Dragon Red: A Fire Unfed (The Dragonlords of Xandakar Book 2)

by Macy Babineaux

  The man raised his eyebrows. “No? I would say it is, now that you’ve threatened me.”

  She crawled to the side of the path to watch this exchange, utterly confused. So he wasn’t with them after all. Where had he come from? Why was her little patch of forest, so quiet for so long, suddenly filled with strangers? She had a moment to reflect on her family, and once again she saw the image of that hideous man shifting into a snake and sliding into the underground opening. She had wished for more excitement in her life, but not like this.

  The snake shifter who had spoken stepped forward, the tip of the spear held steady. But the man in red did not seem afraid at all.

  “This is your last war—” the snake man began.

  The man in red snatched out, moving faster than anyone she had ever seen. He grabbed the shaft of the spear just below the blade, turned it aside, then pulled it towards him. The snake shifter stumbled forward and the man in red reached out with his free hand and clutched him by the throat.

  “You could use a lesson in manners,” the man in red said, pulling the spear out of his hand and tossing it into the forest.

  “We are many,” the snake man hissed, gasping for air. “You will die.”

  “You see,” said the man in red. “There it is again. Instead of offering an apology, you add a second threat to the first.” He looked around. “I do not see your many here. Only your one friend. Perhaps he will come to your aid.”

  She looked at the other snake man, who didn’t look like he wanted to come to anyone’s aid. His spear shook slightly as he lowered the tip. His eyes were wide. He glanced over his shoulder, looking for help that was not there. Then he turned and ran.

  “I thought not,” said the man in red. He hoisted the snake man up in the air by the throat. “How about you?”

  The snake shifter clawed with both hands at the man in red’s hand at his throat. His face was turning an ugly shade of purple, his eyes bulging. He looked ready to pass out.

  “Yesss,” he whispered. “Sssorry.”

  The man in red held him aloft another second or two, as if considering what to do with him.

  "Better," he said. Then he hurled him in the direction his companion had run. The snake shifter rolled in the dirt and came up in a sitting position, holding his throat and coughing.

  “Off with you,” the man in red said. “If you wish to come back with more friends, perhaps I can teach them some manners as well.”

  The snake shifter staggered to his feet and gave one last scowl before running back the way he had come.

  She let out a sigh of relief. Despite her shyness, knowing she would be naked before him, she shifted back into human form. Her breasts were not that large, but she crossed her chest with her arms to hide them, blushing. This was excruciating, but he had saved her life and she needed to talk to him.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “No need,” he said. His eyebrows knit in curiosity once more. He held out his hand to help her up, but she didn’t take it. Then she wondered if that was a mistake, given the emphasis he had just placed on good manners. She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. He withdrew his hand, but did not seem offended.

  “Why are a pair of snake men chasing a rabbit shifter through the forest?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Just as I don’t know why they attacked my warren.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “But I don’t have time to dwell upon the strangeness of it or to help you further. If I were you, I’d continue the way you were going when we met.”

  When they met. As if it were a true meeting. She didn’t even know his name, and he didn’t seem to care to know hers. She looked in the direction she had been headed. He had come from that way. Earlier she had thought about going in that direction, of exploring the exotic lands that lay beyond. But that only seemed foolish and horrible right now. All she wanted was to return to her warren with a basket full of berries, to hug her mother, her father, and her sisters. But she had left her warren in flames, and again that hideous image of the snake sliding into the tunnel made the hair on her neck stand up.

  The man in red gave her one last look, then began to walk.

  “Wait,” she said.

  He stopped, thankfully.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  He turned. “What does it matter? We shall never meet again.”

  She found a boldness growing inside her. After all, she’d probably lost everyone she’d ever loved. What did she have left to lose?

  “Are you so sure?” she asked.

  He looked at her, a wry smile crossing his lips. Now that she wasn’t terrified out of her mind, she noticed just how handsome he was. His eyes were dark, a spark of humor and intelligence behind them.

  “A fair point,” he said. “These past few days, I have been sure of very little. My name is Kal.”

  “I’m Thalia,” she said. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t get up.”

  His smile grew a little. He nodded. “Well met,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  “You are headed deeper into the forest,” she said. “You might run into them again.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Where is it you’re in such a hurry to get to?” she asked. “Perhaps I can help you find it.”

  He studied her as she sat on the ground hugging her knees. The way he was looking at her made the blood rush back to her face.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “I seek a ironroot tree and a bird that only nests within it.”

  “The white hawk,” she said.

  “You know it, then?”

  “Only from stories,” she said. “But I know where the trees are supposed to grow.”

  He looked disappointed. “As do I. I’m afraid I don’t need anyone to slow me down. Goodbye.”

  He turned to go and tears filled her eyes. She wanted to stop him again, but could think of nothing more to say as she watched the red scales on the back of his armor move forward through the brush.

  She looked over her shoulder the way he had come. She could do as he had said and continue to run. That’s what she had wished for anyway, wasn’t it? Even though now she wanted more than anything to revoke that wish. How would she survive outside the forest? What would she eat?

