Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  Fyrid ground his teeth as ice hit him in the face. The last thing he remembered was shouting and squirming within the talons of this gold dragon. He realized he hadn’t seen a talon move toward his head, but he thought he remembered feeling and hearing a huge thump, saw sparkles of color before him, and then everything went dark.

  And now, barely awake, he was trying to calm his uncle, but Payk was growing more panicked by the moment. Fyrid had just tackled Payk when the younger man saw the black dragon—Gaulte, the dominant dragon—launch himself skyward. Panic swept through Fyrid. If Payk saw Gaulte—dear gods, he was drawing closer to Larek far too rapidly. And even as Fyrid struggled with Payk, and the two direwolves scrambled playfully back and forth across the broad back of Larek, the young Phailite noticed the humans riding the black dragon.

  By the gods, at least one warrior—the dragon riders—he had thought to be a young man was, in fact, a woman! With long waves of glorious, gold-white hair and a slender black sword. She wielded it masterfully—but look how slight she was!

  Fyrid immediately felt familiar stiffening between his legs and gave a huff of laughter, more at the madness of the present situation than anything. If his uncle ever became himself again and Fyrid told him the entire story, Payk was never going to let Fyrid forget this. In the middle of riding a dragon, trying to keep his uncle from killing himself, being attacked by a magnificent black dragon, the most savage in the Ceshon Mountains—and he was hard with desire for an unknown woman?

  The young warrior started as he noticed the large man who was sitting behind the woman on the approaching dragon’s back. The black-haired man’s arm, locked possessively around the woman’s waist, told Fyrid all he needed to know. But Fyrid still needed something to distract Payk; at the moment, the younger man was ready to jump off the dragon himself. What was wrong with these farking possessed direwolves? They were acting like pups and—

  Fyrid blinked—pain took a moment to register—before he howled and jerked on his arm. That promising stiffening declined so quickly he was lightheaded for a moment. He looked down—and was shocked mute.

  The male direwolf’s teeth had found purchase in Fyrid’s arm; Balc’s huge teeth were buried in his flesh! The dark, panicked eyes of the animals met his and he let loose a whimper.

  Payk was shoving the animal closer to the edge of the dragon, and Fyrid was between the two. Fyrid shouted at Balc, and he released his human’s arm. The young man dragged the beast closer to him, then tried to grab both Nena, the female direwolf, and his uncle with the other arm.

  An idea occurred to him. He shook Payk roughly several times.

  “Uncle, look!” Fyrid shouted. “It is a woman riding a dragon! They aren’t harming the woman, dammit, shut up and look!”

  He clouted his uncle in the back of his fur-covered head with a mitten-covered fist, grabbed Payk’s head, and forcibly turned it toward the black dragon and its two riders, who had drawn up alongside the gold dragon and were matching his slow flight.

  Payk grew silent; his eyes followed the other dragon. His lips moved silently. Slowly, his eyes took on a presence.

  “Riding the dragon?” he whispered. He looked around frantically, then grabbed at Fyrid and shook him. “Fyrid, boy, look! A woman there, she is riding that black dragon!” He paused and stared at the younger man. “Did you just hit me?”

  Fyrid flushed a dull purple. “No, Uncle. No, that must have been one of the direwolves. See, on that flat area, all the dragons have humans with them, and some are women. They ride the dragons, just like we are doing!”

  Payk continued to stare for a moment longer; then he gave his nephew a long look. In the next instant, Payk was gone, over the side and falling. Fyrid lunged at Payk, but his hands grabbed empty air. He never would be able to say if his uncle fell or jumped.

  Nena looked up at Fyrid, whined, and her tail rose and fell once. Fyrid stared back in silent shock. What had just happened?

  Chapter Six

  Ceshon Pass

  Day three of the First Moon of Wynter

  Mayra cried out as the bearded man tumbled off Larek’s back. Everything around her was utterly silent, happening as though it were an unreal dream. The man was falling without movement, his mouth a gaping hole.

  The other rider—dear gods, he looked to be little more than a child with beautiful blue skin. He was shouting, his voice breaking as he begged for Larek’s help. Not at all the same as the man at the Fortress who had threatened her, his teeth blackened and broken, his face a mask of malevolent rage.

