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BRIAL LINED THE ARROW on Deheoul’s heart and pulled back the bowstring until the feathers of the fletching touched her cheek. Her arm vibrated with the effort of keeping the string taut. Still, she held the position, neither releasing the lethal dart nor removing it from her target, the embroidered clan symbol on the shoulder of his tunic. Sadness competed with anger. The men she had killed in battle had not been amorphous figures. She knew they were men, but this time it was different. She could see the fear tightening Deheoul’s eyes. Even worse, she not only wanted to kill him, she was doing it out of hatred. And nothing she did tempered the emotions raging through her mind.
The strain of holding the bow string ready to fire took its toll and the arrow dropped from its line on Deheoul's heart until it pointed to the ground.
He took a step forward. "The challenge meant nothing," he purred. "Let bygones be bygones." He held one hand palm up in entreaty.
The movement of the other hand as he reached behind his back screamed betrayal as did the helwr. Instinct brought the arrow back on target. "Hold it," Brial yelled. "That had had better come back empty."
"Wasn’t doing nothing, love," the trader cajoled. "Just stretching a little." A grin filled his face. "Why don’t you just lay that little toy down and we can discuss this like friends."
"We were never friends, Deheoul. Why do you think it gave me so much pleasure to beat you."
"Tut, tut, young 'un. I allowed you to win that day. I wanted the prize you offered."
Memory of the prize, the right to wear her mark for a week, came with more than the thrill of victory. It wasn’t her scarf tied around his arm that Deheoul wanted. Her face burned at the replay of the walk back from the competition ... and of how he tried to pull her off the trail into the woods every time they were out of sight of the rest of the competitors. His smile raised the hackles on her neck. Brial knew it was a ploy to ruin her concentration.
The thud of footsteps and labored breathing announced more arrivals. But was it Deneas or Karst catching up or was it one of Deheoul's kin come to support him? An intolerable thought rose. Maybe it was Medraut. No sign of her former patient had been seen, neither by track or trail, since he had entered the woods. "It doesn’t matter," she hissed. "Deheoul will not leave this field alive."
Before the tension grew unbearable, Karst’s low, "Easy, Brial, I am here. So is Deneas," from behind her said who had been the source of the heavy breathing.
"Bri, loosen your string," Deneas added. "I have Deheoul covered."
A dark shape soared overhead just as Tywyll launched skyward with a terrifying scream of anger.
Deheoul's panicked yell of "dragon" accompanied his frenzied dash across the clearing toward the safety of the trees.
The simultaneous twang of multiple bow strings being released echoed off the rock wall. A second round followed a heartbeat later, to be eclipsed by Deheoul's cry of pain and the thud of a body colliding with a tree.
Brial scanned the results of her and Deneas' barrage. Four arrows through the fabric of sleeves and pant legs pinned Deheoul to the thick trunk. A streak of red, as if embroidered by an invisible hand, appeared on one sleeve.
MEDRAUT GLIDED HIGH across the valley, using the updrafts off the cliff walls or craggy outcroppings to minimize wing strokes and to conserve energy. Dragon vision showed the scene below in detail. There had still been no sign of pursuit yet he couldn't relax. Neither Deheoul nor Gault had made it to the prearranged rendezvous site.
Movement in a small clearing caught his interest and he adjusted his vision for a better view. Deheoul’s brown clothes stood out against the gray stone of the rocky outcrop. The flash of sunlight on steel told of the trader's trouble. Deheoul was not alone, three people held him in a standoff. Too bad for him, Medraut thought. He got himself into trouble, he can get himself out of it.
A patch of yellow, that of blond hair, captured his interest and he dropped lower until he could identify who the assailants were. His suspicions were confirmed. Brial was in the clearing. The other two were the meddlers, Karst and the one called Deneas. Who bucks my will, he groused, sending silent curses onto not only her but her ancestors as well.
More realizations darkened his mood even further. If Karst was there that meant Deheoul's plan to kill him had failed. And, since there had been no sign of Gault, Feldt and his people must have him. Gault was not much, but he was all I had, and he did have his uses.
As he had so many times since his ejection from his home, Medraut cursed his size, that his wingspread was too small for him to carry off a full-grown woman. Rage filled his soul. If they had let me stay on the dragon isle, I would have gotten what I needed to grow to the size of the black ones. Instead, they kept me to the size of the other green dragons. His mental tone darkened. They were jealous of me, afraid I would take over leadership, so they banished me.
The yell of "dragon" down below meant the element of surprise had been lost and with the opportunity to drag Brial off. I will have to do this the hard way – by talon and fire. Strong wing strokes took him into a steep dive. A long drag filled his lungs and he threw a spear of flame downward.
A flash of orange from above split the stream in half. Within a heartbeat, the ribbon of fire shattered into a cascade of fiery goblets. Medraut hovered, bugling confusion. Nothing like that had ever happened before.
Movement seen from the corner of his eye resolved into a rust-colored shape. The large creature dove by. Not just on an intercepting course, but one clearly meant to keep him from helping the cornered Deheoul. Without waiting for recognition of what was attacking him, Medraut extended his talons and dove.
