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BRIAL PUSHED OPEN THE door. Outside, the first silvery rays of the dawning brightened the sky. She clutched her precious gift to her chest. After only two steps, surprise stopped her in her tracks. Her personal quarters were gone. Only the wagon she had just left remained at the now deserted campsite. The rest of the caravan slowly snaked across the valley. Five people held the reins of their horses. Two more saddled mounts awaited riders. One held a small satchel bulging with food. The scan revealed another surprise. My travel bag hangs from the other.
What is going on? How did the clan break camp without me hearing anything? Blood chilled by fear and confusion broke at Trelleir's knowing smile.
Betrys, her travel bag slung over one shoulder slowly walked down the steps. "Thank everyone for waiting on an old woman."
The caravan leader swept an arm back in a courtly bow while his village counterpart stepped forward, took Betrys’ bag, and hung it over a saddle horn.
Shock added to the earlier surprise when her grandfather picked her up and swung around. "Brial, don’t worry about your wagon and team, Emrys has them well in hand. And the reason you didn’t hear the caravan roll out was simple. Everyone was especially quiet, and Betrys blocked the outside world until the last moment."
He set her down and turned to the healer who now had a bemused expression on her face.
"Betrys, a blessing for the road?" Feldt and Keyne begged in simultaneous ritual and bowed their heads.
A sense of sorrow washed over Brial. She pinpointed the source as being Betrys and ... Deneas? However, Deneas’ bowed her head, hiding her expression, as did both Trelleir and Karst.
"Of course, my friends." The healer raised a hand in benediction.
"May the blessing of light be on you,
light without and light within.
The blessing of earth be upon you,
soft under your feet as you pass along the roads.
Troubles rest lightly on your shoulders,
so your souls may be out from under it quickly.
Blessings be yours for the length of your days."
Magic sparkled in the air. It dissipated the gloom, leaving behind a sense of hope.
This is my future, Brial thought. Magic. She looked over at Deneas who had a sad smile on her face. She knows more about the cost of having powers than I thought.
"Mistress, with your approval?" Without waiting for an answer Keyne picked up his mother and placed her in the saddle.
THE FINAL GOODBYES were now long over. Although the sun hung high in the sky, Brial didn’t go to her wagon and instead rode in the tail position. At the moment, she needed the solitude of at the end of the long line of wagons. Karst rode beside her. Whether respecting her need for quiet or some other emotion he hadn’t said a word or asked any questions. Other than handing her a slab of honeyed bread to break her fast, he had not acknowledged her existence.
Fear gripped her soul. Please, ancestors, don’t let Karst’s silence be because of magic. Even though no one had said anything, in her heart she knew he was aware of the change in her.
The story behind her gift still echoed in her mind. The book was the diary of the woman who taught Betrys, and the woman before her in what Betrys described as a long line of healers. Each bequeathed the book of their knowledge, research, and healing secrets to the next in line.
"But," Betrys had explained, "old Iseldir had no kin. No one to give the book to, so she gave it to me to pass on to someone I felt could use it." And when Brial had tried to give it back the other woman added, "I inherited my mother's book, and when it is time, I will pass it along to Leri. So you see I don't need this one." She shrugged. "Maybe it can help you pass the time until you can get more formal training. I know I won’t be there to help with the more cryptic languages, but ask Trelleir."
Her held breath betrayed the shock.
"Trelleir is a friend," the other woman said. "You can trust him. Since he travels with the wagon, take advantage of his learning. He can not only help decode the notes, but he is not totally unschooled in the way of magic."
Rather than offering any more explanation on the revelation about Trelleir, she handed over another package, smaller and one that was apparently a weapon.
"I already have a belt knife, grandmother." As with the other protest, Brial didn't offer twice when her sacrifice was denied.
"It is more than just a knife. It is a healer's tool. It was Iseldir’s. While some mages choose to be buried with their weapons, she did not want the residual powers lost." A broad smile and Betrys added, "I thought her spirit might guide you in your learning."
With reverence, Brial slid the blade from the leather sheath. The metal shone with the spark of a star-kissed lake.
EACH STROKE SENT FIRE through his wings. Finally, muscles pushed beyond their limits forced Medraut to the ground. Dust scented with the golden flowers carpeting the area rose from his heavy landing. Dragon vision showed he was still two candlemarks worth of flight from his destination, the tree line where food should be found. An undeniable fact seared his mind. Any prey would hide in the woods until sunset. And it was only mid-day.
"I am not going to walk the length of this valley," he cursed. My meal will have to come to me.
Even though the dust no longer filled the air, he knew the heavy landing had given away his presence. There was no need to pretend to be a human. I might as well use my magic to gather my food instead of hiding my true form. Stretching his wings to use the sun to ward off the chill of the mountain air, he gathered his magic. His cajoling croon drifted across the meadow as gossamer purple ribbons. First, a long-eared jumper, then a second and a third popped its head above the flowers. A twitch of their whiskers and they dove into their hidden burrows.
