The Summer Dragon

  “See, Malik? See?” I had to fight my urge to look him in the eyes.

  He watched me, motionless.

  Baby ate another strip of venison. So much food might not be a good idea, but it was the only weapon I possessed.

  Malik cocked his head slightly sideways.

  He looked down at himself, at the many arrows protruding out of his chest and legs. Then he lowered his head and put his nose to the bars of the cage. Baby stuck her nose through and licked him, forepaws touching his lips. He licked her in return, and growled deep in his throat, a pitch so low that I felt it more than heard it.

  He didn’t know he was doomed. He had only one thought in his mind: saving his offspring. He had never wrestled with the question of risking his life for his baby. There had never been a question. No question at all. His sacrifice was untainted by selfish desire.

  “Keirr,” he said, like the call of a hawk. His baby made a strange little honk that sounded almost like poppa, then licked his nose.

  Realization struck me. “Is that her name?” It had to be. Like an affectionate nickname: his little hawk. “Keirr,” I repeated. Malik and baby both looked at me.

  Sounds came from beyond the darkness, at the mouth of the cave: shouts and muted conversation, and the call of a dragon. The Harodhi leader had returned with his men. Had Darian escaped? Was he alive?

  Malik pulled back from the cage and turned away, growling menacingly again. His little hawk cried, reaching out through the bars, but he started up the path. Treading quietly. Choosing his battleground, away from Keirr. I didn’t doubt it.

  I had to get out of the cage, but it was lying entry-side down. Malik’s assault had pushed the door past its stops and into the cage. I wrenched it out of the way and stepped into the opening, then grabbed the lowest metal straps of the grid in front of me and lifted the cage with all my strength. The straps cut into my fingers. I was barely able to raise it an inch off the floor. Keirr whimpered behind me.

  I searched around me, desperate for something to use as a lever. There was nothing to hand. Nearby were some flat chunks of stone, though, fallen from the ceiling—the same material that the plateau was made of. I gathered several of them into the cage with me, and put the flattest one next to the edge of the doorway.

  The echoing voices were drawing nearer, curt, angry.

  I heaved on the cage again, lifting with my legs. When it was up, I pushed the rock under it with my toe before it could drop again. I put another, thicker rock in position, then lifted again. Baby retreated to the lower portion of the cage, which helped only a little. I managed to raise it another couple of inches, and pushed the next stone under it with my foot.

  Malik growled menacingly, now out of sight in the darkness.

  I placed another rock, lifted, pushed it into place. I had six inches of space now, but this was taking much too long. I needed a bigger stone. Suddenly baby was next to me, neck stretched out under the gap, testing the fit. I couldn’t let her escape. I pulled the blanket out of my knapsack quickly, the remaining meat and potatoes scattering, and threw it over her. She squealed in fear, but I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. “Shhh shhh shhh. Oh, little Keirr, don’t summon your poppa back here.” She struggled, but once I had her wings pinned to her side, she calmed down. It was a tactic we used in the aeries to move qitlings at need; darkness and the swaddling effect calmed them.

  I worked my knapsack up around her body, purring all the while, then drew the strings securely around her neck, leaving her head free. When I pulled the blanket back so she could look around, wide-eyed, she tried to peck at me with her needle-sharp teeth. I brushed the dirt off a strip of venison and offered that to her instead. After a moment, she took it and worked it over. I pulled the blanket back over her head.

  Then I heaved on the cage with everything I had. As the floor of the cage began to tip back toward horizontal, it became easier, but the metal straps cut into my fingers until they were slippery with blood. I groaned, pulling with all my strength. It inched up, inched up, the balance of weight nearing a tipping point. I pressed upward until the cage finally rocked back, and fell upright again with a loud clang. Baby cried out, but I purred quietly and reached into the blanket to stroke her head.

  The voices grew suddenly louder; the Harodhi had entered the inner chamber. They’d heard me. Growls rumbled in the entrance of the cave.

