Sparks Fly: A Novel of the Light Dragons

by Katie MacAlister

  “Savian! Baltic, no, that’s Savian Bartholomew, the thief-taker I told you about.”

  Baltic snarled something rude in Zilant, an archaic language once used by the dragons in the weyr, but he released Savian, who gasped and clutched a nearby chair as he tried to get air back into his lungs.

  “I have no use for a thief-taker until we find that bastard who forced himself on you to spawn my son,” Baltic snarled.

  “Are you all right, Savian? Here, sit down. Let me get you a glass of water. And no, Baltic, I didn’t mean we needed a thief-taker; Savian is also a renowned tracker. I was going to hire him to find something, but now that’s…” A little wave of dragon fire danced down my body as the words that just left my lips sparked something in my brain.

  “Not another one who can’t control the fire,” Savian said, accepting the glass of water I held out and moving his feet so my fire, now dancing around my feet, didn’t reach him. “What is with you mates?”

  My gaze met Baltic’s again. “Savian is a tracker,” I told him again, emphasizing the word “tracker.”

  “Not just a tracker—I’m the best there is.”

  Baltic was on him in a flash, pulling him to his feet, although this time without choking him. “You will find my son.”

  “Who?” Savian squawked.

  “Our son, Brom. Do you remember him?” I said hurriedly, my hands clutching each other as I stood before him. “Gareth—he’s my ex-husband, the one who hired you to rescue me from Gabriel—he’s kidnapped Brom and taken him somewhere, and we can’t find any trace of him. We don’t even know where he is, or if he’s all right, and I wouldn’t put it past Gareth to harm Brom!”

  “His own son?” Savian asked, his face a mask of disbelief.

  “Brom is my son; the usurper is nothing to him. Although I myself will see to it that Gareth will die in the most heinous manner if he inflicts hurt upon Brom,” Baltic said simply. Savian, with a sidelong look at the hard expression on Baltic’s face, edged away.

  “That’s none of my business, but if you want me to help you find your son, I am at your service,” Savian said, finally getting himself out of Baltic’s grip enough to make us both a little bow. “You’ll find no better tracker than me, if I do say so myself. Now, tell me what you know, and we’ll see what we can see.”

  While Baltic and the others filled Savian in with the details, I paced the long room, feeling itchy with the need to be doing something, anything to rescue Brom, little pools of fire trailing my footsteps until I smothered them on the following pass through the room.

  The horrible words of Gareth’s note kept dancing through my head, making me rage at the same time my stomach turned over with worry. I’ll call his phone tomorrow at noon with instructions, the note said. His phone…the two words reverberated in my head. Gareth’s phone! Or rather, his phone number. I still had Gareth’s phone number programmed into my phone!

  I pulled it out and stared somewhat dazedly at the entry for him. It couldn’t be this easy, could it? Could I just call him and demand that he release Brom? I hit the DIAL button and held the phone up to my ear, half expecting to hear a recorded voice tell me the number had been disconnected.

  “Yes?”

  The voice was so familiar, it took my breath away. Well, the fury that followed that one word took my breath away—it took me a good two seconds before I was able to speak.

  “Who is this?” Gareth’s slightly nasal, annoyed voice filled my ear.

  “If you treat Brom with anything but the utmost care, I will do things to you that you cannot even imagine,” someone said in a low, ugly voice, and to my surprise, I realized it was me.

  Baltic spun around at my words, frowning as Gareth sputtered, “Sullivan? How the hell did you—dammit, Ruth, I told you we should have gotten a new phone!”

  “Where’s Brom?” I asked, and then repeated it, screaming, “Where have you taken my son?”

  Baltic was at my side, one arm around me, trying to take the phone, while behind him, Savian made gestures at me and said something about keeping Gareth on the phone as long as possible. He pulled out his own cell phone and turned his back on us as he made a call.

  “He’s right here, and he’s all right, although he’s not going to remain that way if you don’t do as I tell you,” Gareth said.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, visualizing roasting Gareth alive. “Let me talk to him.”

  “No. There’s no reason for you to speak with him.”

