Dragon's Revenge

by Debi Ennis Binder

  Shaura arrived soon. She started to greet Hesta, but stopped short when she saw Mayra, sniffing, her face blotchy with tears. Shaura went to Mayra at once. Hesta waited by the door until the two witches were deep in conversation before she slipped outside the room and waited for Shaura to emerge.

  Shaura wasn’t surprised to see Hesta awaiting her further down the corridor. “Mayra takes herbs, so as not to conceive,” the Healer reported. She gave the dragon a crafty smile. “But as with all things that attempt to dissuade nature, they could have failed. We will have to wait a while longer to know.”

  “Hmm. Well, go back and get Mayra. We must hurry to the common, so that I might then proceed to unmask this mystery.” Hesta hummed merrily, pleased that she had discovered yet another piece of the mystery of human procreation, which she taught as part of witch lore. Up to this point, she had known nearly nothing about human reproduction, other than they did not lay eggs.

  Eggs made her think about the two eggs that were nurturing safely in her chest, moving about more and more as the little beasts, responding to her heat, were beginning to kick against their shells. She hoped they would hatch at the same time. She also hoped both were female. Gabrel was already having enough competition for his sire’s attention, given all the notice being given Tamsin, without another male in the family.

  * * *

  In the largest common of the Ceshon Aerie, all the dragons had gathered around a platform that had been brought into the room. It was large enough for Mayra, Tamsin, and Theura to stand on. Poppie and the three dragonlets sat nearby. Mayra’s eyes lingered on them a moment. Wolfe told her that since Smok had fought so valiantly in the Battle of the Roost, including aiding Mayra, Poppie had decided she would watch over the nestlings. It was a heartfelt thing to do, the Ring-Witch felt.

  Wolfe left Mayra with Tamsin and went to stand beside Gaulte, who looked perplexed. Wolfe had overheard him complaining to Larek that no one could—or would—tell him what was going on in Theura’s spellroom, no matter who he asked. And they had taken his blood!

  Mayra and Tamsin stood together, their arms linked. When Tamsin stood on her back legs, as most dragons often did, her head was now even with Mayra’s shoulder. Wolfe chuckled. Earlier, Mayra had marveled at how quickly her young friend was growing. She had then added, somewhat wistfully, that she hoped the gift to the young dragon would be received as lovingly as it was given.

  Wolfe had no doubt that this gift would be accepted with oddly adult-like love from young Tamsin, for he alone knew what saddened her. Who said a male warrior couldn’t be the recipient of a young dragon’s secret fear? Tamsin, with one eye, feared that she never would be a lovely dragon like her mother; would never find a male who would want a damaged mate. But most of all, the small dragon feared she would never be a normal-sized dragon.

  Knowing the power of Tamsin’s sire, Wolfe doubted Tamsin would have trouble finding a mate, but he had remained silent. The young dragon needed someone to listen to her, not to attempt to cheer her up with meaningless comments or common-sense truths.

  “Gaulte, Hesta,” Mayra began, loud enough for everyone to hear, “I have a gift for Tamsin.”

  “Other than her very life?” asked Hesta gently. Mayra blushed, for Hesta made no effort to hide the love she felt for the small human who had saved her mate and her youngest.

  Mayra opened the pouch at her waist and withdrew a small lacquered box. “Patar and Theura helped me create its magic.” Mayra hesitated, still speaking to Hesta. “If there is a problem, I mean, should Tamsin or you decide—”

  She opened the box and held it up for Tamsin’s consideration.

  Tamsin stared at a spherical stone that glowed with an iridescent mixture of sky-blue and milky white, entwined with other bits of soft pastel colors and threads of gold.

  “Oh, how pretty!” said the young dragon happily. Her head tilted. “What is it?”

  “Pick it up, Tams,” Mayra urged. “Tell me if you can figure out what it is.”

  Tamsin reached into the box with gentle, delicate hands and picked up the jewel. As soon as she touched it, the magic erupted with a sprinkle of color, and blossomed between Tamsin and the stone. The little dragon’s good eye widened. Mayra had been afraid the connection would so startle Tamsin that the dragon would recoil and drop the jewel, but the young dragon held it up and slowly turned with it.

