The Dragons' Chosen (12 page)

In the following days, I kept a sullen distance from Captain Markus. This was the second time he had taken another’s recommendations over mine, dismissing me as if I were an uninformed child. But once when Tom was riding out ahead, I saw Markus’ turn toward him, his eyes hot with anger and disgust.

Tom, I refused to acknowledge. Lucinda shrugged and muttered she was keeping a stick near to hand. As we rode, I saw the captain’s men,
my men
, exchanging glances. While I knew the men wouldn’t confront Tom directly, I suspected that Tom’s travels might be rife with accidents. There would be no peace between them. I smiled.

Chris wasn’t helping, as she would salute Tom and Captain Markus with her middle finger extended any time either crossed our path. From the look in her eyes, I suspected it wasn’t meant politely.

Chapter 16

Our party had just climbed one of the Perpinan hills, when the dark clouds rolled our way. The day was almost ended, the sun low in the western sky. Six miles back was the safety of the Lorne Valley. Surrounding us on this hilltop, strewn in between the granite boulders, were gnarled trees, cracked open by lightning. Down the far side, a mere few hundred yards farther, the forest canopy beckoned, the blue-green of pine and spruce interspersed with the chartreuse of new larch offering a promise of cover and safety. As Captain Markus conferred with the ill-groomed Tom, the light breeze off the mountain became a gust.

The horses reacted before any of us, stamping and kicking at the sound of thunder far to the east, and at some intangible animal sound. I shifted in my saddle and looked back.

Markus and Tom were in a heated conversation. A few of the men gathered around, watching. Lucinda, Chris and I had kept far away from Tom, taking our pleasure from the little “accidents” that befell him each day: his tankard handle breaking, mud clotting his jerkin and, then, a bad case of the trots.

Michael and George had satisfied smirks on their faces after each incident, but none would confess to the deeds. Lucinda acted as if she didn’t notice, but I saw her smile as Tom rushed into the bushes multiple times clutching his stomach. And she had handed him his plate that morn.

Thunder rumbled again. We waited anxiously near a narrow fissure in a large gray boulder split in half like an eggshell.

Far above, a flock of birds flew before the brewing storm. I turned in my saddle, my eyes drawn to them. Something about their shape and movement puzzled me. No, they weren’t birds, not with tails that streamed out behind and those long sinuous necks. A searing jolt of terror collided against my carefully maintained calm. My heart pounded and I thought wishfully of fainting.

Amidst the distant rumble of thunder came the keening trumpet of an animal, a mixture of hawk shriek and elk bugle. Another cry answered the first. I knew what it was, what it had to be. The pig squealed and tugged at the rope holding her. Winter flung his head and snorted. He quivered beneath my hands as froth sprayed from his mouth. I struggled to hold him. Chris’s horse rolled his eyes and sidestepped, nervously giving a little buck. Chris nearly fell. The dragons soared above, heading westward away from the oncoming storm. A cacophony of screeches rained down from the sky.

The other horses erupted, frantic and wild-eyed. Jonathan’s horse flung him off as it bucked and shied. Michael’s arms bulged as he struggled with two frenzied pack animals. Samuel and George ran for Jonathan and dragged him out from beneath flying hooves. Ethan scrambled toward his tied-down mount. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Captain Markus spin his horse around and shout to the men as he pointed at me. One of the dragons strayed, circling closer as it struggled against the wind. I could see it clearly, a beast the length of a cottage, with silver and emerald scales glinting in the glare of twilight, a predator’s watchful eyes, teeth that could tear and talons that could rend.

The creature uttered another screech as I stared in horror and awe. I sat unmoving, transfixed at its beauty and raw power, frozen like a hare in the shadow of a hawk. Winter bunched his muscles. Again, a screech, louder this time against the fury of the wind now whipping across the mountain. Was it seeking me? Would it pluck me off my mount and carry me away locked in its claws? Bile rose in my throat and flooded my mouth. I wasn’t ready.

Somewhere behind me, lightning struck. A tree fractured as thunder cracked almost on top of us. Chris’s horse screamed and Chris yelled “Holy shit” right before her horse bolted. Winter took off after him. Captain Markus bellowed for me to pull up but I was too nauseated to do anything but hang on. While I might have been able to bring Winter to a standstill, I couldn’t let Chris disappear into the woods by herself. And Janis was bent on disappearing, taking along her unwilling rider. Behind us, more lightning hit, raveling stones and boulders along the path. Winter and Janis surged forward as rocks rained down the mountain. Chris bounced along, glued to Janis’s neck like a leech. The horses ran as if chased by demons. I certainly thought we were.

We entered the woods, Janis moving faster than I would have thought possible for a hackneyed horse carrying an unstable rider. We crashed through brush and dove under trees. Chris was hanging sideways around Janis’s neck while I ducked to avoid being swept off by low branches. Janis was laboring, slowing to a fast trot, and I was almost abreast with Chris when Janis veered. Chris tumbled and lay sprawled on the leaf-littered ground.

I hauled Winter to a stop and leapt off. By the time I was at her side, Chris had her legs beneath her and was tugging on an oak branch to pull herself upright.

“Nice riding, huh?” she gasped.

“Are you hurt? Anything broken?”

She did a quick assessment, wriggling her wrists and fingers. “Just sore.” She brushed at her hand. “Little thingies embedded in my hands. Scratches, nothing more,” she said as I examined them. “Got the wind knocked out of me, but otherwise I’m fine, Genny.” She looked about at the tall trees and shrubs. “Where are we? Where are the guys?”

I swung around. The horses had disappeared. The men weren’t in sight. I was in a forest with the burn of bile still in my throat. And the dragons, where were they? Had they landed? Were they even now seeking me? I breathed in, afraid to dwell on this.

