Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  “The dragons said Phailites once kept tamed stag-elk, for food, and skins, and milk, Father,” he said, a huge grin splitting his face. “‘Tis obvious they think we should do so again. Thank you, friend Fauler!”

  “You are most welcome, friend Fyrid.” Fauler raised his head and looked around, a dragon overly proud of himself. “I culled off two fine males myself! They must be siblings to be sharing their females. And Corren and Hyaera ensured all these females would follow. Some are already breeding and those newly born will be naturally tamed and accustomed to being in a pen.” He looked around at many blank faces, then explained further: “Keep them in this pen for another moon and interact daily with them. Afterward, if you let them out into the fields, they will return here, for it is their home.”

  “How did you know of this old pen?” asked Fyrid.

  “As we landed this morning,” Fauler replied, “I could see it was a large area enclosed by tall trees and this fence. There is only one narrow way in, here on the edge of the village.”

  The chieftain nodded. “Once, long ago, that was a game field where contests took place. Once the villages no longer met for exchanges of goods, and even a chance for young people to live elsewhere”—he shot a sly glance at Berent—”the games went away.”

  “A shame,” growled Berent. He grinned at Heyr. “Your ale is sweet and strong. We would have an enjoyable time.”

  Heyr suddenly laughed. “No doubt we would.” He turned and gestured toward the pen of animals. “Thank you, Sir Dragon. We will be treasure these animals. Please, my guests, come to my home. Uuala swears there is something she must discuss with you.”

  * * *

  As Wolfe turned to follow Mayra, Richart Bren was suddenly at his side; his brother Harald, and Kirik, Indiera, and Jannia behind him.

  “Wolfe,” Richart whispered, and made a furtive gesture toward a group of young villagers. “They don’t know how to milk these animals. Or even how to approach them. Wouldn’t it be a—”

  “Yes, perhaps you can teach them a thing or two, before we go,” Wolfe agreed drily. Smirks and snickers told him the other witches had affixed a double meaning to his words. “About milking stag-elks,” Wolfe added.

  We have one last thing to discuss with Fyrid’s parents. Wolfe’s sudden switch to mind-speak caused Fauler to turn his head toward the Ring-Witch. Fauler, how much longer can we stay before you feel we should set out again?

  Perhaps until the sun is at its highest, the dragon replied. We will have the day to return Berent to his village. I think we will not stay the night there, but arrive at the cave, hide ourselves, and rest. Then we will have time to prepare ourselves, long before we assume Hagan will leave to hunt during this day or the next.

  * * *

  The house of Heyr af’Unshyr and Uuala ara’Kantar was large and comfortable. Uuala, without asking what they wanted, sent twins Lorea and Alin in with large mugs of honey-sweetened hot tea, and then sent the two children back outside to join the others playing with Balc and Nena, and shyly talking with the dragons.

  Sending her children to join animals that had nearly killed her mate was an enormous step of faith for Uuala, not lost on any of them—especially not Heyr, who gave her a long look and then a slight nod. Uuala hesitated a moment then sat down between Fyrid and Payk. She reached out and took the nearest hand of each man.

  “There was a time, long, long ago,” she began softly, “when our people went eagerly to join the dragons. My father tells me that at first the things the dragons taught them were more than ample a reward, for the great beasts had no money to use as payment. They had fabulous jewels, which they were willing to share, but in truth, we had as little monetary use for them as the dragons did. Those working with dragons learned languages and calculation, sciences, and the lands of the world. Our people learned beautiful music and exquisite needlework. And many left this village to travel elsewhere, to share what they had learned with others. My father’s father was one such traveler, and that’s how my bloodline came to call the village of Sorst home.”

  She stopped short and her shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh. As she would have continued, a shadow passed through the room, darkening it for a moment.

  “Phailites learned far more,” came a deep, unnerving voice from the corner near the front door.

  Uuala started and placed her hand over her heart. “Oh, Father, why do you insist—”

  She released Fyrid’s and Payk’s hands and jumped to her feet, crossed the room to the far corner, and pulled out a black-cloaked-and-hooded man. “Come and see your grandson. He rode a dragon here, with Payk and this young lady, and—”

  “Allow me in first, my dear.” The voice was amused.

