Redheart (Leland Dragon Series)

by Jackie Gamber

  “You should have let go.”

  “I did let go.”

  “Should have let go sooner.” She clenched his wing. A sudden crack splattered him with fresh pain. “Ouch! Human! Thought you wanted to help!”

  “I am helping.” She crawled toward his face. “There’s no blood, I think it was just out of joint. Can you move it now?”

  He feebly lifted his wing. It did feel much better, but he still scowled at her, anyway.

  “Now let’s see about this.” She inspected his knuckles, curling his front paws and turning them this way and that. “Looks like you scraped yourself when you attacked that offensive elm tree. You’re bleeding.” She leaned across his foot, grabbed a handful of brown moss, and then dabbed it against his knuckles.

  “Don’t even remember doing that.”

  She tugged at a string from the bottom of her skirt, and a strip of patches peeled away. This she tore in half, and then wound over and around his digits, each paw in turn. “You were very angry,” she said.

  He nodded.

  “I’m sorry. That was my fault.” She tied off the cloth. “I ask too many questions.” She sat back against her heels.

  She did ask a lot of questions. A part of him wanted to blame her. But, looking into her sad eyes, he couldn’t even remember what it was that made him so angry. She hadn’t meant anything, and couldn’t know the years of bottled pain she’d been probing.

  She pushed to stand. The hem of her skirt no longer covered her ankles, and thick drops of blood gathered around the top of her boot. She limped backward. “I won’t come back anymore. I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t want her to leave like this. It was the right thing, he was sure, but he didn’t feel as relieved as he thought he should. “Riza—“

  “You said my name!” She burst into a wide smile that dimpled her cheeks.

  He didn’t know which to react to first, his own surprise, or hers.

  “I’m sorry. What were you going to say?” she asked.

  At that moment, a gray pigeon tumbled from the sky. It landed with a thud against Kallon’s skull and flopped to the ground. A throaty coo burbled from its beak.

  “Oh! Poor thing! It’s hurt.” Riza reached out.

  “Kallon Redheart,” the pigeon called, then went limp.

  Riza flashed her pale face toward Kallon. “Did you hear that?”

  Kallon forgot his soreness and thrust to his feet. His wings stabbed the air. “Something’s wrong. Orman sounds strange.”

  “Who’s Orman?” Riza knelt beside the bird. She nudged it.

  “Is it dead?” Kallon asked.

  “I can’t tell. I don’t think so.”

  “I must go.” He leapt to the air and swerved off toward Orman’s mountain. He glanced back to see Riza scoop the injured bird into her arms. Then he raced on, dreading what he might find. He didn’t understand the feeling, but he flew hard.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kallon swerved to land on the plateau of Orman’s mountain. The wizard’s hut had lost its longstanding battle with gravity, and lay as a pile of wood and mortar pebbles. The stone table was overturned. Crystals of onyx and amber and pale blue lay strewn across the ground like a shattered rainbow. Silvery gray pigeons meandered in dazed circles, heads bobbling. Alarm gripped Kallon’s spine.

  “Orman?” He sniffed at the rubble. Orman’s scent was there, but not strong enough that the man could have been inside the fallen hut.

  His nose led him toward the overturned table. He recoiled at an aggressive and spicy scent. Dragon. No doubt about it. Another dragon had been here only moments before.

  The scent was still strong and easy to follow. Orman’s scent mingled with it, but dropped off the edge of the mountain. Whatever dragon had come had either tossed Orman over the side, or carried him off. His eyes followed the logical path, and came to rest on Mount Gore.

  Mount Gore. Orman had been there plenty of times, and had even stood beside Kallon’s father during council meetings. He was known there as a friend to the dragons. Kallon had no reason to fear for the wizard, and yet, he did fear. Orman’s belongings had been destroyed. No friend of Orman’s would do such a thing.

  Kallon had sworn to never return to that mountain. To follow Orman’s abductor would lead him into a world he had long since abandoned. What would he do once he caught up to them? Demand information? Then what? To Dragonkind, Kallon didn’t even exist anymore.

