Locking her jaw against her own aches, she works her way around Maru. With the last of her strength, she shoves his mass over the side of the platform. He rolls, tumbling to land in a sprawl beneath the adjoining trees.
She glances skyward. It would have to do. She has no strength to hide him any better. Wearily she allows herself to slide off the platform, using her wings to adjust her decent. Kilita crumples on the ground a short distance from Maru and gives in to sleep.
~!~
Trella glances up as Natal lands in the meadow beside the pond. The late afternoon sunlight plays across his carnation-red scales, setting the male dragon aglow. He shifts the deer he carries into his mouth from his front talons and struts across the space separating them.
“Hunting is good in the hills, I brought thee a fresh-slain deer for thy evening repast.” Natal places the carcass beside her and steps back several paces.
Trella does not even glance at the offering. She knows Natal’s intentions, he wishes her to see him as a good provider. “My thanks, but as I told thee, I do not need to feed.”
“You cannot mean to tell me that you intend to waste a perfectly good deer?” The high-pitched reproach comes from Pearlitta, where she sits beside her slowly-dying fire.
Natal jerks his head the child’s direction. “And who is this?”
“The child’s name is Pearlitta.”
“I told you, I am not a child.”
“She intends to remain here nextday, when the convoy leaves.”
Natal tilts his head and gazes at Pearlitta, his eyes full of puzzlement. “But, child, thou must accompany the other humans, it is not—”
“I… am… not… a child.” Pearlitta spits the words out and stomps over beside the deer. She peers up at Trella. “If you are not going to eat this deer your friend brought you, can I have it?”
“I brought that for Trella to consume, so that she may bolster her strength for nextday’s flight.”
Trella gazes at the red male for a moment. No, it will simply not do to let him think she is interested in his courtship, even if she does near the time she may mate. “Since I do not hunger, of course thou may have it, Pearlitta.”
“Trella, I brought it for thee.” Natal’s brow furrows as he gives the young human a disgruntled look.
“If thou gives it to me, it is perfectly proper for me to give it to someone who will use it, since, as I said, I have no desire to feed.”
“My thanks, to both of you.” Pearlitta kneels beside the carcass and begins to efficiently gut the doe. Her tongue protrudes slightly from her pursed lips as she concentrates on her task.
Natal grunts and moves a few strides away to settle upon his thorax, wrapping his tail around himself. “How is thou going to carry that much meat by thyself all the way to where the convoy of the humans forms?”
Pearlitta removes the liver and heart, placing them on the cooled flat stone by her low fire. “I do not have to go that far.” She gestures with a blood-enrobed hand toward the low hills to the east. “My cabin is only over that second hill.” Her gaze runs across the two of them. “Do either of you want these guts?”
Trella shakes her head and Natal grunts a negative reply.
“My sire said the guts were a dragon’s favorite part of a deer.” Pearlitta shrugs and, careful to keep the pile in the translucent membrane of the body cavity, she struggles with it to the pond and dumps it in.
“Pearlitta, thou cannot remain here, nextday thou must leave with the others.” Natal’s eyes glimmer like molten gold in the low rays of the sun.
The girl strides back to the deer, kneeling to begin efficiently skinning it out. “We have already had this conversation.” She tilts her head toward Trella. “Like I told her, it is none of your concern.”
Trella keeps her eyes on the girl as she sends in private Mindspeak to Natal, “We shall have to involve humans in charge. While the child labors with slaughtering this deer, go and get someone from the convoy, and bring them here.”
“Enjoy thy deer, then.” Natal stands and shakes out his immense wings. In two strides he is airborne. He does cut a fine figure against the setting sun, Trella muses, then turns her attention back to the girl.
Chapter 7
Geramn’s knuckles scrub across his chin stubble. He needs to shave and bathe before the Shaman returns to transport him. He gazes at the seven people still left in his and two other Healer’s care. They found them two sunrises ago, when the Shaman was transporting the other survivors; a lone man stumbled into the village. He told of others that fled with him and now lay injured in a distant gully.