  I slung baby in my knapsack on my back, gathered up as much of the remaining venison as I could stick in my pockets, and stuffed a couple of potatoes into the pack with her.

  The voices grew angrier—they had discovered further carnage. I cocked and loaded my crossbow, retrieved my knife, and scanned about for anything else of value. The lantern would be of use—a shuttered type that allowed for a focused beam. Good. I didn’t want to illuminate myself, so I shuttered it quickly down to a narrow beam and pointed it backward. Its manufacture was a bit shoddy; I would have to be careful with it. They had to have lantern oil somewhere. A small keg without the grisly black stains looked promising. I sniffed at it, felt oil around the cork. Good. I hefted it under my arm and noticed a quiver of arrows on a makeshift stone bench. I slung that over my shoulder.

  I was starving, but I wasn’t going to touch the dragon meat. Something else caught my eye: a rolled up bit of parchment next to a leather scroll case, a bottle of ink, and a quill. Despite the urgency of the moment I was compelled to give it a look. I unrolled the scroll.

  The sketched cliffs and mountains seemed familiar, but when I recognized them my jaw dropped in terror. It was my home.

  The aeries of Riat were drawn in detail, as seen from the air. It was all there: the surrounding mountainscape, the pinnacle that the compound was built upon, connected by a bridge to the homestead on the clifftop, the village and farmlands below, even the river Wilding and the Roaring.

  My emotions tried to reject the truth even as my intellect acknowledged it: the Harodhi were spying on our aeries. They were taking qits, yes, but they were also planning an assault like the one that had taken Cuuloda. There could be no other explanation.

  I couldn’t stop shaking. This news had to make it out of here if nothing else did. With trembling hands, I rolled the parchment up and stuffed it into its leather quiver, then slung that on my back, too.

  The wheel track wound back down into deeper gloom. I didn’t know what was back there, but behind me were Horrors and an angry Malik. I would simply have to take my chances with the low road.

  Suddenly one of the Harodhi called out, but in Gurvaani, not his own speech, and I froze.

  “Dragon rider!” Was he addressing me?

  When the echoes died, he spoke again, in lower, more menacing tones. “We have your companion.”

  TWENTY

  WAS DARIAN ALIVE?

  I shuttered my lantern completely and peered out between two pillars of stone. At the far end of the cavern vague shapes moved back and forth in front of the faint vertical sliver that marked the entrance. Diffused light from the Harodhi’s lantern revealed the leader and his dragon front and center, and others spreading out across the width of the cavern. Again, boots crunched and cracked in the bed of bones.

  I saw Malik crouched eighty feet or so up the slope toward the mouth of the cave, but I doubted the Harodhi had seen him yet. Their eyes were still adjusting to the change in light, and their own lantern would keep them blind to anything beyond the circle of its glow. All the better for me.

  Then a shadow filled the opening from the outside and the Horror-dragon squeezed in through the crack. It reflected the lantern light strangely, the colors shining cold and green instead of orange and warm. Nothing about this creature was right.

  I didn’t spot Darian until the leader signaled, and one of his lieutenants pushed a small shape forward next to the boulder where the lantern sat.

  I couldn’t see him clearly. He was shoved to
his knees almost immediately. Was he hurt? His arms were bound behind his back, and he shook as if he was sobbing. But he was alive.

  “Do you hear me, dragon rider? I know you are there!” The leader’s voice had a raspy edge, as if he had been shouting a lot recently. He didn’t need to shout—every footfall, every foreign curse, every clank of metal sounded sharp and crisp. The last echoes rang in my ears.

  “I told you, I came alone.” Darian’s tremulous voice was as clear as if he was right next to me.

  The leader slapped him hard across the face. “I know you are lying,” he hissed. “You were with us when this carnage occurred. Your accomplice must have done it.”

  “It was the father of the dragon baby you stole.”

