Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  Berent wanted to touch one, to see if they were real, or only an illusion, a cruel witch’s trick, to warn away intruders. But nothing within the village could protect it from dragons, least of all the skill of a demented artist.

  “Farking, stag-elk shite-for-brains,” he spat. “Not a fool among them has more than a direwolf dick’s worth of bravery or sense.” He met the lovely blue eyes of Leyna and tamped down a new wave of rage. His voice softened. “What were they thinking? By the gods, how long was I gone? Who did this?”

  Are those carvings unknown to you? came Hyaera’s tentative question. As the subject of the artwork on the one completed outer wall became obvious, Berent was relieved to hear the amusement in the mind-speak of the dragon as he added, Artistic, if gruesome, friend Berent.

  “This is your friendly village?” Leyna’s voice was faint.

  “I don’t—Fark!” Before Berent could reassure her, the world around him was jerked out from under him. He clutched at both Leyna and the reins, terror seizing him in a stomach-churning twist. Dragons and humans straightened out in the next instant—Hyaera had thrown himself to one side to avoid a large arrow that barely missed the dragon’s left wing.

  “Fly up!” Berent bellowed.

  “No!” the black-and-red dragon returned. “Call down to them!”

  “Hold fire!” Berent shouted down. “It is Berent af’Torr, returned to Hyrnt!” He held tight to the rein and shouted his name again.

  Archers hidden in the trees emerged. All still held their bows high, arrowed nocks, and aimed toward the dragons. A figure emerged from the midhall, running and drawing a sword as he flew nimbly down a wide path. As he neared them, Berent could hear him shouting for the archers to lower their bows.

  Berent shook his head. Leave it to the man to draw a weapon that wouldn’t work against a foe in the air, and disable the ones that would. He had a dreadful feeling he was looking at the new village chieftain.

  Dennel af’Torr, his younger cousin—a hopeless leader—who had made a fatal blunder by failing to ensure Berent was unable to defend himself before he and the others left Berent to fight a savage dragon unaided.

  “What are you doing there?” Dennel roared as soon as he was close enough for Berent to hear him.

  “I am on a dragon,” Berent shouted back. “Farking idiot,” he mumbled under his breath, then called out, “And we would like to land if you please.”

  “Stay where you are! If you come any nearer, they will shoot you out of the sky!”

  “So we are to bellow at each other, Dennel?” Berent lowered his voice. “Leyna, ask the other dragons to drop within sight.”

  As Berent watched, Dennel glanced at the archers, then back at the dragon. Berent snorted. It was probably occurring to the idiot that his new forest guards weren’t paying attention to the trouble in the sky; rather, they were gathering around the new chieftain—how was he going to remedy this problem?

  The helpless expression on his cousin’s face made Berent chuckle. Yes, it was time for Dennel to make some decisions. As the younger man opened his mouth to speak, another shout went up.

  Berent watched as the four other dragons slowly came into view, wings held straight as they soared down toward Hyaera.

  “More dragons!” shouted a man, and others joined the panicked chorus.

  “Dragons! More are attacking!” echoed through the forest.

  Fauler led the remaining dragons closer; frantic archers, upon catching sight of more dragons, let their bows clatter to the ground. The archers dissolved into chaos, running at and over each other as they fought to reach the safety of the forest. Dennel stood in place, but bit his lip and looked around, as though he couldn’t decide if he should run or stand his ground.

  “The dragons aren’t attacking!” Berent shook his head in disgust. No one could hear him above the escalating uproar. “Listen, you farking—” He gave up on the attempt and shot Leyna an exasperated look. “By the gods, what a disaster!”

  Most of the archers disappeared back into the forest, having left bows and quivers on the ground. And now, the villagers were pouring into the area outside the midhall and swarming around Dennel af’Torr, shouting at him and pointing at the dragons. They weren’t afraid, they were furious.

  None of this made any sense.

