Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  Payk poked him in the back. “Mind yourself,” he muttered. “I wasn’t in my right mind.”

  Fyrid nodded. The younger man occasionally thought back to that terrifying incident and wondered if Payk had fallen from the back of Larek, or jumped. Payk had mentioned it once to Fyrid and Shaura, confessing that he wasn’t certain, himself, which he had done. In fact, he could barely remember the deed.

  Larek thrust himself upward and his huge wings unfurled; Fyrid was wrenched from his musings and his stomach lurched. As they rose, Fyrid glanced back and saw his uncle waving at lovely Shaura as she quickly disappeared from sight.

  “That was the past,” the young Phailite heard Payk mutter. Payk gave him a shaky grin. “Fyrid, my boy, I am no longer so terrified of dragons that I can’t hold my water. So fearful that I might consider taking my life.” His face was so serious that Fyrid could not express his own astonishment.

  “I understand, Uncle,” Fyrid returned softly. He nodded once. “You are a man on a quest with witches and dragons, and—”

  “And a private mission,” Payk interrupted in a whisper. “One I hold next to me.”

  But Fyrid knew. How could he not realize that his uncle would exact revenge upon Hagan—the dragon that had marked him, had scored his face and back with sharp, black claws?

  “Leave some for me, Uncle,” Fyrid said. “All I want is something I can take back to my father.” And he touched the scales that protected his chest.

  * * *

  Fauler either knew where the Hyrnt village was or had been given directions, for he took the lead at once, turning toward the west. Wolfe, with Mayra nestled in his arms and Poppie snuggled between them, worked the timetable in his head, wondering if they had given themselves enough time for both stops.

  “The trip will take an hour and four minutes,” Mayra said. “At least, that’s what Payk said.”

  “So, we will arrive at Sorst just after dawn,” he mused. “I have no idea how long we will be there, but hopefully we will arrive at Hyrnt late in the afternoon and stay there overnight, and arrive at the cave early morning the following day.”

  I fear we are too anxious and eager to remain long—to be cordial to their people. Fauler’s mind-speak to them conveyed his disquiet.

  We understand, Wolfe sent back. Even the Phailites know this mission is not to visit and banter with their villagers. We will try not to linger.

  Mayra drew her soft, warm scarf closer around her neck and sat forward to look around. The rising sun sent glimmering pink and gold rays to light up the snowy white clouds. Fresh snow that had fallen the previous night covered the valleys below.

  As she gazed down at the dark greenery below, barely discernable as huge trees from this height, longing filled her for the diverse forests of Nesht. She suddenly wanted to see rich farms, orchards of fruit and nuts, even the lush flowering gardens that decorated the grounds of her grandfather’s palace, where she had lived. She hardly noticed what she was sharing with Wolfe, filling him with lavish images that revealed her yearning for the abundant forests, wide rivers, and warm seas of Nesht.

  What is this I feel?

  Mayra glanced up at Wolfe and gave him a sad smile. I love it here with the dragons, Wolfe. But I also miss the forests and flowers of Nesht. And the rivers and sea. I never thought that most of all, I would miss the warmth.

  Wolfe was silent a long moment. He understood such things, for Mayra had always been a woman who loved all things green and flowery. Might there another reason making her want to return to Nesht? He cautiously asked her.

  She shook her head.

  How can I return—how can I even want to return, with all that happened there? I never want to see Leisher or Forcial again. But I miss Marten and Noura and LeLe.

  Mayra smiled as Poppie’s ear perked up at mention of her mother. Mayra, certain the little cat had heard their mind-speak, exchanged a glance with Wolfe. So, he agreed—they needed to explore the extent of the familiar’s magic and soon.

  If we could somehow have it all, the dragons, the warm seas and flowers, that would be perfect. She gave another long sigh. For now, I can only remember how beautiful it all was.

  “Do you realize,” he murmured suddenly, “that we are using mind-speak, and that not even the dragons, much less the other witches, can hear us?”

  “That’s true. And before, only Gaulte and Fauler could do that.”

