Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  “Signs of fire.” Wolfe gestured toward the soot that crawled alongside a white stone wall. “I wonder if the Aerie is more damaged within.” He echoed Mayra’s thoughts.

  “I wondered, too,” Mayra returned. She smiled up at Wolfe. “Even the dragons will look small here. And down we go!”

  Wolfe glanced back over his shoulder as they passed a sheer wall of rock. “It looks as though some of them will stay up in the clouds, out of sight, until they deem the Aerie safe,” he said of the dragons. “They are always defense-minded.”

  As Gaulte landed, followed by Fauler and Corren, Wolfe and Mayra saw more damage. Melted and refrozen ice over blackened rocks showed where the invaders had used fire to intimidate by setting ablaze anything not built from the rocks.

  “I suspect they brought the tube with them to inflict this fire damage, even though none of these dragons saw it,” Wolfe said.

  “No wonder they captured the females and their young so easily,” Mayra murmured.

  As soon as Gaulte touched the ground, Wolfe jumped down, drawing his blade. Mayra followed him, her smaller, but no less deadly sword in hand. Both stopped just outside a colossal curved arch that marked a visible entry into the Aerie.

  Here they could see where long-ago dragons—perhaps with the help of men—had transformed the lines of the Aerie from several simple caves to a home. Those artisans had linked the varying outer walls into one massive, continuous means of protection. Protection from something that attacked with force—other dragons—Mayra realized. Not from humans, who had simply walked in with fire at their fingertips.

  The arch was so tall that Gaulte did not need to bow his head to lead the humans through it; the black dragon passed under the arch silently, his wings, his taloned feet, even his thick tail making no sound.

  As they passed into the vast room, the two humans slowed to gaze at the smooth stone ceiling and walls around them. They were clean. Their footsteps and other sounds of movement echoed through the vast room, yet those of the dragon with them did not.

  Mayra and Wolfe followed Gaulte into the huge room, where the dragon stopped. The two witches could hear the familiar sound of running water and suspected it was operating mechanics in the Aerie as it did in their own homes. Strangely, the water did not echo, either.

  Without warning, lights came on. Mayra started, and Wolfe placed a hand on her back. Gaulte briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  Someone is—or recently was—here. Gaulte’s mind-voice was hushed. But dragons, not humans. Not the invaders!

  Mayra sniffed and felt a rush of memory at the scent, familiar, not threatening. She closed her eyes. She jumped again as she felt Gaulte’s thoughts meld with hers. He too was breathing in deeply. Faraway, I feel the scents of others threading together like small animals playing hiding games. They vary, some are strong—others devious, even menacing at times. Others are carefree and—childlike?

  Gaulte’s nonsensical words perplexed Mayra. She wondered if what he was scenting was there now or long gone.

  “The scent that I smelled when we first entered the Aerie is familiar,” she whispered. “I noted it once before when I first entered the Fortress after the Phailites had forced the dragons to attack it.”

  “It is the scent of dragon fear and rage,” Gaulte said forlornly. “Where did—”

  Gaulte broke off and whirled back toward the entrance. A harsh uproar of dragons bellowing sounded from outside the Aerie. Wolfe swept Mayra up alongside him; Gaulte gently thrust the two witches toward the back of the vast room and rushed back out the entryway.

  Mayra and Wolfe followed as closely as they dared.

  * * *

  Gaulte leapt out from the entry arch and landed in the front courtyard. Before he could let loose a tremendous roar, he had already summed up most of the situation in one sweeping glare. An image sent to him by Larek, above, filled in the rest: four dragons, low to the ground on the far side of the Aerie crept toward Gaulte and the witchlings.

  Stop them! Gaulte’s snapped command sent the dragons above sweeping down to defend. But as they neared the Aerie, Larek realized the dragons moving stealthily down the side of the outer wall were much smaller than he’d first presumed. He, Corren, and Fauler landed silently in the courtyard.

  What is happening? Gaulte snarled. Hidden by the high compound wall, he could not see the approaching dragons. When he finally emerged into the light, he stopped short, hardly able to believe his eyes.

