Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  Mayra turned and buried her face in Wolfe’s tunic, yet again bursting into tears. What was wrong with her? She gained control of herself and turned to find Hesta’s eyes on her.

  The red dragon looked thoughtful. Very thoughtful.

  * * *

  Wolfe’s eyes followed Fleura as she led Mayra away from the blood and gore scattered across the floor to the entry into the egg room, where they stopped. By the glances given Fyrid by the two women, he imagined he knew what they were discussing.

  He moved around the edge of the cavern as he sought Fyrid. That young man had deliberately turned away from the women before pissing on Hagan and Wolfe was curious Did young Fyrid turn away because the ritual made uncomfortable? Or had Fyrid been raised to shield women from such vulgar things? If Fyrid felt he should shield the female witches from offensive acts, at least he’d had the sense to hide it from these particular women. Wolfe thought trying to treat a female witch-warrior like a refined woman was both a challenging and an admirable thing to do.

  After his unusual ritual, Fyrid had not returned to Fleura; rather he had walked over to the entryway and leaned against the rock wall. When Fleura led Mayra from the gore, he didn’t seem to notice.

  “That was an unusual ending to a battle,” Wolfe declared as he joined Fyrid. The older man leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “It usually takes a man many years and clashes to learn of the satisfaction he can take after a battle by taking vengeance on the enemy corpses.”

  Pale purple colored Fyrid’s face, but he grinned. “It has its uses, as it’s usually performed in front of the losing Clan by our men, celebrating with plenty of ale and other spirits.” He glanced across the room toward Mayra and Fleura and the purple returned to his face. “At least, that’s what the tales of our elder men tell us. I-I never did it in front of women before.” He shrugged. “But how could they understand? There’s a time for such things; it couldn’t wait.”

  Wolfe returned the grin and clapped Fyrid on the shoulder. “It was more than that, Fyrid. That was a rite that endeared you to the dragons, offended the women, and made me eager to be in battle with you some day, where I might see this ritual performed by noisy, drunken victors!”

  * * *

  The weary humans left the Roost to make their way back to their common, only to find that both witches and dragons lined the corridor. All were silent, waiting either to hear of Hagan’s fate or to be part of that fate themselves. There was no way Hagan would have escaped the Aerie.

  The dragons were already starting to celebrate the death of their enemy by their fierce leader. But Wolfe knew Mayra was ready for a bath and some rest, in their own chamber. As they walked that way, he suddenly paused, and drew her into his arms. “Mayra, I picked up Cherra first.”

  She looked up at him a long moment, then shrugged. “We were covered in filth. How could you know which I was?”

  Wolfe’s eyes crinkled at the edges with his huge grin. “I knew at once,” he whispered. “I—don’t know how. I just knew that wasn’t you. And when we were in the nursery, I knew which one was you. You looked too antagonistic to be anyone else.” He saw her look, and hastily added, “As if I need to touch another woman to know she isn’t you.”

  He felt her soft laugh against his chest. “Good answer.” Mayra smiled, and threaded her fingers through his. “You redeemed yourself, then.”

  “Wolfe, I see the same mannerisms in Hagan and Forcial,” Mayra said somberly as they resumed walking. He chuckled and she glanced up at him. “Isn’t that treason—comparing the King of Nesht to a wretched, demented dragon?”

  “It’s an accurate comparison,” Wolfe returned resolutely.

  He was silent as they walked on. At least until they turned into the corridor that led to the witches’ chambers. There he stopped, placed his hands on Mayra’s shoulders, and dropped a quick kiss on her forehead.

  “What weren’t you going to let Cherra do in the nursery?” he asked.

  Mayra grinned up at him. “Not her, but you! I wasn’t going to let you figure out in any physical way which one was me, you ass,” she replied tartly. “I don’t share. Not even for a good cause.”

  Wolfe laughed. “No, thank you,” he said. “But not only do I not share either, but the idea of bedding that woman repels me.”

  “Mayra! Wolfe!”

  The shouts of Shaura stopped them. The Healer and Payk, followed by Berent and Leyna, caught up with the two Ring-Witches.

