DragonFire

  A sudden ache clutched her heart. She lifted a hand to touch her scarred face.

  Shuddering away the melancholy, she scanned the sky. Miles from where she sat, two dragon riders battled. Her father rode Benrey, and the two of them faced Crim Cropper on a small, quick fire dragon. Kale jumped to her feet. Blasts of power hurled from one wizard to the other rippled the air with heat waves. Sir Kemry deflected the hits, but the smaller fire dragon’s agile moves meant that most of her father’s strikes missed.

  As the men maneuvered in the sky, their conflict moved closer to the river and the bluff. She could now hear the crack and sizzle of the wizards’ attacks.

  The struggle became more uneven. Sir Kemry had more experience in battle and that kept him alive. But Cropper put strength into his weapons that far surpassed anything Kale’s father could muster.

  She spoke aloud to the minor dragons perched on her shoulders. “All those years Crim Cropper spent experimenting must have included weapons as well as animals.”

  If I had my talent, I could do something. I could throw a blast of light energy at Cropper from this angle. I could mindspeak to his dragon and confuse him. I could meld my energy with Father’s and give Cropper one stunning wallop. If I only had a source of energy, perhaps I would have enough wizardry left in me to direct it.

  She put her hands to her head, pressing against her skull, willing the lost power to come back.

  In her hand, the hard globe pressed against her fingers. She brought her hand down and looked at the orb closely.

  “Energy,” she whispered. The pain may come back. Kale looked from her hand to the two combatants in the air. It might not work. It probably won’t work. You have no talent, remember?

  As she watched, the smaller fire dragon dove, then reversed directions and climbed, coming up under the bigger, slower Benrey. Her father moved to deflect the expected blast of fire, and the spell sputtered. The attacking dragon opened his mouth, and a stream of fire shot upward. Bits of flame penetrated, and Benrey jerked. As the fire dragon soared upward, passing Sir Kemry’s mount, Cropper discharged a powerful blast. Her father had not re-centered his shield, and they took a hit. Benrey’s wings folded, and his head tipped downward. His huge body spun.

  “No!” cried Kale.

  Benrey’s wings extended, and the great dragon righted himself. His injuries slowed his flight. Sir Kemry sat askew in his saddle.

  “Father! Oh, he’s hurt. He’s hurt!”

  Crim Cropper circled around. The angle and speed at which his fire dragon flew declared his intentions.

  “He’s coming in for the kill!”

  Kale looked once at the globe of energy. Her eyes went back to her failing father. She squeezed the orb with tight fingers against her palm until it hurt, then threw it to the ground. With one hand extended so that the cupped fingers pointed to the shattered fragments, she stretched the other arm toward her father. Energy flowed in a visible current from the broken orb into her hand, then reappeared as it streamed out of the other. The transference lasted only long enough for Kale to breathe deeply five times. She sank to the rocky ledge after the last tingle left her fingertips.

  Her gaze went back to the battle. She saw her father’s shoulders straighten, and she raised to her knees. Cropper and his mount’s reckless approach demonstrated their overconfidence. They did not expect a counterblow. They believed their enemy all but taken.

  Sir Kemry raised his hand, and Kale watched the energy flow she had provided directed at the enemy. The power streamed, not as a flash, but as a steady torrent washing over Cropper and his dragon. The barrage stunned both man and beast. They fell from the sky, plummeting without one effort to save themselves.

  Cheers rang out from all around. Others had been watching the battle. Benrey circled, obviously struggling with his injuries. He came to land with less grace than usual and far away from people. Kale guessed he hadn’t the strength to make the short flight to a more suitable spot.

  She gathered up her dragons and hurried down through the twisted tunnels. She wanted to see her father soon. He must be all right. He had to be.

  50

  FINAL BATTLE

  Kale remembered to put the veil over her face the first time she heard someone gasp as she went by. She came out of the entrance next to the river and realized her first obstacle was crossing to the other side. She stopped to pull the moonbeam cape out of the basket and went through the hollows to find several gold pieces. She put her plain moonbeam cape on over the fancy dress.

