*Good. She is ill. She is hot and cold. I am tired and very, very hungry.*
*A feeding is being prepared.* Drakon fumbled to untie the knots in the leather straps binding the woman to the dragon’s back. They had tightened. He used his knife to cut each one. She slid from the pad and he caught her in his arms.
“No,” she screamed.
“You’re safe,” he said.
Radlan arrived with a barrow of butchered meat. He pushed the feeding to the green’s head. “What else can I do?”
“See to the green. I’ll take his passenger to Sofona.” As Drakon stepped into the morning light, he noticed the color of the young woman’s hair. Could she be his childhood friend?
*She is Arana,* the Old One said. *Though not of kin near or far to those of High Peaks, she was loved by your parents. Verde, the green, is of my lineage. They escaped from Sea Cliff and ask for sanctuary. This is good, for we will need them.*
Arana. She had been his friend. Though she’d been a speaker she had never treated him like a misfit. Drakon hurried to the tower and pushed open the door into the kitchen.
Sofona turned. “Who have you there?”
“Arana. A green dragon brought her from Sea Cliff. She is chilled and burns with fever. I’ll take her to my room since a fire burns there.”
Sofona followed. “I’ll tend to her.”
When they reached his room, Drakon removed the girl’s shawl. When he saw blood on the cloth, he gasped. What had happened to her? He rolled her to her stomach. “She’s been hurt.”
Sofona moved to the bedside. “Lashed is more like it. Bring a pail of heated water. There’s a kettle on the hob.” She felt the girl’s forehead. “Though her hands and feet are icy she burns.” She removed a pair of thin sandals. “Find a pair of heavy stockings. What made her climb on a dragon’s back without proper clothing?”
“I think the beating tells the story.” He took a pair of heavy woolen stockings from his clothespress. He helped Sofona pull them over the girl’s feet. “Besides the water, what will you need?”
“Bring the basket I keep in the kitchen to tend to injuries and a roll of the linen bandages.”
Drakon dashed downstairs. He poured water from the kettle into a pail and put more on to heat. He found Sofona’s basket of medicines and unguents. To these he added a large roll of linen, several cups and spoons.
When he reached the sleeping chamber, the girl was covered to her waist. Sofona had placed toweling on the bedding. She had removed most of the smock except where blood had dried and the cloth adhered to Arana’s skin. The older woman poured the water into a basin, wet a cloth, and placed it on the young woman’s back. “I’ll need more light.”
Drakon opened the shutters to let sunlight into the room. He lit a lantern and held it so Sofona could see the young woman’s back. The older woman removed the wet cloth and picked pieces of material from six bleeding slashes.
Drakon’s arms ached. A ball of anger settled in his gut. What could Arana have done to deserve such brutal punishment? He’d been a slave, but the priestesses had never used a whip. The chief priestess had once flailed him. The lesser ones had other ways to punish the studs for disobedience.
Sofona finally finished cleaning the wounds. Occasionally Arana moaned. Drakon was surprised she didn’t react to the pain the treatment must cause.
*I am keeping her calm so she does not upset the green. He is exhausted.* the Old One said.
Sofona daubed each wound with an herbal wash. On pieces of linen, she spread an earthy smelling ointment and placed them over the wounds. She looked up. “We need her to sit up. You’ll have to get behind and support her so I can bind the dressings to the wounds.”
Arana’s eyes opened. “Where?”
“High Peaks Tower,” Drakon said. “Are you in pain?”
“Not as much as after he beat me. Verde and the Old One have blocked the pain.” She closed her eyes and would have slumped against Drakon. He managed to keep her erect.
Sofona reached for the roll of linen. She wrapped the cloth around the young woman’s chest. Drakon helped as much as he could. “Will she heal?”
“Of course.” Sofona patted Arana’s cheek. “Do not let his foolish question trouble you.” She repacked the basket. “Keep her sitting until I return with some soft pillows and sheepskins. Then I want her to drink some broth and a cup of fever medicine.”