  Just then, a glare of sunlight caught his eyes. He squinted, searching for the source. He spotted a blurry shape in the distance that, at first, seemed to be a puff of cloud. Then it banked, and sunlight glinted once more, caught on the scales of a white dragon tail. Without thinking, Kallon leapt.

  His wings pumped hard to close the distance. He was getting closer, and could just make out a silhouette against fleecy clouds. Then the white dragon veered and plunged into the thick forest below. Kallon lost sight of him.

  He growled. He’d come so close! He drew up when he reached the spot where he thought the dragon had disappeared, and circled slowly. He peered down at a town wedged tight among green firs and stout pin oaks.

  Wing Valley. It writhed with activity. Greens and Yellows hauled fresh kills onto pallets to dredge them in sauces of red wine and clove. Blues hung artisan-crafted chains and horn ornaments from woven stands. Blacks turned their crystal amulets to glimmer beneath the sun, hoping to catch the eye of passing shoppers. Grays barked prices for dented wing shields and claw cuffs. Browns waved long reeds packed with dried licorice and turmeric, and argued with each other about the logic of gold in weapons, as their smoking sticks choked the air with scent.

  It might have only been yesterday that Kallon had last seen the village. After all these years, it seemed only hours. Remorse threatened to rise in the back of his throat. He stifled it.

  He turned away. He didn’t have any real proof that Orman was in danger. All seemed normal in the village below, and his wing was beginning to ache again. He’d just head back to Orman’s mountain and wait for the wizard there.

  Then he remembered Orman’s hut, or, the lack of it. He remembered the broken and scattered crystals, and he became uneasy again. A disturbing question filtered from the back of his mind to behind his eyes. What would his father do?

  He groaned. Where did that thought come from? Nevertheless, he swung back toward the village, grumbling and practicing the rant he’d turn loose on Orman when he finally reached him. He silently landed on a village path.

  He stood eyeing the scaly crowd. Few faces turned. It appeared that no one was interested in the Red who dropped from the sky to shop. He inched forward to blend in, and to discreetly begin his search.

  “Look, Father!” There was a high-pitched cry from a Blue fledgling. “A Red! You said there were no more Reds.”

  Kallon jerked his head toward the young dragon to hush him with a glare. Instead, he met the suspicious gaze of the youth’s father, presumably, for this massive Blue poked his snout very near to Kallon’s, towering like a wall of granite. “That is right, Son. No more Reds.”

  “They died out with Bren Redheart, the last of the brave,” came another voice. Its owner, a thin Green, pushed his way through the forming gawkers.

  Whispers and murmurs buzzed around Kallon’s ears. He tried to move forward, but the crowd prevented him.

  “Was there not a son?” someone asked.

  “Yes, but he died,” another said.

  “I was under the impression he rejected his father’s ways, and willingly excommunicated.”

  “No, he was too young to take the post, I think. No one knows what happened to him after that.”

  “I was certain he died. I was told he starved to death from grief.”

  “You are all wrong. He went off to hunt the dragon slayer that murdered his father, and was captured by humans.”

  Kallon nearly bellowed in frustration. The dragons gathered too near for him to spread his wings, and babbled so distractedly that they wo
uld not break up to let him through. He was about to stomp a warning, when a low, vaguely familiar voice called quietly over the din.

  “Redheart?”

  His eyes came to rest on a petite Brown. The curve of her delicate horns, and her thick lashes rimming glittering eyes revived a phantom memory.

  “Brownwing?”

  She smiled, and broke through the murmuring crowd. “You remember me.” She arched her neck, nearly pressing her snout to his own. “I am stunned to see you. I thought you were dead.”

  “Others, too, it seems.”

  “Pay them no mind. Come, tell me why you have returned after all these years.” She pressed her shoulder against the wall of surrounding chatter and cleared a path. He followed.

  “I am here only for a moment.”

  “Only a moment?” She paused, and turned. “Then you have not come to claim your station on the council?”

  “I have not.”

