Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  Wolfe’s chuckle turned to laughter as he squeezed her tightly against him. “I love you, Mayra,” he said. He touched his forehead to hers. “I vow, I will take you back to my lands and make you my mate in the Hieten way.”

  As Mayra drifted back to sleep, she wondered what that entailed.

  * * *

  Wolfe lay on his side, watching Mayra sleep. The chamber was lit up in the moonlight, and absently, he wondered where the colors had gone, the passionate illuminations that had joined their lovemaking in the Fortress at Nesht and in Gaulte’s chamber.

  He gazed down at her. Her full lips would be reddened from their shared passion, her cheeks flushed. Her hair was a tangle of curls that gleamed like gold- and silvery-blond silk, spread over the pillows against the white sheets.

  She had surprised him, taking him in her mouth as she had. His brain had melted, time meant nothing, all he could see was his woman, doing something of which she had no knowledge, because she wanted to. She had wanted to please him. And the memory was making him hard again. He grinned into the dark.

  The lovemaking was nearly perfect, but he’d known almost from the start he wanted her in his life beyond the bed. He had always been a loner by choice, but that had now changed. He couldn’t imagine days and nights not filled with her presence, and all they shared together.

  As he reached for the quilts that had been displaced, he touched the vivid bruises around her neck. At least he no longer reacted with uncontrollable rage, having seen that Cherra’s bruises were both larger and deeper. A thought made him chuckle. He suspected Mayra might be tender in other places tomorrow. Perhaps a warm bath would help; unless he joined her in it. And then the old practice of massaging overused muscles might be called for.

  Mayra settled in his arms and breathed deeply. He’d exhausted her, and he had won their challenge. Or had he? He continued to grin into the night. He had done all the work, and she had known ecstasy over and over. Perhaps he would have her atop him. Let her exert herself while he enjoyed seeing her nude body moving over him. He slipped to sleep with that picture in mind—and with erotic dreams of his woman to follow.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  The Ceshon Aerie

  Day twenty-eight of the First Moon of Wynter

  A week had passed since Talft and his family had left the Aerie, carrying Richart and Harald, and Cherra back to Nesht to decide her fate. As Cherra proclaimed she carried the grandchild of Warlord Leisher Bren, her captors’ father, Mayra was anxious to hear what became of her shapeshifting foe. Jannia, Berent, and Leyna had accompanied the Bren brothers. Berent was determined to meet the King of Nesht and find out if Phailites were welcome in the country—being atop a dragon would seem to make such a meeting more likely. Mayra laughed and wished him luck, saying if Forcial had any sense, he’d make a strong allegiance with the blue race.

  In that time, Fleura, Mayra, and Theura had persuaded the dragonlet Jene to stay in the Aerie until her young dragonlets were old enough to return safely to their small island. And Mayra had established communications with Marten and Noura in the Fortress, via her scrying bowl.

  Mayra had just closed another visit—Wolfe had spoken with Aristen, and she had spoken with her cousin Noura and with Marten, the two Fortress Ring-Witches. Mayra straightened and ran her fingers through the clear water and flicked a sprinkle onto Poppie’s face. The little cat sneezed, scowled at Mayra, shook her head, and returned to daintily lapping the water.

  “Poppie, you aren’t supposed to drink that water!” Mayra scolded. She smiled and ran her hand down Poppie’s silky back. “Someday you will drink magicked water and turn into a bat.” Mayra smiled as she heard a gruff chuckle from the corner. As she started to return to the task of organizing her spellroom, the door opened and Shaura looked in.

  Mayra invited her in. Shaura hesitated as she saw Wolfe, who was sitting silently in a far corner with an enormous book. But she entered and closed the door behind her. Mayra glanced at Wolfe, but he hadn’t looked up from his book. Poppie was now on his shoulder; the familiar gave Shaura a slow blink, which conveyed the cat’s welcome.

  “I meant to come by to scry with you,” the Healer said as Mayra made a place for them to sit near the fireplace. “But I could not get away from that library before now. There are so many books about healing that Patar has been putting aside for me. They are old, written many years ago by Phailites who lived with dragons, and scribed for them.”

  “But the information is still usable?” Mayra asked.

