The Dragon God's Kiss

by Ana Lee Kennedy

  She glanced at the men surrounding her. Kaedric stared back curiously, and Sir Hestbone avoided her eyes, his big, protruding ears reddening. She looked at Sir Greensleeve, who wore a compassionate expression. Finally, he nodded in Beron’s direction, urging her to tell her brother the truth.

  “Suvrete is dead,” she said, voice cracking.

  “What?” The color slipped from Beron’s face. “When? How?”

  “An assassin,” she replied. Her lower lip wobbled, and tears flooded her eyes.

  Moving his horse over to Hoggr, Sarenkesh reached up and placed his hand upon her knee.

  “But…” Beron’s breath hitched. Glassiness settled in his eyes as he met Ember’s gaze. “What about her children, her husband? How will they go on without her?”

  Clamping down on her grief, Ember replied, “We placed her properly, and I gave her my hair comb as a parting gift. Our room turned into a funeral pyre, so she sits with Torr now. And if I know our suvrete, she will find a way to return from Torr’s side to plant her ghostly slipper upon your backside if you grieve too long and hard, so be strong for her and for us.”

  Mutely, he stared ahead. The young man nodded once and clicked to his horse, urging him across the courtyard.

  “Well said,” Sarenkesh whispered.

  She reached down and placed her hand over his, but he turned his palm up and then threaded his fingers with hers and squeezed. Ember smiled at him.

  “Your brother will mend,” Zeadren said behind her.

  “Aye,” she replied. “So will I, but it will be a long road for both of us.”

  She let go of Sarenkesh’s hand and turned Hoggr to lead the way out of the courtyard with Sir Hestbone to her right. As they passed the fortress gate, Sir Hestbone’s pony reared and pawed the air, nearly unseating the dwarf.

  “You worthless dolt!” the dwarf yelled. He finally managed to get his steed under control. Gently, he kicked the pony’s flanks, but instead of moving, the pony planted his hooves and farted, the sound trumpeting in the courtyard. “Ach, you wretched beast, get on with you now that you have killed any survivors with your foul stench!”

  Despite her grief, Ember smiled and nudged her steed onward. By the time they reached the outskirts to ride out into the hot, rolling plains, tears streamed from her eyes and fell to Hoggr’s ebony coat. She told herself it was the smoke and soot, but deep down, she knew her lie.

  In silence, they rode all day, pausing only long enough to give the horses a drink and two short rests. By nightfall, they’d reached the foothills surrounding Flame Mountain.

  “Hellembr is that way”—King Zeadren pointed to the south—“about half a day’s ride.”

  “What say you, Ember?” Sir Greensleeve reined in his horse. “Shall we continue or camp here?”

  “Let us ride until the gloaming,” she replied. “We should put as much distance between us and any Hellembr scouts as possible, plus the sooner we find our quarry, the sooner I can put an end to all of this and we can go home.”

  “I agree with the princess,” said the dwarf.

  “So do I,” Kaedric chimed in.

  She glanced at her brother who stared up at the mountain and its spiral of white smoke leading into the clouds.

  “Very well.” The king urged his horse alongside Hoggr. “Fazohn, go to Hellembr under cover of the gloaming and spy on them. Learn what you can, then meet us a day’s ride up the mountain to report what you learn.

  “Aye, good king.” Fazohn turned his horse about and trotted down the slope.

  Ember watched him go, hoping he’d remain safe. Finally, she faced forward in the saddle and led the way through the large fern fronds and odd, twisted trees that littered the mountain’s base.

  As they gathered around a small campfire, Ember watched the flames dance among a pile of ruby coals and small pieces of wood. Kaedric strode into camp carrying an armload of firewood. He tossed it down by the ring of stones and placed half a dozen pieces on the glowing embers. Sparks twirled up into the air. In seconds, the fire licked greedily at the dry tinder.

  The light from the fire illuminated their small camp. Ember glanced from person to person and suddenly realized Sir Hestbone was missing. She straightened, her cloak falling from her shoulders, and peered into the shadows.

  “Where is Sir Hestbone?” she asked her brother.

