Redheart (Leland Dragon Series) (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Kallon felt a sting in his tail and the throb of cramped muscles before he was fully aware of himself. As he came to consciousness the pain only increased, but he couldn’t remember why he hurt. He opened his eyes in the gray twilight, and the memory came rushing like a gale wind. His failed attempt at being a hero.

A scrawny White and a human had been his only adversaries, and still he failed. He had missed every cue, had bobbled his attempts to free Orman, and had left his vulnerable hindquarters exposed as a perfect target. Wouldn’t his father have been proud?

He curled around to inspect the wound. The blade had sliced at exactly the point where his wide tail met his rump, into the sensitive flesh exposed between oddly angled scales. It was too skilled to be coincidence. The human had known just where to strike. Kallon considered himself lucky. The gash had already crusted over and stopped bleeding. Had the slice been deep enough to reach bones and artery, he would have bled to death. Many a dragon died in battle of such a wound. Just like his father.

It had all happened too fast. Why did the White want Orman, and why would he lie about the wizard being a spy? To where was Orman taken?

If Kallon was going to search, he’d have to start in the mountains, but darkness was coming quickly, and he was too weak. The entire attempt would be hopeless anyway. If he found Orman, what then would he do? Fight to free him? Coerce the dragon to let Orman go? The White had already proven the name Redheart was only the faded remains of a fallen champion. Kallon was a nobody.

He was a weary and aching nobody who was crusted and thirsty and hungry. He couldn’t even remember the last decent kill he’d eaten. Ever since Riza had interrupted his life, he’d been off his schedule for flying and hunting. Of course, he was the one who’d dragged the girl to his cave to begin with, and he was the one who’d taken to nightly sweeps over the dwelling where she worked, just to keep an eye on her.

He still didn’t understand why he felt compelled to do that. Nor did he understand why he’d gone after Orman and the White. Humans were complicating his life!

Thinking of it that way, it only seemed right that he ought to get something back for all his troubles. A juicy sow would be just the thing. He’d already visited the human village three times this week without casting suspicion, and the smell of the porkers had watered his mouth even then. It would be easy. Just a swoop and a snatch. Humans owed it to him.

He struggled to his feet, legs tingling. He spread his wings and experimentally pumped them. His right wing ached, but worked. He thrust into the air. His heavy tail dangled and was practically useless. His flight was clumsy and unnatural. He’d never be able to chase down anything in this state, anyway, so, really, his only option was to raid the pig farmer.

Nearing the edge of town, he arched his wings to coast. He spied the farm and the grunting mangle of porkers digging in a mound of dry sand. He circled once to make sure the area was clear of humans. Night was just settling, and offered good cover. Silently, he dropped. He reached out his claws.

A scream erupted somewhere to his left. Startled, he missed the catch, and his knuckles cracked against the wooden fence, knocking a post. The post wobbled and fell, and slammed against his wounded rump. He bellowed in pain.

A woman emerged from a small outbuilding, waving her arms and screeching. “Dragon’s got my pig! Dragon!” The farmhouse door flew open, and a man stumbled out. He tripped as he tried to fasten his pants. Squealing pigs charged the broken fence and swarmed and squeaked in a churning, pink tornado.

Kallon couldn’t climb fast enough. Blood oozed from his opened tail wound. Even his knuckles were bleeding again. He must have lost Riza’s bandages when he hit the fence. He could see the spotted trail of blood he left behind for them to track, but he could do nothing about it. He just flew.

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.