  “I’ll take you,” said the third boatman she asked. He took the gold from her hand and pocketed it. “You got everything you need? Because I’m not waiting while you run back to get trunks and parcels and the like.”

  “I have everything.” Kale stepped into the skiff and sat down on a wooden plank that served as a seat.

  The marione looked askance at the minor dragons as he gathered his docking lines. “Plenty of strange creatures around these days. It’s good to see a normal beast.”

  “Usually people are astonished to see minor dragons.”

  He sat down, put his oars in the oarlocks, and used one to push away from the pier. “I’ve seen pictures of dragons. The things that are creeping about have never had their likenesses put in a book.” He pulled on the oars, and the skiff slid out into deeper water. “Have you got a weapon on you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Better have it ready, then.”

  Despite the man’s dire predictions, they made it to the opposite shore with no incidents.

  “You’re going out there alone and on foot?”

  “My father’s out there.”

  The marione pulled the bill of his cap down farther on his forehead. “Wulder’s protection on you then.”

  Kale’s head jerked up. “Thank you. It’s been a long time since someone thought to give me that blessing.”

  He ducked his head in an awkward nod and shoved off.

  “Good-bye, and thank you.”

  He didn’t acknowledge her farewell.

  Kale surveyed the landscape. The grass that hadn’t been scorched by dragonfire had been crushed by many feet. She didn’t have time nor did she care to determine what types of people and animals had done this damage. She pushed the veil off her face and marched across the broken stubble toward the place she’d seen Benrey land. It seemed to her that a rush of people should be going out to greet her father, offer him aid, and congratulate him. She saw not a living soul.

  As she trudged through a scorched field, ash blackened the hem of her skirt. Passing a burned-out farmhouse, she couldn’t help but miss Celisse. She’d found her dragon in a barn where bisonbecks from Wizard Risto’s army had torched the home. Was Celisse all right or dead like Alton? She blocked the image of his body from her mind, swallowed hard, and continued on.

  Just beyond that line of trees, I think. It isn’t much farther.

  The vicious fighting had somehow left this patch of woods unscathed. With anticipation spurring her on, Kale dashed between the trunks and came out the other side. Benrey’s long body stretched across yellowed grass. With his eyes closed, her father sat with his back resting against his mount’s side. Burn marks scored most of the dragon’s hindquarters.

  Kale ran to kneel beside Sir Kemry. Gymn leapt to his chest and began to explore, checking for injuries.

  Kale placed a cautious hand on Sir Kemry’s cheek. “Father!”

  He opened his eyes. “Kale. I had to save my strength, and even then, it wasn’t enough.”

  “Where are you hurt?”

  He shook his head with effort. “Just a twinge. I don’t know if Benrey’s going to make it, though.”

  Kale jumped up and went to the head of the dragon. She knelt beside him and put her cheek on his forehead. She placed one hand next to his nostril and felt no breath. She listened and heard no beat of blood coursing through his veins. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Benrey would never fly for her father again.

 
“So much sadness.” A man’s voice rumbled with sympathy, but an underlying tone of mockery scraped over Kale’s nerves.

  Kale looked up to see Pretender standing a few feet away. He looked as if he’d just walked out of a palace. No grime, no wrinkles, no smudge of battle stained his elegant attire.

  “I can make it better, Kale.”

  “Bring back Benrey, and Ardeo, and Alton? I don’t think so.” Kale dampened the fire of anger in her chest. She knew from Wulder’s Tomes that “a heart that boils over with rage blisters the mind and scalds reason.”

  Her father stirred. “Who are you talking to, Kale?”

  “Pretender.”

  “Tell him to crawl back in his hole.”

  Pretender laughed. “Why do people always react to me like that?” He spread his hands in a “what can I do” gesture, then laughed again. “Well, actually, not all people do. Some find my friendship the best thing that has happened to them in this life.” He moved a few feet away from the side where Kale’s father rested. “You have so many problems right now, Kale, and I can help you with quite a few of them.

  “For instance, you want your talent back. I can arrange for that to happen. Did you know that Celisse is quite near? She’s approaching with that army you saw from the bluff. If you had your talent, you could call to her, and she would come.”