  “Once we return,” Wolfe said quietly, “we must talk about dragon magic and how we are being affected, so we can determine what is changing us. For we are being altered. Slowly, but with great determination.”

  Mayra wondered why he had spoken those words aloud, though so softly, only she could hear. Was he also concerned about who was listening to them now?

  * * *

  As soon as Larek leveled out, Fleura leaned back against Fyrid, gave a deep sigh and safe in his arms, fell to sleep.

  Fyrid turned to look back to his uncle and explain that Fleura had spent most of the night helping Theura and Shaura prepare various herbs and plants, ensuring the medicinal leaves—used for everything from pain control to covering wounds against septicity—were ready for use.

  “These women are so damned clever,” Payk said softly. “Our women are, in their way, but the witches seem to know as much as our Elder, our Healers, and our women, together.”

  “And unlike our Elder,” added Fyrid dryly, “they share, willingly and happily.”

  “Witches always share,” Fleura mumbled. “You woke me up. And why should we keep things to ourselves?”

  Fyrid gave her a gentle squeeze. “Because of power, my sweet. He—or she—who has better ways of doing things, has more power.”

  The golden-haired young witch glanced over her shoulder at the two men. “That is strange, isn’t it? But true. I never thought of power in that way, but it is just as you describe.”

  “I understand you have a king ruling your lands,” Payk said. “We don’t have that, at least. Each village belongs to itself and its people. We rarely fight, because then who would there be to trade with, or use for marriage and increasing the size of a village? But I thought about what Wolfe said to the gnome king. The King of Nesht takes land from other countries as his own, by fighting for it. How is that a good thing?”

  Fleura smiled. “It’s not always a good thing, but more often, such as Wolfe’s country, it was to their advantage to become part of Nesht. We can talk about it with him, later.” She hesitated. “I—that is Leyna and I—wondered how your parents and your villagers will receive us, Fyrid? Or—anyone else?”

  Fyrid grinned. “I truly do not know, Fleura. My father is the village chieftain, but that is a far cry from a king. I truly believe if you present yourself as what I see in you, they will also fall for your charms.”

  “Yes, especially my brother,” growled Payk with a leer. “He will find all you women to be charming.”

  Fyrid rolled his eyes and Fleura grinned. “Apparently,” he whispered, “they used to raid other villages and carry off women,” he whispered. “Father once told me…”

  Fyrid lowered his voice still further. Payk could no longer hear his nephew, but he could imagine, and he chuckled. Too bad the boy didn’t realize the story Payk suspected Fyrid was relaying to his young lady, regarding wild youths who once raided other villages to gather women, was the simple truth. How else were they supposed to populate a village?

  * * *

  Not surprisingly, Leyna and Berent were having a very similar conversation, which had started out by her asking the chieftain how he thought his people would receive the witches and dragons, and then shyly, Leyna, herself.

  Berent hesitated, cleared his throat, then ignored that question. He drew his hand from his mitt and adjusted Leyna’s scarf over her nose and lips. He then nestled her closer to him.

  “I think that first I will tell you that Fyrid’s father came to be chieftain of the Sorst Clan in a more impressive way than I did. Plyn af’Nanyn’s fathe
r was the Sorst chieftain. He put himself and the lad in a place where they should not have been, and the father got himself killed. Plyn was too young to take such a responsibility, so Heyr fought Plyn’s surviving family and became chieftain.”

  Neither Leyna nor Hyaera, who was listening, said anything. The witch nodded that he should continue.

  “Our customs are the same: when the chieftain dies without a son to inherit, and there is no one suitable in the family lineage, the village Elders select who will take the position. But an outsider or another villager can demand a battle to take leadership.”

  “Did you also battle someone for the position?” Leyna asked.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “The Elders and people chose me as chieftain mainly because”—he paused and surprisingly, leaned over and patted Hyaera—”because they knew how much I mistrusted all dragons. I swore I would protect the village from being attacked.”

  The black and red dragon let out a rumbling laugh, then asked, “And when did you determine, friend Berent, that the only dragons you had to protect your people from was a rogue Aerie and a small group of your own kind? No other dragon would attack humans, least of all kill them.”