  “Oh yes, much of is. There are many plants and herbs here that I have never seen before. Payk says when Spryng comes soon we will find as many of them as we can for me to make my own garden.”

  “That is a wonderful idea!” Mayra exclaimed. “Witches and Healers use many of the same plants. Perhaps we can all work together. Marten knows so much about medicinal plants, I’m sure he would like to join us and see what we are growing.”

  Shaura agreed and started to rise. “Time for me to find Theura. I stopped by to tell both of you that the Librarian wishes to see you as soon as you have some free time. He said he found something he wants you to see, Wolfe, and he wanted to talk to you, Mayra.”

  “I have more than enough free time,” Mayra murmured. She looked over at Wolfe; her eyebrows rose questioningly. Did he wish to go now? Of course he did.

  As Mayra and Wolfe walked toward the library, she told him of a funny discussion concerning the Librarian had taken place in her spellroom that morning.

  “Indiera, Anadi, and I were there with Hesta as she was telling us about starting a garden where one had been years ago,” she began. She glanced up at Wolfe with an impish grin. “I told Hesta that we weren’t certain of the Librarian’s gender, as he—”

  “Wait,” Wolfe interrupted, stopping her. “You told her—who did you say wondered about his gender? I mean, I never even thought about what his gender is.” He gave a bit of a shudder.

  Mayra smothered a laugh. “No, my love, I meant some of us—the female witches—had discussed it. Patar isn’t much larger than the female dragons, and he sounds like neither a male nor a female—”

  Mayra stifled another giggle and Wolfe shook his head. They resumed walking. “Wolfe, you know that we can’t help but wonder about dragon gender. We’ve determined that we cannot know a dragon’s gender unless we are told.” She gave a long sigh and slipped her hand into Wolfe’s. Hesta had scolded them for acting like children, then had broken into laughter herself.

  “And what did you learn?” Wolfe asked gravely.

  “That the Librarian is male, because that’s what he says he is. He is also the only dragon we have ever seen who wears clothing.”

  Wolfe nodded. Patar never was seen without a finely-knitted, scarlet-and-black shawl that he wore over his shoulders. “I’m glad that your time spent with Hesta was fruitful,” he said dryly.

  They had arrived at the Library. Wolfe opened the heavy door and ushered her in.

  The Librarian was waiting, holding a massive cup of steaming brew daintily in one hand. He had laid a colossal tome out on one of the chamber tables, and now gestured them to the chairs across from him.

  Children! He was always enthusiastic about the humans and had been calling them children, almost as soon as he decided that he liked them. The dragon waved his talons over a stack of parchment and an inkwell. Wolfe, Theura has asked that you write down what you know of Alterers. You shall write a tale that will become part of our lore!

  And for you, dear Mayra, the tale you asked for—what I know of Rings. But first—Patar cleared his throat to speak aloud, something he loved to do.

  “You wished to know if the dragonlets are also absorbing our magic?” Patar tapped his talons on the table next to him. “Yes, I do believe they are. Yet the male dragonlet had magic of his own. I am quite excited to see how that magic will blend with dragon magic in the nestlings.”

  “I’m glad you’ve taken an interest in them,” Mayra said with a
smile. “Librarian, where—?”

  “Please, please, again—call me Patar,” he said gently, and Mayra nodded.

  “Well, yes, yes,” the dragon tutted, the dragonlets forgotten. “I shall tell you what I know of Rings, dear Mayra, but only the most basic of that, for I have other things to do with my day than talk.”

  Mayra doubted that. She smiled politely, wondered what he was drinking, and looked about for hot tea. It was going to be a long morning. She should have eaten more, she was always hungry nowadays!

  Patar began in his precise, droning voice.

  “Rings were first meant to be a link between witches and dragons. The magic Rings called to both, bringing one witch and one dragon together and bonding them. And equally, though all dragons and Ring-Witches can communicate with each other, somewhere there is a match for each pair—human and dragon. Witches were already magical, but they were given Enhancement Rings infused with our magic, so they would not be enslaved by ill-intentioned dragons.”

  Mayra, trying to keep from yawning, realized that she would have to stop him. She hadn’t meant for him to start at the beginning, and he was telling her things she already knew.

