Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  A soft squawk escaped Hesta and Mayra saw blood gush from the front edge of Hesta’s wing. Anger rushed through Mayra; she frantically looked around, trying to locate Hagan.

  Hagan had stopped plummeting and regained control of his flight. Despite the blood on his wing, he was turning back, likely for another strike.

  “By the gods,” Mayra growled. “How did he recover so quickly from being struck with so much power?” That much magic, from so many witches, should have killed the beast.

  Mayra’s heart was pounding with both fury and anticipation. She turned in the saddle, trying to get a glimpse of the fallen females while keeping Hagan in sight, when she sensed a large presence coming up behind her. In an instant, she swung her blade up and whirled to strike, only to see Fauler, moving in closer to Hesta.

  * * *

  Wolfe saw the blood. His eyes skimmed over Mayra, ensuring it wasn’t hers. Fauler looked at Hesta’s wound, then at her scaled face for a moment, and Mayra wondered if they were communicating in a way the humans couldn’t follow. Wolfe briefly thought of Jannia and Diaya; no one could land near them to assess their condition, and he prayed they were safe where they had fallen.

  Wolfe said nothing during his brief assessment; he was already focusing on Hagan. That dragon had flown higher, with Talft right behind him. They were already snapping at each other, and all Richart was doing was hanging on to his meager reins and focusing on staying in his saddle.

  “Get him,” Wolfe commanded Fauler.

  Mayra watched as Fauler and Wolfe sped toward Hagan. Worry that she could not join her mate washed over her. She scolded herself for wishing she could—she had her own problems to resolve.

  “We have to find that basket,” Mayra murmured aloud.

  Hesta turned her head to look into Mayra’s face. The injured dragon’s face was drooping and fear clutched at Mayra’s stomach.

  “Can you still fly? Do we need to land now?”

  Hesta’s eyes were rolling in her head. The dragon shook her head and mumbled something. Mayra clutched at the reins. Dear Goddess, they were so high!

  She leaned forward to better hear Hesta but stopped short and looked around. Everything around the Ring-Witch was becoming distant—something was wrong. Not only was Hesta acting bizarrely, something was befuddling Mayra’s own mind. Was the same fog filling Hesta’s mind?

  “Hesta, what’s wrong?” she cried for, on either side of her saddle, Hesta’s muscles were tightening so much that the saddle was lifting. Mayra released the reins and pressed her hands into the unscaled skin around Hesta’s neck. Hesta’s muscles were still contracting, and new fear washed over Mayra—the dragon was going to lose her ability to fly!

  “Wait—what—” Mayra almost bit her tongue as she gasped. The muscles in her arms and shoulders were tightening, almost as Hesta’s had. She sat up straight, and her eyebrows drew together. She could physically sense a presence, originating in a range of small mountains, seated lower than the cavern ridge and rushing forward, seeking, calling out.

  “It’s coming back,” she whispered and squeezed her eyes shut. But nothing could rid her of the distressing fear that something unknown—be it real or merely a frightening specter—was rapidly approaching.

  Fueled by rage and power, the presence expanded as it grew closer, bringing menace that spoke of a battle to come.

  “What can it be, Hesta?” Mayra cried out. “Who is it coming after?” Hesta, rather than reply, shivered uncontrollably.

  Mayra looked around her frantically; perhaps she could use magic to fight it off—but what was it? Where was it?

  “Nooo!” Mayra cried, yet still that unseen existence slammed into her again, entering the boundaries of her consciousness. This time, Mayra opened her thoughts up, seeking answers.

  Ice sliced through her, a blade of energy that tore a scream from her, then—

  There was something else in that powerful blast—beyond the savage rage, she felt concern and protection.

  “Stop! No!” she cried, then stopped herself. She was incredulous. What the hell is wrong with me? Not only had the thing passed through her, but she was trying to halt it! Even worse—she was clutching at it, incredibly, trying to bring it back to her! She might have been mistaken about the underlying feelings of compassion.

  Mayra was also now shivering uncontrollably and her stomach was churning, while Hesta still drooped and flew erratically. Mayra suspected that she and the dragon were a miserable looking pair of warriors.