  Berent released a long breath and sat back in the saddle. Why did his villagers have to be such ill-mannered clods? Had he taught them that? He thought not, but he was—he leaned forward as Dennel turned a full circle, screaming something and waving his arms. What would happen now?

  “Archers, get back here!” the newly-appointed chieftain screamed. “Deserting your posts will cost you your lives, you cowardly bastards!”

  Dennel had plainly lost both his temper and his command as he howled for the remaining archers to raise their bows again, but the sudden presence of four more of the enormous reptiles seemed to have rendered those remaining men too frightened to run or react at all.

  Again, Berent roared at his cousin—”Hold off your men and allow us to land!”

  But before Dennel could again deny the request, Hyaera dropped into the grass next to the midhall, folded in his wings, and settled down. He looked around, drew a deep breath, and with a thunderous frrrrraapp, farted.

  Leyna giggled. An angry cry went up from the villagers, more so when the smell wafted their way. The black-and-red dragon looked away from the Phailites below him with a haughty toss of his head and eyed the two humans on his back.

  The villagers have been successfully distracted. You may get down.

  Berent and Leyna swung their legs over the saddle and a roar went up from the few villagers remaining after Hyaera had sent his personal message of welcome to them.

  “Be quiet!” Berent bellowed. He let his glance sweep over the people as he shook his head. “I return with the friendship of the dragons who saved me from the evil rogues of both our kind, and this is my greeting?”

  He didn’t mention Hyaera’s greeting. He and Leyna stayed atop the dragon.

  “Berent, look around you!” Leyna’s frantic whisper startled him. He shot a quizzical glance at her: as he turned back from her, he paused for a sweeping glance over the snow-covered compound around which settlers had built the original village.

  His eyes suddenly stopped in front of the midhall and widened. Lined up in front of the building were at least twenty carvings, most the size of a man. More dragons—exquisitely rendered beasts with talons raised against cowering humans, some with teeth and talons buried in their victims, while others were dragons viciously portrayed with swords, axes, and arrows thrust deeply into their bodies.

  A deep, sobering chill went through Berent, wiping out his amusement over his cousin’s troubles. By the gods, what has happened here?

  Berent almost dreaded looking further, but depictions of violence by and against dragons were everywhere. Most were more of the unusual true-to-life carvings. But he could also see tapestries with similar depictions hanging in front of windows, including, just beyond the midhall, his own house. The anger that had been building within him flamed into fury.

  His eyes narrowed as they fell on his cousin. “What have you done to the village?” he asked icily.

  Dennel’s mouth fell open and closed, then opened again before he threw an accusing finger at Berent. “I formed ways to make us safer when you didn’t return!” the furious man shouted. “These runners will warn the village of attackers.” He lowered, then sheathed his sword as he stared up at Berent. “We did not know where you had gone. We are building to protect the village. ” A smile twisted his thin lips. “Obviously a good idea, as we see you united with the enemy!”

  Angry shouts from the men around them joined those of the ersatz leader. The words echoing around the compound revealed their hatred for dragons.

  “Overgrown lizards and frogs, fit for naught but eating flies!” shouted someone from the throng.

  “They are evil and careless of human life!�
� yelled another. “We must strike down and burn witches and dragons!”

  Berent had heard Wolfe ordering the remaining dragons down. He hoped that neither dragons nor their riders had heard the words of the villagers—but he doubted it. He didn’t need to look back to know they had landed.

  “They’re attacking!” Dennel shouted as he waved his arms at the archers. “Bows armed and up! Hurry!”

  Within moments, the archers were back in place and once again aiming long, thick arrows at the dragons. Mayra rose in the stirrups of her blue saddle, raised her hands, and slashed her arms downward. A small blue ball of energy burst from each palm and struck the ground in front of the archers. Bows, arrows, and archers went flying every which way while Dennel remained standing, staring at her, his mouth again hanging open. As she raised her arms again, the remaining bows again dropped to the ground.

