Redheart (Leland Dragon Series)

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“Jackie Gamber writes with power, beauty, and artistic flair.”

~Bryan Davis, author of
Dragons in our Midst

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“Redheart has the wings to soar into the heights of fantasy literature. Jackie Gamber brings a fresh, inventive, and captivating approach to iconic mythical creatures.”

~Stephen Zimmer, author of
the Rising Dawn Saga
and
Fires in Eden Series

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Redheart

Jackie Gamber

REDHEART: BOOK ONE OF THE LELAND DRAGON SERIES

Copyright ©2008 by Jackie Gamber

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be copied or transmitted in any form, electronic or otherwise, without express written consent of the publisher or author.

Cover art and illustrations: Matthew Perry

Cover art and illustrations in this book Copyright

© 2011 Matthew Perry & Seventh Star Press, LLC.

Map by Doug Wilson

Copyedit work by Selena Thomason

Published by Seventh Star Press, LLC.

ISBN Number 9780983108696

Library of Congress Control Number: 2008908545

Seventh Star Press

www.seventhstarpress.com

[email protected]

Publisher’s Note:

Redheart
is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are the product of the author’s imagination, used in fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, places, locales, events, etc. are purely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America

Second Edition

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To Dan, the love of my life

who often believed more than I did.

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Thank You!

To Ben and Ellen. You pored over edits with me and had to hearthe story over and over and never complained.

To friends who encouraged me. My fellow writers from Michiganto Tennessee, we laughed and created great memories. Suzi, youthink everything I write is brilliant.

To those who contributed. Doug, you’ve given talent and so muchtime. Matt, your vision has brought fresh energy to my oldfriends. Dan, you’re a gifted artist who has stepped into thegreat unknown with me—I’m so glad we’re in this together.

And Stephen, thank you so much for those most magical of words, “I believe in you.”

To my heavenly Father, thank you for a grip that never lets go.

Chapter One

Kallon soared. He thrust his crimson wings to chase the clouds, tethered to the earth by only his massive shadow. He flew faster, but his shadow could not be outrun. He felt it below him, dragging across the dusty field like an anchor, pulling him downward. With a defiant twist of his wings, he veered straight up into the cobalt sky.

The sky was where dragons were meant to thrive, and it was the place they returned to when they died. At least, according to his father. Kallon had believed it once. He had believed the stories of dragon valor in a world where humans and dragons worked together toward a common future. But that was long ago. Kallon didn’t believe in anything anymore.

It became harder to breathe, and Kallon’s eyes burned and watered. His wings resisted moving. He’d gone as high as he could go. He paused.

As far as he could see, the sky was the same unlimited blue. There was no rail, no net. There seemed nothing to keep him from going forward, yet there he was forced to stop, as every dragon before him stopped. With a groan of regret, Kallon hung his head and descended.

He followed his shadow across a field of withered meadow grass. The field gave way to sand, and the sand to stones, then bulging fists of granite welcomed him home to the foothills of the Leland Mountains.

Then he heard something. Instead of disappearing into his cave, he swooped above a high cliff and circled back. He dropped down to his feet, curled in his wings, and stood still as the mountains to listen.

A scream. From somewhere beyond the next peak came a human scream. He snorted. Too bad it wasn’t something more interesting. His ears had long since grown deaf to the cries of humans.

Then the scream came again. It was the sound of terror; the kind he used to hear from children as his shadow passed over the ground near them. He shuddered, and found himself turning toward the sound. He hadn’t wanted to go home yet, anyway. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt just to look.

He flew low over the meadow until he caught the human scent. No, not one human—several. He landed quietly and loped toward a grove of ancient firs, some of which were taller than his head. Careful not to rustle any branches, he poked his face through the trees. There he saw the humans and discovered the source of the scream.

Three men stood around a female, who crouched in the center of them. There was a leader, it seemed, who cackled an evil laugh and was goading the two younger men toward her. His voice was louder than the others, and his stringy hair was the color of dung. “Go on,” he said, and shoved his friend toward her. The woman shrieked and lunged, stabbing a knife at the air. The man jumped away, but the leader darted behind the woman and grabbed her wrist, then wedged the inside of his elbow against her throat. “Give me that little toy,” he snarled.

The woman struggled. The leader yanked away the knife and pushed her to the ground. He slapped her face. Kallon could see her shoulders heave as she whispered in a hoarse voice, “Please. Don’t do this.”

Kallon was still considering what he ought to do, when there was a sudden shout.

“Dragon!” cried one of the men.

“Bloody ‘ell!” yelped another.

The leader just stood gaping, his bottom lip flopping up and down like a beached carp.

