Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Hyrnt Village

  Day eleven of the First Moon of Wynter

  Berent walked to his door and yanked down an offending tapestry. This one showing a human stretched out and two young dragons devouring him. It was both vivid and horrifying. He gave an angry snarl and threw the fabric over his head. Leyna waved her hand toward it and it burst into flames. He stared at it a moment, then turned to her with a grin and shook his head.

  “My sentiments exactly!” he declared as he and Leyna stepped into the two-story dwelling. It was one of the larger houses in Hyrnt and had belonged to his family since the beginnings of the village itself.

  Berent stood, arms akimbo, shaking his head. “I’m surprised Dennel did not take my home, along with my leadership.”

  What didn’t surprise him was seeing Taray’s possessions scattered throughout his sparsely furnished home. Berent led Leyna up the steps to the second floor and down a short passageway to the bedroom.

  As they entered, Leyna saw the large bed and turned to him with a smile. “I would have lain there with you,” she said shyly as he drew her into his arms. “We shall have to find another bed of our own now.”

  Berent kissed her. “I wouldn’t let you lay there, Leyna, for Taray has taken this house. She assumes a great deal. Come here, I have something for you.” He paused, then added, grimly, “It had better still be here.”

  * * *

  Berent’s temper shifted as quickly as the winds. Leyna liked that about him, for it meant the burly man was open, hiding nothing. As she watched, he tore open a drawer and pawed through it, finally rising with a small wooden box. He opened it, and a smile lit up his face.

  It was a handsome face, Leyna thought with a sigh. Not beautiful, like Fyrid or wildly striking like Wolfe, but well-built and captivating at the same time. And now his dark eyes were on her. She loved the fire that burned in those eyes whether for her, or as he spoke about the battle that awaited them.

  “Mayra was right,” she said and smiled at the quizzical look he gave her. “She said after she met you, that you and Fyrid and Payk were warriors looking for a battle. That your eyes lit up when you spoke of swords.”

  He laughed and reached for her hand. Before Leyna knew his intent, he slid a gold ring with a large, sparkling blue stone in it onto her middle finger.

  “That, my sweet, is a dragon jewel, given when I was but a boy. I met them in the woods while I was lost. They sheltered me. I picked berries for them, made a fire and they shared their stag-elk meat with me. They weren’t of this Aerie, but they were friendly. They told me dragon tales until I slept, and the next morning, they showed me the way back to this village, which I advised them to avoid. And they gave me that stone. I gave it to my wife, and she returned it as she lay dying.” A sad expression passed across his face; but then it passed. “She made me promise I would love again, that I would be a father.”

  Leyna swallowed. “You have kept the ring ever since?” she whispered.

  “Until now,” he replied in a gentle voice, “when I ask that you be my mate.”

  She smiled. “I shall do so proudly, Berent.”

  Leyna gasped as Berent swept her up into a kiss she felt throughout her body. He held her so tightly that even through their layers of clothing, she could feel his desire, stirring, harder and harder. When he released her, he glanced at the bed and she smothered a laugh. He set her back on her feet.

  “I think we’d best wait,” she whispered. A teasing smile lifted her lips. “I can, if you can.”

  “I think I can wait.” He grinned, gave her hand a squeeze, and turned toward a tall cabinet. He threw the doors open and pulled out a large linen bag. “Throw clothes into this, my sweet. I don’t know what the dragons had in mind—”

  Almost as though the reptiles had heard him, a resounding crash sounded from outside the house. Both Berent and Leyna moved about their tasks more quickly. When he had thrown shoes and other heavier items into the bottom of the sack, he handed her clothes, which she did not pause to neatly pack. The sack quickly filled. After the last tunic, Berent set the box into the bag, tied the top, and threw it over his shoulder.

  “Let’s go,” he suggested tersely. “There are other things I want to get downstairs.

  Leyna nodded. As they left, he didn’t stop to look around, and that surprised Leyna. Perhaps men were more stoic when leaving the familiar behind. She hadn’t been when she had departed her small home in Nesht.

