Gaulte lowered his voice. “Through them, we have learned there are far more noble humans than evil, and they wish to punish the bad. So, we shall go inside and you shall tell us what has happened here since the invaders took away us. And then we will return the Aerie to a habitable home.”
“Gaulte,” began Larek’s son Mieran, the largest of the four, looking both excited and shamefaced. He looked back over his shoulder and moved closer to the adult dragons. “There are others. We—I did not want to say—I did not disagree when we were told to say naught.”
Gaulte stopped short. What was the youngling blathering on about? An impatient warning growl sounded from Larek; the young bronze dragon gave his sire a worried glance, then opened his mouth to speak, but he was too late.
“He means,” interrupted Talft’s son, Alder, who was almost dancing around in his excitement, with nearly identical nestmate Perice nodding enthusiastically, “that others of our Aerie were spared.”
The two started to turn back the way they had come, but Gaulte stopped them.
“Gaulte.” Mieran made a vague gesture toward the walkway area. “The Elder and some younglings, including Aesta and Gabrel, were hardly injured.” He looked down at the ground, his voice dropped, and he added, “They took Tamsin with Hesta.”
“Where are the others?” Gaulte demanded. “Why—?” Gaulte, once again in his dominant role, made himself stop short. He was beginning to understand. “Was it because of these Phailites?”
“It was,” came a reedy yet powerful voice from around the corner of the courtyard wall, “because I told them not to trust any soul, not even a dragon—and what should happened, but dragons returned with those who took their mothers.”
An ancient dragon—another black dragon—came into sight first, followed by several younger dragons, including yet another black dragon—a small one quivering with excitement—whose appearance beside a smaller, dark-red dragon caused a huff to escape Gaulte.
But they, like the other young ones, still held back while the elder dragon looked over the newcomers with narrowed eyes. Suddenly, that dragon gave an odd, screeching cackle of a laugh.
“Welcome home, male dragons of Ceshon! And you, Gaulte, ere you see your offspring, shall greet your own mother and tell me if you were weak or bewitched!”
Gaulte’s mother was the Ceshon Aerie Elder.
Chapter Eleven
Ceshon Aerie
Day four of the First Moon of Wynter
Dragons brought wood and humans stoked the fireplaces throughout the enormous rooms of Ceshon Aerie to warm the humans and the younger dragons. Lined with sweet-smelling wood and rushes, the Aerie was soon as welcoming and sheltering to the humans as their own homes. Once the Elder—who had gruffly introduced herself as Theura—relented and permitted the younglings to join the males, Mayra and Wolfe herded the other humans into a corner, to give the boisterous dragons room to celebrate the partial reunion of their families. And to ensure the small humans needn’t worry about staying out of the way of dragons.
After greeting her son, Theura lead the humans down a wide corridor. They followed her in silence, taking in the inner construction of the Aerie. Someone had used clever masonry techniques to join massive slabs of rocks in places rather than leaving the shapes of the many rooms to happenstance. They passed many large rooms within the vast stone shell, refined by hand and furnished with strange furniture, most large, with their use not obvious to the humans.
After passing four such rooms, Theura stopped and ushered the humans into yet another large room, where the furnishings were considerably smaller.
“This will be yours,” the black Elder said. “It will be your common room until you can be given rooms of your own.” She then left them.
The large room was disorderly, almost as though someone had been looking for something. But it was clean, with a wall of tall windows. The windows, filled with heavy glass, looked out onto the courtyard at the front of the Aerie. Where, Wolfe wondered, had the dragons found someone to make them such tall panes of glass?
“Gaulte has a mother!” Mayra whispered, her grin huge. “And she treats him like a child!”
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” returned Wolfe. He chuckled. “She is the Elder, my sweet, and somehow, I imagine she is fiercer than he is.”
“Do you agree that Theura was the Elder who had helped the Sorst Clan?” she asked softly. “Gaulte spoke of a dragon who could not fly, because her wing had been damaged by the same dragons who had harmed Payk and Fyrid’s father. Perhaps there could someday be a bond there, between a dragon and a human, both damaged by evil dragons.”
