Dragon Red: A Fire Unfed (The Dragonlords of Xandakar Book 2)

by Macy Babineaux

  He nodded at her. She leaned forward, taking some of his pitch black hair between her fingers. The dagger must have been honed to a razor’s edge, because he felt nothing as she cut a lock free.

  She scooted toward the clay pot in the center of the hut and tossed in the lock, sending up a puff of smoke. The stench of his own burnt hair stung his nose, and he turned away. But the witch was hovering over the tiny pot now, grinning from ear to ear.

  She reached out for his hand, which he reluctantly offered. She held it over the pot, and he thought she might plunge his hand into whatever foul liquid bubbled there. Instead, she bent her head down quickly, sinking her teeth into the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.

  He cried out and tried to jerk back, but she held his hand in both of hers as if with iron pincers. She was far stronger than she looked. Her teeth broke the skin, and when she pulled back and smiled at him her teeth and lips were red with his blood.

  He pulled again, but she held his hand tight as crimson drops trickled into the pot.

  When she seemed satisfied, she let go of his hand. He snatched it back, holding it to his chest. The bite marked his hand like a bloody crescent moon. The wound burned, as if he had been bitten by some poisonous animal. Perhaps he had. The witch had taken the form of a crow when he first saw her, but maybe she could take others.

  She ignored him now, her eyes staring down into the tiny steaming clay pot. Something from within began to glow, at first a dull orange, then brightening to white. The light radiated upwards, casting weird shadows across Cordella’s face, which was now fixed in a mask of dark glee.

  “I see,” she said, her voice no longer young and teasing, but old and leathery.

  He clenched his hand to stem the bleeding, drops now falling on the black fur. He was tempted to lean forward, to try to see what she was seeing, but he decided he would rather sit back and let her tell him. The look on her face was frightening, a rictus of sick joy and fascination, and he wanted no part in it. He did want to know, though.

  “What?” he asked. “What do you see?”

  She nodded, her unblinking eyes rolled to the whites, reflecting the pale yellow light.

  She began to speak then, falling into a cadence, almost a chant.

  “Brother, father, sister, three.

  One is banished, one is free.

  One betrays and pays the fee.

  One sits a throne that's meant for thee.”

  Riddles, he thought. I should have expected no less. He could not picture his father’s face, and he could not remember any sisters. But—

  Care for a drink, brother?

  He almost had something, a piece of a memory as if torn from a patchwork. But before anything could solidify in his mind, the witch was chanting again, breaking his concentration.

  "Without the flame, our world is dead.

  Feed the fire that remains unfed."

  She was speaking nonsense now, and he was angry that she had scattered his thoughts. But he tried to focus on her words. There was some chance they might be important. He wanted to interrupt her, to make her simply tell him his name. That was what he wanted to know above all other things.

  “Deep in the forest lies the key.

  An object of power only you can see.

  Without it you will die.

  Only with it will you fly.

  Find your future in the Ironroot Tree.”

  What forest? He felt the anger starting to rise in him again. He wanted to stop this, to take her by the shoulders and shake her out of her trance. He wanted simple, straightforward answers.

  "With wings restored, you must fly soon.

  Your memories lie in the lost lagoon."

  The light in the pot faded. The witch’s eyes closed, and when they opened again, she blinked. Her eyes had returned to normal. She looked at him, confused.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Gods, he thought. She didn’t even remember what she had said.

  “You spoke in riddles,” he said.

  She sat back on the fur, looking confused. “That has never happened to me before.” Her voice was light, that of a young woman once more, not the croaking incantations of the ancient crone hovering over the glowing pot.

  “Your words were nonsense,” he said. “No use to me.”

  “What did I say?”

  He stood up, pulling back on the scaled armor skin. “This was a waste of time,” he said. “You mentioned the Ironroot Tree.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “I know this place. It lies deep in the Hartglade Forest, far to the east. It is remote and dangerous. What did I say about it?”

  “You said it was the key,” he said. “You said my future was there, that it held an object of power. But why are you the one asking me questions? You were supposed to give me answers.”

  “There is a special bird," she said. "A white hawk that lives only in this tree. In my vision I saw a white feather."

  He stopped, wondering now. Was she just toying with him again? A magic feather?

  "You said that with this thing I would fly," he said. "Which is nonsense. I remember very little, but I am no bird."

  "No," she said. "You are a dragon."

  He started to laugh, but then stopped. The look on her face was without mirth.

  "What do you mean a dragon?"

  “You are the eldest son of Karth,” she said. “You are the Prince of the Red Dragons, the true heir to the Throne of Fire. Your name is Kaladon Wildfire.”

  He took in the words, but they had no meaning. The names she said meant nothing to him.

  "I do not know a Karth, nor a Kaladon," he said. "And I definitely do not feel like a dragon."

  "Something happened to you," she said. "What I know not. But it sapped your power and stole your memory."

  "The last thing you said was that my memories were in the lost lagoon."