  “Gaulte wishes for you to come to the large common, as soon as you have cleaned yourself,” Payk reported.

  Shaura, meanwhile, was casting an expert Healer’s eye over Mayra.

  “Shaura, I am tired,” Mayra assured her friend. “We all need food and rest. And to stop being knocked around for a while.”

  Shaura glanced at Wolfe and said, “Gaulte was extra pleasant and said please.”

  Mayra’s eyebrows rose. “Then I will be there. But I must wash this blood off and get out of these clothes.”

  “I’ll tell them.”

  Berent reached out a meaty hand and patted her shoulder. She staggered into Wolfe. “By the gods,” Berent said with a huge grin, “you look as though you just destroyed several dragons!”

  Mayra smile was weary. “I feel more like several of them ran back and forth over me,” she admitted. She stretched her arms and shoulders. “And all this just from a scuffle with Cherra!”

  “The Brens have taken charge of Cherra,” Leyna said. “Richart said he and Harald will take her back to Nesht to give her to their father, in case she does carry their brother’s child.”

  Mayra nodded. “Good. She needs to get away from here. Will one of the dragons take—?” Wolfe raised his hand, stopping her.

  “We can discuss this later,” he said. “You smell terrible.”

  Leyna gave Mayra a sweet, knowing smile. “You must hurry, my friends. No time for—you know, affection.”

  Mayra laughed. “We understand. We will meet you there.” She turned mischievous eyes on Wolfe; her slow smile lighting a fire in him he hadn’t had the time or energy to enjoy for several days. She slid her hands up his chest. “Just as soon as we can.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The Ceshon Aerie

  Day fifteen of the First Moon of Wynter

  “If you don’t hurry, someone will come get us, and we’ll be endlessly teased,” Mayra said, pulling on Wolfe’s arm as she playfully tried to pull him up from the fireplace in their bedchamber. He growled something at her and one heavily-muscled arm swept her back into his lap.

  It was mid-morning. By the previous evening, the dragons had realized that the battle in the Aerie had drained the humans to the point where they could barely put together a coherent sentence. Theura had sent their small allies off to bed like overtired children. As Mayra and Wolfe had dragged themselves from the common room, she had mumbled, “Don’t they ever need to sleep?”

  The new morning brought a fresh outlook on life. Mayra thought she might even look forward to facing Cherra before the Brens took the woman from the Aerie.

  “Make them come find us.” He ran his lips down the warm, fragrant flesh of her neck. “Let’s go back to bed.”

  The thought sent a thrill down Mayra’s back; for one moment, she almost agreed. She gave a long sigh, freed herself, and went to stand by the door.

  When she crossed her arms and glared at him, he grinned.

  “I give in,” he said, and rose and stretched. “But I’m dragging you back in here as soon as it’s well-mannered.”

  “Manners? Amid these warriors and dragons?” She laughed. “Let’s go, Wolfe. I’m hungry.”

  He threw his arm across her shoulder and drew her closer to him as they started down the corridor. Mayra smiled up at him and put her arm across his waist. Even if he had to pick her up and carry her back, she knew he’d follow through on his promise to drag her back to their bedroom. And she loved it.

  * * *


  Mayra and Wolfe slipped into the dragons’ huge common, hoping no one would notice they were later than they had promised they would be. She and her clothing were clean, and she was warm from their hasty lovemaking—and now needed only food to make her wholly contented.

  Across the chamber near the largest fireplace, Gaulte sat with Hesta. Near Hesta, Jene and her two red younglings were spread out on a large cushion. While their mother dozed, the tiny nestlings remained close to her and silently watched the dragons, their bright, round eyes taking in everything around them.

  Conspicuously missing were Richart, Harald, and Cherra. Mayra tugged on Wolfe’s arm to ask him if he knew where they were—

  “Ah, Mayra, there you are,” said Theura. She gave her odd snrking little laugh, and to Mayra’s astonishment, the dragon winked at her. Evidently, Theura had noticed Mayra’s late arrival. The old black dragon lumbered across the floor, followed by Shaura. “Shaura was concerned that Cherra harmed you. But Shaura, you can see she is healthy and well.”