Wolfe gave a shrug. “Perhaps. Meanwhile, we need to find food for us and set up a place to sleep.” Wolfe looked past Mayra.
She turned to find Fyrid and Payk approaching. Why didn’t Wolfe want to talk about the Elder where the two Phailites could hear? All those two needed was to find a place for two direwolves to relieve themselves. And perhaps two men. She watched Wolfe walk off with them. It was still too cold in here.
* * *
All fourteen of the humans—twelve witches and two Phailites—fit in the common with room to spare. The room was essentially an enormous square with two fireplaces facing each other, one of which was already warming the room. Richart and Kirik worked on getting the other started. Others moved their possessions to a corner to unpack and use later. Amid all the business of settling down, two of the witches stood gazing up at the tall windows.
Mayra joined them.
“We were wondering if it might be warmer in here if something covered those windows,” said Shaura. When Mayra agreed, the Healer smiled happily and joined Payk to tend to their bedding. Mayra watched them go, wondering what sharing a bed meant to them at this point.
She turned back to study the windows a moment longer before it occurred to her that tall planks of wood had once covered the panes. She could see the slatted boards so completely, that when she raised her arms, palms out, the pale blue shimmering that defined her magic quickly pulled together and formed the shutters, and slapped them into place.
There was silence from her companions. She played with her magic, using her fingers to turn the slats upward, to let in light, but keeping them closed against the cold. The sudden feeling of satisfaction that filled her was as strange to her as the presentiment which had led her to use magic to build shutters, of all things.
Wolfe stepped up alongside her. “What are those?” he asked.
“Shutters,” she replied. “They used to be there when humans used this room many years ago.”
“And how do you know that?”
She looked up at him; his face was expressionless. She gave him a slight shrug. “I just know.”
The other witches were listening; the two Phailites were still staring, openmouthed, at the windows. All of them turned to the door as it slowly opened. The small, black dragon—Gaulte’s son, Gabrel—peeked in.
“Hello.” His spoken words were slow and shy. “I am Gabrel. Gaulte is my sire.” He closed the door behind him. He was a complete replica of Gaulte, at a quarter the size.
He is adorable! Mayra hurried forward to greet him, followed by the two direwolves, who seemed delighted to find a playmate so much smaller than the adult dragons.
“I know who you are!” said the young dragon gleefully to Mayra. He sat up on his back legs; his eyes were higher than hers. “You are she—the one bonded to Father! The reason Elder Grandmatron yelled at him because our dear Mother, Hesta, will not understand that Papa—um, Father has bonded with a human!” He hopped from one foot to the other and turned around, almost knocking Wolfe and Harald off their feet with his tail.
“Gabrel!” Mayra scolded. She laid her hands on Gabrel’s shoulder. “You should not be happy that the Elder scolded your father.”
His head dropped a moment, then bounded back up. “Oh no, Lady Mayra,” he cried, his eyes shining. “I am happy because you saved him! Papa—um, Father,
sent us the tale of how you saved him! Elder Grandmatron shouted because Father should have made you act more cautious!”
“I wasn’t in so very much danger, Gabrel. Your father was very careful of me.” Mayra smiled up at the young dragon. “You are very polite.”
“Mother teaches we must always be so,” the young dragon said in a low voice. His entire body then seemed to droop.
Mayra glanced at Wolfe with a rueful smile. She had spoken with good intentions, but thoughtlessly.
“Gabrel,” Wolfe began, joining Mayra. “We need places to sleep and to prepare our food. Would you help us settle in your Aerie?”
Gabrel’s eyes—identical to the starburst eyes of his sire—lit up. He leaned his head forward so that he was eye-to-eye with Wolfe, then tilted his head so that one eye was higher than the other and for a moment, he could look at both witches. As Mayra’s grin turned into a laugh, his eyes crossed and he drew back.
