Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  “Fears her?” Wolfe stared at Gaulte in astonishment. He remembered Patar’s odd words, following him from this room when he had taken Mayra out after healing Tamsin—“so sorry, so sorry.” Even then, Wolfe had wondered what Patar was so sorry for. He cast about for something to say. “We were on our way to visit Cherra,” he said abruptly.

  “Ah. An excellent idea.” Gaulte cleared his throat. Hesta released Mayra and the red dragon turned to her mate.

  “Our younglings love this witchling,” she said quietly. “We need not make her fear that she does not belong with us, do we, my mate?”

  A deep sigh went through the black dragon. “No, my dear mate,” he said, and then he grinned his fearsome grin. “We have grown our family, haven’t we?”

  Before Wolfe could react, Gaulte reached out and swept the Ring-Witch into an embrace. Wolfe could see a huge grin on Mayra’s face as he tried to extricate himself with some dignity from that muscular embrace.

  “We need to speak to Cherra and Feshr!” Wolfe finally shouted desperately.

  Gaulte released him. Wolfe straightened and smoothed down his tunic. Mayra wrapped her arm around his and tugged.

  “Shall we go?” she suggested kindly.

  “Yes,” he replied grimly. A true warrior did not allow a dragon to hug him, nor did his woman smirk about it.

  * * *

  Mayra and Wolfe walked silently back through the Aerie toward the nestlings’ nursery, where they were keeping Cherra and Feshr. As Wolfe took down the key from the wall next to the door, they saw Kirik hurrying toward them and they stopped.

  “Wolfe, that Librarian dragon was looking for you. It took him forever just to say that much. That is an odd dragon. He said it would be brief.” Kirik shook his blond head, and a tired grin touched his lips. “But I doubt it. I was on my way to get something to eat after my shift guarding Hagan.” Message delivered, the witch-warrior turned toward their common and left.

  “Go ahead,” Mayra murmured to Wolfe. “I will be fine with these two.”

  Wolfe glanced at her and his eyebrows rose. She smiled and pushed her shoulder into him playfully. “If they worry me, I will skewer both of them to a wall.”

  Wolfe laughed, but he still hesitated a moment before he handed her the key.

  “Go,” Mayra said. “I’ve got this.”

  Wolfe turned and started back the way they had come, toward the dragons’ chambers. Mayra was alone in the corridor. She let herself into the nursery and pocketed the key.

  * * *

  Cherra sat primly on a small bench in the far corner, staring into space. In the other corner, Feshr was laying down on a pallet, bundled up to his ears in quilts. The corners of the room were dark and shadowy; there wasn’t a fire in the room, and it was cold.

  “Are you comfortable enough in here?” Mayra asked courteously.

  Cherra slowly turned her head and looked at Mayra. A slight smile lifted one side of her lips.

  “They feed us well enough,” she replied. “But it’s cold in here.”

  Mayra shrugged. “Yes, I can feel that. Do you want your furs back?”

  Cherra’s bark of laughter echoed in the room. Mayra watched Feshr from the corner of her eye, but the gnome didn’t move. Heavy sleeper?

  “What do I have to give you in return for a little warmth?” Cherra demanded.

  “You could make life easier for both of you, Cherra. If you return Tamsin’s eye, Gaulte will release you and you may return to your cave.”

  “Why would you think I want to go back to living in that cold, damp, wretched cave?” Cherra murmured, and she returned to staring vacantly across the room.

  “I assumed you were happy enough there.”

  Cherra snorted. “In a nasty, wet cavern? Without fine clothes or any company other than those witless guards and gnomes? My brother took me there when I was still a child. I barely knew another home. But no, I wasn’t happy there.”

  Mayra wondered about that. “Did you enjoy your time in Nesht?” she asked softly. “I came to tell you I contacted the king, and Tolle’s father. They want you back in Nesht, for the safety of the child you say you carry. If you help me, then you will receive my help in return.” She gave a slight shrug. “It’s that simple.”

  “Is it?” Cherra asked softly, looking back at Mayra.

  But not directly at her, Mayra realized. She whirled just as a large piece of board went flying past her ear.

