Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  “Yes, of course,” Mayra said mildly, then turned her wound toward the Healer. “Please?”

  Shaura gently cleaned the area above Mayra’s ear with an astringent liquid that made the Ring-Witch wince. When the Healer had finished that task, she pulled Mayra’s hair aside and opened her mouth, then abruptly clamped her lips shut.

  Mayra gave the Healer a wan smile. The Ring-Witch realized that Shaura had started to call her sister, who was often her assistant. Shaura glanced over at the small figure, lying on a pallet near the fireplace and watched over by Harald.

  “She will recover strong as ever,” Mayra whispered.

  Shaura gave Mayra a brisk nod. “Wolfe, help me,” the Healer said brusquely.

  * * *

  Wolfe was a willing helper, for was he not a warrior? And the able-bodied always assisted a wounded fellow warrior. But being a bringer of blood and gore was hardly comparable to seeing a vicious wound in the head of his woman, who was taking the cleaning stoically. Mayra had declined pera-blossom, and Shaura had promptly slipped a small dose into the water she requested and Wolfe provided. As Shaura finished her cleaning, Mayra’s pain seemed to diminish, but when a whimper escaped her, Wolfe cursed Hagan under his breath. She winced; her small hand tightened around two of his fingers as she endured.

  “Mayra, you have to let go now,” he said softly, as Shaura showed him how she wanted him to hold Mayra’s skin together.

  Mayra gave him a quick smile, and he gently removed his now-bloodless fingers.

  Wolfe found Shaura’s work fascinating. The wide, angry wound displayed white bone, but as Wolfe stretched and pulled the skin together, Shaura ran her finger over and down the length of the wound. Small glimmers of green from beneath her fingertip knitted the skin together until all that remained was a seam of reddened flesh the length of the Healer’s finger.

  “That is why I am a Healer,” Shaura said simply. She smiled up at Wolfe. “Thank you for your assistance. And make sure she rests.”

  Wolfe snorted. “Does Healer magic also include making your patient submissive?”

  Mayra opened her mouth to protest, but Wolfe grinned at her, and she melted against him. “It won’t work,” she whispered. “You will have to charm me later, my sweet. I must get to Tamsin. But I will at least eat first!”

  Wolfe followed Mayra back to the window where he leaned against the wall opposite Mayra and watched her as she gazed out at the rising moon indifferently and chewed on a piece of fruit. None of the dragons had returned, so none of the humans had any idea how Tamsin was doing. Nor did they know how Hagan was reacting to what Wolfe knew was Gaulte’s and Larek’s one intense question—where was Tamsin’s other eye?

  Wolfe would have liked a chance to ask that question himself, wondering if any of his myriad ways of “persuasion” would work on a dragon. But Cherra, he would leave to Mayra; females questioned other females. And Mayra, ever an apt pupil, had listened closely to his tales of the art of interrogation as they traveled north. He wanted to see Mayra demonstrate what she had learned.

  * * *

  None of the dragons had visited the humans. The food was all gone, and though Mayra had no appetite, she suspected the others were hungry. She closed her eyes and tried again to reach out, but this time, she sought little Tamsin.

  Mayra felt around her, acknowledging the many dragons, young and old as she crept toward a tiny presence. As soon as she touched a wall of raging pain she knew she had found Tamsin. She controlled her outer visage, not wanting Wolfe to know what she was doing. Tamsin allowed Mayra to touch her, seeking a Center that weakened noticeably as she probed it. She slowed—yes, whatever was killing the young dragon was still there—and then suddenly something cut her away from Tamsin.

  Mayra sank down to the floor under the window. The moon had risen high in the sky; she hadn’t realized it was so late. Almost immediately, Wolfe joined her. She smiled and leaned her head against his arm. He never was very far away.

  “I can tell that Tamsin has been weakening with every hour,” she whispered. “I can almost feel—”

  Mayra broke off as the Aerie filled with an unearthly noise. She scrambled to her feet as the sound continued to grow louder—a keening filled with agony, so heart-rending that Mayra was unable to control herself as she fell into a frenzy of screaming and beating on the common door.

  The few sleepers awakened as soon as the keening began. Fleura sat up straight and put her hands over her ears. “What is that awful noise?” she cried. She rose from beside Fyrid. “Mayra, what is it?”

