Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  Her eyes went from Richart to Harald. “You had yours placed as adults. I wouldn’t have wished that upon you, my oldest friends.”

  Again, sadness emanated from Mayra and she wondered if she was just overtired. But she couldn’t deny, the day Leisher Bren had left the Fortress had been harrowing for Harald and Richart. Separation from a father they adored would likely be permanent. He could not accept that he was born to be a king who was also a Ring-Witch and had refused to take responsibility for either. And the Bren brothers had been raised as reevers—such men scorned a man without honor, even if that man was their father.

  Her pensive mood was also an indication to Wolfe that it was time to change the subject.

  Wolfe cleared his throat. “Berent, because of you, we know that the captured dragons are likely in that cave, guarded by a rogue dragon, Hagan. You never saw him?” The chieftain shook his head no. “Gaulte believes it is likely Hagan is the only dragon there not a captive and is hunting to feed the others. When the dragons here were captives of the invaders, Plyn af’Nanyn fed them only enough to keep them alive. So Hagan probably doesn’t leave the cave every day to hunt. But when he does, it’s likely at the same time as these dragons hunt, late in the morning.”

  “That would be the best time to go into the cave,” Mayra continued briskly, her thoughts once again firmly in the present. “Our plans are simple. Wolfe and I will lead until we begin our entry into the cave, and we will go with Larek, and only Wolfe, Larek, and I will communicate by words or mind-speak.”

  “If there are other Phailites there,” Kirik asked the blue men, “what would make them betray Hagan and help us?”

  The three blue men exchanged glances. “The jewels?” Payk asked of the other two Phailites.

  “By the gods,” replied Fyrid with a chuckle, “I know honest members of my family who would turn over their entire families for the riches we have seen the nestlings running around here wearing in play!”

  “Yes, that is true,” Payk agreed thoughtfully. “And we could use our method of hiding beneath a white cloth.” He caught Wolfe’s quizzical look. “When some of us don’t forget, we use huge pieces of white cloth to hide beneath as we near any land patrolled by dragons.”

  “I didn’t cover my blade in time,” Fyrid confessed before anyone could ask. “Gaulte told me he caught a metallic flash and came back to investigate. That was how Larek found us.”

  There were several sympathetic nods. The witches could commiserate with Fyrid’s mistake, but it was young Fleura who said, “Fyrid, don’t forget that it was a dragon who pointed out that a simple oversight made you vulnerable to them. And then he helped you. I don’t think many humans would have done the same for you.”

  Fyrid nodded. “I have given him thanks—for many things I have gained here, Fleura.” He turned back to listen to Berent, surely making her wonder what he meant.

  “Hagan was of the Jalin Aerie,” Berent said abruptly. “The best place to hunt stag-elks is close to the land the Jalin Clan claims; obviously that’s why they claim it. We’ve all used the cloths to hide us while we take an animal or two for the village. It has worked for years.”

  “Seriously, do you think you can hide something the size of a dragon under white cloths?” Richart asked, shaking his head. “I mean, a man, perhaps. But dragons?”

  “It works, because the cloths don’t reflect the sunlight,” Payk explained. “We paint them with blue lines and blotches, bits of brown and black and I don’t see why, even if larger, they wouldn’t be able to hide the dragons, as they do parties of hunters.”

  Richart shrugged. “I don’t suppose it would hurt to try them.” His tone was still speculative, but they all seemed willing to try anything to get them safely into the cave.

  Wolfe nodded slowly. “We can at least try the ruse. Where can we get cloths that large?”

  He gave a start as a voice slid into his head. He had wondered if the dragons were eavesdropping, but the grin on Mayra’s face at his surprise told him she had already known they would be.

  “Larek says the gnomes in the Black Woods have them,” Wolfe said, “but they wouldn’t cover a dragon.” He grinned. “All we need is what they have and we can make them bigger.”

  Mayra nodded. “We need one for each dragon, and can carry them in the baskets.”

  I will send word to them. The gravelly voice of Hyaera went out to all the witches.

