Hagan, still growling under his breath, turned back to Smok and focused his attention on the tiny dragonlet. “You made no sounds when I used you,” he hissed. “What manner of a dragon are you?”
The dragonlet growled. Mayra’s eyes flew to the little creature as trickles of smoke rose from his nostrils yet again. And then, she barely choked back a surprised yelp.
Smok grew larger.
“Alterer!” Hagan jeered. “Foul lore, creature of dark tales!”
Mayra continued to stare at Smok. The dragonlet was shifting, his neck lengthening until his head was at the end of a snakelike neck. His arms and human-like hands enlarged as the talons extended.
As Hagan took another step forward, Smok’s mouth opened wide and a huge fiery flame spewed forth, hitting Hagan in the face.
Hagan bellowed in pain. Mayra, poised to launch a stream of her own magical fire at the wounded dragon, stopped short. Strategy, she thought. Fleura and Fyrid remained hidden. Hagan doesn’t yet know we three are here.
Mayra suspected Wolfe might also want to see what else Smok would do to the dragon that had held him and his family captive for so long. She could see Fleura and Fyrid moving in the shadows. Again, Wolfe’s gestured, moving them closer to the eggs and the tiny family. Mayra knew Fleura would stay near the table to guard the dragonlets, but she was just as sure Fyrid would not. He would fight with Wolfe.
Hagan rubbed his burned eyes and surprised Mayra by letting loose with a nasty, grating laugh. “You cannot fight, can you?” sneered the dragon to Smok. “Mindless altered beast, you can only protect humans, yet not battle your kind?”
Mayra’s head tilted as she focused on that word—protect. Had Smok’s mate and eggs ever been in true danger? Were they in danger even now, or was Hagan once again using them to distract the humans? If that were the case, she feared Smok was no longer playing Hagan’s game. That was what Poppie had meant about Smok’s young having hatched. Hagan couldn’t use them to control Smok, and the dragonlet would have his revenge.
The dragonlet—hunched over and growling—was now larger than Gabrel, but far lighter and nimbler. And he was protecting his family. He suddenly raised his arms and extended his wings. His wings drew in and shrank into his arms, as his talons grew still longer and sharper. Throughout this further alteration, he glowered and growled up at Hagan.
Mayra saw the muscles in Smok’s legs tighten and she took a step back.
Mayra knew Smok was readying to attack, but the swift ferocity of his strike still startled her and she gasped. The dragonlet’s gaping mouth opened wider for another bite; his long, serrated teeth sank into Hagan’s shoulder as his talons grabbed the first thing he reached on the larger dragon’s face—Hagan’s lower jaw. Smok closed his blade-like claws and Hagan roared in pain as he tried to grab onto Smok.
Mayra looked beyond the battling dragons where Jene clutched her nestlings to her chest. The Ring-Witch wondered if she could sneak behind them and grab the dragonlets. As she moved, she froze. There, behind the tiny blue dragon, was a gleaming blue egg with a shape of another kind. It took everything in Mayra’s power not to cry out at her discovery.
She had found Tamsin’s eye.
Chapter Forty-Two
The Ceshon Aerie
Day fourteen of the First Moon of Wynter
Blood spewed from Hagan’s jaw and chest. He roared—a ragged, keening noise that Wolfe knew was fury mixed with pain. Beyond Hagan, Wolfe could see Mayra, but her eyes weren’t on the fighting dragons; rather, they were fixed on Jene. Wolfe edged closer to the flat bowls, hoping to grab up the dragonlets and move them. He glanced at Mayra yet again, wondering what had caught her—and then he saw what transfixed his mate.
Jene’s back leg brushed against the glimmering blue jewel. She slowly extended her tiny wings and moved over it, her attention never leaving the monstrous dragon. Wolfe’s eyebrows shot up. The female dragonlet was protecting the eye. He glanced at Mayra just as she looked at him; she nodded and finally looked away.
Fleura hovered near the little dragonlet and Wolfe heard her gasp the moment she saw Tamsin’s eye. If Fleura scooped up the dragonlets again, he hoped she would remember to grab the eye. If not, if he could get closer—
Hagan threw back his head, releasing a long, shrill roar; Smok—almost as though he’d been waiting for an opportunity—sprang onto Hagan’s chest and drove those impossibly long claws into the larger dragon’s throat. Hagan flopped back and forth, his wings flapping against the side of the cave as he clawed frantically at his throat trying to grab Smok.