  She raised her head and looked up at the sky. As pure, icy snow began to fall, and tears tracked down her cheeks, she slowly released the breath she was holding.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  High in the Ceshon Mountains

  on a Bluff across from the Cavern of Hagan

  Day eleven of the First Moon of Wynter

  Help us! Hesta is weakening.

  Mayra’s mind-speak sounded frantic even to herself, and she wasn’t certain where her plea went—but it didn’t matter, because no one answered her.

  In the distance, she could see that Fauler and Wolfe had joined the other dragons and warriors surrounding Hagan. Larek seemed to have recovered and rejoined the fray—after suffering a stream of Hagan’s magic to his chest, Mayra didn’t doubt the gold dragon was looking forward to retaliation.

  The witches were lighting up the sky with their magic, taunting Hagan, but doing him no actual harm. Helpless anger washed through Mayra, for she understood—they couldn’t kill the dragon that still held Tamsin captive. And that farking Hagan likely knew it as well. Though she wondered why, she was thankful the horrible dragon wasn’t responding with his own magic.

  Mayra abruptly realized that Hesta was slowly and steadily gliding downward, bypassing suitable landing places, headed toward a flat, rocky outcropping opposite Hagan’s cave, seemingly determined to set down in that spot.

  As soon as the dragon and Ring-Witch landed on the small bluff, Mayra slid off Hesta’s back and into a small patch of snow. She turned to Hesta to question her but the red dragon was shaking her head.

  “What is wrong with me?” Hesta breathed. “What was it I felt?”

  “I felt something too,” Mayra said. She could see across the ravine and into the mouth of Hagan’s cave, but nothing moved. “If I felt what you felt, it was bizarre.”

  Mayra turned and swept her eyes over the rocky bluff. The place was bare, but for a jagged wall of stone that enclosed the back of the bluff and a pillar of rocks and thin, dormant trees near that wall. “Why did we land here?”

  Hesta raised her head. “Something pulled me here,” she whispered.

  “You can feel Tamsin?”

  A deep sigh went through the red dragon. “I don’t know. I wondered if I was being pulled back into the cavern yonder.” She shook her head again. “I feel so strange.”

  Mayra stepped away from Hesta. She scanned the skies, trying to find the source of that incredible power. She started to walk toward the edge of the bluff when she stopped short.

  Something scratched at the edge of her mind, like a specter touching her with unseen hands. She felt all around her, seeking the origin of that uncomfortable sensation before she finally turned back toward the clump of sleeping trees and sharp rocks.

  As she walked through scraggly grass, bent beneath the weight of old snow, she caught sight of a break in the jagged rocks. Carefully, she leaned forward and pushed aside a jumble of sticks, stones, and dried grass.

  A savage roar shot through Mayra’s body—she screamed and jumped. She bumped her head against sharp rocks and slivers of colors filled her head, followed by intense pain. She staggered back, out of the hole and turned to where she had left Hesta.

  Hagan!

  “Stop, witchling bitch!” he growled, hunkering close to the ground, blocking her view of Hesta as he dug his talons into the ground.

  Where had he come from? She looked beyond him, where far away she could see her friends, dragons and humans, surro
unding and fighting something—but nothing was there other than air! A phantom dragon could not produce magic, why didn’t Wolfe realize that?

  The ugly dragon laughed, a long rope of drool fell from his mouth, and his tongue flicked out to capture the slaver. A revolting odor hit her in the face. Mayra swallowed a gag. It would show weakness, she said to herself as she forced down rising bile, but damn, this is a disgusting creature!

  “They’ve been fighting the air for several moments now.” His grating voice was oily with contempt. “They all have such small brains, so simple to confuse and control.”

  Mayra drew her sword. In the brief time that Hagan’s eyes flickered to the blade, she stepped back in front of the dark hole in the rocks.

  The hole that held a bedraggled basket.

  “So kind of you to join me,” she snarled. “I am going to kill you. Your reward for stealing the females and nestlings.”

  Hagan’s long, horrible tongue slid out from his mouth again. “Try, little witchling, try. At least you will die a warrior’s death.”

  Mayra snorted. “You talk too much,” she sneered.

