Dragons of Fyre (Island of Fyre Book 2)

by Janet Lane-Walters

  “There are bones of four men,” she said.

  Drakon nodded. “Perhaps the steward, or one of the traitors, is the other. Death would be Lagon’s kind of reward.”

  “You could be right.”

  “The identity of the fourth man doesn’t matter.” Drakon stepped away from the door. “My father and brothers are with the ancestors.” He knelt and placed his hands on the metal. “You died when you should have lived. Through treachery and trickery an evil man slaughtered you. He stole your dragons. He turned your women into slaves. He destroyed two villages and put people to the sword. Though you deemed me unfit to be a speaker and I was sold as a slave, I escaped the Temple of Fyre. For some reason I can speak to the dragons without the tea. One day I will confront Lagon and see you avenged.”

  Arana knelt beside him. She placed her hands on the metal door. “Though I am no kin, and do not know where I was born, I arrived at High Peaks when I was a small child. I was raised as a daughter of the house. Lagon came and made me a slave again. I was with my foster mother during the captivity. When she died, I mourned. She will not lie in the crypt for her bones were taken by the sea. I saved a green egg laid by a High Peaks red and cared for the dragonet. I helped the red escape so her eggs could be brought to the cavern. After Lagon beat me, I escaped. I also cry vengeance on the evil man so those who were kind to me can rest.”

  She rose and began to roll the tapestry. Drakon joined her. When he lifted one end and started up the stairs she carried the other. Though the struggle with the heavy fabric was difficult, and twice she nearly fell, she finally reached the great hall where she and Drakon unrolled the tapestry.

  Sofona appeared in the room’s entrance. “Come and eat. When we’re finished, Radlan will put torches in the holders. Night comes soon.”

  Drakon rose from his crouch. “A good idea. The bones are in the crypt should you and Radlan care to pay your respects.”

  “We’ll go later to say our farewells.”

  “Do you know who the fourth body belonged to?” Arana asked.

  Sofona sighed. “My father. He was the steward. He hid me in the cavern and returned to fight.”

  “Then he has been honored,” Drakon said.

  In the kitchen, Arana washed her hands and face. She sat at the table and ate the savory beef and root vegetables. Drakon bolted his food, gathered torches and rushed to the great hall.

  After Arana helped Sofona clear the table, she put candles in several lanterns and joined Drakon. She looked at the layers of dust on the cloth and returned to the kitchen. She found a broom and several brushes.

  “Before we see what’s here, we should clean the arras,” she said. “If only we could hang it outside and let the wind remove the dust we could have a clearer view of the picture.”

  “We don’t have much time.” Drakon grabbed the broom and began to sweep.

  “What is the rush? The dragonets haven’t hatched. They won’t be large enough to ride for a long time.”

  “I must know if saddles are possible. If this isn’t the right tapestry, Radlan and I will have to devise something.”

  Radlan finished lighting the torches along the walls. “Don’t be at this all night. Cultivate patience.”

  “I’ll keep on as long as I must.” Drakon continued sweeping.

  “I’ll light some fires.” Radlan carried an armload of broken furniture and laid fires in the three fireplaces.

  Arana looked around and rubbed her arms. Nothing was as it had been. Would the room ever regain the elegance of the past?

  Drakon left and returned with several pieces of slate and chunks of chalk. He sat near the top of the tapestry and studied the pictured figures.

  *What are you doing?* Verde’s question made Arana gasp.

  *Looking at pictures of dragons with their speakers on their backs. They are flying above the tower. There are also dragons on the ground.*

  *Then you have found the way. I want to see. Where are you so I can come?*

  Arana laughed. *In the tower’s great hall. You can’t come. The door isn’t big enough.*

  *Then look and show me what you see. The Old One wants to see, too.*

  “Is something wrong?” Drakon asked.

  “Verde and the Old one want to see the tapestry.”

  Drakon shook his head. “I don’t see how.”

  “We could take the tapestry to the cavern.”

  “Not until I finish my studies.”

