Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  “Well, my brave companions, which way do I go?”

  Poppie jumped over Mayra’s foot and ran several steps into the corridor opposite the one Mayra had started to take; the small black cat turned and looked at her before starting down that hall.

  Smok waited for Mayra to follow before he took off behind her.

  Poppie didn’t slow until she reached the end of the stone corridor. She then stood up on her hind legs and reached up to touch a barely noticeable bump in the stone.

  Mayra jumped at a click, and a piece of the rock slid out, revealing a doorway. She smiled down at Wolfe’s clever familiar, then opened the door wider and looked in. The difference was startling. The hidden doorway opened into a huge bedchamber. And across the opulent room stood Cherra, stuffing a linen bag that would not hold much more.

  Mayra stepped into the room and watched her fraudulent twin for several moments as Poppie snuck across the room and jumped up onto the bed Cherra an’Nanym was using to stage her escape.

  Cherra gave a sharp squeal and drew back, and only then noticed Mayra approaching her. The Phailite woman straightened and gave Mayra a cool smile. Her eyes fell upon Smok, and a sharp laugh erupted from her.

  “So, you have stolen my spy?”

  “Smok belongs with us. I don’t believe he would have spied for you had you not held his mate captive. That seems to be a common practice amid your colleagues. But both are now free, and it was his choice to bring me here.”

  “Of course. He will always side with the stronger.” Cherra tilted her head as though listening to something. “Lord Hagan draws near. I don’t believe your companions will find him easy to defeat.”

  “We didn’t come here alone,” Mayra said mildly. “There are more of the Ceshon Aerie dragons waiting outside the cave. If you or your minions sent word to Hagan that only we are here, he is the one who will find an unhappy surprise—and defeat—awaiting him.”

  With each taunting word she spoke, Mayra could see Cherra was growing angrier. When Cherra dove for a blade, Mayra was prepared. Mayra’s slender black dagger came to rest near Cherra’s frantically beating pulse and the Phailite woman blinked.

  “I have questions,” said Mayra softly. “While you are answering, I’ll decide how I will repay you for all you have done.” Mayra gave a soft chuckle. “I doubt you shall like it.”

  Mayra pushed the other woman back into a table, keeping the long dagger close to Cherra’s throat.

  “I want to know why you helped your brother with his mad plans. He slaughtered entire villages of people with that weapon!” Mayra kept her voice soft and her eyes on Cherra’s face, looking for any reaction. Nothing. “And for what, Cherra? He achieved nothing! What did he want?”

  Mayra paused, then started again. “Did you know he would kill so many, Cherra? A child died in my arms, Cherra. She saw a bushdog eat her brother. Her father died trying to save him. She had barely five years, her brother hadn’t gotten to a year. The bushdogs tore a baby to pieces as his family watched, Cherra—and they ate him!”

  Mayra could continue her unrelenting account as long as was necessary, but Cherra’s silence was grating on the Ring-Witch’s nerves. Just as she decided on another direction—involving pain—to take her questioning, Cherra licked her lips, dropped her head, and nodded.

  “It was all Tolle Bren’s idea,” Cherra replied in a low voice. She swallowed. “Tolle told us—and ultimately Lord Hagan—about the Fortress and the tributes. He told us we could take it and use it to further attack Nesht until we reached the city where the king resides. Tolle wanted to rule. He said I would be his queen.”

  Mayra’s surprise was rapidly becoming disbelief. Neither Cherra nor Tolle was clever enough for this depth of plotting. No, this scheme was dragon-made.

  “Really?” Mayra scoffed. “And you believed him?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  Mayra shook her head. “And how did the paths of Tolle, who is at best a mediocre reever, and a dragon happen to cross?” Her upper lip rose in a sneer. “And Phailites in Nesht’s capital city, Sayron? The king’s guards would have noticed them immediately. So, how did Hagan and Tolle meet?”

  “They never met. Nor did Tolle and my brother ever meet.” A bitter smile curled her lips. “I am half-Phailite. Your people are arrogant about other kinds of humans. And once I took on your countenance, no one ever stopped me.” She glanced up at Mayra’s narrowed eyes. “I sought a highborn connected in any way to the king, to help us.”