  A keening cry escaped Mayra as she was briefly lost in the memory of battling a blue-skinned invader and his demonic bushdog. But that was past; she and Gaulte had bested both evil creatures. The sick fear that washed through her was rapidly turning into panic.

  Mayra felt a blast of magic from behind her. Wolfe had extended one arm and used a heavy black stream to slow the man down. But he was battling wind and the pull of the earth and couldn’t hold him long.

  Mayra! Wolfe’s shout into her head made her wince, but he got her attention. You understand Gaulte’s wrath—but you have to expel it! These men aren’t the invaders!

  Mayra eyes flew back to Larek. The other man, still atop the gold dragon, had grown silent and appeared stunned. He was staring across space at her with enormous eyes. She recognized the intensely stark emotion that distorted his young face—pleading for someone to save the falling man.

  Mayra wailed as new rage flooded Gaulte and it tore its way through her, but she managed to cry out, “Gaulte! Save him!” before she slumped into Wolfe’s arms, her breath coming in gasps as the pain faded. Wolfe’s magic lost the blue man and he resumed his plummet toward the vicious mountain peaks below him.

  Mayra felt as though the entire world around her had come to a slow crawl of its own accord. The falling man’s eyes flew open; he began flailing his arms wildly as he caught sight of the black dragon coming at him. Mayra could see that the totality of the blue man’s awareness had focused on the sharp, gleaming hooks reaching for him. He struggled and fought in midair, bellowed—one long, inarticulate scream—and then his eyes rolled back in his head. His body went limp.

  It all happened so rapidly that Mayra had forgotten to breathe. She gulped in icy-cold air and coughed. A quick glance down— Gaulte’s enormous talons had locked around the blue man. A shout of triumph from both Larek and the man he carried echoed through the surrounding peaks. The black dragon slowed the beat of his wings as Larek sailed up alongside him, and Gaulte adroitly returned the human to the other blue man.

  “Thank you, Sir Dragon!” the younger man shouted. “Thank you so very much!”

  * * *

  Gaulte veered off. He could see tears running down the face of the young Phailite. The black dragon hunched his shoulders. He felt the blue-skinned human’s love, still entwined with terror, and tried to close off that path of contact. But a gentle wave of relief and pride from Mayra immediately followed Gaulte’s uncomfortable, unwelcome feelings over what he had just done, causing strife to again fill the great dragon.

  As Gaulte and his riders had drawn closer to Larek, the black dragon’s keen eyes honed in upon the garb of the remaining Phailite, still clinging to the direwolves on Larek’s back. Fresh rage-filled Gaulte, swiftly cloaked from Mayra, and he started to pull back. But Mayra’s pain-filled scream shook him, her words—Gaulte! Save him!—cut through him. He should have been able to ignore her, pull away, but he dove at the falling man without hesitation and reached out, talons opening wide.

  Gaulte rumbled deep in his chest, then huffed and with a flap of his enormous wings, turned to make his way back to his kin, a conflicted and unhappy beast. He had just saved a man from the same Clan that had captured and enslaved the dragons of Ceshon Aerie.

  * * *

  Gaulte, Mayra, and Wolfe, holding Poppie, sat away from the others and watched as the Phailites were swiftly disarmed. Shaura tended their injuries and Kirik and Qintas, the largest witc
h-warriors, offered them food. The food they refused, but both took water.

  Gaulte slipped his emotions far beyond Mayra’s reach as she laid her head against his bumpy shoulder and rubbed her hand across his black, pebbly skin. Poppie jumped onto the dragon, barely visible against his skin, purring gently.

  The peculiar, useless sound was oddly comforting to the huge dragon.

  Thank you, Gaulte. Mayra’s mind-speak was so gentle that the enormous dragon swallowed a wave of tenderness that frightened him—a beast who could crush her without effort—and that thought was even more unnerving.

  She looked up at him. I know they are blue men. I hated them for as long as it took me to realize that I don’t know who they are. And I don’t understand why that one man is so terrified of you when clearly you were saving him, but thank you for catching him.

  I should have been able to tell you no. The dragon’s mind-speak was rough and gloomy. Hesta will not like this control you have of me.