  “Yes, Theura, that is true.” Shaura smiled at Mayra. “Nothing on either of you is broken, but you shall both be sore. But I believe that Mayra won that bout, don’t you, Theura?”

  “Oh yes, my dear. But shouldn’t this be a lesson not to roll around the floor like men?”

  Shaura burst into laughter. Mayra hesitated, then took the teasing with a laugh. The rest of the Aerie inhabitants—dragons and humans—were jubilant. As Mayra and Wolfe walked across the common, she caught fragments of their conversations. All talk seemed to focus on the fact that the dragons’ enemy was dead; and the only other casualty, though a dragon, was not of their Clan or even their species.

  As Mayra followed Wolfe through the happy crowd around her, she briefly wondered if the dragons would have so callously addressed the death of a human.

  “Wolfe and Mayra!” Gaulte called. “Come and join us so we can begin the most important undertaking of families formally accepting the damaged eggs. And then, we can share the final tales of this battle.”

  Formally accepting eggs? Mayra, Fyrid, and Fleura had saved many eggs, while Hagan damaged a few beyond saving. But Mayra had never heard mention of accepting eggs and wondered what that was about.

  As she and Wolfe neared Gaulte, she could see that the black dragon had left a space for them near his offspring and that Poppie was sitting next to Hesta. Mayra could already hear the black cat purring.

  As they took their seats, Mayra looked around. Seeing that all the younglings were there with their parents surprised and pleased Mayra. It was probably the first time the entire Aerie had been together since the witches had arrived.

  Her eyes returned to the five-yearling dragons Alden and Perice, who were whispering together excitedly like mischievous children. Mayra smiled. They weren’t even trying to conduct themselves properly among the adults. Their parents ignored them, and that, too, Mayra found unusual.

  Mayra arranged herself close to Wolfe; at once, Poppie jumped into her lap. Before Mayra could take the bowl of fruit Gabrel offered her, Theura reappeared in the doorway, followed this time by the Librarian, Patar. Between them, they carried two bowls that Mayra could see contained several dragon eggs—the eggs she and her friends had saved from Hagan.

  “These are the ones that were salvageable.” Theura’s voice was gruff. “We lost five eggs. As is our way, we did not identify them, and we have buried them.”

  Mayra thought the Elder dragon was grieving the loss of those eggs.

  There was a long, sad silence before Patar took up the tale. “Dear Mayra, Fleura, and Fyrid, you saved many eggs, which we divided and set back—giving two eggs to each family’s bowl. But these six eggs have the slightest of breaks and Theura says they have started to stir and grow to maturity. As no one knows which bowls they came from, we do not know their families.” He looked around, his eyes lingering on the young dragon couple, Jerek and Hira, who had yet to hatch any younglings.

  “These eggs must be warmed now,” Theura said aloud as she and Patar carefully sat the bowls on a table near Hesta. “They do have slight cracks but will easily nest and hatch at the proper time. Who wishes to take them?”

  “Maman, we must take one!” Tamsin exclaimed. The little dragon bounded across her sputtering brother and into her mother’s chest. “That golden-blue one, I know it belongs with our family!”

  Hesta gazed at the bowls of eggs a moment, then inclined her head. “We shall accept that one. And we take it into our family as ours ever after.”

  “And we will take two,” said Hira, shyly sneaking a glance at her mate, Jerek. “I select the green one. And you, my mate?”

  Jerek looked startled, as though the last thing he had been thinking about just moments before was becoming a parent. “The darker blue one,” he finally decided. “We take them into our family as ours ever after.”

  Jerek didn’t sound at all reluctant, Mayra believed.

  Aleiz and Tanda were the only other dragon couple to have no nestlings; they were older than Hira and Jerek. It was Aleiz who rose from his relaxed stance. “We shall then take two, it matters not which. We take them into our family as ours ever after.”

  “Why can’t you tell which dragons they belong to?” Mayra asked curiously. “They are all different colors, but their colors are like your colors, aren’t they?” Except black. There had been no black eggs anywhere in the Roost.