  Beron glanced over at her, the spout of a water skin poised by his lips. “I saw him walk that way”—he nodded in the direction of the undergrowth beyond the horses—“but now that I think on it, it has been some time since he left.”

  “I am going to see if he is well.” She scrambled to her feet.

  “I will go too. You should not wander in the darkness alone.”

  As they walked past Sarenkesh, she paused and quietly told him their intent.

  “If you two are gone longer than I feel is safe, I shall come searching for you,” the Gloaming Elf replied.

  She hurried around the horses and pressed into the underbrush with her brother on her heels. They exited into a small clearing where the faint trickle of water could be heard. However, another sound reached Ember’s ears.

  “What is that strange noise?” Beron whispered.

  Slowly, she made out the faint outline of the dwarf sitting on a rock next to a thin spout of water leaking from a wall of bedrock.

  “It is fine, Brother,” she whispered back. “Return to the camp site and tell Sir Greensleeve I have found Sir Hestbone. Tell him all is well, and we will be back soon.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Aye. He is mourning suvrete.”

  In the twilight, the expression on her brother’s face tugged at her heartstrings. He nodded, turned, and disappeared into the brush.

  Gingerly, Ember picked her way across the shale-strewn ground. The dwarf’s muffled sobs and sniffs tore at her resolve. She was almost directly next to Sir Hestbone when he finally realized she’d walk up on him.

  “Ach!” He wiggled around and put his back to her. “It is not wise to sneak up on me like that, Princess.” A loud sniff rent the air followed by a shuddering exhale.

  “I noticed you had been missing for a while,” she replied quietly, “and I was concerned.”

  “All is well.”

  His gruff tone didn’t fool her. Ember settled next to him on the rock and placed her hand on his leather-clad shoulder. “I had no idea you cared for my aunt so deeply.”

  He drew in another long, trembling breath. “Aye, even if she did do my head in.”

  She laughed. “I can hear her now.”

  He issued an amused snort. “Ach, troublesome, whiny wench that she was.”

  “Did you love her?”

  Nodding, he reached over and patted her knee. “Loved from afar. I knew she was another’s, and I never would have done anything to offend her. I admired the woman’s strength. Her will would rival any of the womenfolk in my village.”

  “Suvrete thought highly of you too,” she stated.

  “’Tis true?”

  “Aye, she teased and prodded those she liked best.”

  He raked one fuzzy arm over his eyes and nose and then stood. “Let us return to camp.” She followed his stocky form through the deepening twilight but stopped when he turned suddenly. “Princess, let us keep this as our secret. Agreed?”

  “Aye.” She smiled. “You have a place in my heart too, Sir Hestbone. If I only have one true friend in this life, I am glad ’tis you.”

  He snorted, the sound revealing his pleasure and embarrassment. Shouldering through the bushes, he parted the way for her as they returned to camp.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The following morning, Ember bathed, dressed, and donned the war bonnet that Dikartha had made for her. She returned from the stream, pushing through the tall ferns and palms, her body still damp beneath her breeches and tunic. She studied the lush, green landscape. Everything teemed with life. Birds and small furry creatures leaped from limb to limb, their calls and
squeals somewhat annoying. Beneath her boots a thick, soft layer of verdant moss and tiny ferns covered the ground. She emerged from the shrubbery and found her brother waiting for her by her bedroll.

  “Good morning, Brother,” she said.

  He gestured at her headdress. “Suvrete outdid herself.”

  “Aye.” She reverently touched the side of her helmet-like headdress.

  Beron said, “I had another vision.”

  “What was it?”

  He sighed, his worried gaze meeting hers. “Fire fell from the sky, flames raged all over the earth as far as the eye could see, and it poured in and out of you. I also felt a bone-jarring sensation within me.”

  “Mayhap I must use more of my power to defeat the dragon,” she returned as she began stuffing her gear and personal items into her travel bag. Unusual birdsong erupted in the tree above them; its shrieks reminded her of a banshee’s cry.

  Beron knelt and placed one hand over hers. “I have this horrible sensation that fills me, Ember. Its strength almost suffocates me.”