“Run!” The man near the female jumped to his feet, and hollered again. “Run!”

The leader finally moved. He flung up the knife, and it tumbled through the air to bump Kallon harmlessly on the nose. Kallon growled, anyway. The leader stumbled back. Kallon sucked in a deep breath and bellowed like thunder. The man wailed, and bolted after the others.

The men collided with trees and smacked into each other in their panic. Kallon stopped bellowing to smile. Cowards. Then he swung his face to the woman. He found her gaze locked on him, and his smile dissolved, taken aback by the look in her eyes.

He had grown accustomed to screams, shouts of fear, and the look of terror in the eyes of humans. But this woman reacted to him with none of these. Her face seemed to register…relief. Then her eyes closed and she fell backward onto the ground.

Kallon inched forward through the trees. He bumped her shoulder with his snout. She didn’t respond. “You dead?” he asked. He nudged her again.

She was breathing. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth. She smelled more pleasant than he thought a human could smell, like the musky forest path drenched in sunshine. He sniffed her again.

He knew he should leave her right where she laid. She was no business of his, and he didn’t know the first thing about tending to her anyway. But she’d looked at him differently than most humans, and it stirred something within him he couldn’t explain. He lifted a claw to his cheek and rubbed, unsure of what to do. Then he mumbled, “Going to regret this.”

He grasped her with his forelegs and soared off toward home.

Chapter Two

Riza slowly opened her eyes. Or did she? It was so dark, she wasn’t certain. Pain stabbed her temples. Her mouth felt stuffed with wool. She tried to sit up, but wobbled too much, and had to try again.

Where was she? And what was that smell? She wrinkled her nose. Even through her pain and dulled senses the odor was intense enough to water her eyes. The farmers must be fertilizing the fields again. With a groan, she laid back her head and let her eyes fall closed.

But what was she lying against? Something poked down her spine, and she felt the ground beneath her slithering. Her eyes snapped open again. As they slowly adjusted to the dark, she looked at her shoulder, and then to what rested beneath it.

Dragon scales. Her breath stopped. Surely she was still dreaming, they couldn’t be real. She reached a fingertip to see. Those dark scales were rising and falling, rising and falling, as though attached to something breathing.

“Sleep well?” asked a voice like the crackle of shifting gravel.

Riza shrieked. She darted away, crawling in panic, her body numb and unable to stand. She veered, expecting any moment to feel her skin erupt in a blast of fiery dragon breath.

“Not the way out,” the dragon said. She could hear the groan of its bones as it shifted its immense weight. Even the ground quivered, and in her mind the dragon grew to enormous proportions, fueling her terror. She crawled on.

“Not the way out!” The thundering voice became more insistent. A clawed foot thrust out to stop her. “Going to bump your…”

Her head cracked against something hard. She rocked with a fresh wave of pain. Tiny lights like fairy dust danced around her eyes before she collapsed against the outstretched foot. She clung to the dragon’s scaly paw while she leaned across it to retch.

“…head,” it finished. She felt its rumbling sigh as much as heard it. It nudged her to the dusty floor of the dark place. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think.

The dragon muttered and heaved to its feet, and then lumbered off toward a splash of pink light. She strained to focus. The pink light pulled into the arched shape of an open doorway. It was large enough for the passing of a dragon. It was the way out.

The dragon smothered the light as it passed. She felt the tip of its tail slither past her foot, and she recoiled inside, though she couldn’t move enough to even twitch. Then the pink light returned as the dragon moved on. It was leaving.

Outside, the dragon arched its back, and then gave a shake that started with its mighty head and rippled down its spine to its pointed tail. Wings burst from its back. She gulped in surprise. Before she could release her next breath, the dragon was gone.

The dragon was gone, giving her a chance to escape! It hadn’t burned her alive, hadn’t crunched her bones. It had left, allowing her to get away. But why? Why bring her to this place at all if the dragon wasn’t even going to—?

Then she remembered. The men in the forest. The dragon head in the trees. It had saved her, maybe intentionally. Maybe it brought her back as some sort of pet. Pet Riza. She giggled, imagining herself romping on all fours, chasing a stick thrown by a great, curled dragon paw. The ground beneath her began to sway. Fairy dust tickled her eyes again. Then everything went dark.

Moments later, Riza felt a nudge against her cheek. Or was it hours? Endless darkness and staggering pain made it impossible to know. Her head was throbbing so badly she thought her eyes might burst if she opened them. So she didn’t.

“Must drink,” spoke an oddly familiar voice that floated somewhere near her ear. Something pressed to her mouth, and cool liquid splashed against her lips and dribbled down her chin. She groaned, not wanting to open her mouth for fear she might retch again. “Swallow,” the rumbling voice urged.