  “It—makes me—” Tamsin gasped and turned with the stone, holding it up. “Oh, Maman, I can see in my head everywhere! I can see all around me now!”

  Mayra felt her eyes sting with tears. The little dragon’s face was spellbound, and then glowing with happiness.

  “Give it to Theura,” Mayra said softly, “and then bend close to her.”

  Tamsin ripped off the gold scarf that covered her scarred face and leaned toward her Grandmatron. As the old Healer moved the stone closer to its new owner, a flash of magic engulfed Tamsin’s head.

  When the young dragon straightened, a gasp went through the dragons and humans in the common. Tamsin’s new eye shone with a glimmering, multicolored glow that harmonized with her internal magic.

  Tamsin whirled to Mayra and pulled her into her arms, never forgetting the human was fragile. The young dragon released Mayra after a moment, looked around yet again, then grabbed Mayra back up into her arms, and again hugged her, a little more enthusiastically this time.

  Wolfe shook his head and grinned. Mayra met his eyes and knew the sight of Mayra and a young dragon dancing about, both laughing like lunatics, was yet another tale he needed to capture for the Aerie.

  Tamsin released Mayra, jumped down from the platform, and ran to her parents. “Oh, Mama, Papa, did you know? Did they tell you they got me an eye?”

  “No, dear child.” Hesta cupped Tamsin’s head in her own hands and studied her. “I did not know.” She produced a gentle, purring noise as she stroked Tamsin’s head, then said softly, “You are still beautiful, my child.” She smiled. “As you always were. But can you see as before?”

  Tamsin nodded her head up and down. “I can see ever so much better now! And I am a dragon again!”

  Those pesky tears that had threatened Mayra’s eyes now tumbled over onto her cheeks. Hesta turned suddenly and gathered Mayra close to her, next to Tamsin. Mayra felt Hesta’s feelings wash over her. Was—Mayra swallowed—was the Ring-Witch now a dragon’s daughter?

  * * *

  As Gaulte looked down at Mayra, his beautiful, starburst eyes misted over. She looked almost as though she were shyly seeking his approval. If only he could have scooped her up and hugged her as Tamsin often did—but instead he blinked, trusting his thanks to the deep mind-speak he shared with the Ring-Witch.

  Thank you, little witchling. I—

  He stopped short and shook his head. His inner voice was probably stronger than spoken words, and even that threatened to break apart. He cleared his throat and turned to his youngest daughter. And you, young dragon, can no longer cry off your chores and studies, can you?

  He bent down; Tamsin ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. Aesta and Gabrel were right behind her and all three hugged their sire. Three little dragonlets scampered up onto the table next to Gaulte to peer up into Tamsin’s face and make curious little chattering noises.

  “Papa, Tamsin was so sad!” Aesta said in a loud whisper. “She thought she looked so frightful, but we kept telling her she was still a dragon, like us!”

  “Wise little one,” Gaulte murmured, stroking Aesta’s head gently. “But we cannot change what we each feel about ourselves.”

  “But Mayra did!” Aesta protested. “She made Tamsin a dragon again!”

  Gaulte smiled over Aesta’s head at Tamsin. “Yes, I believe she did.”

  * * *

  “I am so tired,” Mayra murmured. She sat next to Wolfe on a stack of pillows.

  Wolfe’s rough fingers traced a line down the palm of her hand. The warmth and the roughness sent a shiver down her. For a moment, she saw those
fingers on her naked skin.

  She looked up to find his icy eyes burning into her, expressing his desire far better than words would have.

  “You need to rest.” His voice was as tempestuous as his eyes.

  “And I suppose that’s what you have in mind?” she asked archly.

  Wolfe leaned forward until his lips were near her ear.

  “No,” he whispered.

  * * *

  The middle of the night once again found Wolfe unable to sleep. He was thinking about life in the Aerie, and the longings for Nesht that had emanated from Mayra. And he had found himself wishing for his country, Faras Hiete. There were customs that he missed, certain foods, sights, even smells. Perhaps, he needed to take Mayra there so that she could see where he grew up.

