Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  “Where could Smok have gone?” Mayra asked, her hands clenching into fists. Both anger and dread rushed through her, for she had brought the dragonlet into the Aerie. If he had betrayed them—

  She looked up as Wolfe started to his feet. He gestured toward Richart, Kirik, Qintas, and Jannia, telling them to make ready to meet him outside the Aerie entry. Wolfe knew the reever and two of the witch-warriors to be expert trackers.

  “Perhaps our visitor left something behind,” he said grimly. “Damn, I wish Aristen were here. He could touch something and tell me more about who held it than that person could themselves.”

  Mayra looked startled. She remembered Aristen touching her arm in the Fortress's courtyard and jerking his hand back as though she had burned him. She had just picked up Gaulte’s talon and tucked it in her waist pouch, and now wondered what Aristen had seen or felt.

  As though he could read her thoughts, Wolfe paused, drew her to her feet, and led her from the room.

  “Your face is so transparent, my sweet,” he said with a chuckle. “That day, Aristen still had no idea about the dragons. He told me great tragedy had come from you, so terrible that he never wanted to touch you again. For which I was profoundly grateful as I didn’t wish to pound my brother into the dirt.”

  Mayra laughed. He bent and placed a quick kiss on her lips.

  “Be careful,” she whispered.

  * * *

  “Hold,” came Payk’s gruff voice as Wolfe moved to pull shut the wide door that cut off the inside of the Aerie from the icy cold and winds of the land outside.

  Wolfe didn’t seem surprised to see him.

  “I would have asked you accompany us,” the Ring-Witch said seriously, “but your little dragon was too comfortable for you to break away.” A grin escaped him with the last word.

  Payk shot him a sour look, but he, too, grinned. “Dragons, Wolfe. We are living with dragons. I still find it hard to believe that I, of all people, can trust them—” He stopped short. “I was going to say as easily as a human, but nothing could be farther from the truth.” The others nodded agreement; they knew exactly what he meant. Humans weren’t at all trustworthy. “I need to go; I have a feeling this person is a Phailite and might speak more easily to me than you if we’re able to catch him.”

  Wolfe wasn’t certain about that, as magic could be very persuasive. If the person Smok had gone to was the person he suspected it was—the blue female who had approached his brother—and they somehow apprehended her, then perhaps Jannia would be the most useful person he had chosen to accompany him.

  The small, silent witch-warrior was also well known as very persuasive at getting answers with her magic. Wolfe knew it was one of the reasons Marris au’Pernyn, the Sorcery Guild Master, had brought her with him to the Fortress.

  * * *

  The small, clawed prints of Smok were easily visible atop the light layer of fresh snow that had fallen the previous night. Whereas any of the humans would have stayed to the bushes and rocks to prevent leaving such an observable trail, each appreciated Smok’s clear tracks up the middle of an old, well-worn path.

  The tracks ended amid rocks and bushes which again provided the hunters a surplus of information.

  Payk dropped to one knee and pushed aside some broken branches from a brittle green bush. The dragonlet’s prints overlaid several small boot prints.

  “It’s might be a woman,” Jannia said. “Or a child. Someone who isn’t very good at hiding.”

  “It is a woman,” Wolfe said. “I believe she’s the one both Aristen and Tolle spoke of. She wanted Aristen to help her infiltrate the Fortress.”

  “And it was Tolle who became her dupe,” Richart finished grimly. His brother’s actions against their Clan and king enraged Richart, but their father had found a grisly, uniquely reever way to take revenge. Leisher Bren had castrated Tolle, scarred his son’s handsome face with the symbol of a traitor, and banished him, if he lived, from Nesht.

  “Aye, look here.” Payk picked up a brown strip and raised it to his nose. “This is the stag-elk meat we dry out and take on trips where we might not have easy access to food.”

  “Wait,” said Kirik suddenly. He gestured to the ground, away from the path. “Wolfe, there are two different sets of small dragonlet prints, alongside the woman’s. There are two of the wee beasts.”

  That surprised Wolfe. He examined them. “Smaller that Smok’s,” he muttered. “Smaller prints likely meant a female.”