  “What is this feeling you speak of?” She looked into his eyes and saw fear there. Sunshine spilled through the forest canopy to dapple her brother’s hair. She reached out and smoothed a lock out of his eyes.

  “I know not, but I fear the worst.”

  “Dikartha has left a hole in your heart, Brother. Is your grief coloring your visions?”

  “Perhaps but please be cautious.”

  “I will.”

  “Saddle up!” Sir Hestbone announced. “Let us scale this mountain and kill the beast that lives within it.”

  She left Beron to finish gathering his gear and strode over to Hoggr, who Sir Greensleeve had already saddled. He waited to help her up onto the horse’s back.

  “Good morn,” she said.

  “Ember.”

  She studied him for a moment, relishing the way the silver highlights the sunshine created danced in his snowy hair. Fine lines appeared around his mouth, and worry glistened in his dark eyes. The need to tell him what resided in her heart rose suddenly, but she feared if she told him the truth of her feelings, it would color his judgment and force him to take unnecessary risks. However, she wasn’t sure if Sarenkesh felt the same way she did. Ember sensed he cared for her, but the depth of his emotions for her was unclear.

  “I know you worry for me,” she stated.

  He smiled wanly. “Aye, indeed, I do.”

  “I wish to tell you…”

  “What is it, Ember?” He stroked a strand of hair from her eyes.

  “When our journey is at an end,” she began, “I must tell you something.”

  “Your heart already sings it to me.” Sarenkesh stepped forward and looked down into her eyes. “I see it in the way you look at me, the way you react when I am near, and the manner in which your breath hitches when I touch you.”

  “You speak boldly.” Ember willed him to tell her how he felt, yet feared it all the same. She couldn’t risk him knowing about her love for him. If such knowledge caused him a moment’s hesitation in battle or any other form of jeopardy, it could cost him his life. No, he needed to be of clear mind and heart.

  He slipped his arms around her waist and drew her against him. “Aye, I do. I shall act boldly as well.” With that, he claimed her lips and kissed her gently, sweetly, and then released her. “Even if we cannot be together because of your power, I shan’t forsake you, Ember. Where you go, I shall go too.”

  From behind them, Sir Hestbone cleared his throat. “Princess, we should be going.”

  Tears trickled from Ember’s eyes as she nodded. She placed her boot in Sarenkesh’s hands so he could boost her up into Hoggr’s saddle.

  Ember rode with her companions until it became too difficult to ride any farther and they dismounted. Reluctant to remain behind, Hoggr nickered and whinnied, but Ember quieted him after several minutes of speaking softly into his ear.

  The terrain steepened further, and by nightfall, exhaustion plagued Ember so badly she barely ate her rations before falling asleep nestled against Sir Greensleeve’s side.

  The next morning, after a quick meal of the odd, seedy Galenite bread and dark red cheese, they continued on their way. Struggling up the mountain with her friends, Ember scaled sheer ledges and traversed paths that only mountain animals had traveled. Twice, they diverted their path to avoid ogre colonies. Their rock houses belched blue-black smoke, and the aroma of rotting meat hung heavily in the air.

  The gloaming arrived once more, and weariness descended upon Ember.

  “Please,” she gasped out as she scrabbled over a ledge with Kaedric’s help. “Can we stop for the night?”

  “Aye,” the dwarf agreed. “My legs are stout, but they are not meant to climb like the wild goats I have seen on these steep hillsides.” He patted his chest. “And the air is strange up here.”

  Kaedric led her to a short, square-ish rock and helped her sit. “Sit and rest, Princess. I too am tired.”

  Ember lay back against the smooth granite rising straight up behind her and contemplated the next ridgeline as Sarenkesh and Beron built a small campfire. Every now and then, Sarenkesh cast her a concerned look.

  Finally, she smiled and said, “I am fine, Sarenkesh. Exhausted and bruised but fine.”

  He returned her smile and focused on helping Beron with the fire.

  She stared up at the mountain’s peak. One more day. Just one more day and they should reach the top.

  But what would they find?

  ***

  With every step, Ember’s legs protested. Soreness had set up residence in her body, and discomfort screamed in every muscle.