  Arana knelt at the foot of the cloth. *Verde, I’ll send you pictures. Here’s a green preparing to fly. He has no rider.*

  *He is the controller,* the Old One said.

  *Like you and me.*

  The deeper voice of the yellow rumbled with laughter. *Until age darkened my hide I had your enthusiasm. Drakon, can you make a saddle?*

  Arana didn’t hear Drakon’s answer. She left the foot of the tapestry and moved to the far side. “Drakon, look here. There’s a saddle on the ground. A man is fastening long straps to the front and back. And here’s a woman placing a saddle on a red.*

  Drakon moved to her side and began to sketch. “Call if you see anything else that will help.”

  Arana continued examining the tapestry. How and when had the riders become merely speakers? She counted the dragon pairs and found nine. Why were there so many? When she had lived here, there had been three pair and the yellow. At Sea Cliff, there were four pair, but three were from the captive towers. *Old One, what happened to change life here?*

  *As more dragons were born, four new towers were established. Sea Cliff was the last. Though the dragons prospered, fewer men and women were born with the ability to speak. Without speakers, blue dragons died. The reds fled to the sea. The lord of Sea Cliff learned how a tea made from the fyrethorn berries allowed those with little ability to become speakers. The effect of the tea made them unfit to ride. Fewer dragons were hatched, especially after the lord of Sea Cliff sold pelts to the wizards.*

  *Do you mean Lagon?*

  *One of his ancestors began the practice.*

  *Thank you for telling me this.* Arana yawned until her eyes teared. She should leave and go to her room, but she didn’t want Drakon to be alone. She curled on a corner of the tapestry and drifted to sleep.

  Some time later she rolled over and collided with a body. She opened her eyes a slit. Drakon lay beside her. She edged closer to his warmth. He wrapped an arm around her. Arana sighed. How many times had she dreamed of him when she’d been in the slave quarters of Sea Cliff? Ever since they’d shared a brief kiss and he’d touched her breasts with his tongue she had wanted to be in his arms and experience what Lagon had threatened to take by force.

  She raised her head and pressed her mouth to his. He drew her closer. She opened her lips to allow his tongue to slide into her mouth. The thrust and retreat brought a tingling sensation to her nether lips. She felt his phala stir. Her breasts ached to feel his mouth on them. She pressed against him. Yearning filled her. Her body throbbed with desire. She rolled until she lay on him. “Drakon, please.”

  He pushed her away. “I can’t.” His cry held an edge of despair.

  “Why not? Your desire is as hot as mine.”

  He looked away. “The priestesses took the ability to consummate away from me.”

  Compassion swept through her. She wanted to cry for him and to make his pain hers. “Tell me what they did.” If she understood, perhaps she could counter their poison.

  He closed his eyes. “To speak brings shame and memories that sicken me.”

  “Holding those fears inside can make the pain more intense. Why be ashamed of what you couldn’t stop? Should I be ashamed of what I saw after a mating flight, or of the things Lagon wanted me to do?”

  “The priestesses succeeded. He failed.”

  “Only because I escaped. Share your pain with me.”

  “The slavers sold me to the priestesses for the fyrestones the wizards use. I was taken to the temple.” His voice broke. “A table. Bound,
arms and legs. A naked priestess. Fondled me. I spilled my seed. She jabbed me with the thorns. The poison entered my body. She laughed when the headache came. I cried. I begged. She watched. ‘Be ashamed because you lack control.’ I was a coward.”

  Arana shuddered. “You were a boy. A coward would have bowed and wouldn’t have planned an escape. What they did was worse than Lagon’s plans for me.” She met Drakon’s gaze. “Did they use drugs other than the poison of the thorns?”

  He shook his head. “The punishment continued until I could hold an erection until one of them commanded me to release. Then they brought me to the harras where I watched the studs pleasure the priestesses with hands and mouth. Twice as I watched, I released and they used the thorns. After two years of training I became the perfect stud.”

