“Perhaps this dragon hatching is a fluke,” Nessa said. “A mistake?”
Hunter shook his head. “That’s never happened before.”
“Perhaps it’s a first.”
“Not possible. I would know if it’s happened before. I would have heard something.”
Nessa cocked a brow. “You ever heard of someone being pulled through a magic mirror by a deranged psychopath before?”
“Can’t say I have. Point taken.” He didn’t sound very convinced, but Nessa let it slide, not wanting to argue anymore. She knew who she was and who her family were, and that’s what counted. Nessa was confident that neither of them had even heard of the Twelve Kingdoms, let alone had come from there. Hunter was grasping at straws that didn’t exist.
“What is the point of the Dragon Riders?” Nessa asked, curious.
Hunter sighed. “They were meant to protect us, defend us against any threat. Help us when there was a flood or an earthquake or some other kind of disaster.”
Were, as in past tense? Nessa thought. “And now?”
“Now we just hope that the last few Dragon Riders don’t kill us all.”
Alarmed, Nessa asked, “What do you mean by that?”
“Dragons give their Riders incredible power. But with power comes corruption and greed. The Dragon Riders we have today are the twisted image of what they once were.”
Nessa didn’t know what to say, so she let the subject drop.
∞∞∞
As quickly as the grassland had turned to marshland, it reverted back to solid ground and rolling hills. A few lone trees dotted the landscape between them and the smoking forest that sat a couple of miles away. Even from this distance, the air smelt faintly of burning wood.
Nessa scrambled up the bank, finally leaving the cold, murky water. She was drenched, her clothing heavy and sticking to her body, making the task difficult and hindering her movements. The cool air hit her and Nessa found herself shivering.
At the top of the embankment, she stood beside Hunter, who had wrapped his arms around himself, shaking from the cold. “Come,” he said, nodding to a nearby tree; an old, solitary oak. “We’ll change out of our wet clothes and hang them on the branches to dry.”
Nessa nodded, finding that her teeth were chattering too much to speak.
They dumped all their belongings on the ground amongst the oak’s fallen twigs and roots, everything save Nessa’s messenger bag, which she gently placed on top of a rolled up sleeping bag, not wanting to disturb the resting dragon hatchling.
Nessa quickly discovered that while her messenger bag and dragon were safe and dry, the bag containing her clothing hadn’t faired so well. The bottom was soaked through, as were much of the sides. Groaning, praying that something had been spared, Nessa poured the contents onto the ground. All hope of dry clothing faded as she looked at the half wet mess.
Muttering a low curse, Nessa dropped to her knees and dug through the sodden pile, ascertaining that not a single item had been spared. Every top, tunic and pair of leggings had a sizable damp patch somewhere on it. She sorted through her clothing, deciding to wear the least damp thing. While it wasn’t ideal, it would be better than what she currently had on. With limited options, thanks to the bandits and the river crossing, Nessa was forced to go with the dress, which had been in the middle of her bag, protected from the worst of the soaking, only being wet around the hem.
Nessa looked over at Hunter, finding him digging around in his bag, which, infuriatingly enough, was bone dry. Must be nice to be so tall, she thought. Comes with all kinds of perks. Clothing in hand, Hunter stood and looked between her and her dress.
“I’ll… um… go around the tree and change,” he said.
“Right,” murmured Nessa, realising that there was a lack of substantial cover around them.
As soon as Hunter disappeared from sight, Nessa stripped off her wet clothing as quickly as possible. The tops came off easily, but the leggings clung to her calves, making the task difficult. She managed to kick them off and, in a matter of seconds, was slipping into the dress.
It was deep blue in colour and consisted of a long, plain gown and a matching surcoat that was edged in an ornamental trim. It was a little large around the middle so Nessa fiddled with the laces that ran down either side, pulling them tighter for a more flattering fit. With surprising swiftness the chill left Nessa’s bones, and while she waited for Hunter to return, she occupied herself by hanging her damp clothing on some low branches to dry.
