The Last Dragon 2

by LeRoy Clary

  Neither grasped my intention of remaining alone with Kendra and Emma. When they were lost to us in the darkness, Kendra asked, “What is that all about?”

  “Can you bring Emma over here?”

  She frowned, but called, “Emma? Come here.”

  The girl remained motionless as if she hadn’t heard. She looked at her feet.

  Kendra called again, “Emma?”

  I managed to get my feet under me and stood on weak legs. “Let me talk to her. Alone.”

  Kendra drew back, clearly puzzled and confused.

  At Emma’s side, I knelt and lifted her chin with my index finger. Her eyes were wet. I pulled her close and wrapped my arms around her thin shoulders without talking. She sobbed and clung to me.

  When she quit, I sat beside her and talked softly, letting her know what happened was not her fault, or if it was, she hadn’t intended it. She didn’t understand the words, but she did recognize the tone of my voice and the fact I was not upset with her.

  Kendra remained at a distance until Emma sat up and looked in her direction. Kendra came to us, placed more wood on the fire, and said, “What’s happening?”

  I told her in a few words.

  “Both of them control magic?” she asked with a voice that sounded as bewildered and astonished as I felt. “You’re sure?”

  “I don’t know their limits or abilities, but both use essence. I can’t even tell if they are sorceresses or mages, a combination of both, or something new. Like you and me, they draw on essence, and don’t know what they can and cannot do.”

  She reacted as if the remark was a personal assault, then her anger evaporated as she grasped the implications “This little girl did that to you? With her mind? Like she banished the Blue Woman?”

  “Don’t blame her for what happened to me. I started it.” My intention was to add a little humor to the situation—but failed.

  “Have you ever heard of such a thing?” Kendra asked.

  “No.” My answer was simple and direct. Not even a hint of a rumor told of magic used the way Emma had. It had been a flight or fight response, a reaction like kicking at a charging dog. You run if possible, or kick if not. Emma had kicked, but in no way was I angry and believed she had done it on purpose. She probably didn’t know how she did it and couldn’t do it again. However, I didn’t want to find out by attempting it again.

  That thought slowed me down a little as I considered the event rationally. It wouldn’t be me that put the idea to the test until figuring out how to protect myself. Flier and Anna returned, all smiles and wanting to rush to the fire and warm their hands. We three exchanged wary glances and kept quiet.

  Emma clung to me as if she might watch me disappear if she let go. Not only didn’t I have the words to console her, but she also wouldn’t understand them. For now, she would have to understand from my actions because I was not going to contact her mind again.

  Anna reacted oddly, talking to her sister in a sharp tone and shaking her finger in her face while scolding. I motioned for Anna to stop and let me take care of the situation. She did, but she still cast angry looks at Emma, sensing her sister had done something I disapproved of. I sat and held Emma, and as she calmed, a faint touch in my mind drew my attention, a foreign feeling previously unknown. I adjusted my position enough to see Emma’s face and the slight smile she wore as she snuggled with me.

  Flier had listened to Anna chastise Emma. The difference was that he understood what she said, so now knew more than us. He would probably share it with us later, but for now, he understood enough of the situation to remain quiet. It occurred to me that he knew almost all of our secrets, the only person outside of our group of three to ever do so.

  The warm feeling in my mind grew stronger. I pointed my finger at Emma and asked, “You?”

  She nodded, just the slightest of moves.

  “No,” I snapped and pulled away. Now what? I had no ideas. The concept of me touching her mind had seemed natural and my skill to use and help her and Anna, but it had never occurred to me that she would do the same to me—and I didn’t like it at all. My skin crawled in revulsion.

  Worse, was the reason for my reaction. It felt like an invasion of my being, a violation of my privacy. I wanted to wrap my arms around myself and protect my mind from her—I was repelled by the idea. She looked ready to cry again. After reaching out to me as a friend, all I had done was order her to stop and pulled away.

