Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  As Anadi transferred Jene and the other nestling to Mayra, Qintas said he would let the others of their group know what had happened. Anadi and Qintas let themselves into the common room.

  Wolfe and Mayra then started toward Gaulte’s chambers. As soon as they turned down the main corridor toward the dragons’ chambers, they ran into Fleura and Fyrid.

  “We found Theura,” Fleura said. Her eyes rounded as Smok poked his head out of Mayra’s tunic and chirped a greeting at her. Fleura ran her finger down Smok’s bumpy head, then squealed when Smok pushed a nestling up for her to see.

  Fyrid groaned. Wolfe shook his head and started to speak when everything in his head went dark for a moment.

  The Roost. Wolfe stopped short and Mayra bumped into his back. Protect the Roost.

  Wolfe looked around. At first, he didn’t recognize the gravelly, squeaky mind-speak, but it was insistent, sending a brief picture of the cavern room flashing through Wolfe’s head, replete with large bowls of brilliantly colored dragon eggs the size of his fist. He tried to send it away, but the picture returned, but this time, it was not empty. There—

  Poppie!

  Once again, some great need had driven his familiar to speak to him.

  “We need to go to the Aerie Egg Roost,” Wolfe said brusquely. At Mayra’s questioning look, he nodded. Fleura was still fussing over the dragonlets’ nestlings, and Fyrid looked annoyed. Wolfe sympathized—they were supposed to be heading into battle and Fyrid’s woman and partner was playing with the doll-like nestlings.

  Wolfe’s thoughts went back to the problem at hand. It appeared only he had heard the strange, persistent voice of his familiar. But before, she had included Mayra in her mind-speak. Did the black cat want to remain unknown to the other two humans?

  “Wolfe, the dragonlets need food,” Mayra repeated.

  Wolfe hesitated. He wanted Mayra to drop the little beasts off in the common, but for reasons he couldn’t put his finger on, he was very reluctant to let the dragonlets out of his sight. He gave a short nod.

  “We can go back to the common. If there’s food left there, we can take a few moments to feed them.”

  * * *

  The witches and Phailites were preparing to search the Aerie for the missing prisoners. Mayra had barely gotten the dragonlets settled when the female, Jene, jumped the small distance to Fleura’s arm. Jene, now carrying both of her nestlings, scurried up to the neck of Fleura’s tunic and settled herself on Fleura’s shoulder. The dragonlet took the meat Shaura offered and sat back, munching daintily as the nestling clamored to climb up to her mouth. Finally, the mother dragonlet opened her mouth wide and offered chewed-up food to the young ones.

  “That’s revolting,” Fyrid said, his voice reflecting his disgust.

  “I guess that’s how the little ones eat,” Fleura said with a shrug. “They seem to feed like fire-lizard young, if so, both of the parents feed the young that way.”

  Wolfe drew Mayra away from the others, closer to the fireplace. He had been thinking about Larek’s comment as he ran from the cell—why had Fauler and Larek run from facing Hagan, and when had immediately protecting younglings suddenly become so important? And what had brought about the strange mind-speak message that urged Wolfe to go to the Roost?

  “I believe someone thinks the dragons need to extend protection over the Roost,” he softly to Mayra alone.

  “Someone?” Her eyebrows drew together. “Not the dragons?” Wolfe shook his head. “It must have been someone who cares about the eggs,” she mused. “But also someone who knows we know what and where the Egg Roost is.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Wolfe admitted. He tugged gently on a tress of her loose hair and she smiled up at him. “This is someone,” he said, with a spark of mischief, “who has a squeaky mind-speak, who was there—”

  “Poppie!” Mayra gasped. “She is calling to you?”

  Gaulte had unintentionally introduced Wolfe, Mayra, and Fleura to the Roost almost as soon as the humans arrived at the Aerie. Poppie had joined the witches after they had seen the black dragon sneaking around the Aerie and had followed him, his strange actions making them curious.

  Hurry! The return of Poppie’s mind-speak made Wolfe jump. The eggs—the Roost—Her mind-speak trailed off. Wolfe rose. “We need to go,” he said abruptly. “Fleura, bring the dragonlets. Come, Fyrid, we’re going to the Egg-Roost. The rest of you, start searching.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  The Ceshon Aerie

  Day fourteen of the First Moon of Wynter

  “Oh!” Mayra gasped as they flew out the Aerie entry and the icy air hit her in the face. No one had thought to put on their outdoor furs. Fyrid and Wolfe looked comfortable enough in their leather vests and heavy tunics and breeches. Fleura bundled the dragonlets within her scarf and moved them closer to her.

