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BRIAL STOOD TRANSFIXED. Yells of "Dragon" mingled with screams of terror.
No sooner did the creature pass overhead than Tywyll joined it. His wings beat frantically to keep up with the larger creature. The helwr’s strident cries shattered the silence created by the dragon’s appearance.
The pair flew wingtip to wingtip, protecting not only each other but Deneas. Tywyll used claw and talon to prevent anyone getting too close to Deneas while the dragon vaporized any arrow that got through the bird’s defense.
Hushed whispers along the wagons pulled Brial’s focus from the deadly flyers. The defenders looked from one to another. Their actions proclaimed their intent louder than any words. Retreat.
But to where?
"No," Brial moaned. The only place they could withdraw to was within the circle of wagons, to where her charges held the hauler beasts, and there wasn’t enough space in there for the hauler beasts and the entire clan. Even if everyone jammed in, there would not be room to swing a sword. A single archer on a wagon roof could pick off those within the center one by one. She cast frantic looks down the barricade. Where was Karst? The men might listen to him. Her heart provided another reason to find Karst. The comfort she felt when he was near.
"No, Karst is needed elsewhere. I need my grandfather. Only the clan leader has a chance to get the men to follow him." Desperation filled her mind as she desperately searched for alternatives. She ruthlessly discarded each one until finally, a splinter of hope formed. Since the helwr flew with the dragon, maybe the creature could be turned into an ally. "Emrys, watch the others. I’ll be right back."
A leap took her off the wagon. No sooner had her feet touched the ground than she raced to the barricade and smacked a stunned man on the back of the head. "Ignore the dragon." Her voice pitched to carry down the defensive line, she yelled commands to her kin. " Vreis, stand and hold. Right is on our side."
Their attention gathered, Brial’s throat muscles tightened with the battle cry of her clan. "Iron to hand."
First one fighter then another shook off the paralysis left by the dragon’s appearance and took up the call. It rolled down the line and soon could be heard from the far side of the wagons. From within the group of milling men and women, Karst climbed to the top of the barricade. "Vreis, follow me."
Brial wanted to cheer, and just as fiercely wished he had remained behind. But, she thought, it acknowledged his membership in the clan. And hope for our future.
Geren and his father joined Karst on the top of the barricade. "Join us," they called in unison. "For Clan Vreis."
Feldt clambered onto the barricade. His not unsubstantial frame was eclipsed by the even larger ones of the blacksmiths. "The dragon flames the raiders." He added more power to his yell. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."
Two, then three of the men Brial knew had ridden with Karst climbed to his side. A final cry of "Follow me," and the group jumped down and headed out to where a group of raiders had surrounded Deneas, blocking her from the safety of the barricaded wagons.
Cries of fear rang out, cries which immediately changed to panic. Faced with the energized resistance on multiple fronts, the raiders turned and ran. They did not make it far before the swords wielded by Deneas and Clan Vreis, or the dragon’s claws ended the raiders’ panicked run... and their lives.
Breath Brial did not even know she held released in a gush.
Movement at the tree line pulled her attention from the battlefield. Two forms were slinking into the trees. She swore one was Gault, and the other possibly Medraut. Every instinct in her body urged her to follow. "I don’t dare," she muttered. "Too many need my help."
Quick steps took her to the nearest wounded. Blood streamed from between the fingers the woman held against her shoulder. A jerk ripped the hem from the woman’s tunic. Practiced moves folded the cloth into an improvised bandage. "Put pressure on this," she ordered. "I’ll be back in a heartbeat with more bandages."
The hiss of an arrow passing over her head sent Brial dropping to her knees using her body to protect the wounded person. Gravel dug into the palms of her hands. When no arrows thudded into the ground or the wagons, she got to her feet and moved to the next person requiring healing.
"Ayeee." The pain-filled scream from behind her had Brial spinning and running even before she recognized the sound and where it came from ... the wagon where she had left Emrys. However, the youth was no longer on the wagon seat but writhed on the ground. The shaft of an arrow stuck out of the front of his shoulder.
"Help me. Man down." Her throat hurt from the force of the cry.
"Here." Brial felt someone thrust a leather bag into her hands. Relief that it was her healer’s bag resubmerged beneath the fear.
Deneas dropped to her knees on the other side of Emrys. "Let me help."
A nod to acknowledge the offer and Brial directed the other woman to the wounded boy’s head. "Hold him steady. Don’t let him move." Hardening herself to the youth’s moans, she took a hold midway down the arrow and at the end. A twist of her wrists snapped the arrow leaving only a stub.
"Hold on Emrys. Just a moment more," she murmured. "When I tell you, take a deep breath and hold it." Placing the blade of her boot knife flat against the arrow, she locked eyes with Deneas. Brial raised her hand above her head.
A soft count of "one, two, three" barely left her lips before her palm slammed down on the blade. Blood spurted out covering the hand holding the knife.
