Dragonlands, Books 1 - 3: Hidden, Hunted, and Retribution

by Megg Jensen

  Bastian dropped his fists and laughed. “You’re scared of a bunch of eggs?” He sauntered back into the cave and sat down on one. Hard ridges poked through his pants, but he gritted his teeth and pretended to be comfortable. All day Elinor had told him what to do. He wanted to show her he could make decisions too.

  “Bastian, don’t.” She took a step backward, then another.

  He rapped on one of the eggs. “See, it’s fine. Nothing to be afraid of. We can sleep in here just like you suggested.”

  “It’s not the eggs I’m afraid of.” She retreated a bit farther away from the mouth of the cave.

  “Elinor, my friends killed Stacia. She’s not coming here for eggs. And they haven’t hatched. They’re harmless.” He took a glance around the cave at the blue eggs. Though they were all of equal size, each of them was a little different. Slight variations of blue, but each eggshell had unique veined patterns.

  Elinor finally stood still. “No, someone will. Stacia wouldn't have kept her eggs out in the forest. It’s too dangerous. Too easily discovered.” She shook her head, her eyes wide. “Someone, or something, brought them. We’re not safe here.”

  Bastian was about to respond with more reassurances, when a scrabbling at the back of the cave gave him pause. Cautiously, he stood up and turned around.

  “Hello?” he called out.

  “Bastian,” Elinor hissed. “Get out of there now! The mother will come back for these eggs! We don’t want to be here when that happens.”

  He ignored her pleas. He reached to his hip, but his sword wasn’t there. He cursed in his head. He hadn’t even thought to ask Elinor about his steel before they snuck out of the town. Now he stood defenseless against whatever was in the back of the cave.

  Bastian walked backward, closing the distance between him and Elinor while giving the mystery noise in front of him a wide berth. He should have listened to her in the first place. His attitude would get him in trouble again.

  Her fingers brushed his and Elinor yanked him back. She peeked around his side and together they peered into the dank cave, stinking of mold and stifling air.

  “It’s too late to run,” he told her. He refused to turn his back on a potential enemy.

  She punched him. “I know that. If you would have listened to me earlier we’d already be gone. If you are gravely injured, I can’t heal you again. Not for another moon. I can bandage you and give you the proper medicines and salves, but I cannot bring you back from the brink of death yet. You’d better hope you made the right decision.”

  They stood together, unsure whether to flee or wait to see what it was. Silently, they agreed to stand their ground. Another set of scrabbled pebbles caused Bastian’s heart to race faster. Sweat pooled around the collar of his shirt and his fists involuntarily clenched and unclenched.

  “Did you hear that?” Elinor asked.

  Bastian didn’t hear anything.

  Elinor stepped out from behind him. Bastian reached out to grab her, but his fingers only grazed the edge of the hood on her cloak. “Damn woman.” He grumbled and took off after her.

  Elinor disappeared into the dark recesses of the cave. Bastian hesitated where the light marked the edge of the darkness. He’d never been afraid of the dark, but lately too much had hidden in the places light didn’t touch. Destruction had hidden there. Death.

  Bastian swallowed the rock in his throat and stepped into the darkness after Elinor. Following her soothing voice, he made his way to her.

  “Bastian, I can’t pick him up. He needs help.” Elinor pleaded with him.

  Bastian made his way to her and knelt, pebbles and rock stabbing his knees through his breeches. “What is it?”

  “Not what, but who,” Elinor said. “It’s a man. He’s injured and needs our help. Oh, if only I hadn’t wasted all of my healing on you or I could help him too. I didn't bring any poultices or extra herbs.”

  Bastian fumbled in the dark until he found Elinor’s small hand. She guided him to the body. Bastian heaved the man over his shoulder.

  Bastian rose to his feet, encumbered by the listless body. He followed Elinor’s voice back to the sunlit portion of the cave, though the light was fading fast. Bastian wound his way around a few of the eggs to a clear patch where Elinor had spread her cloak on the ground.

  Bastian laid the man down gently.

  “He’s naked,” Elinor said, concerned. “Take off your cloak and cover him.”

  Bastian draped the cloak over the sandy-haired man’s body. Only then he looked at the man’s face.

