Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  A half-dressed Phailite, battered and bruised and shivering with cold, was trying to stay with the two men—Richart and Harald—while two of the four young dragons were trying to reach and seize the blue man. Fauler was holding them back.

  Wolfe’s sudden laugh shocked Mayra, but she said nothing, sensing strange undercurrents from her mate: inquisitiveness, and something darker. Something she had sensed when she first met Wolfe Sieryd and knew him to be an assassin.

  Was he going to kill this man?

  “Good hunting, brave young dragons,” Wolfe said heartily, striding forward. “Richart, that was far faster than I thought it would be.” The Ring-Witch turned to Gaulte. “Your young kin got themselves a prisoner. But then, they didn’t know what to do with him. I believe I shall be able to assist them with that.”

  A look from Gaulte cut off the howls of protest from the young dragons. He turned back to Wolfe, his starburst eyes agleam. He, too, knew Wolfe for what he was.

  Yes, you may have him, friend Wolfe. I wish to know why he is here. I will know what he knows about my—our mates. And our younglings.

  * * *

  Wolfe gathered the four six-yearlings in the large common to speak with them.

  “Perhaps you find humans to be overly curious, my young dragon friends,” Wolfe said as he paced back and forth in front of the young dragons and their sires. “We find dragons to be upright and honest—but many humans are not. If we are to live among you, then you must learn not to ask strange questions that rouse that inquisitiveness in humans, for we will do whatever it takes to resolve that curiosity.” He paused and chuckled. “The desire for knowledge in our kinds is very much the same thing, is it not?”

  “Not at all,” grumbled Mieran, who as always, spoke for the foursome. He cast an imploring glance toward his sire, Larek. “He is our prisoner! We captured him, and we have the right to make him talk to us.”

  The prisoner, stubbornly mute, or just scared out of his wits, was being tended by the two Healers—human and dragon—and seemed to be more comfortable with the presence of two other Phailites.

  So far, Payk hadn’t even learned his name. Neither uncle nor nephew recognized him, but the condition of the man’s face might have contributed to that.

  One look at Mayra’s furrowed brows and frown had Mieran sullenly apologizing for the rough questioning that had contributed to the man’s bruises and swelling. The bronze young dragon then turned to Wolfe, and said, “We found him after the blue humans who took our mothers had left. He is fortunate our elders taught us to be honorable, or else we would have—”

  “Mieran,” Mayra said gently, laying a quelling hand on his shoulder. “All that matters is that you were honorable—if a bit exuberant.” At Mieran’s questioning look, she added, “You were high-spirited.” She smiled at him, and she wasn’t alone in seeing the young dragon lean, ever-so-slightly, into her hand.

  Larek was especially angry and Mayra understood. Mieran should have told his sire about the human at once. The gold dragon paced about, then turned on them again. “Your prisoner likely knew where the other Phailites took your mothers and the youngest dragons. Playing an interrogator was fine and good, but not when lives—”

  This time, Mayra laid her hand on the gold dragon’s nose. There seemed to be magic in her touch, not of a witch, but of a female who could be as a mate or a mother. As she removed her hand, anger swept through her. They had to find the female dragons. She doubted these males even realized what a profoundly essential part of the Aerie those lost dragons were.

  “Larek, they guarded the Aerie,” she soothed. “They are close to grown now; I understand how they wished to finish what they started.” She smiled up at the young dragons. “Surely you would have told your sires and Gaulte about them soon, wouldn’t you?” The four frantically nodding heads brought a full grin to her lips.

  This is a lesson for you, young dragons. Mayra did not intend the Phailites to hear her words to the younglings. All humans can be stubborn, but some to the point where they no longer see logic, and will die before revealing what you wish to know. I know, it makes little sense, does it?

  No, Lady Mayra. Even Mieran’s mind-speak was whispery and perplexed. I threatened to kill him horribly, and he told me to do it. I did not know what to do!

  Exactly. And so, he won that round. But he wasn’t well cared for, he needs food and drink. Again, down went four heads in embarrassment, and Mayra marveled at how human-like they were. The best of humans—proud, honorable warriors.