Mayra winced as Hagan hooked his heavy talons into the altered dragon. He wrenched Smok up and away and shoved the blue dragonlet away from him. Fresh blood gushed out from Hagan’s ripped throat. It was a stupid move, Wolfe noted, as Hagan might now bleed to death.
Hagan was still holding Smok away from him, but the huge dragon suddenly grabbed him up and flung him to the ground. He raised one foot, preparing to stomp on the smaller dragon when Mayra’s slender black sword appeared behind him, slashed down, and buried itself in his thigh.
The resulting scream of pain rattled the eggs. Smok jumped to his feet and turned his attention on Hagan’s injured leg. Mayra barely had time to pull her blade from Hagan’s flesh before the dragonlet buried his huge, jagged teeth deep in Hagan’s thigh. Hagan’s disjointed words mixed with slobbering roars and screams, until Hagan struck Smok away and the smaller dragon flew across the room. Hagan started to turn toward the back of the cave—a chill crawled through Wolfe—toward Mayra.
Before Wolfe could even move, Smok was on his feet again; he jumped up onto a table and ran almost daintily across the wooden slats that strengthened the tables, running not toward Hagan, but toward his family. Or perhaps, Wolfe thought, the eye.
“No, Smok!” Mayra cried out. She ran around Hagan, slipped on blood, and grabbed the table to steady herself. Smok turned and hunkered down as though readying himself to attack again.
Oh no! Mayra’s mind-speak was involuntary. He’s protecting me!
Hagan’s spiked hand shot out and slammed into Smok’s head with a bone-crunching whap. The dragonlet flew over the table and smashed against the wall next to Wolfe with a sickening crash! Smok went sliding down to the ground in silence.
Mayra’s enraged scream was lost amid Hagan’s triumphant roars. Hagan leaped up and forward; Mayra’s heart slammed against her chest as he jumped toward the dragonlet family. Had Hagan also seen the eye? The floor was slippery with his blood. He landed and slid against the table, sending eggs scattering. Fyrid and Fleura scurried to catch those they could, and to move them to safety in the dry grass.
As Wolfe jumped up, intent on saving both the dragonlets and the eye, another figure ran into his side view. Mayra? He heard shouts echoing down into the chamber, but his concern was for his mate. He started to shout Mayra’s name, but he realized—the clothing!
Mayra was still in the shadows. It was Cherra! Her face held nothing but joy as she pushed Mayra aside—his woman hadn’t seen that coming and slammed into the wall—and Wolfe’s growl equaled that of Jene guarding her young.
But Mayra was made of tougher stuff; she cursed Cherra loudly and jumped to her feet, blade poised to cut as she ran toward Cherra.
Cherra whirled and grabbed Mayra and both women slipped to the ground. One jumped on the other and within moments, Hagan’s blood covered them both. Wolfe cursed more loudly than Mayra had as Hagan whirled. He looked from one female to the other, then jumped forward and stuck a huge blow against one woman’s head.
That Mayra crumbled to the filthy floor, yanking the other down with her. Hagan stopped and stared down. Fleura and Fyrid were at the dragon’s heaving side at once, holding their blades against Hagan’s chest, close to his heart, ready to strike.
“He is Gaulte’s! But kill him if he moves.” Wolfe shouted as he ran to kneel between the two women. Only one was still, the other was trying to move out from under the one Hagan had struck. T
hey were too bloody for him to tell—
“Is she breathing?” Fleura cried.
Wolfe slipped his arms around the unmoving woman to pick her up. Almost at once, he set her back down, and uttered a soft, “Fark.” He knew at once—she wasn’t Mayra. He pushed her aside and lifted his dazed mate away from the filth.
“Her face—” Fyrid began and broke off, gaping over Wolfe’s shoulder.
Wolfe rose with Mayra and turned. Gaulte and Larek stood in the entryway and each had a tight grasp on Hagan. When the hell had they come in?
Wolfe returned his gaze to Cherra, and abruptly had the answer to the question he had asked of the Elder and the Librarian. Was there a way to make Cherra involuntarily shift back to her own appearance? It seemed so—
Where before, the two blood-covered women had been identical, an unconscious Cherra could not maintain her shifted countenance. The muscles beneath her skin churned and moved as her skin gradually became blue, her hair color lightened to white, and the Phailite woman shifted back to herself.