Soon Sofona returned with the skins and pillows. She placed them so Arana was propped and covered.
Drakon pulled a chair beside the bed and studied Arana. His thoughts drifted to the days before the invasion. The girl he’d known was now a woman. She was beautiful. He touched her hand.
“No,” she cried. “I won’t let you.”
“You’re safe. You’re at High Peaks. The green dragon brought you here.”
“Verde. Where is he?” She struggled to free her hand. “I must find him before Lagon destroys him.”
“He’s in the cavern. Radlan took him a large feeding.”
“Are you sure?”
“I saw my friend go to him. Until I escaped from the Temple of Fyre he and Sofona cared for the Old One.”
She met his gaze. “Thank you.”
“Who beat you?”
“Lagon, lord of Sea Cliff Tower.”
Drakon clenched his teeth. Another outrage to lay at Lagon’s feet.
Sofona coughed. She stood in the doorway holding a tray. She set her burden on a table and lifted a cup. “Welcome back to the tower. I’m glad you returned.”
“Do I know you?”
Sofona smiled. “I was one of the maids who cared for the rooms before Lagon came. My father was the steward.” She offered the cup to Arana. “I want you to drink this potion. The herbs will help break your fever and dull the pain.”
Arana drained the cup. “How did you make the medicine taste so good?”
“Mint and honey. Medicine is more easily taken if one looks on it as a treat. After you’ve finished the potion, there is some broth. Then you should sleep.
Drakon rose to leave. Arana shook her head. “Please stay. I’m afraid I’ll wake and find this is a dream.”
He returned to the chair. “I’ll stay until you’re asleep. Then I’ll check your dragon and the eggs.”
“Verde isn’t my dragon. He’s my friend.” She handed him the cup. “What if Lagon comes?”
“He needs a week or more to travel here. The winter storms will arrive before he can reach us. There is but one pass into High Peaks and it’s well guarded.” Drakon frowned. “Does Lagon ride his blue?”
“Only when he drinks the berry tea. Are you really Drakon who was my friend?”
“Yes.”
“They said you were dead. When Lagon told your mother you died on the way to Sea Cliff she cried for days. She said all her hope was gone.”
His anger threatened to spill over. Ranting at Arana would serve no purpose. “He sold me to the slavers. They offered me to the priestesses of the Temple of Fyre for a number of white fyrestones they use in their power wands.”
She looked into his eyes. “When a dragon died, Lagon sells the pelt to the wizards for wine, slaves, and coins.”
“Why does he do this?”
Arana shook her head. “I think they control him in some manner. On one earlobe he wears a blue stone they gave him. How did you escape and return home?”
“The priestesses took me into the mountains to service them while they sought a rebel. I escaped and found a tunnel through to this side.” He clamped his lips together. He wouldn’t tell her about his days in the harras. Thinking about that time filled him with shame.
Arana reached for his hand. “I’m glad you won your freedom. You were my friend. I also cried when I heard you were dead. Years ago when your father learned I could speak to the dragons I was afraid you would hate me.”
“Why? Though I couldn’t be a speaker since the tea made me ill I was glad for you. No one should live as a slave.”<
br />
“All the women at Sea Cliff are slaves.”
“And the men?”
“He calls them servants. They have houses and can go to the village, but their wives are held in the slave quarters. They must obey him.” She yawned.
He leaned forward to kiss her cheek but she turned her head and their lips met. Memories of his treatment in the harras rose. He jerked away.
“What’s wrong? Did the priestesses harm you?”
“Not in the way you think.” He rose and walked to the window. How could he talk about the things the priestesses had forced him to do, and how their punishments had made him suffer.
“Drakon, I’m sorry I made you remember those days.” She held out her hands. “Come to me.”
He swallowed. When he looked up he saw the covers had slid to her waist. The way Sofona had wrapped the dressings left her breasts exposed. She beckoned. The years of conditioning drew him to the bed. “Priestess,” he whispered. He bent and laved her breasts with his tongue.
