Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  The Ring-Witch wondered why. After she finished her abbreviated version of how the reins of the blue saddle affected her, through Gaulte, Mayra turned, caught Payk’s attention, and gestured to him.

  Theura stiffened and grumbled under her breath.

  They can’t hear us when we use mind-speak. Mayra told the dragon. But we don’t like to exclude them.

  “Mind-speak, yes?” The Elder paused as though she were thinking and then nodded her huge head. “I once knew a witchling who used those words…that was long ago.” She suddenly lowered her head to peer into Mayra’s face. “Who are these blue humans,” she asked gruffly, “who ride with dragons?”

  Payk straightened and raised his chin. “I am called Payk af’Unshyr, Lady Theura,” he said politely. “That one yonder is my brother’s son, Fyrid af’Heyr. We are of the Sorst Clan.”

  “Ah yes, that clan.” The dragon seemed to consider a moment before she said, “And yet you do not remember me from your own past?” Theura chuckled. “I do not fault you, Payk af’Unshyr, for you were distressed with your injuries and those of your brother.” Her voice dropped. “Is he—that young man named Heyr—did he survive his injuries?”

  Payk gaped, then nodded. It one moment his entire demeanor changed from stiff and wary to relaxed and friendly.

  “Though he lost that leg, thanks to you, he survived.” The blue man turned and called Fyrid to his side. “Fyrid, do you remember the Dragon Elder in my tale of bringing your father to this Aerie?”

  “Yes, Uncle.” The younger man stared up at the old, black dragon a moment, then bowed to her. “Uncle Payk and Father spoke of you to our Clan with great reverence. I am honored to meet you at last.”

  Mayra saw the approval in the weathered face of Gaulte’s mother.

  Mayra rolled her shoulders and released the breath she’d been holding. I was certain a short, horrid battle was eminent, she thought. But seeing how Fyrid and Payk accepted the dragon filled Mayra with relief. Being around so many dragons in such close quarters was a little unnerving. No matter how close she was to Gaulte, Payk had placed a niggling little thought into Mayra’s head, and it would not go away.

  Of dragons, the blue man had said, We are very different, are we not? No matter how noble they are to your kind, by their very nature, dragons frighten humans.

  Mayra had wondered once or twice, if she and her fellow witches had been too hasty to trust.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ceshon Aerie

  Day five of the First Moon of Wynter

  The Elder Theura smiled at the two Phailites, showing terrifyingly large, sharp teeth. To their credit, neither Fyrid nor Payk so much as flinched. Upon their meeting, Theura had felt deep dread in the elder blue man, until he had recognized her. She hadn’t actually known him until he spoke his name. She had felt his fear vanish once he remembered her, and Theura realized this was an honest man, with a genuine reason to dread dragons, yet he had again chosen to trust one who had once helped him and his brother.

  “I commend your Clan, friend Payk,” she said abruptly. “You have raised your young one with reverent demeanor. I sense your Center, and that of your young kin and all I feel from you is trustworthiness.”

  Fyrid’s face flushed. He smiled and bowed again; he seemed paused to bow again, but Fleura had come up behind him.

  “With your leave, Elder,” the young witch-warrior murmured, and grabbed Fyrid’s arm and dragged him back to the others to continue cooking.

  Gaulte had gotten his rumbling laugh from the Elder. She watched the departing humans a moment before turning her glittering starburst eyes back to Mayra and Wolfe, and then to the little dragonlet.

  This little creature perplexes me, Theura said of the dragonlet, speaking directly to Mayra. From it, I sense searching and loss, and fear. Even when it tries to find comfort with you and the other witchlings, I feel it suddenly awash in fright, again and again. You must watch it carefully, my dear.

  Mayra nodded. After a moment, Theura’s attention wandered to the other witches and Poppie, almost unnoticeable on a dark table, rose and stretched. The little black cat turned her blue eyes upon Theura.

  Not trust small beast.