  Mayra screamed as the wide side of the board crashed against her shoulder and sent her flying toward a rock wall. She caught herself before she hit the wall and pushed off a bench, throwing a glance at Feshr that promised revenge for that sneaky little durgen.

  The opportunity came much faster than she planned. As Feshr moved clear of Cherra, Mayra snatched up the blade from her boot, turned, and threw it.

  Feshr blinked at her in surprise, then looked down at the blade that protruded from his thigh. He dropped to his knees.

  Mayra barely had time to stumble back from Feshr, holding her throbbing arm next to her, before Cherra leaped to her feet and grabbed up the board. She whirled on Mayra with an eager grin, settling the board in her grip as she prepared to attack.

  As an astonished Mayra watched, Cherra changed yet again. The Phailite woman continued to threaten Mayra with the board, even as her face and body churned and shrank. Within moments, she resumed Mayra’s countenance. The speed of Cherra’s transformation back into Mayra’s mirror image astounded the Ring-Witch.

  Mayra barely had time to reach down and retrieve her other boot dagger before Cherra attacked her. Mayra dodged the board and rammed her unharmed shoulder into Cherra’s gut. The woman grunted and turned, and Mayra again felt the wind of the board whistling past her.

  “Stop it!” Mayra shouted. She flung up her hand and a stream of magic blasted into Cherra’s face. Cherra screamed and dropped the board; her hands flew up to cover her face.

  Mayra took a deep, steadying breath.

  Cherra lowered her hands. Her red eyes streamed with tears. She glowered hatefully at Mayra. As the two women slowly circled, Mayra abruptly realized that Cherra was inching toward Feshr, who still had Mayra’s boot dagger. Mayra let her go—at least Cherra was moving away from that long-reaching piece of wood.

  The Ring-Witch glanced at Feshr. The gnome had already yanked the knife from his thigh. He was binding a piece of cloth around the oozing wound. When Cherra reached Feshr, she leaned down, her eyes never leaving Mayra. Feshr’s filthy little hand pushed the bloody blade into Cherra’s grasping hand.

  Mayra blinked, while the pain in her body warred with the sensation of feeling dense. By the gods, I did not even consider that she was going for that farking blade! she thought. Cherra could easily cut or stab her, for Mayra’s arm was growing numb, and she was lightheaded again.

  Cherra straightened. With each woman holding one of Mayra’s boot blades, Mayra realized she and Cherra now looked identical, even to the color of their clothing. Mayra couldn’t change Cherra back because—as Kantar had pointed out—Cherra wielded magic, generated by the Phailite woman’s being close to Hagan for so many years. Unnatural magic which was too strong for a Ring-Witch to break.

  Fark, Mayra thought and groaned inwardly. Her idea to talk sense into Cherra had seemed so reasonable while she was planning it. Why had Cherra resumed Mayra’s face? This stupid ploy would not help the Phailite woman escape. Mayra glanced at Feshr; the gnome’s breeches seemed bloodier than a few moments earlier.

  “I think it’s time to give it up,” Mayra said calmly, nodding toward the gnome. “Feshr needs a healer.”

  Cherra laughed nastily. “You fool; don’t you know gnomes can almost completely heal themselves?”

  Before Mayra could react, Feshr was on his feet and—

  “Oof!” Mayra mumbled. The gnome slammed into her, a surprisingly substantial being whose weight slammed Mayra to the floor. She landed with a thud. Pain coursed through her and her head was swimming. Feshr jum
ped up and danced gleefully.

  “Kill her!” Cherra snarled. “Stop that, you stupid—Feshr, get her blade, you idiot!”

  Feshr ignored Cherra a moment, then stopped, confusion on his small, wrinkled face. He then bowed to Mayra, then turned and bowed to Cherra. “Two princesses!” he crowed and danced around again.

  Mayra sat back on her legs and shook her head. She felt like a stag-elk had run over her; her legs quivered as she rose. Finally, she staggered to her feet. She swept her hand toward Feshr and sent the gnome flying into the wall. He slid, unconscious, to the floor.

  Cherra stared at the gnome for a moment, then turned on Mayra with a snarl. Mayra, moving toward her dagger—which lay on the shadowy edge of the darkest corner of the room—froze as Cherra tossed the blade she held onto the table and stretched out her arms.