She gasped. “Drakon, what are you doing?”
The sound of his name broke the spell. He wasn’t in the harras. To the priestesses, he’d had no name. He ran to the door and dashed down the stairs. He feared the lessons of the priestesses would never fade.
* * *
Lagon strode down the stairs from the tower. All was in order. The wizards remained in the village waiting for the dragon’s pelt to complete the tanning process. Two days had passed since Arana’s punishment for her misdeeds. She was the promised one and soon he would have her. He smiled. By now the wounds would have formed scabs. He would fly with the blue. The Sea Cliff red had been made ready for a mating flight.
He stopped in the kitchen for a rolled flatbread, eggs, and sausage, to eat while he toured the dragon pens. He wanted to confirm the red’s readiness for the flight. Sex after a mating flight was always more exciting that at any other time.
“Sire, can I visit the pens with you?”
Lagon turned. “Lorana, why aren’t you at your studies?”
She grinned. “I am your heir and should learn about the dragons. One day they’ll all be mine.”
His jaw clenched. “You are my heir until a son is born and I take a wife. Girls do not become dragon speakers at Sea Cliff Tower. Should I die without an heir your husband will have the right to speak to the dragons.”
She stamped her foot. “That isn’t fair.”
He patted her hand. “Do not fear. I have plans for you. Return to your nurse.”
After his daughter vanished, Lagon continued to the pens. He walked past the ones where the dragons from the captured towers were kept. When he passed the pens of the High Peaks beasts he scowled. Who had helped the red escape? He’d had plans for her after she laid the eggs his blue would fertilize. The wizards would be angry when they learned there would be no red pelt.
He entered the pen of the Sea Cliff red. She moved restlessly about the sandy area. Her growls were loud. He nodded. This afternoon she would fly. He beckoned to the servant who tended this pen. “See that she and the blue have a hearty meal.”
The man laughed. “Cousin, this is her second feeding.”
Lagon glanced at the man and recognized him as a near cousin who had no tolerance for the tea. This deficiency had saved his life during the purge for all possible contenders for the tower.
“This afternoon release her for flight. I will command the blue to follow.”
Chapter Three
Lagon left the dragon pens and strode to the tannery to check the progress of the blue pelt. The huge skin had been divided into four large segments and a number of smaller ones. He smiled. The wizards would be pleased. When he told they there would be a red pelt in the spring they would grant him all he desired.
“How soon can the hides be delivered?” he asked.
“In three days,” the master tanner said.
Lagon turned and walked to the tower. He strode up the stairs and pounded on the doors of the young men from the towers subject to his rule. “Get up and prepare for a mating flight this afternoon.”
The fourth room on this level was empty. The heir of High Peaks should have been there, but the boy had been useless. Lagon touched the blue stone in his earlobe. The sale of the boy to the slavers had brought this gem and a promise from the wizards that Lagon’s heir would be born of a woman from High Peaks.
The doors of the rooms belonging to the three heirs opened. The young men stepped into the hall. “My lord, we eagerly await your command.” They spoke in unison.
Lagon smiled. How well he had trained them. “The Sea Cliff red rises this afternoon. I invite you to join my blue in the flight.” He met their eager gazes. “Who knows, perhaps one of your dragons will outpace mine.”
“Never, my lord.” Again they spoke as one.
“You must try so the flight is a good one.”
The oldest of the three glanced at his companions. “Will we have slaves for the after flight time?”
Lagon nodded. “That can be arranged, unless you would rather watch me initiate the woman I intend to impregnate. Come to the speakers’ room after the midday meal. The flight will take place then.”
He left them and went to the baths for a lengthy soak. From there he reviewed the tallies of the produce from the farms and checked the number of sacks of thorns and berries in the storeroom. There were enough to last through spring if few flights were flown. The condition of the hedges bothered him. Could he persuade the slavers to bring seeds from the Temple of Fyre to replenish the bushes of four towers? That was something to consider when he brought the pelts to them.