  “By the rood, Gareth! He’s my son! I’m out of my mind with worry! I have to know he’s all right!”

  Gareth muttered some rude things, saying in a slightly muffled tone, “Get the boy. No, she’s insisting on talking to him. Just warn him not to say anything but that he’s unhurt.”

  “Mate, control your fire.”

  I opened my eyes again to find the tables surrounding us were alight. I tamped down the flames, staring in mute appeal to Baltic.

  “It will not help Brom if you lose control,” he said softly, and tried again to take the phone.

  “Sullivan?”

  I almost wept with relief at the sound of Brom’s voice. “Are you all right, lovey? Did Gareth or Ruth hurt you?”

  “No, I’m fine, although they don’t have any interesting books, and I left my field notebook in my room. There’s a dead sparrow outside my window, but I can’t take notes about it.”

  I leaned into Baltic, some of the tension easing as Brom complained. If he was well enough to fret over the loss of a notebook, he wasn’t harmed.

  Before I could say any more, Gareth was back. “Happy now?”

  “I can’t believe you would kidnap your own child to use against me,” I told him, tightening my fingers on the phone.

  “I told you this wasn’t over when you tried to brain me against my own car,” Gareth sneered. “If you think we’re going to roll over and lose all that gold you brought in each year, you’re stupider than I thought.”

  “How much do you want?” I asked through clenched teeth. “How much blood money will it take to let Brom go?”

  “All we want is what is due to us. All those centuries we took care of you; you owe us, Sullivan.” He named a figure that didn’t even register in my by now numb brain. I was past the disbelief that Gareth would hold his own child hostage for profit; I just wanted to do whatever it took to get Brom back. “That’ll do for now.”

  My gaze met Baltic’s. He nodded, then made a gesture toward his watch. “You’ll get your gold, but it will take Baltic a day to get it from his lair. Where are you?”

  Gareth laughed. “Nice try, but we’re the ones calling the shots. I’ll call you tomorrow to see if your dragon has the gold. And Sullivan—he’d better have it. Because any delay is going to make Brom very, very sorry.”

  My fire rose around us in a wall of red. Baltic’s arm tightening around me reminded me of the veracity of his words. I had it extinguished by the time I finished saying, “One hair, Gareth. If so much as one hair of Brom’s is harmed in any way, you will regret the day you first drew breath.”

  “Just have the gold ready, and save the empty threats. And don’t call here again—I will be the one to call you,” Gareth said, then hung up.

  “He will not harm my son,” Baltic said, his breath warm on my forehead as he kissed my hair. “He knows we will destroy him if he does. You will cease worrying.”

  I gave a shaky laugh, hugging him for a moment just to soak in his strength. “I’m a mother, Baltic. Worry is my middle name. Gareth may be many things, but he’s always had a strong sense of self-preservation, so I don’t think he’d do anything to endanger himself, and that means Brom is probably going to be left alone. I just…I want him here.”

  “I know. We will have him within twenty-four hours.”

  “How can you be so sure?” I asked, watching him as he moved over to consult briefly with Pavel before eyeing Savian.

  The latter held up a finger as he listened to something bein
g said in his phone before asking, “What’s the number of your phone, Ysolde?”

  I gave it to him. Savian repeated it, listening intently again, a smile suddenly softening the long lines of his face. “Got him. He called from Spain.”

  “Spain? We used to live there, but…how did he get Brom to Spain so fast? He’s been gone only two hours.”

  “Portal, no doubt,” Savian said, thanking his friend on the phone and tucking it away. “I’ll check the local ones and see if Gareth used any of them.”

  “I will come with you,” Baltic said, gesturing to Pavel. “Mate, you will remain here, with Pavel’s friend.”

  “If you think I’m going to sit around here worrying myself to death while you big strong men go rescue Brom—”

  Baltic cocked an eyebrow. “I had hoped you’d make arrangements, and pack our things, as well as Brom’s, so that we can be ready to leave shortly.”