  Her head swung around to the path ahead of them. She drew him away from the noisy village path and into the trees. “Then why have you come?”

  He didn’t reply.

  At a nearby clearing, she lowered her rump to a flattened bed of fallen leaves. She curled around to face him, and cocked her head. In the growing silence, he found his eyes trailing the ridges that followed the gentle slope of her spine to the plump base of her tail.

  “I am the only one who still believes you will one day realize your place, and come to rule the council as destiny intends.” One brown paw crossed over the other.

  He forced his eyes from her, and gazed instead toward the sky. “There is another who believes this, and he is as deluded as you. I must go now.”

  She rose. “But you have only just arrived. We have barely spoken.”

  “Yes, but I must go, Vaya Brownwing.” He turned away.

  She was beside him in an instant, pressing her shoulder to his collarbone. “You may have lost count of the years since you left, Kallon Redheart, but I have not. Even after all this time, I watch the skies.” Her snout pressed to his neck, and she purred, shooting a rumble through his legs to the ground. “I cannot let you go so soon.”

  He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the sweet mingle of her heat and breath. “I may be the only one who really knows you, Kallon. You found the ways of a vassal difficult to understand, and instead of blindly choosing your father’s service, you questioned it. I respected you for that.” Her paw rested atop his foot.

  He could hear her heartbeat. He could feel it, pulsing against his claws and rushing vertigo into his brain.

  “It was only natural that you should turn away from all he represented when you lost him,” she said softly, her paw caressing. “You were young and hurting, and you misunderstood his death, just as you misunderstood his life.”

  “You don’t know me, to be saying—”

  “But I accepted this in you. I still accept it.” She breathed across his muzzle. “My father was to speak to your father about promising me to you. We were to be the first crossing of our tribes.”

  He was losing the sound of her voice to the emptiness between his ears. He couldn’t think past her scent. He couldn’t gather intelligent words with her pressing so close. “My father? Your father?”

  She drew back, and smiled gently. “I see in your eyes, you never knew this. That helps me understand.”

  Her distance helped him breathe. “Understand?”

  “It helps me understand why, when your father died, and when you turned from everything he believed in, you turned also from me.”

  He tried to speak, but he had no words. It was true that he never knew. He couldn’t help but wonder if knowing would have made any difference. Gazing into her golden eyes, and feeling the slide of her scales against him, he thought it might have.

  “Go on,” she said. She stepped back and waved her paw. “Rush off to whatever coaxed you into the land of the breathing. But…” Her eyes closed to half-lids. “…promise me you will come again.”

  He shook his head. “I won’t come again, Vaya.”

  Then, afraid she might entice him into promising, he lunged away, leaving her without looking back.

  Chapter Twenty

  Kallon barged through the trees back toward town. He’d allowed himself to be distracted by the Brown, and had lost valuable time. Her words, and her presence, clung to his mind, lingering like the shapeless blotches before his eyes when he stared too long at the sun.

  Back on the dirt path, he wound around carts and wooden slabs. There were a few shelters, some woven with branches and vines to hold supplies or food stores. None were large enough to hide a human, let alone a dragon. For all he knew, the dragon was long gone, anyway, and the wizard with him. He did find a meager scent trail, and followed it to the farthest edge of the town. There his nose gave out, weary from sniffing. He could smell everything and nothing. All odors seemed the same.

  His ears, however, were strong. Whispers came from behind a nearby lean-to, and he crept closer to investigate. Through the spaces between woven twigs, he saw movement. Arms of black leather wrapped fat twine around a set of bony, gray shoulders. A white beard was tossed over one of those shoulders. “Orman?”

  At Kallon’s voice, a pair of dark eyes blinked through the twig slats. “This is no business of yours, dragon,” said a voice that must have belonged to the eyes.

  “What do you do, there?” Kallon peered around the edge of the structure to meet the dark human’s face. A soft sound came from beside him. It was the wizard, bound with twine and sitting on a fat stump. Orman’s head rolled aside, and he moaned again. Blood caked in the corner of his mouth.

