Dragon Unleashed

by Grace Draven

  “Leave the door open, please,” she said. “So the smoke has a way out and it doesn’t get too warm in here.”

  Malachus did as she requested, pausing to stare into the rain-washed night and listen to the roll of thunder. “I think it’s coming down even harder now.” He joined her where she sat on the floor tending the brazier and her pots.

  She poured tea, adding a dollop of honey to each of the cups before passing one cup to him. “Hopefully it won’t last long and we don’t get any lightning strikes. The last big storm we had, we lost two ewes to a bolt.”

  “The roads will be hard to roll a wagon over if it gets too muddy.” Free trader wagons were homes on wheels, built high off the ground and heavier than the standard transport. Malachus blew on his tea to cool it before he drank. “Has Kursak said anything about waiting until the rains move through?”

  Halani sipped from her teacup before setting it aside to serve up plates of boiled grains topped with bits of mutton and gravy. Malachus’s mouth watered. She might not have Marata’s skill, but what she served him made his stomach snarl in anticipation, and both he and Halani laughed at the sound.

  She handed him a spoon. “Enjoy.” She answered his question while she served her own plate. “The main road back to the Empire territories is decent for travel even in a hard rain, but this much over several days will turn it muddy. With enough travelers on it, it’ll become a quagmire in no time. Kursak will want to avoid that and be one of the first groups to leave.”

  While they shared supper and tea and discussed topics involving the camp and the weather, an awkwardness grew between them. Malachus knew the source from which it stemmed. The memory of the kiss hovered like a ghost in the confines of her wagon, burning hotter than the brazier. She’d invited him into her home, but for a meal, not a swiving. As much as he might wish for a repeat of the kiss they had shared, he wouldn’t assume anything. She’d asked him to supper. He was here for nothing more.

  Except to give a gift.

  He rose and padded to the spot where he’d laid the damp satchel next to his boots. His riding satchels were oil-tanned and easily sloughed off the rain. Inside, the book was dry, as were the quills and ink bottle. He presented them to her, first the ink and quills and then the wrapped book. “For you, so you may continue practicing and teaching others when I leave.”

  Halani rose to her knees, cupping the ink bottle so she could hold it up to a lamp and peer at the purplish liquid inside as if it were a magical elixir. She then ran the quill over her knuckles and pressed her finger against the sharpened tip. Finally, she unwrapped the book, her gasp loud when she folded the last bit of cloth aside to reveal the journal she’d coveted at the bookseller’s stall. Her gaze flickered back and forth between him and the journal as if she couldn’t quite believe either was real. “Why?” she asked, the one word swelled with a hundred questions.

  Because it pleases you, he wanted to say. Instead, he said, “To help with your lessons. On days like these, when you can’t draw your letters in the dirt, you can still practice them. And I’ll teach you how to make more ink if you don’t already know. If you can brew an elixir, you can make ink. It’s easy.”

  Eyes shining with delight, Halani hugged the book to her breasts. “Thank you, Malachus.” She knee-walked to him and set the book aside to embrace him.

  He gathered her close, nestling his face into her pinned hair, wishing it was loose so he could wrap the thick mass of ringlets around him. “It’s a small thing,” he whispered near her ear. “Certainly compared to what you’ve done for me.”

  She leaned away from him with a frown. “Not a small thing at all. The value isn’t in the leather or the parchment but in the sentiment behind the gift. You haven’t known me long, and yet I think you know me best.”

  Her words echoed Seydom’s prophetic ones, trapping Malachus between elation and regret. He teetered on the edge of temptation, almost succumbing to the allure of Halani’s mouth as she settled into his arms and once more turned her face up to his. The memory of fire dancing over his hand and the draga awakening was the only thing that stopped him.

  He cupped her face in his hands, offering a truth he hoped wouldn’t offend her and might serve as an explanation for his refusal of her advances. “There’s a danger to both of us here, Halani, some of it for reasons over which I have no control. Were it otherwise, I’d kiss you again, and I wouldn’t stop with just your mouth.” He shuddered, pushing away the evocative images his own words created in his mind. “I think it’s time I bid you good night.”

  Halani stared at him without speaking for the longest time, and Malachus thought he might barter his soul to her if she revealed just one of the thoughts hiding behind those rain-cloud eyes of hers. She turned her head a fraction to nestle her cheek hard into his palm, never breaking her stare. “I trust you,” she said, and with those words nearly shattered every restraint he’d clamped onto his lust.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and prayed for fortitude. He rose and helped her stand as well. “I enjoyed supper. I’d extend the same invitation but I’m not much of a cook, nor do I have a brazier.” And soon I will lose my reason if I don’t leave.

  “You’re welcome to eat supper with me each night,” she said. “We can read afterward if you wish.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Before he left, he allowed himself the pleasure of kissing her hand. “Tomorrow, then,” he said. “We’ll read after supper.” Maybe then he’d have better control of his desires.

  “Thank you again for the book.” She cradled the journal in her arms as if it were a beloved infant. “It’s a gift beyond price.”

