Redheart (Leland Dragon Series) (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Blackclaw huddled over a wooden box in his chambers, cradling it with tender respect. He had once believed its contents to be an answer to his desires—a shortcut through the gloomy fog of time. He’d always known his fate was to bring Dragonkind to ruling power. He believed it still.

He lifted the ornate lid to reveal the circlet inside. The once- crimson bloodstone, held by thin fingers of woven gold, had gone black and hollow. He drew the pad of his thumb over the crystal. No spark of life, no hint of power. Even the surrounding metal seemed more gnarled than braided, desperately clutching the bloodstone like the hands of a mourner against the face of a dying hero.

He’d been a fool. A snarl erupted from the depths of his anger, and he threw the wooden box against the wall. So many years, wasted! Too many years to count. He’d spent them believing in a lie, putting his faith into a trick of art. He thought he’d been holding the future, but there was no future in the twisted, broken circle of gold lying impotent on his floor. No hope in the blackened stone. His future was his own to carve, just as it had always been.

Oh, he would have the circlet. The one, true Circlet of Aspira, created by skilled dragon artisans and hidden by the wizard. The one the Red died protecting. He would have it, and not because he needed it, but because it should have been his all along. He would prove to the wizard, to Whitetail, and to all dragons that he was no fool.

“Leader Blackclaw.” He turned to find Whitetail’s snout poking through the opened door of his chambers. “You are summoned.”

“Is it the human hunter?”

“No, there has been no word from him in several days.” Whitetail pushed the door open further, and waved snowy claws toward the hallway.

“Do not tell me the Red has finally come in regards to the wizard.”

“No. But this is nevertheless very interesting.”

Blackclaw stared. He crossed his forelegs. One claw tapped against the stone floor. “And are you going to tell me what it is, or shall I continue guessing?”

“Vaya Brownwing has arrived with a human companion she claims to have found in dragon territory. She believes the human to be a spy.” The corner of his mouth curled into a grin.

“A spy?” It was all Blackclaw could do not to release a belly laugh. “Well done.” He lunged through the door to follow. “Let us go see this spy. And tell me more of this Brown. She is the daughter of Hale Brownwing, is that right?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“Has she been mated?”

“If memory serves, she was to be mated to Redheart’s son.”

Blackclaw stopped. “Then she would know if this Red whom we seek is the heir.” He grabbed Whitetail’s chin and yanked it close. “Why did you not mention this earlier?”

Whitetail gurgled. “I only just remembered. I am not even certain I am remembering correctly.”

Blackclaw released him. “I have more faith in your memory than I have in these stone walls to prop up the ceiling.” He lumbered down the hallway again. “This may be just the opportunity we have been seeking. If we no longer need the wizard, I will be glad to be rid of him. Come on, Whitetail. You are dawdling again.”

* * *

Kallon’s instincts told him the only flying creature large enough to create such a shadow was a dragon, but he knew of few dragons that flew near Mount Krag any more. He searched longer than he’d meant, determined to find this dragon and question it. If it had been scouting Orman’s home or belongings, there was much he’d like to know. But daylight waned, and still he found nothing of significance in the sky or in the paths beneath him that wound like yarn through dying lands. The passing creature’s scent had been carried off by the wind. Finally, he gave up. He’d left Riza alone too long.

He returned to the river and swung low to the pool. She was gone. He landed at the pool’s edge, his thick tail splashing into the water. She was right, it was cold. He withdrew his tail and gave it a shake.

“Riza!” he called, and lifted his snout. Her scent lingered, though it was faded. He followed the waft of dampness toward the wall of rock beneath the high ledge. No. She didn’t really try to climb, did she? His foot caught the edge of something soft, and he looked down.

Her tattered clothing. Would she have tried to climb the mountain without her clothing? It didn’t seem logical. But then, he didn’t really understand humans.

Pigeon feathers floated atop the rippling pool. An eerie feeling skittered across his scales.

