Cold Hearted Son of a Witch (Dragoneers Saga) (7 page)

“Essss,” Blaze hissed aloud and dove into a sweeping arc that would allow them an approach with the land mass between them and the encampment.
 

For a while it seemed as if they had landed unseen.
 
Blaze dozed into a deep slumber on the sun-warmed rocks near the shore.
 
Marcherion soaked in the sea for a while, letting the warm water relax his aching muscles.
 
Then he built up a huge fire and cooked crabs he gigged with a makeshift spear.

The sun left the sky and his fire slowly died down to embers.
 
He had been asleep for a good while when the wavering light of torches woke him into a state of alarm.
 
There were half a dozen flaming brands and twice as many voices trying to be quiet.
 
March’s heart thundered in his chest.
 
He didn’t want to see these men roasted for being curious.
 
He searched through the bond-link he and his dragon shared and was shocked to feel that Blaze was flying.
 
Blaze had gone hunting.

“You’d better run back to your ships,” March said rather loudly, startling some of the less attentive men in the approaching crowd.
 
They were just curious fishermen, he could tell by the smell of them. They had only two ill-kept swords and a crossbow visible among them.
 
Their faces, the ones he could make out, were full of fear as much as anything. He didn’t know what else to do, so he bluffed.
 
“My dragon is about to set fire to your rigging.”

“He’s not one of them!” a man’s voice said in surprise.
 
“
I seen
’em myself at the king’s victory feast.
 
This ain’t
no
Royal Dragoneer.”

“Are you sure?” a voice said above the murmurs.

“The king’s missive spoke of only the two!” another voice stated.

“You know of other Dragoneers?” Marcherion asked.
 
The feeling of hope that surged through him was as welcome as any he’d ever felt.
 
“I need to find them.
 
Tell me how to find them.”

“Keep your dragon from firing our sails then, man,” one of them said.
 

“I’ll tell you where they be headed,” said a filthy young woman.
 
“
I seen
that white-haired witch with the marked up face, and the boy who rides the silver wyrm. They’re off on a grand quest.”

That was three long days ago. Now Blaze was winging his way west toward the little island the fishermen had told him about. The idea of finding other Dragoneers on an island in the middle of the deep sea was baffling to March. Then he remembered that the men had ships and that one had spoken of a king’s victory speech.

He and his dragon weren’t alone out over the deep sea now. March was elated. The lack of human company on the lengthy trek had left him feeling a little crazy. He looked at the bright blue cloudless sky and took in a deep breath. The wealth of emotion brewing in his chest surprised him. He was about...

“Khrahhhgaaahhh!”
Blaze roared out as a gut-thumping pulse of energy swept past

 
them
, nearly tumbling them from the sky.

There were a few heartbeats of weightlessness for March, and his ears hummed like he had bees inside his skull, but then his buttocks pressed firmly back into place between two spinal plates. “What in all the
hells was
that?” he called out after he had his breath back in him.

Dour,
was the reply. Then it was all Marcherion could do to keep the wind from sweeping him off of Blaze’s back as the big fire drake sped them toward the source of the blast.

Before long, March spotted the island. It wasn’t much, just an open-sided bowl of rock and sand. Then he saw the boy floating near an out-of-place mound of gray stone. The long, limp form of some sort of sea snake was beginning to stir where it too floated on the surface of the bay nearby.

Dragae
, Blaze said the word for female dragons. He told March that he sensed the presence of not one, but two of them.

The pewter-colored wyrm raised her head and coughed forth a spume that steamed and sizzled in the sea water. The silver dragon’s movement surprised March and Blaze both.

“Get the boy out of the water,” March commanded his dragon.

Blaze eagerly complied. Just after the big red wyrm snatched Rikky with one of its claws, March was startled again. This time it was no small shock, it was a heart-stopping second of sheer terror.

No you don’t!
Zahrellion called out into the ethereal. Crystal, with bright scarlet blood streaming down her scaly white neck from her ear holes, was right there in Marcherion’s face about to blast him into a block of ice.

“Wait!” he screamed just in the nick of time. The frost drake recognized his humanity and pulled up and away from them.

March was thrown off as much by the white-haired girl’s tattooed face as he was by her sudden appearance above him in the sky.
Where did she come from?

You... You... can speak in the ethereal?
Zahrellion asked.
Don’t you dare hurt my
friend.
Sit him gently on the beach.

Yesss,
the big red wyrm hissed back at her.
The serpent stirsss.
Sssavess the silver.

March tried and tried, but he couldn’t project any more thoughts. He could hear the strange girl, though. Her fierce concern over the boy was commendable. Seeing her frigid wyrm blast the half-dazed serpent’s head with icy spew until it finally broke away from the body was intriguing as well. He had Blaze set the boy down easy and then waited until his dragon lowered his head before stepping off onto the sand.

Walking was an odd, painful feeling, but after seeing the young man’s peg-leg he didn’t think much about his own soreness. The boy was
lying
stock still, but March saw him blink and wrinkle his nose.

“What are you staring at?” March asked.