  “If she’s coming, I need only be patient and wait.”

  He studied Kale for a moment. “Still sad? What else can I do for you? Your face? I have the expertise to smooth those scars and wash out that ugly red discoloration. Your husband will be so distressed when he sees what Cropper’s hideous beast has done to his once-exquisite wife.”

  “Being your ‘friend’ would scar my soul. I think that would distress Bardon more.”

  “What about the pain, Kale? You accepted my gift without any qualms when the pain held you in its grip.”

  Kale steeled herself. “The pain is gone.”

  Pretender arched his eyebrows. “Gone for good. Are you sure?” He looked pointedly at her hand. “Where is the little bauble I gave you to energize the healing salve?”

  Kale said nothing.

  “You broke it. And I’m not even angry with you, Kale. I understand. And I am most glad you were able to assist your father. It was very clever of you. And you assisted me, as well.” He performed a formal bow. “I thank you for your part in Crim Cropper’s demise.”

  Kale clenched her fists, tightened her jaw, and refused to answer his taunts.

  “Kale,” her father called. “What’s all that muttering? You aren’t still talking to that villain?”

  “He’s still here, Father.”

  Lord Ire smiled and cocked his head to one side. “But the pain, Kale. I’m afraid it will return.”

  The worst of the scars on her face twitched. An ever-so-slight sensation of tightening muscles and discomfort made Kale wince. With the wince came a burst of searing pain. Kale dropped to her knees and held her face in her hands.

  “Just come with me, Kale. Live in my palace. Enjoy my company. You will have your talent. You can have whichever one of your friends you want to be there with you. No pain, and your beauty back. And one more thing, Kale. I was most irritated with your father for leading the dragons against me as well as Crim Cropper. I came here to kill him. For you, Kale, if you come with me, I’ll let him live.”

  Still holding her burning cheek, Kale looked up at Pretender. “If I go with you, it would kill my father. A slow death of disappointment and despair.”

  “Kale!” Her father’s voice sounded near.

  She twisted to see him standing with his sword drawn. She stood. “You can’t fight him. You’re too weak.”

  Sir Kemry smiled. “Never underestimate a father’s love.” He strode forward. Only a little wobble ruined the effect.

  Another voice interrupted the scene. “I think it’s time I stepped in.”

  All eyes turned toward the newest arrival. Kale, Sir Kemry, and Pretender each reacted differently.

  Kale grinned. “You’re well!”

  Sir Kemry bowed and said, “Your servant, sir.”

  And Pretender rolled his eyes. “Not you again.”

  Paladin grinned at his knight and his Dragon Keeper, then turned a solemn face to Pretender. “Are we going to fight?”

  Kale took her father’s arm and held on. At the moment she didn’t know if she was supporting him or if he held her up.

  Pretender sneered. “You mean as in a duel to the death? You know He won’t allow it.”

  Kale turned to her father and whispered, “What does he mean?”

  “Wulder has said that Pretender may not kill Paladin. And even Pretender must abide by Wulder’s mandate.”

  “No.” Lord Ire’s cold voice sent shivers down Kale’s spine. “I can’t kill him, but I can wound him, humiliate him, destroy those he loves, and take away all his possessions.”

  “And in the end, Pretender?” asked Paladin. “What is the end?”

  Pretender ground his teeth. “The end is not written yet.”

  Paladin’s eyebrows shot up. “Isn’t it?”

  A clap of thunder, a puff of smoke, and Pretender vanished.

  “Dramatic exit,” muttered Sir Kemry and collapsed.

  Kale went down with him. “Father, are you all right? Paladin, I think he fainted.”

  Paladin came to her side, put one hand on her shoulder and one on Sir Kemry’s. After a moment, he said, “He’s all right, Kale. You are too.”

  Her father opened his eyes and winked. She smiled at him and then at Paladin.

  “So here you are,” Gilda said. “I thought I told you to stay in the caves. What have you gotten into this time?”

  Kale laughed and glanced over her shoulder. Regidor, Gilda, and Bardon stood in a row. They looked exhausted but unhurt. Her husband had a nick on his chin. Kale ducked her head and turned away. She frantically grabbed the veil and tugged it in place.