He swooped high and fast, up to the ledge and over, and came to the flat of Orman’s mountain. “Riza!” He loped toward the mound of wood that was once Orman’s home, his nostrils flaring, searching for any sign of strength in her scent. But here there was no scent of her at all. His sniffing grew anxious, his scales tightened against the back of his skull in alarm. Where was she?

* * *

Riza trembled. Her arms were pinned in the grasp of a brown dragon who thrust her forward, stumbling and naked, toward the steps of an arch carved into the granite mountain. This was the place Kallon had called Mount Gore. This was the place to which he swore he’d never return.

She didn’t know why the brown dragon had plucked her from the pool, or why it didn’t believe her when she’d explained she was with Kallon. In fact, it had seemed that saying so only enraged the dragon more, because it was then that it had yanked her into the sky.

And here she was, suddenly. She wasn’t sure if she was more frightened or humiliated. The brown dragon hadn’t even the decency to let her grab her clothes! Just as she was becoming more angry than frightened, two more dragons appeared in the huge archway and marched toward her with slitted eyes.

The one on the left was as white and glittering as a first snowfall, but the other dragon, which swaggered large and terrifying, bore scales so black that even the dusky light of evening was drawn into them.

This dragon, half again the size of Kallon, lowered its massive snout to her face. Hot breath blasted into her eyes. Fear stabbed her through the stomach, and she wilted back against the brown dragon holding her. She could barely stand. She could barely breathe.

* * *

Blackclaw prodded the human with a foreclaw. “She is all bones, and puny and pale. Even for a human.” He swung his gaze to the Brown. “What about this wisp made you suspect her?”

“She was bathing in the stream of Wren Meadow,” the Brown answered, her amber eyes meeting Blackclaw’s gaze.

“And for this she was brought to me?” He eased forward a step and lowered his chin. She continued to hold his eyes confidently. In any other female this would be considered defiance, and not to be tolerated. But the fading sun lengthened the shadows of her lashes, softening her stare, and the unblemished scales of her face were relaxed. He should be raising a fist to her thrusting jaw, but he could not take his eyes from her.

“She was near the wizard’s hut,” she said.

“But the wizard is here, so they could not be consorting.” Blackclaw pressed closer yet, his snout nearly brushing her forehead. “So I must assume that you have further reason for bringing this woman to me.”

At that, the Brown’s gaze faltered. She nudged the girl, who appeared to have lost consciousness by the way she was dangling from the Brown’s delicate claws. The girl moaned, then tried to stand with her own strength. “She was not alone,” said the Brown. “She was with a fellow dragon.”

“A fellow dragon? Why is this dragon not standing before me as well, then?”

“When I circled back to investigate, he had gone, and there was only the girl.”

“I see. Did you recognize this dragon?”

“I did.”

Blackclaw nodded and awaited the name. He might have grown impatient by now, but he was enjoying the rhythm of their little game. “And it was…?”

“Kallon Redheart.”

Redheart. His jaw clenched. He swung a look at Whitetail, who lifted bony shoulders and appeared apologetic. He would have liked to tear the head off his pallid advisor, but instead, he coughed a billow of steam. Then he looked again to the Brown, guarding his expression. “You are certain of his identity?”

“I am. We were once friends.”

“But no longer?”

The Brown released the human’s arms. “What will you do with the girl?”

Blackclaw glanced toward the human. Her eyes had become clearer and more intense. “What are you to this Red, human?” The girl blinked, looked to the Brown, and back to Blackclaw.

“She does not appear to know dragonspeak,” offered Whitetail.

Blackclaw closed his eyes. “Thank you, Whitetail. Quite astute of you.” This questioning was accomplishing precious little. What he wanted was Redheart, and answers. Now. He pressed his knuckles to the painful throb between his eyes. “What are you to this Red, human?” he asked again in her own language, eyes still closed.

When there was no immediate response, he lowered his paw from his forehead and thrust his snout in the girl’s face. She meekly asked, “Why am I here? What have I done?”

He stepped back. “Whitetail, are my questions terribly difficult?”

“No, sir.”

“Why do you suppose my simple questions are being answered with more questions?”

