calm on the open road was deceptively easy to come by.

  Whether I knew of it or not, it still came. And nothing we did would stop it.

  Chapter 13

  Brave and I were making good progress. Mindful of Mordecai and Grand-mère’s warnings, we urged the horses into a comfortable gallop. Our plan was to ride these horses until they tired, and then give them a break by switching them out with the ones that were tethered to my horse. By rotating them in and out of their riders, we should be able to arrive in Bundry before they tired too greatly.

  Things were looking hopeful. Tonight I’d sleep in the comfort of a castle, knowing that Mordecai had every tool at his disposal to assist in Marcelo and Sylvia’s recovery. Gertrude would sleep at my side and, even though she was still in the body of the cat Mina, it would be a great strain off my heart to share space with her in safety.

  Gertrude and I would have Grand-mère’s care and protection. After being deprived of her company for so many years, I was looking forward to having her back in our lives. Our group was far too injured and transfigured to fit any definition of idealistic circumstances, but it would be a relief to have survived as well as we had. The Count of Washur was a formidable opponent. We were fortunate that our injuries weren’t worse.

  Conversation was limited by the necessities of our pace. Anything that attempted to surpass brevity, quickly proved not to be worthwhile. Brave and I settled into companionable silence. I was beginning to think I might learn to truly like Marcelo’s nephew, especially once he had the opportunity to discover who he really was, independently of his father’s coercion.

  For the first time in days, I found peace in the least likely of places. On the run from Count Washur and whatever evil compatriots he could find to do his bidding, I was actually enjoying myself. Even Sir Lancelot relaxed on my shoulder, settling into the cyclical bounce of riding, and circling ahead of us for brief stints to feel the wind in his wings.

  The calm I experienced was reflected back at me in our surroundings. The trees were old and weathered. They stood as a testament to the fleeting nature of what we interpret as difficulty. Most problems pass with time. Those that don’t, have a purpose all their own. The trees didn’t resist the winds of life. They allowed them to mold their essence and to shape their ways. And so they endured, a product of the unpredictability of life. Their limbs, gnarled yet strong, were stalwart.

  The hills we passed were covered in sprouting green. Nature was reawakening. Virginal buds dotted bare branches in the place of leaves. Animals nurtured their hidden young, preparing them for the richness and dangers of living. Streams ran with the crisp purity of melting snow that traversed long and winding paths down the mountains.

  Everywhere there was excitement at the potential life held. It was infectious. And even while those I loved battled for their own survival somewhere in the skies up ahead, my heartbeat pulsed strongly though my veins, urging me to make the most of it, to grasp at the beauty and the power that lay hidden in plain sight.

  A smile lit my face. The crisp breeze colored my cheeks a healthy pink. My copper hair reflected the sun in red flashes of brilliance.

  I turned to share in my exuberance with Brave. His smile indicated he might feel the same. I was looking into his eyes when something shifted. I saw my own reaction reflected in his eyes: confusion, apprehension, and a reluctant need for readiness for whatever might now come at us.

  “Sir Lancelot. Back onto my shoulder. Now,” I called out. I reached behind me to scoop Gertrude up from her place on the saddle, startling her from sleep.

  We urged our horses into a full canter even before we looked over our shoulders for our attackers. There’d been no particular sound or image that signaled an impending attack. Yet both Brave and I had sensed it when others less attuned to the subtle undercurrents of existence might have missed it.

  We tore across the road. My eyes held fixed to the course in front of us, scanning the skies for signs of Grand-mère’s dragon. I held Gertrude pinned to my chest. Sir Lancelot’s talons dug into my shoulder painfully, but held him steady.

  I dipped my head down and angl
ed my body forward, urging my horse to gain more speed. I didn’t yet know what we were running from, but I knew in that part of my heart that just knew things that I’d better run fast.

  From the side of my eyes I noticed Brave, dipped low in a position similar to mine, looking behind us from beneath his arm. “See anything?” I yelled to be heard above the din of stampeding animals.

  “Yes. Fifteen. Maybe twenty. Men on horses.” Brave yelled back, each sentence sounding out in fragments between hoof falls. “Circling from. All sides. Behind us.”

  Moments passed while the danger of our circumstances hit, jostling into place within me with each bone-rattling jounce.

  “Can you do anything?” Brave asked.

  Brave’s magic was still bound, and only Marcelo could unbind it. Could I do anything to save us? I didn’t know. Maybe.

  “My magic is difficult. To control.”

  “You have to try.”

  I nodded knowing that Brave couldn’t see my affirmation, and that he wouldn’t be able to distinguish it from my bouncing even if he could. My nodding was for me. I could do this. I’d faced down aggressors before, and now I was more aware of my capabilities than before the battle at Washur. Hadn’t I flown to save my sister? Certainly I could save her—and the rest of us—one more time.

  The horses were breathing heavily already, but they were courageous co-conspirators to our mission. Our pursuers hadn’t gained distance on us yet. Our horses set a mighty pace.

  I was in the midst of fantasizing about our ability to outrun those that would harm us until Grand-mère circled the dragon back when I saw something that cut the dream short. There wouldn’t be enough time for the dragon to snatch the riders from their horses with his monstrous claws, or to breathe fire to send Count Washur’s collaborators scampering home.

  We were encircled. Riders had cropped up on the road ahead of us. They were no more than specks of dirt along a dirt road, but each stride made the specks grow larger. The distance between our horses would grow narrower until we collided.