Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  Wolfe could tell his words surprised the others. He had never expressed something that sounded as though it verged on fear. His chuckle surprised them even more. “I’m not afraid, friends,” he said, shaking his head. “I think worried is more appropriate. I don’t want to encounter that magic in a farking cave.”

  The others nodded their agreement.

  “I cannot imagine a gnome making such an evil thing,” Jannia said forlornly. “The other gnomes were so kind.”

  “Perhaps whoever made it didn’t know what it would be used for,” Leyna said.

  Fauler drew a deep breath. “The reins were evil,” he said, quiet anger in his words. “That was intentional. Gnome magic is good. It is the magic of rocks and dirt and metal, but I cannot imagine any gnome being wicked enough to have used their magic to forge such evil tools.”

  “You believe Hagan infused the reins with evil magic,” Wolfe said.

  “If he stole metal from the mines,” Fauler replied, “he is most likely to have had the reins and tube made. And he is the only one with that inclination—he is malevolent and he did not win his first battle with the dragons. I have no doubt he is responsible for everything we have come up against.”

  “I should have asked my grandfather what he knew of the trolls’ mine,” Fyrid said. “He might have known about metal being stolen.”

  Wolfe’s expression was hard to discern in the dim light, but he also shrugged. “There’s time for that later, I suppose. We need to get armed and wait for Harald.”

  “Where is Harald?” Leyna asked.

  “He is our first sentinel,” replied Kirik. “He’s watching for Hagan to leave the cave to hunt.”

  “We can sense Hagan,” said Fauler morosely, “but he is the only dragon any of us can feel, very faintly, in that cavern.” He shook his huge horned head. “I thought we would at least be able to know our kin are nearby, somewhere in that cursed cave.”

  “It must be oakenwood,” Mayra growled. She took a deep breath. “It angers me because it is the only thing in nature with so many uses, that readily absorbs magic from any source, and we can’t determine a way to overcome what it does to us.”

  “Do you think someone has deliberately enspelled the wood against dragons?” Fauler asked in amazement. “But no one has ever done such a thing against us.”

  “Someone was prepared for us.” Mayra’s hands curled into fists. “And I would guess that Hagan is the only dragon able to create such powerful magic against his own kind. Damn, I hate that dragon!” As the others laughed softly, she reached up and gently touched Fauler’s snout. “As soon as we determine how to remove his vile magic, dear Fauler, you will find your kin.”

  Mayra jumped as she realized Larek was behind her. The gold dragon gently nudged her toward the basket. It was time to don the black cloaks and make ready to invade Hagan’s home.

  “The dragons can walk the ridge, two abreast,” Wolfe said, as he and Kirik pulled out white cloths they planned to enlarge and hide beneath. “Now that I see how wide the ridge is, I think these covers will actually help.”

  He laid one large square cloth flat, then the other two, and the witches made quick work of expanding them to thrice their original size.

  “How do you do that?” Fyrid demanded of Fleura.

  “Wait,” said Mayra softly, touching Fleura’s arm. “We don’t really have time to discuss that now, as we must run through the plan once more. But we will help you learn, later.”

  “Berent, Larek, Mayra, and I will walk together under the first cloth, and Berent will enter first,” said Wolfe, “With Larek, carrying the basket of jewels, right behind him. Mayra and I will hide alongside Larek. Indiera, Leyna, you come in last with me. The other dragons wait until we have made our case with the jewels. If it doesn’t work, someone will call you. Unless Hagan returns early. Berent, you, Fyrid, Payk, and Fleura, always stay with that basket.”

  There were murmurs of agreement.

  “We hope that the dragons hiding outside will catch Hagan unawares, should he return sooner than we expect him to,” said Wolfe. “And always remember, plans can change in a moment’s time.”

  As they pulled up the hoods of the cloaks, Berent chuckled. “We are all alike now, despite our actual sizes. I swear there’s some magic in these cloaks.”

  “There might be,” came Mayra’s muffled voice, and the others realized they could no longer differentiate her voice from that of any male. They were all genderless.