Finished, Nessa frowned, wondering what was taking Hunter so long. How much time does one man need to change, damn it. She looked around. The marshland stood before her and the hills and forest were behind. There was no sign of Hunter anywhere.
“Hunter?” she called softly, stepping around the tree, hearing a quiet noise.
She found him scrabbling at the earth between the tree’s roots, digging up a bundle of long green shoots with bulbous muddy roots. Brows raised, she asked, “What are you doing?”
Hunter looked up, surprised to see Nessa standing over him, hands on hips, staring down in bemusement.
“Wild onion,” Hunter said, as if that explained everything. “It’ll add a bit of flavour to our next stew.”
“I’m not entirely sure how to respond to finding a grown man digging in the mud with his hands for some sad looking plants,” Nessa mused.
“Mother is of the same opinion as you, oddly enough,” responded Hunter as he shook the wild onions, making granules of mud fall off.
“Hmm. Do you do this often then, for people to form such opinions of you?”
“Strangely enough, yes.”
At Nessa’s quizzical expression, Hunter elaborated. “I’m a nineteen year old man. It would be weird if I didn’t get mud under my fingernails on occasion.”
“Nineteen year old man-child,” Nessa corrected.
Hunter snorted, dismissing her words.
“You do realise that we don’t have any meat left for a stew, don’t you? Unless fish counts.”
Hunter scoffed, “Fish isn’t meat.” He stood, stuffing the wild onions into his pocket, limp green shoots hanging out of the top, and moved around the tree to their bags. “And anyway, I plan on changing that.”
“How so?”
“I’m going to set up some traps and hope that some nice, tasty animal will stumble across them.”
Nessa surveyed the land around them, seeing nothing other than a few songbirds fluttering through the sky in the near distance. “And what poor creature do you plan on catching out here?”
“I’m sure there are a few pheasants lurking around in the long grass.” His eyes brightened. “Or maybe we’ll get lucky and catch a squirrel or two.”
“A squirrel?” Nessa had never heard of eating such a thing.
“Sure, they’re small, but I’ve heard on good authority that they taste something divine.”
“I don’t care how divine they taste, I’m not eating a squirrel.”
Hunter laughed, and strode off to set some traps.
∞∞∞
A few hours later, a pheasant and two quails were roasting on a spit over the fire. No squirrels though, thank God. Nessa idly watched as they browned, her hand resting on the dragon that was curled beside her in the grass, fingers gently brushing over the ridges of its scales. They gleamed with hypnotic beauty, and Nessa’s eyes were constantly drawn to them.
Slowly, she trailed her fingers down its back and over its wing, which was loosely tucked against its side. The little dragon watched her with lazy, half open eyes, unworried as Nessa traced the tapestry of tiny veins that sat just beneath the membrane’s surface, which was as thin and delicate as a butterfly’s wing.
A cold breeze blew in from the marshland, rousing Nessa. She rose and crossed over to the tree, hoping that her cardigan had now dried. Hunter was reclined against the trunk, long legs stretched out in front of him, absently twirling a lock of his longish hair around a finger. His
brow was creased and his eyes were distant as he pondered silent thoughts.
Nessa stepped past him and moved over to the branch that her clothing was hung on to dry. The sun had set an hour ago and the night was dark. The fire gave off a ring of light, but it didn’t quite reach where she stood. Nessa managed to find what she was looking for, and was searching for any sign of dampness when the air behind her stirred.
One moment, she was standing. The next, flat on her back.
Stunned, Nessa stared up at the stars, visible through the tree’s branches that had yet to open their leaves. Hunter leaned over, his head blotting them out. “Hmm,” he muttered, brows drawing together in a frown. “This might be harder than I first thought.”
“What the hell was that for?” Nessa growled, pushing herself up onto her elbows.
“I’m teaching you how to fight.”
“And what does throwing me to the ground teach?”
“You, nothing. However, it tells me that you have absolutely no experience in self-defence.”