The closed distance provided the realization that it was not a healer or other inhabitant of the air that blocked his fire, but that a dragon was the protector of the humans.
Rage added strength to his wings ... and to his magic. The intruder was Trelleir, the one who had ruined the attack on the wagons. And my attempts to make Brial mine, he cursed.
Thread by thread, he used his magic to weave a shimmering ring of black thorns around the intruder's head. "Trelleir, we should be friends. Should help each other. Not fight," he crooned. "Leave the humans to their own devices. You owe them nothing."
Throwing more power into the geas, he added, "Obey!"
Except for a momentary tremor in his wing strokes and a shake of his head, the order had no effect.
The other dragon bugled a taunt and launched into a series of acrobatic maneuvers, climbing higher and heading toward the distant mountaintop.
Medraut arrowed in close pursuit. Frustration added to the anger coursing through his body. His defiant roar answered the challenge. Trelleir will not keep me from Brial ... from my prize.
His muscles soon burned as he fought to close the distance to the dwindling red spec that was the retreating dragon. Nothing mattered except winning. And this time, he crowed, there will be no referees, no one to stop me from killing.
He reached out with a claw as he passed, ripping flesh from Trelleir's shoulders. Blood streamed from the wound to fall in a shower of red droplets. Pivoting, he sank his claws into the gaping wound and held on, tearing deeper into both flesh and sinew as gravity pulled him and his impaled victim downward.
The wounded dragon's cry blared in Medraut's ears, but it was the mirroring scream in his head that made him miss a wing stroke.
The weight hanging from his talons turned into dead weight. In a desperate bid to free himself, the other dragon no longer fought to remain airborne.
Medraut's mind became a swirling maelstrom as battle techniques fought for dominance with the need to survive. One fact rose above all the others. He will kill us both.
Trelleir's calm tone came into Medraut's mind. "I am willing to die to save my friends. Are you willing to do the same to take them?" His head whipped around.
Pain shot through Medraut as teeth closed around his neck.
The world submerged beneath a red film.
BRIAL'S BREATH FROZE when the red shape that was Trelleir stopped in mid-climb and hovered. Then watched helplessly when he clamped his teeth on the other dragon’s throat.
Deneas’ scream of terror ripped into Brial’s mind. The two dragons no longer chased each other in frenetic aerial acrobatics. They were locked together in an uncontrolled death spiral.
"Pull out, Trelleir," Brial whispered. "Save yourself. Let Medraut go. We can get him another time."
The dark spec that she knew was Medraut peeled off leaving Trelleir plummeting toward the trees, but not before throwing a final flare after the falling dragon.
The unfolding drama held her spellbound. What had been green trees became dotted with red. Then a wisp of gray smoke blossomed from each spot. With a roar, first one branch after another turned from smoking kindling to fully engulfed torches.
The red dragon that was Trelleir crashed into the treetops. The crack of limbs reverberated until Brial tried to cover her ears. But the horror unrolling before her held her in a paralyzing grip. She could not move, only watch as her friend crashed through limb after limb sending the burning branches earthward.
Something knocked her off her feet. She tried to move, but a heavy object lay atop her legs and lower back. Dirt ground into her face. Sparks dropped all around her. The smell of burning flesh filled her nose. At first, she thought a tree branch had hit her from behind until the object moaned.
Karst! He had knocked her out of the way and taken the brunt of the burning limb.
A thud and silence fell over the grove.
She realized that more than a limb had crashed to the ground. The last thud had to be Trelleir.
Desperation added strength to her struggles to get out from beneath the imprisoning weight, or at least to see what happened to the two men. Using her fingers as claws, she pulled herself inch by inch until she could lift her head high enough to see above the grass. As she had feared, an unconscious Karst lay across her legs. A final dig and she was clear enough to roll onto her side and pull her legs out from under him. More effort and she rolled him onto his back.
Now the full price of what he had paid for saving her and she fought back tears at sight of the burns covering his face. Ignoring the digs of the stones and branches, she scrambled on hands and knees to his side. A shrug stripped off her jacket to cover him. As gently as she could, she patted the smouldering clothes.
Leaning down, she laid her hands gently on his face. "Stay with me, my love," she whispered. "The pain will be gone soon."
Tywyll landed and crouched at Karst's head. Hopping from one foot to another, the helwr crooned its worry.
A centering breath and Brial summoned her healer magic.
The blue glow shimmered into existence, then just as quickly vanished.
In her mind, Brial heard her kinswoman's calming tone. "A healer must be detached from her patient, yet connected to them. Too much emotion blocks your control. While too little connection prevents the magic from working."
Closing her eyes, she pictured Karst as he looked when she awakened in his arms the morning after the gifting festival. This time the warmth returned stronger. The tear stone in the amulet hummed with power. When she could no longer restrain the surging power, the healing ability didn't waiver, didn't flicker.
Opening her eyes, she held her hands over the worst of the burns. When the blackened skin sloughed off to reveal healthy, pink flesh beneath, she moved to the next and the next until all traces of the burns were gone.
Her heart raced when he sat up. He raised a finger, tracing the stream of tears. Without a word, he pulled her onto his lap and into a crushing embrace.