  Hagan lowered his head so that his eyes were level with her. He ignored her comment, saying, “You have done nothing but vex me since you killed my minions in Nesht and freed those damnable dragons.”

  Mayra laughed. “Lust for me brought down your mighty warrior, Hagan. I killed him far more easily than I did that farking bushdog!” She gave him an evil grin. “And thus, I freed Gaulte with minimal effort!”

  His furious, spittle-ridden roar told Mayra she couldn’t have chosen a better barb. She fanned the air in front of her.

  “You stink!” she shouted.

  Dragon and witch continued to stare at each other. Mayra was thinking furiously. Whatever magic Hagan had cast over her allies evidently had them seeing—and vigorously fighting—a dragon when none was there. Hesta was weak and disoriented, barely moving, and Mayra still felt odd, but neither bore any ill effects—which probably meant that whatever had hit Hesta and her, Hagan had not caused it.

  What, then? Time to act! She couldn’t fight a dragon with a blade, but her magic—

  The Ring-Witch suddenly shoved her blade into the snow near her foot and flung both hands at Hagan, slamming into him with black shards of killing magic. Weariness swept through Mayra; using such magic was draining, but well worth it, for Hagan flew back, head over tail toward the edge and disappeared over the side.

  “Done and done,” Mayra said with satisfaction, and glanced at Hesta. The red dragon stared back but didn’t move. Mayra turned toward Tamsin’s basket. She paused in disbelief when she heard a weak roar echo below.

  Only seconds later, Hagan roared again, and it was closer

  “Farking durgen dragon,” she muttered under her breath as she sheathed her blade.

  He was coming back and Mayra was exhausted. With no time to check the basket, she resumed her stance in front of the rock, protecting it, just as Hagan appeared, roaring and growling in rage.

  “I felt that!” he screamed as he set back down on the bluff. “You tried to kill me!”

  “Of course, I tried to kill you, you farking waste of dragon-kind!” she shouted back. “You are a pathetic and gutless lizard!”

  While that should have provoked the dragon into more than another useless roar, Hagan didn’t move, and Mayra was beyond perplexed. She took a slight step to her right. Hagan’s muzzle snapped shut, and he stopped roaring; his eyes followed her narrowly as she moved to one side and then back.

  And Mayra realized why he wasn’t attacking her with magic—he couldn’t chance any harm coming to that basket. And she’d just shown him to be wary of her magic.

  She plopped down cross-legged in the snow in front of the crevice that hid the hole and the basket, then propped her elbow on her knee, and cupped her chin in her hand.

  “Well, what are we going to do?” she asked with a smirk.

  Hagan let his tongue loll out again. As Mayra started to ask him to shut his mouth that unsettling feeling returned in force, wafting over her.

  Beyond Hagan, Mayra saw Hesta lift her head and look around a moment, before her eyes focused on Hagan and took on a wild gleam.

  Oh no! Hesta couldn’t attack Hagan now! Not when Hesta’s attack might hurt Tamsin. Mayra stretched her arms wide, trying to get Hesta’s attention on her. Hagan’s eyes rose and followed Mayra’s movement. Mayra quickly shook her head at Hesta. No. Do not interfere.

  But Hesta wasn’t paying attention to Mayra. The presence was growing closer; its effect was becoming more potent. Hesta was alert and looking around. And Hagan—

  The rogue dragon was slowly stiffening his entire body, much as Hesta had done while flying, looking around him, then up into the sky. He took several steps back toward the edge of the rocky outcropping; without warning, he took to wing.

  Mayra jumped to her feet.

  In the distance, she could hear it—a roar, far fiercer than anything that had ever come from Hagan, filling the air with physical waves of pure energy. Mayra ran to the edge of the plateau.

  Where—no, what—was it? Whatever it was, it was racing ever nearer, echoes of ferocious bellows stretching down the ravine. Hesta jumped to her feet and gave a triumphant roar of her own, and Mayra realized—

  “Gaulte!” the red dragon roared.

  * * *

  “Gaulte?”

  Mayra looked up, squinting against the sun. Where was he?

  Then—There!

  Silhouetted by the sun and cloaked in mountain mists, the massive dragon emerged. His enormous mouth opened wide and he let loose with a bone-shaking roar as he grew ever closer, traveling slowly as he surveyed the scene before him.

