Redheart (Leland Dragon Series) Page 12

  His belly skimmed treetops. The shouts of human voices and squealing pigs faded behind him, but his panic stayed strong. It shot through his veins, prodding him forward, blindly leading. He didn’t dare lead them toward his cave, so he veered and rambled over strange lands and fields. He lasted as long as he could, pushed by only his sheer will. Finally, he was breathless and exhausted. He had to land.

  He heard no posse of chasing humans. He waited for a time, hunched and quiet. Dreary shadows of knobby trees were his only companions. Chirping wind through hollow branches was the only sound. He tried to relax.

  There was no time to rest yet, though. He needed his bearings. He didn’t recognize where he was. He loped forward, shuffling through the underbrush toward a clearing, and stepped out into crunchy earth. Orange, crunchy earth. His eyes swept over the dustbowl that was once Fell Lake.

  He smelled her before he spotted her. Her scent was infused with another’s and it momentarily confused him. He inched forward, seeing only a single silhouette against the failing light. He sniffed, and the silhouette moved.

  He continued to advance. Only then did he realize what he was seeing. Riza’s back was to him, and arms of black leather gripped her waist. A man in black—that man in black—held her tightly, arching her spine. His mouth touched her mouth.

  Kallon had no name for what welled up from deep within him, but it exploded and rocked him senseless. Sparkles of dancing light stung his eyes. He stumbled back, orange dust billowing, threatening to choke.

  The man’s dark eyes met Kallon’s face. They glinted. The man’s hands went to his sword, and Riza dropped like a felled bird to the ground. “Dragon,” he said, his face twisting into a foul smirk. Then he reached slowly for his horse’s reins. “Thank you, my dear Riza. I told you you would help me.”

  Kallon flew. Confused by the sight and his reaction to it, he careened toward the sky. He forgot the pain of his wound; it was engulfed by the inexplicable pain in his chest. A rumble of chasing horse hooves followed him, but he was barely aware.

  “Kallon!” he heard Riza call. Against his chest, the linking stone vibrated to life, and from its glowing depths came Riza’s voice again. It was a mere whisper beneath the deafening thud of his racing heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kallon began to think this aching night would never end. He would fly and bleed and struggle in this forever darkness, until his wings turned to dust and his scales to powder, and he would simply cease to exist, unable to land, unable to rest.

  His wings drooped, refusing for a moment to work. He felt himself drop toward the ground, and the jolt of warning that passed through him snapped his mind to attention. Glancing below, he found his crystal glowing against his chest like a miniature purple torch. Startled, he nearly dropped again. He urged his wings into a glide, which turned him, and the crystal’s glow strengthened.

  He swung back to his original course. The stone faded. He swerved upward, and the flicker of remaining flame blinked out completely. When he lowered and turned his shoulder, the glow returned and bathed his chest. Baffled, he tucked and twisted and adjusted his flight until the radiance of the necklace shone ahead and around him with all the brilliance of a star. Lower and lower he followed it, until his knuckles brushed cool earth.

  Setting his weight on his feet shot pain through his exhausted muscles. His burning wings sagged in relief against his back. He nearly crumpled right where he landed, but his linking stone urged him forward with a gently drawing whisper. He managed several steps out across an open plain. Then the linking stone’s guiding light transformed from amethyst to white, and burned as bright as daylight. Kallon had to squint to discover he was not alone. There ahead of him lay another dragon.

  He wasn’t sure at first that he really saw it. He could have been hallucinating, or the quick shift of his eyes from dark to light might have caused him to imagine it, so he blinked. And shook his head. And then stared.

  His dragon companion was still there, though appeared completely unaware as it slept soundly, its body curled around the trunk of a thin tree. The boughs of the tree appeared to sprout directly from the creature’s shoulder. Its snout rested against twitching hind toes. It was a small dragon, from what Kallon could tell. Perhaps a foundling that had wandered and lost its way.