“Couldn’t you have just asked me that?”
Hunter shrugged. “I suppose I could have. That didn’t occur to me.”
“Of course not,” muttered Nessa, picking herself up from the ground. “And besides, despite the lack of self-defence tutelage, I’ll have you know that I handled myself pretty damn well when it came to the bandits. I even knocked Grover out when he stole the dragon egg.”
“You got lucky when it came to Grover. He didn’t expect an attack. If he had, then a fight would have ensued. A fight that he would have won.”
Nessa was irked. “You can’t know that.”
“Fine then. If you can hit me, I’ll leave the subject alone.”
“Fine then,” Nessa murmured, raising her fists. Hunter smirked and followed suit, looking a lot more sure of himself than Nessa felt. She circled him, trying to buy herself some time. Hunter mirrored her movements with keen eyes, shifting his weight ever so slightly.
Deciding that speed was her best bet, Nessa sprang forward, fist aimed at his face. It was caught before it hit his nose, never really being a threat. Nessa scowled as Hunter looked at her fist, suspended in the air by his hand, with an amused expression.
“A reasonable effort,” Hunter said, releasing her hand, “but poorly executed.” Nessa’s mouth fell open. “I could see your punch coming from a mile away.”
“You could not.”
“I could. You projected your intention before the very idea had even finished forming in your head.”
“Bollocks.”
“Try again then.”
She did, aiming her punch at his stomach this time. It never hit, once again being caught mid strike.
“How do you do that?” Nessa exclaimed.
“You have tells. Very obvious ones, I might add.”
“Obvious tells?”
“Your eyes flick to where you’re aiming at.”
“Oh.”
“And you have terrible form.”
Nessa glared, irritated that it wasn’t going how she had hoped.
“First off,” Hunter said, “you need to maintain eye contact, or look at their upper body. It will help you to predict what they’ll do. It’s also a good intimidation tactic. It unnerves them, puts them on edge. It makes them realise that you mean business.”
Nessa thought that was an awful lot of effort just to land a punch. “Can’t I just whack people on the head if they come near me?”
Hunter blinked slowly. “No. No, you cannot.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s impractical to carry a damn branch around with you wherever you go. Not to mention that it would raise a few eyebrows.”
“I didn’t mean that I would carry a branch around with me. I just meant that, if needed, I would grab the nearest available whacking thing, and... Whack.”
“Whack?”
“Whack,” Nessa confirmed.
Hunter shook his head. “As entertaining as that sounds, you need to know how to handle yourself if a situation arises.”
“And is that likely to happen in the near future?”
Hunter hesitated.
“Because I’m not going to be around here for much longer,” Nessa reasoned. “Am I?”
Hunter’s eyes darted to the sleeping dragon.
Nessa decided to ignore the weight behind his gaze, continuing on. “Because we’ll be at The Hidden City soon, and your friend Orm will be there, and he’ll know of a way to get me back home.”
“Humour me for a few minutes.”
Nessa sighed, knowing that his heart was in a good place, and nodded. “Five minutes.”
Hunter grinned brightly. “Excellent.”
Nessa felt that she had just made a great mistake.
Dinner was a simple affair. One that allowed Nessa plenty of time to brood over the self-defence class she had somehow found herself having. Five minutes had magically turned into an hour, and in those sixty minutes, Nessa hadn’t been able to land a single blow. Not that she was bitter over that at all.
She followed all of his instructions, took on board all of his advice, and yet the end result had been her flipped over his shoulder. Yes, she might have lost her temper a bit at the end. But who doesn’t resort to trying to hit someone over the head with a rather large branch if provoked? It might have been a little out of line. However, she hadn’t planned on whacking him hard, and in no way deserved to be made airborne. Anyway, he was being as annoying as hell, looking smug every time he managed to dodge a kick or catch a punch.
Nessa nibbled at her piece of cooked pheasant, watching him devour a quail. Kicking my ass must have made him work up quite an appetite, she mused.