  The four unknown dragons were the same brave six-yearlings who had saved many of their younger kin. Apparently, they were still guarding their home. And they were so focused on their perceived prey that things were going awry, before Gaulte could step in and stop the young dragons.

  Their speed astonished him. The young dragons, wings held tightly against them and tails thrashing, came rushing out of the shadows of the Aerie wall, bearing down on the two larger male dragons carrying Phailites.

  Gaulte was torn between amusement and irritation. The younglings were so caught up in their single-minded rage they did not notice the two enormous dragons carrying the Phailites were waving them back. Gaulte snorted, stifling a laugh. The young dragons were oblivious to the fact that the Phailites were sitting atop their kin, with the Ceshon Aerie leader so close, he could touch them.

  Rumbling laughter escaped Gaulte, but no one noticed. He really should step in and stop this nonsense, but he didn’t expect the humans to be harm—

  Some of the humans were climbing off the dragons and scrambling to get out of the way of the smaller, but still massive beasts. Gaulte slowly shook his head. He counted five impetuous humans who seemed to realize too late that they would have been safer remaining in the saddles, for only the blue humans were the focus of four intense, threatening young dragons, doing their best to be savage.

  Gaulte sat back on his haunches, gave an irritated growl, and reached out to grab the two young dragons closest to him, but Talft, the sire of two of the hotheaded beasts, was ahead of him. As Payk and the sisters tried to move closer to Fauler, Talft grabbed his younglings by their necks and gave them each a thorough shaking.

  The other two young dragons, equally intent on attacking the Phailites, stopped and hunkered down for a moment before one’s eyes fell on Gaulte. Simultaneously, the other noticed his sire, Larek; together, the two produced one combined, enormous roar—Father?

  Uncle Corren!

  Uncle Hyaera—where is Uncle Hyaera?

  The other two younglings stopped wrestling with Talft—who would continue to be a larger dragon for many years—long enough to look to him, and their snarls of rage turned to loud, laughter-like noises. They jumped on Talft, growling and howling with exuberant abandon, their once-ominous tones now unmistakably joyous. One of the young males then joined them in an equally enthusiastic greeting of Hyaera, surprising the witches, for they knew him to be unmated.

  Talft chuckled and shook his head. These four always were a talonful, he sent out fondly to the dragons and witchlings. Always leaping into the crevice, failing to look first.

  Chapter Ten

  Ceshon Aerie

  Day four of the First Moon of Wynter

  Mayra realized she was grinning like a fool, but she couldn’t help herself. Unlike human males, the dragons had no reservations about expressing their emotions—their elation was loud and boisterous. She was looking around for an out-of-the-way place for the humans to gather when her eyes fell on a smattering of color in a far corner.

  She stared a moment before she realized what she was seeing and she felt her face tingle as blood drained. Her stomach churned, and she grabbed Wolfe’s arm.

  “Wolfe, look,” she whispered.

  Wolfe followed the nod of her head, and his eyebrows rose. Heaped in a pile in a corner near the arch were—

  Both witches started as a soft moan erupted from Gaulte. He, too, had followed Mayra’s gaze. The two Ring-Witches stared as the black dragon crept closer to the wall, incon
gruous movements in an animal so large. Mayra ran in front of Gaulte, reaching the pile first.

  “Dear gods,” she whispered. “Dragon scales. The scales Plyn stole.”

  Someone had stacked myriad colored scales against the wall. Most were large; too many were tragically small. Mayra dropped to her knees. She started to pick up one, but her hand went beyond it and her fingers closed around a small, light-red scale.

  Tingling went through her hand—pain and then fright that was heart-rending. Mayra gasped. That fright was nearly identical to what she had felt from Oria, the child whose hands Mayra had held as she died, after the Phailites attacked her village.

  “A child,” Mayra whispered, turning glistening eyes upon Wolfe. “A terrified child.”

  “Tamsin.”

  Gaulte’s whispery moan was so filled with anguish that tears spilled from Mayra’s eyes—her tears, awash with Gaulte’s pain as the black dragon tried desperately not to show his emotions to his Clan. Wolfe drew Mayra up into his arms as Gaulte moved still closer to the pile of scales.