  Except that Kallon had never seen, nor heard of, a Gold. This dragon’s scales were rich and vibrant. Even the dragon’s snout rippled like jewels in the shine of Kallon’s stone. The dragon had no horns, no spinepanels, no curving claws. Kallon sniffed quietly. There was nothing familiar in the scent.

  The sleeping dragon snorted, and one eye peeped open. Kallon tensed and eased back a step, but he sensed no fear or concern from the other, so he lifted his chin. “Did you call me here?”

  The Gold outstretched his front paws and yawned. “Me? Call you?” Its eyes, the same, golden hue of its scales, dipped to glance at Kallon’s necklace.

  “Yes. You,” said Kallon. “There is no one else here.”

  The Gold smiled pleasantly, but for some reason, the smile made Kallon feel as though he were a foundling himself, and small and stupid. “Why do you wear that stone if you do not even know how it works?”

  Kallon’s fist clamped protectively around the crystal, dimming it. “It was a gift.”

  “That does not answer my question.”

  “I do not have to answer your question, fledgling. I owe you no explanation.”

  “Fledgling?” The Gold’s lumpy eyeridges arched and he tilted his head. “You assume much. You are well-trained in using only your eyes with which to see.”

  “Eyes see. Ears hear. Mouths talk. Your mouth talks in circles.” Kallon lowered his aching head and closed his eyes. “Too much talk.”

  “You are wounded and hungry. You want answers, but are not yet open to them. First rest, Kallon Redheart. I will be here when you are ready.”

  Kallon snapped open his eyes. “How do you know my name?”

  The Gold was gone. Kallon removed his paw from the stone to allow its light, searching for the other, but the crystal slowly faded. Darkness enveloped him in comforting silence. Whatever questions he’d wanted to ask of the Gold, if there had been a Gold, anyway, would have to wait. He closed his eyes. He cuddled the ground, and he rested.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Daylight filtered through Kallon’s lashes, stinging like hot grains of sand. He pressed his knuckles to his eyes and rubbed hard. His belly felt comfortably full, though he had only vague, fuzzy memories of chewing fresh meat. He shifted. His movements felt stiff, but were no longer painful. He opened his eyes and curled around to inspect his wound. It was closed over and only a healed scar remained.

  “You are feeling better,” said the Gold from behind him.

  Kallon swung his head toward the dragon. In the night, the crystal had done little justice to the Gold’s blinding dazzle. Now bright sunlight careened off its thick hide, scattering prisms to the ground, to the air, to the tree it embraced. “I thought I dreamed you,” Kallon said.

  “Most think that. You did not.”

  Kallon stood, feeling strong. He tipped his head and arched his back, stretching lazily, curling his toes. Energy coursed through him, warming his blood. He even broadened his tail, waving and testing. “No pain.”

  “No,” said the Gold.

  “You did this.”

  The Gold nodded.

  Kallon lumbered closer. “Why are you here?”

  The Gold tilted his head, and smiled that soft smile that made Kallon feel like an idiot. “Why am I here enwrapping this tree at this particular spot? Or why do I exist?”

  After a moment’s thought, Kallon replied, “Either.”

  The Gold lifted his gaze to the wispy branches above his head that reached longingly for the sky. Delicate green leaves fluttered with whispers. The bark was thin and papery, colored brown with splotches of pale blue. Kallon didn’t recognize it. “I am here enwrapping this tree at this particular
spot because it is the only growth of its kind in Leland Province, and it feeds me while I rest.”

  “Feeds you?”

  “It gives me strength, as fresh meat gives you strength.”

  Kallon drew closer yet, until the lowest, swaying branches of the tree brushed his skull. The leaves tickled his horns, but offered no energy that he could tell. He narrowed his eyes on the golden dragon. “It is only a tree.”

  “For those who see only with eyes, that is true.”

  Again with eyes. What else is there to see with? This dragon spoke in riddles, and Kallon didn’t care for riddles. This Gold sounded very much like Orman. Suspiciously so. “You speak like a wizard. Are you a magician?”