  Another sharp slap on the other side of Darian’s face silenced him. “A wild dragon does not put an arrow into a man. A wild dragon could not make this assault. You are here with a dragon rider.” His accent was thick with Harodhi tone and cadence.

  Darian spat, then stifled a sob. “I’m not. By Korruzon I swear I came alo—”

  Slap. “Do not speak that name. You are just a boy. Obviously you are here with someone. My men heard you shouting a name last night. Who is Maia?”

  Darian spat again. “You should order your men to clean out their ears.”

  The leader hoisted him up by his shirtfront. “You think you are funny, do you? You think that jokes will help you?” He threw Darian down again and kicked him several times, drawing grunts of pain. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, and aimed my crossbow at the leader. But it was a long shot—even if I hit him, Darian would still be bound and in their grasp. I didn’t know what to do.

  “Who is Maia?” The Harodhi leader kicked him again.

  Darian fought to his knees. “Maia is the greatest warrior in all of Gadia, and he will put your head on a pike to decorate his hall.”

  A lump rose in my throat at Darian’s courage.

  The leader pulled a curved dagger out of his belt, blood on it already. The blade flashed crimson, with a rippled cutting edge. Darian shrank back from it as the leader waved it slowly back and forth in front of his nose. “Why are you here?”

  Darian stared at the knife.

  “Why are you here?” The leader cuffed Darian’s ear for emphasis.

  Dare, please don’t make him mad.

  Darian’s chin rose. “Because we are looking for you, and now we have found you.”

  Without warning the Harodhi leader slashed him across the shoulder. Darian cried out in agony.

  “No!” I cried, my voice hoarse enough from screaming to be unidentifiable as female.

  The Harodhi turned my way again.

  “Ahh! So you are there after all. Show yourself, Maia, oh great warrior, or I will kill your companion.”

  I scolded myself for not seeing through his bluff. He’d never been sure whether I was here or not. Did he still think I was a dragon rider after hearing my voice?

  Malik was still and silent, biding his time—patient as only a predator could be.

  “Mowp?” said a little voice from behind me.

  “Hush, baby. Please,” I whispered.

  The leader stepped forward, and a lieutenant moved next to Darian with a curved sword held ready in both hands. “Come out, warrior, and show yourself. Perhaps I will let you both live if you cooperate.”

  I didn’t believe him for an instant. I understood now that he feared me still, and hoped to draw me out so he could decide how to deal with me. As long as he didn’t know who or what I was, I had an advantage. For the moment at least, Darian was his only defense against the wrath of what he thought to be a mounted warrior.

  But he turned and spoke in his brusque foreign tongue, and the Horror-dragon started forward with a deliberate, mechanical stride.

  All but the leader himself gave the beast wide berth. As it passed the lantern, I caught a glimpse of the rider’s face, and I shrank back in terror.

  Like the dragon, its flesh was black. Not beautiful like the ebony people who sometimes traveled through Gadia from the far west, but shiny, pitted, and cracked like the surface of a log in a fire. It was a charred outrage against nature, more like a burnt corpse than something living. And when it left the circle of the lantern light, my terror mounted.

  What I’d taken for strange green reflections on the beast’s armor were now visible as something else. Green light leaked out between the joints of the black metal on its neck and chest, from beneath the helmet, and through cracks and ragged tears in its skin. The rider’s eyes were holes revealing the same green flame within a grisly lantern, the fissured jaw and wasted nose defined by more green light shining up from within the robes.

  Baby squirmed in the knapsack.

  “Do you see, dragon rider?” The leader’s voice rang. “You cannot escape.”

  In desperation I called back to him, attempting to keep my voice pitched low, and playing up the hoarseness. “I’ll destroy your spoils! Pelts, bones, barrels and map. Let the boy go!” I held my breath and aimed my crossbow carefully.

  The leader glowered into what, for him, was darkness. He was little more than a silhouette from my vantage.