  The Aerie beyond their room abruptly filled with shouts and the sounds of large bodies moving about, some running. And overall, that terrible keening, its source still unknown to them.

  Wolfe remained on the floor, his face buried in his arms. He sought, not Gaulte, but Gabrel. Mayra seemed to sense his efforts, for she stopped beating on the door and stepped away from it. After nearly a quarter-hour, the door opened bit by bit and the young dragon, looking confused and shaking with shock, crept in. Fleura hurried to his side; she seemed to have a rapport with the younger dragons.

  “Wolfe?” Young Gabrel’s word trembled. “Did—did you call me?”

  “Yes, Gabrel,” Wolfe replied gently. “Come over here. What is happening now? What is that sound?”

  “It is Tamsin. The blue humans hurt my sister.” Gabrel leaned into Fleura. The witch-warrior made soft, soothing sounds as she ran her hand down his head. “They took her eye. Father said we mustn’t—Mayra, no!”

  Mayra darted between Gabrel and the door, sprinting across the floor toward Gaulte’s rooms, where the clamor suddenly grew softer. The young black dragon chased after her, but she was swifter, calling on a strength she didn’t know she possessed to outrun him.

  She had almost reached the room when a massive body placed itself in her path and two sets of long, vicious talons closed around her.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The Ceshon Aerie

  Day twelve of the First Moon of Wynter

  “Gaulte, no!” Mayra screamed. “Let me go!”

  “You are not permitted.” Gaulte lowered his huge head until his eyes were even with hers. “My child dies. Only the Great White Dragon herself may intercede.”

  She looked up into the beautiful starburst eyes, so old, filled with the pain that only a parent who has lost their child could ever know. Mayra had seen that expression on the face of Leisher Bren, after he had left his son, Tolle, to his punishment in the Fortress.

  The terrible sound suddenly stopped, and Mayra now knew why.

  “No,” she whispered. “Listen to me—inside, Gaulte. Go inside me, Gaulte. She called me! She needs me, desperately! And now that I’m here, she has gone quiet. I must go! I must touch her!”

  Slowly, the huge claws unfurled.

  Go—lest I change my mind and feed you to her.

  Mayra stared at the black dragon a moment, appalled that he would say such a thing. But there wasn’t time for questions or reproaches. She ran into the room, looked around frantically, then raced across to the far side. Tamsin’s red body was writhing as the young dragon cried and keened. Someone had tied a cloth across half Tamsin’s head; it was now soaked with the young dragon’s golden-red blood.

  Mayra stopped short at the sight of Tamsin. The Ring-Witch walked forward and knelt beside the small dragon. She was dimly aware of her own wringing hands and heaving chest—she was utterly aware that she did not know what to do—

  And then, Mayra flung herself down beside Tamsin and threw her arms around the young dragon’s neck. Gabrel and Aesta, standing back with their sire, snarled and growled, and jumped to intervene, but Gaulte restrained them.

  There is no longer a choice. The black dragon’s words were heavy and pain-filled. We must trust the witchling. He shook his head as though to correct himself. Our witchling, Mayra.

  Mayra removed herself from the sounds and movements around her. She was startled to feel the scales around her
neck grow warm. Those scales realized they were near Tamsin, from whom they had fallen—or been torn. She touched Tamsin lightly, then gathered her close to her, feeling out the paths to healing the youngling. Something within the young dragon was guiding Mayra. The ageless connection between dragon, witch, and her Rings was alive, whispering to Mayra, telling her what to do to help Tamsin. Mayra rocked Tamsin, crooning and whispering in a soft language she did not understand herself.

  Mayra thought she heard a large, hoarse gasp, but that sound quickly joined the others, far beyond her awareness of her surroundings.

  She gazed down at a beast many would find inhuman and hideous. Tamsin’s small head was smooth and rounded, truly childlike, with long, curling lashes brushing her cheeks. But below those lashes lay one closed eye and a sunken hollow covered with crusting golden-red blood. Tamsin’s red-and-gold scales were small and perfect but now those scales were dull, even as they grew steadily hotter.

  Mayra swallowed her own uncertainty. Tamsin had been deeply, seriously damaged. The dragon’s pain, from both her savaged eye and that other, unknown source, was so vicious and intense that Mayra could barely breathe.