  “So, you first approached Wolfe’s brother, Aristen Sieryd. I can understand that. What happened?”

  A slight smile—perhaps sweetly reminiscent of her time with Aristen—curved Cherra’s lips, and she gave a small shrug. “We weren’t compatible. He was more than happy to bed me, but his interest ended there. He had no time for women, beyond that.”

  Mayra gave a cynical snort. She suspected Aristen was far too sharp for Cherra’s deceit. And Mayra somehow doubted they’d been lovers. Aristen had struck her as a man who was particular about his women. He wasn’t looking for a woman with hidden intentions.

  “And then Tolle?”

  Cherra’s smile widened. “He was exactly the opposite. He talked endlessly about himself, about his father, and finally, about the king. And he readily answered my questions.”

  “So, you know nothing about what came of your plot?” Mayra’s hand tightened on the hilt of her knife. “No idea how many people died, or what happened to Tolle when the king and his father discovered what he had done?”

  Cherra seemed to consider her story. Mayra waved her knife dismissively. “I will doubt whatever you tell me. So you know, once the battle was over and the traitors killed or captured, Tolle suffered mostly horribly for helping you, and I doubt you would find him quite as attractive—or useful to you—any longer.”

  Cherra swallowed, and Mayra realized she might not know that Tolle’s handsome face was branded, that he was castrated, and that his father was responsible for both deeds. Mayra didn’t even know if Tolle still lived. Nor did she care.

  “I wanted him beside me.” Cherra’s whisper was meek and sorrowful, but just as Mayra took a step back, the Phailite woman glanced at her, surely to see the effect of her defeated posture.

  Mayra stiffened. Yet another performance; and that was it, friendly playtime was over. Cherra’s paltry information wasn’t worth Mayra keeping up her kind and caring act, and the woman was already lying. Her hand tightened on the blade she held near Cherra’s throat.

  “I want to know,” Mayra ground out grimly, “how you know so much of me. Who told you how I wear my hair, for example? Or what I would wear this day?”

  “Smok,” Cherra whispered.

  “And who was unwise enough to help you copy my features so exactly, thereby ensuring I would follow you anywhere to discover your secrets?”

  The fright that flitted across Cherra’s face vanished and she smiled languidly. “I don’t know what you mean, dear one.”

  Mayra was floored, shocked beyond speech. That was Leisher’s endearment for Mayra alone, and never mocking as it had just fallen from Cherra’s treacherous lips. Fury flowed through the Ring-Witch, and she whipped her blade up and laid it against Cherra’s cheek.

  “Such a lovely scar I will give you and you will find it much more difficult to charm men,” the Ring-Witch growled. “Who told you to call me that, you bitch?”

  Terror marred Cherra’s face. Smok rumbled and raced up Mayra’s arm to sit on her shoulder and glower at the Phailite woman.

  “Do not ever call me that again.” Mayra’s voice was hoarse and icy, shaking with rage.

  Cherra nodded quickly, and Mayra let the blade dip slightly. As Smok hopped back to the table and settled himself down, Mayra was stunned to see a tiny trickle of smoke drifting from his nostrils. Mayra cut her eyes to Cherra, who was staring, not at the dragonlet, but at Mayra’s hand and the sharp knife, it held.

  “I-I am sorry!” Cherra blurted out. “T
olle told me you liked to be called that.” Tears filled her eyes. “He told me many things that were not true. Mayra—I carry his child.”

  Mayra was clenching her teeth so tightly that her jaw hurt. Dear gods, she was weakening. “Why do you look like me?”

  “M-Magic made me look like you.” Cherra swallowed and tried to move back from Mayra’s unwavering knife. “Lord Hagan made me change.”

  “Change yourself back. Now.”

  Cherra nodded and squeezed her eyes shut as she concentrated. The change was slow, starting at the top, where her facial muscles quivered and moved, changing her features. Her hair lightened, her body lengthened, and finally, her face changed. She was an attractive and well-muscled Phailite woman. When she finally stood up straight, she was almost panting, and sweat ran down her face. She also stood a head taller than Mayra and the green warrior garb she wore was now fitting snugly.

  Cherra’s change impressed Mayra. She wondered how much magic Hagan had provided for Cherra to accomplish such a difficult and extraordinary feat of magic, and if the woman retained any of it. Cherra plopped back into the chair and crossed her arms.