  “You think that I am concerned about these things? I already have what I came for. I don’t think I need to concern myself with you any longer. I think, instead, I will kill your boy and send my pet to finish with you. He is hungry. He hasn’t eaten since last—”

  I loosed my arrow. He cringed at the snap of my bow and the hiss of the arrow in flight, but I hadn’t aimed at him.

  “Darian! RUN!” I shouted, as the arrow smacked into the hip of the soldier standing over him. He lurched to his feet, driving his shoulder into the shocked man and knocking him over. In scrambling up, Darian stomped on the embedded arrow, eliciting a scream of agony, then kicked the man in the head. Shouts rose up all around as Darian kicked the lantern. The leader dodged its trajectory, but it shattered against a dragon’s nest and a small plume of flame leapt up. Deep shadows careened and flickered, confusing the terrain.

  “This way,” I screamed. “Run!”

  He sprinted into the blackness as best he could with his arms bound behind him. I saw his silhouette stumble and fall, but he got to his feet with a curse and continued. He was running blind. I unshuttered my lantern—only long enough to show him the path—then shrouded it again. More silhouettes followed him down the slope. Then the Horror-dragon and rider turned to intercept him.

  But they had turned their backs on an unseen foe. Malik leapt out of hiding onto the monster’s haunches with all four sets of talons, driving it to the ground. The beast tried to wheel about, but Malik hung on, raking at wings and back and biting with his teeth, his growls resounding through the cave like an entire pride of wildings. Sickly green light glowed out of the new wounds in the Horror’s flesh.

  Darian was past them in a shot, but crossbows clacked and snapped from the slope above. The Harodhi arrows splintered on stone all around.

  The Horror-rider turned in his saddle, leveled a crossbow at Malik, and loosed. Malik screeched in pain, but clawed up higher on the dragon’s back and swatted the crossbow out of his hands. The rider quickly released his harness and leapt from his mount’s back an instant before Malik raked the saddle.

  Darian’s footfalls neared. I opened the lantern again briefly to light his way, but there was a sickening thud, and a crossbow bolt pierced his calf. He cried out and stumbled. I closed the lantern again and, by the tiny bit of light it still cast, found Darian and dragged him into cover with me.

  “Darian—you’re alive.”

  “I’m shot, damn it.” He flinched when I reached for the slash on his shoulder. “Shot and cut and burned.”

  “Burned! How? Where?”

  “Get these ropes off me.”

  “Where are you burned?” I sawed at the ropes that bou
nd his arms.

  “That thing—it’s cold, like ice. Where it grabbed me it burned.”

  The sounds of dragon combat had grown louder, and snarls of pain punctuated the cracking of crossbows. I peeked around the pillar.

  The overturned lantern suddenly ignited the ancient, tinder-dry dragon’s nest. Light spread as the flames billowed. Malik still clawed at the Horror’s back furiously, but the beast rolled over, forcing Malik to leap aside. Other silhouettes picked their way down the slope.

  “We have to get out of here.” I gathered up the crossbows and the ammunition.

  Darian panted heavily, trying to control his pain. “Get out where? They’re blocking the only exit.”

  “No, these wheel tracks go deeper into the cave. I think the Harodhi might have come from this direction. I think we’re in the path of their exit.”

  “Sweet Korruzon, Maia! That’s what I love about you: The only way you get out of trouble is to get into deeper trouble.”

  “Avar, Darian. What about this?” I touched the arrow in his calf. The slender, dart-like arrowhead protruded from his shin in front.

  “No! Don’t touch it. Leave it alone. Let’s just go.”

  “Come on, then. This way.” I picked up the keg of lantern oil and pulled Darian to his feet. He winced.

  “I am going to knock you on your ass when we get home, kidling,” he said.

  “It’s good to see you, too.”

  I opened the shutters on the lantern just enough to light a sliver of track ahead of us, once we were beyond the fire’s light. “Hold this,” I said, handing it to Darian, “and put your arm over my shoulder.”

  “Mowp?” said a little voice from behind me.

  “Carefully!” I added.

  “What was that?”