“Oh, yes,” he said happily. “I would do that, for I can practice my speaking with you! Can Aesta help us? She needs to practice, too, she is younger than I am and—stop that!”
He whirled and pushed back against the broad door; it swung open again, beating against his back end. Gabrel growled softly and shoved back against the door just as it flew open and a smaller, dark red dragon peered in.
The humans could tell she was smiling. Her lovely green eyes were bright with mischief. She pushed the door again and slipped inside behind her nestmate. She was shorter than Gabrel and more slender.
“I heard you say my name!” she declared.
“They want us to help them live here!” said Gabrel gleefully. “And we can talk to them!”
“Don’t call them-them,” Aesta whispered loudly. “Maman said we would someday meet witchlings and we must treat them like any other dragon!”
Aesta took a breath and sadness passed over her face, as though she, too, realized she had spoken insensitively. Great tears filled her green eyes.
Shaura and Jannia were at her side at once, their arms around her muscular neck, making soothing sounds. As Aesta sniffled, Smok reached a cautious hand out from Shaura’s cowl and patted the young dragon.
Aesta caught sight of him and her eyes rounded. “Wh-what is that?” she whispered. “Is it a plaything?”
“Oh, no,” Shaura said, taking Smok and setting him up on her shoulder. “He is a dragonlet, and he told Mayra his name is Smok.”
“He can talk as dragons do?” asked Gabrel in wonder. “Can we play with him?”
“Well, perhaps later, when he has become accustomed to all the younger dragons here,” Mayra decided. She started as a furry black set of claws landed on her shoulder, then jumped over to Wolfe. “Oof, she is putting on weight! That is Poppie. She is a witchling cat. I don’t think she wants to play now, either. We’re all tired.”
The other witches nodded agreement.
“Well then,” said Gabrel with puffed-up importance. “We will get busy, won’t we? We will find what you need here for witchlings to eat and sleep. And Father says we should take the pups outside for a good run. Come along, Aesta.”
His sister scowled and slung her tail at him, hitting his back leg.
You aren’t my parent. Even her mind-speak sounded huffy. You can’t tell me what to do.
I can, Gabrel returned. I am the elder, and Grandmatron assigned me to help.
Please, dear little ones. Mayra smiled as they turned surprised eyes upon her. Yes, we can hear and speak to you as dragons do, too. We will help, too. So, where do we start?
As she turned to enlist Wolfe’s help, she saw him glance at the tall windows and their newly created covers, then back at her, and one black eyebrow rise. She smiled. They would talk later, but what could she tell him? She did not understand what had compelled her to create the shutters, other than the need.
* * *
Gabrel returned later, leaving the two direwolves with Fyrid. He then reported that some dragons had gone to hunt and others to gather what growing things they could find. The humans, with no idea when food would arrive, decided that sitting around the fireplace to share their various small packets of dried food was better than waiting, doing nothing. They brought out scant provisions to share while they readied the fireplace for cooking whatever food might arrive.
The two direwolves were curled up nose to tail in front of the roaring fire with Fyrid, Payk, Shaura, and Fleura. After running around outside with several dragon younglings, the canines were so sound asleep they did not even awaken when the dried meat was passed around those who wanted it.
Fyrid voiced his surprise at their fatigue.
“Don’t blame them, my boy,” Payk said softly, brushing the fur straight on a huge, white paw. “Direwolves have been companions to dragons, and especially their younglings, near as long as the dragons have been here. What I’m saying is, these two have likely realized there is nothing here to guard their pack leader from. At least not among these particular dragons.” Payk shook his head and added, “It’s not the same as among many humans.”
“What?” Shaura gave Payk a gentle punch in the arm. “Are dragons more trustworthy that we witches?”
Payk grinned at her. “To the direwolves, yes!”
The other witches quickly joined the group, to enjoy the warmth with their meager provisions. They spread out all they had between them, let some of the bread and dried meat warm before the fire, and ate until the last bit of food was gone.