  She leaned forward. “Did the headaches continue to plague you?”

  “After the first few times the pain was less. Do you think that is why I can speak to the dragons now?”

  “Could be.” She stared at her hands. “When I was a child and helped with the fyrethorn harvest I used to prick myself. The headache allowed me to escape the work.” She gulped a breath. While the conversation had drifted from Drakon’s problems she wanted to learn more. “Do you need to speak further about your treatment by the priestesses?”

  He rose. “I’ve said enough. After I entered the harras my days and nights were spent pleasuring the priestesses, and exercising to keep my body fit. Any stud who failed to maintain himself in prime condition was sold to one of the pleasure houses.” He reached for her hand. “I fear I can never function as a man.”

  Arana followed him from the great hall. What could she say to give him hope. No words came. She touched his arm. “I’ll ask no more until you’re ready to speak.”

  As she walked up the stairs to her room, she pondered the problem. What would he do after the dragons matured and rose to mate? He had to be the blue’s speaker during the initial part of the flight lest the dragons battle rather than mate. The bond he’d formed with Azure couldn’t be broken unless Drakon died. Would the experience alter what the priestesses had done? She could only hope those bonds would break.

  Drakon turned. “Will you be angry if there can be nothing more than friendship between us?”

  “We were friends then, and are now.” She smiled. “Why worry about what hasn’t happened? Maybe time will loosen the hold of those memories. You have been free for just a year.”

  He brought her fingers to her lips. “I wish —” He shook his head. “My wishes don’t matter. Good night.”

  Arana remained at the foot of the stairs. Drakon continued past the level where they had their bedchambers. Tears of regret trickled down her cheeks.

  * * *

  Drakon continued past the sleeping chambers. His thoughts were so troubled he couldn’t sleep. He strode until he emerged on the tower’s roof. He walked to the waist-high wall surrounding the square area. The mountains to the south loomed. A year ago he had traveled along a tunnel through those forbidding peaks where snow capped them all year round. Confusing ideas roiled. He feared there would be no way to heal what had been done to him in the past.

  His thoughts spiraled downward, sending his spirits into darkness. He leaned over the balustrade. With a gasp of horror he stepped back. He was no coward to end his life by a leap to the stones below. He had escaped, and was home at last. A need to see his family avenged drove him. The vow to confront the lord of Sea Cliff Tower would be kept so his family could rest.

  Drakon walked to the east side of the tower and stared at the massive peaks of another mountain range. Was there another land beyond? Should he fly his dragon across them to see what lay beyond? He laughed at such a notion. The only dragon he would ride was the Old One, or Verde. For now all he could do was learn how to make the saddles.

  He stepped away from the wall and moved to the point closest to where Sea Cliff Tower stood. Though he couldn’t span the distance with sight, he visualized the place where he’d been sold to the slavers. He recalled the cruel eyes of the wizard who had sailed on that ship. The man had given the orders that had made him a prisoner of the priestesses.

  “Rest ill, Lagon. One day we will meet, and I will see the end of you and all your near kin.”

  *Drakon.*

  *Old One, is there trouble?*

  *The dragons who abide in Sea Cliff will remain in their pens except for short flights until after the spring planting is completed. Their supplies of thorns and berries are low.*

  *That is good news.*

  *There are things you need to do before you seek Lagon. You must make Arana your wife.*

  *Marriage is not for me.*

  *You must. If she is to fly the red, she must become a member of High Peaks.*

  *My parents adopted her.*

  *They did not mark her.*

  *I do not bear a mark either. A child is marked when he has lived sixteen years. I was made a slave before then.*

  *If she is not made one with us, your far kin will cause trouble. You cannot adopt her, so you must wed.*

  Drakon groaned. *You don’t understand. The priestesses harmed me. I can never consummate a marriage.*

  *You have been home for more than a year. Until recently there have been no young women around. The priestesses sought to make you less than you are. You were not born a neuter like Verde and I.*

  *I might as well be.*

  *Wait until the dragons rise to mate.*

  What did the Old One mean? How could a single mating flight change what two years of continual punishment had wrought? Drakon strode to the stairs. *Old One, if we must battle Lagon, how can one High Peaks blue fight those from four towers?*

  *Your blue and Arana’s red will know what to do. A controller will fly with you. I can abort any battle.*

  *A controller?*

  *I am one, and so is Verde.*

  As Drakon continued to his room, he puzzled over the Old One’s words. He wasn’t sure what a controller did, but he was too tired to continue the talk. He sprawled on his bed. Did the Old One mean he and Verde would fight? Arana would be upset if anything happened to the green.