  “Aye, friend Hyaera,” the robust man agreed, “you are correct, for I already knew of your natures, at least I thought I had, until I met Hagan.”

  “Theura said there was a common thread,” Leyna said, “between you, Berent, and the others who had come to the Aerie. So, you have met dragons before.”

  “I have. I met several dragons as a youth, while hunting, and separated from the rest of my party. It seems to be a habit of mine. They greeted me and welcomed me for the night. They let me share their warmth. I could sense their tranquility, something noble within them. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew from then on I could tell others how much I mistrusted—even hated—dragons, but I did not mean it in my heart.”

  There was a long silence, and then Hyaera looked back over his should at them. One brilliant gold eye blinked as he said, his gravelly voice quiet, “It is a good tale, Berent. I shall tell it to the others, and to the nestlings. It is important that we undo what evil dragons and humans have done, both together and apart, in their quest to break our bond.”

  Berent bent his head close to Leyna. “I don’t know that I would willingly leave my village. They need someone strong to guide them. Leyna, I wish for you to join me and guide them. No, do not yet speak. I want you to wait, perhaps even until after the Aerie has been reunited. And then, I will ask you again.”

  * * *

  Fauler began a slow descent, planning to land the dragons as close to the Sorst village as they could while remaining unseen. The initial meeting was to determine their next move. The dragons landed one after the other on the huge plateau and formed a circle facing one another, their heads close together.

  “Our village is just beyond that crevice,” Payk said, just loud enough for all to hear. “Larek has asked—”

  The gold dragon rumbled softly. His voice was almost as soft as Payk’s as he lowered his massive head still closer to Fauler, Mayra, and Wolfe. “Is your plan that dragons and humans land just outside the village? You may then walk in and leave us behind. Or should Hyaera, Payk, and Fyrid go alone and land in the village?”

  Wolfe and Mayra both talked at once, and it surprised even Mayra when he closed his mouth and gave her a nod to continue.

  “We will circle the village once, to ensure they see us,” Mayra said. “And then we will land as close to the village as possible and the humans will walk in.” She smiled when Wolfe made his agreement known. “You knew I would say that.”

  “I once said you were the most brilliant tactician I had ever known,” he said.

  Fyrid’s eyebrows drew together. “Why do we want to present ourselves in that way?”

  “That is the only move that makes sense,” Wolfe replied and he lifted a hand toward Mayra.

  She knew he was giving her a chance to prove that she was all he said she was, and to demonstrate that to the Phailites and dragons—males not necessarily accustomed to being led by females.

  “A lone dragon, even one being ridden by your people”—she inclined her head toward the three blue men—”appearing abruptly in your village will be more intimidating. That will frighten your people more than five dragons, landing peacefully outside your village boundaries, where your Clan can see at once that humans ride them and the dragons are agreeable to staying away from the village. We will dismount and leave the dragons to rest or fly to hunt.”

  Fauler’s laughter rumbled around them. “Yes, my friends, it is what we too would have done in a time of peace. So, I am hungry. You should go, so we can go hunt.”

  “Pinea will make you stop eating so much,” came the voice of Talft. “You are getting paunchy down there.”

  “Perhaps,” returned Fauler. “But great lively romps through the Aerie and out into the snow will amend that, quite soon, I hope.”

  “Fauler,” Mayra said with a gentle pat on his neck. “Won’t Pinea need to rest after such an ordeal?”

  There was laughter from the dragons. “She doesn’t know Pinea,” Fauler returned with a snicker.

  Mayra gave her mate a grin. She couldn’t wait to meet the females who kept the males in line, bringing jewels and other treasures to please them.

  She suddenly sobered. If only they are the same—Mayra feared for the females. Had their captivity possibly transformed them after all that Hagan might have done to them?