  “I wonder,” Richart mused, “if we’ve discovered a reason for the dragonlet’s aligning himself with Mayra. And for his betrayal.”

  “I can’t decide if this person was uncommonly stupid,” Wolfe said, “or if this was a poor attempt at a trap.” He shook his head. A stalker had spied on the Aerie, stayed out there long enough to have the dragonlet join them. “This person seems to have left behind more rubbish than they carried out.”

  The others laughed and agreed. Payk shook his head. “No Phailite who hunts would leave so much behind.”

  “Wolfe,” Qintas said suddenly, looking up at the gray, cloudless sky, “why aren’t the dragons patrolling the skies?”

  Wolfe shrugged wide shoulders. “I don’t know, Qintas.” He glanced at the other big man. “Perhaps they rely too much upon their mental abilities to detect danger. That is dangerous, especially if others have learned to hide themselves from dragons.” He gestured toward a square, smoothed area in the dirt. “I suspect the intruder had one of those cloths your people use, Payk.”

  Kirik and Richart climbed further up the hill and stood on the highest rocks to look around them. Kirik gestured down, away from the Aerie, and Richart nodded. Wolfe climbed up to join them.

  Bushes were broken in several places, showing a hasty exit down the opposite side of the hill. The human had awaited Smok and eaten something while she waited, wrapped in a cloth that made her all but invisible in the snow. Once Smok had joined her, he had greeted the other dragonlet, and the small party had fled the land around the Aerie.

  As they started back down, Jannia paused by the rock where they had found the two sets of dragonlet prints. “Look,” she said. “Blood.”

  Two tiny droplets shone in the waning sunlight.

  “Perhaps Smok wasn’t as eager to leave as we thought,” said Richart. “His blood, or the other dragonlet’s. Either would have made him more agreeable.”

  “It likely belongs to one of the dragonlets,” Payk murmured. “If Smok drew a Phailite’s blood, she would have killed him. Even without learning what he knows of our plans.”

  Wolfe stared down at the blood. “I wonder what he knows. What information can he be taking to that woman, and how will she use it against us?”

  * * *

  The Elder, Theura, had taken the nestlings off to sleep, not with their sires, but together in the nestling common. She had asked some female witchlings to accompany her, for even in these few days, their sleeping with their sires had become a soothing routine to the smallest dragons and she had to break them from it before the dragons left to rescue their mothers.

  Mayra leaned back against Aesta, rubbing one scaled arm as she whispered a story that made no sense to the dragons, about four trees that competed to be the tallest until they fell over, and the smallest, which had gotten no sun, lived to be the oldest, even if not the tallest. They liked to hear her voice and watch her lips as she spoke, and soon all were asleep.

  Mayra was relieved the nestlings were finally quiet. She needed time to think about what Gaulte had told her earlier before Theura had called her.

  “I cannot accompany you to find my kin,” the dominant dragon had said sadly, “for as soon as they see me, they will know we are the Ceshon Aerie and would likely harm our kin before we had a chance to get near them. You and Wolfe must go. Fauler agrees, and asks that you ride him.”

  “I understand,” Mayra whispered, laying her head against his leg. “But I am not happy about it.”

  “Hesta will re
cognize my touch upon you and not harm you.” Gaulte’s words were intense. “Hesta, protecting her child, would terrify the largest dragon. I don’t understand how anyone has kept her this long, without her being plant-drugged.”

  Mayra smiled down at Aesta. The little dragon had stopped whimpering and her lids drooped to cover her beautiful green eyes. The witch wondered who really led this Aerie—suspecting that Gaulte might defer to Hesta more often than not.

  You must go now, witchlings, and take what sleep you can before you begin preparations tomorrow.

  Theura’s soft words startled Mayra, and apparently others, as well. All were probably just as tired as the Ring-Witch. At least the humans had rested for a few hours. Mayra bent and dropped a kiss on Aesta’s horned brow. She hoped the quest to bring home the mother and sister of the sad little dragon was a swift one.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ceshon Aerie

  Day eight of the First Moon of Wynter

  We believe we have found the mountain.