  An emotion Kallon had no name for sizzled through his veins. “Who are you? What have you done?” He knocked Orman’s captor off-balance as he pushed forward to free the wizard. Tugging at a knot, Kallon heard the clang of steel against steel. The sound echoed through his memories. He swerved his gaze to the dark human who stood with sword in hand.

  “I said this is no business of yours, dragon.”

  Kallon stared at the gleaming blade and recoiled. Fear, mysterious and murky, chilled him. He felt suddenly small and vulnerable, and helpless against a terror that wrestled for control. He looked to Orman. The wizard’s eyes were on him, calm and knowing.

  “Now, now, Armitage,” said a muted voice. From the trees behind the human emerged a White, whose scales of pearl glinted so harshly with each step that Kallon had to squint.

  “What goes on here? Why have you stolen the wizard?” Kallon asked.

  “My dear Red,” said the White, as he oozed toward Kallon like a widening puddle of spilled milk. “This wizard has not been stolen.”

  “I followed you here. I know you stole him.”

  The White glared at the human in black, who slid his sword back into its sheath. “This wizard is a friend of yours?” asked the White. He circled slowly behind Kallon. “Mind your answer, Red. He is in a dire situation.”

  “What situation?”

  The White sighed, and rested his glittering paw atop Orman’s head. “I fear he is accused of passing secrets. Spying.”

  Kallon reared back. Orman shot to his feet. “Spying!” said dragon and wizard in unison.

  Dragon heads turned from their business toward the shout.

  “Since when have dragons and humans been adversaries?” Kallon asked as Orman struggled against his bindings, paler than Kallon had ever seen him.

  “Since humans began sneaking about on our lands, trying to learn secrets and weaknesses of our Kind.”

  Dragon murmurs erupted. Listeners drew closer, shrinking in slowly toward the scene.

  “What secrets do we keep, that humans must sneak about to learn them?” Kallon wedged himself between the White and Orman. “I can vouch for the loyalty of this human. He knew my mother. My father served as his vassal.”

  “Your father?” The White shot a cold look to the human, who didn’t react, and then to the growing dragon throng, whose whisp
ers grew agitated. “Your father was Bren Redheart?” He smiled, and lowered his snout, arms widening. “The name is honored, of course.” The crowd agreed, and hushed voices echoed the sentiment.

  “I am Kallon Redheart. I vouch for this wizard.” Kallon reached for Orman’s shoulders. The White’s paw stopped him.

  “Kallon Redheart. Yes, I remember. Is this the wizard your father was defending when he was killed? How many years ago was that, exactly?”

  Kallon glanced toward the crowd of dragons, which had gone quiet.

  “Many thought you were dead.” The White’s eyes narrowed. “Have you come finally to claim your place among us?”

  “I come for the wizard.”

  “Ah. Yes. The spy.”

  “He is no spy!”

  Orman slouched back onto the stump, and Kallon reached toward him. The dark human sprang to block.

  “Gentle dragons,” called the White. He darted a paw to stop the human. “This dragon gives word for the wizard’s loyalty, but this dragon is known by name only.” Facing the crowd, he extended his arms. “He is no one to us but a stranger, who claims a name long dead to our Kind. Is there anyone among you who can vouch for him?”

  Kallon turned to the listeners. Each face was a stranger, each pair of eyes as unfamiliar as the next. Not one did he recognize, not one did he expect to speak.

  He looked at Orman, who sat quiet and staring toward the distance. For the first time, Kallon felt ashamed of turning his back all those years ago. He bristled against the feeling, but couldn’t make it disappear.

  “No one?” asked the White. “Not one of you knows this Red?”

  There was movement in the throng. Dragons parted, making room for a Brown. She pressed forward and craned her delicate neck. Kallon again found the gentle face of Vaya Browning. She remained silent.

  “Anyone?” called the White. “Surely someone is willing to claim this Red’s sincerity.”

  Vaya’s eyes set hard on Kallon’s face. She lowered her chin. “Pardon me,” she said quietly to the dragon stranger beside her, and squeezed past. Turning her back, she disappeared into the mass.