  It abruptly struck Wolfe that Mayra finally had a mother. Perhaps that mother was a dragon, but no less a wise and guiding soul for a woman–warrior who still needed a female’s loving presence in her life. Would she be able to leave that, even to return to Nesht?

  Mayra stirred and her eyes slowly opened.

  “Why are you still awake?” she murmured, nestling closer to him.

  “I was thinking about something,” he said. “Have you ever heard of the Hieten ritual paselles?

  Mayra shook her head no. “What is it?” she asked sleepily.

  “It’s a very old ritual,” he began, and drew her more tightly into his arms. “You are dressed head to toe in many, many silk scarves. Underneath, you are quite naked. You are set out in a ring of Hieten men, who will each, in their turn, take a scarf.” He could feel her tensing. “Don’t you wish to hear more?”

  “I’m not certain. But I will listen—for now.”

  He could see her face in the moonlight; she looked both intrigued and doubtful.

  “Before any man removes a scarf, he must fight for that privilege,” he continued. “Once a man has lost a battle, he must leave. Or more likely, he is carried out, as he is most often bloody and impaired.”

  Her eyes widened. “Your country is unnecessarily bloody,” she remarked. She brushed her lips across his chin and told him to continue.

  He chuckled. “The last scarf covers all your lovely nudity, covers you only where it matters. By the time we reach that scarf, there should be but two men left. They will fight to near-death for the right to remove that last scarf in private. And the woman.”

  “Isn’t that excessive for a woman?” she demanded. “And how does a Hieten woman get herself a man?”

  Wolfe burst into laughter. “The scarfed woman is a highly sought-after prize, my sweet. Normally the captured daughter or sister of a chieftain, or even a princess. Were we in my land, I would have likely had to go through that to get you.”

  “No.” She smiled and touched her lips to his. “You may have the scarf without argument.” She then frowned. “In any case, I’d never have done such a thing! Imagine standing there like a prize in the marketplace, just waiting—”

  His lips cut her off. He drew back and laughed. “I would have killed anyone who touched that scarf.”

  He turned suddenly and lifted Mayra atop his stomach. Mayra bent down to kiss him and the quilts fell away. Her body and hair gleamed like still, moonlit water.

  She ran her hands down his chest, feeling the hard muscles. “Beautiful, beautiful man,” she whispered. “Mine, only mine.”

  “I am yours,” he said softy. “Yours to control as you wish.” He paused a moment; his eyes went past her head, and a grin widened his lips. “The magic has returned, my sweet. Look, the colors are back.”

  As they had the first time they ever saw them, myriad colors intertwined and merged above them, floating across the ceiling, dipping down and then flying upward again, and as the passion below grew, the mystical and visual imagery above glimmered and darkened, writhed and throbbed, until finally it dissolved into faintly colored mists, before vanishing.

  Mayra and Wolfe threw themselves back into their bed, laughing as they caught their breath, and then teasing each other about their very vocal lovemaking.

  “By the gods,” Wolfe finally said on a long breath. “You are my woman. You are one with me, you are mine.”

  * * *

  Wolfe made his way through the corridor toward the dragons’ common, looking for Mayra. He could hear voices, gradually growing louder as he neared them. He identified the light voice of Mayra and the quiet, serene voice of Hesta. Were they alone in the common? Perhaps there were younglings there and they were practicing their human-speak.

  The next words—from Mayra—froze him.

  “And I tell you, Hesta, that he will forbid me from riding you or Gaulte.” Her voice was both annoyed and adamant. Wolfe peeked into the room. The dragon and Mayra were alone. What was going on?

  “Why should it matter?” Hesta said serenely. “I always take the utmost care with you upon my back, dear witchling, as does my mate. You shall never be harmed.”

  “If Wolfe knows I am pregnant with his child, he will do everything in his power to prevent me from riding. It is as simple as that.”

  Wolfe swallowed. He felt as though a roiling fire was burning through him, seeming to melt him from within.

  Mayra—Mayra carried his child?

  And she told Hesta first? He shook his head. No—-he remembered the many thoughtful looks from wise Hesta over the last several days. The red dragon had probably known before Mayra had.

  He continued to listen. His wily elf was trying to finagle the dragon into helping her hide her pregnancy as long as was possible. He grinned. In someone Mayra’s size, that wouldn’t be long.

