Dragon's Revenge
Page 29
She inclined her head, allowing him to bend and, his eyes never leaving her face, retrieve his weapon. Dennel dismissed him with a snort. He left the useless Tente standing and gawking at them, turned on Berent, and charged. Jathe turned and slunk away, ignoring his sister’s angry curses.
Berent was older, faster, stronger, and much more practiced than his opponent was, but as their blades met, he had to admit, Dennel wasn’t the weakling Berent had thought him to be.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leyna, raising her blade to warn Taray to leave the two men to their fight, and he grinned. Energy surged through him, and he slammed his sword upward, caught Dennel off guard, and tipped his blade into the other man’s jaw. Blood spurted out, and Dennel staggered back.
“There, then!” Berent shouted. He thrust his boot into the stomach of his cousin and gave him a mighty push, throwing him against the men behind him. “You may have him back; I am done with him!”
“Stop!” Taray screamed. She broke away from Leyna, ran to Dennel, and shoved her shoulder under his arm. She steadied him, pushed him back to a stand, and gave Berent a furious glare.
“They aren’t going to let you get away from them,” Taray sneered. “You will pay for your treachery, Berent af’Torr. By the gods, I am relieved that you showed your true intent before I became your mate!”
“I am certain that Berent feels the same way,” said Leyna airily. “What a dreadful midden this place is, filled with feckless villagers!”
Taray gave a furious scream. She pushed Dennel off her shoulder and dove for Leyna, almost knocking her off her feet. Leyna’s laughter seemed to drive Taray mad, but not a moment later, the Phailite woman gave a horrific scream of genuine pain. She rolled away, holding her hand to her head. As she rose to her knees, groaning, a trickle of blood slid down her forehead.
Berent smothered a laugh. Leyna was still grinning, looking as arrogant as any triumphant warrior as she strode to his side. What Leyna had done? The older woman looked unharmed, but she bent over, crying piteously as blood trickled through her fingers.
The former chieftain hadn’t time to worry about that now—Taray was still breathing, and the men who had recovered from Leyna’s magic, along with others, were gathering again. Berent was surprised—many had run off, but those who remained were quickly restringing and arming bows, and quarterstaffs and swords were being shared among those still unarmed.
Time we leave. Berent struggled to send to Leyna. She grinned, and he pointed. Go this way.
You’re trying too hard, she pointed out. You were better when you weren’t trying—
Berent started as an arrow flew past them, then another. A razor-sharp arrowhead skimmed Leyna’s arm, drawing an involuntary cry. Her surprised look melted into a mask of pain, but she continued to run with him, holding onto his hand, ignoring the blood that dripped down her arm and onto their clutched hands.
Berent headed toward the back entry into the village, a gate used most often by hunters, bringing meat into the smokehouse to dress and preserve it. Before he could hope the gate was unlocked, Leyna flung her uninjured arm out. A splintered hole now stood in place of the gate.
They ran through the fragmented wood and onto a strip of cleared land; beyond that began the edge of a thick, black forest. Berent pulled Leyna toward a barely visible trail. He could hear the angry shouts of the villagers, growing nearer as they ran. If the furious men caught up with them, he feared that his fighting skills couldn’t hold back so many. But his biggest concern was that Leyna, armed with sword and magic, but wounded, would cause herself more harm as she continued to bleed and tried to fight. He started to curse their friends for leaving them but stopped.
The undertaking of the dragons, the witches, and the Phailites was much more important than Leyna and his lives.
He sped up, thankful that Leyna was keeping up with him. Finally, they reached a narrow bridge across a half-frozen river. As soon as they crossed it, Leyna turned, and with another sweep of her hand, down went the bridge, turned into kindling that collapsed into the ice and water below.
Berent shook his head. His new friends acknowledged without doubt that Mayra and Wolfe were by far the most powerful witches in their group. What more could there be?
He continued to guide them away from any paths and back into the forest. They passed through one last grove of dark trees before emerging into a field, spread out before them, lit up by the midday sun. As soon as they stepped onto the springy grass, Leyna laughed and turned a circle, her arms spread wide.