Between the push and Deneas’ pull the wood came free. Emrys’ body spasmed, then went limp. Experienced moves bandaged the wound. Warmth spread from Brial's hands. For an instant she thought a blue glow enveloped the youth. It vanished so quickly that she decided it was a trick of the shifting light.
Any consideration of further investigation disappeared in an energy-draining wave of sudden weakness that would have sent her to her knees if she hadn’t already been there. Muscles gave way and she fell forward.
A grip used to wielding a sword stopped the downward fall. "Bri, what happened? Deneas’ expression told more of her worry than her words. Are you alright?"
Brial’s breath caught. It felt like fire surged from beneath her hands, a fire that rejuvenated even as it scarred.
Where before the world had been out of focus, it returned with crystal clarity. Emry’s color had changed from pallid blue to a healthier pink. Moans and yells for help announced more casualties from the battle. Panic-filled screams of "dragon" rose from the fighters in the field to be swallowed by the swoosh of wings.
Dust raised by the creature’s wings obscured its landing. When the air cleared, the true size of the dragon could be seen. Terror seized Brial’s soul. Her kin raced toward the creature. Its long neck swung back and forth keeping the traders at bay. Tywyll swooped along the line of men. Its raucous cries signaled its defense of the dragon. Wild neighs added to the cacophony. Both Nightbolt and Sunfire stood alongside the dragon. The stallions reared and kicked, helping keep the surrounding men at bay.
Leaping to her feet Brial raced into the midst of the confrontation. "Stop, the dragon has done no wrong." Her yelled orders halted the advance. "It helped us." She pointed to the agitated helwr. "You all know Tywyll. He fought alongside the dragon." When she had the gathered traders' attention, Brial waved at the trampled, blood-stained grass. "Our wounded need attention, both out there and behind the barricade. Bring them to the wagons. We need to save as many as we can."
Feldt’s large bulk blocked the sun. "Do as Brial says. Our kin need help." When the fighters left, he leaned down. "Deneas, can you take care of the dragon? We need Brial at the barricade. Our wounded can’t wait long."
The earlier fear returned ten-fold paralyzing Brial’s mind. How do I handle a dragon? And save my kin.
"I may have a solution."
Brial started at the closeness of Deneas’ voice at her ear. She looked around for her grandfather and spotted his large frame striding toward the wagons carrying a wounded man in his arms. Deneas waited until Feldt left before speaking. Why?
A turn and Brial saw where Deneas looked. "What?"
Conflicting emotions danced across the slayer’s face. A sigh and she gestured at the watching dragon. "Legend says that the creatures can heal as well as destroy." After a hesitation, she added. "That is if your clan will accept the use of magic."
A single look at the growing line of wounded answered the question. I need all the help I can get, she thought. "Den, are you sure?"
The smile her friend flashed consoled Brial. "Caldar wasn’t much of a teacher, but he was not the only one who knew of the legend." Her smile broadened. "My mother said villagers told her about a dragon saving them."
Brial grabbed at the hope of not losing any more patients. "I can’t ask for a better reference than that. I will talk to my grandfather and the other leaders."
Deneas nodded. "And I will talk to the dragon."
Although she couldn't afford to waste a second, Brial remained rooted in place. As it had so many times since she learned of her healing powers, she wondered how the traders would react when the secret became general knowledge. At least, I am not a dragon.
Reality added that she was one of their own who had changed, that she dabbles with magic. Can I really convince my grandfather and the rest of the caravan to allow magic?
The response surged forward. They have to.
IN THE FEW HEARTBEATS Brial's reflections took, Deneas strode past the handful of traders still surrounding the dragon. The other woman didn’t stop, but went straight up to the watchful beast.
"Be safe, Den," Brial whispered. She held her breath and the world narrowed. The moans of the wounded faded into nothingness. The only thing that remained was the sight of her friend walking up to the creature that had only moments before breathed orange flame and turned men into spinning pillars of burning flesh.
The creature didn’t breathe fire or strike out with claw or fang. Instead, it lowered its head to rest on Deneas’ shoulder. She reached up, placing her hand against the creature’s chest.
A sharp pain reminded Brial of her held breath. The whoosh of the air as it gushed out was replaced by a gasp.
Cries of her name and yells for a healer broke her concentration. Loathe to leave her friend unprotected, Brial started walking backward. A stumble on a clump of grass forced her to turn away. I need my grandfather. A quick step turned into an outright race back toward the barricade and the growing line of wounded.
By the time she reached where Emrys was now propped up against a wagon wheel, the word had passed down the line for Feldt and he met her at the middle of the line of wounded.
As he approached, Brial turned and looked out over the battlefield. Tears burned her eyes at the number of bodies scattered through the grass. The tableau of slayer and dragon remained unchanged. It seemed like nothing had changed since the raiders’ broke ranks.
