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"WHERE IS TRELLEIR?" Deneas scanned the sky for the hint of rust, but the only color was gray, that of the moisture-laden clouds or the rising columns of smoke. Trell will return soon, she thought. He has to. I can't heal myself. Even if I have enough strength to take on dragon form, my healing fire won't reach.
A sudden weakness sent Deneas to her knees. "Hurry," she whispered. "Hurry." The world spun and when it righted an unfamiliar warmth enveloped her. Trell is here.
The healing fire vanished, leaving behind a chill. Deneas propped herself up on her good arm and watched Trelleir land. With an effort, she got to her knees, then pushed to her feet.
Brial's horse whimpered and tried to stand, to back away from the dragon looming over it, but its legs refused to hold it.
"Easy, boy," Deneas said. "Trell won't eat you." Then as the healing fire played over the horse, she repeated the comforting croon. When the fire stopped, the animal got to its feet. It wavered a second before backing up the length of the reins.
More blue fire played over the horse, tracked back to Deneas, and then a final surge covered them both.
"Feeling better, Den?" The calmness in Trelleir's voice helped diffuse even more of the lingering battle energy ... and her fears for Brial and her kin.
"Much." A scan of the area revealed the second horse. Its reins had become stuck beneath a rock. It quivered at her approach. Running her hands down its necks and flanks didn't reveal any darts or any other wounds. "Trell, are you riding back? Or ..."
"I don't want to waste any magic changing. I'd rather use it stopping any trouble there might be at the camp." He rocked back on his haunches, ready to leap skyward.
As much as her heart wanted Trelleir riding alongside her, the reality of his words couldn't be denied. Bowing her head for a moment, she nodded and clambered into the saddle. "Giddup," she yelled and whipped the reins. Behind her, the second horse stretched out its neck before matching its herdmate's stride.
Neither animal tensed nor paid attention as the shadow of a dragon moved across the ground ahead of them.
THE STALLIONS RACED through the tall grass at breakneck speed. Their steps echoed the fears in Karst's soul. Whoever had attacked them could be striking the unsuspecting caravan even now. Each time Sunfire pulled ahead of Nightbolt, he held his breath until they were again neck to neck and he could watch Brial. Newly recovered from being thrown, she was too pale. But, he told himself, nothing can be done until we reach the wagons. "Please, Goddess, let Brial hang on until we reach safety."
His prayer winging skyward, there was nothing else he could do, so he bent over and wrapped his arms against Nightbolt's neck. The ground blurred from the animal’s speed so much that he closed his eyes. Soon, his world reduced to nothing more than the pounding of hooves.
Nightbolt's bugle warned of a change of speed. Karst peered through eyes slitted against the burn of the wind. Instead of the expected tall grass, the grazing area and rope pen for the hauler beasts passed by in a distorted painting of brown and black. We are at the caravan! Already?
He had no chance to ponder how the distance had been covered in such a short time. Another warning filled the air. This one accompanied by a tensing of the animal beneath him and the sensation of flying through the air.
The shock of landing threw Karst forward onto Nightbolt's neck. Pain surged through his chest as he bounced off the saddle horn, and then again as the stallion dug in its hooves.
Rough hands pulled him from the saddle. Loud yells of "Take them," and "Don’t let them escape," filled Karst’s ears.
"Release them." At the bellow, the restraints vanished. Karst looked around for Brial, but she was hidden by the crowd surrounding him. Frantic, he tried breaking through the wall of bodies to no avail.
A burly form pushed people out of its way, berating them as he moved. "Karst has traveled with us. He is not a raider." The clan leader worked his way through the blockage pushing people aside like mere dolls.
An aisle opened revealing Brial. "Yes," Karst breathed. She looked pale, but stood unassisted. Three long strides took him through the break in the crowd to her side.
The clan leader snatched Brial off her feet and pulled her into a bear hug, "Granddaughter, what happened? Are you alright?" Without waiting for an answer, the clansman set her down, and still keeping one arm around her did an appraising scan. "I am so glad you and Karst are back."
Karst opened his mouth to ask the questions whirling in his mind but closed it. Brial needs to talk about the attack so it doesn't fester. These are her kin. They won't judge.
He waited, enduring the silence, until an encouraging nod from the elder clansman got a response from Brial. "We were attacked," she explained in terse words. "My horse was wounded so Deneas and Trelleir gave us their mounts. Karst and I hurried back to warn you." Her voice caught. "We had to leave Deneas and Trelleir behind."
Karst laid a hand on her arm in comfort.
The quick smile Brial flashed melted some of the ice that had surrounded his soul since he saw her horse fall. His arms raised to pull her into an embrace to be ordered down. Now was neither the time nor place.
Satisfied, she was safe and in good hands, Karst reached for the reins of the watching Nightbolt. "Bri, Feldt, I need to go back. If my mount can't be caught, Deneas and Trelleir can both ride Sunfire."
