Lana stood beneath a large evergreen, concealed beneath the snow-covered boughs. Her hands were shoved deep into her coat pockets, the thick woolen mittens doing little to protect her fingers. She bounced gently, trying to keep her blood from freezing in her veins. Though she had grown up in the north, she could not remember a winter that had been harder or colder than this one, especially so early in the season. Snow drifts grew to the height of houses, some of them so large they insulated smaller buildings from the bitter winter winds.
Lana leaned against the trunk of the tree and let her thoughts drift to the past. At the same time three years before, she had simply been Chelandra Fildur, daughter of the head dragon keeper in the small breeding village of Jaje. Her best friend, Bolgor, was a busboy at the local tavern, and they spent all their free time either in the stables talking to her favorite dragons, traipsing through the woods, or hanging out at the illegal Gypsy camp near the town.
Tears dripped from the girl’s eyes as she thought about her friend, her love, lost to her forever. The salty drops nestled against the scarf on her cheeks, freezing the fabric to her face. Her vision blurred as she attempted to clear her thoughts, refusing to think about that fateful day months ago. For one so young—not twenty years had passed in her short life—she had suffered enormous loss. Her relationship with Bolgor had grown strong, withstanding the test of time and battle, only to be ripped from her by the hands of a wounded enemy.
Clearing her throat, the young woman growled and slammed an elbow into the tree behind her. Pain blossomed up through her arm, a welcome distraction from the ache in her heart. She straightened and looked to the east, past the guards and the town. Despite the flurry of small balls of ice dancing through the air, Lana could make out activity in the woods.
The Gypsies were gathering, preparing for the dawn attack. Her contact, Ania, was somewhere in the group of men and women. Lana had met Ania after the battle of Rona. The woman was three years older than Lana and had a four-year-old daughter. The child had become fatherless during an attack on their caravan by Commander Locke and his soldiers. Ania had joined the war efforts and continued to lead raids on slave villages that refused to yield.
A small orange light bloomed along the perimeter of the forest where the Gypsies moved. That light bounced a few times, then took to the air. It was quickly followed by more than a dozen mates. Lana’s frozen nose flared. Ania’s tactics were effective, but often very violent. Lana had seen more than one enslaved dragon killed instead of freed due to the woman’s assaults.
She watched as the flaming arrows descended into the village and waited. Within minutes, screams echoed through the walls. She nodded, her lips pursed in frustration, and pulled a long, curved knife from her belt. Slipping from her hiding place, she ran silently to the wooden barrier. One of the guards was staring through the open gate, mouth agape, while the other was shouting and pointing toward the forest, which had come alive.
Shapes of all sizes moved toward the village—humans and dragons mingling in a deadly fighting force. Creatures carrying riders or completely unsaddled flew from the trees, descending on the holdout training town. A sapphire-blue dragon the size of a small pony outpaced the others, making a beeline for the screaming guard. Lana watched as the man lifted his sword toward the sky, a feeble attempt to scare off the encroaching beast.
The dragon, who Lana knew as Twoala, swooped down, deftly avoiding the wildly swinging blade, and snatched the man into his claws. The other guard cowered against the open gate as the winged being soared into the air, passing over the wall to drop the impaled guard into the village below.
Lana took advantage of the survivor’s distraction and crept up to him. A squeal of anger emanating from inside the gate made the man jump and Lana sprinted the rest of the way. The guard was several inches taller than her and her grip on him was tenuous. She wrapped her arm around his lower chest and brought her knife around. She sliced cleanly and firmly, opening his throat with practiced ease. As she did, Lana laughed at the hypocrisy of her previous thoughts about Ania.
We are one and the same, Lana thought. The Gypsy just preferred to have an army behind her, while Lana worked better solo. Slipping through the open gate, Lana ducked to the side. Dragons were still flying over the walls, dropping men and women into the village with practiced efficiency. They formed up swiftly, heading directly for the barracks.
