Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  Mayra dropped to her knees beside the basket and quickly worked it open. Behind her, she could feel the ground shake as another dragon landed.

  A tiny, pale-red nestling lay curled up in the bottom of the basket. A low moan escaped Hesta. Mayra glanced up at the red dragon, then back at Tamsin. The thick, golden-red liquid that was her blood slowly seeped down her tiny face and sealed one eye shut. Tamsin’s other eye opened weakly and fastened on Mayra. The Ring-Witch gently picked Tamsin up and held her close to her. Oh, gods, she was so small, so weak!

  “Give her to me!”

  Mayra almost didn’t recognize Gaulte’s wild, hoarse voice. She looked up her friend as he moved closer to her and lowered himself down beside her. Beyond the black dragon lay Hagan, in a still heap. He was conscious, but he dared not move.

  “Gaulte?” Why was her voice so weak?

  The dragon searched her face for a moment; she saw the pain in his starburst eyes and on his expressive face. But then those incredible eyes returned to Tamsin, and she understood—there wasn’t room for Mayra in his life while his youngest nestling lay so close to death.

  Mayra closed her eyes briefly as she heard the mind-speak voices of Gaulte and Wolfe. She couldn’t catch everything, but enough words—and Gaulte’s savage pain—led her to understand one thing.

  The dragons could not kill Hagan, for Tamsin’s eye, with its magical properties, was still gone.

  Mayra’s arms tightened around the wee dragon. She heard Tamsin’s whimpers—again Mayra pulled off her mittens, this time using her hands to lead her magic deep into the nestling.

  The Ring-Witch felt Tamsin’s soft skin growing hotter. Just as Mayra started to put her back down, she froze, biting back a scream. There, deep within the little beast, Mayra felt it—a thing that did not belong there, that created a deep, burning pain in the little dragon. Something was in Tamsin, it had harmed her, and it was still there.

  Mayra raised her face to Gaulte, to tell him that Tamsin was trying to speak to her, to help take the Ring-Witch deep within the dragon where something unfamiliar had damaged her. But Gaulte was fading in and out of her vision. Mayra tried to lift Tamsin to her sire but wavered a moment before she had to set the tiny dragon back down.

  With a long, soft sigh, Mayra fell beside Tamsin, just as Wolfe reached her side and pulled her up into his arms. She opened her eyes and relief displaced the rage on his face.

  “Tamsin,” Mayra whispered. “Tamsin will die without me. Only I can save her.”

  Wolfe’s striking face was still drawn tight with concern. Mayra raised a hand to touch a lock of his unruly black hair. She strained to tell him—any of them—that something was killing the baby dragon, but no one seemed to understand that Tamsin was trying to help her, to guide her to that which was hurting her. Before Mayra could utter a word, all around her turned dark.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Aloft in the Ceshon Mountains

  Outside the Cavern of Hagan

  Day eleven of the First Moon of Wynter

  Mayra lay in Wolfe’s arms, where they huddled against the bluff’s farthest wall. There was no way off this piece of rock without a dragon to fly down.

  Gaulte had taken his nestling from Mayra and carried her to Hesta. He had then turned his glowing eyes upon Hagan and bared his teeth.

  At that point, Wolfe had decided that keeping the four humans—the smallest creatures now on the bluff—out of harm’s way was the only thing he would be doing for a while. He had scooped up his two unconscious captives—the gnome and the Phailite woman—pushed them into the corner, then collected Mayra, and joined the two. Kantar had continued to ignore the other humans, concentrating on the dragons.

  But at least the four were out of the way as the dragons circled each other, growling, roaring, posturing, and making Wolfe wonder if he should start something with his magic. He was getting cold.

  But apparently, Kantar had decided to do just that. The tall Elder stamped the bottom of his staff against the ground, and the entire bluff trembled—again and again—until even the dragons took notice and stopped.

  Kantar’s magic had bounced the humans and gnome away from the wall. Wolfe brushed dust and rocks off himself and Mayra and moved them back their original spot; the prisoners he ignored. If that hadn’t awakened them—

  “You took my eye,” Kantar growled at Hagan. “I did not understand until now that you sought magic that wasn’t there, you godsdamned fool.”