  Thalia looked back in the direction the man had left. He said his name was Kal. He wore armor like the snakes, but was definitely not one of them. Who was he, then? And why did he seek the white hawks?

  She made up her mind to follow him, wherever that may lead. After all, he had saved her life. She would return the favor, whether he wanted her to or not.

  Thalia took a deep breath and shifted into rabbit form. She shook her body, ruffling her fur, then followed him into the brush.

  3: Marko

  “You wanted to see me, father?”

  His father never called for him in the throne room or even in his personal chambers. Always in a place of no consequence, always in a way meant to belittle the conversation.

  Today it was the high terrace, overlooking the vast desert beyond the castle walls. The floor and railing were all formed from fine ironwork, melted into place by the finest draconic metalworkers, who used their breath to tease the metal into whatever shapes their hearts desired.

  Karth Wildfire sat alone at the table welded up from the floor of the terrace. He was a huge man, a great black beard grown down to his chest. His plate was piled high with boar sausages, potatoes roasted in firespice, and boiled eggs the size of his fist. Ostrich? Marko wondered. Maybe some sort of desert lizard? His father did not invite him to sit nor to eat.

  “Where is your brother?” Karth asked, slathering spiced boar fat onto a hank of dark bread before shoving it into his mouth. The question was not Have you seen your brother? nor Do you know where he is? Their father simply assumed Marko knew where Kal was.

  It was a reasonable enough assumption. They were together often. The brothers loved each other, e
ven if they never actually said so. Even if Marko resented Kal for being the biggest and strongest, and even more for being the one their father loved the most.

  But Kal had never used that against Marko, never rubbed it in his face. If anything, he had constantly defended Marko to their father. Kal was the only person in this forsaken palace that Marko could even stand to be around. And that was why, even though the demon had said it had to be done, even though it was part of the plan, he just couldn’t bring himself to kill his brother.

  “I don’t know,” Marko said.

  Karth scoffed, picked up a sausage, and took a bite. “My daughter is banished to a realm full of weaklings,” he said, talking with his mouth full. “My older son has been missing for two days. And the only child I have left tells me only lies.” Karth looked at him for the first time since he set foot on the terrace. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

  Yes, actually, Marko thought, trying to keep the answer from reaching his lips. He thought his father was a remarkable fool, fat and weak, though he would never say it to his face. The Wildfire name used to incite fear across Xandakar. They used to be the strongest of the five clans. Yet under his father’s rule, they had fought a war with the Nightshadows to a devastating stalemate, with great losses on both sides. They had ceded lands to both the south and east, their kingdom ever shrinking. And in the latest humiliation, the proposed alliance between the red and blue dragons evaporated when a woman who was not even a Wildfire had arrived in Xandakar pretending to be Siccora and married the Everfrost king.

  Marko had used the Netherstriders to dispose of the elder Everfrost. That was supposed to set up his sister for taking control of the Icelands with the death of their new king. But despite his best efforts, those plans had fallen apart.

  Now the alliance was in shambles, his true sister banished to Earth, and his father looked weaker than ever.

  “No, father,” he said. “I don’t think you’re a fool.”

  Karth washed down his mouthful of food with a swig of ale from an iron mug. “Another lie,” he said. “But it does not matter. I no longer expect any less. You may go.”

  Marko felt the hot wind of the desert on his face. He hated this place. He hated his father. But that would not stop him from taking his throne. He turned to leave, then stopped. He turned back to his father.

  “Why do you hate me?” he asked, surprising himself by asking the question that had been on his mind very nearly his entire life but which he had always been too afraid to ask.

  Karth looked genuinely hurt and surprised. He stood up from the table. “Whoever put that into your head?” he said. “I may not have always done my best at showing it, but I’ve always loved you.”

  Now who’s telling lies? Marko thought.

  “Enjoy your breakfast, father,” he said, stepping into the hallway to leave the terrace behind. He had much to do and little time. The pieces of his plan had been set in motion. Was it really his plan, though? Hadn’t it all come from the demon? Vish’Kazir was still imprisoned in the magical cage crafted to hold him centuries ago. But Nevra Nightshadow had found him. She had awakened him. And now he talked to them. Marko wasn’t sure anymore which thoughts were his and which had come from the demon. He had to be careful now, or no matter whose plans they were, they could all come crumbling down.

  Just now he needed to travel to Haramza, to the Dark Bazaar. There he would need to find Nygel, the disgraced owl-mage. He was supposed to have a package waiting for him, the second in as many days.

  He would head for the west platform and alight from there. But as he turned the corner of the sandstone corridor, it was another owl-mage that met him first. The short, balding man had scraggly white hair hanging about his shoulders, tiny tufts of it jutting from his ears. He was fat as well, his belly stretching the white robes of his order.

  “What did your father say?” Hamryk asked.

  “Does it matter?” Marko asked, moving to step around him. The mage was nimble for being so old and portly, and he moved in front of him, forcing Marko to stop.

  “All things matter,” the owl-mage said.

  That very nearly sounded profound, Marko thought. But he was pretty sure it wasn’t true.

  He sighed. “He asked me if I knew where Kal was,” Marko said.