  "The Emerald Isle," she whispered. "Your path his clear, Kal Wildfire. You must seek out the feather of the white hawk in the Hartglade Forest. It will restore your powers of transformation and flight. Then you must travel west to the Emerald Isle and bathe in the Lost Lagoon. That will restore your memories. Only then will you find the answers you seek."

  He had wanted to know who he was, and if the witch was to be believed, he was royalty in a dragon clan. That might explain the armor and the resistance to the heat, but the knowledge did little more than frustrate him further. He had hoped the saying of his name would release some dam in his mind, allowing all the memories to flood back. Instead, the crow woman was setting him on what sounded like a long journey. But was that such a bad thing? At least he would have a purpose. And though she was clearly a witch, he also sensed a true desire to assist him.

  He took a deep breath and sighed. "In which direction lies this Hartglade Forest?"

  2: Thalia

  Sunlight filtered through the canopy of the treetops overhead, dappling the forest floor with a mosaic of warm light. She had wandered far from the warren this morning to collect dewberries.

  She hadn’t needed to go this far. There were plenty of bushes thick with the plump, ripe fruit. But she found herself traveling further and further from home each time. If her mother had asked her why, she might have shrugged. But somewhere deep down, she knew the answer.

  Her whole life had been here, in this one spot. Hartglade Forest was a beautiful place, at least the small part of it in which she lived. She hadn’t ever been more than a day’s walk from the warren, if that. Her father would tell her there was no reason. Everything they needed, everything they would ever need, was right here.

  The spring ran with cool, clear water all the way down from the mountains in the Icelands. The trees and bushes provided them with a bounty of nuts and berries. Her family tended a lush garden full of cabbages, turnips, carrots, and sweetroot.

  When they were cold, or danger grew near, they took rabbit form and moved into the tunnels underground. That was also where they kept their food stores. A
nd as her father liked to tell her when she complained about anything, she had never known hunger or any other kind of need.

  But that wasn’t exactly true, was it? Some part of her needed to leave this place, to see the wider world. Xandakar was massive, if the tales of travelers were to be believed, filled with all manner of creatures and people, as well as wonders that had to be seen to be believed. In her dreams she wandered through the dense jungles of the Emerald Isle, scaled the snow-capped peaks of the Icelands, and traversed the great deserts in the west. But only in her dreams.

  Her real life was pleasant enough. She had loving parents, four sisters, and a community that truly looked after one another. The breezy blue dress she wore had been made by Beddie Brownbuck. Her mother had helped her make the sandals she wore. She had a hard time making friends, but that was her own fault, really. Most of her kind were naturally shy, but she was the shyest of all.

  Several young men in the warren had approached her, to ask her questions or tell her how pretty she looked. But each time her stomach had clenched as blood rushed into her face. Each time she had to get away as soon as possible. The boys thought perhaps she was just picky. The girls thought she was a snob.

  She wanted to be with a young man. There were several in the warren that were handsome enough. She’d never even kissed a boy, so she wondered what all the fuss was about. But the thought of actually doing it made her seize up with panic. What if she wasn’t good enough? What if he didn’t like how she did it? Or her breath? No, better to just avoid the embarrassment of it altogether.

  So her favorite times were these, when she was alone, picking berries in the woods. She was supposed to pair up, to never venture out by herself. As her father liked to say, the forest gave them everything they needed for a full, happy life, but it was also home to threats that could easily take that life away in an instant. But she had never really felt that her life or the lives of those she loved were truly in danger. Once or twice a year the alarm might sound, the network of brass bells hung up around the warren. Everyone would transform and duck into the tunnels beneath the village, huddling and waiting.

  Only once had she ever known the threat to be real. A bear shifter from the northern part of the forest had been spotted heading toward the warren, slashing and knocking down everything in his path. Later they said he had gone mad, though she had never heard why. He had destroyed two of the homes in her village, though not her family’s. And he had sniffed and snorted at the southern entrance to the tunnels, clawing at it with his great paws. As they huddled together in the lower chambers, the bear’s great roar had rumbled through the earth. She had been frightened then, her heart thumping as she sat snug between her sisters, her ears flat against her back. But before long the bear moved on, perhaps realizing he would never reach them.

  There were at least two wolf clans near the warren as well. But as a general rule shifters did not hunt or kill other shifters, even if their animal forms were predator and prey. There was no reason to kill for food. There was plenty in the forest. And there was no need to go to war. Her kind had no riches or resources anyone would want.

  But rules were rules, and she broke them nearly every morning. Her father would have been angry if he knew, but her mother would likely just have smiled and shaken her head.

  She took a deep breath, taking in the fresh smells of the forest in the morning. She plucked a fat, ripe berry from a bush and plopped it into her mouth. The juice burst as she bit into it, the perfect mixture of sweet and tart. Her basket was nearly full, so she put it down and sat on a bed of freshly-fallen leaves. Her father was right. She should be happy with her life here. But she couldn’t help imagining what it might be like to just keep going in the same direction that brought her out here. What direction was it? West? If she kept right on walking, that would take her to a place she had never been, straight out of the forest. Perhaps she would see the One Tree, home of the conclave of owls. And beyond that, still traveling west would be the deserts and mountains, home to the red dragons.