  The tiny squeak of a mind-voice did not startle the old dragon, nor did she have any doubt who had spoken to her. Her eyes met Poppie’s at once. Theura did not return a comment, fearing the strength of her mind might hurt the little cat. But the old dragon, still staring at Poppie, nodded once, then moved away.

  Elder Theura, please. Mayra extended her hand to stop the dragon. It was you, you stacked the scales. Why?

  The Elder hesitated. In the immense room, she felt the presence of Mayra apart from the other witchlings. She saw the shutters being created; the scene was plucked from the mind of the younger Phailite, which was as free of layers as was a nestling’s. The Elder realized Mayra did not know whence she received the instructions she had used, nor did she seem to care. It was a need, fulfilled.

  It was possible, Theura realized, that Mayra was merging with the vestiges of those witches who once lived in this Aerie, possibly from ages gone by. Instead of replying to Mayra’s question, Theura pushed a picture toward the young witching. Mayra gasped and took a step back. She stared at the huge dragon a long moment, then turned away.

  The black dragon paused again, then spoke aloud:

  “I ask that you start your life here in Ceshon Aerie, as you wish it to exist.” Her carefully enunciated words echoed through the room. “Sort out the old human rooms as your part of our Aerie, your home.” Her head moved unhurriedly as she gazed through the room, at witchlings and Phailites, two groups of humans she never thought to see within the walls of her home, amid her many grandlings and the younglings of other family lines. “This is a good thing. A wonderful thing. Welcome to you all. And do not let the younglings wear you out. Hesta teaches them to speak as humans do, but they have never had a human with whom to practice.”

  As the old dragon lumbered away, she wondered about the furry familiar. None of the witchlings had given any sign they had heard Poppie, most especially not Poppie’s companion, Wolfe. Did they know the cat spoke to Theura? If not, she wondered, why?

  The Elder needed to find to her son. Something felt odd here, amid the witchlings. It felt old and dark, and it did not belong, yet it wasn’t the humans, themselves. Could they have brought something within the Aerie? A dark thing that felt more dragon than human, that made Theura uneasy.

  * * *

  Wolfe watched as Mayra turned away from the Elder. The old dragon spoke aloud to all, but Wolfe didn’t follow, rather, he tracked his mate across the room, and then joined her.

  She smiled up at him and they sank to a bench together, close to the fireplace. He threaded his fingers through hers.

  “I too, wanted to tell her I was curious about the stacked scales—” He broke off. Mayra’s face paled. Wolfe’s protective anger flared. His fingers tightened around hers. “What did she show you?”

  He gave a slight start as she grabbed his hand in both of hers. “Feel this!” she hissed.

  An entire picture filled his head. Without words, he understood—the deaths of so many dragons, their scales stacked at various places throughout a forest, warning other dragons to stay away—this is a place of dragon death and destruction. And Theura, knowing of those long-ago fields of death, used the same technique on her Aerie. Her warning to others—stay away.

  “Theura did it,” she whispered. “But why? Was she ensuring other dragons didn’t raid the Aerie? Or warning away her own kin?”

  “It must have been to warn other dragons to stay away from this Aerie.” Wolfe replied quietly. “Not for their safety, but for that of an unprotected Aerie. Did she say anything about it?”

  Mayra shook her head. “She just gave me that sight when I asked her if she had stacked the scales.”

  “The idea that she gave you a sight perplexes me. Is that what happened when you made those shutters?”

&nb
sp; “Theura didn’t do that. No, they just appeared in my head and came out through my magic.” She smiled. “I enjoyed that! Just using magic as it was intended!”

  “Perhaps the Aerie is as magical a conductor as the dragons, themselves are,” he mused.

  “I’ve no doubt you’ll figure it out,” she said drily. “You cannot stand to leave a mystery alone, can you?”

  Payk stepped up onto a hearth step and gave a triumphant shout of, “We prepared the food!”

  The shout went up before Mayra could hush them—no one wanted to eat with direwolves drooling at their feet. But the dragons had fed Balc and Nena and both remained asleep in front of the fireplace.

  * * *

  The tired group of humans ate in silence until full, and the room gradually filled with contented sighs and comments. Payk then cleared his throat.