  “Li—Patar, I have questions that I really must know the answers to.” She gave the dragon a quick smile. “I know about the Rings from Gaulte. About how the Rings were conceived and why. What I want to know about is the metal from which our Rings are made.”

  Patar looked surprised. “Why, Mayra, my child, that is so uninteresting! Why would you want to know that?”

  Mayra saw Wolfe’s ill-concealed grin from the corner of her eye. She should have let him take on Patar; those two seemed to have forged a bond based on all the many tales Wolfe was willing to share. She continued.

  “King Jenus told me about the mines where the gnomes work, where the metal is excavated for the Phailites weapons. That is also where the metal for our Rings is mined. Gaulte said the magical reins that Hagan had made to control the dragons used the same metal. Somehow, someone got that metal for Hagan, and he infused it with his evil magic. He then enchanted the other dragons.”

  Patar was staring at her, his jaw slightly ajar. “Oh, no, no, how can that be? The hill-trolls would never give that metal so someone as evil as Hagan. And they knew of him.” He began to pace, thinking a moment before he turned back to Mayra. “I promise you, I will talk to the gnomes and the hill-trolls, and we will find out what happened.”

  “Oh, thank you, Patar! I just couldn’t imagine—

  * * *

  “Patar, look at this,” Wolfe interrupted. He rose and walked toward them, his eyes on the book he held. He set the book down and from within it, picked up a small, thin book.

  Patar had opened his mouth to speak, but clamped it shut. Clank! His cup almost slipped from his hand to the table. Wolfe’s eyebrows rose. The hand of the old dragon was shaking slightly.

  “What—where—?” Patar sputtered.

  Wolfe looked up at Patar, who was still staring at the small book, but now his lower jaw was hanging open, displaying a row of fearsome fangs. He clamped his jaws shut, and a small moan escaped the odd dragon. He held out his hands for it.

  “Tamsin’s book,” he said softly.

  Mayra was startled. “Tamsin’s book?” she echoed. “Patar, what do you mean?”

  Patar shook his head. “I should not call it that,” he confessed. “I have been searching for this, night and day since—” Patar broke off and his head drooped. “Ever since little Tamsin—” He lowered the book as Mayra blinked sudden tears away. “No, no, my dear, please do not be sad.”

  Wolfe glanced down at Mayra. Tears were filling her eyes. Tamsin was a solemn little dragon, rarely playing with the others, spending most of her time with her mother and siblings, or Mayra.

  Little Tamsin was sad and no one could cheer her up. She wouldn’t tell Mayra what truly made her so very unhappy, except to insist it wasn’t her eye, or her oddly small size.

  Patar tutted again—a peculiar noise coming from such a fearsome beast—and patted Mayra on the shoulder, almost knocking her off her chair. “Oh, dear, so sorry. Look, look at this. Come over here, dear child. Read this, and you will understand why I have sought it so diligently! And why I called it Tamsin’s book!”

  Mayra rose and looked over at the page he had nearly impaled with a long claw. The old dragon backed up.

  Mayra read and shook her head. Wolfe, standing behind her, could cipher some of it; he thought it might possibly be a spell of some sort, but it was more about rocks. “I don’t understand it,” Mayra said.

  “Oh, I see. Well, perhaps you cannot yet read it. Still, you are all learning our ancient language so rapidly!” Wolfe raised an eyebrow, and the dragon made another peculiar, snrk noise—so far, only Wolfe had any hope of learning that language, for he was already familiar with it.

  Patar gently patted the book, trying to smooth away the hole he’d accidently made. “Yes. Well.” He brightened. “What it says is that an opal, a delicate and beautiful stone, can magically be transformed into an eye for a dragon. It can actually replace an eye. We have many opals here, in our storerooms. They are favorite playthings for our offspring! And now that Wolfe has found the spell, it can happen!”

  “Why would anyone have developed such a strange spell?” Mayra asked as she pulled the book closer to her. Painted drawings showed exquisite, glimmering round stones that were an iridescent mixture of pale blue and milky white, entwined with myriad pastel colors and surrounded with threads of gold.