  I recovered my senses, somewhat. She was doing no more to me than I’d done to her when she attacked this afternoon. Her initial reaction had been fear—and she had instinctively fought back. There was no fault in that.

  Kendra said, “What’s happening?”

  “We’re learning,” I said briskly, not intending to offend, but not wishing to lose the mental touch still in the back of my mind. “Together.” I relaxed and reciprocated, with a mental probe of my own, gentle and cautious, half expecting to awake after another half day when Emma repeated what she’s done before.

  Instead, she melded with my probe, combining the energy with hers and directing it gently. It was as if she was the teacher and I the student. I resisted, at first. She paused, allowed me to gather my thoughts and calm myself down, then she nudged me again.

  My vision blurred, then my eyes were unseeing, although open. What entered my mind was not through my eyes, or hers. It was in her mind, a vast white openness of warmth, familiarity, companionship, and the limitless love of a child. We remained together on the rim of the whiteness. With her urging, I moved cautiously ahead.

  Forms took shape. Trees, rivers, valleys, the ocean, and a ship came to mind. It was the Gallant, as seen from the little place we’d eaten before boarding at the Port of Mercia. The table we’d sat at took shape, the chairs, door, and even the woman who served our food. All came into crystal sharp clearness, and as each appeared, its name came to mind.

  Emma relayed hundreds of mental images, everything from Alexis, my horse, to the empty bowls of food at the inn. One thing after another. Then, quick as the darting of a fruit fly, she pulled back, and I was left alone. She had shared nothing of her life before meeting us.

  My eyes worked again. She still sat entwined with me, both arms wrapped around my upper arm, and her tiny face was upturned, her mouth smiling as if we knew things nobody else did. The fear and confusion were gone from my mind, and from her expression, Emma’s too.

  She turned to the campfire and said in an unaccented voice, “Fire. Warm. Good.”

  Kendra tensed as if ready to leap to her feet at the three consecutive Common words. She looked at me in alarm.

  I said, “Remember that sailor telling us how a mage helped him learn our language? We’re doing sort of the same thing.”

  Kendra’s quizzical expression told me she wanted more explanation, but that could wait. Flier sat beside her, but probably sensed the tension and remained quiet—but he was quick to learn and paid attention to every detail.

  I continued, “Anna was easier to teach.”

  “But Emma is harder? Why?” she asked.

  That was not a question with a clear answer. I decided to be as truthful as possible and as direct. “Because she has far more mental powers than my poor attempts at magic.”

  The words were intended to shock Kendra because any brother likes to poke and jab a sister when an opportunity arises. It’s just the natural order of families. However, she didn’t react or seem surprised, she acted as if she almost expected that answer.

  Flier couldn’t contain himself. “She is a young sorceress?”

  “I really don’t know, Flier. You are one of us now and deserve a full explanation, but neither Kendra or myself understand what’s happening. What I can say, is that both girls have some measure of magic abilities. Are they sorceresses? I don’t believe so, but maybe they will grow into that.”

  “And you?” His question was direct, pointed right at me. We’d sort of skirted around the answer before, but he obviously wan
ted more.

  “I am no mage. I can do parlor tricks, and you don’t want to play blocks with me for money if I want to win.”

  “But you played on the ship.”

  I threw a shrug and snorted. “And I played without using my advantages, all but a few times. Not all players played fair, so I cheated them. I won a few pots, lost others. It wasn’t coins I was seeking but facts and rumors.”

  “I don’t like mages. None. In any form.” His tone was flat and seemed to include us in it. The judgment not only concerned me, it felt like a personal attack. If the situation was not settled, he might also endanger us when we reached Vin by spreading word of us.

  I said, “It’s like a knife, Flier. One person uses it to kill and another to cut his carrots at dinner.”

  “No matter how you spin the tale, magic is evil.”

