The Emerald Rider (Book Four of the Dragoneer Saga) Page 15

  Hold on! Aikira yelled.

  Golden’s spell sent a concussive wave through the sky. There wasn’t much sound to it, but the gassy fumes and jagged streaks of substance that exploded out in a growing sphere caused at least two dozen of the inbred wyrms to go tumbling, spinning, or flailing out of the sky.

  The wing of a mudged wyrm thumped and grated across Rikky’s head, the rough scales peeling his skin from his scalp. Rikky’s bow was falling, and his vision was washed over with his own blood. The next thing he knew, the flying vermin were clearing a circle in the sky over the dragon bailey. The dozen or so remaining witches were circling the space, and the mudged were hovering eagerly outside the pattern they were flying.

  Rikky searched the area, wondering what had happened to Aikira. He wiped some of the blood from his face with the back of his hand and found that Golden was near him. Aikira was charred across one side of her body and staring intently down at something in the middle of the open circle of sky. It was Marcherion, and he was being dangled by his hair by a partially mudged wyrm of one of the bluer strains. Standing before and slightly under the dragon was the most beautiful woman Rikky had ever seen, while all around the open dragon bailey the walls and rooftops were speckled with people, some archers, and some just wanting to see the Dragoneers do battle.

  Ankha Vira was wearing a flowing black dress. The material went around the back of her neck in a bunch and flowed over the front of her with her raven black hair. Her breasts were full and round, and only her nipples were covered by the straps of material that trailed over them and buckled into her girdle. Her eyes were as deep as wells, and her lips as red as cherry juice. She was gesturing upward, and had Rikky not been forced to wipe more blood from his face to see, he might have remained under her charm.

  As his vision partially cleared, he realized she was about to do something to Marcherion. Blaze was circling the scene well below the witches and mudged wyrms, but he was clearly afraid to attack for fear of what would happen to his bond-mate.

  Before the witch could finish her casting, a couple of people came running up toward them from the building in which they used to gather. Rikky had to strain to hear them.

  “Wait!” one of the people, a man in uniform, was calling. “This one has imperative news for you or Commander Fedran.”

  Ankha Vira’s rage was clear in her expression, but she turned nonetheless. The man, a ranking officer of the city guard, Rikky recognized from the uniform, started hesitantly, motioning at the hooded figure beside him.

  “What is this, Captain?” Ankha Vira snapped. “I am in no mood for foolery.”

  “This is no foolery,” the hooded figure said and stepped forward, jabbing a blade right through the witch.

  Ankha Vira exhaled sharply and her breath blew the hood off of the person, but Rikky already knew by her voice that it was Zahrellion.

  Apparently, the witch wasn’t fazed by the wound, for she laughed and backhanded Zahrellion to the dirt. During the motion, her image flickered, and Rikky realized that Ankha Vira wasn’t really there. How she had managed to create a kinetic blow to Zah, he didn’t know, but the act spoke of the true power she might have at her command.

  “That does it, little queeny.” Ankha Vira reached to the side, her hands disappearing completely as she grabbed something up in them. When she was fully visible again, baby Jericho was in her arms, crying. “Now you can watch helplessly as I kill your child and drink his blood.”

  “Why would you do such a thing?” Zahrellion dropped the sword and struggled to get to her knees.

  “Because consuming him will make the prince soon to be growing inside of me that much stronger.” She laughed at them, taking the time to eye Rikky and Aikira hovering on their dragons in the open space above her. She didn’t seem concerned with them as she put her long, blade-extended fingernail against the baby’s throat.

  Oh no, Aikira voiced.

  Rikky knew they could do nothing if the witch wasn’t actually there with them, and it was all he could bear to see Zahrellion on her knees pleading for the life of her son with her tears.

  “Ugggggh,” Marcherion yelled as he fell the few feet to the ground. The blue mudged lifted suddenly, with just a clump of tangled brown hair in its claw. March was holding his dagger in one hand and rubbing his scalp with the other. He’d knifed through his own hair to break away and was now stumbling to Zahrellion’s side.

  “I’ve had enough of this,” Ankha Vira growled. “Let the sacrifice of this child stand as a warning to all you Dragoneers. The time of the witch has come.”

  Baby Jericho screamed as loud as his mother did when the razor sharp steel slid across his throat.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Jenka was pleased that the witch thought she was in control.

  He found them at a farmhouse nearer to Midwal than Mainsted. He teleported himself from Jade’s back directly to the doorstep. The sea of Dour he was floating in was thick and deep. He was able to sizzle the witch that opened the door to death with a touch to her forehead, and then he was striding toward the sudden screaming sound of his son.

