Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  Mayra stopped moving. She refused to draw her blade. Not only was it a useless weapon against Hesta, but drawing any weapon was a threatening gesture, and she believed in Gaulte’s faith in Hesta. The Ring-Witch swallowed and reached out to Hesta with mind-speak. This time, rather than run up against a barrier, her thoughts crumbled like leaves in a windstorm. Mayra was confused. She’d never felt such a thing, neither before nor after learning mind-speak. It felt as though someone had taken a feather duster to her brain.

  Was Hesta also wearing a piece of the oakenwood? Mayra sent out another thought; again, it went spiraling away. She tried to concentrate. Myriad sounds were rushing at her, the squeaking of the other cell doors being opened, of rushes being stepped upon by heavy, sluggish feet. Soft growls and angry hisses were both coming closer and moving away.

  And blending with all that noise was Feshr, encouraging the other female dragons to help Hesta attack the human who had helped harm their mates.

  Hesta bent her head low, her beautiful eyes capturing Mayra’s. Her leathery lips parted; a hiss became growling words that echoed around the chamber: “I do not listen to Hagan. You harmed my mate and I am going to kill you.”

  Mayra swallowed. Hesta’s eyes were so intent upon her. Feshr was clapping his hands and jumping up and down like a delighted child. Mayra doubted if he cared if Hesta killed her but the idea certainly had him excited.

  The clamor around her was mounting again; Mayra wanted to cover her ears, but amid those discordant sounds, a mind-speak filtered through—Leave, damn you.

  Mayra gasped and looked around, startled. Where had that come from? And why had it been successful?

  Her eyes flew back to Hesta. The dragon still wasn’t moving toward her, at least not her huge body. A front set of talons was creeping closer, scraping across the stone floor, leaving long trails in the dust, adding to the growls, snarls, and hisses of the other dragons.

  She was a majestic match for Gaulte, with four slender horns sweeping back from her narrow face, a narrow frilled collar around her neck, slim, muscular limbs and long, shining talons. And those wonderful eyes would have delighted Mayra had they not been filled with the promise of death.

  “You are as lovely a dragon as Gaulte told me you were,” Mayra whispered through dry lips.

  Hesta snapped at her and Mayra threw herself back into the chair. She felt her scabbard slip between the chair and its back, holding her firmly against the chair.

  The dragon growled again and bared her teeth. She then stopped short again, took another deep breath, and took a quick look over her shoulder. Mayra didn’t pause to consider how odd that was—she continued to wriggle her bottom forward so she could free her blade, still trapped between the slats of the chair. The dragon seemed to sense that Mayra was moving, for she flung her head back around, refocused on the witch, and her eyes narrowed.

  Mayra edged over to the side of the chair, freed her scabbard, and then jumped up and grabbed the door handle. Locked. Fark! She knew it would be. She looked down the side away from the cell and then up at the oakenwood. If she could just stay alongside the rock wall—she froze, feeling the sudden silence in the chamber.

  She whirled and gasped. Hesta was right on the other side of the chair; as Mayra stared, a wickedly-taloned red foot rose and crushed the chair. Peals of laughter came from the front of the cavern—the gnome was loving the drama on this end!

  Mayra swallowed again. She started to speak, but Hesta stopped, extended her head, and sniffed, looking puzzled.

  The reason for the dragon’s odd actions struck Mayra like a bolt of lightning.

  “Yes, smell Gaulte,” Mayra pleaded as faintly as she could. “Those are the tears he cried for you and Tamsin, on my armor! On me!”

  Mayra glanced at Feshr. He was looking angrier by the moment, but he didn’t appear to have heard her. “Hesta, you must feel Gaulte on me. And Gabrel and Aesta. Please!”

  It was clear that Feshr could see that Mayra was talking to Hesta, but he couldn’t hear them. He balled up his hands and shook both of them furiously.

  “Hesta!” roared the gnome, his normally small voice echoing down the chamber. “Kill her! Now! I command it! Or I will drug all the dragons and their egg-droppings alike!”

  Egg-droppings? Mayra saw Hesta’s eyes narrow at the insulting term for her nestling. The red dragon hesitated. Another shout from the gnome and Hesta lunged for Mayra, jaws spread wide.