  The Ring-Witch continued to run her hands over the youngling, concentrating on the area where dried blood streaked across her chest and crusted over a drying wound. Finally, Mayra laid her hand against the savage injury. She took a deep breath and slipped her fingers into the hot gash. Far away, she could feel Tamsin’s heart, beating rapidly with each of her shallow pants. And near that—metal.

  Mayra concentrated, seeking to alleviate at least some of Tamsin’s pain. And then, like a tangible wall, the barrier of pain suddenly parted. Mayra’s breath caught, her body relaxed, and she quickly sent a soothing blanket of magic over Tamsin. The dragon’s shivering stopped.

  Maman? Who is here in me? The mind-speak was so small and trusting.

  I am Mayra. Your sire is my friend. I wish to be your friend.

  It hurts, Mayra. The childish words in Mayra’s head trembled. Make it go away.

  Yes, little Tamsin. Shh—I am going to help you, little one.

  Though Theura had cleansed the wound, Mayra could feel something, still deep within the wound, and grinding deeper, as though it sought to escape Mayra’s seeking fingers. Mayra closed her eyes tightly as she focused; she could see the magic as it crept from her fingers and into Tamsin’s body. Tamsin groaned and stirred as Mayra forced her fingers further into the wound. The nestling’s lovely jewel-blue eye opened a moment, but she didn’t focus, and then it slowly closed.

  Tamsin whimpered again. Mayra felt something within her body meld with Tamsin. Tamsin’s pain intensified, but Mayra knew that no matter how intense that pain was as she delved deeper, seeking the source of Tamsin’s dying, she could not pull back. Though her own life force kept telling her to stop, she had to remove the metal.

  Mayra slid her fingers out and sat up a moment to take a deep breath. One more try—the soul-wrenching cries behind Mayra continued to grow in intensity. It was distracting—so much that Mayra was ready to ask for everyone to leave. But then, the room was silent. A door closed. Tamsin tensed, and her eye opened again.

  Mayra wondered if the little dragon even saw the witch. Tamsin’s twisting and turning intensified until Mayra tightened her hold on Tamsin’s back legs with her own legs. There was no possible way for Mayra to hold Tamsin down, even at her small size, the dragon was far stronger than her. But Tamsin seemed to understand Mayra was helping her and finally, the little dragon relaxed. Hurts, Mayra. Make it stop.

  I will. Close your eyes. You have the most beautiful eyes, do you know?

  A little snigger erupted from Tamsin. Pretty eyes?

  Yes, so pretty! You stay still now, beautiful little one.

  Hesta could hear them, and she wailed. Mayra did not think Tamsin knew one of her eyes was missing. The little dragon’s arms, as gentle as any human’s, suddenly closed around Mayra’s waist and Mayra’s eyes flew open.

  The warmth that rolled through Mayra had nothing to do with the bodily heat from Tamsin. Mayra brushed gentle fingertips across Tamsin’s cheek to capture the tears there and touched them to her own lips. The power that sizzled through her tore a gasp from her.

  When Tamsin opened her eye this time, Mayra knew that she saw her, knew her to be a human. Tamsin raised a small hand.

  I am ready now, Mayra. It was an alarmingly adult thing from the little dragon, and Mayra felt momentary panic.

  I will try not to hurt you, Tamsin. But you are so terribly wounded, and I must remove what is causing it. Will you be brave for me, so I might help you?

  Yes, Mayra. How innocent and trusting she was! Far too young to have been part of the terrible things she had experienced. But Mayra would not let this child die as Oria had.

  Mayra rubbed her face against her shoulder to wipe away her tears, then dug deeper into the wound. Mayra felt the heat of Tamsin’s flesh, then a chill that was noxious and unnatural. The Ring-Witch closed her eyes. The coldness of Tamsin’s dying flesh assisted Mayra’s burrowing deeper into the wound until at last, her fingers brushed a metal point.

  Mayra probed around the piece of metal; not only was it sharp, but she sensed something else—poison. She couldn’t possibly grab it to remove it. Carefully, she laid her fingertip against the metal and surrounded it with her magic; she willed it—moved it—until it slid out and into her hand. She slowly released a pent-up breath.

  A long, shuddering sigh went through Tamsin. Her mother cried out, but Tamsin took another deep breath as she slipped into a deep, healing sleep.

  Mayra lay down beside her. As the warmth of the young dragon surrounded her, the Ring-Witch fell into a sleep-like state. Mayra did not awaken when Wolfe gently pried her hand open to remove the sliver of metal, which he handed to Gault.