  Carefully, almost reverently, Gaulte used gentle talons to pick up a large, red scale. He handed it to Mayra, followed by another one, and then, another of the small, lighter red and pale-violet-tinged ones.

  Mayra gasped as she took it and more anguish and terror flowed over her. She clutched the small scales to her chest, staring up at Gaulte. Tears had gathered at the scaly corners of his eyes and started trickling down his face. Gaulte tried to hide the agony and wrath reeling in those tears and he was almost able. His iron will concealed him from the others, but the emotions leaking through to Mayra so distressed her, she thought she might be sick.

  Strange, disjointed pictures suddenly filled her head, but somehow as they straightened out, she knew what he was saying. My youngest—so small.

  Gaulte, my dear friend. Did the dragon even realize that she could see the pain he was now expressing; know that he was speaking to her in the way the dragons communicated with each other? She saw images; both still and moving that voiced a multitude of words and sensations.

  Mayra felt as though she stood alongside the black dragon, living the sorrow he communicated, in a way she had never encountered—weak, watery images projected a scene she knew brought him deep pain. A yellowish-red egg among a clutch of many other eggs. This special egg…so much smaller than those around it. It is consigned to the cold as dead, but saved and warmed by Gaulte, until it is carefully handed over to a magnificent red dragon—surely that is his mate, Hesta—to be given life. Gaulte moaned again. The Roost. Precious Tamsin. We have no more eggs.

  Before Mayra could unravel what Gaulte was trying to tell her, she heard movement behind her. As she turned, Payk af’Unshyr burst through the witches, gesturing wildly toward Gaulte.

  “Catch the tears!” Payk shouted. “They’re priceless! They’re—oof!”

  Payk doubled over, clutching his stomach. Shaura shook her hand, casting off a forceful blow to Payk’s midsection. But the grim satisfaction in her face spoke volumes.

  “Forgive me!” Payk gasped for air. “Never meant—Gaulte, you know, forgive me, but—”

  Listen to him, listen to the blue one—he speaks the truth. Fauler wasn’t looking at Gaulte, but the pain in the green dragon’s face spoke to his own anguish. Mayra knew Fauler also recognized some of those scales.

  “You must gather these tears,” said Gaulte quietly to Mayra, “for the Phailite speaks the truth. I give them in deepest sorrow, and they will be priceless to you, my little witchling. Shh—do not protest; this is magic you don’t yet understand.”

  The other dragons nodded their agreement.

  A small beaker magically appeared in Wolfe’s hands; he handed it to Mayra and with trembling hands, she collected dragon tears, cried by a sire for his child, Tamsin. The others watched in silence as Gaulte’s golden tears filled the glass and Mayra stoppered it. She wrapped the precious bottle in fur and set it into the pouch at her waist.

  “It is the sole way we will battle such magic as the reins,” said Payk sadly, as he drew closer to Mayra and Wolfe. “I put it all together. My grandmother told me that dragon tears could battle the evilest of magic. And Shaura and Jannia were telling me about the reins, how they enchanted the dragons, and how their magic was vile and evil; Shaura said they could feel that evil when they touched them.”

  “Oh, Payk,” Shaura whispered, throwing her arms around his neck. “I am so sorry! I didn’t think, I reacted, I—”

  “Shh,” Payk said awkwardly, drawing her close to him and patting her on the back. “You didn’t know. The magic of dragon tears is as rare and priceless as—well, as gold is here in the north!” He grinned and rubbed his midsection. “Perhaps you could school me in that method. By the gods, that hurt!”

  Gaulte cleared his throat. He gestured toward the stack.

  “You must gather the scales.” His voice was stronger, as though shedding the tears had been healing. “You must, for very little magic and no metal can penetrate them. These did not come away from their owners easily. What pain they caused my kin will at least protect you, my witchlings. I will use the proof my sorrow, with magic to protect you from the foul magic that made those reins.”

  Fauler moved closer to his nestmate, pausing to look over the pile of scales. Almost at once, he plucked up two pale-green scales. He gazed down at them a long moment.