Geramn shakes his head, marveling at the twist fate had thrown in these people’s path. They escaped the Volastoque attack upon Taloxville, only to fall victim to a rock slide where they hid. It took until this sunrise to stabilize most of them, and another five were lost—joining the communal grave.
He rises from his pallet and stretches. A good cup of tea and he will be set. That may have been the best sleep he has had in a moon or more. He wanders over where midday meal is set up and pours himself a mug of tea.
Platters of fried redfin and fried maizeballs fill the table, the pungent aroma of the fish filling the area. His stomach growls and reminds him he has not eaten since last nightfall. He selects several of the fish fillets, one of his favorites, and a handful of the maizeballs. He works his way over to one of the near-empty tables set up beside a crumbling wall that was once Taloxville’s Healer’s Hall and sets to his meal with gusto. The mild, flaky fish brings back memories of taking his two sons fishing. The boys would rather fish than breathe, or so his sire often commented.
He finishes and leans back in his chair, sipping on his tea. He shall request time to visit with his family. His gaze rolls across the destruction before him. The murmur of quiet conversations and the occasional cough are the only sounds. Not even birdsong breaks the gloom over the demolished village.
He needs to see his boys and his daughter. It has been too long. At eight and ten winters, his boys would miss him. But, his greatest concern is that little Rekia, at only one winter old, would forget her sire.
A dragon’s bugle breaks his reverie and jerks his gaze to the south. A dark-green dragon flies with faltering strokes toward the village. Two Shaman jump from their meals and rush toward the plaza. Their gazes search the sky behind the dragon and their hands take on a blue glow of defense.
Geramn lurches to his feet to join the men running toward the open area at the east side of the courtyard. He waves the youngest Healer back to their patients, and gestures that Healer Frandem should accompany him. He moves with careful speed over the rough surface of the courtyard, avoiding the debris littering its stones.
“I need a Healer.” The dragon’s Mindspeak rings through his head well before she lands.
The defense Shaman separate. Each moves to one side of the open area, arms extended with a blue pulse along their length. The ground beneath his feet shudders when the dragon lands. He reaches her before her wings fold. Her half-lidded golden eyes meet his gaze as she sags upon the ground.
“Healer, thou must return with me. My friend needs thy skills.”
“Let me take a look at you.” Geramn grabs a hold of her foreleg, his footwear slipping on the smooth scales as he scrambles up its length. Long scratches run along her dorsal crest and sides, with the scales pealed back to expose her almost black skin beneath. Several have places cut through but appear shallow, already scabbed over.
She turns her neck and the triangular-shaped head looms above him. “I am fine. It is Maru who needs thy aide.”
“You are not fine.” He gestures to her dull scales. “At the very least you are dehydrated.” He scrambles over her dorsal crest to inspect the scrapes on the other side. “Your wounds should have a salve to prevent infection and speed healing.”
The massive head above his sways side to side. “No, there is no time. Maru is in far worse condition. We have to return.”
&
nbsp; “Return where?” The gruff voice belongs to Shaman Jadrun, who stands in front of the dragon, his hand clutching a green crystal hanging on a chain around his neck.
Geramn glances at the Shaman in surprise; he did not know Jadrun had returned. He kneels to poke one of the scratches; white puss oozes out. “Frandem, get cloths and rinses to clean these. Oh, and have someone bring this dragon a drink.”
The dragon’s neck swings to peer at Jadrun. “A half-day’s flight south-east. Volastoque attacked at Maru’s lair.” The bulk of the dragon heaves below Geramn as a sob catches in her throat. “They slaughtered the hatchlings.”
“You are Kilita?” Shaman Jadrun uses his long, gnarled hand to shade his green eyes. “I did not know you had a clutch.”
“Not mine, Aura’s, and they took her.”
“Nora Kilita, please, start at the beginning.” The Shaman steps to the side as four lads arrive, three toting water pails and the fourth with a large basin. They place the basin before the green, dumping the water, and turn to go fetch more.
