She sighed. It had been moons and moons since the inn had been this full of anything other than tharuks. She’d only managed to keep the place going so long due to the suppliers who’d taken pity on her and knew she’d be killed if she hadn’t kept providing the tharuks with food and ale. Kisha found a quiet corner, ladled herself a bowl of stew, and sat down on the stairs leading up to the bedrooms.
The babble, laughter, and murmuring were like soothing music.
When she’d finished her dinner, Kisha leaned back against the railing on the stairs.
The door opened and Goren, leader of the green guards, stalked in. He wasn’t alone.
Kisha’s hand flew to her mouth. No, it couldn’t be. She looked again. It was. An enormous barrel-chested man filled the doorway, his beard and bushy hair like a dark halo around his friendly face.
He grinned and his voice boomed across the inn. “Kisha, it’s great to see you.”
Kisha leaped up and propelled herself across the room, racing to meet Giant John. A moment later, she was lifted from the ground as he enfolded her in an enormous bear hug.
“After battling tharuks for days, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” Giant John placed her back on her feet and grinned. “How are you, girl?”
“It’s been interesting.” She grinned back. By the First Egg, it was good to see him.
His eyes twinkled in the lamplight. “I like this class of patrons better than the last lot. The sight of those ugly tusky faces guzzling good ale was enough to turn any man’s stomach.” He slapped a hand against the flat of his stomach, and inhaled deeply. “Something smells good. Mind if we do?”
“Of course. We can’t break tradition.” Kisha couldn’t stop grinning. Her cheeks were already getting sore. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to provide your usual seating arrangements.” Usually Giant John took two seats or half a bench, but with the scarcity of furniture and the number of dragon riders there tonight, that wouldn’t be possible.
He gave a belly laugh. “I don’t mind roughing it, as long as I have a soft bed tonight. Got any free rooms? Or have this rowdy lot taken them all?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem, as long as you kick a few dragon riders out into the snow.”
Giant John flexed his biceps and grinned. “I’ll get right onto it.”
Goren groaned. “And I thought we were done with fighting. Come on, let’s eat.”
Kisha went into the kitchen to fry up a few eggs, knowing they were Giant John’s favorite.
Giant John followed her in. “I saw tharuk tusk gouges in the tabletops out there. I don’t suppose there’d be any bacon left after those brutes have rampaged through the place, would there?”
“No, but I have salted pork. I can fry that for you, if you’d like.”
The pork was soon sizzling. Giant John leaned back against a counter and folded his arms. As Kisha reached up for her spatula, he ducked to avoid the utensil rack swinging overhead. Kisha flipped the eggs.
“You look tired. Here, let me do that.” Giant John picked Kisha up and sat her on an empty benchtop—something he’d been doing since she was a littling and her parents had run the inn—and then took the spatula and turned the rest of the eggs and pork.
“I have a question,” Kisha said, swinging her legs. “Have you seen Marlies? She was here again, about two weeks ago, and helped me sort out a tharuk brawl, but I haven’t seen her since.”
“Sounds like her.” He studied the eggs, avoiding her gaze.
“When Marlies first visited here, two moons ago, I gave her my grandmother’s jade ring that controls the realm gate, but last time she was here, she didn’t say much about what happened to her.”
He gazed at her. “Last time I saw you, I told you how I took her across the flatlands to the foot of the Terramites, hidden in the base of my wagon.” Kisha nodded, and he continued, “Well, I found out later that she helped free Zaarusha’s orange-scaled son, Maazini, from Zens’ clutches, but first, she nearly died when Zens tortured her. Afraid to spill Dragons’ Realm’s secrets, she took some berries that put her into a deep coma.”
“Coma?”
Giant John flipped the pork. The fine aroma wafted to Kisha as the meat sizzled and browned. “She looked like she was dead, barely breathing, barely alive, until her son, Tomaaz, found her and rescued her. Together, they escaped Death Valley using the ring. Now, Tomaaz has returned and freed the slaves.”