  The four humans ran down the path toward the back of the Aerie and the Roost, finally stopping before the rock that guarded the entry. When they had first followed Gaulte to the opening in the immense rock, the black dragon had already moved the massive stone away from the opening. They now gazed up at a rock nearly as tall as Gaulte. The top of the rock had been shattered; the debris prevented more than one at a time from getting close enough to touch the huge rock that served as a door.

  Wolfe pressed splayed fingers of both hands against the rock and he pressed. Wolfe wore a thick tunic but Mayra could still see muscles knotting in his back and shoulders. A more physical warmth went through her until a too-familiar scream of rock against rock snatched her attention from Wolfe’s body. She squeezed her eyes shut a moment and ground her teeth. But gradually, the rock moved to one side. When there was enough room for his deep chest to slide through, the others easily followed him in, single file past the angled rock that shielded the entry into the back of the Roost. With the room to do it, all four easily moved the rock back into place.

  Mayra swept her hands over her head as soon as they entered the cave and, lighting the chamber ceiling to daylight brightness. As they walked along the curve of the corridor toward the larger cavern, her magic followed, casting its brilliant blue light over the cavern.

  The Roost was unchanged, two huge tables, covered with shallow wooden bowls. Someone had decorated each wide bowl with colors and designs. Some looked old, some new, and the dragon owners had filled each with stiff dried grass that cradled several dragon eggs. And all were alike, round and about the size of Wolfe’s fist, in myriad shimmering colors. The coldness of the chamber kept the eggs suspended—alive but not ready to grow and hatch.

  Mayra wondered how the dragons knew which eggs belonged to which families. She looked around carefully; everything looked as orderly as it had been when she had been there before. Nothing looked out of place. Another memory struck her—how sad Gaulte had been when Mayra thoughtlessly asked the black dragon if all the eggs were his. Gaulte had answered; Dragons lay their eggs when first mated and save them throughout the years. Hesta could produce but a small clutch, none but three were viable, and Tamsin barely was.

  Now Mayra said, “I am concerned over why none of the dragons are here protecting the Roost.” She glanced at Wolfe. “Wolfe, we are placing ourselves in the back of a cavern with no exit.”

  “I know,” he returned. “Believe me, my sweet, that was the first thing I thought of.”

  Mayra looked around. “It makes me wonder,” she mused, “Could Hagan possible have been that voice sending us here and into a trap?”

  “What voice?” Fyrid asked.

  Wolfe hesitated, then quickly explained to Fleura and Fyrid about the voice that brought him here. He skipped over who had spoken to him, immediately mentioning his concern over a possible link between Hagan and the dragonlets. And as he expected, being trapped in the back of the Roost was foremost in all their minds.

  Fleura was telling Fyrid how Gaulte had inadvertently led the witches to the Roost, finishing with, “Gaulte told us that these are the eggs of all the dragons
in the Aerie who have produced eggs.” Her blond eyebrows drew together. “He also said the eggs are very valuable to humans.”

  Mayra moved closer to a section of the large, shallow bowls. The many beautiful colors of dragon eggs glimmered softly in the magical light she had created. “These are the future of the Aerie,” she murmured. “How could they not wish to protect them?”

  A black shade moved, and Mayra’s blade was halfway out before the shadow jumped up and Poppie landed on Wolfe’s shoulder.

  “Poppie!” Mayra gasped. “You startled me!”

  So sorry, my dear witchling.

  Mayra smiled; Fyrid and Fleura, on either side of her, spoke at once—

  “Did Poppie—”

  “Did you hear her—”

  They looked at each other, then at the small black cat who sat imperiously on Wolfe’s shoulder. Mayra stepped closer to the small cat and laid her fingers on Poppie’s paw.

  “Poppie?” the Ring-Witch asked. “Why did you call Wolfe to the Roost?”

  I called him, dear Mayra, for I was called here. The cat began to purr—she stopped when Smok popped his head out from Fleura’s tunic. Poppie’s mind-speak became irritated. So, the nestlings hatched. And now that beast yonder has no reason to further betray you. So saying, Poppie then rubbed her head against Wolfe’s jaw and resumed purring.