  She wondered if any of the Ceshon Aerie found the witches to be dragon-like.

  “Wolfe is an expert interrogator. Would you like to watch him work?” she said aloud—words for humans and dragons alike to hear—and even staid Larek look intrigued.

  “Oh, yes!” cried Mieran.

  “Yes, please!” followed Alder and Perice in unison.

  Their shame was gone, replaced by youthful eagerness. With the dragons calmed and the prisoner looking somewhat relieved, Gaulte gestured to Larek.

  “Take our new guest to the nursery,” Gaulte directed thoughtfully. “Payk, perhaps you and Fyrid should accompany him—but wait. He needs food and water, doesn’t he? You can select something to take to him. Larek, show him there so he can warm up.”

  It was an act, and a good one, the witches knew. Gaulte was neither so effusive with his spoken instructions, nor inclined to be kind to a Phailite who had been caught in his Aerie. The four younglings were looking bewildered again at Gaulte’s odd actions.

  There was silence until the Phailites left, following Larek, and the remaining dragons and humans followed Gaulte into the large front common room, for the humans to warm up again.

  “Sir,” began one of Talft’s same-aged younglings, Alder, carefully, “Why are you taking him to the nursery?”

  “Think, Alder,” said his sire. “What is unusual about that room?”

  The young dragon stared up at Talft for a moment before his entire horned, plated face lit up. “You can hear what they say!” he exclaimed.

  “Exactly.” Talft chuckled. “We place the nestlings there so parents can tend to other things outside the room and still know if there is any trouble.”

  Mayra shook her head in admiration. “What a superb idea! A nursery that is also an interrogation chamber.”

  Wolfe laughed. “For the family with children and spies. Come along and let’s listen. I believe Payk and Fyrid should have a conversation with him first; perhaps they can at least learn who he is.”

  “Might we also talk to him?” asked Mieran eagerly of Wolfe.

  Wolfe gazed up at the over-enthusiastic young dragon. “I don’t know yet, Mieran. If we treat him well now, young dragons, he will be even more willing to share his secrets with us.”

  “Because you are human, too,” Inshn protested.

  It was the first time any of the witches had heard anything from the smaller, shy blue dragon. He was being raised in part by Hyaera, who was his uncle. His father had left the Aerie with another female, leaving his mother—sister to Hyaera and cousin to Gaulte—with a three younglings, including two newly hatched nestlings. When Mayra had heard his whispered story from the Elder, anger had sparked in her. She had found a human foible in the great beasts—deserting a family—and it was one with which she could empathize. Though she yet to meet the younger two, she had gone out of her way to ensure this youngling wasn’t neglected.

  “Not necessarily,” Wolfe answered young Inshn directly. “There is a tactic—here, you would call it good dragon, bad dragon, for dragons could easily accomplish such a ruse. If one of you ill-uses him, then later, the other one can rush in, swearing he didn’t know what was happening. He can offer food and rest, perhaps a bath. The prisoner will then be inclined to better trust you, for the kindness and comfort you gave him, and perhaps tell you more.” Wolfe gestured to the avidly absorbed dragons, and they followed him from the room.

  Larek shook his head. “Amazing. Thank yo
u, Mayra, for helping. For calming that situation.” He smiled down at her and lowered his voice. “They all still need their mothers to stand between us but would never admit it. I suppose you shall have to do for now.”

  Mayra smiled up at the beautiful dragon. “Perhaps you are right, Larek.” Perhaps more than you know, dear dragon. “We female witches should visit your young ones. It may bring some comfort to them. But I’m eager to find Payk and Fyrid and see if they’ve learned anything.”

  She turned to find Fleura awaiting her. “I asked the Elder if there was a midden the humans had used,” she whispered as Mayra moved away to let the others pass. “It’s just here, but hidden away.”

  Mayra nodded. There were some things for which one had to take time out. And it gave her a moment alone to consider that she had taken on yet another task she thought herself ill-prepared for: a mother to young dragons.