“At least the food was warm, this time,” Wolfe commented. “And it’s not rationed. Something about being in this cold makes me hungrier.”
Payk nodded. He grinned at Shaura. “And there was enough! Phailite women eat far more heartily than witches,” he declared. He glanced over the other women and chuckled. “And I daresay you lot will, too, once you've spent some time in this cold.”
“I have already told them it takes more food to keep you warm,” said Shaura, the Healer. “I remember studying such things as I trained for my calling.”
As Mayra began to ask Shaura about her training, a small knock sounded; at once, the wide doors swung open again and a parade of varying-sized dragons loaded with various bundles marched in, followed by Theura, the Elder.
It seemed Gaulte’s offspring had taken seriously the task to bring the witchlings food and help them settle into the common. The two younglings had also enlisted some of their larger kin.
Mayra started to rise to greet Theura, but the black dragon shook her head. “Stay there, you will be busy enough later. Gabrel, you and Aesta set the extra bedding over there.”
As the group watched, the Elder gathered her group of ten younglings of various sizes before her and gave them directions.
“Perice and Alder, you are to assist the witchlings in setting up this common room to use for cooking, eating, and sleeping, until they can select their own rooms and make them ready to occupy.
“Mieran, Inshn, you may bring in the sleds of cookery items you found in the storerooms. Gabrel and Aesta, you will bring in the food you gathered earlier.”
The witchlings moved back from the fireplace, out of the way of the industrious dragons. Mieran and Inshn soon reappeared, each dragging a sled that moved easily across the floor, and stacked with heavy black metal utensils, most of which the humans recognized. Soon after, the remaining older dragons leading some of the younger ones reentered the common, carrying baskets of fruits and vegetables, fish, and several slabs of elk, ready to cook.
As things stacked up, the four smallest younglings curiously nosed through things until Theura sternly told them to return to the nursery.
Nursery? Wolfe looked at Mayra, who shrugged.
Within an hour, the common room was repurposed: the oversized hearth of one fireplace was fitted with spits and tripods from which to hang pots and cauldrons and such. Theura presented a collection of cooking utensils to them, telling them the items were treasures from long-ago humans and had been put away for many years.
/> At last, Theura turned to the younglings. “Off you go now, the witchlings will set their room up as they want it. You are to help your sires settle in now!”
Thank you so very much, little ones! Mayra sent as they trooped out.
While most of them looked back at her in astonishment, and the little ones giggled, Gabrel gave Mieran a smug look. I told you they could speak to us!
As soon as the door closed behind Theura, Mayra looked around her, then walked over to the first stack of mingled metal items.
“I know what some of them are,” she mused. She shook her head. “I didn’t have the heart to tell Theura that we are witches and warriors and not a one of us knows how to use most of these things.”
“And we are still hungry,” added Qintas.
Mayra laughed. “Aye, that’s true. Well, we have fresh meat now, and I know some of those vegetables. Shall we try to set up some of these things?”
“Wait, wait,” said Payk patiently. “Fyrid and I can lead this effort. I know what most of this is for. When we join to meet at the MidHall, the men set up the cooking equipment.”
And so Payk and Fyrid took over. With the help of male witches, they set up grates and tripods, from which Payk hung iron pots and a huge cauldron. The witches set out knives, spoons, and pans and watched the two Phailites. Soon, the pots and pans were glowing with heat, and each of the group gathered around the fireplace to help, bringing what they knew to season and prepare various dishes.
As they worked, only Mayra noticed that Theura had slipped back in, and that was to comment to Wolfe how quietly the dragons moved about. Payk, Fyrid, Shaura, and Fleura continued to prepare the food, leaving the others to set up the rest of the common area for eating and sleeping.
Theura gestured Mayra and Wolfe to her side as preparations were going on behind them. She wanted them to tell her the story of how Mayra and Gaulte met and bonded, but from Mayra’s perspective.
As she asked her many questions, Mayra grew aware that all the while they were talking, Theura was keeping a careful eye on the Phailites.
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