  Mayra smiled, as her powerful mate seemed to melt against his familiar. But her smile faded almost at once. Just how many times—and in which ways—had Smok betrayed them? And why hadn’t Poppie told them earlier that they should beware of the dragonlet?

  Wolfe rubbed his hand across his stubbled face; it helped him keep his face expressionless. He saw Mayra occasionally glance at Poppie, somewhat annoyed with the familiar, and he agreed. If Poppie suspected the dragonlet was deceiving the witches, she should have told her magical companion. If Poppie wanted to remain unknown to anyone but Wolfe, Mayra, and Gaulte, they would have respected that.

  Wolfe chuckled. Perhaps Poppie was irritated at Wolfe! The Ring-Witch and his familiar had been apart too long. As long as Wolfe felt her presence, no matter how faint, he knew she was safe. But he hadn’t been giving her the attention he should have. Poppie rubbed her cheek against his jaw; he knew she forgave him, probably already knew that Wolfe thoughts had already moved past his familiar—and on to Smok.

  His icy-blue eyes met the silvery-gray eyes of Mayra and she gave him a slow nod. Their thoughts often ran along the same lines, as they did now—how had Smok betrayed them?

  * * *

  And now that beast yonder has no reason further betray you. Poppie’s mind-speak echoed in Wolfe’s head.

  Wolfe scowled. He wasn’t certain why Poppie had told those in the Roost Smok had betrayed the witches to Hagan. It might have been a deliberate act to turn the betrayal back on Smok or part of a plan, but that outwardly harmless dragonlet had just made many people angry. Wolfe felt it was his duty to “explain” to Smok that betrayal was unforgivable.

  Wolfe raised a hand and flexed his fingers. His eyes fixed on the dragonlet, who let out a small sound and jumped from Fleura’s tunic to a bowl of dragon eggs. Wolfe was aiming a finger toward Smok, preparing to slow him down, when Jene—the shy blue dragonlet—let out a loud screech! She scurried out onto Fleura’s shoulder and rose back on her legs.

  Jene’s actions surprised Wolfe; the tiny female looked ferocious!

  A frail little mind-speak crept into the humans’ heads.

  Harm Smok no! Then stronger: Leave Smok alone!

  * * *

  In the world of the magical, few things surprised Mayra any longer, but as she stared at the dragonlet she had to admit—this time she was genuinely shocked. And Fleura’s previous reaction to Poppie’s mind-speak was nothing compared to that of hearing angry little Jene ready to battle against Wolfe. They clearly knew little to nothing about dragonlets, other than what Gaulte and Larek had opined—dragonlets were lazy, useless, and ate too much. And they certainly couldn’t speak.

  Wolfe stopped before his hand could close around Smok. Wolfe’s face was stony, his eyes narrowed, his lips thinned. He looked angry, even savage.

  Mayra knew her mate’s thoughts—the dragonlet had just used mind-speak to let Hagan know where they were. But she didn’t believe that; Mayra recognized Jene’s demeanor—she was defending her mate.

  Fleura and Fyrid, staring speechless at the female dragonlet, seemed to think so, too. Fleura grinned and Fyrid reached out to stroke Jene’s bumpy little head. The tiny creature made the odd, purring noise of a happy dragonlet.

  Mayra wasn’t certain she could take any more surprises. But one certainty struck her—the tiniest creatures in the Aerie seemed to keep the greatest secrets.

  “I don’t think she did that to call Hagan,” Mayra whispered to Wolfe. “She was protecting her mate.” Wolfe raised an eyebrow her way, and she gave a slight shrug, as though to say what’s done is done and we’ll see what happens.

  “I won’t hurt Smok,” Wolfe promised as he sat down on a pile of dry grass near the bowl where Smok sat. Mayra joined him on the cobbled ground. His deep voice seemed to calm the dragonlets, for Jene hunkered back down in Fleura’s tunic with her young, and Smok jumped onto Wolfe’s shoulder. Poppie, obviously wanting nothing to do with the dragonlets, gave a small hiss and leaped into Mayra’s lap. Mayra ran her hand down Poppie’s back; the vibration of the cat’s purr beneath her fingers relaxed her.

  “Do you think Hagan heard Poppie or Jene talking to us?” she asked the others.