  “I forgot to tell you that Larek and Hyaera were listening in,” Mayra said. “So they can get started on whatever we’re planning to do.”

  “I would like to meet gnomes,” said Shaura. Other witches nodded agreement.

  We will ask them. This from Gaulte. And what of the chieftain?

  “Berent, Gaulte wishes to know what you have decided,” Wolfe asked, “regarding returning to your village? He recognizes that you are a warrior and might wish to join in the battle to return the dragons to this Aerie. He equally respects that you are your village’s leader and must let them know you are safe and have returned to care for them.”

  A slow grin touched Berent’s rugged face. “Whichever one of you—Gaulte or otherwise—who worded that has the diplomacy of legends,” he said, and there was amusement in his voice. “If possible, I would like to return to my village, and then accompany you to the cave.”

  “As would we,” said Payk. “We have discussed it, Wolfe. This is an opportunity such as we’ve not had in many a year for Phailites to earn friendship with the Ceshon Aerie.”

  Their villages are closer to the mountain than this Aerie. It is no problem to stop there as we travel. Mayra voiced the mind-speak of Gaulte to the Phailites.

  “Speaking with the dragons makes me think we should refrain from using mind-speak,” Wolfe said abruptly. “Neither among ourselves, nor with the dragons, because we might be easily overheard.”

  “Mind-speak?” asked Berent. “Is that how you communicate with the dragons?”

  “It is,” replied Mayra. “Shall we clean up now and move to the large common and complete our last minute plans?”

  As the witches trickled from the room, Fleura stopped in the doorway and turned back to look around.

  “I ask again,” she called out, before the others were out of earshot, “has anyone seen Smok?”

  A chorus of no surrounded her. She made an impatient noise, which turned to a smile as Fyrid’s arm went around her waist and he drew her from the room. She followed him, the problem of the missing dragonlet forgotten.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ceshon Aerie

  Day seven of the First Moon of Wynter

  The echoes of human voices quickly faded away and silence filled the large room. After a few moments, the lights dimmed and an angry snort sounded from across the room. A fuming little dragonlet uncurled himself from beneath a low table where he had hidden as far away from the humans as he could.

  Smok hesitated; he wanted to follow Fleura, but knew he could not. He grumbled under his breath as he crept amid the cushions until he found the one Fleura had been sitting on. As the little dragonlet rubbed his head along it, he trilled—Fleura asks for Smok. Evil blue one makes her forget—then returned to reality with a sad burble and shook his head.

  He was a dragonlet with a mate and a purpose. He rose, rubbed his nose over the cushion again, and scurried out of the room.

  Staying along the shadowy edges of the floor, he hurried toward the front of the Aerie, running from one dark space to another. Finally, he stopped, catching his breath before he squeezed into a corner next to the doorway that led out.

  Smok?

  Smok looked around him in joyous astonishment. Jene called him again—she was outside! The dragonlet paced nervously. He stuck his foot out into the Aerie doorway, then yanked it back in and whirled, anxiously searching for the furry black beast that tormented him.

  Nothing. In the distance, Smok could hear noisy young dragons racing through corridors and frolicking with the direwolves. He was torn. He
wanted to go play with them, but Jene called him. His mate. She carried two eggs! They had grown up together and he could not imagine his future life without her at his side.

  The memories of being snatched from their lush, temperate island, too trusting, tempted by unknown creatures called humans, offering tidbits of meat and fruit. He could still see Jene’s great tears falling as the evil blue woman carried her away. Before Smok could think to hide, her companion, a vicious blue man, snatched the dragonlet off his feet, shaking him, his voice a vile growl that Smok had no problem understanding, even though he’d never heard the language.

  The pictures in the man’s mind were clear enough: You obey me or I will kill her.

  Smok understood death and killing. Those things hurt. Why was Jene calling him now? Had the blue female released her? He wanted to stay here. To bring Jene here to live, where they could play and eat, and find endless affection from soft, warm humans.

  Smok shivered with delight, then stopped himself. A tiny ribbon of smoke trickled from his nostril but he was too upset to notice it. His strange, circular thoughts kept returning to that which would keep him here, if only he could find his mate—the kindness of these humans and the protection of the larger dragons. Smok never feels cruel hands or hears harsh words.

