Dragon Horse War

by D. Jackson Leigh

  “I tried.” His words were clipped with urgency. “The patient is combative.”

  Alyssa laid a comforting hand on the warrior’s thigh, below the burn damage, and projected calm. “You need to let us help you breathe easier,” she said gently.

  But when the medic knelt with the intubation tube in his hand, the warrior raised her right hand. Her fingers had been completely burned off, but a weak blue flame rose from her palm. It was clearly a threat.

  “You have to let us help you,” Alyssa said. Each gasp sounded like it could be the woman’s last. She turned to Jael. “Maybe her ears are so damaged she can’t hear and understand that we’re trying to help.”

  Jael extinguished the fireball in her hand. Before she knelt at the wounded woman’s head, she already knew what she would learn when she probed her thoughts. Only another warrior would recognize a plea for the sweet release of death. Heedless of the charred skin and sightless eyes, she gently placed her fingertips at the woman’s temples.

  First Warrior?

  Her heart tore when recognition hit her. No. Not this one. She steeled herself. I am here.

  I…I did it. I bonded…a young filly…so beautiful.

  I knew you would. You were my most promising recruit.

  It felt…I can’t describe it. We lifted off and were flying, but Jason…above us…he fell…I tried…tried to catch him, and he pulled me off. Aria…my filly…was coming to catch me…an unbonded wild one got me first.

  Alyssa touched her shoulder. “We need to intubate now. Can you hold her hands?”

  No! The young woman’s chest heaved with the effort to breathe.

  They want to help. The ventilator will breathe for you.

  I…I can’t see. When I fell…I can’t feel my legs, but I can tell my back is all busted up…fingers gone. Please…I beg…a warrior’s death…help me…next life, another chance.

  Jael nodded. She’d asked the same in another life and her sergeant had mercifully complied. She silently summoned Specter. You have made me proud, my young warrior. I will be quick if you are sure. She felt the body under her hands relax.

  I am sure, First Warrior.

  Then I will ease your suffering and release you from this earthly life.

  She stood and drew a deep breath before looking into Alyssa’s eyes.

  “No.” Alyssa could sense it, but she couldn’t accept it. “It may take months, but I can save her. She would be disabled but alive.”

  “She understands that, but she is a warrior. She asks for release, and I have to honor that. She suffers with every minute that we delay.”

  Alyssa couldn’t stop the sob in her throat, but she backed away, pulling the medic with her. She couldn’t hear their telepathic exchange, but she felt the woman’s desperation fade even though her breathing had deteriorated to quick, shallow gasps. She’d honored the same request more than once when she worked in the hospice, but those were people who had no chance to survive, and she’d only shortened their suffering. Still, this was not her decision to make.

  Jael stood at the warrior’s head and Specter landed lightly near her feet. He spread his wings and ducked his head to touch his foreleg as Jael brought her fist to her left shoulder. A final salute. White-hot flame swirled in her palms as she raised her hands, and Specter’s ribs expanded as his lungs filled. The downed warrior exploded into flame, but they continued the inferno until Specter’s breath was expended and little more than charred bone fragments remained where the warrior had been.

  Jael’s face was a grim mask, and Alyssa went to her. Jael’s shields had never been so impenetrable. The silence was alarming, but Alyssa would not be dissuaded. She pressed her face to Jael’s neck and wrapped her arms tight around her body. Jael was stiff, her arms limp at her sides.

  “Who…who was it?” There were more than a hundred candidates, and Alyssa knew only the ones she’d treated in her clinic for training scrapes and burns. Just the same, she needed a name so she could mourn this one.

  A long minute passed, and Alyssa was beginning to think she wouldn’t answer. When she spoke, low and hoarse, Jael’s words were a swift dagger to her heart.

  “Bast. It was Bast.”

  “Do you know what my name means?”

  “No.”

  “It means born of the sun.” Bast held out her hand and a small fireball appeared over her palm. “I was born for this.”