  A familiar feeling washed over her. She was dismayed to realize that she had conveyed that dread to Gaulte. From far away, she felt the return touch of the black dragon. I can still feel your emotions, little witchling. I understand this fear of yours. But dragons are strong. Gaulte’s mind-speak sounded confident, but she could detect something else. They will rise above this. It is the nestlings I fear for.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The Sorst Village

  Day eleven of the First Moon of Wynter

  Though it wasn’t long past dawn, Mayra and Wolfe saw many villagers, already up and about. The two Ring-Witches gazed down at the faces staring up at them, frozen for a moment before they began running in different directions. The great beasts flew over the village, then descended as they neared a field just outside the village gate. Though Mayra expected the gates to be closed, they were wide open, and no one was moving to close them. In fact, people poured out and gathered close to the area the dragons hovered.

  Though the hour was still early, Mayra estimated that almost two hundred villagers were gathered in the field. She wasn’t surprised that most of those silently watching the dragons arrive were men. She expected there would be nearly as many women in the Clan, left at home with children. The Sorst Clan was both a sizeable and a traditional one.

  Mayra barely felt a jostle as Fauler gracefully landed; the other dragons followed. At once, the witches and Phailites dismounted to greet the people. Fyrid released the two direwolves. The two beasts seemed to recognize home; they barked joyfully and took off, dashing toward the village.

  The witches could hear soft murmurs of wonder and louder ones of fear until many of the villagers realized they knew Balc and Nena. Then, as Fyrid and Payk moved closer, the cries grew louder, turning both incredulous and welcoming.

  A lone man stepped forward, with a woman behind him. Mayra had already noticed them; as they made their way through the crowd, a pathway opened for both. The Ring-Witch’s attention returned to the woman, who was staring at Fyrid, tears streaking down her plump cheeks. Small for their people, her face was round and sweet. Two younger children followed in her wake; both were jumping around in excitement. She had to be Fyrid’s mother and perhaps his siblings.

  This big man was the chieftain, and Mayra only noticed after another look that he was missing half a leg. He was walking with a crude crutch and his face was pale and lined with pain. She would have known Fyrid’s father Heyr, anywhere purely by his face. He wa
s an older version of his son except for his eyes—sunken, ancient eyes that bespoke a tragedy. Mayra recognized suffering even without knowing his past.

  Those dark, tormented eyes suddenly moved to Berent af’Torr and the heated flare there reminded Mayra that even crippled, the man had retained leadership of the Sorst Clan.

  Before either Heyr or Berent could say anything about a visit from the Hyrnt chieftain, Fyrid ran forward and embraced them both, even then careful to ensure he didn’t topple his father.

  “Father, Mother!” he shouted. “I’ve returned!”

  “Obviously, my boy,” said Heyr af’Unshyr drily. “Yes, I see that.” He released Fyrid, and Heyr and Payk grasped their hands around each other’s forearms.

  “Go to the midhall and light the fires!” Heyr called out to his people. There was a cheer from the villagers, and they turned as a group to rush back through the gate. Mayra smirked and leaned toward Wolfe. They wish to either begin the feast or get away from the dragons.

  Heyr threw his arm around Payk’s shoulder and gave his younger brother an affectionate embrace. “We will feast together! And I will have my son and my brother tell their tales to us.” Heyr hesitated and looked over his shoulder. “Welcome, chieftain. We will also have time to talk, I hope.”

  Mayra wondered if Heyr had held back, waiting to walk until none of his people were there to watch him. But before any of them could move, they heard the dry scrape of a dragon’s scales against stones and Heyr froze.

  Mayra mentally chided herself for not remembering how Payk had first reacted to the huge animals. Anger flashed through the Ring-Witch. A cruel, rogue dragon had injured Heyr far worse than she expected and she should have prepared him, somehow. Perhaps sent Payk and Fyrid in first, alone.

  She turned with the others. Fauler, alone, had moved closer to the group of humans.

  “Tell us, Heyr af’Unshyr,” asked Fauler in a quiet voice, “where do your people hunt?”

  “To—” Heyr’s mouth seemed dry. He swallowed and began again. “To the south, Sir Dragon. We claim only that land we can hunt in three days, but if you—”