She finally did, and the bitter drink splashed fire down her throat. She tried to turn her head, but a sharp jab against her cheek turned it back, and more liquid filled her mouth before she could resist. She spluttered, and slapped at the helping hands. “Enough!”

Her fingers felt the curve of a sharp claw on a scaly foot. Her bleary eyes flew open and met the hovering stare of the dragon. She didn’t even know she had a voice to scream with, but out it came in a shriek. The dragon winced. The wooden mug he’d been holding skittered across the floor, and he gave a shout of his own.

“Human!” He slapped his paws over his ears, and reared back into a wash of sunlight streaming through the cave opening. The light exploded across the scales of his massive shoulders, his head, his wide open jaws, and burst with sparks that lit more glittering sparks, until the shine around his face seemed a wall of flame.

“Quiet!” he shouted.

Riza couldn’t help but go quiet. She stared up at him, her breath leeching from her lungs.

He released his paws from his ears and slapped them to the ground, moving from the light. His blinding radiance sputtered out. “I’m not going to eat you. Maybe I ought to, just because you’re stupid.” He turned his back and stomped to a far wall. There he plopped, dropped his chin against the floor, and sulked.

She stared for a long time before she gathered the courage to speak. When she finally did, she was surprised her voice didn’t tremble. “You’re not going to eat me?”

“Could have already. Lots of times.” A trail of moisture leaked from the dragon’s snout, and the pink tip of his tongue snaked out to flick it away. “Brought you some food.” He turned his head further away.

For the first time, she noticed a small woven basket overflowing with bright raspberries near her feet. Balancing atop the berries was a round loaf of bread. Wetness sprang to the back of her throat. She was devouring handfuls before she even realized. She reached for the bread. The crust was stale, but when she broke it, the inside was soft and melted on her tongue like warmed snowflakes.

As she chewed, her eyes wandered over the cave. In the frail daylight, she could see layered shelves of granite imbedded in smooth walls of rock. The ceiling was so high it disappeared into shadows. Pale, broken sticks littered the sand floor. An insistent drip-drip of water echoed from a far place beyond the dragon where the light couldn’t penetrate.

The dragon. He was staring at her, his head cocked, one eye narrowed. She was frightened again, and gulped down the last mouthful of bread, which stuck in her throat. She lowered her chin and tried to become very small.

“Stop looking at me like that,” the dragon said. Unsure of how she was supposed to look at him, she simply remained silent, and lowered her gaze. But her mind raced. Should she run? Where would she run? She didn’t even know where she was, or how far the nearest village was.

“Looked at me different before,” it said.

“I did?” She dared to peek up at him, but he was no longer watching her. He’d begun to walk toward the cave entrance. Each of his footfalls sent a ripple through the sand. Muscles clenched beneath his thick hide. His serpentine tail wavered toward her, and, this time, she nearly darted out a hand to touch it. Startling herself, she resisted the impulse.

He stepped out and was bathed in brilliant sun. Now she could see he was the rich, red color of mulled wine. Each of his scales caught the sun with a dazzle, and, when she squinted, she saw they sparkled from a delicate dusting of gold.

He wasn’t as large as she’d imagined. His basic shape was similar to a horse, and maybe the length of three of them. Atop his skull rose a dignified crown of bony ridges, crimson at the base, and then fading into varying degrees of reddish-brown toward the tips. Leathery wings relaxed against his back.

Magnificent, really. A majestic, flying stallion.

“When did I look at you differently?” she asked. He didn’t respond.

She crawled forward. Her back was stiff from the hard ground, and her muscles resisted painfully, but when she reached outside, she lifted her chin.

Sun warmed her cheeks. A breeze stroked her hair. She stared up at the translucent sky, at the tips of wispy elms that danced for ivory clouds. She tried to find the top of the cliff above the cave, but it was too high, and flowering vines coiled across the granite, camouflaging it with the mauves and oranges of wild roses.

She inhaled the peaceful beauty, and it coursed through her to her numbed fingers and toes, reviving them. So she pushed up from her hands and knees, trying to stand, and she spoke again. “When did I look at you differently?”

“Before,” the dragon said, his face toward the elms.

“Before, when?”

“In the trees.” He swung his gaze toward her. His brown eyes fastened onto her face. They were filled with such depth, such expression, that surprise knocked her like a hand to the ground. She fell back, staring at his sadness.

“Weren’t afraid of me then.” His wings snapped at the air. “Go if you want. You’re not my captive.”

Before she could reply, he was high above her, wings pumping straight up toward the sun, and she was engulfed by his shadow.