  No, no, no. Not the young warrior so eager she’d begged Alyssa for an excruciating treatment so she could return to training quicker. Why hadn’t she refused? Bast would still be back at the main camp, recovering from her training injury.

  “If the First Warrior says it must be to protect The Collective, then I will not regret doing what must be done.”

  “I knew her,” Alyssa managed to choke out.

  Jael’s posture softened. Her arms closed around her, hands stroking, and Alyssa wept. She wept for the young life that had ended too early, for the raw pain she knew dwelled behind Jael’s shields, and for the misguided badly born who had forced them onto this tragic path.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “I have news about your young man, Kylie.”

  Kyle raised her eyes to her father’s. His gaze held no expression. “Will? Is he all right?” When Cyrus had summoned her and Ruth to his train car, she had an uneasy feeling it wasn’t for something good.

  “No. Those unnatural infidels apparently captured him and two others of our believers.” He glanced at Ruth, and she took Kylie’s hand in hers. “I regret to tell you that their funeral pyres were reported yesterday.”

  “They…they killed him? The Collective wouldn’t do that.” Kyle wouldn’t believe it. “They’re against violence. They wouldn’t take a life intentionally.”

  Cyrus cocked his head, his expression gloating. “You’re talking about the citizens who stormed our train, assaulted us, and stole our provisions.”

  Kyle bit back a retort. The Natural Order had stolen those supplies from the citizens. She didn’t believe Will was dead. She’d know it. Just like she felt somehow that her brother had passed to the next life but her mother hadn’t. Still, it would be better for her father to think she believed him. She leaned into Ruth and lowered her eyes. “Are you sure?” she whispered.

  Cyrus was about to answer when a knock sounded at the door. He blew out an impatient breath. “Come.”

  The door slid open and Simon, followed by a man Kyle recognized as one of his henchmen, entered.

  *

  They had flown back to the main camp and caught a few hours of sleep before heading off to the bonding camp. The arduous climb to the bonding encampment had finally silenced Will’s enthusiastic questions about dragon horses. Not that Michael minded answering them, but he was normally a solitary person and needed time alone to sort things out.

  He glanced over at Will. The day was sweltering hot even though the sun was only a few hours risen, and they’d both shed their shirts. Michael wore a racer-back undershirt to cover the surgical scars where he’d had his mammary glands removed for a more masculine chest. Will’s bare chest was smooth and muscled, like a Greek statue. A slash of dried mud flaked on his cheek, and his blond hair was short, but shaggy and in need of a trim. His square jaw and beard stubble a shade darker than his hair made him ruggedly handsome.

  Will would have been a formidable warrior if he’d been gifted. Apparently, he wasn’t. He hadn’t even blinked, however, when Michael and Diego had ignited the two funeral pyres with flames that shot from their hands. He told Michael later that his friend Kyle was a pyro, so he’d seen it before. Was Kyle another handsome male, maybe a lover? Michael mentally shrugged. What did he care anyway?

  Michael had never experienced an attraction—to male or female—that could overcome his insecurity about revealing his differently equipped body to another. He’d decided he was born third gender because he had a greater mission as a warrior. Jael had confided once that she’d never found a soul mate in all her lives.
A warrior’s life was not conducive to home and family, she said. But a warrior’s life was perfect for him.

  Still, the solid feel of Will against his back as they flew through the night, the accidental brush of Will’s beard against the back of his neck, and the scent of his sweat had been unsettling.

  Ahead, Diego halted and crouched. Michael put his finger to his lips in a signal to Will for silence. Diego turned and silently communicated with a series of hand movements, then melted into the forest. Michael whispered to Will, “Don’t say anything. Just follow my lead.”

  They could hear it now, something moving toward them. They waited until a man rounded a turn in the trail and slid to a startled halt.

  ‘Jumpin’ stars!” He slapped his hand to his chest. “You guys nearly sent me to my next life. I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone.”