He joined the other speakers in the dining room and ate a hearty meal. A full stomach seemed to dull the headache caused by the poisons in the tea. How long could he tolerate the increased intensity of the pain? No dragon speaker lived more than forty years. He must live until his son was born and grown.
His thoughts turned to Arana. In just a short time her body would be his to mark. He would taste her breasts, and do to her all the things he had imagined. Once she drank the tea and flew with the red, she would have no ability to resist him when the flight ended.
His phala stiffened. This time he would have her. This time he would desire her. This time she would give him a son. His teeth and nails would mark her flesh. The wounds on her back would break open. The pain she experienced would intensify the fear he would feed on. When he emptied his seed into her, she would breed. At last he would have the promised heir, and his daughter could be given to the wizards.
He finished a mug of ale and gestured to the steward. “Fetch Arana from the slave quarters and bring her to the speakers’ room.”
Lagon send one of the kitchen slaves to brew the tea from the berries. “Enough for eight. Find three of slaves to service the other speakers.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He strode to the great hall and found the young men waiting. Moments later three slaves arrived. Lagon stared at the door. Where was Arana? She should have arrived with the other women. The slave woman brought he kettle of tea and filled eight cups.
The steward appeared in the doorway. He was alone. “My lord.”
“Where is she?” Lagon asked.
“My lord, I entered the slave quarters and searched every cubicle.” He held a blood-stained smock. “This was there. Some of her belongings are missing. No one has seen her since one of the slaves treated her wounds.”
“Have the rocks below the tower been searched?” Lagon fought to control his rising anger. “Seek her in the dragon pens.” He pointed to the heirs. “Help him search, and tell my servant to delay releasing the red until you’ve finished.”
The men left at a run. When they returned the oldest of the heirs gasped for breath. “She’s not on the rocks, or in the pens.”
A second young man held two sacks. “These held thorns and berries. I found them in the furthest pen. Was there a dragon we didn’t know about?”
Lagon’s hands fo
rmed fists. His anger exploded in a roar. He felt as though his head would burst. How dare she? Someone would pay. Five years ago, the High Peaks red had laid a green egg. Had Arana managed to save the dragonet from destruction? He couldn’t stop what had been set in motion. As soon as the flight ended, he would learn the truth. “The red dragon leaves her pen,” his blue cried.
“To the lounges. The flight is now.” He snatched two cups from the tray and pulled the server toward his lounge. “Drink the tea. You will serve me today.” He drained the second cup and pulled the woman onto the lounge beside him. The poisons of the tea opened his speaker’s path. He spoke to the blue. “Your mate is ripe. Find her before your rivals do.” He turned to the woman. “Listen for the red.”
* * *
Arana woke with a start and wondered how long she’d slept. She heard footsteps outside her room. “Drakon,” she called. The only answer she received was the clatter of boots on the stairs. With a sigh she sank against the pillows. He had avoided her since the kiss. Had it really been that bad?
She frowned. Drakon had caressed her breasts with his mouth. He had wanted the same thing Lagon had, but Drakon’s touch had been tender and so different from Lagon’s brutal assaults. She had called Drakon’s name and he had fled. She didn’t know why. She enjoyed the encounter more than the friendship they had shared as children.
Of course they could have gone no further. Her back hurt too much to think of being with Drakon the way the Sea Cliff servants had lain with the slaves. By Lagon’s order she had been untouched, but she had seen and heard. And wanted, but not with anyone except the boy who had been her friend, and who had often visited her in her dreams.
She sank against the pillows. Her eyes closed and she thought about the day Drakon had been tested with the berry tea. He screamed and thrashed. His mother had forced the antidote down his throat. For days he’d been unable to move his head or keep more than water in his stomach. A decision had been made. He would never be a speaker. What had changed? He spoke to the dragons now.
Dragons of Fyre (Island of Fyre Book 2) Page 4