  The next morning Drakon retrieved the sketches he’d made of the saddles. He joined Radlan at the table. When they finished breaking their fast he spread the slates on the table. “Do you think we can make these?”

  Radlan lifted each one and studied the drawings. “I think each saddle must be made for a specific dragon rather than how a horse saddle can fit any number of beasts. First we must make a pattern from heavy cloth and wood. They don’t seem complicated.”

  “They need to be lined with fleece and padded with something so the hard leather doesn’t abrade the dragons’ skin.”

  “We have piles of sheepskin.”

  Drakon carried the slates to the cavern and visualized them one by one for the Old One. *Do they look like the ones you once saw?*

  The Old One snorted. *The last rider died before my hatching. As a dragonet I saw several saddles. Show them to me one at a time.*

  Moments later Drakon did as the yellow requested. Pictures of the saddles the dragon had seen flooded Drakon’s thoughts. He made several corrections to his drawings including the creation of a chest piece where the straps were fastened.

  *When do the eggs hatch?* Drakon went to the blue egg and stroked the shell.

  *Not today, but soon.*

  *Should Arana and I move to the cavern?*

  *There is no need at present. Verde and I will let you know when the day arrives.*

  Drakon carried the slates back to the kitchen. He showed Radlan the breast plate and the other changes. While Sofona and Arana made lists of what would be needed for the vigil in the cavern, Radlan carried cloth, wood, leather, and sheepskins, to the great hall.

  “We can’t make the saddles from leather until we have the measurements for each dragon, but we can fashion the chest plates and use the Old One and Verde for models,” Radlan said.

 
“I think that will work.” Drakon felt an eagerness to see the dragonets. How long after they hatched would they be large enough to fly?

  * * *

  Lagon sat in the rear booth of the village tavern. He lifted his tankard indicating he was ready for a refill. How fortunate he was. Not only was there a wizard aboard the slaver’s ship, but a trader’s vessel had just arrived in port.

  He looked up to see the wizard and a second man enter the tavern. The wizard’s tunic and trousers were molded to his body. The other man wore black. The wizard’s short cape was red. Lagon recalled his last pair of visitors. One of those men had worn a green cape. Did the colors have a meaning? Both of the arrivals wore wands made from dark red wood on their belts. The tips held white crystals.

  If only he could purchase one of the wands he would be invincible. Once he’d seen a lash of white flame shoot from the stone and the wizard’s attacker had vanished. Both men wore gloves of blue dragon hide.

  “Gentlemen, be welcome. Ale.”

  The men sat. “Of course.” The wizard nodded. “Your message said you had a pelt.”

  Lagon waited until the tavern maid brought a pitcher of ale and two tankards. “I have a blue one.”

  “No red?” the wizard asked.

  “Unfortunately not.” Lagon leaned forward. “What would you offer if I bred the dragons under my control and sold you the surplus hides?”

  The wizard smiled. “An interesting proposition. A deal like that is possible. What would you want in return?”

  “The heir you promised. Coins.”

  “Don’t you have a daughter?”

  Lagon nodded. “My heir must be a son.”

  The wizard sipped his ale. “Then you will have one. As you were once told, the mother will be from High Peaks. If you have no need for your daughter we will be glad to take her.”

  “You want me to sell her into slavery?”

  The wizard placed his wand on the table. “Not as a slave. Few women are born in our land. She would become one of our honored consorts.”