  Michael eyed the man. “We didn’t anticipate anyone either. What brings you to this mountain, friend?”

  The man glanced about, obviously sizing up his options. He was outnumbered and they were in his path. His eyes found the dragon tattoo that curled around Michael’s bicep and shoulder, and he relaxed. “I’m Ricardo. You’re one of The Guard, aren’t you?”

  Michael didn’t answer and the man shrugged nonchalantly, like it didn’t matter.

  “Medical supplies.” He gestured up the trail he’d been descending. “They need more medical supplies.” He shook his head, the gesture exaggerated while he nervously tugged the cuff of his left sleeve farther down his wrist. “A lot of people were hurt, burned, you know. One man was bit clear through his forearm by one of those beasts.”

  “They must not need much if they sent only one person,” Michael said.

  Ricardo blinked at him, hesitating as though he didn’t understand. “Oh. I’m not to carry them back.” His laugh was forced. “I wouldn’t make a very good pack mule, don’t you know. I’m just a messenger. I’m supposed to tell them to send more up, along with several additional transports so they can bring the wounded down to the main camp.”

  Will shifted next to Michael. “Say, do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar.”

  “Maybe you’ve met my brother. He travels around a bit,” Ricardo said, moving to sidle around them and continue down the trail.

  Michael grabbed Ricardo’s left forearm to forestall him, easily confirming what he’d suspected. “What’s this?”

  Ricardo jerked his arm away and spun toward his escape route down the mountain, only to bounce off an immovable object. Diego, a stump of a man, had circled around and planted himself in Ricardo’s path.

  Will wrapped his muscled arms round Richardo’s chest from behind, pinning his arms, while Michael grabbed his shirt cuff and ripped his sleeve open up to his elbow.

  “Individual communicators aren’t permitted in our camp,” Diego said, watching Michael remove it from Richardo’s arm and activate it. “Funny you should have one.”

  “They can’t expect us not to keep in touch with our families. Madrecita isn’t well. I have to check on her.”

  “We’re so sorry your mother is ill.” Diego’s brow furrowed with concern. “Michael?”

  “It’s standard issue. I’ll be inside in less than a minute.”

  Diego turned back to the man. “You see, Michael is a communicator engineer. He probably designed the one you were wearing.”

  Michael nodded to confirm it. “I’m in. Checking transmissions.”

  The man struggled against Will’s hold on him. “Hacking is illegal. That’s my personal stuff in there.”

  Diego spread his hands in an apologetic gesture. “We only want to send a get-well message to your mother. Right, Michael?”

  Michael activated the holoscreen and a picture of each of The Guard members flashed by, followed by video of the chaotic bonding and, finally, Jael and Specter incinerating a person lying on the ground. “Apparently, Madrecita is well enough to watch vids of our dragon-horse army.”

  Ricardo stomped down hard on Will’s foot and wiggled free when he loosened his hold. He’d gone only a few steps when a wicked thirty-centimeter knife thunked into the trunk of a banana tree one step ahead of him and he skidded to a stop.

  “Oh, that wasn’t smart, now was it?” Michael flicked his fingers and a blue-white flame hovered at the end of his index finger. “Either Diego or I could have incinerated you before you were a minute down the path. You’re lucky, though, that Diego likes to play with blades, too. They’re less…instant.” He cupped his hand to roll the flame into a fiery sphere. “If I’d been forced to throw a fireball, you’d have been here one minute, then—” The sphere doubled in size, then flamed out with an abrupt whoosh. “—gone the next.”

  Diego yanked the large blade from the tree and held it up. Its polished surface glinted in the sun. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He touched his finger to the tip and a bead of blood sprang forth. “So sharp you don’t even feel it slicing your skin.”

  “Did I mention that Diego is a master smithy? His specialty is custom knives and exhibition swords.”

  “Swords are okay, but I really love carving knives.” Diego sheathed the big blade and pulled out a folding knife that produced a razor-thin, nine-centimeter blade when he flicked his wrist. He looked at Ricardo. “Want to feel how sharp it is?”