“Cherra!” Hagan roared. His roar trailed off, becoming almost a sound of anguish. “Cherra, no!”
Wolfe stared at the dragon in mute astonishment. The farking dragon cared about the pale-blue woman! Wolfe’s eyes returned to Cherra, and he saw her fingers twitch. The bitch was still alive. Had anyone else seen her move? Wolfe turned to Fyrid and jerked his head toward the supine woman. Watch her, he mouthed.
Mayra was trying to wipe her face with hands that were just as filthy. Wolfe started to use the corner of his tunic to help her.
“Here.” Fleura handed him a flask of water, and he washed Mayra’s face and arms clean of the remaining blood and dirt. She gave him a wan smile and drank off the rest of the water, then turned to thank Fleura—
A long mournful sound filled the cavern.
Smok gone far away.
The tiny voice seemed to bring the humans to life. Fleura hurried over to help the red dragonlet. The others heard her soft cry. When Fleura rose, she was carrying Smok’s lifeless body, reverted to its natural size. A small sob escaped Mayra, and she buried her face in Wolfe’s tunic. He felt her shoulders shake and held her tightly against him.
Gaulte was staring at the female dragonlet and her young. No, Wolfe realized, the black dragon’s eyes had locked on Tamsin’s eye. With the room so quiet, the sudden catch in Gaulte’s breath was as good as shouted.
A strange laughing and gurgling sound came from Hagan. “You are a soft, human-loving dragon,” he said to Gaulte in an eerie, shattered voice. “Even as I die, I am a better dragon than you ever could be.”
No, Gaulte, don’t listen to him—Wolfe thought in dismay—
And Hagan was suddenly alive, jerking away from Larek and lunging for the table. Gaulte reared back on his legs and grabbed Hagan. Everything in the Roost that could move was scrambling out of their way.
To Mayra’s astonishment, she could hear a rumbling song beginning in Gaulte’s massive chest. Was he going to use Dragon-Song to stop Hagan? But the song stopped as quickly as it had started, and when Gaulte sank his huge fangs into Hagan’s already-wounded shoulder, the resulting roar of rage and pain covered any other sound in the Roost.
The Roost was a huge cavern, but it seemed scarcely large enough to contain the two battling dragons. They rolled over each other, snarling, jaws opened wide to expose huge, gnashing, ripping teeth. Their claws dug into each other, ripping away chunks of flesh. Even Wolfe, accustomed to brutality, flinched as Gaulte’s head swiftly darted in and out, his strong jaws inflicting deep and savage bites. The roars from Hagan were dwindling. Bleeding from several places, he was growing weaker by the moment. After one last turn across the floor, the black dragon rose. His mouth opened wide as he roared and sank his teeth into Hagan’s throat.
When Gaulte lifted his head, the lifeless body of Hagan hung from his jaws. Blood poured from the carcass, streaming from a huge rip in his throat and dripping from countless rips and tears. Gaulte had finished what Smok had started.
Quiet fell over the Roost. When Cherra’s shriek filled the chamber, it startled Wolfe so badly he almost released Mayra. Fyrid had pulled Cherra out of the way of the fighting dragons; that she was alive was now chillingly evident.
Cherra rose to her knees, her hands over her lips. “You killed him!” she whispered. “You did it! You killed him!”
And she laughed. That incongruent noise rose and rose until slap! Cherra hit the ground. Fleura winced, and flapped her hand back and forth to ease the sting of silencing Cherra.
Fyrid sheathed his sword and walked over to the black dragon, still holding Hagan between his jaws. The young Phailite dipped two fingers in the blood that dripped from Hagan’s throat and raised them to Gaulte’s head, where he carefully drew a line of blood across Gaulte’s brow ridge. Fyrid gathered another glob of congealing blood and drew a line down between Gaulte’s eyes.
Next, he drew the long blade from the sheath on his thigh, and carefully removed scale after scale from Hagan’s chest, until he had gotten what Wolfe assumed was enough to present one to each being who had battled Hagan. And then—
“Hagan has earned the most glorious mark of Sorst,” Fyrid said flatly. “Please drop the body, Gaulte.” Gaulte did so, looking startled by Fyrid’s soft, commanding tone.