  “And do you?” Hamryk studied him with those preternaturally large eyes that all of his kind had.

  “No,” Marko said, stepping to the side. Hamryk slid in front of him again.

  “You should meet with him on the balcony,” Marko said. “You can gorge on sausages and lizard eggs together.”

  Hamryk merely blinked at him. “If you know where your brother is—”

  “Gods! I don’t,” Marko said. And strictly speaking, that was true. He had been the last to see him, and at that time his brother had still been alive. But at this very moment, he had no idea where he might be. The desert was a vast place.

  “Whatever you’ve done may yet be forgiven,” Hamryk said. “But whatever you’re planning may be too dire to undo.”

  “I have no plans,” Marko said. “Other than to continue down this hall, visit the privy, and perhaps take a mid-morning flight to stretch my wings.”

  Hamryk blinked again, then nodded and stepped aside. Marko stepped past him, finally, and continued on his way. The old owl had known him all his life, but Marko thought him nearly as big a fool as his father. After all, it was his counsel that his father followed. And dismal counsel it had been.

  He passed guards and servants as he wound his way through the sandy walls of the palace, but they all ignored him. Had his brother been with him, the female servants might have stopped and giggled, whispering to one another. But his brother wasn’t here. Hopefully he would never return. The demon had said Kal must die. But Marko simply hadn’t been able to do such a thing. Perhaps Nevra was right. Perhaps he was too soft to bring all five kingdoms to heel under their rule. He knew she sometimes said such things just to goad him, but the words still stung with the tinge of truth.

  Well, tonight at the banquet he would show everyone just how weak his father was.

  He ascended the spiral staircase to the circular pad made from a singular slab of sandstone. From there he transformed, bowing down to allow wings to sprout from his shoulder blades. The scales of his armor melded into his skin as spikes emerged along the back of his neck and spine. His hands and feet became claws, and a thick, powerful tail grew behind him.

  He drank up the hot sunlight and leapt into the air, beating his giant wings.

  Haramza wasn’t that far, perhaps half an hour if he made good time. Kal could make it in twenty. He felt a twinge of regret in his breast. He understood why his brother needed to be out of the picture, and even though he hadn’t killed him, he felt guilty at what he had done. When the demon whispered to him to kill his brother, Nevra had been there. She had stroked the back of his neck, running her fingers through his hair. She had told him this wasn’t going to be easy. We all had to make sacrifices.

  Why then did it seem as if he were the one make all the difficult choices? What sacrifices had Nevra made? Perhaps as the grand scheme unfolded, the demon would ask hard choices of her as well. But even though Marko loved her, that love was laced with resentment.

  He saw caravans below, lines of travelers with camels and donkeys loaded high with wares, ticking along in the sand like a stream of ants. Up ahead in the distance he could see Haramza and the Dark Bazaar. Truth be told, most of the city was the bazaar. Many of the merchants simply lived in their tents or wagons. The marketplace had started out in the center of town and grown. Walls had been knocked down to make way for more sellers and entertainers.

  The bazaar was the most popular in nearly all of the entire kingdom for a reason. One could find nearly anything or satisfy nearly any desire, no matter how forbidden. A full third of the bazaar consisted of pink silk tents where any sexual hunger could be satisfied for the right price. Walking among the tents, one would hear the stranges
t sounds, but no one paid any mind.

  In the particular case of the bazaar, Marko was glad his father was so lenient. Despite the proximity to the palace, the King did nothing to stifle the sale of contraband or the flesh trade. He turned a blind eye, excusing away the bazaar as an outlet for the unhealthier urges of the kingdom’s citizens. But Marko knew the main reason was that the throne received hefty tributes from Haramza every moon, enough to make nearly any king willing to pretend he did not know what went on there.

  How appropriate then, Marko thought, that my father’s undoing will be a product of this place. He had flown high most of the way, high enough so that most travelers could not see his approach. Dragons were conspicuous, and a prince even more so. He landed far enough away to not be seen.

  He walked the rest of the way, a necessary tedium. Before he reached the edge of the city, he crossed paths with a merchant heading into town and overpaid him for a white cloak to hide his face and red armor.

  As he reached the bazaar proper, the place was a bustle. The sounds of drums and flutes mixed with the sounds of haggling in the smoky air. He smelled cinnamon, cardamom, and anise. He smelled burning incense and beneath it the smell of sweat and camel dung.

  He walked through the throng, merchants thrusting brass trinkets and shriveled paws in front of him, making promises of luck, of love, of increased sexual prowess. The vendors here on the edges of the market were simple charlatans, selling false hopes more than anything. But there were those in the market with true knowledge of the arcane. Few could pay their prices, but the goods they sold held real power.

  Nygel was one such merchant. He had lived in the One Tree, been groomed for a seat on the council itself. But his curiosity had been too much. He could not help but dabble in dark secrets, seeking power from whatever source he could find. The rest of the owls had banished him for it. Now he kept a tiny apothecary just off a back alley a short walk from what most considered the bazaar proper. His little shop had no sign. It was not clear that it was even a place of business, looking at it from the outside. Few even knew it existed.