  Berent glanced back at Mayra. She hadn’t seemed to have heard the whispers of, “It is her.” And, “What is she doing?” And what accounted for his cousin, who stood frozen, staring at her, slack-jawed and speechless.

  “Now, that is better.” Berent’s tried to keep his voice friendly, but he doubted that his face was. “How pleasant to see you again, Dennel.” His cousin blinked and finally turned his stare away from Mayra and onto Berent. “And I see you have at last found yourself an occupation. Before I forget, I would like time with the other men who left me to be captured by a brutal dragon who would sooner kill a human as look at him.”

  “You hate dragons,” Dennel grumbled. “You always did. We all had to leave you; we would have been killed, like you—”

  “Like I was might have been—or I was supposed to be?” Berent’s dark eyes bored into those of his cousin as the former chieftain, at last, gave voice to the suspicion he had always carried with him. “Am I looking at your treachery, Dennel, or an accidental incident from which you benefitted?”

  His cousin’s rough face turned purple, then paled. “We thought you were dead. The villagers made me chieftain after no one could find you. And now, you return with dragons, looking as though you are attacking us! What was I supposed to do?”

  Berent took a deep breath and looked across the sea of angry faces. “You’re content with your new leader?” he asked them.

  A mutter spread across the crowd. “You, Berent,” someone shouted out. “You always said you would protect us from dragons!”

  Berent spread his arms wide. “Are they attacking you, Jathe? How could I better protect the village than to invite their friendship?” He placed his hand on Hyaera’s neck and gave him a fond pat, then slid to the ground, with Leyna following behind him. “And friends we have become.”

  “You brought dragons to our village, Berent,” Dennel said in the same querulous voice. His dark eyes flickered to Leyna, rested on the hilt of her sword, visible over her furry hat, then flew back to Berent. “And the gods know what else. That one yonder”—he waved toward Mayra—”is a witch! Is this one, too? How are we supposed to receive them?”

  “As friends,” Berent replied evenly.

  Multiple shouts of no erupted around them. Dennel grinned.

  “You have your answer, Berent,” he said. “We don’t want them here. And since you are a dragon-lover now, you can go away with them.”

  “Stop it!” came a woman’s cry.

  “Taray?” Berent whispered. He felt Leyna stiffen.

  The woman who hurried to the front of the crowd might be ten years older than Leyna, but she was lovely, tall for their females, her long white hair falling in soft curls to her waist. Unlike the other women around her, she wore bright colors and a dagger on her shapely hip, where she rested her hand.

  “A child’s blade?” Leyna sniffed. “How fast can she draw it?” she whispered.

  “Don’t test her,” Berent muttered back. “Please. You will hurt her and then feel bad for it.”

  Leyna gave him a long look, and Berent could almost hear her say, Give me an excuse and I will hurt Taray, and not feel bad at all. His grin reassured her and caused the Phailite woman’s eyes to narrow.

  “Taray,” Berent said civilly. “You are looking—”

  “Who are you?” Taray demanded, her eyes boring into Leyna as the older woman slid closer to Berent. “Berent, who is she?”

  “This is Leyna.” He answered Taray’s question but offered no more. Both women glanced at him. “And Leyna, this is Taray.”

  “But who is she? Where were you? With her? With them? With women wearing swords like men?” Her voice was steadily rising and becoming shrill. “Dragons, Berent? You brought dragons here and showed them our defenses and”—the woman was nearly shouting at him, her hands waving frantically—”by the gods, you were to be away but a day, hunting! Instead, what do you do but—”

  Berent’s patience was at its end. “Taray, stop it,” he said evenly. “We are aware of your displeasure, but you sound like a foul-tempered fishwife.”

  Taray flushed a deep purple color. Berent could see she had realized her error and regained control of her temper.

  “I apologize,” she said stiffly. “I was so pleased to see you safely returned that I lost control of myself for a moment. Please, come to the midhall to warm yourselves.”

  Berent looked back over Leyna’s head. The others were watching him. Wolfe gave him a grin and Berent returned it.