  Mayra looked back up at the dragon in surprise. I have no control over you, Gaulte. You had your own honor and morality, telling you that man had done you no harm. I don’t know how I know, but he is not one of the people who imprisoned you.

  Gaulte turned his head so that his beautiful starburst eyes looked up and down the diminutive human female. How wrong she was—yet not. In a short time, the dragon had learned how different humans were from each other. He now realized how deeply the guiding principles of good and evil could run through humans; even those related could be the reverse of each other. Perhaps, Phailites were the same. Mayra was still gazing at him as though awaiting a comment from him.

  “Hesta will not understand.” His words were even graver than his mind-speak. He shook his head. Any dragon who had suffered at the hands of the Phailites would understand why Gaulte hated these particular men even though they were humans the dragon had never before seen. No, what Hesta would not comprehend was why Mayra, who would forever carry the scars of her battle with a Phailite, did not hate them. And Hesta surely would not understand why Gaulte had saved one of them.

  So hard to be noble.

  Gaulte jumped. That tiny high-pitched voice was distinctly cynical. He turned his head until he could see Poppie. She rose and stretched, then moved closer to his neck.

  Are you talking to me? he demanded.

  No. The squeaky little voice made him wince. Familiars speak to none but witch companion, if ever.

  Does Wolfe know you can talk?

  Cannot talk, she repeated stubbornly. I wish to eat. Hungry now. Nasty little dragon takes too much.

  Gaulte rumbled with laughter. He was going to make a friend even more incongruent than Mayra—a cat who didn’t like the little dragonlet either.

  * * *

  Mayra turned her attention to the two blue men, who sat tightly together in a corner near a pile of rocks. The elder one was staring at the black dragon; the younger at Mayra herself. As she watched, Wolfe wandered into the young man’s line of sight, effectively cutting off his view of Mayra. The Ring-Witch sighed softly. Men could be so—she caught Fleura’s gaze and gestured the witch-warrior over.

  Smok scrambled up onto a stump and jumped into Fleura’s arms. The young woman laughed and scratched his chin. The little dragonlet seemed to have found women very affectionate.

  “Fleura, would you take Smok over to our guests and introduce them to a dragon they won’t find so terrifying? And find out who they are, and where Larek found them.”

  “Of course, Mayra,” Fleura said. The dragonlet squirmed happily as Fleura’s voice went higher. “Come, brave little dragon. Up you go!” She set him on her shoulder, on the thickest part of her tunic, and sauntered over to the silent men.

  “If you want information about those two blue humans, should you not ask your questions of me, little witchling?” Amusement tinged Larek’s deep voice. Or do you wish to have the human youngling’s attention turned upon another female before your mate intervenes and blood is shed?

  Mayra laughed aloud. Wolfe was now glaring at the oblivious young man. She slipped her arm through her mate’s and tugged on him, leading him to the beautiful gold dragon.

  Yes, we can ask you questions, she began. Such as—

  Where did you find them? Wolfe took over the questioning at once.

  Mayra rolled her eyes but accepted being overshot. After all, Wolfe’s interrogation was so skillful that few ever realized they had succumbed to it. But he didn’t need to use such a ploy on a dragon. They were candid creatures.

  They were on the hill there, watching us. Gaulte saw something—he thought it was the glitter of a bit of metal. Metal is quite rare here, used primarily for weapons, so after we landed, I went to investigate.

  Mayra nodded. She wanted to tell him that he should have told someone what he was up to, but scolding a dragon didn’t seem seemly. And apparently, Gaulte had known where Larek was. “Thank you for that, Larek. Was it a weapon?”

  It likely was one of theirs Gaulte saw. But the men were down in a crevice, watching us, and holding no weapons, though they both carried them. I felt nothing harmful from them, so I became the watcher.

  What of the direwolves? Wolfe glanced at the two huge animals; the black-eared one was rolling in the snow. Did they not warn the humans of your presence?

  That oddity had bothered Wolfe; what good were canines if they wouldn’t let you know a farking dragon was standing behind you?

  Larek gave his savage grin. By now, the witches were accustomed to it. But from the corner of her eye, she saw the elder blue man’s mouth fall open as he stared at Larek. She turned and gave him a reassuring smile, as though to say, No, he will not eat us.

