Kindle the Flame (Heart of a Dragon Book 1) (12 page)

He didn't want to. But he knew he'd have to.

The two men closest to him burst into laughter. “Or what, chit? You'll run to tell your daddy that there're some big, bad men up in the Rues?”

“It's my Dragon, spawn, and I demand that you call off your Griffon now. I'll give you to the count of five. One.”

The men were really laughing now. The Griffondimn bent double, gasping for air. The third man had joined them, glancing at his companions as he tried to understand.

“Two.”

The Griffon rose from the valley floor on its wings, spiraling high, higher, higher. Ayden knew what would come next. The death spiral. Griffons were known to make the final kill from the air.

“Three. Four,” he said in quick succession.

“Look at this 'un,” the Griffondimn cackled. “'E might give us a scratch. Oh, 'orror o' 'orrors.”

Ayden took a deep breath. “Five.”

His arm lashed out, smacking the man's face to his right. The ash-gray cracks appeared across his visage, spreading and growing. The man's face creased in terror before it disappeared in a fall of ash, and he collapsed in a heap of clothing and gray dust.

All traces of laughter died. The other two men stared at Ayden in terror.

“Take your Griffon and go, now!” Ayden thundered, advancing.

One man stumbled backward, raising his arm. A shrill whistle split the air, and the answering call of the Griffon from high in the clouds resounded back. A moment later, the two men were stumbling across the pass, down the craggy sides of the mountain. The shadow of the Griffon cut below the clouds as it followed them.

Ayden stayed where he was, watching them until they hit the level ground. Their tiny figures scrambled, sprinted, stumbled across deep ruts at the roots of the mountains, and along a deep canyon into another ridge of the Rues. They were soon lost from sight.

Concern wrinkled Ayden's brow. He wondered if he had sufficiently frightened the men away, or if they would try to return later in force, armed to the teeth. He didn't want to think about it. The Dragon was in no shape to fly from the canyon, and Ayden wouldn't be able to protect the beast and himself from an army of Griffondimn. He knew the Griffon Clan to be a highly superstitious group, and he fervently hoped that the sight of their friend crumbling to ash would be enough to play on the men’s fears and keep them from this part of the Rues.

Ayden turned his attention back to Chennuh. The animal sprawled on the canyon floor, and Ayden quickly made his way down over the rocks and ledges toward him.

Chennuh's sides heaved. The beast still lived, but Ayden didn't know for how long.

He finally reached the Dragon. The eye closest to him was open, watching him, but the creature didn't move his head.

“Did you miss me? Chennuh?” He took a step nearer, examining the cracked, shattered scales across the beast's belly where Griffon claws had carved gouges. Eventually the Dragon’s natural regeneration process should coat the injured flesh with new scales, but Dragon blood seeped from many places. Because of the massive damage, the new scales were slow in coming.

He reached Chennuh, stopping when the Dragon rumbled a low growl.

“I'm going to try something, Chennuh,” he murmured, keeping his voice low and even. He knew the Dragon recognized him. He didn't know if the Dragon put any weight on their previous acquaintance.

Slowly, he reached his bare fingers to the animal's skin, touching it lightly.

The skin at the edges of the wounds darkened and welded together. He ran his fingers up each one of the slits, sealing the ragged flesh together again.

Ayden breathed a sigh of relief; he'd been fairly certain he wouldn't turn the beast into a pile of ashes; he'd touched Dragons bare-handed before, the first time by accident, and then later, he’d touched them to enjoy the heat that played through his skin from their scales. His touch would burnish the scales to a fiery bronze which darkened when he removed his hand. Sometimes, he could restore the scales if they were chipped or broken.

This was his first time touching a Dragon's hide stripped of scales, and he was thankful that his suspicions had held true and that his Dragon was not now a pile of smoldering ash on the canyon floor.

He checked some of the raw places where mirrored scales had broken off, carefully probing the skin. A haze of glistening light emerged on the hide, and he nodded in satisfaction. It might take a few days or even weeks—the damage was so severe—but the scales would regenerate and the Dragon's armor would be complete again.

If only he hadn't broken his wing.

Ayden advanced to where the massive foreleg lay collapsed against the beast's body. The smoky eye watched him, though the head didn't move.

Carefully placing his bare foot on the hot elbow joint of the foreleg, Ayden pulled himself up slowly to a crouch. He could feel the heat from the Dragon's mouth, smell the smoke as it wafted over him.