  “Yes! Yes!” the gnome screamed. And then he yanked open a tiny door, jumped through it, and slammed it shut behind him.

  Mayra closed her eyes, seeing Wolfe in her mind’s eye, sending out a wave of love to him and hoping the oakenwood didn’t block it.

  “At least make it quick!” the Ring-Witch cried.

  She turned her head and waited for the pain to begin.

  Chapter Thirty

  In the Cavern of Hagan

  Day eleven of the First Moon of Wynter

  Time seemed to freeze for Mayra as she awaited Hesta’s bite—the first, sharp touch of teeth, and then the agony of feeling long, sharp fangs, tearing into her. But she felt nothing.

  What she heard was a soft laugh. What she then felt was a slick, forked tongue slap across her face and lick her, as Gaulte once had.

  She slowly opened her eyes, mesmerized by Hesta’s beautiful, brilliant, green eyes, veiled by long, thick eyelashes and bright with mirth. Hesta sat back on her haunches, pressed her nose against Mayra, and again, took a deep breath. Mayra gave a shaky laugh. How hadn’t she realized Hesta had scent Gaulte on her, all along!

  I smell my beloved Gaulte all the way to your Center, little witchling. What a wondrous scent you carry with you! I feel his joy and his deep sadness. You do wear the sorrow of his tears!

  “You”—Mayra ran her damp, shaking hands down her tunic—“you weren’t going to kill me?”

  No, of course not. Why would I? Would I believe the rantings of that nasty gnome? A small noise escaped Hesta, almost like the purr of Wolfe’s familiar. How I love to smell you, little one. You are indeed brave, but you cannot function in this chamber. Come, we must gather the nestlings and leave ere Hagan returns!

  Mayra rose in a daze. She stared at the red dragon, then at those beyond her, to the others: smaller than their mates, purple, blue, green, and pale-yellow—exquisite colors and lovely dragons.

  “Are they truly here,” Hesta asked in a quiet, preoccupied voice. “Fauler, and Larek, and the others?”

  “Y-yes,” Mayra replied. “Gaulte would not come, because he knew he would be too recognizable to the Phailites.”

  The soft purring sound returned. “Yes, that is his thinking. He is a—”

  Hesta!

  The frantic hiss of her name sent Hesta’s head swinging to the far side of the chamber. A pale-purple dragon was sitting amid several sleeping nestlings, who were being claimed by their mothers.

  Tamsin is not here!

  * * *

  “Berent, you can’t burn down the cave,” Wolfe said with a shake of his head that conveyed both patience and amusement. “It might get out of control and engulf this area. No one trying to exit from the back of the cave could get out.”

  Berent nodded, disappointed. He set the tube back down to his side, as carefully as he has raised it, without pushing the lock completely into place. He wanted it ready.

  “We need to search the corners—” Wolfe stopped short as he heard the strangest sounds—a bark, a growl, and a meow—nearing him. He stepped back from beside Berent to see two direwolves loping across the side of the cavern. Secured to the back of Nena, the female, Poppie and the red dragonlet held on with extended claws and panicked expressions. It was comical, but the mode of travel, while fast, had evidently been trying for both of the small creatures. Poppie jumped to Wolfe’s shoulder and leaned into his neck, shivering, while the female dragonlet nestled into Nena’s fur, presumably content to stay there as long as the direwolf remained fairly still.

  Wolfe kne
w they would not be seeing the other dragonlet, Mayra or, much harder to hide, Fauler. At least, not yet.

  Wolfe winced as Poppie nestled deeper into his hair and dug her claws into his shoulder. As he moved her, a wave of love from Mayra such as he’d never felt washed over him. Rather than relish it, it rattled him, and he ran to the side of the cave where she had disappeared.

  Nothing. Where had that feeling come from? It was her, without a doubt, and no one could mimic it.

  Where was Mayra?

  The witches and Phailites around him seemed to have the same thought as he did. Had they felt anything from her? Someone was tapping on his arm; he turned, Fleura gazed up at him anxiously.

  “Wolfe, I felt something—faintly. Where’s Mayra?” Her voice rose. “I thought Poppie was supposed to be guarding her!”