  “I don’t know about the dragonlets,” Wolfe replied, gazing down at the small red dragonlet who now sat on his knee, rubbing his head against Wolfe’s fingers. “If Hagan heard Poppie, he might not know who—or what—was speaking.”

  Fleura and Fyrid gathered more of the dried nest grass from the back of the cavern and made the seating more comfortable around the table of egg-bowls. With all four humans now seated, the room would look empty to anyone entering the Roost.

  Mayra gazed down at Poppie, wondering why the cat had not revealed the reason she had called out to Wolfe, or who had called her to the Roost. Whatever the cause, four humans, two dragonlets, and a magical cat had assigned themselves to guard the eggs. She wished she dared use mind-speak to send that reassuring information to Gaulte, but Hagan had earlier revealed that he could hear any of them and she wasn’t sure how close he had to be to do so.

  The humans and animals sat in silence for several long, restful minutes when Poppie rose up on Mayra’s leg, her fur standing on end as she stared at the entryway.

  “Wolfe,” Mayra whispered.

  “I see her,” he returned. “Everyone up. I think Hagan is—”

  The ground shook beneath them, then again. Fleura scooped up all the dragonlets, set them among the eggs, and drew her sword.

  A crash of rock-against-rock, shuddered through the cavern as something—likely Hagan—threw aside the rock at the entrance and by the sound of it, through force rather than magic. Hagan roared again. The tables—and the bowls and eggs on them—rattled and shook. Another, closer roar told them Hagan was in the corridor leading from the main entryway.

  As Fleura and Fyrid moved in front of the eggs, their weapons drawn, Wolfe’s gestures sent them into the shadows on either side of him.

  Wolfe did not draw his blade, but waited with a weapon that was more apt in facing this foe—his magic. He was the only one adept enough, and whose magic was powerful enough, not only to inflict damage while surrounded by the precious eggs, but to protect humans and eggs from Hagan.

  And Mayra had vanished from the sight of anything entering the Roost.

  * * *

  Mayra, waiting in the deep, enhanced shadows just inside the narrower entry into the egg room, tensed as Hagan grew closer. She forced her muscles to relax, just as Hagan appeared in the archway. She was so close to him, she could smell him. It wasn’t pleasant. Roaring, his tongue lolling, he dug his talons into the wall on either side of
him. Mayra drew back as far as she could. Hagan walked on his back legs; if he extended his arms and continued to scrape his long talons along the wall as he moved forward, he would find her.

  As soon as Hagan stepped into the Roost, Wolfe rose and flung his hands up. A black stream of his powerful magic flew out and smashed into the dragon’s head, lifting and slamming him back against the wall, opposite Mayra.

  Crash!

  The entire room shook with the impact. Hagan shook his head and hunkered down, his evil dark-yellow eyes on Wolfe as the dragon steadied himself on his feet, and took another step forward.

  Mayra could see puzzlement in her mate’s face; Wolfe had spread a glimmering black net of magic over the eggs as clearly he had expected the dragon to retaliate with magic. But Hagan wasn’t using the powerful magic he had earlier displayed outside his cavern.

  Wolfe couldn’t maintain the protective net while fighting. He dissipated it and drew his huge blade. Mayra knew how Wolfe thought—if the dragon wouldn’t fight with magic, Wolfe would battle with a blade against talons and teeth.

  Mayra flattened herself against the shadowy wall. She had to get behind the monstrous dragon and distract him with her own sharp assault. But as she tensed to make her move, Smok suddenly rose on his hind legs from within the bowls of eggs and gave a roar that was startlingly loud for something so small.

  Hagan stopped. He hissed softly; in that instant, Poppie vanished in a glittering blue ball and reappeared near Mayra. Mayra dropped to one knee, scooped up the small cat, and brought their heads together. Mayra strained to send Poppie a picture of Gaulte then released the cat. But Hagan had sensed or felt the mind-speak; he jerked slightly toward them. Poppie streaked out from the corner and the dragon grunted.

  “Rat,” Hagan muttered and snickered.

  Poppie stopped and whirled in one movement. She flew at the dragon and sank her teeth into his foot. Blood spurted over her teeth. The pain made Hagan howl; he snarled as he kicked Poppie with a spiked back foot, sending her tail-over-head into a pile of dried grass. Before Mayra could get to the tiny cat, Poppie vanished in a glittering blue cloud.