“Just gotta check...” he carefully edged closer to the Dragon's shoulder, straining to reach the tattered, slitted wing that dragged along the ground “...that wing.”

A roar that shook his eardrums echoed around the canyon, and the foreleg jerked. Ayden tumbled off, landing hard on his backside.

He scrambled backward. The beast's snout opened for a moment, but the rage of fire died quickly, and the Dragon closed his mouth again.

“Chennuh,” Ayden spoke softly. “I want to help you. But you have to let me look at your wing.”

The Dragon huffed a smoke ring that floated into the air and drifted into the gray sky. Ayden thought perhaps he was giving in, but as soon as he took a tentative step toward the beast again, Chennuh bawled once more. A spurt of flame dashed against the canyon wall.

Ayden backtracked. “Look, you've been hurt. I'm trying to help, so I'd appreciate it if you'd stop being so stubborn and let me do what I came here to do.”

And what did you come here to do
?

The thought surprised Ayden. He had loosely followed the Dragon into the heart of the Rue Ridges, but then what did he expect to do? Achieve
psuche
? Go back to the Crossings and rub his new Mirage in Sebastian's face, hopefully giving the man a flame bath before it was all said and done?

What would that do, anyway? It wouldn't break his curse, not that he expected to ever find a cure for what ailed him. It wouldn't bring back his mother or his village or Flindel or anything else. It
would
gain him a rope necklace if anyone found out he was Ayden of the Clan Dragon. He had left his calling card when he'd dropped his glove.

As Ayden crouched on the rocky ground, staring into the smoky gray eye of the Dragon, his thoughts tumbling inside his head, he realized how pointless his journey had been. He couldn't do any of the things he really
wanted
to do, even if he did somehow manage to achieve
psuche.
And he had no home to which he could return.

He saw again his glove as it flapped though the air to the floor of the arena, only to be discovered moments later by the other Dragondimn in the keep.

He sat on the hard earth, put his hands behind him and his feet in front of him, not knowing where to turn next.

“Ayden!”

The call rocketed him to his feet, and he jerked his shocked gaze to the west. There, along one of the top walls, was the fire-haired girl. He stared, his mouth open. How, under the Great Star above, had she found the Dragon?

It took several moments for his heartbeat to return to normal.

She stood next to an orange-haired Pixie.
Interesting.

The girl began picking her way down ledge by ledge to the bottom.

“Go back, are you daft?” Ayden yelled, shooting a quick glance at the Dragon. The dark eye had swiveled to the two newcomers, and low growls rumbled in his throat. “You're sneaking up on an untrained Dragon!”

Kinna paid no attention to him. The Pixie made himself comfortable, swinging his legs over the top ledge.

Of all the ridiculousness, the lad was actually singing. His voice floated around the canyon, dancing off the rocks and crags.

Ayden growled. The Dragon was going to get nervous or upset, and then...

He glanced at the beast, and his lungs emptied. Chennuh was sound asleep, snoring softly.

“Oof.” Kinna tripped on the last rock, sprawling across the canyon floor. She picked herself up, dusted off her hands and straightened the blue tunic she wore. She looked up at him. “Hello.”

Ayden was sure his shock showed on his face. “You—how—you just show up in the middle of the blasted Rues, with an orange-haired Pixie, and all you have to say is 'hello'?” He motioned to the north. “Why aren't you home where you belong? How did you find us anyway?”

Kinna shrugged uncomfortably. “I—had a sense.”

“You had a sense.” Disbelief colored his tone.
She's mad.

“I knew you wouldn't believe me.”

He stared at her.
She did manage to find us in the middle of the Rues.

“I didn't say I didn't believe you.”

“Didn't have to. It's written all over you.”

Ayden sighed. “Why are you here?”

“Because I decided to come train Chennuh. Will you help me?” She held out her hand to him, reaching for his own, seeking a solid pact, an agreement.

“Will I help you train a
Dragon
?” He stared at her small hand, so tiny and fragile-looking. “Last time I checked, you were a Pixiedimn.” He ignored the hurt that flashed across her face and began to climb the sides of the cliff.

C
edric shifted
in the corner of his cell, his gaze roaming the dim room. How had it come to this? A month ago he'd enjoyed his solitary life in the Rockmonster Dwellings, hunting with his mother, roaming the rocky regions without a care in the world but what was for dinner that night. And stories. Shaya had told wonderful stories.