  “You can’t guard Mayra,” Richart rumbled, then laughed. “You should know better.”

  As if to agree with Richart, Poppie suddenly vanished from Wolfe’s shoulder in a spark of blue.

  Wolfe favored Richart with a scowl, then gestured to Fleura and Fyrid. “I suspect Poppie went to find her. Mayra is more than capable of caring for herself.” A slight grin touched his handsome mouth. “If I left off guarding our most vulnerable spot to look for her, I’d look worse than these men around us.”

  Fleura laughed and gave Fyrid a sly glance. “See, Fyrid? Some men learn to leave their ladies to tend to their duties on their own!”

  Berent held up both hands before Leyna could even speak. “I surrender the point, my sweet. I would not dare to try to protect you again!”

  Wolfe, grinning, turned to see Cherra staring at his group from across the cavern floor. She took in their laughter and looked puzzled.

  “Come fight with us!” he shouted. “Come and find friendship and loyalty, Cherra an’Nanym !”

  * * *

  Mayra stood next to Hesta, watching as female dragons gently awakened the six youngest members of the Aerie. But one young dragon was not there, and Mayra dreaded seeking any information out of a grieving mother—no matter how badly she needed it. Though Hesta was also watching, she was so deeply enmeshed in her sorrow she seemed to forget Mayra was there, standing next to her.

  The Ring-Witch turned back to watch the female dragons tending to their nestlings. She listened to happy chirrups, savoring the aura of love she felt surrounding them.

  A slender blue dragon picked up the tiniest dragon Mayra had yet to see. The same odd, ruddy color of her sire, Corren, she yawned, and her gold eyes slowly opened. Gods, she was adorable! She squeaked when she saw her mother and a half-laugh, half-sob escaped Mayra. Preja, Corren’s mate, sat up and slipped her child into a pouch on her upper chest. She purred softly for a moment as the tiny nestling settled down.

  When the blue dragon turned, she was startled to see Mayra and Hesta watching her. Preja dipped her head, almost as though she apologized for recovering her nestling.

  Though Mayra felt fondness emanating from Hesta, there was something else, deeper and wrong. What had happened to Tamsin was more than being taken by Hesta’s captor. Before Mayra could open her mouth to ask, Hesta turned and addressed the human.

  “Come, you must get out of here,” said Hesta abruptly. “Walk alongside me, I will shield you from the wood.”

  They walked side by side alongside the cells, the entire length of the chamber. When they finally reached the huge door, Mayra found the small door through which Feshr had left the chamber. She turned the small metal handle. Locked. She turned back to Hesta.

  “Do you know any other way out of this room? I must find Cherra.”

  “Yes, you must find her,” Hesta agreed. “And you must hurry. You will leave through this door. I will watch for that treacherous gnome, and we will find the male dragons.”

  “Hesta,” Mayra bent forward to look into her face. She feared that the dragon was suffering from the loss of her nestling and wasn’t thinking straight. “I suggest you keep the females away from the main cavern until it is safe. Hagan will return soon and he won’t be too happy to find us there awaiting him. There will be a battle.”

  Hesta looked down at the witch and slowly blinked. “Mayra, he has magic. Deep, evil magic. Our safety concerns you, yet it is you I fear for.” She nodded slowly. “We will be safe,” she assured the young human.

  Mayra reached out a cautious hand and laid it on Hesta’s shoulder. The Ring-Witch had no doubt that the red dragon knew where her nestling was, and why she was missing. Would she share if Mayra asked?

  “You know where Tamsin went, don’t you?” the witch whispered. “Please tell me.”

  Hesta turned her large green eyes upon Mayra and stared at her silently for a moment before her head drooped. “You do not understand what Tamsin is,” came her barely audible reply.

  That was a curious statement. Mayra thought a moment about comments from the other dragons regarding Tamsin. Her assumption that Tamsin was more than Gaulte’s and Hesta’s youngest child had never had stronger validation. But she needed details. Mayra bent closer to Hesta’s head.

  “Hesta, you must tell me what you mean if I am to help save her.”

  “How could you know?” Hesta turned to Mayra, as though it was almost impossible for her to tear her sorrowful eyes away from the younger dragons. “And how can you save her?”

  “Tell me.”