Kilita slurps the basin empty in one swallow. Geramn continues his examination as her tale unfolds. He shudders at the gristly description of the hatchling’s slaughter, his heart aching at the loss of the young.
He snags a hold on the spinal ridge as the dragon beneath him sways as she rises to her feet.
“I need to take a Healer back. Maru will not survive without aide.” Her emerald head swings around to peer at him. “I can carry thee. Please get what thou needs to treat severe cuts and burns.”
“Carry me?” His guts clench at the thought. “For a half-day, you expect to carry me as you fly?” He shakes his head. “I doubt you can make the flight on your own, little alone carry me. You are exhausted.”
“We must return, there is no time to waste.”
Jadrun clears his throat. “Nora Kilita, where exactly is this lair?”
“The western point of the Renault Mountains.”
“Near Shadrock Point?”
“An hour’s flight from Shadrock Point.”
The Shaman nods; his eyes take on a decisive glint. “Healer Geramn, get what you need. I know Shadrock Point, I can transport us there. From there we can have her fly us in. Or with landmarks, I can transport us in stages.”
Geramn slides down the dragon’s side, his feet making a skittering sound across the scales. “I can be ready in a few moments.” Glancing up at Kilita, he says, “Keep drinking, as even your scales begin to dry out.” He gestures at Healer Frandem. “Attend her cuts while I make ready.”
Most of the dragon’s cuts are smeared with ointment when he returns. Jadrun slings his large pack onto his back, the muscles in his forearms bulging as he pulls the straps tight. “Grabbed some food and bedding, since I did not know how long this would take.” He leans down and picks up a heavy leather cloak and a leather harness, extending them in one hand to Geramn. “Put the cloak on, then the harness, and then secure your pack on your back.” He holds up two lengths of rope. “I intend to tether us to her leg. That way, at least we will not fall unless she does.”
Geramn swallows hard, then nods. He slips into the harness, pulling the straps tight. “Did you find your mate?”
Jadrun shakes his head. “No, but neither did I find her body.”
Geramn inwardly flinches; rumors of the beasts consuming humans has reached them from the recent battles. He peers at the Shaman. “You think…”
Jadrun tugs the harness straps, his green eyes hard as flint as he checks the fit. “I hope she will still be discovered, as others are making their way in yet.” He slaps the Healer on the shoulder. “I shall return to search again, but for now, I am needed here.” With that the Shaman strides to the dragon’s leg, stooping to attach the first rope. Geramn shakes his head, not sure he could focus on any task if his beloved mate was missing.
Above them, the emerald dragon fidgets as Frandem finishes and slides to the ground. “Two of those slashes near her tale will need a thorough cleaning; I gave them a quick wash and then covered them with salve. The rest are minor cuts and should do.”
Geramn pats the young man on his shoulder. “Take good care of our patients until I return or they transport.”
“I will.” Frandem lifts the pack with supplies to his back, helping him secure it. Tugging on his forelock, the young Healer walks to join those gathered a distance away.
Trying to quell his rising apprehension, he turns and joins Jadrun. The Shaman is tall, at least a handspan taller then he, yet he barely comes to the dragon’s knees. He stands beside the forelegs, one rope secured to each. Gesturing that Geramn should turn around, he ties the rope in his hand to the back of his harness. “Have you ever flown before?”
“No.”
“Then I recommend you keep your eyes closed; she will have to take off before I transport us.” Jadrun sounds exhausted, but his grip is firm as he clasps Geramn on the shoulder. “Keep your eyes closed until we land. If I can follow landmarks, that should be close to the lair.”
He nods, not willing to trust his voice, his throat is so tight.
The deep shadow beneath the emerald dragon is cool. A light shiver runs up Geramn’s spine as his gaze trails along his tether, noting how frail the stout rope appears against the massive forelegs of the dragon.
Jadrun secures his own rope, and then calls, “Ready when you are, Nora Kilita.”
Geramn sucks air between his teeth in a hiss as the dragon’s head swings down to peer at the two humans. He lifts his arms above his head. Her eyes narrow for a heartbeat, and then she lifts the leg next to him, twisting the foot until the talons encircle his body.