Fyrid glanced over his shoulder at his transfixed audience. Mayra thought that for a moment he was enjoying himself—but no. The young man was grimly serious about what he was doing.
Fyrid turned his face up to Gaulte. “We of the Sorst Clan finish a victorious battle with what we feel to be the most appropriate expression of scorn for the dead who battled against us—and were slain.”
So saying, he turned his back on the other humans and he peed on the corpse of Hagan. The piss hissed as it hit the cooling body.
Mayra was flabbergasted. She had seen many things in her years as a warrior but—this was the glorious mark of the Sorst Clan? She didn’t want to sound as insane as Cherra had, but she couldn’t help it. She laughed. Wolfe shook his head, but he too joined his mate and soon afterward, the others were laughing.
Gaulte chuckled. “Humans are odd creatures,” he mumbled. But then he turned, lifted a leg, and followed Fyrid’s example, releasing a long stream of pee over the corpse. The people screamed halfheartedly, fanning the air with their hands.
“So sorry,” Gaulte said self-consciously. “Dragons are normally much too fastidious to do such a thing! But I think we dragons have found a new ancient tradition.”
Wolfe reached over her, scooped up the small dragonlet family and handed them to Fleura, then returned for the eye.
Gaulte already had it. Tiny in his huge hand, the eye shone as it came in contact with a dragon. Like the pure dragon magic it was.
He held it tenderly, reverently.
“Oh, Gaulte,” Mayra whispered, and stumbled over to her friend. “Can it—can Tamsin ever use it again?”
“No,” came a soft voice from behind Gaulte. Hesta walked forward, staring first at the dead Hagan, then at Mayra, who had a clean face and chest, but was still a bloody mess. “Is that—are you hurt, little witchling?”
“No, Hesta, none of this blood is mine. Only Hagan’s. And”—she swallowed—”perhaps Smok’s. He died trying to protect his family, as Jene was protecting her young and Tamsin’s eye.”
Hesta moved closer to Fleura and lowered her head to gaze at Jene for a moment. The red dragon extended a talon; the dragonlet bravely stood her ground as Hesta gently touched Jene’s head. “Forever after, you and your kin are brave dragons of the Ceshon Aerie,” Hesta whispered.
With that, Hesta turned and gazed for a long moment at the eye of her youngest nestling. “That evil bastard changed it,” she muttered. “It does no dragon any good. We do not need our power magnified.”
She looked into Gaulte’s eyes, he nodded, and before anyone could guess what they were going to do, Gaulte held up the magical blue talisman and the two dragons crus
hed it between their front hands.
It vanished in a puff of glittering blue, not unlike Mayra’s magic.
“Maman?”
The tiny voice from the corridor sent Mayra running forward, before any of the dragons could react. Mayra dropped to her knees beside Tamsin and threw her arms around her neck. Tamsin sat on her back feet and pulled Mayra into a fierce hug.
It was a very odd-looking embrace, Wolfe thought. But Mayra and the pale-red dragon-child released each other, and Mayra sent Tamsin to her mother.
“Something was bringing me here,” Tamsin said grumpily. “It was calling me to come here. I was playing games, but I came here, and then it stopped.”
* * *
Tamsin looked very perturbed at being drawn from her games, Mayra thought as she rose and moved close to Wolfe. The little dragon wore a golden cloth to cover her missing eye. Where another youngling might have looked rakish or playful, Tamsin still looked sweet and childlike.
“Your eye was here in the Roost,” Hesta said. Tamsin nestled close to her, between her front legs, her eyes fastened on Hagan’s body. “It was calling you. Tamsin, but it is gone now. That wicked dragon changed it, to use for bad magic, so we had to destroy it. It could never be your eye again.”
“Is he dead?” Tamsin asked with ghoulish fascination.
“He is, by your sire’s hand,” Hesta replied.
Tamsin freed herself from her mother’s embrace. She walked forward cautiously, stopping next to Hagan’s body.
“Evil dragon,” she whispered. Her faltering words conveyed her lingering fear of Hagan. She stole a quick glance at her sire; he gave her a slight nod. Suddenly, she sent a foot flying into the side of the dead dragon, and yelled, “You hurt me and my mother, and my sire hurt you back!” With that, she scurried back to her mother.
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