  “Oh, Wolfe, look,” she breathed, touching her fingertips to one of the beautiful representations. “How Tamsin would love that! Can we do it, Patar?”

  “I will be honored to help you,” said Patar, clasping his hands to his chest. “I will provide the stone myself; I have just the one. And your inherently nature-based magic, together with Theura helping, and with the blood—yes, yes, it must be a blood spell—and that ensures it will work perfectly!”

  Wolfe gave the dragon a skewered glance. The blood? Wolfe thought. Whose blood?

  Chapter Forty-Six

  The Ceshon Aerie

  Day two of the Second Moon of Wynter

  Mayra dropped into the deep, comfortable chair in her bedroom and released a long breath. She was a powerful nature-centric witch, but she hadn’t worked pure spellwork since before she got her Rings. Rings were of no assistance with such spellwork. It was wearying enough with all that blending and chanting and concentrating, but with dragons, it was exhausting!

  Three days had passed since she had begun working with Patar and Theura to generate the most arduous spell she had ever assembled. When Patar had indicated they would work together, that had turned out to mean he would chatter happily with Theura and occasionally offer his opinion, especially when Mayra did not need it.

  Theura helped somewhat, but she saw Mayra as her apprentice, and left Mayra to coax power from herbs and to chant and concentrate, and to apply her shoulder and arm strength to mortar and pestle for what seemed an endless list of herbs and other plants. The Ring-Witch blended, and blended some more, and chanted yet more. Her head hurt from concentrating on tuning Patar out as much as from instilling magic into the beautiful marble.

  The only time the old dragon had been silent was when Mayra had—with great difficulty—obtained a drop of Gaulte’s blood from that uncooperative dragon, without telling him why she wanted it. Mayra had sworn that if Patar did not remain silent while she blended the blood and he caused the blend to fail, she would make him get the next blood contribution.

  Somehow, Mayra guessed, Patar knew there would not be a second drop of blood from Gaulte, at least not without many answers.

  Hesta had given her drop willingly, and the red dragon hadn’t asked a single question. But those beautiful eyes still gazed at Mayra in a way that made Mayra wonder how much Hesta knew about what the Ring-Witch and the two elderly dragons were doing in Theura’s spellroom. “Hesta makes me nervous,” Mayra commente
d to Wolfe as they ate together on the second day. “More so than Gaulte’s endless irritating queries.”

  Mayra took a deep breath and started to reach for her warm shawl when she froze. Someone was slowly opening the chamber door, clearly trying to sneak in without warning the occupants. Mayra sensed a dragon—knew it must be Hesta—but it was too late to escape.

  Hesta peered around the room. Seeing no one but Mayra, the dragon let herself in and closed the door behind her. Mayra was cornered. Surely, Hesta was going to press for answers about Mayra’s request for blood earlier in the day.

  “I have been trying to find you,” Hesta said sweetly as she settled her wings and tail, preparing for a long visit.

  Mayra rose and started to the fireplace, but Hesta stopped her. The dragon bent and stirred up the fire, then turned to the astonished woman.

  “I only wish to know,” Hesta began, seemingly unable to keep suspicion out of her voice, “why young Tamsin is to be brought to the common this evening with all the humans and dragons.”

  “Is she not well enough to attend?” Mayra asked innocently, and Hesta snorted.

  * * *

  Hesta lowered her head until it was level with Mayra’s head. “You should be able to tell me about Tamsin’s health,” she said lightly. “As you know more about her that I—her own mother—do.” Hesta laughed softly. “I am almost envious, dear Mayra, for she spends more time with you than with me.” She moved her huge muzzle closer to Mayra and carefully sniffed her. “Still, you don’t scent as naughty or deceptive, so I cannot think you are telling tales.”

  Before Hesta could tell Mayra she was not serious, Mayra burst into tears and threw her arms around Hesta’s thick neck. “My mother used to say that!” she cried. “I was so young when she died. But I can hear her speaking just those words!”

  Hesta made a soothing noise and carefully nuzzled Mayra, making a soft musical noise deep in her throat, all the while sending a carefully shielded message to Shaura. Hesta wondered if Mayra was breeding. Or pregnant, or whatever humans called it.