  She turned back to Wolfe and Larek. The gold dragon seemed more serious now; it surprised her to find they were still discussing the direwolves, who were running around playfully amid the dragons, for all the world as fierce as pups.

  “The direwolves know us.” Larek spoke aloud. Wolfe thought he wanted the two Phailites to hear a dragon speak of direwolves. “These two are likely siblings, born of Dirt-Walker, a fierce direwolf with unique black brands, such as that male is marked. Especially the black ear and black tail. Most are as the female—all white. Those brands are very distinctive; I know them from the wild direwolves that live in our forests.”

  The younger Phailite was sitting up, listening with an eager expression. He clearly wanted to hear more. Larek did not disappoint him.

  “Dirt-Walker was a wild direwolf,” the gold dragon continued. “He and his mate and a litter of their pups were all captured by a clan of Phailites several generations ago. Tales say some direwolves escaped, but they found other Phailites to live with. They were accustomed to humans by then, and preferred the warmth and effortless food offered by humans.”

  Wolfe cleared his throat. “I have heard of humans stealing pups,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s done in some less-civilized places to the south. Dogs and half-wolves are raised to fight for gamblers, or just to amuse farking humans.”

  He glanced at Mayra. He didn’t add that most animals were sent to fight to the death, but he could see that Larek knew that. As did the two Phailites—both looked outraged. Wolfe was starting to bend a little toward them.

  Larek lowered his head closer to the two Ring-Witches. Pups are still stolen from their dens, and some Phailite Clans raise them in an unkind way that seems to make them more savage. The blue humans then use them to fight each other for the amusement of their Clan. Those two are well-cared for now, but those Phailites would have lost them to us if we felt they meant to misuse the pups. Our nestlings love them.

  Mayra was staring up at Larek, her lips parted. “They steal the pups just to harm them?” she demanded.

  Not these Phailites. Not of this Clan. They are a peaceful group, given—

  “The blue humans,” came Gaulte’s fierce growl, “who captured us were also of the Clan of these humans! The Sorst Clan. I know the badge on their baldrics. By the gods, w
hy didn’t I kill them?”

  Gaulte’s words, his voice, jagged with anger, filled the surrounding air. He had pulled his wings back in and now hurtled himself across the plateau on four legs, a terrifying sight, veering around Mayra and Wolfe and aimed toward the Phailites. Both blue-skinned men jumped to their feet, the elder frantically searching for the weapons the witches had removed.

  To the apparent surprise of both Larek and Wolfe, the direwolves dashed back to jump in front of the Phailites. They did not bare their teeth, but they were plainly guarding the humans.

  “We are not the same!” the younger Phailite shouted. “Our Clansmen hated those men and they were forced out! We did not know they would hurt you, or that they even could…” His voice trailed off as he realized the dragons and witches were all staring at him. “I am Fyrid af’Heyr, son of Heyr af’Unshyr, chieftain of the Sorst Clan. This is my uncle, Payk af’Unshyr. We came across you by chance and stayed to watch and determine if you were returning to your Aerie.”

  “What do you know of our Aerie?” Gaulte demanded, swinging his head toward the two Phailites. “Were you there? Do you know wha—?”

  Gaulte, say no more! Wolfe’s words stopped the dragon cold. Do not let them know of your families.

  The unease that filled the air set the direwolves to growling, and the dragonlet snorting, as he tried to climb up Mayra’s leg.

  “Stop that,” she scolded; she reached down and picked him up.

  Gaulte sat back on his haunches. He stared at the Phailites, and they stared back, for several minutes, neither species looking away. Finally, Gaulte cleared his throat and settled himself down into the snow.

  Mayra released a long-held breath. Men! Two different species, three individuals, and all three brains ruled by whatever made males such durgens at times. Even now, Gaulte excluded the Phailites, turning his head away from the blue men and addressing the witches.

  “We were to arrive at the Aerie at dawn, but no longer. We will stay here one night more.” He stopped short, as though considering something, and then, exhaling a long breath, turned his attention back to the blue-skinned humans. “I am Gaulte, of the Ceshon Aerie, and you, Fyrid and Payk, of the Sorst Clan, known to be friends of dragons, are my guests. I insist that you stay, for your safety.”