  “What are you doing?” Bardon’s boots were firmly planted beside her. When she looked up, he smiled. “Get up. I want to kiss you.”

  She didn’t move. She heard him hiss out, “Kale, are you hurt?”

  She began to cry but shook her head.

  “Please, lady of mine. I’m still stiff as a stake from that awful disease, and I can’t come down there to you. Stand up.”

  Kale stumbled to her feet, stifling sobs but not hiding her sniffles at all. “You’ve been ill? I wasn’t there to take care of you.”

  “And inconvenient it was, too. I could have used you and Gymn.” He softened his voice. “I could have used you.”

  His hand reached up to lift the veil, and she stopped him. “Don’t.”

  “Why? I want to kiss you.”

  “I don’t have any talent left. I exhausted it. A Cropper creature attacked me during the forest fire, and Alton and Ardeo are dead, and the creature scratched my face, and it was poison and my face is scarred.” She hiccuped. “And my head.”

  Bardon lifted the veil. She watched his eyes, waiting for the reaction. She saw only love and amazement.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kale. You’re beautiful.”

  She sniffed twice, hiccuped, and dissolved into tears. He gathered her in his arms, knocking the silly hat off. That seemed to please him. He kissed the top of her head.

  Kale felt the smooth skin of her cheeks. “Paladin must have healed me.” She hiccuped again.

  “When?” asked her father from behind her.

  She turned around with difficulty because Bardon didn’t let her go. “When he healed you.”

  “But that was later. There was nothing wrong with your face when you first found me.”

  “But the scars were still there. I felt the pain course through them again when Pretender spoke to me. He said he’d take them away if I went with him.”

  Gilda sashayed over on Regidor’s arm. “The scars were there. I saw them. And they aren’t there now.” She turned to Pal
adin. He sat on a log, playing with the minor dragons.

  “Well,” said Gilda, sounding her most demanding, “are you going to explain this?”

  He laughed. “I think Sir Kemry explained it. He said, ‘Never underestimate a father’s love.’ Through eyes of love, he saw the beauty even before the beauty was restored.”

  Kale put her fingertips to her temples.

  Bardon hugged her tighter. “Are you all right?”

  She tilted her head. “Yes, I hear voices.” She looked up at him and beamed. “I hear Dar and Celisse and Greer and all the minor dragons.”

  Her eyes widened. “And I know what you’re thinking, Sir Bardon.”

  With a twinkle in his eye, Bardon leaned down, a bit stiffly, and kissed his wife.

  EPILOGUE

  “Forgive me for doubting you, daughter.” Sir Kemry offered Kale a plate of food.

  She scooted over on the log she used as a seat and balanced the dish on her knee. Her moonbeam cape slipped, and she used one hand to resettle it on her shoulder. The chilly night air brushed her cheek. Kale glanced at Sir Kemry as he settled on the log. “How did you doubt me?”

  Her father gestured with his fork. “Look around. We’ve walked into your mural at Black Jetty.”

  Kale’s head swiveled as she took in her surroundings. Regidor and Gilda stood by the fire with Dar. Paladin stood off to the side, talking to Bardon. But her husband was almost invisible in the shadows of a bentleaf tree. The minor dragons decorated a bush where they’d found a horde of night beetles.

  “The grave?” Kale peered toward the other bentleaf tree.

  “Not there.” Sir Kemry took her hand in his. “Perhaps it’s a figurative grave and not a resting spot for one individual.”

  Kale’s throat closed as she thought of those who had died. Three dear dragons came to mind first. Then the homes she’d seen ravaged by armies and obliterated by the flames of fire dragons. The blackened forest on the other side of the river was just one spot scorched by the war. More than property and livelihoods had been destroyed. Each of the high races had lost many people.

  Where others had lost sons, fathers, mothers, friends, and spouses, Kale sat by her father, could see her husband, and knew her mother helped in a field hospital. Very soon, her dragon eggs would hatch. She had the promise of new life tucked in the scarf at her waist. Even her injuries had been cured.