  “Are my friends invited as well?” the former chieftain asked politely.

  A brief sneer touched Taray’s lovely lips as she looked through Leyna. She stopped short for a long moment, her face frozen in something like fear. Berent glanced back to see what had caused such a reaction, but Taray could have been looking at any of them. The woman finally returned her attention to Berent. Her eyes narrowed. “Of course,” she replied coldly. “The humans are welcome.”

  Berent laughed, but he wondered what she had seen to cause such a reaction from a normally bold woman. “As expected.” He turned and waved at the others.

  “Wait a moment,” Dennel shouted. “You’re not leaving those great monsters out here to eat any of us!” He whirled on Taray. “What are you doing, inviting them here?”

  “I am being polite,” Taray shot back angrily. “Something that would serve you well, Dennel. Lest the beasts eat you!”

  Hyaera cleared his throat. “Madam.” The dragon drew himself up. “We do not eat humans. How utterly repulsive that is!”

  Murmurs of astonishment went through the crowd of people surrounded them. “By the gods, it talks!” Dennel said with a weak laugh.

  “Hyaera is not an it,” Leyna shouted. “He is a brave warrior dragon who fought hard against evil durgens of your kind, who tried to kill us!”

  The deep laugh in Hyaera’s throat did sound like a growl, Berent admitted to himself, as his former clansmen moved back. Berent noticed that Dennel was trying the hardest to put people between himself and the dragon.

  “Run away, cousin,” Berent muttered. “As you so evidently wish to.” He raised his voice. “I am disgusted with the lot of you and have no desire to stay here. I will get some things from my house, and I am leaving.” His lip curled. He gestured first at Dennel and then at Taray. “And you, my cousin, may have her, as you have so long desired.”

  Taray gasped; her hand shot out to strike Berent, but Leyna was far too fast for her. The smaller woman’s fingers tightened around Taray’s wrist. Her Ring glowed briefly and Taray cried out before Leyna released her.

  “Leave him alone,” the witch-warrior said curtly. “You should have searched for him until you found him. But no, your people ran off like cowards, leaving him to die. Now, he belongs with us.”

  “You’re witches!” the woman cried. She whirled on Dennel. “They attacked our village and us! And she”—Taray flung her arm out toward the dragons—”she betrayed us! The archers can kill them all—dragons and witches alike!”

  Berent was appalled. He hadn’t meant to lose control of the situation so thoroughly. Nor had he ever thought his
clansmen would be so bloodthirsty. Or had he? And who was the she who caused such fury in Taray?

  “That would be a terrible idea,” he told Dennel quietly. “If you believe—Taray!”

  Before Berent could remind Dennel that he was supposed to be chieftain now, that there was little chance to win when fighting witches or dragons, Taray had taken off running toward the archers. By her gestures, Berent knew that she was trying to get them to shoot at the dragons.

  “Taray, no!” Dennel shouted. He turned to follow her.

  Berent, fists on hips, stared after them and shook his head. Taray had looked back at him with a defiant glare. Did she think he would chase after her in an attempt to stop her madness?

  “Does this mean we don’t get our warm drinks?” Leyna asked and Berent burst into laughter.

  May we teach them some manners, friend Berent? Hyaera’s voice sounded both amused and hopeful as it echoed in Berent’s head and ears.

  Perhaps, just a bit, Fauler added. While you gather your possessions? We shall not harm a soul.

  Berent chuckled. He looked down at Leyna. “Come with me, wild little one. Dragons—please, do show them how you respond to poor hospitality.” He suddenly realized that the words he meant to speak had echoed in his head and had probably gone out to the others, if somewhat awkwardly.

  He laughed again and Leyna grinned, saying, “You’re improving!”

  “You do as you wish,” the Phailite told the dragon aloud, not feeling as confident using his mind-speak, as Leyna seemed to be. “I ask only that you do not kill any of them. Leyna and I will return soon.”