“I’m staring at your dragon,” the boy swallowed and made a half smile. “I’ve never seen a red that wasn’t mudged.”

“Mudged?
I can’t believe you speak the king’s tongue,” March pointed beyond Rikky, to where Silva was now slinking out of the sea. Zahrellion and Crystal were there helping her. “The last folk, well no, the second to last folk I came across talked like bald-eyed giboons.”

“What’s a giboon? Whose language did you think we would speak?” the boy asked as he rolled over and tried to get up. He couldn’t quite get to his feet. March wasn’t sure if the crimson flush that came over the youngster was from anger or embarrassment. He stepped over and offered his hand.

“Marcherion Weston is my name, from Prominence Valley, in the Kingdom of Kar.” He pulled him up with a heave and was surprised by the strength in the boy’s well-muscled arms. “My
friends
call me March.”

“Rikky Camille,” Rikky smiled. “Are you here for the Confliction?”

“What do you know of it?” March asked eagerly.

Not as much as we’d like,
a half angry female voice sounded in their heads. She’d dismounted and was walking toward them. Her big white dragon was mothering over Rikky’s silver. Both of the female wyrms were clearly wary of the fire drake. No doubt, they could sense the purity of his blood.

***

We don’t know very much at all,
Zahrellion said as she approached the others. When her eyes landed on March, her voice stopped cold. Marcherion resembled a certain painting of an incarnation of Dou so perfectly that she was struck speechless. She had spent hours adoring the work and daydreaming about that handsome legendary master of her Order when she was a girl. Growing up, when she had dreamed of a man, it had been him. Now here he was in the flesh before her. She had to remind herself to breathe.

***

Rikky had a great feeling about Marcherion until Zahrellion walked up. When he saw the look of bewildered adoration slide over Zah’s face, he sensed something else about the situation. Her look was the same one Jenka always had when he was ogling her. With a rude harrumph and a hop step to put himself between Marcherion and Zahrellion, he spoke. “There’s another of us back on the Mainland. Jenka rides a green dragon.” He looked sharply at Zah, who was now blushing with a mixture of shame and embarrassment. Then back to March he added firmly, “Jenka’s our leader.”

Chapter 8

At that moment, Jenka and Jade were of a single mind and purpose. They were right on the fleeing troll’s heels and driving it deeper into the woods. Jade wanted to get hold of it and tear it apart, but Jenka knew that there were more of the filthy things back by the caravan’s camp. Realizing this, he pulled up and went back. This time the young green wyrm landed amid the men,
then
started into the small band of trolls that remained, with tooth and claw. The rangers cheered behind Jade, providing cover with arrows and swords when they could. First one troll ran off, then another fell clutching the stuff spilling from its open gut. Soon it was only
Jade
attacking the remaining two trellkin, with Jenka clinging to his back, trying desperately not to lose hold of his sword.

An arrow from the men found one of the big, thick-skinned trolls and it stumbled away. This allowed Jade to get his foreclaws into the other. A rider rode out and engaged the shafted troll with a wood axe. Jenka was amazed to see that it was Swineherd, Herald’s pig-farming brother. Jenka was then tumbling from his seat, not from a troll, but because his weapon slipped out of his hand and he went flailing after it.

He didn’t have far to fall, and before he knew what was happening two men were dragging him by his feet back into the camp. He wasn’t certain when he had grabbed his sword back, but he was glad to be holding it in his hand. Even if it was too heavy for him to wield effectively, the feeling of the Dou coursing through him when he held it was awesome.

The sound of struggling faded from his ears. The battle was over. The trolls were beaten away yet again. Jenka couldn’t understand how such stupid creatures had nearly driven man off of the Mainland.

It was odd to be attacked by trolls so bold. Before Gravelbone came along and stirred them up, they kept mostly to the deep forest and the mountains. Since the humans had been driven back behind the wall, they were now everywhere in the Frontier.
 
Especially near Demon Lake, where the caravan was encamped. Swineherd’s farm was a long day north, maybe two days, since the cavalcade moved down the road like an old woman.

These trolls had come in the dark of night, and now the sun was already coming up. They’d been fighting for hours. Jenka got to his feet and carefully sheathed his sword on his back. It was too long for him to hang at his waist, but Mysterian had promised he would grow into it. He adjusted his triangular-shaped shoulder armor and then dusted himself off. He took an offered tin of water from a serious-looking wide-eyed boy, and then surveyed the damage.

A busted wagon wheel that was already under repair, two nasty-looking injuries among the men, and one wound that was undoubtedly mortal was the extent of the damage. Not nearly as bad as the attack just outside of the recently reclaimed Three Forks Stronghold. They’d lost five men and a wagon in that one.

There was a concern when one of the rangers pointed out the small, stunted horns growing out of the head of one of the bigger trolls. Jenka looked it over and was overcome with a sick feeling of dread. The thing looked a lot like the Goblin King had. Thicker and stronger than the other creatures they’d slain, and far more intimidating. He wasn’t certain it was a troll at all, but a moan from one of the injured stole his attention and he gladly moved away.