  Sometimes, she still longed for that small bit of space she had called all hers.

  Berent had strapped on his father’s sword and was helping Leyna fasten his old quiver of arrows across her chest when they heard a roar that stopped both in their tracks.

  They ran to the closest window. The dragons had taken to wing, and the compound outside looked like an anthill as villagers scrambled to escape what likely seemed a deadly attack from above.

  Leyna jumped as several wooden statues fell from the sky and smashed into the compound, breaking into pieces from splinters to kindling. She bent and looked up just as Talft and Hyaera dropped four more of the heavy wooden objects, then took off toward the villagers. The stunned people watched the destruction in silence until that moment. Terrified screams erupted as they turned and ran.

  Berent laughed as he hadn’t laughed in years. He finally stopped and wiped away tears, only to chuckle again as Larek flew by, with a laughing Fyrid and Fleura, and Payk—brandishing his blade and grinning like a madman—on his back. A shredded dragon tapestries trailed from the gold dragon’s teeth.

  Leyna and Berent left the house with a magnificent old sword, fastened at Berent’s lean hip for now, a weathered quarterstaff, a beautiful bow and quiver that Leyna carried, and the linen sack of clothes, footwear, and the small wooden box.

  “There is nothing else truly mine,” he said quietly, as he closed the door. “And I want nothing else from this village.”

  Leyna hadn’t removed the gleaming ring from her finger and felt as though it were sending out signals as she walked alongside Berent. She wondered if Berent knew that she was looking for Taray.

  Leyna wanted to have a word—or a fight—with that nasty, covetous bitch.

  * * *

  Look at them, Fauler chuckled fondly. Like a group of nestlings, cooped up too long in the Aerie. He held Wolfe and Mayra easily in the sky above the midhall, flapping periodically to maintain his height but more often being held aloft in a gentle wind.

  Mayra, watching whooping witches and exuberant dragons chasing people through the streets, doubted if Theura would have allowed any nestling to act this way. She winced as Corren, with Richart, Harald, and Jannia screaming encouragement, dove straight for the ground. The ruddy dragon grabbed a rope in his back talons and then flew up with his prize—what looked like the village wash, hung out to dry but frozen stiff. The line of clothes fluttering behind him like drab-colored flags.

  Here we come! Corren cried as he flew over the great hall and dropped his bundle on the roof.

  It was then that Mayra spied the spurned Taray, hiding at the end of the Berent’s, obviously waiting for the former chieftain to emerge.

  Mayra, suspecting Berent wasn’t finished with the villagers, started to call out a warning to him, but from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of several men, trying to creep closer by way of the short side of the midhall.

  Archers! she cried. Fly away; I won’t chance anyone getting hurt! Leyna, Berent, be careful!

  The dragons’ revenge was perfect. Their mischief had left the village in shambles, with no real damage done to anything other than the offensive artwork—and the laundry. They flew off, and as they lost sight of the village, the rider less Hyaera looked back.

  Don’t worry. Fauler’s words felt dry and amused. Once we tuck ourselves away, you can go back to retrieve your lost charges!

  * * *

  Taray stood off to the side of the path next to Berent’s house. She was a
waiting Berent; he would not leave her behind without hearing some things about himself that he sorely needed to hear! And he had better have a good explanation for something that continued to perplex her.

  She watched, seething, as the vile beasts tore the village apart. That she was angry, not frightened like the others, gave her no small amount of satisfaction.

  But it was that very destruction that confused Taray. How could that arrogant witch return to the village as the leader of these warriors? And be the same benevolent witch who had gifted the village with the carvings and statues in the first place? That woman had promised Hyrnt protection from dragons, in return for the village giving her—a highborn running from an evil clan—sanctuary from that unknown clan.

  Taray shook her head as she decided that the witch who had begged their help had been a pretender and had lied to them. Taray would have thought this one, who looked so very much like that friendly witch, was in truth a different person, but how many such women could there be in the north?

  She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall of Berent’s house. It should have been her house. As she resumed her watch, her fury continued to churn and grow.