  Mayra’s eyes flew to the staff the visitor carried. It was as thick as Wolfe’s wrist and topped by a vicious stag-elk’s sharp, curving antlers. Though it looked decorative, it was a formidable weapon stop a heavy quarterstaff. Mayra did not doubt the man was more than capable with it; she suspected most of them were. She had already seen quite a few of the heavy staffs stacked in corners in the great hall, and four in Heyr’s home.

  The tall figure stepped further into the room, removed his cloak, and handed the thick staff to Uuala. She staggered a bit under the weight; as she moved the staff closer to Mayra, the Ring-Witch felt a surge from it—momentary weakness and the feeling that the very wood itself was reaching for her, trying to take a bite of her power. She recognized it at once. Oakenwood.

  Mayra recoiled and a brief, knowing expression flashed across Uuala’s face. She moved the staff away from Mayra, then turned and set both stick and cloak on a table near the door, away from any of the witches. Kantar gazed at Mayra and one eyebrow rose. She smiled in return gave both a brief nod of thanks.

  Both father and daughter realized the wood had affected the visitors. Mayra abruptly realized that this man, Uuala’s father, was the village’s Elder, and perhaps a powerful witch, as well. She suspected the Elder was training his daughter to someday join him, or even to take his place. She wondered if Heyr or Fyrid knew.

  The newcomer had thick white hair, brushed back from his forehead and falling back over his shoulders. His face, forceful and handsome, displayed a series of thin, dark-blue tattoos that swirled across his broad forehead and down the sides of his face, ending near his jaw. A black patch, tied in place by a thin strip of leather, covered his missing right eye. The other eye, unlike the typical dark eyes of the Phailites, was bright blue.

  * * *

  The tall, weathered man looked every bit an Elder, but more than a wise advisor to the chieftain and village. If he practiced magic, yet carried an oakenwood staff without harm, then he was what Fyrid and Payk were becoming—a human who was not a witch, but a magical human, infused with dragon magic.

  The man ignored his daughter’s offer of refreshment and her request to at least sit down. Instead, he stepped closer to Mayra and Wolfe.

  “I am Kantar,” the man said abruptly, his voice strong and quiet. “You lead your people.” Both witches nodded and Uuala introduced them to her father. “I am well-pleased to meet Ring-Witches again. There is a reason our people stopped allowing our young to go live and work with the dragons.”

  “What reason is that?” Wolfe asked curiously. He wondered where Kantar had once met Ring-Witches, but he didn’t ask.

  The Elder gave a dry chuckle. “I fear I must leave that for you to discover.”

  Wolfe and Mayra exchanged a glance. Wolfe wondered—had Kantar appeared in the house merely to stop his daughter from revealing family secrets?

  “As with changes of such extent,” Kantar continued, “you must look far in the past for a cause. You are clever; as time passes you will understand what happened.”

  “Why did you tell us that?” Mayra asked. “Will that knowledge help us in any way?”

  “And is this something,” Wolfe added, “that will better serve us if we are shown, rather than your telling us?”

  Kantar
gave a bark of laughter. “You are as clever as I suspected.” He gave them a huge grin. “That is exactly so, Wolfe. Bygone Elders never spoke of this interaction with dragons as a good thing, yet how can it not be? Tales from many generations ago tell how the dragons enslaved our kind. Yet it never was so.” He hesitated, as though there was much more to say, but he only shook his head. “The gifts of the past might have changed, for all I know! Let us see what comes of the Phailites and the dragons together again. And then, perhaps, you will return to tell me.”

  Again, Wolfe and Mayra shared a look and Wolfe quirked an eyebrow. If Kantar had stopped Uuala from speaking, then he had to know—as his daughter plainly did—that the feel of dragon magic around the Elder was the same as was what now emanating from Fyrid and Payk. If the “gifts of the past” he had spoken of were the Phailites absorbing dragon magic, then surely, it was happening again. The blue-skinned men who were now their allies were learning mind-speak. Could actual magic be far behind?