  Gaulte’s dawn announcement awakened the witches. He sent them information as they dressed; two sleepy Phailites—Fyrid and Payk—followed the actions of the two women who had warmed their beds the previous night; Fyrid finally remembered to awaken Berent, but the chieftain was already up. They dressed quickly and silently, though more than one of the sleepy horde of blue men and witches grumbled about lighting fires, swearing warmed bodies would move more easily.

  Gaulte left no time for grumbling as he continued to provide them information. Using the description provided by Berent, of a mountain high in the clouds atop a flat-sided mountain with a curving footpath wrapped around it, Larek finally found records of such a mountain in the library. It will take approximately two hours on dragon-back to reach the cave.

  A scant half-hour passed before they crowded into the common room, empty but for their equipment. Gaulte was awaiting them. Each human went to the gear they had pulled together and piled up the previous evening. They had laid aside cold meat, bread, and fruit, planning to eat as they flew.

  Leyna, catching sight of the shrug that Payk and Fyrid exchanged, realized no one had told them exactly why they were there. She turned to the blue warriors and said, “Gaulte says he believes Larek found the mountain!” She gave Berent a shy smile. “He found it through your description, Berent.”

  The chieftain’s face turned the same odd purple shade as Fyrid’s did any time a female caught him off-guard. Mayra, watching the interaction, wondered if the man had a mate back in his village. Leyna was four years older than Mayra was and had never attached herself to a man.

  “Come along,” Mayra teased, linking her arm through Leyna’s. “There’s no time for making lovers’ eyes at each other.”

  Leyna smothered a laugh, but she then slanted a coy grin at the Phailite chieftain, and Berent’s face turned a darker purple. He stomped off toward the other two Phailites, who had also overheard the exchange.

  Mayra shook her head as Berent snarled something at Payk. Payk looked back at Mayra in bewilderment. She smiled, gave a slight shrug, and picked up her red-scale armor. Earlier that morning Theura had sprinkled them liberally with the tears of her son—cried in deepest sorrow—but only Theura and Gaulte knew that the magic was not yet complete. Not until the witchlings were wearing the armor and Gaulte blessed it.

  Mayra, unaware of the complex magic that would soon sanctify her protective covering, was admiring it and comparing it to her own riding armor. The dragon-scale armor was light and unexpectedly warm. Mayra commented on its flexibility as the ten humans donned the multicolored protection over their winter tunics and beneath their armor, less what they had shared with the three Phailites.

  Each dragon’s scale was a slightly different shape from the others; most were rounded-off squares or rectangles. Mayra wore Hesta’s finely-veined red scales. They came to a point at one end and were like the pale ones worn by Fyrid.

  The young Phailite ran his fingers across the unusually shaped scales he wore. Four were tacked together and affixed to leather bracings. “Fleura, who did these come from?” he asked quietly. “They are beautiful, and I wish to tell her how I value them.”

  “Those belong to my mate, friend Fyrid,” came the voice of Larek from the front of the common room. There was approval in his finely tuned voice. “Her name is Aulera. As you can see, her scales resemble those used to make the armor worn by Kirik and Leyna.”

  Fyrid glanced over at the two witch-warriors. Their scale armor was indeed similar to that worn by Fyrid, but their blue color was darker.

  “Those came from my mate, Diaya.” The gruff voice of Talft took up the tale. “Diaya and Aulera are siblings.”

  Fyrid touched his fingers to the scale again and smiled. “I can almost feel the glow of what gives them their magic,” he said to Fleura and Larek. An odd expression crossed his handsome face as he remembered the tears a huge beast had shed for his lost child and mate. “I don’t like to remember whence that magic came or how tragically they lost these scales. But I can’t wait to meet these dragons.”

  “I hope that all the dragons are safe,” Fleura whispered, tears filling her blue eyes. She gave her warrior lover a slight smile. “I’ve never been so emotional since I met some of these nestlings.”

  “I understand,” Fyrid said in a low voice. He glanced over Fleura’s head at Larek. “I fear the rage of this family should anything have happened to any of them.”