“It’s warm!” she cried.
And it was. With the snow melted away and small trees blooming as plants poked their heads up through the warming dirt, it was an ideal resting place. It was also an extensive, uninhabited stag-elk field. Berent didn’t pause to wonder where the animals that should have been enjoying such bounty were, he needed to—they both needed to—stop to catch their breath.
They stopped as one, and both dropped to their knees. Berent wiped his face with his sleeve and it came away bloody. His? He felt no pain anywhere—Taray’s small, shallow stab had already closed itself off. Then it was Leyna’s; he tipped her face back. She looked pale, yet never said a word.
“Come here, my sweet,” he muttered. He dropped into the grass and drew her closer to him. She was silent as he used some water from the small flask he carried to clean the cut the arrow had made, pressed a small leaf he’d taken from this pouch against the cut, then wrapped a clean piece of bandage around her arm.
“You need to learn to dodge arrows,” he grumbled as he closed his pouch, then gathered her in his arms. Leyna laughed as he drew her down alongside him and they lay back, savoring the warm ground beneath them.
“I needed that,” he said. “I needed to beat the shite out of someone. That someone being Dennel af’Torr, and then to kick that durgen back to that worthless clan, was but a further reward, for they deserve each other.” His shaggy eyebrows drew together. “What did you do to Taray?”
Leyna leaned up on her uninjured arm and held out a handful of long, white hair. Berent stared at it a moment, then sat up.
“You pulled out her hair?” he asked in disbelief, then winced. “My sweet, that is such a female action. You—”
“She didn’t have her blade,” Leyna interrupted with a charming and very deceptive pout. “I couldn’t harm her with my sword, could I? That would not be honorable.”
He grinned, then wrapped a large, rough hand around her head and pulled her to a gentle kiss. “No, like all your kind, you are far too noble to do such a thing.”
“But her brother,” Leyna said with a happy laugh, “did you see his face when I disarmed him?”
“I doubt he will ever live down being bested by a slip of a young woman,” he teased. “Even a savage one.” He hesitated. “Leyna, did you see how Dennel and Taray reacted the first time they laid eyes on Mayra?”
“I did see Taray, staring at those behind us as though she was seeing Death, pointing her way. And then she said it was she who betrayed them! Was it Mayra she was looking at?”
“I can’t be sure. But it goes along with what I heard some villagers mumbling.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. “It was just strange. All of it was strange, wasn’t it?”
Before Leyna could comment, they heard a distant cry: a familiar call that had them jumping to their feet, calling out a cheery greeting.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Aloft in the Ceshon Mountains
and in the Cavern of Hagan
Day eleven of the First Moon of Wynter
Hyaera appeared high above them, circled once, then dropped to land beside them. He shook his head with a tsk that Fyrid and Payk would have recognized—dragon amusement, colored with disapproval.
“So, my friends,” he said, lowering his body so they could climb into the empty saddle. “Did you accomplish what you desired?”
“Did you call him?” Berent demanded as the dragon settled behind Leyna.
Berent gave a shout of laughter. “Yes, I did exactly what I needed to do. Let’s go! What has happened?”
“As yet, not much. We are waiting for the rogue dragon to leave to hunt.”
As they flew away from a miserable village, Berent Af’Torr thought about the sword lessons Wolfe Sieryd had given Fyrid through the previous days. Berent had not learned to wage battle in the manner of the trained witch-warriors. He had gained experience as a youth by accompanying his father and other men into the forest and watching them hunt, or watch them play at mock battles with one another. To add reasoning behind each action taken had seemed foolish the first time Wolfe had mentioned it, but since the fight between Fyrid and that young churl, and the one Berent had just fought, he had grown to understand what the Ring-Witch was teaching. Especially Wolfe’s last lesson.
Figure out how to let your woman know you were wounded, but only in private.