Chris and I headed back toward the men, or at least that was the direction I thought we took. The light was failing, so it was hard to know. We did manage to find a clearing near a rocky stream. A small waterfall trickled down near a granite wall clotted with moss and ferns. I cleaned up Chris’s hands, then washed the acid taste from my mouth. Beside the stream, a cunning little hollow pushed into the hillside. A rocky overhang jutted out, providing protection from the elements. I gave the hollow a quick look for other inhabitants. Chris stood on the creek bank calling until she was hoarse, but no one answered.

“Genny?”

“Yes.”

“We’re lost, aren’t we?”

“So it would seem.” I managed to speak without a quaver in my voice.

“And, those were dragons, weren’t they?”

I nodded, unable to verbally confirm what we had seen.

Her eyes held mine in understanding. “We need to find your men before we talk about… that.” She waved her arms broadly to take in the gloomy clearing. “And this doesn’t feel like the best place to dredge up things that go bump in the night.”

I nodded and joined her, placing my fears determinedly back in a well-fortified corner, one without dragons. My men would be here any moment, I knew it. I mustn’t think of dragons, not here, not now.

I saw movement to our left, across the darkening stream past the shadowy gray boulders. Not dragons. Wolves. Two, no—there were more. Three others slunk out of the brush behind them. I heard a startled squeak from Chris as she turned and saw them.

Chris, please don’t disappear. Please don’t leave me.
I could hear her ragged breathing next to me. My heart raced. I pulled out the knife I’d got from the bard, Trill.

The last of the sunlight slanted across their eyes, cold and calculating, evaluating us and finding easy prey.

Chris whispered to herself over and over, like a litany, “Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.”

With my free hand, I tugged her back toward the shelter of the hollow. “Don’t turn your back on them. They’re wary creatures, but bold if you run. Step back slowly, very slowly.”

I held my knife out as I had been taught, an extension of my arm.

“Do you know how to use that?” Chris whispered.

“Some,” I replied, my voice shaking. “Our weaponry master often said that holding it in front of one with the pointy end facing out is a start.” I backed up another step. “You don’t perhaps have any flint upon you, something to start a fire?”

“I’ve got some matches, I think.” She patted her clothes. “Ever the Girl Scout, you know, be prepared and all?” For all the pretense of bravado, we were both trembling.

Whatever matches and girl scouts were, I was fervently in favor of them. The wolves kept their distance at first, watching, assessing, identifying us as harmless before slinking ever closer. Chris continued fumbling at her clothing.

The wolves edged closer, and with each step, my breath caught.

Chris pulled out tiny sticks from her belt pouch, snapping them on a box. She swore as her first strike failed. Then the second failed to spark. We backed up to the hollow and I gained a sense of comfort from the solid rock at my back.

Chris cupped her hands, sheltering the fire starter from the breeze as she muttered incantations. She struck it again and it sparked…and held.

Chris cradled the little flame, nudging it into a handful of dry leaves I lay before her. I risked a glance at the wolves. They hadn’t broached the creek yet. My hands shook as I reached for one of the dead branches that littered our retreat. The sky darkened as clouds obscured the moon, releasing the first splattering of raindrops. Chris blew upon the fragile flames. I broke the branch into small pieces and Chris added them one by one. The flame spread as we fed the pile of tinder one twig at a time.

A single wolf lifted his nose as if testing the air. They wouldn’t wait long now. Any moment they would be upon us. The fire was too small to deter them.

The sun had just slipped below the horizon when a man leapt between us and the gray snarling shapes that skulked within the night’s shadows.

After a startled gasp of “Holy batman, who the hell?” Chris ignored him, focusing her attention on the fire before us.

Cloaked within the dim light, the man’s body angled away from us, facing the wolves. From this distance, I couldn’t make out his face, but, as Chris cryptically noted, he wasn’t anyone we knew. He was slender, but muscles rippled beneath a silver-gray hooded tunic. No sound came from his lips as the wolves continued to creep forward beneath the light of the newly risen moon. His back was to the stream, moonlight glinting off his sword.

Some candlelight of hope flickered. Chris blew again on the flames and another stick caught fire. I added another and then one more.

One of the wolves darted toward the man. He parried the attack with his blade, and we heard the crunch of metal into bone over the yelp of pain. The man stepped backwards into the creek, balancing like a tumbler, one step, then another. The four remaining wolves, heads down, matched his every footfall, waiting for a misstep.

The flame before us grew as we cosseted and coddled it into a sullen but viable fire. Next to me I felt Chris shaking, though it could have been me. My brain focused only on building the fire; nothing else mattered, each twig, each branch that burned meant hope, and every flame that expired, despair.

The wolves separated. Two of them leapt the creek and were upon us before the man could react.

Chris grabbed the end of a burning stick and shoved it at one slavering muzzle. The wolf flinched, snarling as he snapped at it. He feinted away but then darted back to attack again. He lunged past Chris at me, his jaws closing on the folds of my velvet riding skirt. I held the blade with both hands as I stabbed, missing as he twisted away.

The fabric of my skirt ripped. The wolf shook his head, pawing at his mouth to remove the cloth. I stabbed at him again, a glancing blow, but blood covered my hand. He dove toward me, fangs bared as he snapped at my arm. I jerked back, then stabbed again and again, not caring what I struck, until at last he lay unmoving. I stood gasping, staring at the lifeless body. I looked up to see that the man had dispatched the other two wolves and was racing across the creek, water sloshing. Chris screamed and, as I turned, the last wolf leapt straight for her. She threw herself backward and there was a resounding thunk as she hit her head against the rock ledge. Without another sound, she was gone.