Kisha gaped. Freed the thousands of slaves in Death Valley? For as long as she’d been alive, Zens had been capturing and enslaving their people. “Death Valley’s gone?”
“Well, it’s still there, but the slaves are gone. They’re at Dragons’ Hold. Thanks to a contraption Zens made that held the realm gates open when he used one of those jade rings.” Giant John shoveled the eggs onto his plate and moved the pork around the pan with the spatula.
“One of them?”
“Apparently there was another ring too.” He tilted his head, grinning at her. “No more slavery. No more tharuks. It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?”
“So Marlies is responsible for all that? I’d love to see her again.”
Giant John turned to her, his eyes full of sorrow. “She didn’t make it. She sacrificed her life to save her daughter, Ezaara, the Queen’s Rider.”
Kisha swallowed. Another bright star had faded. Another person she’d cared about. “How did she die?”
“She leaped from her dragon to save Ezaara from a bolt of mage fire, and died in a blaze of fire that lit up the sky.” Giant John shook his head. “The truth is, she was already dying. She never quite recovered from the berries she took in Death Valley.”
Kisha swallowed, trying to ease the ache in her throat. It didn’t work. “At least Ezaara’s alive. I’d like to meet her, some day.”
Giant John slid the pork onto his plate and took the pan off the fire. He grabbed a fork and leaned back against the counter, stabbing the eggs with a vengeance. “I’d love to be there when you meet her: the ex-Queen’s Rider’s granddaughter and the new Queen’s Rider. I think you’ll like her, Kisha.” He put his fork on his plate, and placed his hand on Kisha’s shoulder. “Come on. Although we might not feel like it, the revelry out there will probably do us good.”
§
Ithsar leaned back in her chair as Stefan entertained half the inn with stories of how brave he and Fangora had been in battle. Even though they’d only known each other a week, Ithsar was going to miss his brash, cheeky smile.
Goren plonked a bowl of stew on the table and sat beside her. “You worked wonders with Stefan’s swordsmanship in those few short days. How did you do it?” Eyes on her, he shoveled a spoonful of stew into his mouth.
Ithsar shrugged. “He’s a fast learner, but his balance was wrong. Once we corrected that, and I showed him a few simple sword strokes and blocks that suited his build, he was fine.”
Goren looked weary, his face lined with grief and his shoulders slumped as he dunked his bread into his stew and bit into it.
“Thanks for bringing Giant John back here to see Kisha,” Ithsar said. “He trained her for years, so it means the world to her.”
“Anakisha’s granddaughter, the bartender to tharuks. I never thought I’d live to see the day. I bet she’s glad that’s over.” Goren took another spoonful of stew. “Ithsar, I, um… you handled yourself well in battle. You’re a fine leader.”
Ithsar stared, speechless.
Goren grinned. “You led your wing of sea dragons extremely well. Much better than I anticipated. I’m sorry I underestimated you.”
She gaped.
Goren chuckled. “Don’t look so shocked. I’m not that bad.”
Ithsar grinned and they lapsed into companionable silence, watching the bustle and hubbub around them.
Giant John came out of the kitchen with a massive plate of eggs and pork, Kisha at his side. They sat on a step at the bottom of the staircase to the bedrooms. Giant John shoveled eggs and pork into his mouth, gesti
culating as he told Kisha wild tales. Every now and then, she answered, and he slapped his thigh, laughter shaking his enormous frame.
As soon as his eggs were gone, Giant John helped himself to a huge bowl of stew, and then another.
Ithsar nudged Goren. “I don’t know how he can eat that much…”
Goren grinned, making him look more carefree than Ithsar had ever seen. “It’s quite a feat, isn’t it? I guess battle makes him hungry.”
Just then, Stefan got to the punch line of his latest rescue, and the inn rippled with laughter.
§
The hubbub of the dragon riders perched on chairs, tables, and around the floor of the inn was strangely comforting to Kisha after so many moons of serving tharuks. Stefan was holding the floor, still teasing Ithsar. He hadn’t stopped all night. Although the chief prophetess certainly didn’t seem to mind, and was giving him back as much as he gave.