“Let me know if thou is uncomfortable.”
Uncomfortable? A dry chuckle escapes his lips. By the Lady, he was uncomfortable at the mere thought of flying. The talons tighten around his body and legs, a firm, strong hold that encases him without pain. “That is fine,” he forces out through lips stiff against his teeth.
Shifting her weight back onto her haunches, Kilita grasps the Shaman and her body lurches upright. His eyes slam shut as her hindquarters coil. One powerful thrust with the downward swoop of her wings, and they are airborne.
He barely has time to assimilate the sensation of flight when the emptiness of transportation overcomes his senses for a heartbeat. His ears pop and he risks a glance. They are high above towering, snow-capped mountains. A single pinnacle thrusts out at an odd angle beneath them, like a pointing finger. That must be Shadrock Point.
The swoosh of the dragon’s wings is the only sound until Jadrun yells, “Which way from here?”
The dragon swirls into a circle, breaking off headed east. “This way.”
The scene below disappears, another heartbeat of emptiness, then the landscape beneath them is covered with evergreens. Cypress, pine, fir, cedar, and spruce cover the mountains, which are no longer covered in snow.
“Almost there, again about half that distance.”
Another transport has them high above a lake resting in a shallow bowl formed between two ridges.
“I can fly from here.”
Her wings almost blur in his vision as she pelts across the sky. He swallows hard against the nausea and closes his eyes. Several moments pass with him murmuring prayers to the Lady, then the wing-beats slow. The rush of air warms as they descend, then a soft jolt and they are still. He opens his eyes.
The crumpled form of a large black and silver dragon lies a short distance away, beside a swath of crushed trees. He takes a deep breath in relief and turns to loosen his tether. Thank the Lady, that was over. His hands fumble at the tie and he hopes they can transport out of here when he has Healed this dragon.
Chapter 8
By the Lady, Trella has never seen anyone so bursting with anger. Pearlitta gives her a look that before now Trella has only seen on those intent on the kill. Trella squelches her remorse; the child simply had to be forced to come along as it was unconscionable to even consider allowing her to remai
n in a cabin alone.
Trella watches as the plump woman keeps a firm hold on Pearlitta’s shoulder and steers her toward a large, boxy wagon inline with the convoy. The girl slings her long brown hair over her shoulder and, casting Trella a last scathing glare, stomps ahead of the woman to enter the wagon.
“Their younglings can be quite opinionated.” Natal comments from where he stands beside her.
“The child has spirit. I like that in a youngling.” Trella studies the convoy of humans as they prepare to depart. “Pearlitta but strove to follow the instructions of her sire. He told her he would be back, and for her to wait at that farm.”
“Her sire will find that these folks have been taken to Burick Lake Cavern for safety; it should not be an issue.”
Trella rolls her eyes at him. “Thou really does not understand, does thou? Pearlitta gave her pledge to remain at that farm. She sees this as breaking that pledge, regardless of the reason.”
“Her sire would never hold her to a pledge that endangered her.”
“No, he would not. However, she would.” Trella moves to a clear space as close to the child’s wagon as she can. “I will see thee nextday, Natal. I intend to remain here to make sure she does not leave.”
“The youngling is back with those who are in charge of her care; there is no need for thee to remain here on guard.” He glances around. “Thou will get no sleep with this multitude milling about.”
“I do not intend to. I will keep watch.” Kilita settles to the crushed grass. “My gratitude for thy help earlier. I will see thee nextday.”
~!~
Geramn steps away from the green dragon, slings his pack to the ground, and rapidly divests himself of the harness and cloak.
“His worst injuries are beneath him, large tears that I scorched to stop the bleeding.”
He nods to Kilita, then strides toward the crumpled dragon. “I shall examine the rest of him first, in case it is dangerous to roll him over.”
“Well, as to that,” she says and looks above them at the platform of mangled trees. “He was up there. I already moved him twice. Once to seal his wounds, and again to conceal him here.”