  Back in his dreary wagon, with the dismal flicker of a single lamp to light the interior, Malachus recalled her farewell. “One day, Halani,” he told the silence, “a very fortunate man will say the same about you.” Whoever that man was, Malachus would loathe him to the end of his days.

  The following day was even more miserable. Kursak ordered the wagons hitched and ready. The temporary corrals and pens were taken down, the sheep herded into a tight group by darting dogs. Oxen lowed in their traces and were joined by the mules, who brayed their objections to the weather.

  Malachus tied Batraza to the back of the last wagon and joined the free traders who walked beside the slow-trundling vehicles. As Halani had feared, the rain hadn’t slowed and the trade road had become a mud pit. Several times, a driver whistled for aid, and a team of six or more put their backs and shoulders into lifting a back wheel out of the sucking mud.

  By the time they made it to a stretch of firmer ground, exhaustion had claimed most of them. Malachus stared down at himself, slathered in mud so thick, even the pouring rain didn’t wash all of it off. His wounds ached, especially the one in his side. No doubt Halani would demand a look at them later and probably snarl at him for not being more careful.

  He stood next to Kursak and Seydom, who leaned against one of the wagon’s sides to rest. “Maybe we should check the road farther up to see what’s waiting for us.”

  Kursak grunted, too tired to even turn his head. “Good idea. Find a rider.”

  Happy to be on horseback instead of sprayed with mud from a stuck wagon wheel, Malachus volunteered. “I can ride ahead and let you know.”

  He didn’t bother with a saddle or bridle and rode Batraza bareback parallel to the caravan line, using his knees and heels to guide her. He nodded to Halani, seated on the driver’s perch of her wagon next to the caravan’s farrier.

  A horse and rider moved a lot faster on the slippery road than a heavy wagon, and Malachus reconnoitered the conditions ahead of them in quick time, returning to Kursak with grim news.

  “Worse than we imagined,” he said. “Mud is deeper and looser farther ahead. It’s a guarantee you’ll sink these wagons the instant you roll the first wheel forward. Those travelers who managed to get past it before it tur
ned into a slurry are stuck another half league out and blocking what part of the road isn’t washed away, and floodwaters are covering the road.”

  Some of the men had gathered around them. Kursak curled one hand into a fist and punched it into his other palm. “Fuck!” He took several deep breaths before addressing Malachus once more. “Send a message down the line. We stop where we stand and see what the morning brings.”

  Nathin spoke up. “We’ll block the road completely.”

  “I don’t give a godsdamn,” the wagon master snapped. “Whoever tries to get past us will just end up like the ones ahead of us—stuck and in danger of drowning.”

  At Kursak’s orders, the caravan halted, and nervous free traders stayed up to keep an eye on their wagons in case they started to sink. Malachus remained outside with them, discussing what to do in case that happened or floodwaters overwhelmed them.

  Halani met up with him just as he went to check on Batraza. The rain had lightened to a heavy drizzle, plastering Halani’s clothes to her small frame. The hint of a curve at her waist and hips teased him, and she held a wrapped bundle in careful hands. It was the finest sight Malachus had seen all day.

  “No reading or supper tonight,” he told her. “We’re all on guard duty.” Though guarding wagons from mud was a first for him. “What are you doing out here, Halani?”

  She slowly unwrapped her bundle and presented him with a cup from which tendrils of steam wafted. “Broth,” she announced. “Hot.”

  Had he not been on his knees in the mud several times already, Malachus would have knelt in front of her and worshipped. He took the cup, breathing in the scent of herbs and salt. “You are a goddess,” he proclaimed.

  “If I was, I’d stop the rain.” She produced a small hunk of bread from the magic bundle. “Here. This is for the broth.”

  He thanked her for both, then admonished her. “You shouldn’t be out here, Halani.”

  “Unlike this road, I’m not going to melt.”

  Her statement encapsulated every fear every free trader trapped on the road had.

  Malachus finished the food in short order, shaking the cup to capture the last drop. “I think that was the best I’ve ever had.”

  Halani laughed. “As you’ve had to swallow a vat of willow-bark tea recently, I’m not at all surprised you’d say that.”

  He considered telling her to return to her wagon and get dry, then thought better of it. She was an adult woman who made her own decisions. And while they couldn’t read in this mess, it didn’t mean they couldn’t have a lesson.

  “What is the letter that looks like half a pheasant’s tail?”

  At his quizzing, her eyes rounded with delight, and she eagerly followed his lead as the rain cascaded down on them.

  She stayed with him through the night, refusing to leave even when he teased her over her numerous yawns. Their sleepy levity faded as the gray light of another wet day revealed land that was now a lake.

  Kursak called a gathering of the caravan. “The road’s falling apart as I speak, and we’re turning into an island. I’m open to ideas for how we can get out of this with the caravan intact.”

  One of the free trader women spoke, saying aloud what everyone already knew. “Even if the rain stopped tomorrow, the rest of the road won’t be fit to travel for several days.”

  “What about the old fen road?” Nathin’s gaze swept the crowd. “We’d have to double back about a league, turn west, then south. It would put us back on the main road not far from Domora. We’d have about a day’s travel east to get there, but the entire trip would take less time than waiting for this road to dry.”