“How do you do it?” Nessa demanded. “Move so quickly and such.”
Hunter peered at her from across the fire, one brow quirked. “Experience.”
“And how come I couldn’t even hit you once, even when I did exactly what you said to do?”
“Lack of experience.”
“You are very infuriating.”
“Mother is of the same opinion too, weirdly enough.”
“Yes, how very weird.”
Hunter snickered and Nessa turned her attention to the dragon, who sat beside her, staring with large cat-like eyes. She pulled off a sliver of pheasant meat and held it out between pinched fingers. The dragon stretched out its long neck and took a delicate sniff, then rejected it, turning away and tucking its head under a wing.
Growing frustrated, and more than a little bit worried, she set the piece of meat by it. The hatchling ignored it, folding its wing tighter against its body. It had hatched hours ago and still had no interest in eating.
“Don’t worry yourself over it,” Hunter said, sensing her distress. “If it were hungry then it would eat the meat.” Nessa was uncertain, nudging the meat closer to the dragon. “If you keep doing that, you’ll just piss it off and it’ll be making a meal out of your fingers.” Nessa stopped with her attempts.
Hunter abruptly said, “You should name it.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To call it off when it’s attacking someone.” Forever the practical one.
Nessa was unimpressed. “That’s not helpful.”
“Is it not? I would have thought the poor bugger it’s chomping on would disagree.”
“Hunter,” she warned.
“Mankiller springs to mind,” Hunter carried on, regardless. “Or maybe just Killer? The range of names open to us is simply overwhelming. I mean, just from those two ideas we can delve into names such as Destroyer or Exterminator. Oh, how about Slayer?”
Nessa shook her head.
“I’d put my money on either Destroyer or Slayer. They’re my favourites.”
Nessa was silent, trying to figure out if he was serious or merely joking. “You’ve given this some thought.”
“I have.”
“Too bad those names are terrible.”
“Terrible?”
“Terrible,” confirmed Nessa. “Whilst somewhat amusing, they are not appropriate names for a dragon.”
“I think you’ll find they’re far more appropriate than you give them credit for.”
“I’m leaning towards a nicer name. You know, something that’s not all doom and gloom.”
Hunter’s eyes lit up. “I understand now. You want a nice girly name. Fine, fine. If that’s what you want, then that’s what you’ll get. Daisy? Poppy?”
Nessa groaned.
Hunter mock gasped. “Buttercup.”
“I refuse to acknowledge your existence until you’re helpful.” Nessa stood and collected her sleeping bag, unrolling it.
“When am I not helpful?” Hunter laughed.
“Right now you’re not,” Nessa muttered.
Still chuckling, Hunter unrolled his sleeping bag near the fire. “Are you still mad because I flung you to the ground?”
Nessa gave him a stony glare.
“Alright, you are.” Hunter laid down. “In all fairness, I didn’t mean to do it that hard. You caught me by surprise, branch and all, and I just reacted.”
“And laughing at me afterwards?”
Hunter looked at her with merry eyes. “That might have been a little out of taste,” he admitted. “But the face you pulled was priceless.”
“Well,” Nessa said as she pulled off her boots, “I’m glad you find me so entertaining.”
“Mmm, life right now would be a lot more boring without you.” His eyes slid closed. “I’ll try to think up some of the names the dragons in times gone by had. Maybe you’d like them a little more than my ideas.”
Nessa snuggled into her sleeping bag and smiled into the night. “Thank you, Hunter,” she whispered, grateful for more than him just thinking up some names. She was thankful for his companionship, for his help, and for him getting her far away from Ironguard. He said that his life would be boring without her in it, but without him in hers, who’s to say that her life would be worth living if Margan had got his way.
Hunter’s snores rose into the air, oblivious to the gratitude both spoken and silent. With a smile on her lips, and with her hand resting on the dragon hatchling curled up beside her, Nessa dreamed of stars and friendship.
House of Fear and Freedom (The Wyrd Sequence Book 1) Page 18