Lana walked calmly along the wall and watched the ongoing battle before making her way to the stables where the dragons were housed. Battle cries reverberated behind her and she turned her head. Ania ran through the door, face contorted in rage, sword held high. A young woman dressed in dragon-handler gear approached them, ax in hand. Fear painted the woman’s face despite the several men behind her. As Ania closed on them, the woman tried to turn and run, only to be cut down from behind.
Lana gritted her teeth and continued through the alleys to the slave pens. She could see flames dancing across the roof and picked up her pace. None of the attackers had reached the area yet, preferring to focus on the barracks and humans. Taking a quick glance around, Lana opened the door to the stables and slipped inside. The interior was dark, lit only by a few torches in sconces along the aisle. Lana could hear the dragons moving around inside their stalls, penned in by the thick metal cages, unable to escape the fire already licking through the ceiling from the initial attack.
Indistinct murmurs echoed through the gloom, though Lana couldn’t tell if they came from the dragons themselves or their human guards. The building was much smaller than the one in Jaje. The small village was meant to train dragons to work with engineers. Since the main jobs in the field were held only by humans, few dragons were needed for more than menial labor. Reports had stated that five dragons were present at current, not counting the handler dragons. At first glance, a lot of the doors to the pens were wide open.
Lana slipped to one side of the wide aisle and moved farther inside. The first several stalls she passed were entirely empty, dust sitting heavily on the floor. A hole in the wall of one had let a snow drift inside the back of the stall, though the hole had been closed when the snow outside rose above it.
As Lana made her way through the stable, the murmurs grew into distinct dragon rumbling. She reached a stall about halfway down the aisle and peered inside. A young yellow dragon lay crouched against the back corner of her stall, pressing her face against the bars on one side. A pale green head could be seen on the other side.
“But what if they don’t come?” The yellow dragon’s voice was nasally and high-pitched, not yet mature. Fear bled into her voice and her eyes darted to the ceiling where the fire continued to grow.
“They’ll come, darling. They have to. Their whole goal is to free slaves like us. They don’t want to kill us.”
Lana barked a laugh, then mentally kicked herself as the heads turned in her direction. “Some want to free you. Others just want revenge.”
The yellow dragon scrambled to her feet, backing against the wall of her stall. “Who are you? What do you want?”
The woman raised an eyebrow and ignored the question, looking around for a heavy object. The stalls were bolted with locks, a precaution not usually taken as dragons could not reach through the small gaps. Growling in frustration, Lana headed back down the aisle toward the door.
“Wait, where are you going?”
When the woman looked back, the yellow dragon had her face pressed against the bars, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her heart sank momentarily, but she turned back to her task. An office was located in the place she expected and she went inside. A shovel lay in the corner and she picked it up, hefting it over her shoulder.
When she returned to the cages, the dragons backed away from the bars again. It took her many swings to break the five locks and her arms were weak and aching when she was done, but all the dragons were freed and raced from the building. Flames crawled down the wall, causing Lana to sweat inside her coat as she ran toward the door.
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A sharp pain in her lower leg brought the woman to her knees, a cry escaping from her chapped lips. She tried to rise, her right leg nearly collapsing beneath her. As she forced herself up, heat blossomed over her shoulders and she fell onto the dirt floor.
Groaning, she rolled over. A human shape hovered above her, outlined by the orange ceiling. A man leaned down, snarling in her face. His hand came down and backhanded her, snapping her head to the side. He began kicking her ribs, blows raining over her unprotected body, the impact barely muted by her thick clothing. The heat from the fire had the man dripping sweat onto the few exposed areas of her skin, and she tried to crawl away from him. He grabbed her from behind, throwing her back down the aisle.
A loud crack echoed through the building and Lana had to roll to keep from being crushed by a flaming beam. She was trapped behind it, with no avenue of escape. The man was on the other side, a sick sneer across his round face. He found an area of the wooden log that was clear of flames and began to crawl over it, an ax in his hand.