  Within minutes, the dragons had destroyed all the clever tapestries, they crushed the village’s beautiful statues, and the launder woman’s weekly wash was dangling from the roof of the midhall. Taray savored another morsel of satisfaction; after all, she had often told the stupid woman to dry the things indoors, in her house. But no, the finicky old woman didn’t like the smell of wet clothing.

  Berent’s door flew open, and he emerged, followed by the young female barbarian. A grim smile touched Taray’s lips as her hand closed around the hilt of her dagger. He had shamed her in front of the entire village and tried to give her to that idiot Dennel.

  As she rushed at them, a dragon landed close to them. Taray drew back with a gasp, waited a moment, then peered out. What she saw startled her—for the first time, she noticed two of the attackers were Phailites!

  By the gods, that taller, younger one was beautiful! Taray chuckled. She was nearly purring with appreciation. As she continued to watch, the two men jumped down from the back of the dragon. Taray admired the dragon’s gleaming gold hide, imagining the wealth that much dragon leather would bring to her.

  She shook her head. The new arrivals relieved Berent and the younger woman of the weapons that had belonged to the former chieftain’s father. Berent wore the sword Dennel had hoped to one day lay his hands upon. She smirked. Dennel wanted everything that had been Berent’s including Taray. None of that would happen now because Dennel had been too afraid to kill Berent when he left him behind. And he had then lived with dread, certain Berent would somehow escape the hideous dragon and return for revenge. As he had, accompanied by more dragons and witches.

  As the Phailite woman watched, she realized that Berent had seen her. She stepped out, glaring at him. But she went slowly, a few steps at a time, ever mindful of the dragon’s teeth and the idea of him eating her!

  Before Taray could get any closer, the gold dragon took to the air, and she watched her fortune in dragon leather fly away. She opened her mouth to call out to Berent but a blue flash caught eyes.

  The words died on her lips and turned into a gurgle. The ring! Berent’s mate ring! That young bitch was wearing the ring that should have been Taray’s! She had worn it, admired it on her finger at night as she lay in Berent’s bed, waiting for Dennel to join her. Raw fury washed through her.

  “Thief!” she whispered. She had dreamed of the day when Berent would take that beautiful ring from the drawer and give it to her, asking her to be his mate. Rage made her hands shake as she drew her dagger from its sheath. Silently, she stepped forward.

  * * *

  Leyna placed a hesitant hand on Berent’s arm. “Did you hear Mayra’s warning about the archers?” she asked him.

  Berent nodded. “I heard her tell Hyaera he needed to leave us behind for now.”

  Larek had landed near them and Payk and Fyrid jumped down to relieve Berent and Leyna of a sack, two quarterstaffs, and a beautiful old bow and quiver. Fleura stowed Berent’s possessions, tying them safely next to the saddle, and the two Phailites hurried back onto Larek. They’d tried to entice Leyna and Berent to leave with them, but both had declined. With a leap, the dragon was again airborne.

  Then, silence.

  Leyna watched Larek fly higher until she could no longer see Fleura’s anxious face gazing back at her. When she turned back to Berent, the anger on his face surprised her. She looked beyond him and saw Taray. The Phailite woman had taken advantage of their attention on the dragon to get closer to Berent. Leyna narrowed her eyes. The woman who had decided Berent belonged to her was making a nuisance of herself.

  Still, Leyna was pleased to see that Taray had drawn her dagger. Berent couldn’t fault the witch-warrior for defending herself, could he?

  “Taray—” Berent began, but the hate-filled look the discarded woman gave him caused him to stop short. His mouth clamped shut.

  “My dear Berent,” Taray said silkily. “Do not get between two women, especially when you are the reason for their disagreement.”

  “And do not consider yourself a prize yet,” Leyna told him grimly, for the witch-warrior’s respect for her rival had risen a small bit, and she would not let this already-arrogant male think he was worthy of having two women fight over him. Even if he was.

  But before Leyna could draw her blade and react to the fiery eyes upon her, Mayra’s mind-speak called to her.

  Leyna, Fauler says we must leave now. We must find that cave and hide before nightfall.