"I thought I lost you," she sobbed and buried her face in his shoulder. Unrestrained tears fell, dampening the scorched leather.
A sigh that barely registered in the eerie silence and without loosening his hold. Karst stood, breaking the tableau. Three steps and he stood her on her feet next to the collapsed dragon. "Oh, Trelleir," she moaned.
Deneas knelt at the dragon's head. As she stroked between his eyes, silent tears flowed down her cheeks, falling onto a muzzle already soaked with blood.
Brial wrapped her arms around her chest at the sound of Deneas' desperate pleading for him to stay with her. Close examination revealed the true price Trelleir had paid for defending his friends. She didn't need Karst’s mournful, "I’m sorry, Deneas," to confirm her fears. The wounds were fatal.
She laid a hand on Deneas' shoulder and felt the muscles tighten as the other woman fought back a sob. "Deneas, don't worry about Karst and me. We will keep your and Trelleir's secret. Can you shift and use healing fire?"
The ragged "No." tore at Brial more than the Deneas’ silent crying.
"I already tried," the slayer explained. "I am not like Trelleir. The magic I use to change form is his, magic he put is in the amulet. I don't have any of my own." Her voice caught. "Without him I can't fly ... Or save him."
"Then we will," Brial said, forcing a confidence she didn't feel into her words.
I have to heal him. I can save him. The words became a mantra.
"Betrys, guide my powers," she whispered. "Ancestors beyond the veil send me strength. Before she could give in to her self-doubt, she sucked a long gulp of air deep into her lungs and released the life-giving magic.
Brial felt Deneas wrap her lifeline around Trelleir’s, willing him to live. I am not alone, she thought. Trelleir must live for Deneas. He saved my kin. He saved me. She felt her magic grow as her determination hardened. Her hands over her friend's, and with Karst's strong grip on her shoulder, she sent a silent prayer skyward and willed the healing.
Unlike all her previous healings, the glow didn’t stay in one spot, but spread and surrounded Trelleir’s body in a blue cocoon. The dim glow brightened until it was so bright she could not see within it. She wanted to shield her eyes but did not dare break the connection.
His body shuddered.
"I failed," Brial moaned. She held her breath, praying that the movement was not that of a spirit fleeing a crippled shell. In a last desperate effort, she threw her remaining strength into the healing. This time it didn't spread. She swore it writhed as if the dragon itself changed shape.
Where the chest would be, the living shroud rose and fell as if the being within the cocoon drew a breath. A second shallow rise and fall and the healing cocoon exploded in a shimmer of sparks.
Where the healing glow had originally surrounded a dragon, when its sparks dissipated, a man now lay in the spot. Deneas' joyful ,"Yes," told of Trelleir's survival.
"We did it," Brial whispered. "We saved him."
The tableau that was Trelleir and Deneas in an inseparable embrace held for long moments. Whether it was the realization that they were not alone or that his fate resided in the hands of others, Trelleir broke the pose.
Brial bit her lip when he leaned on Deneas and pushed to his feet to weave unsteadily. As soon as his weight left her arm, Deneas grabbed the bolt of her sword.
"No, Den," Trelleir said. His soft tone still held a hard edge. "There is no need for that." He extended his hand in the forearm clasp of kin. "Is there, Karst?"
"No, Trelleir. Help exchanged cancels all debt."
Trelleir's look at Deneas received a confirming nod.
Brial swore there was an unspoken undertone in the words, but the buzzing in her head and the strange look Trelleir gave made it hard to focus.
"Brial, Karst, thank you both. I can't repay you for what you have done. But I have..."
"No need to say anything more," Brial said. Karst's deeper tone echoed the sentiment. "Your secret is safe with us."
"Trelleir, do you feel well enough to walk a bit?" Karst’s tone offered no hint of his true feelings. "Or I can run ahead and get a wagon."
"No, Karst," Brial argued. "You are newly healed too. I will go."
Trelleir took a few steps, then staggered until he reached the stone wall. A sigh and he leaned his back against the stone, then slid slowly to the ground. He patted the ground beside him. "Sit. I think we all need the rest." When the others had gathered around, he added, "There is no need for any of us to go. I already sent for help. They should be here shortly."
No one spoke for several minutes until he nodded at Deheoul. "What about him?"
Brial looked first at Karst, then at Deneas, both of whom shrugged. Although, she felt the tension rising from the other woman.
Not surprising, Brial thought. Deneas is Trelleir’s mate. "I am sure he didn't see or hear anything."
Karst broke the silence. "I can kill him for you if you wish."
Before Trelleir could answer, nearby whinnies came from just within the woods. "Transport is here," he said as Nightbolt and Starfire trotted into sight. Each stallion held the reins of a saddled horse in their mouth, leading the other horses.
"What about Deheoul?" Both Brial and Karst laid their hands on the hilt of their swords.
"I think we should let the council handle him ... at least for now." Trelleir pointed to the coil of rope hanging from one of the saddles. There are four mounts and four of us, so Deheoul will have to walk." His expression darkened. "We can always use the rope another way if need be."