  Before Hagan could so much as roar, Kantar raised his arm and swept his staff toward the dragon. A silver-black shaft of magic so powerful that Wolfe could feel it, smashed against Hagan’s head and sent him hurtling off the ground and crashing into the rocky wall behind him, closer to Wolfe and Mayra than the Ring-Witch cared for.

  The problem was, there wasn’t anywhere else to go on this damned bluff!

  Kantar glanced toward Wolfe and inclined his white head as though to reassure the Ring-Witch. The Elder then turned back and again waved his staff toward the barely conscious—make that unconscious—Hagan.

  Kantar’s magic entranced Wolfe. A web of gold ropes worked their way up and around Hagan. Each time one restraint touched the dragon’s skin, it adhered to it. Kantar proceeded to weave a net around Hagan, who remained motionless as the Elder rendered the dragon bound and helpless. Kantar then turned and trussed Feshr and Cherra up in much the same manner. Within a matter of moments, Kantar had wound the three captives up like cocoons.

  Mayra stirred, and a long sigh escaped her.

  “Dragon magic,” she murmured. Wolfe realized she had been awake and watching Kantar. “Kantar told us there was a reason the Phailites stopped allowing their young to live and work with the dragons. But he wouldn’t tell it what it was. I believe he just showed us the answer.”

  Wolfe looked back at the Elder. “He meant the power that comes of a Phailite having spent his life with dragons?” When she nodded, Wolfe gave her a gentle squeeze. “I think it’s time to leave this place.”

  “Home?” she whispered, her head drooping.

  He nodded, but he wondered. Would they be as welcome as before, when Mayra had rescued Gaulte? When her presence had served a purpose to these dragons?

  * * *

  “Did you try to kill Hagan?”

  Mayra’s whisper startled Wolfe. The battle with Hagan had exhausted him, but only a madman would sleep while atop a flying dragon, so he had been watching over Mayra as Larek carried them—and Fyrid and Fleura—back to the Aerie. Mayra lay still in his arms; in the failing light, he could see her staring distractedly out over the mountains.

  “Did you want me to try?” he asked.

  He could feel her shake her head, no. She knew, as they all did, that until they found Tamsin’s magic-drenched eye, they had to keep Hagan alive. Wolfe bent and kissed Mayra’s forehead, and she smiled up at him. I love you, she mouthed, and her eyes slowly closed.

  Wolfe gazed down at Mayra’s small face, almost swallowed in fur. Even in the failing light he could see dark circles around her eyes, and her skin was paler than usual. He gently replaced a folded cloth against her head. The stream of blood had slowed to a trickle. He was surprised that she wasn’t insensible after getting whacked in the head by that rock. She was going to appreciate that they were holding Cherra especially for her. Wolfe wondered just how vengeful his lovely little elf could get.

  “Is Mayra”—Fleura’s whisper also startled Wolfe. “She’s ill, Wolfe?”

  He gave Mayra’s stalwart friend a brief smile. “I don’t think she’s ill,” he replied. “She definitely needs to have this wound tended to, and like us all, she is overtired and needs food.”

  Fleura nodded. “And she is smaller than even I am, Wolfe. Even before I joined her, I knew she pushed herself far harder than she ever would any of her people.”

  “Yes, she does. We all need a good meal and some sleep.” He hesitated. “Thank you for watching over her, Fleura.”

  Fleura leaned
back against Fyrid; he tightened his arms around her waist. Wolfe saw a sensual smile cross her lips that told him she had missed more than food and sleep.

  Wolfe chuckled and faced forward again. He hoped Fyrid appreciated the strong woman in his arms. Wolfe would never bed one of these lovely witch-warriors; they had all become treasured friends—the trusted friends he’d never had. He glanced down at Mayra. Only this one had captured his wild heart.

  As though sensing his thoughts, Mayra’s eyes slowly opened. She seemed surprised, perhaps at the intensity of his icy-blue gaze, but then her soft, full lips widened into a smile.

  “I am going to kill that farking bitch,” she whispered sweetly, then her eyes closed again. “After my head quits hurting.”

  He examined her gash. She now had a sizeable lump there, but it had stopped bleeding. The witch Healer, Shaura, could look at it, once she had made her sister, Jannia, comfortable. Jannia needed the Healer’s attention far more than Mayra did.