  Just as Mayra dove for her dagger, Cherra opened her arms wide and sent fine threads shooting from her fingertips over Mayra’s hands and feet. Not unlike spider silk, it was the same material Mayra and Fauler had encountered earlier in Hagan’s cavern corridor. Within a few moments, the sticky substance had covered Mayra’s arms, parts of her legs, and the tops of her boots.

  “This is something new!” Cherra said with a smile. “I’ve been practicing. You must have noticed my handiwork in the corridors in Lord Hagan’s cavern.”

  Mayra struggled to free herself, but the pain that shot through her shoulder almost rendered her unconscious. She grappled with the threads that stuck her hands together, trying to free at least one hand while keeping an eye on Cherra.

  Cherra wasted no time—she scooped up the blade and rushed toward Mayra. Mayra struggled to maintain her balance as she turned away, but the wave of magic that slammed into her and caught her off guard was evidence of her injuries. Mayra stumbled back against the wall; as she toppled, she slid down to the floor.

  Mayra muttered a curse; it was difficult to catch her breath. The substance holding her hands had hardened. She tried to turn away but Cherra jerked her around, snatched her other blade away, and tore through Mayra’s tunic. The key! Mayra tried to lean up on her uninjured arm, but Cherra shoved her back down. Mayra felt Cherra’s fingers, tearing at her pockets. When the Phailite woman emerged with the key, she dangled it over Mayra’s face with a mean grin.

  Mayra waited. Cherra had stopped moving and Mayra could hear the other woman’s heavy breathing. Is Cherra going to kill me now? Mayra struggled against anger and pain, trying to find enough energy left in her to cast magic over Cherra

  Mayra could barely see Cherra in the dark until Cherra knelt closer. In the dim, flickering light, Mayra’s own face dipped close to the Ring-Witch—but Mayra knew her features had never been so sinister.

  “Leave us alone,” Cherra whispered. Mayra felt unreal as she watched her own silvery-gray eyes glittering in the torchlight. “You cannot change things.” Mayra was slipping away. Cherra’s next words were fuzzy—almost like a sob and barely discernable—“Please save my baby.”

  And Cherra was gone.

  I can’t do this again—must stay awake. That farking gnome will kill me. Mayra dug her nails into her palms; the sharp pain penetrated the other pains in her body, but only for a moment.

  Mayra stopped struggling against the threads. Wouldn’t it be wiser to search for a magical way to free herself? She stared at her hands and a shiver danced down her back. This place was cold, she should have—

  She stopped short. Cold. Ice. Her pain-dulled brain did a little mental dance over a simple solution: she sent icy magic over her body. The now-brittle threads cracked.

  Moving her upper body was agony. She gradually got herself to a sitting position, but any further movement was impossible with her damaged shoulder. All she could do was stare toward Feshr, waiting for him to awaken and discover how vulnerable she was. If only—

  Her breath caught as she sensed Wolfe, somewhere nearby and without thought she used mind-speak to send out his name.

  It seemed like hours passed before she felt the familiar tingle of Wolfe’s dark magic and the cell door flew open. She felt his presence and heard an enraged curse that brought a smile to her lips. Wolfe had found her.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The Ceshon Aerie

  Day fourteen of the First Moon of Wynter

  Wolfe paused as he left the Librarian’s chambers. He wondered if Mayra was still in the nursery or if she had returned to the common. He started toward the common, stopped in mid-stride and turned back toward the nursery. The key was still off the wall so she was still—

  Wolfe!

  That cry was filled with panic. He broke into a run.

  Mayra was sitting up, holding her arm close to her body. She turned her head to him and gave him a wobbly smile, and he hurried to her side. She grimaced and bit back a cry as he lifted her up into his arms and carried her over to a table, asking her what had happened.

  Mayra sighed. “Cherra is free, and she looks like me again.” Wolfe looked over at Feshr. “I think he’s still alive,” she replied to Wolfe’s unasked question. “I told you someone would end up plastered to a wall.”

  A small yelp escaped Mayra as Wolfe gently examined her shoulder. “My plan didn’t go as I planned it,” she mumbled. “A large piece of wood changed things.”