  A deep sigh went through the huge dragon. “Tamsin is special, because of her eyes. They are magical; a dragon can use them to vastly increase their magic.” She shook her head. “There is no time now for me to tell you more, you must go. But you must also understand that because of her eyes, Hagan will kill any of you to keep her.”

  Mayra froze. How could Hagan use her eyes—she turned to stare at Hesta, who nodded slowly.

  “They are of no use to him”—each word wrenched from the dragon was soaked with pain—“while they are still in my child.”

  * * *

  The heat that rushed through Mayra made her light-headed for a moment. Hagan possessed something that would increase his evil power. He would kill a baby dragon to have it, and kill anyone who tried to save her.

  Another memory flashed through Mayra—Harald, telling them Hagan had flown away with a large basket. And the man at the cauldron with his remark—Lord Hagan found the only jewel he needed. Dismayed realization washed over her.

  “Yes, it must be,” she whispered aloud. “Hesta, when Hagan left, one of my people said he carried a large basket around his neck.”

  A tiny moan escaped the red dragon. “He has no reason to carry such a thing; he ridiculed us for doing so and called us pack animals.” Panic fought with hope in that horned and plated face. “My Tamsin—he did not kill her, he took her away. Could she—”

  “Yes!” Mayra returned fiercely. “She must still be alive!” Mayra couldn’t bear to add that there was only one way to keep the dragon’s eyes unspoiled; they would be best kept in a living dragon until needed. “I must find Cherra before Hagan returns.”

  Suddenly, Hesta lifted her foot and shoved it into the door; it gave and along with part of the huge door, Feshr’s door and lock vanished amid splintered wood.

  “When you get beyond that door,” said the red dragon tersely, “head away from the main cavern. The Phailite woman houses herself on the other side of that area.”

  Mayra ducked under the splintered wood, hesitated, then climbed back in.

  “Five male dragons came to this cave with us,” she told them. “All the other male dragons are safe at the Aerie, along with Theura. None of the younglings left behind were hurt, only frightened.”

  Hesta raised her front foot, extended a sharp talon, and gently touched Mayra’s necklace, made with the tiny scales of her own missing offspring. She nodded slowly and seemed to gather herself together. Mayra rushed at her and threw her arms around Hesta’s neck—at least, what she could reach.

  Before the red dragon could react, Mayra pushed her way back through the rubble a
nd got her bearings before heading away from the makeshift exit.

  * * *

  The broken door opened into another vast corridor, but to one side was a small crevice that opened into a human-sized corridor, within the walls of the cavern. Mayra wondered which direction Feshr had taken. She didn’t want to contend with the gnome now. She knew she would likely kill him for all that he and his treachery had set in motion.

  Despite Hesta’s understandable distraction, her directions had been specific; Mayra dashed into the smaller entryway but darkness enveloped her at once. She raised her hands and sent an arc of light ahead of her, revealing a passageway with a high, curved ceiling, and a flat floor. Quickly, she transferred her magic to the ceiling until it absorbed enough to reflect it back and light her way. Her Rings quivered again. Light was costly, but necessary. She took off down her chosen path.

  Mayra ran automatically, her mind busy on tactics. She was going to kill that bitch, Cherra; but first, there were questions she wanted answered. This conspiracy was a long, intricate, and well-planned one, and Mayra didn’t believe the Phailite woman capable of so much complicated thinking.

  Slowing as she neared the corner of the hall, Mayra finally came to a stop. The passageway split into two directions—she turned toward the front of the cavern. At once, heat shot through her scale necklace, her armor, and her Rings; it seemed likely they were giving her a warning not to take that path.

  As though to emphasize the point, something stepped on Mayra’s foot. She shrieked and jerked her foot back.

  The blue eyes of Smok, and oddly enough, those of Poppie, gazed up at her. Poppie blinked slowly, and Mayra released a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding.

  “My little guardians are back,” she whispered shakily and wondered where the red dragonlet was. Feshr—the farking traitor—had said she carried eggs. Was that even true? Perhaps she, too, had a pouch such as Mayra had seen on the dragon, Preja. The female was missing, but Mayra decided to believe that Smok had tucked her away somewhere safe, guarding their clutch of eggs.