  Beyond Gaulte stood the Librarian, Patar, and that old dragon was seated up on his haunches, wringing his hands as tears coursed down his wrinkled face.

  So sorry, so sorry. His mind-speak was rough and distraught.

  Sorry for what? Wolfe wondered as he picked Mayra up and carried her from Gaulte’s room.

  As Wolfe neared the common to which Gaulte had relegated them, their friends poured out and gathered around the two Ring-Witches, all talking at once.

  “Is Mayra—?” That question from Fleura stopped short as Mayra took a deep breath.

  “What happened?” Richart asked.

  “Is Tamsin alive?”

  “Can we leave this farking common now?” That came from Fyrid, who was probably eager to remind Hagan that the dragon had maimed his father. Wolfe would let Fyrid have a go at Hagan; there wasn’t much the young Phailite could do to a dragon other than taunt him, and that might be enough to set Hagan off again.

  As Mayra had once observed—the dragon like to talk. He might just reveal more than he meant to.

  “Tamsin seemed to heal before my eyes,” Wolfe said as he raised Mayra up so that Shaura could give her a quick examination. The Healer held up a tiny bottle of pera-blossom, and her eyebrows rose. Wolfe hesitated, then nodded.

  Shaura mixed the drops into a small bit of water, then held the glass to Mayra’s lips.

  “Mayra, have some water,” she whispered.

  Mayra drank automatically. Her eyes fluttered open, she smiled at the Healer, then fell back to sleep.

  “I think everything finally caught up with her,” Shaura finally pronounced. “That will help. I think we should all get some sleep. And Tamsin?”

  “Mayra found a poisoned knife-tip in her,” Wolfe replied. “Probably one of our prisoners stabbed her.”

  With that, he resumed walking, carrying Mayra further down the corridor and into their room. Wolfe wanted nothing more than to feel Mayra’s naked skin against his as they slept.

  Wolfe grinned. What he wanted was a great deal more, but Mayra was, at least for the moment, simply too exhausted for any mutual pleasure.

  * * *

  Oh, Papa, did
you see? Her Rings were glowing! Gabrel’s mind-speak was quivering with excitement. The young black dragon was still astounded by what he had seen, more so than the fact that his nestmate had been saved.

  Gabrel, bring cool water and see if your mother needs anything. Gaulte’s tone sent his eldest scurrying from the room. The black dragon then turned to Hesta. She spoke before he could.

  Wolfe has many questions. Please, my mate, see him now before they sleep. And they will soon need food.

  As we all do, he returned with a chuckle. And welcome home, my beloved mate. He bent forward and nuzzled her snout with his own. The Aerie was lost without you.

  The red dragon gave a sound between a giggle and a snort. She glowed happily from within, and Gaulte knew it was not only because Tamsin would live. She was home.

  Gaulte hurried from the chambers to catch up with Wolfe and Mayra.

  * * *

  Wolfe carried Mayra into their room, laid her into their bed, and stripped her down to her silky underclothes. As soon as Wolfe sat to pull off his boots, there was a soft scratch at the door. Wolfe sighed long and covered Mayra. He knew it was Gaulte. The dark Ring-Witch didn’t want to give up resting next to Mayra, but he had questions and knew she would, once she awakened.

  Gaulte looked as tired as Wolfe felt. And Wolfe was surprised when Gabrel scurried around from behind his sire. The young dragon carried a large basket in his jaws. In it, Wolfe could see flasks of water, some fruit, and—he sniffed—meat. His stomach growled, and Gaulte gave his rumbling laugh, softly, so as not to awaken Mayra. The younger dragon looked as though he might burst with excitement. Wolfe reached over and took the basket.

  “Mayra saved Tamsin!” Gabrel whispered. His eyes went to Mayra, asleep on the bed. “She is like our princess!”

  Wolfe winced. Mayra groused that Feshr had called her princess, and he knew she didn’t care for it. Gabrel followed Wolfe as he rose from the bed with the basket and walked to the cold fireplace.

  Within a few minutes, a blaze was growing merrily as he fed it small pieces of wood. During that time, Gaulte had sent his youngling off to bed, and Wolfe had asked Gaulte, very simply, why he had locked them in the common. It was a question Wolfe knew Mayra would want answered.