  Before she could reply, Berent did. His face looked odd as he concentrated, but the awkward-sounding words emerged. Take off, Mayra, we will catch you soon. I know where you are go— He broke off and shook his head.

  A long moment passed before they heard Wolfe’s “voice” warning them: Be aware, my friend, that bad excuse for a chieftain is gathering his archers again. Get away from that cursed village as quickly as you can.

  Leyna took a quick look around; by the time she looked back, the dragons were mere specks in the sky. As Wolfe had noted, the chieftain and his archers had changed course and were running across the compound toward them. Leyna pulled her sword halfway free of its scabbard but realized the futility of such a move at this moment. She would teach this bothersome woman her own version of manners. If this came to a battle, it was going to start out as a magical one. And first—those vexing archers were in her way.

  * * *

  Berent wasn’t sure what to do next, with archers and warriors gathering behind him, and a duel brewing between the two females in front of him. But one thing was certain—in the next moment, enraged villagers planned to attack the two travelers the dragons had left behind! And while that would not make those dragons happy, he didn’t want archers to shoot him full of holes, just to give dragons and witches something to avenge.

  And the more immediate problem—he would not let anything happen to Leyna. Before he could move to stop Taray, Leyna stepped away from him, turned to the aggressive villagers, and raised her arms. Berent had never seen the shimmering representation of her power—it was a shade of green not unlike new grass—but he knew what he would see. The village of Hyrnt would lose a battle they hadn’t ever had a chance to fight. He reached out and seized Taray’s arm in a firm grasp. He didn’t need this one stealing any closer to Leyna.

  Leyna’s gestures were graceful, looking more like a dance than the movement that suddenly sent almost thirty men flying, hard enough to slam into the partially built wall. Berent could hear the groans from across the compound. He chuckled at the stunned looks of those villagers not disarmed by the small, slender woman.

  Berent felt the hair on the back of his neck stand—he whirled, drawing his sword with one hand while keeping a firm grasp around Taray’s arm with the other.

  “Leyna!” he screamed.

  Archers had let loose a
barrage of arrows and they were flying toward the three. Taray screamed, Berent tried to reach Leyna—and Leyna again sent her Ring-encased arms upward and moved her fingers. The arrows stopped—they could have dropped but Berent knew he was watching an enraged witch. The arrows flipped in midair and with a slash—she flung the deadly shafts back at the archers.

  Most of the arrows found a target.

  Berent released a deep breath. And then he winced—a sharp pang on his arm caused him to loosen his grip; Taray twisted her forearm away and jumped back. He gaped at his arm. The bitch had cut him!

  Leyna reeled back to Berent and screamed out a warning. Berent was a large man, but he was also a nimble, well-muscled warrior. He whirled away and Taray’s blade sliced by him. He shoved her away and grabbed Leyna.

  “We need to get out of here,” he growled.

  “Berent!”

  Berent spun; Dennel’s hoarse snarl was nearly unrecognizable as his cousin’s voice. Dennel was bearing down on him, teeth bared, sword in hand, his face streaked with blood and dirt. Following close behind him, armed with a short broadsword, came Jathe, Taray’s hot-headed younger brother and Tente, the three men who had left him for dead, come to finish the job?

  “Finally!” Berent shouted as he readied his sword. “My cowardly hunting companions show themselves! How did Dennel convince you to leave me behind? Or were you that frightened?” He waved his sword in young Jathe’s direction and grinned as the man took an involuntary step back, into Tente. Berent turned to his cousin. “And you, Dennel, at last, showing boldness to this worthless group!”

  Both men were ignoring Leyna, walking closer to Berent. While Berent had no qualms about fighting three swordsmen together—they were inexperienced, after all—he had a feeling Leyna would not let that happen. As though she had heard him, the witch raised a finger and moved it back and forth, admonishing the youngest Phailite. Jathe lowered his blade, gaping at her.

  Leyna laughed, raised her blade, and flicked Jathe’s sword from his hand. “You must hold on to your weapon, little one!” she mocked him. “They can be slippery when they’re that heavy!”