  A rumble of low sound, like a hum, issued from the Gold’s smiling mouth. Was that a laugh? “If I am, would that give you the reason for which you search to dislike me?”

  “Grah!” Kallon reared back. “You do know magic!”

  The Gold lifted a shoulder. “What is magic? Is it not simply a word we use to explain that which we cannot explain?”

  “There is much to this world that cannot be explained. It is not all magic.” Kallon waved his hand toward the parched ground. “Springtime brings flowers that have no master to tell them when to open, yet they do. Trees give rise to tiny buds when the snow is gone and it is safe to do so. Sun rises to give us day, and sleeps to give us night. No magic.”

  “You do not call it magic, because you have lived so long with these happenings that they cease to amaze you. In fact, they are so familiar to you that you have come to rely upon them.”

  “They happen whether I rely on them or not. I can do nothing to prevent it. I can do nothing to cease it.”

  “You believe in them.”

  Kallon growled. He cocked a shoulder and spun his back to the Gold. “I believe in nothing.”

  “Then why do you wear a linking stone around your neck?”

  “It was a gift! I told you that!”

  After a time of silence, he peered over his shoulder to the Gold, who was frowning. “You believe that taking risks in life will lead to sorrow. You believe that death is the bitter end to a bitter existence.”

  “Enough!” Kallon slapped his paws over his ears. “If your healing me means I have to listen to your crazy ramblings, then return me to my wounds and leave me in quiet pain!”

  “I speak only the truth, Kallon Redheart!” The Gold’s voice grew louder. “Whether you choose to listen or to ignore does not change it. The truth is what it is, and you can do nothing to prevent it, nothing to cease it!”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “Your wings are strong. If you so choose, you can fly.”

  Kallon wanted to fly. Every muscle in his body was tensed, poised to do just that. He growled in frustration, trying to escape, even while his feet remained stuck fast to the ground.

  “Turn and face the truth,” the Gold urged.

  “No!” He actually didn’t quite know what the Gold meant, but if the Gold wanted him to turn, then Kallon would fight that very idea. Toes twitched in resistance. His neck throbbed, trying to refuse. But in the end, his body betrayed him. It inched slowly in a half-circle to face the Gold, and Kallon’s eyes met the unthinkable.

  The Gold had risen from his place around the base of the tree. The full stretch of the tree’s branches was revealed, as well as the plot of ground from which it grew. “It is the Dandria, Kallon. The only one.”

  The wishing tree. Kallon’s hind legs collapsed and his front legs sank to his knees. Behind the narrow trunk of the Dandria stood his mother’s tombstone, erect and courageous as the day he’d placed it there. Beside her stone rested his father’s.

  “We were both called here,” said the Gold.

  “No!”

  “Why do you resist?”

  “Because she is dead! She cannot reach me, cannot speak to me! If she could know my heart then she would know she should have never left me!”

  “Death has stolen only her body. That linking stone you wear is what maintains your bond, just as it maintains any bond forged in love.”

  “I do not want any part of your madness or your magic!”

  “Your wings are strong.”

  This time, Kallon won. His wings obeyed him, and his body pushed from the ground to fly. Again he climbed, higher and higher, until his lungs ached and his head swam with dizziness. He refused to believe. He’d tried to make the stone come alive, and it had frightened him. If he could really talk to his mother, she would find out. She would discover his anger, his bitterness, his feeling abandoned. He couldn’t live with those emotions himself, and he would never wish them upon his mother, or his father. No, it would never happen.

  He tore the stone from his throat with a roar that rattled the clouds. He threw the crystal to the ground, and swerved away without looking back. Perhaps it shattered. Perhaps it lodged in a crack in the foothills. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t care anymore ever again. He wouldn’t care what happened to Orman. He wouldn’t care what was happening to Riza.

  He dove headfirst toward his beloved cave and swept inside. There he curled up in the darkness, drew shadows up over himself like a cloak, and waited to die, no matter how long it took. He would simply wait.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “He is lying!” Blackclaw snarled at the flimsy, impotent Whitetail. “What good are you to me if at every turn I must double-back to do your work as well as my own?”