Medraut bugled in anger. Weakened from hunger, he couldn’t even bring a long-eared jumper out of its hiding hole. How was he going to find something more substantial? Depleted reserves made walking to the woods or flying to the distance mountain impossible.
The breeze carried something besides the fragrance of flowers. His stomach rumbled at the tantalizing scent of horse.
Not my favorite food, he thought, but better than a long-eared jumper or two. That was a fine meal for a man, but not for a dragon.
A long drag to bolster his strength and he cast out the magical summons.
Two tan horses stepped from the trees but stopped after only a few feet. Despite the distance, Medraut could tell they were unusually big.
"Come to me," he crooned. "You cannot resist."
Snorts and mirthful whinnies greeted his efforts. The horses turned and tails held high trotted back into the shadows.
No. His angry bugle sounded, to be overshadowed by more whickers. How dare those puny horses laugh at a full-grown dragon? How dare they laugh at me!
The voracious hunger that haunted Medraut, both awake and asleep, could no longer be held at bay. He repeated the demand for any living thing to come to him. Only this time, the magic appeared even more transparent, and the ribbons were thinner, hovering just above the ground. They also traveled half the distance of the previous effort. Not risking what little food he had, when the jumpers popped up, a single slash of a razor-sharp talon prevented their escape.
His tongue darted out to catch the life-giving fluid. When it stopped flowing, he sank his teeth into the still-warm flesh to suck out any remaining blood. Swift movements drained the remaining jumpers, but the blood did little to satisfy his hunger. Three crunches and the bodies, bones and all, disappeared.
To fight the hunger still gnawing at his insides, Medraut curled up in a ball to soak up the warmth radiating from the rocks.
The tumult of his thoughts didn’t quiet. They changed from thinking about food to another more intense need.
An invisible ribbon of desire pulled him to the woman he had seen at the wagon.
By now she should be finished making that noxious brew. With the right encouragement, she will provide a hot meal, then afterward warm my bed. Rocking back on his haunches, he launched himself skyward.
A bugle sounded into the air to be snatched away by the winds.
MEDRAUT ROARED HIS frustration. He sensed the trader wagons – and his target – were nearby. Yet, there was no sight of the one he desired. Nothing moved in the pass beneath him. Still, his nerves twitched. The sensation of being followed became unbearable. Finally, he snaked his head over a wing to search his backtrail and found the reason for his unease. No man followed. A worse threat existed. A dark gray wall filled the space from the sky to the ground. He wasn't looking at a distant rockface. It was moving, and fast. A funnel formed in the wall cloud. Within a heartbeat, it dropped down and slid along the top of the cliff. Wind-whipped debris swirled around forming a black column in the heart of the storm. The wide base showed the massive size of the weather—and it was headed down the pass toward him.
A frantic search of the area revealed smooth walls unmarred by a cave or ledge. There was no place to hide. The nearest hope for shelter was a slide of large boulders that had split off from the cliff wall. If he could find an opening into the middle of the boulders, it would block the worst of the winds.
Squashing the urge to race the storm, he dove. His long, dragon vision showed a crevice, a narrow passageway into the pile. Medraut bugled his frustration. The opening was too small for his true form. He would have to use his magic and take on a human body.
Lightning struck in the distance. Counting the heartbeats between the flash and the resulting roar, he determined how long it would take for the heart of the storm to overtake him. A strong gust bent his wings back. Medraut’s scream of pain bounced off the stone walls, to be torn away by the winds.
"The storm is too close," came out in a snarl. "And moving too fast." Even if he was at full strength and flying full out, he would be caught out in the open. He had to risk landing so he could crawl into the boulders, then pray the funnel didn’t touch down until it was beyond the far end of the pass.
It took every ounce of his strength to shift into human form. Storm-whipped rain pounded his face, while the strong bursts snatched at his clothes and tried to force him back. A sigh of relief escaped. There was a hole in the boulders. He had found refuge. On hands and knees, he crawled into the small chamber. He couldn't stretch out or even sit so he curled into a ball.
Bolt after bolt of lightning lit the sky, casting the image of unearthly sprites cavorting around the small chamber. Each crack struck the cliff wall. A dribble of small stones grew into a torrent. The roar of the river of rocks shattered from the stone wall rose into a crescendo. Large rocks bounced off the boulders he hid within. An eternity later, the wind ceased its unearthly roar followed by an eerie stillness and blackness.
Silence greeted Medraut’s return to the present. Cold, the chill of rain-drenched stone, penetrated dulled senses. He couldn’t tell if one candlemark or a day had passed. The emptiness in his middle and a ravaging thirst told of an extended imprisonment.
The little light filtering through the narrow cracks revealed the rockslide blocked the narrow tunnel he had used to reach the sanctuary.
