Redheart (Leland Dragon Series) Read online

  Behind the man, a woman’s voice called, “Mr. Armitage!”

  The man turned to block the door, his gloved hand on the rusted latch. “Yes, Mrs. Fennipen?” Hurried footsteps halted, and Riza could see the wrinkled cheek of a woman just past the man’s shoulder. Riza wished she could call out, but her body wouldn’t respond. She could only stare from her place on the straw.

  “Forgot your candle,” said Mrs. Fennipen. “Can’t get into town ‘n back in the dark.” A fat pillar candle lofted toward the man’s face, and its flame deepened the creases of the hand that held it. “Mr. Fennipen is awful glad to have another man around the place. You’re sure you don’t know how long you’ll stay?”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” he said, and took the candle. “But, Madam, if you keep feeding me like you did this eve, you might have to kick me out when you grow tired of me.”

  Mrs. Fennipen gave a girlish giggle. “You’re the charm, Mr. Armitage.” She pressed a strand of graying hair back into her low chignon. “What brings you to the barn?”

  “I chased something inside. A rat, I think. I was just going to go inside and finish it off.”

  At that, Riza jerked. Somehow, she had to find the strength to get out of there. Maybe she could pry a hole in the wall. She tried to pull herself toward a loose plank, but her arms wouldn’t bend.

  “Nasty things, rats,” said Mrs. Fennipen. “Can’t get used to ‘em, no matter how many I see. You have the key to get back in?”

  “I do. Good night to you, Mrs. Fennepin.”

  Riza managed to reach one arm toward the plank, and dug her nails around its edge. Just then, his rumbling voice came from behind her. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”

  Riza froze. She slowly turned her face toward him. She tried to speak, really she did, but no sound came out.

  He took a step. He leaned in so close she could feel the warmth of the candle he held. “What happened to your face?” This time, his voice was gentle.

  He kneeled. Her heart raced painfully and she closed her eyes, willing him to disappear. She felt his fingers under her chin, and she was pulled forward. “Did someone hit you?”

  When she tried again to speak, her eyes opened. She met his dark gaze, which hovered and buzzed like black bees against a black wall.

  “So. You’re wanting to borrow the place for the night.” He rose to his feet and stepped back. She could breathe again. “Don’t make off with anything that doesn’t belong to you.” He turned, closed the barn door, and slid the bolt home from the outside.

  Riza wanted to weep with relief, but she was too drained for even tears. She collapsed to her side, half on the straw and half on the dirt floor. Before she could realize she was uncomfortable, she was asleep.

  Chapter Seven

  When the time came for dawn, the sun was still hiding. It hung back behind a curtain of dreary clouds, failing to take its place on center stage. The trees stood as audience anyway, their naked arms embracing the heavy air.

  Kallon left no shadow against the dusty earth this morning. His usual romp in the skies did nothing to lift his mood. He felt as bloated with darkness as the clouds he danced with, and the longer he lingered there, the heavier he felt himself become. Finally, he gave up, and swung low to the ground without landing.

  Above the dank scent of promised rain, he smelled something else. He turned his head toward the rubble at the top of his mountain.

  A familiar old man picked his way carefully, one arthritic hand curled around the crystal tip of his walking stick. The other hand he held out to his side, as though pretending to fly. His baggy trousers rustled and slapped against his bowed legs, and his beard danced in the rising wind like the wild, white hair of a gypsy girl.

  Kallon swerved to pass over the man once. Then he angled his thick wings, and came to a landing behind him, so gentle that he stirred less stones than the noisy wind. The man turned, and pointed his staff toward the sky. “Smells like rain.”

  “Noticed,” Kallon replied.

  “Came to see the girl.”

  “Gone,” he said, and swung his head toward the village.

  “Already?” The man scowled, and stabbed his stick into the dirt. “Curses.” He then turned his back to Kallon, and continued along his path down the mountain.

  Kallon pushed off to hang in the air above the man, his wings beating lazily. “Orman, where are you going?”

  “Didn’t come all this way for nothing. If I can’t see the girl, I’ll see you instead.” Orman tapped his stick against a boulder the size of Kallon’s head, which was blocking the path. The boulder wobbled, and then politely rolled out of the way.