“So, here I am, a herbalist who imprinted with the dragon, and I saved the head of the Robandi assassins from a terrible fate.” Stefan whacked his thigh, tipped his head back and crowed like a rooster at dawn.
Ithsar groaned and rolled her eyes. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?” She slapped him on the arm, playfully.
He turned to her in mock seriousness, face solemn. “Do that again, and I may not save you next time.” And then he burst out laughing again.
The riders laughed too, joining in with tales of how they’d saved each other’s hides. Tomorrow, Ithsar had told Kisha, they’d light candles in the square for those who hadn’t made it. She’d asked Kisha to invite Katrine, so she could light a candle for Kadran too.
Kisha had seen enough dragon riders and warriors after battle to know that the laughter and camaraderie helped to hide the pain. But with the loss of Nila and the prospect of losing Thika and her new friends again so soon, Kisha needed fresh air. Besides, Nila’s dragon was out there, lonely and grieving.
She slipped out into the square with the last of the salted pork on an enormous tray, and tiptoed over to Nila’s dragon, Nilanna, who was still sleeping. Kisha laid the tray on the cobbles near her head. Her scales shimmered in the flickering lantern light from the inn’s window. She was so beautiful, Kisha was tempted to touch her. She sighed, not wanting to wake her, and carefully stepped away.
The dragon’s eyes flicked open. Her nostrils quivered. She angled her head and winked at Kisha.
Winked? Kisha hadn’t even realized dragons could wink. And had never expected one to wink at her. She neared and laid her hand upon the creature’s forehead.
Nilanna’s voice drifted through her mind like a warm summer breeze. “You have such a big heart, Kisha. Your friends are inside, enjoying each other’s company, yet you come outside to care for me, knowing I am lonely and have lost the one I loved.”
“I understand losing the ones you love. It has happened to me too.” Kisha’s parents’ faces swam before her eyes. Ma’s lovely brown hair and twinkling blue eyes and Pa’s friendly laugh.
“This was your family?”
Kisha nodded.
“Gone?” The sea dragon’s voice was like a whisper in a hallowed hall.
“Yes.”
“Then you are lonely too?”
Kisha nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks.
The dragon’s golden eyes glowed with inner fire. “Then I claim you as my new rider.”
Warmth washed over Kisha, and she gasped as a tight coil inside her unfurled like a new bud in spring, and blossomed into something warm and vibrant and loving. Sweet music filled her breast, like the melody of the most beautiful songbird. Slowly, the warmth and the music built, until her veins surged with the fire of new adventure.
“Now that we have imprinted, I shall no longer be known as Nilanna, but Kishanna, after you.”
This? This beautiful sweet surety that she’d follow this dragon to the ends of the realm was imprinting.
But Anakisha’s visions held her in their grip. She didn’t dare fly, because, she knew, when she got on that dragon’s back, she’d never want to get off again. And she was bound here—by her promise to her dying mother and by her promises to the spirit of her grandmother.
She’d pledged to stay until it was time to leave—and that time was not now. She could feel it in her bones.
Kisha rested her forehead against her dragon’s snout as tears rolled down her cheeks.
Follow your heart. You’ll know when the time is right.
Her heart was telling her to go, but she knew it wasn’t time yet.
Kishanna’s sadness washed over her. “You’re a free spirit, Kisha. Yet you remain chained to the past.”
Kisha nodded, sorrow and joy warring in her breast. “It’s my duty. I promised.”
“Then I will wait, and fly without a rider until you’re ready.”
Kisha flung her arms around Kishanna’s scaly neck, and as a thrum built inside the dragon’s throat, rumbling through her bones, she knew that this was right, so right. But not now.
With a heavy heart, she traipsed into the Lost King Inn, casting more than one glance back over her shoulder.
A Bizarre Surprise
The next morning, Kisha rose early and popped out into the square before anyone was awake. Kishanna nuzzled Kisha’s hand, snuffing warm air over her palms. Kisha laughed and scratched her snout.
“Would you mind scratching my eye ridges?” Kishanna rumbled. “They get terribly itchy.”