  Unfamiliar with the landscape, Malachus thought Nathin’s suggestion a good one. Others did not.

  “Through Hedock’s Fen?” Seydom scowled. “Are you jesting? If the rains are washing out roads here, that fen is a shallow sea by now.”

  “But not the road itself. When the old emperor ordered it built, his engineers knew the fen would flood from just a spat of rain, so they elevated it high enough to stop it from going underwater when the fen did.” He looked to Kursak. “It’s more a causeway than a road.”

  Kursak frowned, hesitating. “I don’t know.”

  Malachus gaped at him. “Why not? If it’s elevated, we can get across.”

  “Because crossing the fen isn’t the problem. The fen road ends not far from Icsom’s Retreat. It’s bandit country there. Most free traders avoid it and stick to the safer, more traveled roads.”

  “There are enough of us to defend ourselves if we’re attacked.” Nathin nodded at each man standing in the group, including Malachus. “All of us know our way around an ax or a bow.”

  Kursak still hesitated. “Some of those raiders travel in bands as big as twenty.”

  “We’re more than that.”

  “We are, only if you count the women and children.”

  They were getting nowhere with the two men volleying back and forth. Against his better judgment, Malachus had already questioned Kursak’s hesitation in taking the fen road, and once again he ignored the voice that told him he wasn’t a free trader or an elder of this group. “However you decide, you should know that if we get another day of rain, the floodwaters will reach us here. The travelers at risk now are probably already retreating. We can block the way of those behind us, but we’re also blocking the ones in front. If they can’t get out of the way because of us, and they can’t go around us, they’ll go through us. If you’re avoiding the fen road because you fear confrontation and fighting, you’ll end up facing it against people trying not to drown instead of those wanting to steal. A desperate man in fear of his life makes a more formidable opponent than a greedy one.”

  A heavy silence descended on the group until Kursak broke it. “I want to see the upper road myself. When I get back, you’ll have my decision. Be ready to move in case I choose the fen road.” He left to find a mount, and the group dispersed for their wagons and any tasks they needed to complete in anticipation of moving.

  Halani laid a hand on Malachus’s arm. “I’m glad you said what you did.”

  He basked in her approval. “I’m not one of you, but it seemed wrong not to say something.”

  “Until you leave, you are one of us. Kursak is a reasonable man. You made a reasonable argument. I’ll be surprised if we aren’t on our way toward the fen road by midday.”

  She was right. Pale and even grimmer than before, Kursak returned to the caravan, snapping out orders before he’d even dismounted from his horse. “We’ll leave the road and cut across the spots where the land rolls higher.” He eyed Halani. “We’ll need you for this.”

  Need her for what? Malachus had no time to ask her nor Halani the time to explain. They began the laborious process of turning the wagons in the opposite direction so that they faced perpendicular to the stretch of half-drowned rye grass.

  Halani strode to the front of the caravan line, a poplar staff in one hand, eyes half closed as she stared into the distance. Kursak came to stand beside Malachus for a moment as he watched Halani.

  “The Empire punishes those who deal in sorcery. It’s a death sentence for them.” The wagon master’s eyes were grave, filled with both threat and warning. “If you have any affection for the woman who pulled you back from death’s threshold, you’ll say nothing to anyone outside this caravan about what you see.” He walked away then to join Halani, leaving a perplexed Malachus to mull over his words. He understood soon enough why Kursak said what he did.

  She denied any knowledge of earth magic or the skill to use it, had warned him of the dangers of even alluding to some power she might have, fearful of the Empire’s eyes and ears. Yet now she called forth the hymn of earth, her entire being centered on its song, to guide her and the slow-moving caravan over treacherous ground to reach their destination.

  Except for the creak of
wagon wheels and the occasional bleat from a ewe, they moved in silence, mindful of Halani’s concentration as she led them across waterlogged pastures. They had to stop twice, once to heave a wagon that had veered off the narrow path out of the mud, another time to partially unload and reload the heaviest wagon so it, too, wouldn’t sink.

  The journey took an eternity, and night rushed toward them as Kursak’s triumphant whoop burst into the silence. “The fen road!” he shouted, pointing to a narrow causeway just ahead of them.

  A cheer rose from the caravan, and Kursak snatched a wilting Halani into his arms to twirl her around. Several of the other men did the same, including Nathin and Seydom, until Halani raised her hands in surrender and begged not to be twirled again. She stared at Malachus with glassy eyes as he approached her.

  He stroked her cool cheek with two fingers, noting the violet shadows under her eyes, the paleness of her mouth. “Well done, daughter of earth,” he said softly.

  “It was, wasn’t it,” she replied with a sweet smile before blood spurted from her nose. Her eyes rolled back and her legs crumpled beneath her. She collapsed in his arms.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The distant chime of the courtyard’s gate bell sounded in the solarium. Gharek stiffened. A visitor at this late hour didn’t bode well. He watched his daughter where she sat across from him on the floor. She ignored the chime to study the cards laid out between them in a neat square, their faces beautifully illustrated and used to hide the winning numbers on their undersides. Her small features pinched with concentration.

  “You have to pick sometime, Estred,” he told her. “It’s not going to flip over by itself.”