  Kallon grumbled. “Don’t want company.”

  “Noticed,” said Orman.

  By the time Orman Thistleby reached the base of the path, the wind was so fierce it snapped his wiry gray hair against his scalp. He didn’t seem to mind, though, because he lingered outside the cave without going in. “Scared her away, didn’t you?”

  “No.” Kallon landed again, and tucked his wings against his spine to saunter into the dark opening. “She wanted to leave.” He heard Orman huff, and he glanced back to see the wizard cross his arms against his scrawny chest. “You’re going to get wet out there,” Kallon called.

  “Won’t rain.” Orman grunted. “Smells like it. Feels like it. But it won’t.” He hobbled into the darkness, anyway. Inside the cave, he scraped the crystal of his staff across the ground as though striking a flint, and the foggy gem blazed with a glowing orange light. “Your father wouldn’t want this for you, Kallon. You spend too much time alone.” He waved his stick, and the cave crackled with warm torchlight.

  Kallon leaned back against a wall, and drew up his feet beneath him. He rolled his eyes at Orman’s comment, and gave a grunt of his own. “You’re one to talk.”

  “That’s different!” Orman shook his stick. “Have my books, have my duties, my magics. You have nothing but yourself. With your rotten attitude, you can’t be much company.”

  Kallon’s nostrils flared. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Is too my business. Your father’s wishes are my concern.” The rumpled old man shambled closer. He pressed the tip of his staff between Kallon’s eyes. “He was the most honorable creature I knew. Aside from your mother, of course. He lived up to his promise to protect me to the death, and didn’t turn his back once. Not once, I tell you.” And his stick went tap, tap, tap against Kallon’s forehead.

  Kallon shook his head to knock the irritating staff away from his face. “That was the old way. I want no part of it.”

  At that, Orman withdrew, his brow bunching together. “Much to be done still. Your seat on the council as Herald of the Reds waits for you.”

  Kallon lowered his snout and met Orman’s gaze. A gust of steam curled from his nostrils. “The Reds are dead.”

  Orman’s neck grew several inches as he straightened his shoulders. He opened his mouth, but only the sound of his breath issued. Finally, he ground the heel of his boot into the cave floor and turned away. “Fordon Blackclaw leads the council in your stead. All of Leland reeks of his darkness.” He peered over his shoulder at Kallon and clicked his tongue. “Dragons murmur of war with humans. Your father would have much to say.”

  Kallon blew a puff of breath between his teeth, which hit Orman full-force in the back. It sent the wizard stumbling several steps out into the howling wind, forcing him to plant his walking stick into the rocky sand to keep from falling.

  Orman spun to glare at Kallon, the sharpened crystal of the staff glowing white. “Still got plenty of breath for a dead dragon.”

  Kallon just flopped his chin to the ground with a grumble, stirring up a cloud of dust that tempted his nostrils to sneeze. But he was too miserable to sneeze. He simply lay there, immersed in the darkness, and silently cursed it.

  Chapter Eight

  Riza awoke to a slap of wetness against her cheek. Drowsy, she swiped the back of her han
d across it. She groaned and tried to settle again. Her brain felt like a fuzzy blanket, and she wasn’t ready to get up yet. But she did wonder what time it was. She opened her eyes to see another drop of morning dew slip through a crack in the barn roof and splatter against her cheek. Remembering where she was, she sat up quickly.

  Too quickly. Her back and hips wrenched. Her legs felt heavy as timber logs, and her feet were swollen inside her worn boots. Would she ever feel like herself again?

  She didn’t have time, though, to feel sorry for herself. She could do that later. Right now, she had to pull herself together for another day of walking. She had to find some food and a job, and a better place to sleep than this rickety barn. It was time to put her plan into motion. As soon as she came up with one, anyway.

  She hauled her weary self up out of the straw. Her joints didn’t want to bend, and she wasn’t even sure she was standing yet. Then she hobbled one tiny step forward. She had to grasp the low wall of a horse stall to keep from falling. She took a deep breath, blinked to wash the sleepy haze from her eyes, and tried again.