Kisha stretched up her hand and scratched the rough scales above Kishanna’s eye. “It’s a shame I can’t come with you,” she said. “But I sense I still have a purpose here.”
Kishanna blinked. “You remained here so long, true to the visions from your grandmother, Anakisha. But surely now the war is over, it’s no longer necessary.”
The dragon’s words were tempting. But a sense of wrongness yawned inside Kisha, so she shook her head. “Maybe I can follow you some day.” She rubbed a dry scale on Kishanna’s jowl. “But for now, I’ll remain here. I’ve been true to my grandmother for all these years, so I can’t sway from that path until it’s time.”
There was a flurry of wingbeats above the square. Kisha glanced up, shading her eyes from the early morning sun gleaming off a golden dragon. Two riders were upon its back, a woman with flaming red hair wearing unusual garb, and a dark-haired man wearing a mage cloak. The dragon spiraled down to the square, two long cloth-wrapped packages draped across its haunches.
She swallowed. Surely not. Surely those couldn’t be…
The dragon landed. The man smiled and hailed her. “Good morning, Kisha. I have a special message for you from your grandmother.”
Her heart caught in her throat. Those bushy eyebrows. That mage cloak.
The man kissed the woman on the cheek and slid from the golden dragon, approaching Kisha. He held out his hand, shaking hers. A trickle of mage power zinged into her palm.
“Are you Master Giddi, the dragon mage?”
He chuckled. “Indeed, I am.”
“Then that must be…” But it couldn’t be.
“Yes, it is. I’d like you to meet Mazyka, my wife.”
Mazyka, who’d opened a world gate with Giddi years before, and let Commander Zens in, and then been locked out when Giddi had closed the gate—along with dozens and dozens of mages.
“We have a special delivery for you. Do have a spare bedroom?”
“The inn is full, but Giant John is leaving today, so you can use his room.”
The dragon mage’s bushy eyebrows flew up. “Giant John’s here?” The mage cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, “John! John, we need your help.” His voice echoed off the cobbles in the square and rang amongst the buildings, probably waking every resident in Last Stop.
Moments later, the tavern door burst open and Giant John stumbled out in his breeches and nightshirt. “Giddi! You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He embraced Giddi and Mazyka. “I see you’ve met my friend, Kisha.”
Gidd
i nodded. “We have a matter of grave importance, something that’s puzzled us all for years. I need your help.”
Giant John pounded his hand on his heart with a thump that might’ve knocked a lesser man down.
Mazyka had dismounted and was untying the packages on the dragon’s haunches. “Please, John, be careful. These are precious. We must take them inside immediately.”
Cradling the smaller of the long parcels as if it would shatter into a million pieces, Giddi lifted one from Mazyka’s arms and Giant John carefully eased the other off the dragon’s haunches, his eyes full of questions.
Kisha’s heart pounded.
Kishanna’s gentle voice drifted through her mind. “Be brave, Kisha. You have a valiant heart. I will always be here if you need me.”
A wave of comfort washed over Kisha. She squared her shoulders and followed Giant John, Master Giddi, and Mazyka inside.
§
Kisha had often wished to see her grandmother, but had never believed it would happen.
Anakisha’s body rested on the bed, hands clasped over her breast, and wrinkled face peaceful, as Giddi explained. “Mazyka and I went to Death Valley and found her in Zens’ quarters. He was using a strange, peculiar magic to keep her alive.”
“It’s called science,” Mazyka interrupted. “I’ve told you, Giddi, if we’re to teach everyone in Dragons’ Realm, we need to be clear. Magic and science are quite different.”
Those bushy eyebrows tugged down into a fierce frown. “All right, then. Using science, he kept her alive.”
“And this is Yanir?” Her grandfather, the King’s Rider, looked much younger than Anakisha, about two thirds her age.
“Yes, he was dead, but Zens pickled him. That’s why he looks younger,” Giddi said.
Mazyka rolled her eyes and chuckled. “It’s called preserving.”
“Yes,” said Kisha. “I preserve my pickles too.”
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