  Still, Wolfe wanted to know who had severed the relationship between the Phailites and the dragons, and why. And how were the Phailites able to absorb dragon magic? Did it happen to all Phailites? That thought stopped him short and a cold chill danced down his back. Would humans filled with dragon magic be awaiting them at Hagan’s cave? If the dragon providing the magic was evil, would they also be so?

  He wished he had asked for more information from Theura—but he hadn’t known which questions to ask then. Now he had a much better idea.

  Kantar might know something about Hagan and the Phailites at his cave, Wolfe sent to Mayra. Can it be that he won’t come right out and say so, possibly because of the presence of Heyr?

  No. Mayra’s mind-speak was firm and certain. I believe it is because Kantar doesn’t yet know if Payk and Fyrid realize the abilities they are gaining by living with dragons. He won’t tell them right out—” Wolfe glanced at the Elder and Mayra stopped short. Kantar was watching them and sporting a slight smile.

  Mayra could sense Wolfe’s concern—could Kantar hear their mind-speak?

  You are probably right about Kantar’s waiting to see what is happening to Fyrid and Payk, Wolfe decided. He grinned when she gave him a surprised look.

  “I know of the dragon you seek,” Kantar suddenly said.

  Kantar startled both Ring-Witches, and another look passed between them—can Kantar understand our mind-speak?

  But Kantar’s expression hadn’t changed. He motioned toward his eye. “I have had contact with dragons since I was a child. I met Hagan many years ago. For reasons I never understood, he grabbed me up and took me to that foul cave.” His lips twisted as he again gestured toward his face. “The gnomes Hagan held in bondage helped him—they took this eye. The dragon vanished for a day and returned in a rage so violent I would have died but for my magic. He threw me from the cave.” He paused. “The fortunate arrival of another dragon saved me.”

  Mayra wanted to ask about the other dragon, but she could see the tale upset Uuala, though she must have heard it before. Uuala caught Mayra’s gaze and turned to her son, just as Kantar added, as though he had been asked, “Yes, a dragon rescued me. A beautiful black female.”

  “Theura!” Mayra gasped, and Kantar nodded.

  “Through the years, we became dear friends, meeting, and sharing tales, but only through the warmer months. And then, one summer came, but she never returned to the meadow where we met and I never saw her after that. I hoped that nothing had happened to her, but I often still wonder.”

  “Kantar,” Payk began slowly, as though searching for the right words. He glanced at Mayra. “Then you did not know Hagan injured Theura so she could no longer fly.”

  Astonishment and then anger darkened the Elder’s face. “I did not. That explains why she never came back. And she wouldn’t have been able to contact me.” He shook his head in resignation. “I would go with you—for to this day, my soul burns for revenge. But I have a task here I must complete.” He glanced at his daughter.

  “We will remind Hagan about you, as well, Grandfather,” Fyrid said grimly, “and we will ensure he remembers Theura.”

  A smile touched Kantar’s face. “I believe you will, Fyrid.”

  “You had contact with dragons as a child, as well?” Wolfe asked.

  Kantar’s expression grew somber as his smile faded. “To this day, I only remember the one event of that mysterious day. I had fourteen years. It was late afternoon, mid-summer, and I was walking the forests, gathering plants for my magic education. I heard a sound, like a soft, faraway wailing.” He hesitated. “It was such a strange sound, so I had to find it. I went through the trees; it was growing louder, along with another noise, growling and sharp gurgling and gasping. Suddenly, it became impossibly dark!”

  Kantar paused and took a deep breath. The others could tell that the event, so long ago, still had a powerful effect over him. His voice—his entire stance—grew distant, as though he had put himself back in that time and place.

  “I could hear and feel movements around me, something large. Then I heard a voice telling me I must save him. I didn’t know who—or what—him was. Someone guided my hands over something alive. Leathery, I could feel bumps—it was writhing and choking. I knew than it was a dragon, relatively young.

  “The voice told me to find the mouth, to pry it open, reach in, and remove a large, jagged piece of bone.” Kantar chuckled. “All of that took far longer to do, than to describe! It was hot and wet and I gagged, but I did it. I understood, even without medical training, that the dragon was choking, and the other two—I believe there were only two others—couldn’t help it. With my small human arms and hands, I could. And I did.”