  “Gaulte asked me if Fyrid and I would consider staying,” he said. “We talked about it and we think we might. At least for a while.”

  “Did he say why he would want you to stay?” Wolfe asked idly. That tone earned a curious look from his mate.

  Payk shrugged. “He said they would reward us if we stayed. I didn’t think it was polite to ask—”

  “Well, I did,” Fyrid interrupted.

  Wolfe laughed. “What did Gaulte say?”

  Fyrid also shrugged, somewhat sheepishly. “He said not to be so eager, I would find rewards here that I couldn’t hold in my hand, yet could come of my hands.” The younger Phailite shook his head. “I don’t think I like dragons being mysterious. But we talked of the Phailites who used to come to Aeries to learn and to help the dragons. Gaulte said if we found living in the Aerie to our liking, perhaps we could persuade others of our Clan to join us here, helping the dragons and the witchlings, and in payment receiving their own rewards.”

  “Well,” Fleura said musingly, “it doesn’t sound as though they’re going to eat you…”

  The laughter made the young witch-warrior turn faintly pink and Mayra teased her about becoming their entertainment over evening meals.

  Wolfe shook his head and chuckled. He’d never worked with female warriors at his side before. They were vastly more enjoyable than a group of surly, combative males. The group sat in silence for several more minutes when their door opened.

  A small dragon head peered around the door and amid cries of come in! opened the door wider.

  * * *

  Mayra slept within Wolfe’s arms, alongside a bunched-up blanket where Poppie and Smok made a pretense of sleeping but were actually watching each other. Wolfe was staring up at the white stone ceiling, enjoying the sparks of red picked up by the smoldering fire glancing off the polished ceiling. He had enjoyed talking to the young dragons, and they had left as soon as it was apparent the humans could hardly keep themselves awake.

  And now, he was thinking less about the story shared by the young dragons than the questions asked by them through the evening, as they moved about the room talking to other witches and the Phailites.

  There had been one common theme in each conversation, Wolfe discovered afterward, as he and the others shared information about the various conversations they’d had with the young dragons.

  How do humans talk to each other to get information? asked one. How can you make them tell you?

  And from another: If a human took something from you, can you make them give it back?

  From shy Perice, a befuddled, Do humans like to be hurt?

  Why were the dragons asking such odd questions? Richart, a natural interrogator, had taken Wolfe aside after the dragons left, gestured his elder brother over, as well as Kirik, and the men shared their experiences at being artlessly quizzed by the young dragons. Their shared information pointed to one certainty—these dragons were trying to be sly, but clearly, they were seeking specific information about drawing information from humans.

  Surprisingly, young Fyrid joined them, his face puzzled.

  “I wondered if you were still talking about the younglings,” he said in a low voice. His white eyebrows drew together. “Mieran asked me if pain makes people talk—then he changed that to tell tales. And then he shuddered.” Fyrid shook his head. “It was strange, Wolfe, almost as though he were envisioning hurting someone.” He glanced at Wolfe. “I didn’t share with the others. I don’t want anyone to think a dragon might hurt them. I mean—”

  He broke off. He obviously meant his uncle. Wolfe grinned and clapped him on the back. “Good call, Fyrid. You are right—we are amid huge dragons. I don’t want anyone feeling as though they are in danger.”

  The four six-yearlings were approximately thirteen in human years. But they would never possess Fyrid’s wiles, a cunning gained by merely being a human and growing up amid humans who could expect more trouble from each other than the dragons they shared the land with.

  They agreed—the men would watch the young dragons and get to the bottom of those unusual questions.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ceshon Aerie

  Day six of the First Moon of Wynter

  The dragons had yet to show the humans where to find certain human necessities inside the Aerie. Mayra and Fleura refused to be as open about such requirements as were the other witch-warriors. Mayra was certain there must be such accommodations somewhere, for hadn’t humans once lived within the Aerie? Their plan to slip out of the common room and seek privacy for morning ablutions had gone well until Wolfe caught them. His growled warning to halt had awakened several of the others and Mayra glared at him. This wasn’t going as she and her friend had planned.