“I could not say.”

Blackclaw clenched fists. “What I want to know is why this Red, who claims to be the heir of Bren Redheart and thought to be dead all these years, has appeared from nowhere? Where has he been? What does he want?” He eyed the Brown and the human. “Which of you can tell me?”

Silent stares. He felt the pungent sting of acid bubble against the back of his throat. “Very well. Which of you can tell me where to find him?” Still nothing. His jaw clenched so fiercely against his rising anger that it ached. “Brownwing, you have brought me a potential prisoner that I must feed and clothe. Explain to me why I should have been bothered with this. Now.”

The Brown shifted, glanced at Whitetail, and then focused her sparkling gaze once more on Blackclaw’s face. “I can only tell you that Redheart appeared in Wing Valley recently, searching for the man who is imprisoned for spying. This evening I discovered him in the company of yet another human.” Her golden stare turned down to the girl, and shifted dark and angry.

Now he was getting somewhere. A female scorned, no doubt. He pressed his palms together, contemplating. The human could be questioned at any time, and probably had less to do with the current situation than the Brown gave her credit for. She would most likely turn out to be nothing. On the other hand, this Brown and her resentment could prove useful. He gently spoke.

“Vaya, you have done the right thing. Our times are troubled ones, and we cannot risk assumptions. I will get to the heart of this matter, but for now, you must join me for evening meal, and tell me of your history with the Red. If he wishes claim on his position here, we will need to work together toward what is best for all of us.”

He held up a paw as her mouth opened. “I insist.” He offered a soft smile. Then he turned to Whitetail, his voice low. “Toss the human with the wizard. I will deal with her later.” He swept up Vaya’s soft foreleg in his claws and met her entrancing gaze. Then he released her and led her toward the Great Hall.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Riza struggled to keep up with the pace of the white dragon who dragged her down a long, dank hallway. “What’s happening? Where are you taking me?” she asked between tripping up against the dragon’s legs and tugging at his painful grip. “I don’t understand why I’m here! I haven’t done anything wrong!”

Her captor’s face could have been carved from the very stone of the walls. When they reached a wooden door at the end of the corridor, he tugged a chain holding it closed. “Do you understand me?” she asked. He yanked open the door, and she felt a sharp slap against her back. She tumbled and fell to her face. Behind her, wood slammed against stone, and the metal chain clanked.

A mouth of darkness swallowed her, and she felt herself sliding down its damp, sticky throat. A lumpy mass pressed up against her face as though she’d landed on a stomach of ice. The stench of the place was an outhouse gone rancid. She curled her arms and legs to herself, shivering. Before, she’d been so frightened she couldn’t even cry. Now she was so frightened she couldn’t stop.

A hoarse but gentle voice emanated from the darkness, “There, there, child.” Shuffling sounds of movement came near.

Riza bolted up, caught between relief and terror. She crossed her arms against her bareness. “Who’s there? What do you want?”

“My name is Orman.”

“Orman Thistleby? Kallon’s friend?”

“Then you do know him,” said the voice, growing louder. His presence seemed near her face. She felt cold hands bump her shoulder, then rest atop them. She stiffened. “Don’t fear. I only wonder if you’re the one Kallon told me about. The girl who has been helping me.”

“Helping you?” She bucked her shoulders to dislodge his hands. If only she could see! The blackness was harsher than even Kallon’s cave, and made everything seem immense and threatening.

His hands did leave her shoulders, but she felt them again on her arms, then grasping her hands. “You’re frozen! Are you naked?” Soft rustling sounded. “Take my tunic. Mind the pockets.” Cloth pressed to her face. The smell told her how filthy it was. Still, it was warm. She slipped it over her head.

“Kallon said a white dragon brought you.” She tugged the fabric into place around her knees, and her hands moved curiously along the seams in search of pockets.

“Yes.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Lost track.” She felt his hands again, stopping her searching fingers. “The pockets are there. You’ll have to trust me on that.”

She pressed her hands to her lap. “Why did they bring you?”