  He paused and chuckled, and slowly turned up the left sleeve of his tunic to reveal a long, jagged scar with a strange notch toward the center. “The young beast bit me on the way out,” he said, almost proudly. “But it was a reaction to my pulling the bone away; I know that hurt him. The scar has never faded away, only grown with me.”

  And that notch grew with the dragon, Mayra thought, staring at the scar. It was a terrible relic, but there was no doubt what had caused the scar of that bite mark. Yet another—Kantar—is now added to whatever thread Theura feels is pulling people together.

  “When the bone was out, I smelled what I now know to be ticaweed,” Kantar said, pulling the sleeve down. “I awakened later, curled up outside my home with two of our village direwolves keeping me warm and safe. The last thing I remember was hearing whispers in my head. It said, dragon-blessed you are, young Kantar, and dragon-touched ever after. Return to your home. You will remember someday.

  “And when did you remember?” Mayra asked, warmed by the fascinating tale. And something she alone seemed to know about that incident.

  “The night after Hagan maimed me,” Kantar replied grimly. “I lay in a pool of my blood. I remembered that strange voice and I thought—is this the dragon touch that long-ago voice meant? For one moment, I did not understand what that meant, and suddenly, it all made sense.” He chuckled. “I vow I did not feel very dragon-blessed at that time!”

  The room grew silent. Mayra stared into the fireplace, wondering about what she had just heard. There was a direct line linking Hagan, Theura, Gaulte, and Kantar. Should she tell Gaulte that Fyrid’s grandfather was the man who saved him from death? Tell Kantar she was bonded with the dragon he had saved—the leader of the Ceshon Aerie? And the choicest secret—why Theura had been there to save the injured Kantar that day so long ago. Mayra would bet that Theura somehow knew through her magic that Kantar was in dire danger in Hagan’s cave. And she had saved him. She had paid him back for saving her son.

  Mayra decided she would stay silent for now. These weren’t her secrets to tell. But once this rescue was completed, she would reveal what she knew. And surely, Theura would want to find Kantar and tell him who Gaulte was and how Hagan had injured her, as well. And tell her son who had saved his life.

  Kantar suddenly
stirred and stepped forward. He laid a strong hand on Fyrid’s shoulder. The Elder’s head tilted slightly, as though he were listening to something. Finally, he nodded once, then turned to gather his staff and cloak.

  “I wish you all good fortune on your quest,” he said, including his grandson and Payk in those works.

  Kantar bent and brushed a kiss across the forehead of his daughter Uuala, then stepped back into the unnatural shadows at the corner of the room. He vanished as soundlessly as he had appeared.

  * * *

  As soon as Kantar disappeared, Wolfe and Mayra heard Fauler’s call, telling them it was time to leave Heyr’s home. They drew away from the others, who followed Fyrid back to the stag-elk pen.

  “From the moment Kantar appeared,” Wolfe muttered as he and Mayra walked the path toward the pen, “I realized that the magic flowing around him had a strangely familiar feel to it. Kantar had only confirmed my thoughts. Do you think he took on dragon magic through Theura?”

  “Perhaps,” she returned. “Or perhaps it added to something he already had. But those words are indeed a blessing—dragon-blessed you are, and dragon-touched ever after. That probably started it. I still don’t know if the Phailites need to maintain contact with dragons to retain magic. Kantar had his own magic, I believe. And I think he has more contact with some dragons than he wishes anyone to know.” She shook her head. “I need to talk to Theura about dragon magic. And then, we might want to talk to Kantar again.”

  “He seemed to be confident we would want to,” Wolfe agreed. He paused and took her hand. “Have we agreed to give a gift to Heyr?” He grinned as she nodded. “Then I will leave it to you to have Gaulte contact the gnomes once we return to the Aerie, for their magic is best suited for such a project.”

  * * *

  The scene near the pen of stag-elk looked like a festival of villagers, gathered for trading and gossiping. Mayra was astonished to see several young adult villagers inside the pen with the enormous animals. Concerned parents watched from outside of the pen, but none seemed frightened. The remaining witches were inside the pen with the young men and women showing them how to milk the now-docile stag-elks does.