  It couldn’t be.

  He was dead.

  Bastian had seen him die.

  Elinor smoothed back the hair draped over his face and Bastian was certain.

  “Connor.”

  Elinor looked up in surprise, her eyes wide and her little pink mouth open. “You know him?”

  Bastian nodded. He fell to his knees. He hadn’t thought he’d ever see his best friend again. Tressa had muttered something about Connor before he passed out in the medical ward. Bastian couldn’t remember what she’d said. Something about dragons and Connor. All Bastian could think of was the moment when Connor had died, lashed into pieces by that evil Stacia and her braid laced with metal shards.

  What had Tressa tried to tell him? Had she known Connor was alive?

  “His name is Connor. He’s from Hutton’s Bridge.” Bastian grasped his friend’s hand in his. He was thinner, his hair was longer, and a scraggly beard covered his face, but it was definitely Connor.

  Elinor looked between the two men. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Now that the fog is down, there will be more of you wandering around out here.”

  “No,” Bastian said, “he was with me and Tressa the whole time. He’s the one Stacia killed that day in Ashoom.”

  Elinor shook her head, her blond curls falling over her shoulders. “I heard about it, but didn’t see it. Stacia was a cruel leader. I refused to attend any of her so-called group absolutions. She was trying to make the townspeople fear the dragon under her command.” She spit on a kerchief and rubbed away the blood on Connor’s face.

  “He is alive, isn’t he?” Bastian asked. He’d already seen Connor die once before. It was almost like a dream to imagine his friend alive again.

  Elinor rolled her eyes. “His chest is moving. Breath is escaping between his lips. He even made noises that attracted our attention to him. I would think it’s safe to say that, yes, he is alive.”

  Bastian squeezed Connor’s hand. He didn’t receive any sort of physical reply. He searched Elinor’s face, but all she had to offer was concern for Connor. “He’s fully alive, right?” With everything he’d seen these past weeks, he was no longer certain about the borders between life and death. The woman in the tree had taught him that.

  Elinor’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, he is fully alive. He appears to be so.” She laid the back of her hand on Connor’s forehead. “He’s not warm either. No fever. In the absence of other symptoms, I don’t feel confident declaring him ill. He looks underfed. Perhaps he’s only starving.”

  “How did he get here? And with these eggs?” Bastian was baffled by the circumstances.

  “We won’t know until he wakes, so let’s do what we can to help him.” Elinor stood and wiped the dirt off her pants. “Stay with him while I check outside for herbs that can help him. If he starts to awaken, don’t let him get up. We don’t know what his stamina is like. I’d hate to have him get up too quickly only to fall and injure himself.”

  Bastian nodded, his eyes on his friend. Settling onto the ground, Bastian tucked the cloak around Connor’s body to keep the cooling night air away from his skin. He couldn’t wait for Connor to wake up. He had so much to tell him. Even more, Bastian had countless questions for Connor. How had he survived such a brutal attack from Stacia’s spiked braid? Where had the dragon claws taken him after he’d been flayed? Had he died only to come back to life or had he only appeared to be dead? Where had he been for the la
st few months and how did he end up naked in a cave filled with dragon eggs?

  Elinor snuck back into the cave, clutching sprigs of dry herbs in her hand. She grabbed a rock the size of her palm off the ground. After tearing the herbs into tiny pieces, she ground them into a fine dust on top of one of the dragon eggs. “It’s the only dirt-free surface,” she said with a shrug.

  She sprinkled the bits into her palm, spat on them, and rubbed her hands together creating a thin paste. “Open his mouth for me,” she instructed Bastian. She stuck her thumb in the paste and rubbed her thumb against the inside of Connor’s cheeks.

  “What will that do?” Bastian asked her, letting go of Connor’s chin.

  Elinor wiped her hands on her skirt. “If he’s feeling any pain, that mixture will help to relieve it. Since he’s already asleep, and possibly in some kind of stupor, I didn’t want to give him anything that would make his sleep deeper. It could kill him. Sleeping draughts are very potent.”

  Bastian nodded. He remembered being given one by his uncle Adam, also a healer, not long ago after he’d emerged injured from the fog. He took a deep breath and marveled at how strong he felt. Elinor’s healing powers were beyond compare. He’d fostered a deep distrust of magic after seeing it used for so many evil purposes. He was glad to know some could use it for good.