  Gaulte—and on his back, a cloak blew back. An antlered staff, raised high and pointed at Hagan, came into view. Long, white hair emerged into the sunlight, flowing in the wind of Gaulte’s wings, and finally, she could see a grim face with a black eyepatch and thin blue tattoos visible against his stark, pale face. Kantar—the Sorst village Elder —was riding Gaulte!

  Mayra whirled as something touched her back. Hesta had crept up behind her but was looking over Mayra’s head. The feelings that Mayra felt from Hesta—joy, relief, love, and dear gods, lust—were almost as physical as the shape of Gaulte, growing ever larger as he traveled down the ravine.

  The other dragons and riders had stopped their fight with a nonexistent foe and hovered together, looking confused. They apparently hadn’t yet seen Gaulte. Mayra waved both arms at them—look over here—then gestured wildly toward Gaulte. She didn’t wait to see if they understood but turned back toward the rocks that hid the basket, then paused. She had seen Hagan fly off, but he was nowhere in sight.

  She did not believe Hagan had left. Not without Tamsin.

  Mayra bent down into the crevice and reached for the basket—Fark! She heard the whoosh of huge wings nearby and withdrew once again without even touching the basket. She glanced up.

  Hagan slowly reappeared, this time rising from behind the wall of rocks, close to where Mayra stood. He hovered, glancing first at Mayra and then fastening his eyes on the group of dragons and humans that had altered their course toward Mayra and Hesta.

  Fall back! Mayra felt the power of Kantar’s mind-speak. I will have my revenge against that wretched beast Hagan, atop the dragon I saved!

  Mayra smiled slowly. Earlier—by the gods it had been only that morning—she had heard that story and guessed at once that Kantar’s story of saving a young dragon had been about Kantar and Gaulte, for a panicked young Gaulte had inadvertently bitten Kantar and left a toothy scar. Mayra had recognized it as matching a large nick in one of Gaulte’s front teeth.

  No wonder Theura had watched after the human Elder all these years, had taught him dragon magic, had filled him with power. Kantar had saved her child’s life.

  Mayra had thought Hagan would attack the dragons that were winging her way. But apparently he had spotted a more significant t
hreat that by now was only a stone’s throw away. For one wild moment, Mayra thought Hagan would fly at Gaulte, but at the last moment, the rogue dragon veered off and returned to the bluff, landing with an ungraceful thump. If ever Mayra had been unsure that the crevice held little Tamsin, she was now certain.

  Mayra cursed softly. She couldn’t leave off guarding Tamsin. She was stuck on a slab of rock with Hagan refusing to leave, despite the overwhelming forces that now surrounded him. Eleven dragons, all waiting to attack, yet each knowing they could not. Wily, evil Hagan, knowing they wouldn’t attack him, was not going to surrender his smallest victim, no matter how terrible the danger to himself was.

  As if to agree, Hagan threw his head back and roared, gnashed his teeth, and lunged at Hesta.

  “Hesta, look out!” Mayra screamed. She shouted at Hagan, “Farking bastard! Get away from her!”

  She raised her hands to attack, but stopped as words seemed to fill not only her head but the very air around her.

  Move away from them, foul creature! The Elder’s powerful mind-speak was stronger, fired by his wrath. I will kill you where you stand!

  Hagan stood up on his back two legs and unexpectedly sprang at Mayra; she threw herself to one side and barely missed being gutted by his savage front talons. Hesta’s furious roar rolled out from behind the rogue dragon and he tried to whirl toward her, snapping at her, but she was too fast for him.

  I will destroy you! Hesta cried and lunged at Hagan. To the surprise of both females, Hagan was already in motion, sweeping his tail toward Mayra and slinging her up and into Hesta. Hesta caught the Ring-Witch and set her on her feet, all the while snarling at Hagan.

  “You can’t keep me away from that rock!” Mayra shouted, her tone deliberately taunting as she tried to rile him. She ducked around his long, barbed tail and ran to the crevice. “Tamsin is in here,” she threw back over her shoulder as loudly as she could, hoping any of her allies would hear her and know they must be careful. “Is she alive, Hagan? Have you killed the baby dragon?”