He sighed, and she could hear the creak of his old bones as he shifted to settle. “Fordon Blackclaw doesn’t need reasons to do what he does. But if I were to give one, it would be that he’s greedy.”
“Fordon Blackclaw?”

“Did you meet a monstrous black dragon?”

“Yes.” Her nostrils still sizzled from his breath.

“That’s him.”

“He wants to know where Kallon is.”

“Did you tell him?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know where he is.” She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly. Tears sprang anew, and her chest tightened with trying to hold them back. “I don’t understand any of this.”

“No. I’m sure you don’t.” He patted her kneecap. She suddenly wondered how much more frightening it would be if she were alone. The sound of his voice somehow kept the panic at bay.

“Why does Mr. Blackclaw want Kallon?”

His patting hand paused.

“Orman?”

When he spoke, the lilt in his voice led her to think he was smiling. “Where are you from, child?”

“Cresvell, originally. Most recently, Durance. Why?”

“Cresvell,” he repeated. “Far removed from any dragon territories. Almost not even in Leland Province. Can you see the mountains from there?”

“On a clear day we can almost see shadows of them. We know they’re there.”

“Is that what you came searching for when you left home? The mountains?”

Riza frowned in thought. “I don’t think so. I don’t know that I left in search of anything, I only know I couldn’t bear to stay.”

“You’re an adventurer.”

She rested her chin on her bent kneecaps. “If I am, I’m not a very good one.”

“No one gets it just right on the first try.” Craggy knuckles stroked her face.

She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry for you that you’re here, but I’m glad for me that you are. I don’t like the dark.”

“Don’t sleep well in it.”

“No. Not anymore.” She lifted her head and squinted at him. She could almost make out a faint, fuzzy outline. “How do you know I don’t sleep well?”

“I’m a wizard, after all. I’m not without my tricks.”

“What kind of tricks? Do you have a way of getting something to drink?” Her throat felt coated in sand each time she swallowed. She pressed her fingertips to it.

“No. Wrong crystals. But we have this.” She felt a ripple of air at her left side, and a yellow light exploded from the seam of the tunic. The glow grew to the size of a fist, then a loaf of bread, and then it burst open to scatter glittering fragments like floating glass around their heads and shoulders. Each splinter cast its own tiny prism flame. “I save that for when I really want to impress someone.”

She could see! Orman sat in front of her, his knobby legs folded. Dancing light arced over his scrawny chest, turning sparse hairs to buttery yellow. His beard whiskers took on the same warm tone where they drooped over one knee and puddled onto the floor between his legs. Wild eyebrows perched over sharp eyes. He smiled. Wrinkles collided around his cheeks.

“How are you doing that?” Riza patted the seam at her ribs. “I don’t feel a pocket or anything.”

Orman lifted a finger. “Doesn’t mean one isn’t there. Our eyes are as easily fooled as our minds.” He leaned closer. “All the times you fed and tended Wager, you never did see the tiny shard around his neck, did you?”

“Wager?”

“My pigeon.”

“The bird I kept in my room? How could you know about that?”

“Child.” Orman tilted his head, and his eyes narrowed, inspecting her so closely she could feel his eyes like probing fingers. “I thought by the strength of the link that you might have the gift. But you’re not understanding easily.”

Riza lifted her chin. “Well, maybe if you would stop talking in riddles!”

Orman tsked and shook his head, his beard wobbling on his knee. “Is all of Cresvell so ignorant of the old ways?”

“I’m not one to ask. I thought the only ways we have are old ways.”

He smiled again, and tapped a finger beneath her chin. “You feel trapped by them. Bound up in the old ways like leather straps around your dreams.”

Riza didn’t ask him this time how he could know such a thing. She simply nodded.

“Oh, you have it, all right. Something’s inside you waiting to blossom like a hopeful bud on a Dandria branch. You’re still young enough to sense it.” He patted her knee again. “You got out just in time, Riza Diantus.”

She didn’t remember telling him her name. Somehow, maybe, he just knew.

Orman gave a long wink. “Now you’re learning.”