  “Excellent,” murmured Wolfe. “Damned good artifices, these.”

  * * *

  A deep hum—the sound of someone breaching the ward—suddenly went through the cave. Before anyone could move, Harald stepped in. He nodded and went to his brother’s side.

  “Hagan flew away,” he told them all. He slowly shook his head. “Gods, what a monster!”

  He sat down and took a flask of water from Richart.

  “I hope the farking thing doesn’t return,” he said, so softly than only Richart heard the quaver in his voice. Richart gave Harald a sharp glance.

  Harald understood. He was a Bren; he might be reserved, but he was an excellent swordsman and Brens were known for their bravery. Even Tolle Bren had gone defiantly to his fate. Harald’s faintheartedness was not normal behavior for a Bren.

  “He was carrying a basket,” Harald told the others as he adjusted his black cloak. He gestured toward the basket Larek had carried from the Aerie, slightly smaller than the one that had held the direwolves. “A basket that size, around his neck.”

  “That astonishes me, after those vile men called us pack animals and taunted us for carrying baskets,” mused Larek. “I can’t imagine what might be in it. What would Hagan need to carry out of the cave that couldn’t ride on his back?”

  “Perhaps it was something that can’t ride,” Mayra said with a shrug.

  “I wondered if he was using it to bring meat back to the cave,” Harald offered. He had been waiting for one of the others to ask what Hagan looked like, but none of them had. The monster dragon was the stuff of nightmares. Harald cleared his throat and added, somewhat sheepishly, “Naught could ride atop that monster’s back, Mayra, as he has huge, sharp spines running the length of his back and down his tail.”

  Abruptly, they were all staring at him in silence.

  He studied his friends, all looking at him expectantly, but before he could speak, Leyna said, “Mayra, I think we must also consider that another powerful magic might have created all the carved and tapestry dragons in Hyrnt and that we might also encounter it here.” She deliberately looked at Mayra, as though she would have added more, but Berent cleared his throat and for some reason, she stopped.

  But Leyna had diverted their attention from Harald with that thought.

  “It makes sense,” Wolfe said. “If someone wanted to create such clever, albeit horrible arts, magic would definitely be the best, if not the only, way.”

  Harald gave a mental shrug, turned back to completing his outfitting. Berent had never seen Hagan, could not know the beast was pure muscle and a flying weapon. The others would learn the truth soon enough.

  * * *

  A silent parade wended its way up the same broad path that Berent had stumbled his way down when he had left the cave to return to the Ceshon Aerie. Berent’s circumstances might have improved, but the Phailite warrior couldn’t believe he was revisiting the nest of a dragon he felt fortunate he’d never laid eyes upon. As Berent walked, his only present concern was that he holding hands with the wrong female. Leyna was behind him and would not be entering the cave with him and Larek.

  Well, at least Wolfe isn’t glaring at me for holding hands with Mayra, he thought morosely. He wondered if he should have stopped Leyna from making known her suspicions about the person who had helped those of his village, and probably made the carvings and statues. They could talk about it later.

  Now that he was moving, Berent felt out of harm's way, but he wasn’t comfortable under the
magically light cloth, trying to stay out of Larek’s way. This wasn’t very different from hiding from dragons beneath a cloth while hunting stag-elk, except those times the dragon hadn’t been behind him. Years of experience told him that the longer he felt safe, the better served he would be by that jolt of battle-bravery that struck warriors as they went into a fight.

  * * *

  Mayra was clasping the hands of both Wolfe and Berent, mainly to maintain balance and keep in line with them, but the warm strength of Wolfe’s hand engulfing hers was bolstering. Larek was guiding them; there were slits for him to peer through, and they were walking just ahead of his legs.

  It seemed they had been walking far further than necessary before they finally stopped. Mayra could sense the witches behind her and more vaguely, the dragons. They stayed back as Larek slipped out from under the cover to look around.

  “We are here,” he whispered.

  Mayra smiled. Dragons simply weren’t meant to whisper. She slipped from her cloth and hurried under the one behind her.

  “Wait for our word.” They nodded.