Lana scrambled backward, her leg aching. The man crested the beam, preparing to launch himself toward her. As he rose up, a pale green form appeared behind him. Lana smiled, the expression bringing the man to a halt. He whipped around at the dragon’s snarl, his foot slipping. He came crashing down into the flames, his clothes igniting as he screamed.
The dragon plucked him from the fire and threw him against the wall. He sank to the floor, groaning, and she pulled him into the center aisle. Her reptilian face contorted into a vicious grin as she raised a large foot. The man stirred, his eyes opening. He saw the claws and padded foot descending upon him and raised his arms, attempting to ward off the inevitable. Lana turned her head, trying to block out the sickening crunch.
A shadow drew her attention and Lana looked up. The dragon was holding out a clawed foot, the unbloodied one. Lana took it and hefted herself up, wincing as her leg complained. The dragon helped her over the beam, and together they headed out the door.
The other dragons were waiting along the village wall, guarded by a few of Ania’s cohorts. Lana sank down among them, pressing her hand to her wounded leg. The green dragon settled down beside her, watching her intently.
Several minutes passed, the screams of battle beginning to fade, before either of them spoke.
“My name is Anethesis. Neth. Thank you.”
Lana nodded. “I’m Lana. You’re welcome.”
A comfortable silence fell between the pair, the first of many.
Chapter 8
Half an hour later, Neth was plodding along through the woods, the wounded Lana on her back. The woman’s thick winter clothing had saved her from a more serious injury, but the dragon keeper’s ax still left a gash in the back of her leg, just below her knee. It was deep enough to need suturing and she had suffered a burn on her cheek when the beam in the stable fell. Despite her protests, the green dragon had been able to convince Lana to return to the Gypsy camp for treatment.
Lana was hunched over Neth’s neck, clinging to her gently, head resting on her scaly skin. The dragon’s reptilian hide was cool to the touch, a welcome respite from the burning sensation on her face. She could feel a blister forming already and the skin around the area throbbed tenderly. While she was waiting with the freed dragons for the attack to end, she had pressed a handful of snow to the wound. The numbing pain was a welcome distraction from the scene around her.
Lana lay across the dragon, thinking back to the horrible rout she had just witnessed. Men and women, unaccustomed to the brutality of war, ran screaming around the enclosed village, unable to escape their attackers. Ania’s militia was ruthless and undiscriminating. They cut down any adults in their path who did not surrender immediately. Children were rounded up and herded like sheep to the center of town, most of them dressed in little more than nightclothes. A few had mothers gripping their hands tightly. Most were lost and alone, orphaned, clinging to what siblings they had in desperation.
Ania was unrelenting, and soon the head dragon keeper was dragged from her burning home to the square in front of the gate. Her screams were ragged from sleep and smoke inhalation and she fought her captors with all the strength she possessed. In the end, her resistance was futile, and she was forcefully given a necklace of rope. Lana turned away at the last minute, refusing to watch the keeper swing from the makeshift gallows. She regretted not covering her ears as well. The snap of the woman’s neck made her stomach churn.
Neth had been beside her during the execution, along with the little yellow dragon, and Lana watched their expressions. The green dragon’s face held the faint glow of long-awaited satisfaction, but the young dragon retched, spilling her meager dinner in the trampled snow beneath her feet. The reaction of the youngster softened the older dragon’s features and she laid a clawed hand on the child’s back, pulling her close. Neth murmured something in the younger dragon’s ear and she perked up noticeably.
“What’d you tell her?” Lana had asked.
The green dragon gave Lana a wry smile. “I told her that she is free now and when the snows melt, I’ll take her to Lake Lithiuatha.”
The dragons had spent the rest of the time chatting about various lighthearted topics while Lana tried desperately to avoid looking at the woman swinging from a tree in front of her.
Lana sighed audibly as she rode toward the Gypsy village, drawing a backward glance from her escort. “Problem?”