  “Arrangements?” Fear clutched my heart again. “Baltic, I know dragons avoid using portals because it makes you all discombobulated, but time is of the essence. It would take several hours to fly to Spain, even assuming we could either charter a jet or find a commercial flight that was leaving right away.”

  The look he gave me sharpened before he marched over and gave me a swift, hard kiss. “You should have more faith in me, mate. We will take the portal to find our son just as soon as we know where he is. See to things here so that we may leave once we have that information.”

  The three men left, leaving me standing in the room with a man of my height, with brownish blond hair and a little goatee. I stared at him for a few seconds, my mind whirling with worry and fear and anger.

  “We haven’t been properly introduced, have we?” the man said with a slight Welsh lilt. “I’m Elliot Holland. And I’m happy to help you locate your son, if you can use my assistance.”

  I looked him over carefully, too frazzled to care if I was being obvious or rude. “What are you? I mean, you’re not a dragon.”

  “I’m a knocker.”

  I blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  He laughed. “A knocker is a Welsh being, traditionally heard warning miners from danger, although we also have the reputation of being somewhat troublesome. These days, we mostly concentrate on talking.”

  “Talking to who?” I couldn’t help but ask.

  “Birds, mostly, although I can understand some four-footed beasties.”

  I stared at him for a moment, and then shook my head. It didn’t matter who he was or what he could do—I wasn’t about to turn down an offer of help. “I’m delighted to meet you, happy you and Pavel have hooked up even if Baltic is being a poop about that whole thing, and will welcome your help.”

  Nico came in as we were stuffing a few necessary items in bags. He was immediately distraught and blamed himself for Brom being abducted.

  “I don’t have time for this,” I said, shoving two bags at him. “I know you’re sorry, and you can come with us if you want, but you have to pack quickly.”

  He was off before I finished the sentence, hurrying with the bags down to where Ludovic was waiting at the car, promising over his shoulder he’d be packed in three minutes.

  I briefly explained the situation to Angela before going to stand by the car, rubbing my arms against the chill of the evening air.

  Brom would be all right. He just had to be.

  Chapter Six

  The town of Tarraco was tiny, tucked away in a mostly inhospitable, arid, and mountainous region in the north of Spain. It was also very remote, and as we drove slowly up a dusty, rutted track that led from the town proper, climbing in zigzag fashion to the remains of a medieval fortress perched high above the valley floor, I began to think that Gareth was cleverer than I had previously given him credit for.

  “This place is gorgeous,” I said, unable to help but admire the Romanesque architecture of the fortress. “I love how the buildings seem to tumble down the slope of the hillside, and how they are clutched by those immense spires of rock. It’s as if the fortress were born of the earth, not put there by man. Baltic, I don’t suppose you’d consider—”

  “No,” he said, pointing to the side when Pavel, who was driving our car, squinted in the darkness. “Dauva is not a Spanish castle. There, Pavel. We will stop there. They may see the lights of the cars if we are any closer.”

  The second car, containing Holland, Savian Bartholomew, and a still-distressed Nico, pulled in behind us. Savian, Holland, and I were all fine despite no sleep and the predawn hour; the dragons, however, looked rumpled and grumpy, as was usual when they were forced to take a portal that utilized a tear in the fabric of space.

  “I never understood why dragons have such an aversion to portals,” I said softly to Baltic, smoothing back his hair, and brushing out the wrinkles in his soft linen shirt. Even his clothing looked annoyed at having been forced through a portal.

  “It disturbs us.”

  “Yes, but why? Other beings have no issues with it.”

  “Dragons are superior. Elemental beings don’t like portals, either. You will enter the front of the fortress with Nico and Holland, mate. Pavel, the thief-taker, and I will slip in the side. Do you remember your instructions?”

  “We are to distract and subdue Gareth, if possible without putting Brom in harm’s way, or in the worst-case scenario, draw Gareth and Ruth away for a few minutes so you can locate Brom and release him.”

  Baltic nodded. “And?”

  “And?” I searched my memory for any other facets of the hastily concocted plan that had been borne of the half-hour drive from Tarraco. “I don’t remember anything else.”