  Ankha Vira was there in a large, open room, standing in a circle of burning black candles. A star was lined on the plank wood floor with some white powder, and where the seven tips of the symbol met the circle a larger red candle was burning. The air around the witch seemed different, and as he crept around her he saw Zahrellion’s anguished face and the rage exploding across Marcherion’s. When he saw his son for the very first time he was forced to hold back the tidal wave of fatherly love and longing that threatened to burst forth. The witch’s bladed nail was slicing into the helpless baby’s neck, and he had to act.

  The surge of alien strength and the volume of raw Dour that accompanied Jenka’s kicking boot as it lifted and rocketed up under the witch’s ear was only slightly more amazing than the speed with which he snatched his son from the suddenly flailing woman.

  Ankha Vira’s head impacted the rafters of the farmhouse, and the rest of her body followed. As she fell to the planked floor in a heap, her flowing dress caught fire in the candle flame.

  Jenka stepped into the spell circle, cradling his son, and saw the relief spread across Zahrellion’s beautiful face. He still couldn’t get over how much different she looked without the tattoos on her cheeks and forehead.

  “Oh, Jenka De Swasso, you always take my breath away. Is he all right?”

  Jenka held his son out and looked at him. The baby had gone surprisingly calm in his arms and was now only sniffling and fussy. There was a deep slice at the corner of his neck under the ear, but Jenka’s saturated power was already healing it over. He wanted to say a million things. He wanted to tell Zahrellion how beautiful the life they’d created was. He wanted to savor this moment as long as he lived, but beyond his son’s gleaming eyes he saw the numbers of mudged and the confused witches now coming down out of the sky at Zahrellion and March. Then he saw his brother’s raging form, riding the back of the blackest mudged wyrm Jenka had ever seen.

  “Get him, Marcherion.” Jenka looked into his friend’s eyes deeply. Then turning to Zahrellion, he met her lavender orbs and saw all the love in the world pooling in them.

  “He is beautiful.” Jenka smiled for the first time in what seemed like forever. “He is safe now. Let us end this madness so he can grow up in a world full of peace and love.”

  “You are the hero of my life, Jenka.” Zahrellion’s glowing smile faded into a grim line of determination. “Take him to Clover’s castle and guard over him. We will finish this today.” With that, Zahrellion turned and stormed away, leaving Marcherion grinning with delight.

  “Make sure the witch is dead,” Marcherion said as he followed Zahrellion out of his vision.

  Jenka sat Jericho in a cradle, and then he pulled the blade Mysterian had made for him so long ago and relieved the nasty witch of her head.

  For good measure, he blasted the woman’s body into a pulpy mess and set the rest of th
e place on fire. He then carried his son onto his dragon, situated him in his lap and urged Jade to fly. When Jade took back to the sky, Jenka had a feeling that from that moment on his life was going to be as wonderful as it ever had been. It didn’t matter that he was so much different than them all. Even better, the gleam of wonder in the baby’s eyes held all the promise in the world.

  ***

  Zahrellion, Rikky, Aikira, and Marcherion started tearing through the remaining witches and mudged over Mainsted with a determined fury. A Dour-formed arrow exploded into an inbred dragon and then collapsed back in on itself, leaving nothing but empty sky.

  A swath of dragon breath, followed by three scorching rays of cherry power, seared through the air splitting brooms, witches, and mudged dragon flesh as it went.

  Golden liquid spewed forth, and powerful fists of wizardly force smashed into the enemy from seemingly nowhere, while Zahrellion and her dragon glacialized everything that fell from the sky so that it exploded into a million chips of icy gore when it impacted.

  There was only the slightest bit of retaliatory attack, mostly because there was no one there to order any of the combatants. The Dragoneers didn’t watch the enemy flee, though. Most of those who ran were chased down and ended, until only the Dragoneers remained in the dusky sky.

  The people below cheered the victory as mightily as they’d cheered the defeat of Gravelbone. And for the first time as Dragoneers, Marcherion and Aikira were able to feel that sort of glory. Needless to say, both of them relished the moment.

  ***

  King Richard’s mudged wyrm didn’t fly as well as the Nightshade had, nor did it have even a smidgen of the hellborn creature’s ability. The mudged responded to his will, but not as diligently or smoothly as they had when he’d commanded them through the Nightshade. Luckily for him, the Nightshade hadn’t died in the earlier melee, but it was far too wounded to fly. In fact, it might not ever fly again, but it was alive.

  Seeing the battle around him slowly turn in the favor of the Dragoneers compelled him to retreat to the safety of his island stronghold. He didn’t care about the mainland anyway. Ankha Vira and her witchy charm had induced him to meet her every desire. It was she who’d desired the power of rule.