  “The color of an egg has nothing to do with either the parent or the dragon that will come from it,” Gaulte explained. “Each dragon family has their own bowls. Some are ancient and we each know our bowls. I wish to again thank you and Fyrid and Fleura for saving as many as you did.” He turned to look at the other two. Both blushed, as humans and dragons turned to look at them and voice their thanks.

  “Our family does not have a bowl in the Roost,” Gaulte continued, and Mayra thought he didn’t sound as sad about that as she would have thought he would. In fact, the black dragon then rumbled with laughter and added, “But I see that one poor egg remains. If none other wishes it, shall we add to our family, dear Hesta, besides the golden-blue egg that dear Tamsin insists that we take?”

  “Oh, yes, yes!” cried Aesta and Tamsin together, while Gabrel looked grumpy.

  Hesta dipped her head toward Tamsin, and then the elder two younglings. “We take it, too, into our family as ours forever after. You shall have much work to do, my younglings, to help me. But we will take the last one as well.” She looked over at the two older dragons who had claimed eggs; both looked stunned and happy at once. “Aleiz and Tanda, which two do you wish? We shall take the last.”

  Dragons moved about the enormous room, passing around eggs with gentle hands. Mayra watched as Hesta, closest to her, carefully slipped her talons into the leathery pouch on her chest. Aesta and Tamsin helped as she slipped two eggs in—the golden-blue one, and the only bronze one.

  Hesta touched her chest. “They are warming quickly. I do not believe they will long stay unhatched.”

  There was silence as Theura removed the now-empty bowls.

  “And now,” Gaulte began again, “We have welcomed the mate and young of Smok into our Aerie, but Jene tells me she wishes to return to her own lands, and they are very far away.”

  Smok changed with magic, to save Jene and young—and also dragon-and human-kin. Jene’s minute mind-speak caused a hush to fall over the large dragons. And Jene must take home his young.

  Mayra understood the silence. After all, dragonlets weren’t highly thought of by their more advanced relatives. They weren’t supposed to talk, and they certainly weren’t supposed to be heroic. The little blue dragonlet looked so sad that Mayra wanted to pick her up, but Jene probably didn’t want a human touch right now. The two nestlings were rolling around together, playing on the huge cushion.

  Smok went far away. Jene will tell Min and Clio stories of the brave sire.

  Fleura sniffed sadly.

  Jene, are your nestlings female? Mayra asked curiously.


  Females are eggers? It confused the little dragonlet. But she looked as though she was thinking about it. Females, yes. Min and Clio had slowed their rambunctious play and were settling down together in the middle of the cushion. Jene curled up and her body curved around her tiny young. We rest now.

  Mayra gazed at the blue dragonlet a moment longer. The little beast had gone from unable or unwilling to speak, to answering questions. It had to be the influence of the big dragons. She wondered if she could persuade Jene to stay in the Aerie with her younglings, perhaps to see if she had magic of her own, or would draw it from the other dragons.

  “Hagan called Smok an alterer,” Wolfe said quietly. “What is that?”

  “He used that word?” Patar cried out. “It is a legend!”

  Wolfe chuckled. “You wouldn’t say that if you had seen Smok. He grew larger, his neck grew longer, and his teeth and talons—let us say he paid Hagan back for his brutal treatment of Smok’s mate and young. Smok nearly killed him by himself.”

  Gaulte nodded slowly. “I agree, friend Wolfe. The dragonlet, Smok changed and did great harm to that dragon.”

  Patar’s head drooped. “I will never again doubt what witchlings tell me,” he said quietly. “The legend of alterers is older than the one of Loxem and Artur. And I know less about alterers than I do those two.”

  “I suggest, Patar, that you and Wolfe investigate the library,” said Gaulte. The black dragon then gestured toward Talft and his family with an indulgent smile. “And one last thing, ere we go our way for the day. Talft, have you decided that you will take Harald and Richart, with their prisoner, to Nesht after all?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Talft said grandly. “For the first time, a dragon family will fly to Nesht.”

  So, Mayra thought, that explains why Perice and Alder are squirming with excitement.

  Talft paused and asked gently, “Has your injured wing healed well enough to fly so far, my mate?”

  Diaya inclined her head. “Yes, Talft. I have healed stronger than ever! I shall easily carry Leyna and Berent.”