  “Good luck,” mouthed Fleura.

  * * *

  There were no guards. After a moment of consulting awkwardly using hand signals, dragons, and witches agreed—there wasn’t a ward, or anything else to warn of an intruder entering the cave. Mayra, Wolfe, Berent, and Larek concealed themselves in the unnatural darkness that crept down from Wolfe’s hands to surround the small party of warriors and blend into the inky blackness inherent to a cavern this size.

  Mayra looked around at her fellow warriors. Their stance, their expressions had changed—they were on edge, watching and listening. No wards, no guards, could mean only one thing—a trap.

  Torches lined the walls, sending weak, flickering light to blend with the natural light in the center of the rocky grotto.

  Hagan’s nest was massive and dwarfed the cave they had sheltered in earlier. A vile, vaguely familiar odor struck them, and Mayra swallowed a gag. She shuddered—Berent might have told them about the smell!

  As she adjusted her cloak, feeling itchy and confined, something dark touched her. Neither mental nor physical, it felt as though it were trying to surround her. She wavered; Wolfe was out of reach so she reached out to steady herself against Larek’s flank.

  She gasped and snatched back her hand. The barely controlled rage that seeped from the gold dragon standing behind her transferred to his skin. Larek was an inferno! She stepped a little closer, could feel the heat emanating from him—and then, it stopped.

  Mayra couldn’t see him, couldn’t talk to him. Could there be another odor the humans couldn’t smell, or a sound they couldn’t hear that signaled distressed or abused dragons? Was the same rage racing through the other dragons? And why had it stopped so abruptly?

  She patted Larek gently; he startled her when he bent and touched his snout to her shoulder and rubbed against her. A warm feeling of well-being stirred in Mayra and she smiled and turned back to the cavern.

  Small drafts dancing through the cavern sent the wall-torches flickering; from the corner of her eye, Mayra saw something scurry back into the deep shadows that surrounded the large entry area. Her head whipped toward the place where that something had vanished, but she saw only a stack of worn wooden boxes, wavering slightly, as though something had brushed past them. Scattered around the area were smaller fires and tables, and dirty cooking and eating utensils.

  Mayra returned her attention to the center of the cavern, to a large cauldron sitting atop a fire, tended by two men who had yet to notice they had guests. They sat close to the pot; one stirred what she realized was the source of the foul odor.

  A huge rat scurried past them. Mayra slapped her hand over her mouth—she despised wild rodents. Poppie, sitting on Wolfe’s shoulder, perked up. She followed the path of the rat for a moment, then vanished in a tiny blue flash. Another glimmer toward the far side of the cave showed them where the little black cat had gone. Mayra hoped that if Poppie caught the creature, she kept it to herself.

  Another slight noise at her left caught her attention. Berent was preparing to show himself to his onetime warders. Mayra grinned as the man steadied himself and stepped out from the shadows, to start his act of a bone-weary wretch, ready to throw himself on their mercy.

  Wolfe drew her further back into the shadows as Berent walked forward, dragging himself into the light, looking much like a defeated warrior. Covered by Mayra’s magic, none of his weapons were visible.

  The two men stirring the cauldron wore ragged cloths partially covering their faces, likely to protect against the stench or the fumes as they took turns stirring the pot. The man with his face to them handed the long stick over to the other to take a drink from a jug. He tipped his head back to drink and froze, staring at Berent over the other’s shoulder. The liquid seeped into his shirt and started toward the cauldron.

  “What’s wrong with you?” shouted the other and pushed his companion back from the cauldron. He seemed to realize the other’s attention had fixed behind him, for he turned, gaped at Berent for a moment, and then thrust the stick back at the other, pulled off the face cloth, and jumped to his feet. “Keep stirring or it will ruin!” he shouted at his companion, as that man stood up.

  An interesting thing to know, Mayra thought. I will ensure that the vile substance does just that.

  The man approaching them was dressed like the other, but had a rank indicator on his shoulders unknown to Mayra. Unlike the Phailites Mayra had so far met—except the arrogant Kyayn—he wore his hair cut close to his skull and had a short beard.