  “A dragon midden simply isn’t suitable for human use,” Mayra said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Wolfe agreed—a bucket behind a curtain had its shortcomings. The others were now laughing at the two shy witches.

  As soon as the early risers bundled up and found their way out into the passages of the icy-cold Aerie, they discovered they weren’t alone in seeing dawn rising over the mountains. The three witches caught sight of an adult black dragon as he—or she—disappeared out the front door.

  “Let’s follow—whichever one that is.” Wolfe, speaking as quietly as possible, drew Mayra closer to him, then gestured Fleura closer. “Some strange things are going on here that I’ll tell everyone about later. But if nothing else, we can find out if there is a midden somewhere in the Aerie for us to use.” He frowned as he opened the door. “I wonder who that—”

  “It was Gaulte,” Fleura whispered. “I’ve seen the Elder from behind; you can tell that her wing is damaged. But why is he…” She trailed off, seeking a word. “Why is he sneaking like that?”

  It was a good word, for the dragon was acting suspiciously in his own home. Wolfe stepped out to follow and gestured the two women to follow.

  Gaulte was silent for a beast of his size. Although he glanced to his sides a few times, he did not see the witches directly behind him following as the dragon went around toward the back of the Aerie. The black dragon slowed as he reached an opening in an immense rock. As the humans watched, Gaulte moved a massive stone to one side and disappeared from sight. A few moments later, a light flared out from the opening, likely where he had lit a torch.

  It was another cave, cold and dark, and the witches reached the opening just in time to see Gaulte’s tail vanish into the shadows. Ahead of him went the light of the torch he was carrying. They followed him around the curve of the cave.

  They ran into Gaulte almost at once. He shook his head and handed Wolfe a smaller torch.

  I have so much to teach you about living with dragons. One is not to be so curious. Come, I will show you where you are.

  He turned to one side and ushered them in into yet another vast cavern. Before them stood two large tables, upon which sat wooden boxes—Mayra peered closer—no, they were more like shallow bowls, filled with a brown, grassy material, each holding shimmering round rocks, in myriad colors.

  Not rocks—

  “Eggs!” the Ri
ng-Witch breathed. These were the eggs she had seen in Gaulte’s thoughts earlier when they had discovered the scales. She turned and looked up at Gaulte. “Dragon eggs! Gaulte, are they yours?”

  “No. This is our Aerie’s Roost. They are the eggs of the dragons of Ceshon Aerie. I came to make sure no harm had befallen them. To humans, they are a priceless acquisition.”

  “How do they hatch when it’s so cold?” Fleura asked.

  “They don’t. This is the perfect temperature at which to store the eggs, little witchling. They shall not hatch until they are warmed.”

  “Are any of them yours?” Mayra asked hesitantly, for a sad aura emanated from the black dragon.

  “No, my dear Mayra,” he replied softly.

  “Is this how your nestlings are different ages?” Wolfe asked.

  “Yes. Some families wish them to hatch close together, and others do not. Hesta and I gave it much consideration, to have our brood grow close as they aged.”

  “We think,” Mayra said, “that Gabrel is equivalent to a human child of some ten years, and Aesta is like an eight-year-old.” She hesitated again. “Can you tell us about Tamsin?”

  Gaulte was silent a long moment, then nodded. “Dragons lay their eggs when first mated and save them throughout the years. Hesta could produce but a small clutch, none but three were viable, and Tamsin barely was. If you assign those ages to the other two, then Tamsin can aged at four human years. She was very small when—”

  A huge burst of noise startled them; even Gaulte jumped. Unconsciously, the humans stepped aside to allow Gaulte to exit ahead of them. As soon as they emerged from the cave, Gaulte raised his huge hand, swept it across the black rock, and it moved back into place. Gaulte nodded once and turned back the way they had come, away from the Roost and toward shouts so deep and loud, the sounds had to come from dragons.

  They rounded the corner to see humans and young dragons standing and shouting at each other and gesturing wildly at the pitiable creature that barely stood between them.