  But her dreams were just dreams. She couldn’t leave her family or her warren, as much as she might want to, even for a short time.

  She started to get up when she heard a sound that chilled her heart.

  The bells were ringing. The sound carried high through the trees in the still forest air.

  She thought about just hiding somewhere nearby. If there truly was a threat to the warren, she’d likely be safer just staying here. But then she thought of her family. They’d be worried, huddled down in the tunnels, not knowing where she was. No, better to risk them being angry with her for straying too far and arriving late than not coming at all.

  The fastest way would be in rabbit form. So she shifted, her light cotton dress falling to the forest floor as she hunched over, feeling her body shrink. Her ears grew as her fingers shortened, soft brown fur puffing out across her skin. Soon she was a rabbit, her white-tipped paws thumping against the earth as she bounded toward home.

  She thought about her clothes and the basket of berries she had left behind as she ran, ducking under brush. She would need to remember where they were so she could come back for them later. But these thoughts faded as she grew closer to the warren.

  The bells had stopped, but now new noises were carrying toward her, picked up by her long, sensitive ears. And these new sounds turned her blood cold.

  She stopped, sitting up on her hind legs and perking her ears forward to hear better, even though she wasn’t sure she really wanted to. What she thought she heard were the sounds of fighting. She couldn’t be sure because she had never heard such sounds before. Her people didn’t craft or use weapons.

  She heard screams. She heard the crackle of flame and sniffed at the air, smelling the smoke. And below it all she heard low hissing noises.

  No, she thought. Please no. Who would attack their warren? What could they possibly want?

  Now she was fixed to the spot with fear. If she kept moving forward, she would put sights to the ugly sounds in her ears. She didn’t want to do that. Besides, she would only put herself in danger. She wasn’t as worried about being hurt as she was helping her family. But what could she possibly do? From the screams, she knew not everyone had made it underground, but she hoped that most had. She hoped her family had.

  She decided to keep moving forward, but slowly, staying hidden beneath the underbrush. As she did, the horrible sounds grew louder. She thought that if she lived through this, those sounds would haunt her for the rest of her life. But what she saw as she poked her head through the brush at the edge of the warren was far worse.

  Every hut was on fire, smoke billowing up into the air. Men wearing green-scaled armor and wielding long spears and curved swords stood among the burning buildings. Dead bodies littered the ground.

  She shook with horror as she scanned the dead. None were from her family, but each was someone she knew. She counted eleven bodies. But hopefully the rest had made it into underground.

  Two of the men stood over the eastern entrance to the tunnels. One crouched, peering into the dark hole. As she watched, a taller man approached. He was bald, massive and muscled, his green armor sleeveless. A pair of swords swung from each hip, coated with bright red.

  He said something to the others she couldn’t hear. Then she watched with growing dread as the first man shifted. At first he looked as if he were simply going to lie down on the ground to take a nap. Then his body grew out, his limbs shrinking until they disappeared entirely. Within a matter of seconds, the man had become a giant green snake. It raised its head, flicking its forked tongue, its yellow reptilian eyes looking up at its leader. Then it opened its jaws with a loud hissing sound before plunging into the hole.

  No, she screamed inside her head. But when the bald man turned his head in her direction she realized she had actually cried out. He pointed and the two men nearest her began to run in her direction.

  She spun around and ran. She didn’t know where she was going
or how she might escape, only that she needed to run as fast as she could. Her only hope was that she was faster. She didn’t have time to think about what she had seen, about the fate of everyone she knew. In a blind panic, she simply sprinted through the woods.

  The sounds of the men crashing through the brush behind her were relentless. She charged forward, hoping the sounds of her pursuers would fade. But in her ears they always sounded right behind her.

  Her heart thudded in her chest. She gasped for air as she ran, her mind wiped of all rational thought by panic.

  Ahead of her a tangle of roots from a nearby oak crossed the path. She leapt high to clear them, but exhaustion and fear had drained her too much. Her left hind paw snagged on the top of a root and she pitched forward, tumbling head over heels.

  She hit something with a hard thud, at first thinking it was a tree. She gathered herself, shook her head, and looked up.

  A man stood over her. The fear washed over her like a bucket of water from a frozen lake.

  He was huge, clad in scaly armor like the snake-men, but his was red. His hair and short beard were the color of pitch.

  This is it, she thought. He’s going to kill me. She was at his mercy, spent of energy and transfixed with fright.

  But he was peering down at her, not with malice, but a look of curiosity. He was one of them, wasn’t he? Was he just toying with her?

  She heard hissing behind her. The man looked up and she turned her head to follow his gaze. The two snake shifters had caught up with her, spears in hand. They crashed through the brush and pulled up short.

  “Nice day for a hunt,” the man in the red armor said, nodding down at her. “But this one doesn’t look like it’s got much meat on it.”

  The snake men raised their spears. She got a good look at them for the first time. They were bald, just like their leader, but young and slender. Their pale green armor clung to their bodies like a second skin.

  “Ssstep aside,” one of them said, the sound of each S drawn out into a hiss. “Or we’ll kill you too. Thisss is none of your businesss.”