  The bearded man and rushed toward the former chieftain, drawing his sword. As soon as he was near enough, he grabbed Berent. “Where did you go?” he demanded. “How did you get back up here?”

  “I climbed back up the incline,” Berent replied simply.

  “By the gods, Lord Hagan will have your head.”

  Let’s join him, friends. Wolfe had no choice but to break the ban and send the command to the witches and Phailites. He only hoped no one understood him. Larek, wait for a few moments and join us. The rest of you stay covered and watch for Hagan.

  Those witches and Phailites who had stayed hidden in the shadows now stepped forward. The man holding a blade on Berent stared mutely, as though their sudden presence hadn’t fully registered.

  Not so the other, for he jumped to his feet, stood a moment, then slowly sank back onto his stool and picked the stick back up. Bewildered alarm was clear on the faces of both the blue men—Beard and No-beard—and Mayra wondered why they had stopped and not taken any further action.

  Mayra chuckled to herself as she imagined what the two Phailites saw—what might be humans stood menacingly blocking the exit, the hilts of blades showing over their shoulders. With their faces and bodies hidden within the black hooded cloaks, they were genderless.

  And they were not alone.

  The apprehension on the faces of the bearded man and his companion turned to terror as Larek slowly stepped through the opening and stood behind the witches. The two direwolves then appeared and trotted forward to sit down on either side of Mayra.

  Beard’s and No-beard’s eyes went to the direwolves, then back to the dragon. For one moment, horror was so evident on their faces and in the stiffness of their stance that Mayra almost pitied them.

  The man holding the shaking blade on Berent shouted out a warning of, “Men, to the entryway! A free dragon!”

  In that instant, the silent cavern filled with the echoing sounds of dragons. It seemed almost as though the captives now knew another dragon, perhaps even their kin, was in the cave. The roars and growls grew noisier. Larek moved about restlessly behind the witches and a strange sensation that wavered between sound and touch emanated from the gold dragon.

  Mayra wondered what Beard and No-beard were waiting for; she was going to politely ask Beard what he was staring at, when twenty or more Phailites emerged into the lighter area of the cave
, all armed with the heavy swords their kind favored. Although the dragon sounds continued to rise, the fear vanished from the faces of Beard and No-beard.

  Berent muttered something. Mayra spared him a glance; she hadn’t caught what he said, but it didn’t matter. She returned to studying the armed men and their unusual behavior.

  If a group of eerie, unidentifiable humans appearing in their midst alarmed the guards Beard had summoned, they didn’t show it. Mayra’s eyes narrowed as she peered more closely at their chests. Each wore a cord of black leather from which hung a small, thick, carved square piece of what had to be oakenwood. She suspected they weren’t afraid because someone had commanded them not to be.

  One, taller and thinner than the rest, with his long white hair pulled back into a braid, walked closer to the pot and looked down into it. “Keep it going,” he muttered. “They’re awakening.”

  “Aye, Tybor,” the drug-tender muttered.

  Mayra glanced back at Berent. That was what he had muttered—Tybor’s name. She looked back at the cook. Now she was certain the cauldron contained the drug the invaders were using to keep the dragons quiet. Mayra suspected the man called Tybor counted on his visitors not knowing what he meant. He was, she thought, a stupid man.

  As if to prove that, the man sheathed his sword and turned to face Berent. Tybor was not wearing the pendant the others wore and was likely in charge of the Phailites.

  As Mayra wondered how she would express this information to the others, or at least Wolfe, she felt a gentle wave of sound go through her. Larek was sending out waves again, but the sound was so imperceptible that she wondered if the captured Ceshon dragons could even feel—

  Abrupt silence replaced the dragon sounds, answering her question. The stillness of the dragons had the Phailites looking around, evidently wondering what caused their prisoners to fall silent.

  Mayra glanced over her shoulder. Larek was grinning. By the gods, he was a handsome dragon, but he looked terrifying! Why weren’t the Phailites reacting to the unknown, lucid dragon that stood before them, teeth bared? Even if that was supposed to be a smile!