  “It sickened me how men deferred to me while in your guise,” Cherra said abruptly and bitterly.

  “Did it?” Mayra asked softly. “Did it not occur to you that those who know me defer to me for my power, my battle capabilities, rather than what I look like?”

  Cherra laughed humorlessly. “If you think that, then you are as big a fool as I am.”

  Mayra raised her blade again, and Cherra’s face sobered.

  Mayra thought suddenly of Feshr taking her to Hagan—bait to bring Marris au’Pernyn to the northern lands, for Hagan’s revenge. Were these two schemes intertwined?

  “I have a problem with your explanation,” Mayra said softly. “Why would Hagan want you to look like me? How would that help him in any way? Try again.”

  Cherra seemed to mull over her answer, but was she considering telling the truth, or was she laboring to craft another lie?

  “Don’t think about it too long,” Mayra warned matter-of-factly. But the ruthless light in her silver-gray eyes gave her words a deadly connotation, underscored by her following words, “Never forget, Cherra, that I yearn with all my being to slice your head off. But I still want to know why you found it necessary to look like me, of all people.”

  The hand that Cherra raised to move her hair back from her face wasn’t trembling in the least. That fact made Mayra wonder if Cherra’s next words were at all truthful. Mayra had to admit that, for all Cherra’s deceit and Mayra’s threats, the Phailite woman was one of the most unflappable people she had ever met.

  “It was because of Tolle,” Cherra finally replied quietly. “I caught his interest in bed. But beyond that, Tolle ignored me, just like Aristen, who, as I said, was all for bedding me. But neither had the information I was looking for. Tolle couldn’t help me.”

  Cherra paused. She did not look at Mayra. “I quizzed Tolle’s drinking friends and found out he had a yearning for what they called an uncanny little witch.” Cherra then glanced at Mayra, who was struggling to keep her face blank. The blue woman shrugged. “So, I found you, and saw what you looked like, and Lord Hagan helped me. I let Tolle catch glimpses of me until he finally sought me out. He never did guess I was the same woman as he had so casually bedded earlier. He could see right away I wasn’t you, but I was close enough, and I was as receptive as he wanted.”

  Mayra felt slightly repulsed as she stared at Cherra. Finally, she stirred and shook her head. “That is ridiculous,” she said flatly. “Tolle hated me.”

  “He desired you,” Cherra returned evenly. “You belittled and humbled him. Eventually, you drove him to hate you.”

  Mayra flushed. “That’s absurd. I first knew him when we were little more than children. Never, in all those years, was he even pleasant to me.” Mayra glanced at Cherra, then shrugged. “Go on,” she commanded, with a wave.

  “I realized at once that he wouldn’t want a woman more intelligent than he was,” Cherra said slowly. “It was a simple ruse for me. I enjoyed his company, for he was unlike Phailite men. He wanted to feel superior to everyone else, but”—her voice became mocking—“he found himself charmed by a Ring-Witch who got his blood boiling, while she dismissed him as though—”

  Anger rushed through Mayra and hot blood infused her face. She stepped forward to put a stop to Cherra’s words, but Cherra’s mouth had snapped shut. And it was not Mayra who had silenced her.

  Cherra had frozen in mid-word. Her pale-blue skin was growing still paler as her eyes widened and grew distant and staring.

  “Hagan.” The word was barely audible on Cherra’s pale lips.

  Cherra turned as though to run, but Mayra had already grabbed her hand.

  “Take me back to the mouth of the cave!” the Rnig-Witch commanded.

  Cherra threw her a panicked glance, but nodded. “This way!”

  Smok ran ahead of them and quickly disappeared from sight.

  But Cherra ran only as far as the back wall. She jerked her hand away from Mayra’s and leaned forward to press a small latch.

  Even before the wall changed, Mayra could see that the “magic” used to move the wall forward and transform it into a staircase was simply two sliding metal bars and stout ropes. It wasn’t as enthralling to watch as magic would have been, but she couldn’t deny its convenience.

  The wall shivered as it moved. The screech of scraping rocks sent intense pain through Mayra’s body. She squeezed her hands against her ears, trying to block the crashing, resounding noise.