  “I have done everything you have asked of me. And more.”

  Blackclaw turned his gaze from the parchments spread out on the floor in front of him. “What is wrong, Whitetail?” He leaned forward, one stray document skittering like a wrinkled leaf toward the advisor’s planted foot. “Feeling unappreciated?”

  “I only wish to remind you that I have neither balked nor refused any instruction you have given me.”

  He lifted his chin! The wimp of a dragon actually dared to lift his chin and look Blackclaw squarely in the eye with that statement. “Careful, Whitetail, or I might get the impression you are developing a backbone.”

  Whitetail stooped, his maw sweeping the stone floor. “I mean no disrespect, of course.”

  Blackclaw gathered his strewn parchments into a small stack. “Intricate planning such as I have in store requires much thought, much preparation. I need to trust you to assigned tasks without your constant interruption.” Then he yawned a gaping and pleasant yawn, before he climbed to his feet, stretching slowly. “However, I could use a break. I will visit this stubborn wizard with you.” He brushed past Whitetail, and then paused. “By the way, it was an excellent improvisation to accuse the wizard of spying in front of the village.”

  “Yes, it did have the intended effect.”

  “It would seem so.” Blackclaw swung his eyes toward Whitetail as they walked. It had been quick thinking on Whitetail’s part. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to come up with that himself. “Tell me more of this Red that interfered. Is he a vassal, as you predicted?”

  Whitetail shook his head. “I am not certain, but I think not. There has been no word of a Vassal Red since Bren Redheart. This other claims to be his son, but I have been unable to prove or disprove it.”

  “Redheart’s son? Our slayer dispatched him when the father was killed.”

  “That was my understanding. But this Red did claim to be the heir.”

  Blackclaw paused. “If the Red is the heir, that can only mean that the slayer betrayed us. If the Red is not the heir, he has gone to a great deal of trouble to pretend he is.”

  “Either way,” said Whitetail, “his appearance could not have come at a worse time.”

  Blackclaw smiled. “Where is the quick thinking you possessed yesterday? I say his appearance could not have been timed better.” He pushed off again, and lumbered for the wooden door at the end of the long hallway.

  “Which do you suppose him to be, a true Redheart, or a fraud?” Whitetail asked.

  Blackclaw wrappe
d his claws around the handle of the prison door and yanked it open. “I am sure I do not know. But we have someone we can ask.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Riza trudged to her room. Inside, she lit the lamp on her bed stand. Then she leaned back against her closed door, and, relieved to finally be alone again after a long day of silent worry, she closed her eyes.

  It had been so hard to keep working. Twice, she’d burned the morning bacon. She’d forgotten to add milk to the biscuits. Rusic had even pulled her aside and told her that customers were complaining. “These folks aren’t hard t’please, mind ye,” he’d said. “But now they’re asking, and I’m worried for ye, girl. What’s wrong?”

  How could she give him an answer, when she hadn’t known, exactly? She’d just been remembering how Jastin had hurt her mouth with his kiss. She’d been so happy to see Kallon when he appeared. She hadn’t known how the dragon had managed to find them, but there he’d been, again saving her from something she was afraid to think about.

  Then she’d heard Jastin’s snide thank-you, and had seen Kallon’s eyes.

  It was that look in Kallon’s eyes, really, that had kept her insides tumbling all day so that she couldn’t even manage to eat anything. Thinking about it now, she realized she finally had her answer. She covered her face with her hands, trying to force the image out of her mind, but there it clung like a stubborn spider web.

  A bleak little coo made her eyes open. She walked to the box at her bedside, and knelt to stroke the gray feathers of the wounded pigeon she’d brought home from the woods. “Hello, little one,” she said quietly. “Are we feeling better?”

  Her fingertip rubbed over a spot behind the bird’s eye where a feather was missing. Feeling wetness, she looked at her fingers. Fresh blood? But that scratch wasn’t there yesterday. “You poor thing,” she said. “The more I try to help you, the more you seem to suffer.”