  Harald and Jannia were riding Aulera, who flew alongside her mate, Larek. Wolfe could see that Jannia, held close to Harald, was awake. Wolfe’s lips set in a grim line. He had seen his share of battle damage and knew without a doubt that Jannia’s sword arm was broken in several places. He feared it would be near impossible to repair it. Another incident to which their prisoners were answerable.

  Talft transported his wounded mate, Diaya, and Kirik watched her, to ensure she didn’t move toward the edge of his back. All three captives were still unconscious and immobile. The bound Hagan hung from a stout rope, supported between Fauler and Corren. Corren carried Cherra and Feshr, guarded by Kirik and Richard.

  Wolfe adjusted Mayra in his arms as he caught sight of the glow of the Aerie, coming over the next ridge. With Gaulte leading them—and still carrying Kantar—the dragons were slowing as they approached it.

  He thought again about Mayra’s questioning tone when she spoke of the Aerie as home. Would it be home to the witches? Gaulte hadn’t communicated with any of the humans since speaking last to Mayra. How welcome they were still remained to be seen.

  * * *

  Mayra awakened as soon as they entered the Aerie. Wolfe set her on her feet and adjusted the makeshift bandage he’d applied around her head. Theura hurried forward, the ground shaking under her with her haste to get to Gaulte. Gaulte stopped his mother in mid-stride. He hadn’t yet spoken, but he now looked over the others.

  “We captured Hagan,” he said softly. His tone did not welcome celebration from the other dragons. “Payk and Kirik, follow Corren, for I wish you to be the first to guard our human and gnome prisoners.” He raised his head, and his starburst eyes took in the humans. “All of you are to go into the large common room now. Food has already been taken in for you.”

  “But Gaulte,” Mayra began. His fierce look made her stiffen. “I know what is wrong with Tamsin.”

  “Ridiculous!” came a rough, crackling voice from behind Larek, who was blocking the doorway into the back of the Aerie. “Humans healing dragons?”

  An amazed expression appeared on Larek’s face, a briefly joyous one on Hesta’s, as well as the other dragons, and Larek scrambled to move aside.

  The dragon that walked into their midst was incredibly wrinkled, had a heavy staff for a cane, and wore an elaborate black shawl over his shoulders!

  “Librarian Patar!” Larek exclaimed.

  “No, no, my boy, there is no time,” returned the old, brown dragon, shaking his head. “We must see to your young ones—and our magical youngest!” His eyes swept over the humans. “Yes, get these witchlings out of our way, Theura. We have no time for them now.”

  “But—” Mayra tried again.

  Wolfe hushed her and drew her to him with a firm arm around her shoulders. “You need your wound tended to,” he said in a low voice.

  The Librarian might have been incredibly old, but there was nothing wrong with his hearing. He positively beamed at Wolfe and nodded. “Yes, young witchlings, that is so! Your humankind must tend to you as Theura and I must see to young Tamsin.”

  Mayra looked up as another tall figure stepped up to her side. Kantar smiled down at her. “Come, my dear, Wolfe is correct. You are bleeding again. And humans are best to heal humans.”

  “But, Kantar, I—”

  “She is a stubborn witchling, isn’t she?” chuckled the Librarian.

  Mayra gave a deep sigh. It was no use. “Stupid males,” she muttered under her breath.

  She thought she heard a snigger from one of the dragons. Probably Hesta or Aulera.

  Mayra allowed Wolfe to lead her into the large common. The door was closed behind them, then the key turned in the huge lock. Mayra went at once to the large windows, shedding her furs as she went, to watch the activity outside in the Aerie courtyard. She was wounded to the core—Gaulte had locked them in! And why wouldn’t he listen to her protests that she could help Tamsin?

  She glanced up at Wolfe as he tried to draw her away, saying, “My sweet, you must let Shaura look at your head. And you need to eat something.” He gave her a slight, sad smile. “You need to rest. Anywhere that’s away from that damned window.”

  Mayra gave a slight shake of her head. She still could not grasp that Gaulte had locked them in.

  Beyond the outer wall of the cave, the adult dragons were holding their rescued young to them. Most of the nestlings were bloody, and all were crying, the keening sounds so much like human children that Mayra wept with them.