  Kendra and I passed a look. She was far more diplomatic and genial. The explanation was better in her hands where she could console him as she clarified my clumsy words. She said, “Evil? I’ll tell you what evil is. It’s being forced to be a cripple and live as a beggar when the slightest touch of Damon’s magic has you walking better than him. Is that evil? That you have healed and can walk again? That you have a life to look forward to, and two new friends?”

  He clamped his jaw and didn’t answer.

  She raised her index finger and placed it right under his nose like she’d done to me a thousand times when we were small. If he didn’t give the right response, she was going to flick the bottom of his nose. It didn’t physically hurt too much, but inside it did. She wouldn’t hesitate to do it again or flick his ear, either. Kendra had a streak in her that demanded attention.

  She said, “You don’t like magic, you say. Well, what if I say I’m going to tell Damon to use his magic and replace that damned arrowhead right where he found it? Because we don’t wish to offend you with our magic.”

  Yes, she was angry. He might not realize it, but I did and wanted to scoot away.

  I was not alone, either. Both girls watched her warily. And on top of that, a sound rustled on the night air. It was the leathery sound of huge wings keeping a dragon aloft. Kendra’s dragon. She was now linked with the animal and when in danger, the beast raced to her rescue. I could hear the pumping of the wings that was so much faster than at other times. The dragon was coming fast. Did it sense her anger at Flier and mistake him for danger?

  It grew louder and attracted the attention of all. The dragon emerged from the darkness of the night and flew directly at us. It spread the great wings wide to catch the thin mountain air and turned her wings, so they caught the air like the sails on a ship, and it slowed.

  The dragon landed on the path a dozen steps from us, where there were no trees. The force of her landing kicked up swirls of wind that drove stinging sand and gravel our way. We protected our faces with our bare arms, and the coals from the campfire spread down the hillside. Anna had the presence of mind to leap to her feet and stomp them out—or she did that while getting a head start on running from the beast. Whatever, she prevented the fires from spreading—while positioning herself where she could escape if needed.

  The dragon smelled of rotted meat, rank urine, and death. It extended its head on the long neck and peered closely at us as if it couldn’t find Kendra in the dark. She stood and extended her hand. The dragon sniffed, then a long red tongue flicked out several times, never touching my sister, like an act performed by gypsies with a whip and a brave young girl. She never flinched.

  Emma had hold of my bicep, cutting off my circulation. Who would think such a slip of a girl had that much strength?

  Flier had disappeared at some time while the dragon landed, off in the forest watching, I assumed.

  Anna remained down the slope where she had prevented the fire from spreading and turning into an inferno. That left the three of us standing uneasily near the dragon. I suspected the dragon was not going to attack Kendra. That left two of us. Emma looked at me as if she’d read my mind, and I returned the look. She grinned. I knew I was in trouble.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  T he dragon, unlike the other times we’d been close, not only smelled terrible, but she acted as nervous, as I felt. She spun and peered into the darkness near the summit, and I wondered how well adapted her eyesight was for night vision. Could she see things I couldn’t? Dragons do not normally fly at night, I’d heard from Kendra. It repositioned itself, her body half-turned away from us, where her head and eyes were never far from the path we were going to follow in the morning. She looked and acted like an old yellow dog protecting her master.

  Flier and Anna had already gone over the summit and searched for campfires or signs of danger and found none. Emma slipped free of me, and I expected her to race to join her sister down the slope near the edge of the trees for protection, but instead, she moved a few steps closer to the dragon. She didn’t do anything aggressive, and neither did the dragon. A sense of mutual understanding emanated from both of them. At a distance of perhaps five steps, they eyed each other in the same way opponents in the King’s Army do before engaging in a wrestling match. Not a lethal engagement, but one deciding superiority.

  “Easy,” Kendra cooed, although it wasn’t clear which one she spoke to. “Just take it easy and make sure nobody gets hurt.”

  As if to confirm her words, the dragon gave a small snort and pulled away from Emma slightly as if it too smelled something it disliked. From my perspective, the dragon appeared more ill at ease than the little girl.