“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” Lana offered the green dragon a small smile.
The dragon raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push. She shrugged slightly, throwing Lana momentarily off-balance so she had to tighten her grip, then turned forward again. Lana looked down to her right. Beside her, the little yellow dragon trudged along. Her name was Zella and she was approximately six months old. Lana thought back to when Ychthorn had been that age. He’d been several feet taller than Zella at that point. The memory caused the corners of Lana’s mouth to twitch, until she remembered where Ychthorn was and where she was.
She had not seen her friend in several months. After a month of dealing with the political fallout of the demise of the monarchy, Lana was drawn, tired, bitter, and depressed. She’d spent her free time curled up in bed, longing for the escape of dreamless sleep while she was awake, reliving horrible nightmares while she was asleep. Her appetite failed her and she ate little. Though she had always been on the fit side, her form was wasting away, revealing bones where they had not previously been visible. Her skin grew paler than was normal for a native of the north and her nails bled where she chewed them away from the quick.
She took to pacing the halls of the palace at night, earning herself an unflattering nickname. Guarded whispers followed her, assaulting her from behind. She was treated like a child, everyone but Bellithana choosing their words carefully around her. Belli was the only one to speak her mind.
“You can’t live like this, Chelandra. It’s whittling you away. They call you the Pale Ghost, and you’re reinforcing that image beautifully. You wander the halls in your nightshirt and your look is nothing less than haunted.” Belli had leaned over her then, putting her face next to Lana’s on the pillow. “You’re scary, Lana. You can’t continue this way.”
Lana turned her back on her friend, pulling a pillow over her head. Belli had lain there for several minutes, but Lana did not acknowledge her. Eventually, the Gypsy woman left. When the door shut soundly, Lana rose and sat at the edge of the bed. Her eyes were red and puffy, the pillows stained with her tears. She knew her friend was correct. She couldn’t keep on the same way. She couldn’t stay cooped up in a castle for the rest of her life, listening to complaints day in and day out. She was born to do, not talk.
Her decision was made instantly. She stood and removed her nightclothes. Finding a clean set of travel clothes, she put them on and packed what she could into a sack. Digging in the bottom drawer of her dresser, she removed a stained shirt—the same shirt Bolgor had worn when he died.
It was crusted with his blood. After pressing the shirt to her lips, she shoved it into her sack and strapped her sword to her waist. Last but not least, she threw her quiver over her shoulder and picked up her bow.
Lana hesitated briefly, debating whether to leave a message. In the end, she decided against it, appropriate words not coming to her. The absence of her bow would be enough to let her friends know that she had left on her own and nothing bad had happened.
She slipped through the halls, avoiding the guards and servants who roamed late at night. When she finally stepped through the city gates into the open, she paused, surveying the land. She had not known where she would go when she left the palace, but the destination came to her quickly. Enlisting the help of several merchants, farmers, and Gypsies along the way, Lana found the secret camp she wanted and the vengeance she sought.
It wasn’t enough. Even as the former queen’s blood spilled onto her blade, Lana knew it wouldn’t be enough. She’d lost so much. Her best friend—the love of her life, her future—had been stolen from her. Though Slyvania was part of the problem, she was also only part of the solution. So Lana kept going. At first she wandered aimlessly, searching for something intangible. When she stumbled upon a ragged group of three soldiers running from Rona, she found her purpose, and they found their deaths upon her blade.
Five months later, she was on the back of a strange dragon, the first dragon she’d ridden since Ychthorn. Deep in the pit of her stomach, she felt like a traitor. She had not sent word to her friends since her disappearance. She knew they had heard of her whereabouts. Gypsies talk, and she had made alliances with a few of the more vengeful travelers. A month before, she had received a message through Ania from Ychthorn, begging her to return to the palace. She had not responded.
Winds from the North: An NA Epic Fantasy (Blood of the Dragon Book 3) Page 4