  A few minutes later, and Mayra was surprised to find Wolfe, Richart, and the four young dragons further down the corridor that led from the dragons’ common they had just left. Neither Gaulte nor Larek were anywhere to be seen. The six-yearlings sat comfortably on the floor with the two humans propped up against them.

  Wolfe raised a finger to his lips and then pointed upward. Mayra sat down near him, close to Inshn, and Wolfe leaned over and whispered to her, “The clansman seems to be giving Payk and Fyrid some trouble. Listen!”

  * * *

  “By the gods, man,” said Payk in a low voice as he watched the other Phailite gorge himself on roasted meat and slurp down equally large quantities of water. “If you don’t help yourself, the leaders of those witches will throw you back to those dragons.”

  The other continued to ignore him.

  Payk straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. “In truth,” he ground out, “I shouldn’t protest if they did. You’re making Phailites look bad.”

  The prisoner grunted. It was the first sound he’d made, other than gobbling down food and swigging water. “They’re humans,” he suddenly growled in a hoarse voice. “Won’t give me to dragons.”

  “Well, there you’re wrong,” Payk shot back in the same tone. “These are witches. Ring-Witches. Do you know aught about them?”

  The prisoner barely hesitated, then said, flatly, “Never heard of such a thing.”

  “He’s lying,” said Fyrid quietly. The young man sat cross-legged on the floor near the fire, sharpening a long knife. Before the man had been brought in, Payk had placed his nephew there and set several weapons lying about, telling Fyrid it showed a level of trust. Payk’s tactics fascinated Fyrid. They also impressed Wolfe.

  The three were alone in the room—or so the prisoner thought—not knowing there were long slits in the upper wall behind and across from him to help circulate air—and sound. Gaulte had shared the room’s secret with Payk and Fyrid as he showed the Phailites where to place their prisoner, and then left the three men alone.

  Voices carried upward, something Payk was certain Wolfe would appreciate.

  “I have no love for your Clan.” The prisoner wiped his sleeve across his mouth, tossed a stripped bone to the direwolves, then reached for more water. “I heard what your Elder and your Chieftain did to Plyn af’Nanyn and his followers, declanning them and casting them out to die.”

  Payk snorted, wondering how much this unknown man knew about the Sorst Clan. “As with most blather, you know a mere part of the tale,” he retorted. “They were treacherous troublemakers. They were given many chances to amend their behavior and align themselves with the laws of our Clan and they deserved worse than what they got.”

  “What happened to Plyn?” the prisoner demanded. “And the others. After they left your village where did they go?”

  “How am I to know?” Payk snapped. “I stayed where I belonged, minding my business.” He leaned back and narrowed his eyes at the other man, looking as though something just occurred to him. “The young dragons said you were with Plyn af’Nanyn—and we have no reason to doubt them—and he left you behind the second time he came here. The younglings then took you as prisoner. So you must have been with Plyn when he attacked this Aerie.”

  “I wasn’t ever with him,” the prisoner snarled. “And I wasn’t part of this raid, either. My Clan had no argument with the Ceshon Aerie, so long as we each stayed within our boundaries. Don’t you understand, you fool? He made me accompany him. I was Plyn’s prisoner.”

  * * *

  Out in the corridor, Fauler and Richart had agreed that there was something of the natural interrogator in Payk. But that last statement by the prisoner caught them all off-guard.

  “A prisoner?” The voice of Payk drifted out to them as he scornfully echoed the prisoner, then laughed. “Did you hear that, Fyrid? When we thought we were captives of dragons, we should have tried telling such a tale!” His voice went high, shaky, and gasping, “Oh, brave dragons, a fierce clansman seized us and made us spy on you—”

  “Shut up, you idiot,” snapped the object of Payk’s ridicule. “You mean, you aren’t a prisoner here?”

  “Of course, we are,” came Fyrid’s calm voice, “as I sit here sharpening my long-dagger. Dragons always give their prisoners weapons.”

  Wolfe grinned his approval. These two were a perfect team.

  “That little blade wouldn’t hurt a nestling,” the prisoner’s sneer was mocking. “So, I am to believe you’re just here, enjoying yourself?”