  Mayra suddenly gasped as Hesta lurched toward Gaulte. The red dragon fell half onto her mate, throwing her head back with a long, bone-vibrating scream.

  “Wolfe, why won’t they let us out?” Mayra clutched his shirt and stared up at him a moment. As she turned back to the window, Wolfe caught her arm.

  “It’s not safe out there for us,” he said quietly.

  “Wolfe, I—”

  Wolfe shook his head. “There are many large, powerful creatures out there, Mayra, and they are not happy.”

  Both Ring-Witches turned back to the window.

  Hesta, utterly grief-stricken, was trying to pick up Tamsin but was so weakened herself that she staggered. When Gaulte tried to help her, she turned on him with a snarl, and he backed away. Finally, her nestling lay in her arms, motionless. Mayra could see thick, pale golden-red blood dripping down Tamsin’s face. Even at this distance, her scales looked hot.

  The baby dragon was dying; the adult dragons could not stop her bleeding and her fever raged.

  “Tamsin!” Mayra screamed, pounding harder on the glass. “Gaulte, let us out!”

  The black dragon raised his head and met her eyes for a long moment, then turned away. Mayra swallowed; she was rejected. She sank to the floor, staring unseeingly as she attempted to reach Gaulte with mind-speak.

  It was no use. Gaulte had completely barricaded his mind, closed it to Mayra, and she had never felt such a sharp ache of emptiness. She stifled a sob. How could Gaulte render her so utterly bereft?

  And suddenly, warmth filled her—a human presence. Two large boots planted themselves in front of her. Wolfe bent and drew her to her feet, then hugged her tightly against him. His love for her washed through her, tender, bemused emotions that some womanly intuition told her he’d never before experienced.

  “I love you,” she mumbled, her mouth smashed against his tunic. He released his hold on her, but only enough to raise her face to his.

  “I have absolute faith in your abilities,” he said quietly, folding over the bloody cloth and pressing it to her head again. “And so it was unfounded for me to feel such terror at seeing your life threatened so. And yet I did.”

  Mayra’s smile trembled. “Is that why warriors scorn love?”

  Wolfe grinned. “Not this warrior. And now, I must insist, my love. You will have your wound tended and then eat something.”

  She nodded and turned to look around the room. The large common was warm, and across the room, Shaura rose from tending to her wounded sister. May
ra gazed around at her friends, busy helping one another or just resting. She followed Wolfe to the table where Shaura had set up the tools of her trade, turning the common into a makeshift infirmary.

  Mayra quickly realized that Shaura, who had only exchanged a few brief words with Payk before she needed to go to her sister, was not her usual talkative self.

  “Jannia is so strong,” Mayra whispered. “And brave, Shaura. She had no thought but to protect Diaya.”

  Shaura nodded. “Indiera could see them. She told me that Harald tried to save Jannia from falling when Hagan stabbed his tail spurs into Diaya. She will live, Mayra, but she will never wield a sword again.” Her deep-green eyes filled with tears. “What will she do with herself?”

  Mayra smiled. “She will strengthen her other arm and learn to fight again. But for now, perhaps you might offer Harald comfort, as well?”

  “Oh!” Shaura looked perplexed, then smiled. “I didn’t know—they have grown close?”

  “Yes!” Mayra’s smile widened into a grin. “Very much so. And I think they impressed each other today.”

  Shaura nodded, then looked up at Mayra’s bandaged head.

  “We need to tend to that now. Your head must hurt like hell,” the auburn-haired Healer asked lightly, almost like her old self. “Have you ever had magical stitching done to your skin? Because under all that hair, I can see more of you than I should be able to.”

  Shaura hesitated, as though she already knew the answer to her next question. “Might I give you some pera-blossom—?” Shaura broke off and sighed. Mayra was already shaking her head no. “I thought as much.”

  Wolfe, at Mayra’s side, scowled at her. “You should do as Shaura recommends,” he said gruffly. He bent to examine the wound, grew a little paler, and straightened.

  “Do you agree with my assessment?” Shaura asked with a smirk.

  Mayra rolled her eyes and elbowed Wolfe aside. “Just repair it, please, Shaura. I have to get out—”

  “Oh, no,” Shaura interrupted, as Wolfe opened his mouth to say the same thing. “You must rest.”