Curses bounced off the walls of the temporary chamber. "My true form would toss the boulders like child's play." There was hardly enough space in the small chamber for a man, let alone a dragon. "Can’t shift." None of the stories told on the Dragon Isle before they chased him away told of any such event. Unsure of what would happen if he rematerialized and part of the changing mist was between stones, he had no choice but to stay in the weak form of a man.
What had been a mere annoyance now turned into fear. There had to be a way out. His outcast senses neither touched any living thing nor showed an escape. He threw more strength into his magic and again sent his senses outward in search of a way out. The ethereal ribbon he had been following before the storm hit shimmered into being. Grabbing the shimmering line, he pushed a summons along it. Exhausted by the expense of energy and magic, he slid into a warm blackness.
Sounds, that of the clop of horses’ hooves, pulled him from the netherworld to the present. Something moved outside the imprisoning rocks casting shadows over the narrow cracks.
Medraut sighed in relief. He had not found the caravan, but they had found him. Ignoring the pins and needles of returning circulation, he frantically grabbed and pulled smaller rocks aside to widen the small gap. Each rock cleared made one thing clear. Whoever was going through the pass would be long gone before any signal could be given. He took a deep breath, released it, and summoned the transformation to his true form. Strength flooded into his arms and back. Fighting the sense of power that threatened his control, he held the change at the muscle level.
Two-handed pushes exploded the debris outward and he pulled his body halfway out of the hole. Razor-sharp edges on the rocks cut his hands and scraped his stomach. His throat muscles tightened with the effort to call out, but no sound emerged.
The horses started to move away. With the last of his energy, he tried to wave to catch the riders attention. "Here ... I’m here," came out as a weak cry.
Blackness teased at the edge of his senses forcing him to either finish the shift into his true form and lose the strength of dragon muscles, or fully commit to maintaining the illusion of human form. I have to stay a man. Digging into his reserves, he fed the power into maintaining human form.
SPLASHES AND THE SOUNDS of hoof falls pulled Brial from her half-doze. Her position in the caravan meant that her team required minimal attention. As long as the wagon in front held to the trail, her hauler beasts followed in the other teams’ footprint.
The sounds of wagon and beast echoed off the steep, rock walls that lined the trail. One of the outriders, Gault galloped up to the wagon. He pulled the collar of his slicker around his ears to keep the increasingly heavier rain off him. "Brial, there is a wounded man up ahead. We dug him out from beneath a slide. But didn’t want to move him too much without you checking him out first."
Although the rain had slackened to a mist, Brial dropped the reins and reached behind the seat to pull out her slicker. A shrug and the garment slid over her shoulders. "I’ll take the horse."
Anger flickered in Gault’s eyes. "He’s my horse."
The man’s attitude produced a realization. Gault meant for her to ride on his lap. Too often of late, he had found excuses for her to care for his horse. This was the last straw. "Someone has to lead my team or ride the bench." Her tone hardened. "It is your choice. On foot or holding the reins." Brial made a promise to herself. As soon as she looked after her new patient, a discussion regarding Gault’s manners would be held with Feldt. And as the caravan leader, not as my grandfather.
Loud grumbles accompanied the man’s swinging a leg over the saddle and stepping onto the wagon’s running board. Stooping, he picked up the reins before settling onto the bench. With the ease of long practice, Brial put a foot in the stirrup and with a lithe movement settled into the recently-vacated saddle.
The horse galloped past wagon after wagon until she saw a blanket-covered form in the middle of the trail. Beneath her the horse tensed and then jerked to a halt, almost dumping her in the mud. Then instead of obeying the reins to move closer, the animal pinned its ears back. No matter how hard Brial tried, it refused to go forward and splayed its front legs.
"What is the matter, boy?" became a more direct, "Move."
Instead of obeying, the gelding whimpered and backed up a foot. Soft words soothed the horse until it settled. Although it still trembled beneath her. Brial climbed down from the saddle and wrapped the reins of the now skittish horse around a fallen boulder. Kneeling beside her patient, she took a deep breath and flipped back the blanket. The man lay on his stomach, dark curls obscuring his face.
Brial looked at the fallen figure. "No broken bones I can see." An exam of the area showed it was undisturbed and that the hurt man hadn’t moved before her arrival. Clanks announced the arrival of the caravan wagons, while hoof falls told of her grandfather's. Guiding hitched teams and their burdens around the human obstruction, Feldt waved the next part of the caravan forward. "Don’t take too long with your examination. I changed the order of travel and your team will be here soon. I want to take advantage of the lull in the storm to get through this pass." A scowl crossed his face and he pointed back down the trail. "The big supply wagons are almost here and they won’t fit through as the private quarters did. Either move this one out of the way or we have to stop the train." A nod and he headed back down the trail to warn the rest of the drivers.
The need to assess her patient shifted her attention back to the man on the road. His eyes were open. She felt like they could see right into her soul.
A satisfied smile lifted the side of one lip. Flames appeared to glow in the dark irises, a fire that pulled her in.