  She considered it a small victory when she reached the barn door. It was already ajar, so she peeked out. The morning sky was thick with warning, and the wind whistled around her ears. Wonderful. Now a storm was coming, on top of everything else.

  “Sleep well?” called a man’s voice.

  Riza’s eyes darted to the man who sat on the bottom step of the farmhouse. The blade of his sword was stabbed into the ground between his boots, and his arms were crossed over the handle. His black beard was close-trimmed, making his hard features seem even darker. Staring at his eyes, her stomach clenched as though a clay brick had suddenly formed there. She was as afraid of him in the daylight as she’d been last night in the barn.

  The man stood and took several steps toward her. “You’ve had some trouble.”

  She must be a mess to look at. She combed fingers through her hair, and smoothed the front of her bodice, but from the way his eyebrows quirked while he watched her, she guessed it didn’t do much good.

  “Someone in town got rough with you?” he asked.

  “No. I haven’t been to town yet,” she said around her Adam’s apple that got wedged too high in her throat.

  His brows shot up. He moved a step closer. “Then you’ve come from the trees? The mountains?”

  “Yes. Just now. Or, I mean, last night. But traveling before that. I mean—” Her own words weren’t making sense even to her. She pressed her hand to her throbbing temple. “I’m sorry about the barn. I promise I’ll pay you a night’s rent as soon as I find work.” She bowed her head, hoping this man would just politely let her be on her way. She moved to slip past him.

  “What kind of work?” He swung out his sword, and the flat of the blade pressed against her belly. “I’ve been in this town only a few days, myself, but I know that employment is a rare find.”

  Riza backed up, guarded. His speech was refined, but his mannerisms were just short of rude. If he’d planned on harming her, though, he’d had plenty of opportunity already. She couldn’t figure him out. So she answered. “I’m willing to try anything. I’m…” She paused. “…eager.”

  “You’re over-thin. Young, I’d wager.” His lips pursed, and he slid his sword into its sheath against his hip. Then he crossed his arms, his dark eyes scrutinizing. “You might do well, though, in a job available at the Brown Barrel.”

  “The Brown Barrel?”

  He nodded. “Local tavern. Just down the road. I’ll take you there.” He turned, and began his way toward town.

  “Now just a minute! When I said I’d do anything, I didn’t mean that!” Her own town had a tavern, and she knew about those girls that entertained men there. No one was supposed to talk about it out loud, but it got talked about, just the same. She forgot the stiffness in her arms as she pressed both fists on her hips. “What do you take me for, Mister? I’m not a tavern girl!”

  The man swung around on his heel, and glared. His eyes flashed. Then his face slowly shifted into an awkward smile. So awkward, in fact, that Riza wasn’t sure if he might suddenly laugh, or possibly vomit. Neither happened. He bowed at the waist, and opened his arms. “Begging the lady’s pardon,” he crooned obnoxiously. “The job opening is for a cook.” He straightened again, and met her eyes.

  Heat flushed over Riza’s face. “Oh.” She brushed an imaginary hair from her cheek. “Well, then. I appreciate your mentioning.” She raised her chin, lifted her bedraggled skirt away from her mud-encrusted shoes, and prepared to follow him with all the attempted grace of a princess tiptoeing across a red carpet. All the while, she hoped a cliff would suddenly present itself so she could jump off of it.

  Still holding that strange smile of uncomfortable amusement on his face, he took her hand. “I am Jastin Armitage, my indignant lady.” He pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

  Riza was too shocked to snatch back her hand. “I’m Riza. Riza Diantus.” His mouth lingered there on her skin, and she was appalled at the flutter down her spine. Then, his nose traveled another inch up her forearm. Was he sniffing her? She almost giggled out loud, but cleared her throat instead. She tugged her arm.

  He didn’t let go. Alarm prickled her neck just as a gust of dry wind threw dust into her eyes. She coughed, and blinked, and felt him release her hand. But he was suddenly closer, and he wrapped his thick fingers around her elbow. “Let’s go, Riza Diantus,” he said quietly. She couldn’t decide if this shift in his voice made him seem friendlier, or more dangerous.