  * * *

  Berent donned the tough leather breastplate that Wolfe had been wearing; he had passed it on to the chieftain with a short nod and swiftly walked away. Berent now stood away from the witch-warriors and his own kind as they prepared to find the missing dragons. He didn’t realize how misplaced he looked.

  Mayra startled him when she stopped in front of him and held out a different breastplate and back shield. The four large scales were dark blue and green and connected with leather shoulder straps and a belt. They, too, glowed softly.

  The chieftain shot an anxious glance toward Wolfe. Mayra rolled her eyes. “I swear, Berent, that if you don’t stop seeking permission to speak to me,” she said drily, “I will slap you upside your head.” She gave Berent a quick grin, and he relaxed and returned it. “Theura asked Leyna to make this for you, after the dragons deemed you worthy to have it. Even if you decide that you cannot come with us because of your duties, they wish for you to keep it.”

  The value of the gift and the sensitivity of Mayra’s words—reiteration of a legitimate reason not to accompany them, should he wish to take it—sent a feeling of kinship through Berent that he was certain not even those of his clan could equal. He had thought he might accompany them and had not yet decided that he wouldn’t, but duty ran too deep through him to ever think of permanently leaving his people. But for a moment, he saw himself with the formidable warriors. He did not believe Payk or Fyrid would return to the Sorst Clan.

  “I-I—” He swallowed. “Thank you, Mayra. Why does it glow so?”

  Mayra hesitated, and Berent shook his head. “It is magic,” he said simply.

  She smiled up at him. “Yes, the deepest, most wonderful magic. It will guard you well.”

  Berent started as he felt a warm hand slide under his fur tunic and pull up on it. As Mayra walked off with a chuckle, Berent turned and looked down at Leyna.

  “I’ll help you fasten it,” she said with innocent mischief in her face. “Do you have a mate, Berent?”

  “Um—no. I mean—”Berent paused and collected himself. “My wife is long dead,” he said softly. “She and the child.” Leyna’s hands were busy, doing the straightforward work of placing and tightening straps and buckles, but he couldn’t get a straight thought in place. “There is one who wishes to be my mate, but I haven’t asked her.” And thinking of that overbearing woman, he wasn’t sure he ever would have.

  “Ah,” Leyna said solemnly. “I am very sorry about your wife and child, Berent. I could see you as a father. There, now we can
replace this fur bit. Then perhaps I can battle this woman who wishes to be your mate and lie in your bed at night with you?”

  Berent was speechless. His eyes flew over her golden blond head to see Payk, not laughing at what he had overheard, as one might expect, but looking as flummoxed as Berent surely did. And if Berent did not answer this warrior maiden, would she slice up Taray using the serviceable looking blade strapped across her back?

  “No,” he whispered, but before her stricken eyes could meet his, he grabbed her hand and raised it to his lips. “There need be no battle, fair one. I am yours!”

  * * *

  Mayra and Wolfe stood aside with Gaulte and Fauler, watching as in a surprisingly short time the humans made themselves ready. Each of them had donned dragon armor and dressed warmly, leaving the black cloaks till after they had left the Phailite villages.

  Wolfe led Mayra closer to the fireplace and asked her why she hadn’t answered the chieftain’s question about why the armor glowed.

  “He wasn’t there,” she replied quietly, “when Gaulte revealed something of his soul to us. Fyrid and Payk were part of that; in fact, Payk was the first to understand. But Berent wasn’t. The tears that make the armor glow are magic and that’s all he needed to know.”

  Wolfe started to speak when his eyes went over her head and his entire expression changed to a look of astonishment. Mayra whirled to see what had caused such an unusual expression on the usually impassive man.

  Three small creatures stood in the common-room doorway, looking around them. At least Mayra thought they were looking around, for it was impossible to see if there were eyes beneath mops of bushy eyebrows, and long, silky white hair topped with long tapered hats. All three wore identical, dark green clothing that matched two hats—the third wore a white hat. Each had long, white beards, and long, tilted noses that pointed down toward mustaches that almost covered cheery red lips, parted in grins.

  “Gnomes,” he said faintly. “I doubted they existed.”