Most of them had to do with Lismaria, when good King Liam and his queen had reigned. The Centaurs were loyal and thus were treated well by the King and his people. After Sebastian's rise to power, the Centaurs had harbored a bubbling resentment—he had tried to frame them for his own coup, casting the blame on their proud shoulders.

As far as Shaya had known, the Centaurdimn still sent a selection of their best creatures to the Tournament, but she had wondered how long it would last as the vehemence of their dislike for King Sebastian grew stronger with each passing year.

Cedric settled deeper into the dirty straw, his thoughts racing. He wanted to sleep, to forget that tomorrow was the decreed day of his death, to pretend that all this had never happened. But he knew that once he slept, he would wake up with his neck prepared for a headsman. He shivered.

Would it hurt? Or would it be so quick that he wouldn't feel anything? He wondered if the headsman would miss. It could be a slow, drawn-out, painful death if that were the case.

He spent the next hour mouthing prayers to the Great Star, unaware of the moment when he did finally drift into a troubled sleep.

H
eat warmed Cedric's skin
, raising goosebumps on his arms. Confusion clouded his mind as he searched for a source of warmth.

Driving rain soaked the earth, and on the outside edges of the heat, frigid chill fought to break through. Cedric rubbed his eyes, squinting through the black murk, straining to discover his whereabouts.

The warmth deepened. His skin was hot to his touch, but rather than bringing pain, the sensation was pleasant. His hair dripped with cold water, but the cool drops evaporated with a hiss when they hit his hands.

Cedric held his palms close to his face, studying them, and jumped when a great roar split the darkness behind him.

He whirled, his pulse thundering in his ears.

A Dragon filled Cedric's vision, scales gleaming with fire. Heat radiated from the beast, and Cedric glanced behind him for a place to hide.

He could see nothing.

A moment later he realized the beast was not watching him anyway. From the swirling darkness another Dragon appeared, lurching to stand snout to snout with the first Dragon. The flaming wings of the second Dragon were braced behind its back, and a brilliant spot of piercing light shone through the membranes.

The second Dragon released the light, and to Cedric's amazement a smooth, burnished egg rolled onto the ground. The puddles dried in the heat of its flames; the grass around it burned, black and wilted.

The second Dragon's scales glowed brighter than the first one’s. The face was narrower, more elongated, and Cedric realized the beast was a female. The she-Dragon sniffed the egg cautiously before pulling back to allow the first Dragon to do the same.

A moment later the male beast rolled his tongue beneath the flaming egg and lifted it into his mouth, closing his fangs on either side.

“No!” Cedric cried. His voice echoed in the swirling, rain-soaked darkness. The father had eaten the egg.

The Dragons either couldn't hear him, or they ignored him. Instead of throwing back his head to send the egg down the length of his throat, however, the Dragon lowered his head, cradling it on the ground. The she-Dragon lurched to a crouch, her smoky eyes level with her mate's jaws.

For a long moment the stillness was only broken by the sound of pelting rain. The glowing scales of the Embers were the only source of light.

Then the male Dragon yawned wide, and the egg rolled between his razor-sharp teeth to nestle gently on the ground. He'd kept it safe and sheltered in his own blazing fire.

The she-Dragon spit flame on it, and the bronzed shell glowed again in the fire's heat. A moment later she easily tongued it inside her own mouth and stalked into the darkness.

The male Dragon followed his mate, moving farther away until he, too, disappeared into the mist.

The rain soaked through Cedric's tunic, which had dried in the heat of the flames.

C
edric bolted upright
. The capricious torchlight under the door shed enough light into the cell that he could see the straw heaped up around him.

He drew a breath of relief. It
had
only been a dream; he hadn't actually left the cell. The dream had felt so real, though, that he had difficulty reorienting himself to his surroundings.

Then he remembered Sebastian's decree for his death, and despair settled over him again.

“It's eerie, that's what it is.”

Pounding feet ran by his door, followed by a shout down a far corridor. “The Dragons are going mad!”

Cedric crept to the door, pressing his head against the floor, trying to see out the crack at the bottom. Sure enough, he heard loud roars echoing up and down the halls. Smoke roiled from beneath the dens on the opposite side of the hall.

“Take a message to His Grace. He'll want to know.”