  “Why are you doing this?” Riza asked the dark man as he dragged her through the village streets. There weren’t many people around, maybe because of the brewing storm, but those who were stared hard at her. Most looks were downright hostile. She felt like a beggar.

  “Why am I doing what?” he asked without looking at her. His eyes were focused ahead of them.

  “Helping me.” She watched his tight profile as she stumbled along to keep up. Deep creases surrounded his eyes, and frown lines curved around his mouth as though his face was used to scowling. Dust clung to his face everywhere, even the bottom edge of his dark beard. A thought struck her. “How long were you waiting on that step this morning? Were you waiting for me to wake up?”

  “Here is the place.” He tugged her through rugged doors and guided her toward the long, curving bar inside the Brown Barrel Tavern. “Sit here and don’t speak.”

  “But I—”

  He pressed a gloved finger to her mouth. “Do not speak. I’ll be back shortly.” He moved away.

  The room was larger than any she’d been in before. The smoke from wall lanterns hazed the meager sunlight squeezing through high, tiny windows. She could barely make out the shapes of chairs and tables in the gloom. The stench of ale and sweaty male bodies made her breathe shallow so she wouldn’t gag. It wasn’t so different from the dragon’s cave, really.

  Her dark helper returned with another man. This man’s bulbous nose was too large for his face. Deep pockmarks scarred his cheeks. His coppery eyebrows perched like woolly caterpillars over dark and tiny eyes. Riza shrank back.

  “This is she,” the dark man said. His finger rubbed at her cheek, too hard, to clear away some dust. “She’s not much to look at, but a hot bath will scrape off the dirt, and her bruises will heal.”

  Riza stiffened. She wasn’t a farm animal! Talking about her like she wasn’t even there! She opened her mouth to protest, but his instant glare made her slap it shut again.

  “Aye…but can she cook?” asked the new man. His face loomed closer, and his breath smelled of hot peppers. “Looks like she hasn’t had a decent meal herself in weeks! I dun trust a skinny cook!”

  “She can cook. Give her a day. If you do not want to continue her employment, no harm done.”

  “Aye, very well, Mr. Armitage,” the new man said, nodding. He wrung his hands against his stained apron. “She can have a bath, but I’ll take it out of her day’s wages. It’s in th
e back.” He jerked his head. Then his fearsome look dissolved into the soft grin of a rumpled rag doll. “Rusic Landel, I am. Most call me Rust. I own the place, and if ye do right by me, I’ll take good care of ye.” His face scrunched into a long wink, and he lumbered away.

  The dark man yanked her from the barstool to her feet. “Move.”

  “Stop hurting me.” She glanced toward Rusic, whose back was turned as he wiped down the bar.

  “Now you have employment. While you’re bathing I’ll get you some new clothes. Don’t make me sorry for what I’m doing.”

  “I didn’t ask you to do anything you’re doing, so if you’re sorry, don’t blame me.” Again came his glare, and again she withered. “But I am grateful, sir.”

  “Jastin.” He released her arm as they reached the back of the room.

  Before them was a curling staircase that led to inn rooms above. Set in the space beneath the stairs was a miniscule room with only a curtain for a door. Inside this, a half-barrel bathtub squatted in a corner.

  “I’m taking a bath in there?” she asked, her hand holding aside the curtain. “I can’t even see in there.”

  Jastin clenched his jaw, and leaned into the crawlspace to pull out a beeswax candle from a small table. “Light this. Then light that.” He pointed at a large hole in the dirt floor that contained firewood covered with fist-sized rocks. “Heat the rocks, put the rocks in the water. I’ll be back.”

  Riza spun to face him. “You’re leaving right now?”

  Jastin closed his eyes, and his thick fingers circled against his temples. He released a long sigh. “You need clothes. I’ll get them and bring them back.”

  “But there’s no door. Anybody could just walk in!” Never mind that there were only a few men seated at the scattering of tables just beyond, most of whom were hung over and sprawled across those tables with their cheeks in puddles of their own drool. Her dark helper hadn’t done much this morning to make her feel safe around him, but without him there she felt positively vulnerable.