  “That’s a fact,” Payk jovial reply made Mayra smile because she knew it was the truth. “The dragons found us out on the range and brought here as guests. We are free to go whenever we wish. But we don’t. There are two fine young witches that my nephew and I have an eye to getting to know better.”

  The three listeners heard a coarse rubbing sound. Wolfe marveled at the room’s ability to transmit sound so well that he recognized it as Payk, running his hand over his beard. “I have a mind to shave this thing away to show my face, scars and all, to prove that I’m a bit younger than I look when I have this damned beard.”

  There was a moment’s silence then disbelievingly, “You’re staying here, with dragons, because of women?”

  “Ah—what is your name? I can’t keep talking to a stranger now that we’ve gone on to women.” He chuckled. “And fine women they are!”

  Mayra smothered a laugh with her hand. She couldn’t wait to pass this on to Fleura and Shaura. Payk used them as bait to interrogate a reluctant prisoner! And it actually seemed to be working.

  Again, that silence, longer this time, before they heard, “I told you I was a prisoner. I am Berent Af’Torr of the Hyrnt Clan.”

  “Well, indeed?” Payk sounded impressed. “Chieftain of the Hyrnt Clan. I had heard you vanished some six months ago. Just when we banished Plyn af’Nanyn.”

  “Exactly when you did.” Berent’s gravelly voice rasped with rage. “Plyn and his group came across me and two of my men, separated from our hunting party. The drunken bastards killed my two companions and took me, prisoner.”

  That accounts for that Phailite’s overbearing mannerisms, came a familiar and usually smug voice. The two male witches jumped. Larek had managed to creep in and plant his massive self, including tail, wings, and talons, behind them without a sound.

  How long have you been there? Richart demanded; he had already told Harald and Wolfe he found it unnatural the way the dragons could constantly steal up on him.

  Oh, quite a while, came Larek’s airy reply.

  Mayra wanted to laugh at them, adult men who complained about dragons, creeping around them. Dragons are amazingly quiet, aren’t they? She set Smok on the floor, and the little dragonlet scurried forward and sat on Richart’s knee.

  “Well, you’re in a better position than you know,” came the blunt words of Payk. “You must have some idea of what happened here. Plyn af’Nanyn raided this Aerie and stole away the females and most of the younger nestlings. He then returned and used their safety as a bargain to capture the males. Did you know t
hat?”

  There was a long, drawn-out silence from within the room.

  He’s trying to decide if he should speak the truth or not. Wolfe stared at the wall, wishing he could be in the room. This will tell us what sort of man we are dealing with. If he is honest, he will speak. Otherwise, he will demand to know what he will receive if he tells them what he knows.

  At last, the chieftain spoke.

  “I’ve no reason to keep what I know from you,” he said. He sounded weary. “For all the good it might do you. But to the dragons of Ceshon Aerie, I must offer a trade, for I cannot stay here. I will tell them everything that happened to me, including what I heard and where I went. All I ask is they return me to my village.”

  “I will ask Gaulte if he is agreeable to that,” Payk said. They heard his voice grow louder; he sounded as though he had moved closer to the doorway. “Berent, as you are a chieftain, I wish to ask you something. This is not the time to keep Clan secrets; terrible things are happening that might—no likely will—endanger humans and dragons, alike.”

  A grumble seemed to express Berent’s interest and attention.

  “Fyrid, here, received his weapons from his father, who is chieftain of the Sorst Clan. Where do those weapons come from? Who makes them and where do they get the metal? No, you need not look so shocked. I told you, a threat that is strong enough to bring harm to an Aerie will do much more than merely threaten we humans and our villages. Fyrid, let me hold that dagger.

  “This weapon is finely made. Whoever made it might have also made another, shaped like a long, silver tube, which is deadly. It belches out a blue fire that destroys whatever it touches. Plyn af’Nanyn magically forced the male dragons to help him and used those tubes to destroy people and villages in Nesht. Please, let me give Gaulte information that will help him find the weapons maker.”

  “Can’t you ask your own Elder?”

  “No, we are here now. And the dragons could remove the threat of those weapons much better than anyone in our villages.”