“Yes, m'lord.”

A set of bare feet scurried across Cedric's line of vision, and then more pounding, booted feet arrived. His cell shook with the roars of the Dragons.

“What on the seven seas has happened here?”

The first voice lowered. “It all started when His Grace's prisoner shrieked in his sleep. It was like them Dragons were part of his dreams. Never heard such a clamor in all my borned days.”

The two sets of feet moved off, and gradually, the Dragon roars faded. Low grumblings and bestial mutterings cloaked the halls again while Cedric lay on the stone, his eyes wide in the dark.

What did it all mean?

A door down the hallway groaned open. “Make way for His Grace, King Sebastian.” More scampering feet echoed in the hall.

A moment later a key rattled in the lock, and Cedric sat up, moving out of the way as the door swung open.

The jailer, Genlich, preceded Sebastian inside, heading to a torch in the wall bracket. He turned with a low bow as Sebastian crossed to the cell's corner, looking around in distaste before finally settling his gaze on Cedric.

“What is your name, boy?” His cold eyes glinted in the torchlight.

“Cedric, Your Grace.”

“From?”

“The Rockmonster Dwellings.”

Sebastian showed no acknowledgment of Cedric's words. Cedric imagined the reflection of flames in the King's eyes was real fire, and an involuntary shudder ran up his back.

“Why am I here, Your Grace?” Cedric asked at last, pushing himself to his feet. A stunning pain hit him in his chest; he sucked in his breath with a gasp.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. He paced, his fist resting on a hip, his robe brushing the floor behind him.

“You were to die at dawn at the mercy of my headsman.”

Cedric moved his gaze to the narrow slit in the stone wall at the top of his cell. The black of night had changed to pre-dawn gray, and he knew the pearl of morning would be on him before long.

“Aye, so I had been told.”

“You will not die this morning.”

Relief lightened Cedric's spine. “Am I to know why?”

“Soon enough.” The King raised an eyebrow as he stopped his pacing and surveyed Cedric. “You must pass through the fire first.”

Confusion swirled through Cedric's mind. What tests would he be set? And why?

Sebastian was not yet done. “I understand you carry a mark, as do all my people.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Show me.”

Cedric turned and raised his arm, displaying the black ink of the Dragon with the notched circle at the top.

“And yet you were raised with Centaurs?”

“With
a
Centaur, Your Grace. My mother was an outcast from her Clan.”

“So I understand.” The King's eyes seemed almost hungry as he gazed at the mark. After a silent moment he turned away. “And you never made an attempt to reconnect with the Dragondimn?”

“None until recently.” Cedric shrugged. “My mother died at the hands of the Rockmonsters. After her passing I chose to seek out my own Clan. As you can see,” he motioned around the cell, “I've run into an impediment.”

Sebastian's facial muscles could have been carved from stone. “I will send clothes for you,” he said at last. “You will live—today. We will see about tomorrow.”

Cedric bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace.” When he straightened, the door was already closing behind the jailer. Sebastian was nowhere to be seen.

Cedric stared at the closed door, his thoughts struggling to comprehend Sebastian's strange appearance and even stranger clemency.

His stomach growled, and Cedric wondered if he would be offered breakfast, since he wasn't to meet the headsman, at least not this morning.

He turned toward the pile of straw and sat. A key again rattled the lock, and Cedric jerked his gaze upward as the door swung open. A young boy entered with a tunic, a set of leggings, and a gray wool cloak folded over his arm. His other hand held a pair of boots.

The boy set the clothes down on the stone floor and bowed to Cedric. “His Grace says ye are to be dressed and ready when 'e returns 'ere for ye in 'alf an hour.”

Cedric nodded, and the boy exited the cell.

He picked up the tunic, sliding it over his head. He had never worn such a garment before, and the material on his shoulders and chest felt scratchy and hot. He wished he could make do with his soft leather loincloth, but he had seen that no one in this country wore such things.

He tied the belt, drew on the breeches and then the boots. His movements were mechanical; his mind returned to the Dragon's egg from his dream. He'd felt a pull toward the bronzed sphere, so powerful that he'd wanted to touch the white-hot shell.

He still wanted to touch it, to wrap himself around it, to absorb its heat and let the warmth consume him in a thousand tongues of Dragonfire.

He shoved the heels of his hands against his eyes. He must be going mad.