He grinned. There was nothing as sweetly sympathetic as a woman, nursing the wounds of her injured warrior. Even when she was an equal warrior and he was nursing her. Perhaps, the tending of an injured female by a concerned male warrior could reap rewards just as rewarding!
* * *
Leyna leaned back against Berent, wondering how it felt to leave behind one’s village and clan for a future with witches and dragons. To some, it might be an uneasy future. But she loved Berent, something she never thought possible in her life, and she was thankful he had chosen to leave Hyrnt. She knew she wouldn’t have made a suitable mate for him living among so many people who wished her harm.
Our friends have already found a place to hide, said Hyaera abruptly. Hagan’s cave wasn’t hard to find. But you are the only one who has been there, Berent. If you can think of anything else to tell us about it—anything will help.
I thought—Berent screwed up his face—I hope speaking is easier soon. There was something else about the cave. He marveled at how simple it was becoming to push his thoughts out to the others.
Wait until we get there, Hyaera directed.
The ride was much shorter than the two weary warriors thought it would be. Hyaera warned them not to speak, through either voice or mind-speak, until they were in the cave. They then started down through the clouds.
The entrance into the cave was a wide fissure, well hidden behind a tall slab of freestanding rock. The new arrivals paused as Hyaera pointed up and to their right and made a curving gesture with his head. It was an incongruous movement from a huge dragon, and both humans grinned.
Hyaera huffed. But Leyna nodded to show she understood that to be the closest route to Hagan’s cave.
As soon as they entered the cave, Leyna felt the prickles of another witch’s power wash over her. Mayra or Wolfe had placed a ward at the mouth of the cave to protect them.
Flickering torches cast a dim light, barely illuminating the cave’s interior. Leyna breathed in deeply—a faint odor made her stomach growl—roasted meat! She wanted food and drink before anything else.
Leyna looked around. Indiera, Jannia, and Richart were in a far corner with all the weapons and she knew that sound. Sharpening a blade with stones might be much quieter, but it wasn’t silent. Magic against metal usually brought about a distinctive whine. Wolfe and Kirik were in the corner opposite the Bren brothers, using pointed sticks to draw something in the sand. She stepped closer and recognized a drawing of the very mountain they were within.
Mayra gestured Leyna and Berent over to join her. She led them to a makeshift table on a log. Leyna’s mouth watered—it was just what she wanted, a fair amount of food.
“Hurry and eat,” Mayra whispered. “It’s difficult maintaining readiness, but there’s no way to know when that dragon will leave.”
Leyna had barely sat down next to the food when two furry, playful direwolves overwhelmed her.
“Balc! Nena!” Fyrid hissed. He whistled softly. “Get back here!”
Nena whined and her tail drooped. Leyna knew they had already eaten. She felt sympathy, but not enough to share the feast the Sorst villagers had provided to their departing visitors. A small fire rewarmed the spicy meat and crusty bread, and the fruit was juicy and sweet. It was nearly a half-hour before Leyna leaned back with a sigh. Berent, across from her, grinned.
“You ate more than me!” he declared. He jumped to his feet, pulled Leyna up alongside him, and gave her a mighty hug. “Does Mayra need us to do anything else to be ready?”
He turned and headed for the far corner. Leyna gathered up the bones they had left and offered them to the direwolves, who accepted with great enthusiasm. She followed Berent across the dim cave. He was already helping sharpen blades and took hers to add to the pile.
The witch-warrior stood watching her new mate, until she felt movement beside her and looked up to find Mayra doing the same—watching Wolfe as he talked about weapons with the other men.
“I’m glad you brought him away from that terrible village,” Mayra whispered. She slipped her arm through Leyna’s. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that wound on your arm. Come over and let me look at it. I wish Shaura had come with us.”
“So do I,” Leyna confessed. “Whatever Berent did when he bandaged it helped, but it still hurts.”
“After your wound is cleaned, you can tell me about a ring you didn’t have this morning.”
* * *
“Hyaera said you wanted to tell us something about the cave,” Wolfe said as he examined a sword for gouges or other damage.