  Smok? He jumped. Jene’s cry to him was more ragged and even though he could not see her, the wailing from her mind conveyed both pain and terror. A little whimper escaped him. Was it a trick? He thought hard and his head hurt. No trick, the evil blue ones—so different from the blue men here—wanted him here, so they would not have Jene call for him. He had to find her!

  Finally, when he could stand it no longer, the dragonlet crept out from Ceshon Aerie and slipped around a corner, trailing the feeling of his beloved female. He did not hear the thoughts of the evil blue woman. Only Jene, sad and frightened, calling for Smok to save her.

  And he would! And he would bring her here, where large, fierce, kind dragons and gentle, caring humans would protect them.

  But not Fleura. Not Smok’s favorite now.

  * * *

  The large common room was humming with quiet conversation, mainly for the benefit of the Phailites, as otherwise, the witches would have used mind-speak to communicate. As soon as they made themselves comfortable, most of the humans pulled off their outer furs, signifying the draw of the room. It was large enough for humans to occupy alongside dragons, ensuring dragon heat warmed the humans, and no one could, “Selfishly possess the fireplace heat,” as always-cold Fleura stated.

  As soon as they were settled, Mayra spoke about the idea first voiced by Payk, to tempt those Phailites still at the cave, or least distract them, with the jewels possessed by the dragons.

  “Tell me these don’t excite the blood!” Wolfe exclaimed, then upended a large, heavy bag onto the fur rug upon which they were seated. A multitude of cut and polished jewels spilled out, gleaming in the firelight.

  Fyrid laughed as Fleura gasped. She reddened and threw him a light punch in the arm.

  “I’ve seen them flying by on nestlings as they race around the Aerie,” she said, “but never so many at once! They are beautiful!”

  “Aye, human females are as bad as ours over them,” growled Gaulte good-naturedly. He shook his head. “I don’t understand. They are rocks. Shiny rocks.”

  “It’s what they represent,” said Payk, leaning forward and picking up a ruby half the size of his fist. Balancing it on his fingertips, he held it out for all to see. “They are rare and beautiful, agreed. And if I take these to Nesht, I am wealthy beyond belief.” He set the stone back amid the others and shrugged. “Here, they are not as valuable as a herd of stag-elk.”

  “I truly had no idea of the worth of these stones,” Gaulte said absently. “And even those of this land—”

  Tiny snarls and growls, and the gravelly young voice of Gabrel neared them, silencing Gaulte.

  Apparently, those tiny snarls meant something to Hyaera, the dragon who was helping his sister to raise her offspring. His head swung toward the door; he rose and quickly and silently moved between Fauler and Larek. He reached the doorway just in time to meet the small black dragon, pushing and pulling on two much smaller nestlings that were both protesting and making odd little giggling noises.

  Mayra went to rise when a sharp pain went through her head. The Ring-Witch stiffened as darting pictures and sounds again slammed into her head. She looked up at Gaulte in bewilderment as she abruptly realized the nestlings were making her head hurt. Was this what Gaulte had meant by Hesta having to teach the nestlings how to communicate with humans?

  At first, they made no sense to her until she caught a mental picture of what might be Smok. And oddly shaped creatures that Mayra realized were humans. The scene intensified; she shut her eyes and made a little moan of protest. Gaulte’s head whipped toward her and instantly, the flow replaced by a soft, calm blanket, laid over her mind by the black dragon.

  She blinked and looked around. Only Fleura seemed to have felt the same pain as she had; the younger woman rubbed her forehead with trembling fingers and placed the other hand on Fauler’s shoulder, nodding at him.

  We weren’t aware any of you could hear the nestlings. Fauler’s communication to them was gentle. But now you see why, back when witchlings lived with dragons, Elders taught dragons to speak with our mouths, as humans do. And now, Hesta teaches them as a way to discipline themselves, and to further their education.

  Hyaera returned to the fireplace, holding two small gold dragons close to him. Covered in jewels, these two were his sister’s younger nestlings.