  “Ach!” the dwarf grumbled. “I feel three times my age. Dwarves are not meant for climbing. We prefer to move about beneath the earth.”

  “I guessed you for two centuries old,” Beron said.

  “Two centuries?” Sir Hestbone cast an indignant look over one burly shoulder and reached for a root to heft himself up onto the next ledge. “I am barely over a century old!”

  “My apologies.” Beron failed at hiding the mirth in his voice. “In Fae years, that makes you an adolescent.”

  “Apologize, my arse,” muttered the dwarf. He grunted and turned to offer Ember his hand. “I have had my fill of wet-behind-the-ears faeries.”

  “His tongue speaks before his mind thinks.” Ember laughed.

  “Aye, it does, indeed.”

  Kaedric’s, Sarenkesh’s, and King Zeadren’s laughter rode the mountain breezes.

  By the time the sun reached its zenith, Ember and her companions paused to rest just below the mountain’s pinnacle. The air proved cooler, and it was difficult for Ember to breathe. The men complained of it too, but Sir Hestbone more so than anyone.

  Rested, she slung her travel bag onto her back and brushed the ashy soil from her breeches. Standing for a moment, she eyed the plume of white smoke and vapors rising from the mountain’s crown.

  “What do you think we will find up there, Ember?” her brother asked.

  “Perhaps a gaping hole with heat gusting from it,” the dwarf answered for her. “We dwarves know of the earth’s fire. Some mountains have a porous cork in them venting the heat and smoke, and others may have cauldrons of red-hot liquid rock swirling within them.” He pulled a chunk of cheese out of a pouch hanging from his belt, broke off a piece, and handed it to the boy. “I am wagering the top will have a cork. Otherwise, the dragon could not make the mountain’s innards its home.”

  “I agree,” King Zeadren voiced as he munched a wedge of bread. “It makes sense.”

  Ember unhooked a water skin from her belt. After she’d drunk deeply, she offered it to Sir Greensleeve. Their fingers brushed, and her gaze flew up to meet his. He favored her with a lopsided smile that sent her insides into a vortex of confusion.

  Behind her, Kaedric said, “Well, shall we continue?”

  “Aye,” she replied. “Let us see what is on the other side of this infernal mount
ain.”

  She labored alongside her friends until they reached the summit. A gargantuan rock balancing on the top blocked their view of the other side. Cold air buffeted Ember, and she stopped long enough to don her cape while the others did the same.

  “By Torr’s thunder,” King Zeadren said, “I have never been so cold in my life. How is it possible to be so close to the sky and yet the sun is so feeble? I pine for the warm sands and hot winds of the Southland.”

  “We shall go home soon, good king,” Ember replied, shivering.

  “Is Verdfauna cold?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, it is comfortable regardless of the season.”

  Sir Hestbone pointed to one side of the boulder. “Let us be on our way. I am curious to see what lies beyond.” He motioned for Ember and the others to follow him.

  Proceeding in single file behind the dwarf, the king, Kaedric, and Beron walked around the great rock.

  Allowing Sarenkesh to take her hand, she followed him along what appeared to be a thin path created by wild goats. Ember grimaced as the wind tore at their clothes and poked icy fingers into her eyes, nose and mouth. Once she rounded the rock, her foot slipped. Pebbles and stones skittered across the path and disappeared over the ledge. Sarenkesh jerked on her arm, drawing her up and against his body.

  With her heart flailing, Ember tucked her head against Sarenkesh’s chest. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “I could not stand it if harm should befall you,” he whispered back. “My heart would wither and die.”

  “More charm speak from the Gloaming Elf?” she countered in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  “Nay, I speak the truth.”

  She raised her head and looked into his dark, fathomless eyes. The wind tugged strands of his flaxen hair from their braids and tossed them around his head. Truth shimmered in his gaze. In response, something clenched within Ember, and for a moment, an acute sense of fear gripped her. Shaking her head, she carefully stepped back and smiled. “We will speak of this again once the beast is dead.”

  “Aye,” he said and quickly brushed his lips across hers.

  Desire flashed through Ember, and with another smile, she once again placed her hand within Sarenkesh’s and permitted him to lead her around the boulder.