The clan leader pointed at the defensive posture of the wagons and beyond them at the first line of defense. "Karst, we need every sword here. Deneas and Trelleir are skilled fighters. They have their weapons. And even if they have only one horse, they still have transport."
As he scanned the armed men behind tables turned into barricades, Karst realized how strong Nightbolt and Sunfire must be to have cleared the obstruction. An even more urgent question than how the horses did it pushed its way forward. "Why is the camp on alert?"
Feldt's hands clenched into fists. Anger flashed in his eyes. "Medraut escaped. He broke down the door, seriously wounding the men on guard." Fear flashed to be hidden behind tight lips. "Witnesses say a black dragon helped."
Mutters from those gathered around reinforced the trader's words.
Shock froze Karst. Dragons are real! My father was right.
"Raiders!" The yell from a watcher posted on a wagon roof prevented whatever argument Karst had planned to make against the existence of dragons.
Feldt boomed orders as the clan scrambled to their positions. "Brial, take charge of your and Deneas’ students. They are helping guard the children who are tending the hauler beasts." He pointed down the defense line where two large silhouettes marked the location of the blacksmiths. "Karst, go help Geren and Gabha. You know their fighting style. Your speed can complement their strength."
Battle energy raced through Karst’s veins. The wagons were under attack. Fear for his friends had his sword in his hand and his feet racing to his assigned post without a conscious effort.
Karst let the flow of people take him to his designated spot. He didn’t dare worry about his reception. The opportunity had not yet come up to see if the blacksmiths harbored any resentment from their time together in Darceth. It doesn't matter. Feldt ordered me to fight beside Geren and his father. So I will.
Yells along the line announced the attack had begun. A wave of arrows hit the ground. More thudded into the tables and overturned wagons of the barricade. And behind the arrows, came a line of men. Light glinted off the swords and spears they carried. A heartbeat later protected by another volley of arrows the attackers clambered up the barricades ... and over.
Karst’s world narrowed to nothing more than the weight of the sword in his hand and the men at his side. His arm trembled with every slash and block. "Geren, watch out." The scream torn from his throat warned the blacksmith who spun and blocked what was supposed to be a lethal blow. A nod and he returned his attention to the battle going on around him.
Tan blurs raced up and down behind the line of raiders. Steel-hard hooves sent attackers to the ground where the traders swiftly ended the threat.
MEDRAUT WATCHED THE chaos of the battlefield. A string of colorful curses he learned in dockside taverns escaped. "These were the best men Caldar could find?" When the attack began it was one villager against a single trader. Now the odds had shifted so that Caldar’s men were outnumbered two to one, and sometimes three to one. He focused on the nearest wagon where hair and braids showed the location of some of the women who had joined the forces protecting the camp. For an instant, he considered changing into his true form and snatching Brial from the crowd.
Just as quick as the urge surfaced, he quashed it. His body wanted her, but a finely- honed instinct for survival said the time was not yet right. There were too many swords too close for a safe transformation.
Beside him, Caldar inched forward until he broke through the mesmer barrier. His lips parted and he ran his tongue across them. It was apparent that the slayer didn’t care who died or whose blood was shed as long as someone’s was.
Recoiling in disgust from the slayer’s blood lust, Medraut wondered how he could ever have seen any redeeming use of the man. This time, he decided, I am not going to save Caldar and pull him back behind my wall of invisibility. If he wants to die amongst his men, so be it. Gault will serve me well enough and with less trouble. All I have to do is dangle the prize. His smile hardened. A prize he will never get. Brial is mine.
Despite the quickness of the mental debate, the other man was now slinking between the wagons. A scan showed he wasn’t heading toward Brial.
I would kill him for that.
Rage distorted the slayer’s features. A shift in the fighters revealed Caldar’s target—Deneas.
A familiar feeling raced along Medraut's senses, reminding him of the time before he was driven from his kin and home. "No, it can’t be. I am the only one."
A rust-colored dragon dropped from the sky. Terror-filled screams from both sides of the battle filled the air and the yells of "Dragon," confirmed what he had sensed. Medraut’s pulse raced. Before him was proof that Gault was right, that a dragon had helped Karst and Brial escape the ambush.
Wrapping the curtain of invisibility around himself, he ran out from beneath the tree canopy into the open field. The pressure of a body moving through the air had him flattening on the ground. He lifted his head enough to see rust-colored wings pass low overhead. It did not land but continued on toward Caldar's men. The dragon didn’t use fire, but tail and talon to decimate the raiders.
Options from staying to fight or taking Gault and leaving swirled in Medraut’s mind. A search of the battlefield and what could be seen of the barricades failed to reveal the head slayer. He had been absorbed into the milling groups of fighting men. It did show Brial’s location. Her position was even more secure than before. That cursed interloper Deneas fought at Brial’s side. And even more worrying, when the dragon wasn’t providing cover for Brial, the helwr did.