  Gabrel stood by his sire, again puffed out with self-importance.

  I have vital information. I heard them. They—

  Gaulte cut him off with a soft huff and drew the young dragon closer to him.

  “Gabrel, you frightened Hella and Ragan,” the black dragon said gently, aloud. “Now, let us see what they tell their uncle.” Gaulte turned back to Mayra and Fleura. “What you saw is how we communicate amid us, as dragons, but the young ones think so quickly that it’s hard to grasp what they are trying to say. Did you see anything you knew?”

  “Perhaps—Smok? And humans?” It was Fleura who spoke up; Mayra nodded agreement, and Gabrel danced around, nodding his head.

  Hyaera straightened. His massive hand and talons went gently around the smallest dragon. “This is Ragan. Gabrel didn’t frighten her, so much as anger her, as she was trying to sneak back into her mother’s—my sister’s—chamber to steal a red and green stone.”

  As they watched, the tiny nestling bent over the pile of jewels and selected the red stone Payk had earlier examined. She rubbed it across her jaw, then held it close to her.

  Payk shook his head and chuckled, something the small female dragon seemed to find fascinating, for she crept closer to him and made a soft, trilling sound as disarming as it was unfamiliar. As she was smaller than the direwolves, she seemed harmless, until she smiled up at Payk—who stiffened with an audible noise. The tiny dragon nestled even closer to him.

  The Phailite cleared his throat and glanced at Hyaera. Ragan’s teeth were already nearlyas long as human fingers, shining and sharp. The black and red dragon nodded once and Payk raised a gentle hand to her head. Payk gazed down into her eyes for a long moment, then looked up at the others, a self-conscious grin on his face.

  “She’s a gentle little one,” he mumbled, then his thick eyebrows drew together. “Now that’s strange. Hyaera, how—how can she make me see that bothersome little dragonlet? By the gods, it hardly looks like him, but it is.”

  There were gasps of surprise from both humans and dragons around Payk and he withdrew his hand. Ragan made a little protest; the burly warrior replaced his hand at once, and Ragan climbed into his lap. She turned herself around, settled down, and fell asleep almost at once.

  Her sibling, Hella, sniffed their way and nuzzled closer to his uncle. He plainly wanted nothing to do with the humans, yet. Mayra leaned
forward and caught the small, light brown dragon’s attention.

  “Do we frighten you?” She kept her voice soft and even; the nestling surprised her as he watched her lips.

  When he moved his own, trying to mimic her, Hyaera huffed and said, “Mayra, Hesta will be happy to show you how she teaches these young ones to speak. But I don’t know how little Ragan showed her words to Payk.”

  “Wolfe, you said Mayra’s magic was changing around us,” Gaulte mused. “By the gods, I wish that librarian would return. He knows where everything in our library is while any of us would have to search.”

  “What about Smok?” Wolfe demanded. “I’ve already noticed the little creature is missing. I am getting an uneasy feeling about it.”

  Hyaera nodded slowly. “I believe you are right, friend Wolfe. These two were following him, to give him a jewel and play with him. The wily creature didn’t even see them as he went out into the courtyard.” He tipped his head toward Payk. “Friend Payk, I think what Ragan gave you to see, is how she sees Smok. We shall have to talk about that later when there is more time. When we speak dragon, as we call it, often it is much more useful than using words. Neither nestling can tell me, or even understand the concept of being sneaky, but they showed me his movements. He snuck out of the Aerie and disappeared around the corner. They walked a few steps and saw him running up the small hill that leads away from our Aerie. Hella hurried them back inside.”

  Hyaera’s low growl caused Hella to look up at him. They didn’t know fear and mistrust before this happened. Now they know nothing else. Again, the huge dragon hesitated as though carefully picking his words. “Ragan’s picture of what she saw glimpsed another human near the top of the hill. Just enough to know it was a human, not anything about it.”

  “That human must have been one of our kind,” Fyrid said quietly, glancing at his uncle and the chieftain.

  “No one needed to point that out,” Wolfe said kindly. “And in truth, we don’t know that.”