  “What can we do for him now?” Bastian asked, eager for his friend to wake up. He missed Connor, especially with Tressa gone. Once they were back together, all would be right with the world. And Tressa would be thrilled to know Connor was alive. He was her best friend too, and the glue that had held them together.

  Elinor wrapped her arms around herself. The air only became cooler as the night dragged on. Her cloak was still under Connor, shielding him from the ground. “We can do nothing but wait. If he doesn’t awaken by morning, I’ll head back to Ashoom and fetch one of my fellow healers. We’ll take care of him while you escape.”

  “You can’t take him back to Ashoom. They’d kill him as surely as they’d kill me,” Bastian insisted. “He’ll have to come with me.”

  “He’s in no condition to travel.” Elinor glared at Bastian. Despite being small, she had no qualms standing up to him. “Not that far at least. We can bring a litter and carry him to Ashoom. I’ve taken an oath to heal and letting you whisk him away on a boat will only make him sicker.”

  “You don’t even know what’s wrong with him,” Bastian retorted. “He might just be really tired after a long trek.”

  “He’s naked and unconscious.” Elinor rolled her eyes. "Men.” She folded her arms across her chest. Once again Bastian forced himself to look away from his one weakness.

  “I brought extra clothes for you." Elinor pointed to the pack on the ground near the entrance. "He can have them when he wakes up."

  Bastian nodded. She'd thought of everything.

  “I am a healer. One of the best. If not the best. And the strongest in magical healing. Trust me. I know what I’m talking about. For now, we need our sleep too. It’s been a long day for you too. Not long ago, you were passed out, on the beginning of months of healing. Without me, you wouldn’t be able to stand, much less argue with me. Now shut your mouth, lie down, and go to sleep. We’ll talk about this in the morning.” She pointed to Connor’s back. “You there. I’m against his front. We’ll keep him warmer this way.”

  Bastian obeyed without question. He’d never let a woman push him around like Elinor did. It was probably because he was tired and still healing. He stretched out next to his best friend and fell asleep within a few breaths.

  Chapter Eight

  Fire burned in Tressa’s chest, every breath searing a new wound in her lungs. Her lips chapped, beaten by the relentless wind. Bits and pieces of dried skin dangled and blood crusted in the cracks between. The desert was a hard, unforgiving place, devoid of all life.

  She’d grown up surrounded by trees and damp fog. Here, her clothes hung on her, thin as peeling bark and stiff as corn stalks just before harvest. Her hair, once bouncy and thick, hung limp on her face, beaten down by the gritty sand that flew through the air like raindrops.

  She hated the Sands and the days they’d spent on the horses.

  But Jarrett had allies and friends in the Sands, not to mention influence with the queen. People would help them uncover the mystery of Hutton’s Bridge. First the fog shrouding the village in a misty sarcophagus, then the disappearance of everyone who lived there. The red dragons sniffing around the village only compounded the mystery.

  Still, she regretted leaving Bastian behind again. She was always doing that. Telling him she’d be back, only to sneak away on another adventure. She wished there was some way she could see him and explain why she’d chosen another path yet again. Bastian trusted her. She believed that with all her heart, but she couldn’t expect him to wait on her forever.

  She wasn’t sure she’d do the same, though perhaps it seemed that way to everyone in Hutton’s Bridge. She’d never loved any other man, even after her time with Bastian was dissolved due to her inability to get pregnant.

  There were times, though, when she wondered if another man could turn her head. A man outside of Hutton’s Bridge, if such a man even existed. She glanced at Jarrett out of the corner of her eye. He sat erect in the saddle, his resolute, brown eyes scanning the desert for signs of trouble. He’d kissed her twice now. Despite her feelings for Bastian, she’d liked it more than she wanted to admit.

  Jarrett's lips had felt different than the other men’s. Stronger. Sure. As if he were trying to help her remember something they’d once shared. It unnerved her and turned her on at the same time. But there was Bastian. And she still loved him—she thought.