Her next breath brought with it a clarity of vision.
Deneas' hand was not held up in defense, Brial realized, but in familiarity? No, she corrected, not familiarity but affection. But she and Trelleir are bonded as surely as if they were handfasted. One thought led to another and an undeniable conclusion.
The dragon is Trelleir!
Her debate whether or not to reveal Trelleir's secret had to be shelved beneath more urgent matters.
The shock of the revelation added to the events of the day and the battle energy that had sustained her since the initial ambush started to waver. The moan of a wounded woman cut through the paralysis.
"Feldt, hurry," Brial yelled. She waved her arms, urging him to come faster. Ice gripped her soul at the number of people needing healing. My kin will have to accept magic. Trelleir's and mine.
Time slowed during the wait for Feldt with two elders in tow.
"Hurry, Grandfather, hurry," she whispered.
The group came to an abrupt stop at Brial. The elders turned to watch the activity at the wagons or the dragon, while Feldt leaned down. The caravan leader loomed over Brial, but she ignored his overwhelming presence. They had been in this situation too many times before.
"Almost all the wounded have been brought to the wagons." Despite a booming voice that could usually be heard from one end of the caravan to the other, Feldt's words were soft and, Brial knew, only meant for her.
She weighed her words. "Many of the wounds of those who fought the raiders are beyond my ability to heal," came out with more anger than she intended. "I don't have full mastery of healing powers, but Deneas thinks the dragon does." I have to be in control – for my kin -—and Emrys. While the desperateness of the situation demanded strong action and words, the costs of failure forced a calmness into her tone. She explained in terse words the plan to save the clanspeople.
Brial looked at where Deneas awaited a signal of the plan's approval or rejection. Turning back to her grandfather, she added a final argument. "Betrys’ healing magic isn't that much different than the dragon's. Please, Grandfather?"
Having said all that she could, Brial wrapped her arms around herself. It was all up to Feldt. She prayed her argument, whether he listed as the clan leader or her grandfather, would sway him.
When her focus returned to the wagon leader, Brial saw the focus of his intense stare—Deneas and Trelleir. His expression hardened. "I don't like to truck with magic. But as you said, Betrys has a special gift and many lives have been saved by her talent." His voice softened, "Including yours." He turned on his heel to survey the wounded. "Are you sure the dragon won't flame the wagons? Turn our people into firecrows like he did the raiders?"
Brial wanted to hide and get away from the clan leader's intense scrutiny. Do I actually know? Maybe I didn't before, but now I know the dragon is Trelleir, a friend. Putting as much confidence as she could into her voice she answered. "Yes."
"Very well, Healer. What do we need to do?"
Relief washed over Brial. One fight down, now to heal my kin. "It is already done. The wounded are far enough away from the wagons that the dragon's fire won't set the wood aflame. And there is enough space for the creature to walk the line. Just signal Deneas."
A final look at the people on the ground and Feldt turned to where only three men kept watch on the dragon. "Release the dragon," he boomed. "Deneas, we agree."
Instead of flying to where the healings would be performed, the dragon moved in a lumbering walk beside Deneas.
Fear paralyzed Brial. What if I am wrong? What if it isn't Trelleir?
Before she could move, the creature lowered its head. Peering deep into the dark red eyes, she didn't feel the loss of self that she had when she looked into Medraut's. Instead, she felt comfort.
Whether Trelleir the dragon sensed her reaction or was pleased with himself, he straightened to his full height and nodded. His chest expanded as he sucked down a long drag of air only to exhale it in a steady draft. Healing fire flowed over his fangs and played over a man who had been slashed across his shoulder. His gasp at the sudden absence of pain turned into a sigh of relief when he flexed his shoulder.
For a moment, Brial thought he might grab his sword and attack Trelleir. Her muscles tensed ready to tackle the man. Dragon or not, Trelleir is still a friend.
But the man leaned back and touched his forehead in a two-fingered salute. "Brial, thank you. I feel much better now." He visibly hesitated then added. "And you also, Stranger."
Brial bent down and lifted the bandage. Pink flesh, rather than the deep cut, greeted her examination.
A nod to acknowledge the gratitude and Trelleir moved to the next person. Step by step, person by person, Brial walked alongside Trelleir doing what was needed to help. Calm words to a wagon driver helped ease the woman's fear of the creature looming over her. For other healings, Brial positioned broken bones for mending or held torn flesh together.
And always at Trelleir's side was Deneas, who, Brial realized was equally ready to hold someone's hand or fend off an attack.
Unlike her healing of Emrys, there was no mistaking the power that flowed from her hands to supplement the dragon fire. This time her control was surer. The blue glow came more easily and lasted longer. "Thank those beyond the veil," she whispered. "Each healing also took less out of me."
She left unspoken, or many would have died.