  “Yes, it seems your scheme had a few holes,” he agreed. “And this will hurt.” He grabbed her upper arm and gave it a quick backward jerk.

  Incredible pain shot through Mayra’s upper body—she ground her teeth against a scream—and the room swam before her eyes. Wolfe held her against him, and then—

  “It’s better!” she whispered in astonishment. She relaxed against him.

  “That bitch wrenched out your shoulder,” he said grimly.

  * * *

  “Actually, it was Feshr who hit me,” Mayra muttered. “That gnome is farking strong. Another bit of retribution for both of them.” Mayra wanted to nestle closer to Wolfe’s warm strength, but she felt she already looked weak enough in his eyes without wanting to cuddle. She turned and permitted him to help her climb off the table.

  As she straightened her tunic, she could tell her shoulder and arm would be tender later, but they were functioning now, when she needed to move, to wield a blade. She glanced at Feshr. He was still breathing; she didn’t care how much longer the little brute was insensible.

  Wolfe led her out into the corridor and placed a charm over the nursery door.

  “What is the quickest way to let the others know Cherra looks like me again without using mind-speak?” Mayra asked.

  “We need to return to Gaulte and let him know. Perhaps he has a way to communicate with his Aerie we don’t know about.”

  Mayra glanced up at him. “So, you suspect this, too? I wondered—it seemed they could speak to each other without our hearing it.” She gave Wolfe a slight smile. “Much as we can keep our mind-speak from others.”

  “I want us to stay together from now on,” Wolfe muttered quickly. He gave her a quick glance, as though he expected her to take offense at his concern, and he changed the subject. “I didn’t think we’d have to track that blue bitch down with her changing herself yet again.”

  Mayra scowled at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You can’t tell us apart, can you? I might have to test you.” She grinned. “As to Cherra, surely she went back to Hagan.”

  “Do you think she knows where he hid Tamsin’s eye?”

  Mayra thought about it, then nodded. “I think she does. But I don’t think she is stupid enough to lead us to it. Come on, I’m up for running now.”

  As they started down the corridor, Mayra’s thoughts slipped briefly back to the last, heartfelt thing Cherra had said to her.

  Please save my baby.

  It could mean so many things, but two things stood out in Mayra’s mind. Cherra had not killed her, and she had given Mayra a direct means to control her that Hagan might not even know about. Despite all her wicked tricks,
Cherra had revealed her vulnerability.

  * * *

  Cherra always knew where Hagan was, such was the nature of the magic they shared. She slipped from corners to shadows, following the sensations that pulled her toward him until she arrived at the corridor that led to the back of the Aerie.

  She stopped, wondering who was guarding Hagan now. If the guards were male, could wearing Mayra’s face allow her to charm them into helping Cherra? As she was mulling this over, she realized she wasn’t alone in the dim corridor. She slipped into a shadow, held the blade close to her, and waited for the soft sounds to grow nearer.

  Two dragons, who looked to be four- or five-yearlings, were speaking aloud, slowly and quietly, as they walked through the adjacent passageway. Cherra quickly stepped out of her hiding place and they stopped short when they noticed her.

  For the first time since her escape, Cherra felt confident she had done the right thing by using Mayra’s form to get to Hagan. These two would be easy to trick, or they would discover a level of dark dragon magic they probably hadn’t known existed.

  Hello young ones, she sent with a smile. They were, she noticed, very similar in appearance, but one was blue and the other, green.

  They both looked surprised, and one of them glanced at the other. Cherra’s hand tightened around the blade hidden in the folds of her tunic.

  “Mayra, you are supposed to speak human with us now,” the blue youngling complained.

  Cherra couldn’t speak; she didn’t know if dragons understood accents. If they did, her voice would give her away at once. And she would have to kill them.

  Cherra hesitated, frustrated. She liked young dragons, but these two represented danger to her. She didn’t want them running for help. And she needed to go!

  My throat hurts today, she told them. I must speak this way for now.

  Should we tell Shaura? the green dragon asked with concern.

  Cherra paused. Thoughts flew through her head—who the hell was that? Male or female, she ought to know! She smiled down at them.

  No, I already did. But why don’t you go with me to see our captive, Hagan? I am going to ask him some questions. On the way, you can practice speaking human with me.