“I’ve forgotten twice now,” Berent replied in the same low tones, “to tell you that when I went back into Hagan’s cave, I thought it was empty and the captives gone. But I heard sounds—roars of dragons and the cries of younglings—echoing faintly from somewhere within. There must be another area that’s hidden away from the main area.”
“Another area that could be below,” Wolfe mused, “or just deeper, back in the bowels of the cave.” He saw Mayra glance his way, probably wondering what they were discussing in such low, intense tones. He dipped his head her way, an invitation for her to join them.
“We can’t use the ropes,” Kirik said. “The rocks above that cave are a continuation of these and likely just as smooth.”
“We need to account for all the guards as quickly as possible,” Fyrid said. “Otherwise, we are in danger of being trapped.”
Wolfe glanced at the younger man. “You have an idea?”
“Berent said there might be guards just inside the entrance. I suggest we stay back on the ridge, out of their sight. Berent can present himself as the returned captive who has only just found his way back to the cave. Once the guards are out, we can rush in, capture them, and make them talk.”
Wolfe turned to Berent. “What do you think?”
The blue man grinned and nodded. “I’ll do it!” Even his whisper was enthusiastic. “There is a wide, shadowy area just inside the cave. You can hide there when I first go in. There’s also a curve before the caver entrance. The others can hold back; I’ll move away from the front of the cave and distract them as long as I can.” He slapped Fyrid on the shoulder. “A planner and a warrior! You are destined for greatness, Fyrid, my boy!”
All four men looked up as Payk and Leyna joined them. Fauler, who had been resting with the other dragons, also moved closer to them. After placing the jewel-laden basket in a corner, the dragons had eaten some leftover raw stag-elk and finished their water. Then all had promptly dropped into a deep, well-earned, sleep. Only Fauler had been awakened by whispering humans.
Fauler’s words were faint; they strained to hear him say, “We must find out what shielded dragons from one another while we were enspelled. Gaulte thought our captors might have used some unknown herb as a basis for a spell placed somewhere on the reins or saddles. The feeling I had then is the same as is it now whe
n I try to find the Center of my mate.” Fauler shook his plated head. “I cannot even explain that feeling either, except that it is emptiness.”
“I know Gaulte talked of herbs or plants we might recognize,” Wolfe mused. “All we can do is look for anything we saw anyplace on the dragons, or that those Phailites are wearing.”
“This is the last of the weapons,” Richart reported as he joined them, fastening his baldric across his chest. He then passed Fyrid’s blade to him, along with a smirk. “Next time don’t use your farking sword for chopping wood. I see we received three excellent axes from your people.”
Fyrid grinned as he inspected the blade. “I didn’t have one then. Our swords are for all uses!”
“They’re also difficult to sharpen.”
“We have a different stone for sharpening our weapons,” Payk said. He dug around in his pouch and pulled out a piece of glittering square stone the length and half the width of his hand. “I can sharpen those we carry. In the future, I will use it on our blades.”
Payk gestured toward the silver tube. “Speaking of weapons, I wonder if we’ll encounter any more of those in the cavern.”
“I don’t remember seeing any there,” Berent said. “Although if the blast fire as Fyrid described, no one in his right mind would use such a weapon in a cave.”
“That is the problem, isn’t it?” Mayra asked drily as she approached them. “I doubt anyone there is in his right mind.”
She looked too serious for anyone to laugh. As she sat down next to Wolfe, her eyes went to the tube, glimmering in the firelight. “It is a beautiful thing. It’s silver, but unlike that soft metal, it’s very strong. I just cannot stop wondering who could have—or would have—made such a thing.”
“Making such weapons is gnome work,” Fauler replied. “They are masters with metal.
Wolfe nodded slowly. “It is finely crafted, yes, but I continue to be concerned about the magic that shaped the reins and firesticks that Hagan provided Plyn af’Nanyn.” He glanced at Mayra. “I hope we don’t also encounter that same magic, as well as a firestick, inside the cavern.”