  Though she now knew that the dreadful scream of rock against rock as the stairway opened into the cavern, wasn’t magic, was nothing more than an oversized and nonmagical sleight-of-hand trick, the depth and scale of those sounds still made her stomach churn and sent nausea rolling through her. Mayra bent over, trying to calm her pounding heart and not to vomit.

  She froze as she realized that Cherra had moved out of her line of sight. As Mayra tried to collect her thoughts over the noise, she glimpsed movement below her. But Cherra was her immediate concern. She turned, and—

  “Oof—”

  Cherra slammed both hands into Mayra’s stomach. Mayra cried out as she staggered, feeling her feet scrambling for purchase, but slipping over the stone steps, and then down onto nothing. The last thing she saw as she fell back was Cherra, turning and disappearing into the shadows, where she would likely vanish into the vast cave system.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  In the Cavern of Hagan

  Day eleven of the First Moon of Wynter

  Wolfe, Fleura, and Richart were alone in the middle of the cavern, near the magic stairway, trying to determine how to make it work. They had turned away to return to the others when Wolfe froze.

  Wolfe held up a quelling hand—something had caught his attention. And then, the ear-splitting screech of stone against stone and metal sent the three running back to side of the cavern. As the rock split away from the wall, they could see Mayra and Cherra emerge onto the top step.

  Mayra was hunched over, her hands pressed over her ears. She did not see the Phailite woman reaching out to her. Nor could the Ring-Witch, with the shrieking of the staircase as it moved into the cavern, hear her friends shouting, warning her of Cherra behind her.

  Wolfe stomach lurched as he sized up the situation. His brief irritation with Mayra for allowing her enemy to get the upper hand became rage at Cherra for taking advantage of whatever magic seemed to use the screaming stone to impair, even torture Mayra.

  He didn’t have time to find fault. Or to help his woman. In the blink of an eye, Mayra was falling away from the top step. “Mayra!” Fleura screamed. She bounded toward the stairs, but Richart grabbed her, nearly jerking her off her feet.

  Wolfe threw his magic around Mayra to slow her, then braced himself to catch her. She dropped easily into his arms and stared up at him, stunned. The stone stopped its movement. She
gaped up at him a moment longer; the fury that pulsed through Wolfe seemed to bring her to her senses. Wolfe started to hand her over to Richart and go after Cherra, but Mayra came alive, eyes ablaze as she struggled to get out of Wolfe’s arms.

  Wolfe noticed that Richart knew to suppress the grin trying to spread across his face. Wolfe agreed—Mayra was not to be coddled under the worst of circumstances—and stood his mate up on wobbly legs. Before she could even speak, Fleura was bolting up the stairs.

  “Don’t kill her,” Mayra gasped, steadying herself on Wolfe’s arm. She took a deep breath. “Cherra felt Hagan approaching,” she muttered. “That was before she seemed to lose her mind.”

  Wolfe glanced up at the stone stairway and Mayra’s hand tightened around his arm. “Wait, listen Wolfe,” she said quickly, then grimaced. “By the gods, I don’t know what it is about that stairway’s noise that affects me so.” She physically shook herself. “Feshr tried to kill me, but I found the female dragons; they are all safe and well.”

  Wolfe’s eyebrows rose. “Feshr tried—” His lips thinned into a scowl and he shook his head. “We should have known not to trust anyone in this gods-forsaken cave. Did the female dragons share any plans with you?”

  “To find Tamsin,” she replied softly. “Tamsin is Gaulte’s and Hesta’s youngest nestling, and she’s missing. She’s the reason Hagan took the dragons and I’m certain she’s in the basket that Harald was telling us about.” Mayra hesitated, then added, “There’s no time for details, only that Tamsin is very valuable; she is much more than just a baby dragon. Hagan will kill to keep Tamsin; she’s that prized to him.”

  Richart waited for Mayra to finish before exiting the cave. Wolfe knew he would pass that news to the others. Wolfe hoped that the dragons out there knew why this farking rescue was now centered on a baby dragon, of all things.

  Mayra was looking up the staircase, probably hoping Fleura would appear, dragging Cherra’s useless carcass behind her. At least, that’s what Wolfe hoped they would see. Why had Mayra told Fleura not to kill Cherra?