  It was too confusing. She resolved to tuck these thoughts away where they wouldn’t disturb her. Instead she looked ahead, hoping, praying, that the oasis Jarrett was leading them toward would shimmer into view. So far she’d spied nothing more than sand upon sand upon sand.

  Jarrett’s horse stumbled, then fell to the ground, legs folded. Jarrett fell out of the saddle, hitting the ground hard on one shoulder.

  Tressa gasped and slid off her horse, landing in the slippery sand. She ran to Jarrett. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, but my horse isn’t. I was hoping they could get us to the first oasis, Camel’s Back.” His voice scratched, muffled behind the scarf wrapped around his face. He’d offered her one and she’d stupidly rejected it.

  “How much farther?” Tressa asked, doubting he could offer an answer. The desert looked the same no matter which direction she checked.

  Jarrett pointed. “Not far to the west. Over that dune.”

  Tressa squinted. She couldn’t even see a dune in the distance. She laid a hand on Jarrett’s. His hand was steady, sure, as he stroked the dying horse’s mane.

  “I don’t want to leave him here to die.” Jarrett’s voice cracked. He looked up at Tressa. “But if we stay, we’ll die too. We have to move on.” He stood up and clasped Tressa’s hand. “You ride. I’ll lead the way.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’ll walk too.”

  A muffled laugh came from behind his scarf. “You will ride because you’re not used to the sand. I am. This is my home.” He spread his arms out wide. “This is where I thrive. Trust me, you need to ride the horse.”

  She stroked her horse’s dappled coat. “But won’t it hurt him if I do? I don’t want him to die like yours.” She risked another glance at the ailing horse. Foam spittle gathered at his lips. His eyes were closed. Perhaps he was dead already. No, the stuttered rise and fall of his chest told her he was still alive and suffering.

  “Your horse is stronger. That’s why I chose him for you,” Jarrett said. “I didn’t have time to secure a better horse for myself. We left Ashoom so quickly. I took what I could get. It didn’t ever occur to me that we’d be coming here. These horses aren’t made for the desert. I think yours will be okay, though.”

  Tressa’s heart ached. “But we can’t just
leave yours here to die.” Her hand rested on her hilt. She’d never killed an animal before. In Hutton’s Bridge, they raised a small herd of cows, pigs, and chickens to provide meat for the community, but it was the job of the butchers to kill the animals when their time came.

  “I’ll do it,” Jarrett said. “It’s my horse.” He grasped Tressa’s shoulder. “But if your horse should falter, you will have to pull your blade. It is the only way to honor the animal’s service.”

  She nodded and hoped fervently that her horse would make it to the oasis.

  Jarrett pulled his sword from the scabbard. He knelt and whispered in the horse’s ear, then patted its neck. Jarrett’s forehead met with the horse’s muzzle. Together, they breathed as one. He stood quickly and drove his sword into the horse’s heart.

  Tressa swallowed hard when the sword pulled free, the sucking sound nearly forcing the food out of her stomach. Again, she prayed for her horse’s good health. If it came down to it, she would show the same respect Jarrett had. She just hoped she wouldn’t be forced to.

  “Let’s go,” Jarrett said. He pulled a cloth from his pack and cleaned his blade, red and sticky with blood. “The longer we take, the harder it will be on you and your horse.”

  “I’m fine. Really,” Tressa insisted as she mounted. Really, she wasn’t. Her eyes burned more with every blink. Sand stuck to her teeth, making them grit and grind with every word. Each breath felt like swallowing a double-edged sword. Only the promise of the oasis, with its tents and cool water, convinced her not to lie down next to the dead horse, letting the sand bury her alive.

  Jarrett took hold of the horse’s lead and began walking in the direction he’d pointed earlier. Tressa sat up straight, determined to make things as easy as possible for her horse, but in what felt like only moments, she’d slumped forward, leaning her body across the horse’s neck. Her arms dangled to the side, her hands limp and useless in the hot afternoon sun.

  A nudge at her lips brought her out of her stupor.

  “Drink,” Jarrett said.

  She lay limp, too weak to tilt the canteen. Jarrett held it for her, letting the water drip into her mouth. Water dribbled over her lips. The cool droplets cascaded over her tongue and into her throat. Tressa felt a smile spread across her face as she lost consciousness.