I am not staying. A whistle and Gault appeared leading two horses. Extending the mesmer around them both, Medraut turned and gave the battlefield one final look to see the last of Caldar’s men fall. But, where was Caldar?
"I don’t care," Medraut groused. "If he can’t find his way back to his village, that is his problem." A smile twitched his lips. Caldar lost all his men, so he might not even have a home to return to.
The nagging question left over from the dragon's first appearance returned. None of the dragons on the isle were red. This one was not from there. So where did it come from?
THE CLANG OF STEEL against steel failed to provide Brial the information she needed. She could tell from the sound of the battle's ebb and flow, but not which side gained or lost ground. Even worse, there was no information as to whether the fight threatened her charges. As she had the dozen or so times since the first call of "raiders," she scanned the children gathered in the small fort formed by wagons and bales of bedding.
Each youth either wore a sword or had a farm implement close to hand. Their determined expressions mirrored the one Brial knew was on her face. "They are too young to fight," escaped in a harsh whisper. Yet in her heart, she felt her charges would be less afraid with a weapon at their disposal. "Maybe they won’t have to fight." Her quiet prayer failed to ease the fears that threatened to paralyze her.
Slow steps took her among the tethered hauler beasts as she gave a pat on the back to a boy here and a word of encouragement to a girl there. Her appraising scans showed many of the children had shifted from their assigned positions. With quiet words, she re-arranged her charges until each group was back together.
A hauler beast’s moan jerked Brial from her reflections and had her racing to help Emrys calm the animal. His experience with her hauler team made him invaluable in preventing the massive beasts from reacting to the fight in the field beyond the wagons.
A cry of pain from beyond the wagons froze everyone. Brial projected her voice to carry to the watching boys and girls. "We are fine. Pay attention to the beasts. They need us right now." After everyone returned their focus to the animals, she made another circuit of her charges, continuing her efforts to reassure and ease the youths’ fears. When she was satisfied she had done all that she could, she cast her senses outwards to try to determine the tide of battle.
Finally, she could not stand the suspense any longer and she climbed up onto a wagon bench. The higher advantage point showed scattered pairs of men in armed combat. Tywyll dove and climbed in support of the traders. Each time the bird dove, its talons ripped into one of the raiders. After each attack, the helwr circled above Karst. She tightly wrapped her arms around her body and held her breath until the bird dipped its wings and returned to its defensive position in the sky.
"Mistress, I can monitor the fight while you check the others."
Brial looked down to see Emrys standing beside the wagon. Fear mingled with worry in the youth’s expression. An idea on how to ease him surfaced. He was not only a skilled handler but had also been trained in the helwr’s commands. "Very, well. Let me know if Tywyll signals."
A lithe movement took her to the ground. But Emrys didn’t climb to the wagon seat. "Mistress Brial, I want to fight." Determination in his face tore at Brial's heart as did the way the thirteen-year-old clasped the pommel of his sword.
"No, Emrys, your job is to make sure the little ones have time to get into harness. Not that I expect we’ll need it any more this time than any of the drills." A stiffness entered her tone. "Tell me your orders." She smiled to take the sting out of her tone. "Just so I can refresh my memory."
The youth’s sigh at the frailties of adults made Brial fight down a smile. He rattled off six names. "Put them on the hauler beasts and lead them out through the escape point. We go to the caves and wait for the rest of the clan." His breath caught. "If no one appears in three days-time, take my charges to Caofell. Wait two weeks at the village, then onto the winter caves."
The urge to wrap Emrys in a hug to console him threatened Brial’s control. Instead, she offered him the forearm clasp of equals. "Well done." She nodded toward the wagon seat. "You get the first watch, then I will take over."
Satisfied she had done all she could short of taking up her sword, Brial made another circuit of the tethered hauler beasts, their young handlers, and the older youths who, like Emrys, served as group leaders. This time she brought water and slices of bread and stayed with each cluster of children to make sure they ate a few bites.
Long heartbeats later she decided enough time had passed that she could take over the sentry duty. No sooner had she replaced Emrys on the wagon than an archer on a nearby wagon roof yelled. "Someone comes. Fast from across the meadow."
A plume of dust confirmed the warning. But it did not answer the most important question. Was the rider friend or foe?
The thud of hooves sounded until the rider was now close enough to identify as Deneas. Light glinted off her sword.
An eerie silence rose from the defenders behind the barricade. One by one, the fighters froze in place. Soon the only sounds were from the snuffling hauler beasts, then total silence.
An airborne shape rapidly closed in on Deneas from behind. Less than a heartbeat later the sound of air over wings accompanied its passing overhead and revealed the creature’s true identity.
Ice froze Brial’s heart. It wasn’t Tywyll who had followed her friend, but a dragon. Spinning on a wing tip it headed back toward the fight. This time it flew even lower, barely clearing the wagon roofs.