  Well, he was going to surprise the little elf, wasn’t he?

  He nodded, then looked about to make sure no one had seen him having a conversation with himself. He burst into the room. Mayra jumped and whirled to face him. She smiled guiltily, then opened her mouth to speak.

  Wolfe held up his hand. “I have decided,” he began reasonably. “It is seemly that my son should ride a dragon before he is born. But only if you ride within my arms, my sweet.”

  Her expression was priceless. She ran to him and he scooped her up in his arms. When she burst into tears, Hesta shook her head and turned toward the door.

  “Must visit the library,” Hesta muttered. “Learn about human breeding.” She paused and glanced back at the two Ring-Witches. “I think this is normal. Perhaps Theura knows.” She mumbled a bit more, then an idea struck her. “The humans must know about human breeding, of course! Shaura knows more than she has shared, surely!”

  Hesta changed course for the witchlings’ common. A human baby in the Aerie, along with the six nestlings that would soon hatch, would be quite an adventure, wouldn’t it? How long did humans nurture their young? Perhaps two or three months, as dragons did. She started humming to herself again.

  When Gaulte met her in the corridor, she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed tightly. The puzzled black dragon thought she was challenging him to wrestle, until he remembered this was a human gesture of affection.

  “Mayra is going to have a human baby!” Hesta whispered, her eyes bright.

  “She is?” Gaulte looked more perplexed. “How do they—they do not lay eggs?”

  “You are less informed that our offspring,” Hesta said loftily. “Let’s find Shaura. She will explain about human eggs and where they are kept until hatching. Come along, we must make ready for a human baby! They are so small, yet how could they nurture more than a month or so? Do you think they will let us watch the baby hatching?”

  * * *

  Hesta’s voice trailed off. Gaulte stared after her. Humans did not lay eggs! His rumbling laughter caused his mate to pause and turn to find him.

  “Come along,” she said impatiently.

  Gaulte followed at once. Spryng was coming, and the Aerie was full of life once more. He would be sire to two young nestlings again, and they would have a chance to grow up with a human youngling. The evil threat that haunted the Aerie
had been resolved. Kantar had promised that once the ice around the Aerie melted, Phailites would join the humans there to be their helpers, and to learn magic from the dragons.

  How life had changed for a dragon who had gone from being enslaved by enchanted reins through a battle that would be sung of for generations to come. From a dragon who had won that battle to one who awakened on a mountaintop, contemplating death. The tales were fashioned from all the adventures in between.

  Epilogue

  The Fortress at Trandye

  Day fifteen of the Second Moon of Autymn

  Wolfe gazed down at his sleeping daughter Nyx. As he went to cover her, he gently touched a finger to her tiny thigh, where a minute birthmark—one that looked suspiciously like the dragon-shaped birthmark of her mother—lay. He then lowered the light and took a quick glance around the small room she occupied. When he had taken her from the birth-wife, Nyx had opened her eyes; Wolfe, and Leisher standing behind him, had gasped. They were not clear blue or dark infants’ eyes—Nyx’s eyes were starcast, endless stars in a night sky; glittering blue, with a silver cast to them. Her wispy black hair curled around her tiny head. When she smiled at Wolfe, her father went weak with love.

  Wolfe padded back into the bedroom and slipped back into bed with Mayra. She murmured his name and nestled closer to him, seeking his warmth. It was mid-Autymn, and they were in Nesht, in a suite of rooms within the Fortress.

  The sun would soon rise, promising a beautiful day—one ripe for riding dragons and for practicing swordplay. Two months had passed since tiny Nyx’s birth, and Mayra was still tired—but running wildly through the barrier course next to the stableyard was to blame, not the birth of their daughter. As the birth-wife had predicted, the small girl’s entrance into the world had been no trial for the strong, robust mother.

  Mayra was determined to regain her slim, supple body. Wolfe ran his hand down her curvy side. She had certainly met that objective.

  Wolfe wrapped his arms around his mate and breathed in the leafy-green scent of her hair. There had been many changes in their lives since the day Wolfe had learned of Mayra’s pregnancy.