  Sweat ran down Ricardo’s face and his voice shook. “I…I was just sending some pictures home to entertain my mother.”

  Michael cocked his head and pretended to think about that as he flicked his fingers, absently lighting and extinguishing, lighting and extinguishing a slim flame. “Then you won’t mind explaining that to the First Warrior.”

  “Sure, no problem. I’ll do it as soon as I come back from the main camp.” Ricardo tried to edge around Diego, but Diego moved with him.

  “You know, we haven’t been to the temporary camp yet, so why don’t you show us the way?” Michael said. “I’m sure we can send someone else for the medical supplies and extra transports.” He looked at Will and jerked his chin toward Ricardo. Will grabbed the back of Ricardo’s collar and forced him up the hill.

  *

  The holo-vid was dark and grainy, with flashes of light that illuminated things too fantastical to believe.

  “What trickery is this you’ve brought me?” Cyrus threw his hand out dismissively.

  Simon’s henchman didn’t flinch. He stood relaxed, but his hand rested on the grip of a weapon holstered at his waist—not a threat but a possessive caress. “Prophet, this is no trickery. My brother has infiltrated those who are gathering an army to assault The Natural Order. He transmitted this vid only a few hours ago.”

  “Winged horses that breathe fire.” The men glanced over at Kyle’s soft exclamation.

  “A perversion of nature just like that army, if you can call it that.” Cyrus growled.

  “If this is all they have, then our path will be easy.” Simon’s tone was mocking. “Our weapons will pick them out of the sky like big sitting ducks before they get close enough to throw their flames.”

  The vid began to repeat and Kyle watched intently. Every fiber of her screamed to be part of the scene she was watching. She should have been there. She would have been there if she’d managed to escape her father sooner. Did The Collective know that her father’s men had restricted weapons? She had to warn them. She filled with an overwhelming urgency. She had to go now. She’d already wasted time waiting for a window of escape. She picked up an empty serving tray with the remains of her father’s dinner and edged toward the door. Simon stepped into her path, his hand tightening around her forearm.

  “Going somewhere, Kyle?”

  She wasn’t surprised that he ignored the softer version of her name that her father and Ruth insisted on using. She had never fooled him. He knew who she was. “I was taking Father’s dinner tray back to the kitchen.” She turned to Cyrus. “Would you like me to bring more coffee?”

  Cyrus stared at them for a half minute, his face hardening. “No. Return to yo
ur quarters.” His eyes pierced into hers. “Nothing you saw here leaves this room, girl.”

  She ducked her head and let her arm go limp in Simon’s grasp even though she wanted to wrench free of his claw and slap the smirk from his face. “Of course, Father.”

  Simon motioned to his henchman. “John, escort her to the kitchen, then to her quarters.”

  Kyle pulled free, careful not to drop the tray. “I know the way.”

  Simon tilted his head and regarded her with undisguised distrust. “It’s for your own safety.” His lie was deliberately obvious. “Now that we know the unnaturals are planning to move against us, we must protect our women and children.” He turned to his henchman. “Post guards outside the women’s quarters,” he said. “Any woman who leaves those quarters must be escorted.”

  Cyrus sighed. “Don’t you think you’re taking these Collective idiots too seriously?”

  “Not at all,” Simon said, turning back to Kyle. “We can’t let them steal our defenseless women. Who would cook and clean or take care of our other needs?”

  His leer made Kyle want to vomit. She would die before she let him or any of them touch her intimately.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Alyssa wearily ran the skin regenerator over what seemed like the hundredth burn she’d repaired that day. The last time she’d slept was the night before they left the main encampment, and the work had been nonstop—setting up camp, the bonding, and then treating the hundreds of injuries suffered during that hectic half hour.

  The night had been a river of critical medical emergencies. She’d worked side by side with Tan, who had returned as soon as Raven and Furcho joined Second to manage the newly bonded.