  “And you will not put yourself in any danger, or try to deal with Gareth yourself.” His hands were hard on my shoulders as he frowned into my eyes. “I will not have you harmed any more than I will my son.”

  I licked the tip of his nose. “A sentiment of which I approve, and will be happy to reward once Brom is back with us. The same goes for you, too, you know.”

  “I am a wyvern,” he said arrogantly as he turned me and gave me a gentle push toward my team of rescuers.

  “Who can still be hurt or killed. You just remember that.”

  Baltic, who had already moved off into the darkness, lifted his hand to show he heard, before disappearing into the inky shadows.

  I turned to my companions. “Shall we?”

  We picked our way carefully up the track, trying to avoid making noise that could warn anyone of our presence. Baltic guessed that Gareth would have some sort of security arrangements put into place to detect the arrival of any visitors, but I wasn’t so convinced—intricate plans and attention to detail were never my bigamous ex-husband’s forte.

  “If we’re lucky,” I said as we walked under a gorgeous stone arched doorway that opened into a grassy area below the bulky tower complex that made up the still-standing section of the fortress, “Gareth will think he’s so incredibly clever, no one could ever find him here. I wish I could see the detail of the carvings better.”

  “Carvings?” Nico looked startled for a moment, then nodded his head as we clung to a drunken line of a curtain wall. “Ah, on the castillo. Eleventh century, I believe. Moorish influence. The sun should be up in an hour; perhaps we’ll be able to see them then.”

  I bit my lip, not speaking of the fear that held me in such a painful vice: that we wouldn’t be able to free Brom.

  We climbed higher, approaching the dark bulk of stone and brick, walking slowly to give Baltic’s team time to scale the side walls before any alarm of our approach was sounded.

  “Too late,” I said ten seconds later as a harsh voice called out in Spanish for us to halt.

  We stopped, our hands up to show we were unarmed as two men emerged from either side of a broken chunk of the curtain wall. They were armed with long, wicked-looking daggers, and as soon as they drew close, Nico said under his breath, “Ouroboros dragons.”

  “Who are you?” the bigger of t
he two dragons demanded to know.

  “I am Ysolde de Bouchier. I want to see my son,” I said in my haughtiest tone, wondering like mad why Gareth had chosen to become involved with outlaws, dragons who had been kicked out of, or voluntarily left, their septs, and thus were no longer recognized by the weyr. Gareth had no love for dragons, and for them to be here now…The penny dropped at that moment. “You’re part of Thala’s tribe, aren’t you?”

  “Come,” the man said, gesturing toward me with the dagger. Nico and Holland closed protectively around me, but I shook my head at them and walked in the direction indicated.

  “Is Thala here? I always got the impression she didn’t get along with Ruth and Gareth, but if they went running to her for protection, then I guess I was wrong. She’s here, isn’t she? She’s the one really behind this kidnapping. I just know it. She must have convinced Gareth to do her dirty work, knowing that Baltic and I would come to rescue Brom. Well, you can just tell her for me that I am not going to let her get away with this. No one messes with my family. No one!”

  I worked myself up to a fine fit of anger by the time we made it into the main part of the fortress, not in an attempt to intimidate the dragons—I knew full well they weren’t scared in the least by us—but in order to keep my fear squashed down to a minimum.

  “You go here,” the dragon said, pulling me toward the larger of two square stone towers. “La Torre de la Reina.”

  “The tower of the queen,” I translated, looking up as we entered the twin arched doorways. The tower looked to be about three stories tall, the outside illuminated by solar lights stuck haphazardly into the rocky ground. Lovely twin arched windows, and columns with trapezoidal capitals intricately carved with elaborate scenes of battles graced the exterior, while inside it was much cooler, and scarcely furnished with just a few pieces of sturdy-looking antiques. “All right, we’re here. Now, where’s my son? Where’s Thala? I have a few things to say to her.”

  The dragons didn’t answer me, shoving us none too gently up a curved flight of stone steps. I waited until I reached the first landing to sidle away, asking again, “Where’s my son? I’m not moving one more foot until I see Brom!”