  “Pinea,” he whispered. He raised them to his nose and took a gentle sniff before handing them to Wolfe.

  “These came from my mate, Pinea,” he said quietly. “To use as a shield or armor, friend Wolfe, that she may protect you.” He paused, his sharp talons lingering on the scales almost tenderly. The dark-green dragon did not wonder aloud if Pinea was still alive, but the others could feel a different sorrow emanating from him, one filled with questions, and perhaps slight hope.

  In what had altered from a homecoming to a death-ritual, the Aerie dragons gathered the scales they recognized—some mates, and others, young dragons. The smallest scales found belonged to the youngest nestling, Corren’s female Bieda, and they were no larger than Mayra’s palm. When Corren, a silent, sorrowing sire, handed the scales to Shaura, the Healer stared up at the dragon, tears sliding down her cheeks.

  “She—oh, Corren,” she whispered. “She is so small! I swear to you, dear friend, they will pay. We will find her!”

  Mayra viewed Corren and Payk carefully, hoping there was no further hostility there. When Payk reached out a cautious hand to touch Corren and murmur something, the dragon dipped his head and nudged Shaura toward the Phailite, and relief flooded the High-Witch.

  “Why can’t our kind be as forgiving as dragons?” Wolfe muttered.

  Mayra nodded wordlessly. Claiming the scales was becoming an impossible task for the dragons. She knew she had to at least try to bring an end to their desperate gloom. When yet another drooping dragon presented scales to a pale witch, she stepped up onto a rock.

  “Wait!” she cried, clutching large and small red scales to her. Her voice echoed off the enormous walls, and she lowered it. “I know all this is terrible, but it doesn’t mean they’re dead!” Mayra was stunned when even the dragons turned to her with hope. She swallowed and looked out over her friends—witches and dragons. “There isn’t any blood on the scales. When Gaulte left a talon for us to find at the Fortress, there was blood on it; I knew someone had removed it violently.” She looked around at the Aerie dragons and her heart lightened. They were starting to grasp her meaning—dragons might have lost scales in a scuffle, but the scales’ condition spoke volumes. Their owners weren’t harmed when they lost these scales.

  What she didn’t ask was who had stacked them, and why.

  There were nods and murmurs of agreement. Although there was no way to know if any of that were true, Mayra realized, it was what a leader did—gave hope. Wolfe lifted her down and gave her a gentle hug. He took the larger red scales but left the small ones with her.

  In what cou
ld have cost him his life, Payk stepped up alongside the six-yearlings to address Gaulte. Payk was visibly shaken, but he straightened his back and turned to the black dragon, ignoring the young beasts staring at him, the hatred in their faces almost human-like.

  “Friend dragon,” he began. He swallowed and looked around. “All of you. My Clan banished the men who attacked this Aerie. If those men had slain any dragons—” He stopped short. “They were terrible men, feared and despised by my people. I cannot say how they might have harmed your kin.” He glanced at the younger dragons and added, “Gaulte, they would have left behind any dragons unable to travel.”

  Gaulte’s brow ridge rose and he looked surprised, as though such a thing hadn’t occurred to him. It wasn’t well expressed, Mayra decided, but Payk had effectively made his point. Had the invaders killed any dragons of the Aerie, they would have stripped their bodies of trophies and left the remains behind. All the dragons stolen from the Aerie had left there alive.

  * * *

  Well said. Gaulte gave Mayra a slight nod. Little witchling, you may tell Payk I found his words heartening—I fear I cannot yet.

  But it was time for Gaulte to regain authority. With the scales cleaned up, the black dragon turned to the dragons of his Aerie; a gesture brought the four younglings up next to him.

  “I commend you for the care you have shown our home,” he said aloud. “You bring pride to your sires and to me.” He used his head to gesture toward the blue-skinned men and spoke their names to the young dragons. “These men are from the Sorst Clan. Yes”—for the young dragons were still giving the two men unfriendly glances—“as were our invaders. But—our kind harmed men of Sorst long ago, including the sire and brother of these two. Yet they do not ascribe the deeds of some dragons to all. We must not, either. I have also returned with witchlings, who bring great wisdom and magic with them.”