  What that exchange seemed to tell me was that the dragon sensed a power in Emma and if it didn’t fear it, the dragon did respect it. The concept was almost silly, even to me. A dragon the size of a small barn acted wary of a tiny girl about six or seven years old. She held no weapons, made no aggressive moves, and displayed nothing of danger, which told me she “communicated” in another fashion.

  Emma then backed off a step, as if defusing the situation only after the dragon had relented. When considered like that, she had established her superiority—or perhaps I had misinterpreted the entire encounter, a possibility when considering my lack of knowledge.

  Kendra placed a consoling arm over Emma’s shoulder and urged the girl to sit near the remains of the fire. The dragon remained seated in the same place, still watching the summit of the pass, but she did not act scared or upset. Perhaps it was her age. An alarming thought was that it was because of false confidence.

  “Your dragon stinks,” I said loud enough for Kendra to hear and hopefully not the dragon. My silliness drew smiles from the two at the fire, but there was a deeper concern. Emma had knocked me out with her mind-tricks. Her older sister often deferred to her, unusual for siblings. Kendra was touching minds with the dragon, and my small-magic seemed to have increased to mid-magic, or more. It was definitely stronger than at any time in my past.

  I’d touched Anna’s mind and implanted a few words of our language, and as hoped, she’d used them as if they were her own. My half-baked plan had been to teach her more, while also teaching Emma. The point standing out in the open and doing all of that introspection with a dragon close enough to throw a rock at, was that the four of us were using some sort of mental communication. Five, if you counted the dragon. Worse, none of us understood what was happening.

  Rumors of mages communicating over long distances had been confirmed by Avery just before we sailed. He said the mage known as Twin at Crestfallen was proficient at it.

  The ideas and the impacts of them bounced around in my mind so fast I couldn’t track any or remain on one subject longer than a few moments. Before one thought could be completed, another tore away my logical mind and went in a different direction. If the five of us could use our minds to communicate, could we all learn to “speak” with each other? As it was, Kendra could speak with the dragon but none of us. I could speak with the girls but not Kendra. Emma seemed to also speak to the Dragon, so she completed our circle.

  Circle? What t
he hell does that mean?

  “Are you all right?” Emma asked.

  My attention flicked in her direction, then to Anna. In my mind, I said to her, *Anna, come join us at the fire.*

  She immediately walked closer, her fearful eyes on the dragon, but that only made her smart. Do what I say but watch out for yourself seemed to be her motto. But I hadn’t “said” anything. I’d made a suggestion in my head. I turned my attention to Flier, wherever he might be hiding. I projected the same exact thought to him. If he heard me, he didn’t respond.

  “Is that thing going to stay here all night?” Anna asked with a voice tinged with fear.

  Kendra said, “I don’t know why the dragon is acting like that. Is she scared? I just don’t know.”

  Anna said, “What would she be scared about? If that dragon is scared, shouldn’t we be the same?” She arrived at my side looking for confirmation in her summation.

  *Call for Flier to join us.* I told Anna, fighting to keep my lips from moving as I concentrated on the intent, not the words.

  She immediately placed her hands to her mouth and called, “Flier, come join us.”

  That satisfied me that my abilities allowed my skills to put my ideas into her head, even if she couldn’t respond—or perhaps she could. There were instantly more questions. How far away could I do it? What if she refused to call Flier or do what I said? Could I force her?

  Kendra could also tell where mages were located, even at great distances. Did all this mean that while mages demonstrated their powers at celebrations with flashes of lightning, did they have other powers or skills they kept hidden? It seemed logical and probably true. It also seemed to answer a few odd questions that had arisen in the past.

  That was the problem, the core of it. We didn’t know much about anything when it came to magic and dragons. There were no mages or sorceresses to ask. No books to read. No teachers. Anyone displaying their magical abilities was removed from their families at young ages and raised in secret locations where they were taught by unknowns—and nothing was known of what they learned there. Fully grown adults “appeared” after training and were welcomed by others with their powers.