  Another time, Dark King, the Nightshade said to him through a link not unlike the ethereal. Theirs was a bond of a darker sort, and there would be another day. He knew that losing control of the mainland ports meant the islands would be at the mercy of Queen Zah, or maybe Jenka now, but they wouldn’t let the masses starve just to hurt him. In fact, if Jenka couldn’t kill him, he didn’t figure any of the Dragoneers would try.

  It was with reluctance that he called the mudged away from the battle. They too might be needed in the future. They’d definitely be needed to protect him in his island palace. He urged the wyrm he was on to take him back to the Nightshade. He’d learned healing spells while studying under Mysterian when he was but a boy. That thought only made him bitter, for he had been destined to be the best of the Dragoneers, with his heart of gold and his regal dragon, Royal. Now he only wanted to end them.

  Someday he would get the chance. Until then, he would return to his island and the living toys he had there to play with. They would keep him occupied in the meantime.

  At least that was what he thought until a few months later, when Rikky, Marcherion, and Aikira came calling.

  Neither of the three was ready to forgive Herald’s murder, or the torture of innocents.

  Seven years later

  Clover watched from Crimzon’s back while Jenka helped Jericho pull in the hand-line they were using to fishing. The boy was giggling with delight as the fish slapped its tail on the surface and splashed water into the boat. Zahrellion was on the shore with baby Mystica, their two-year-old daughter.

  Crimzon wanted to fly down from their hidden perch and greet them, for he’d grown awfully fond of the Dragoneers while he was helping them, but Clover said it was better to leave them to their happiness. Besides, they’d just gathered up the things they’d come for from the castle, which had been no easy thing to do undetected, especially with that strange, soul-stepping druid guarding over the place like some starving vulture.

  Clover had learned from some folks in Three Forks that Rikky was training young men to become rangers at the new Kingsman’s Keep, and that he’d personally exiled King Richard to the distant Serpent’s Isle, where he and Zahrellion had risked their lives to save him. He’d told King Jenka that if killing Herald Kaljatig in cold blood wasn’t reason enough for execution, then it was unarguably reason for exile. The rest of the Dragoneers agreed, and the disturbed young man and his crippled Nightshade were delivered there and all but forgotten.

  Marcherion was residing in Kingston most of the time, and he lorded over the islands well enough to keep everyone happy. Lord March, he was called, and he and Rikky loved the hunt as much as their dragons did. Marcherion’s anger slid away as the world opened itself to him, mostly because there was no imminent threat for him to battle, but also because the maids and maidens all thought he was a dream and were all trying to seek his favor.

  Aikira married an Outland ship’s captain named Gareth Chimarrah and had a baby girl with him, but she was still bent on besting Marcherion and Rikky when they hunted the Frontier’s open spaces or the inlets along the coast. She and Zahrellion were the best of friends, and Rikky called her Aikira Chimarrah while giggling every chance he got.

  Clover was amazed that she was there seeing her Dragoneers at peace with the world and themselves, but she was even more surprised that she was feeling as good as she did.

  After nearly dying of age, she and Crimzon found the Leif Repline fountain, in her typical lucky fashion, just in time. After drinking her fill and feeling the aging process start to reverse, she spent two full days hauling buckets of the replenishing liquid out to her dragon. Crimzon could only shiver and complain of the frigid mountain climate as his wounds were healed over anew. He wasn’t the worst, though. Listening to the ghost of some dwarven adventurer who’d died in the cavern thousands of years ago was as entertaining as it was maddening. The little bugger had died drunk and seemed to have retained the intoxication in his strange afterlife. He told a great tale, though, when he could get the words out of the slit in his ghostly beard.

  They’d only returned here to retrieve some maps Clover had made earlier in her life, and a vial full of a potion she’d gotten on her only trip to the distant continent of Harthgar. These things she had hidden in a place none of the Dragoneers had ever thought to look. She and Crim had a quest waiting on them, but seeing Jenka and his son enjoying the natural bounty of life was as nice an image to behold as she could imagine. Seeing Zahrellion throwing daisies with their little girl on a blanket nearby at the shore was amazing, too. For a long time, the red-haired warrior and her mighty red dragon stayed perched and watched them all.

  It was long after the boat had been pulled ashore when she finally urged her dragon to leap into the moonlit sky. They had a long journey across the sea to a place she had never been, but Clover and her dragon were healthy again, as healthy as they’d ever been, and they both had a feeling that all of the Dragoneers, and this land of lost people who were rediscovering the rest of the world, would live happily ever after.

  They, on the other hand, were looking for adventure.

  After all, the world is but a playground for a girl with a dragon.

  The End

  Bonus Content:

  Crimzon and Clover One—Orphaned Dragon, Lucky Girl

  © 2009 By Michael Robb Mathias Jr.

  The week-old hatchling nudged its horny head against the cold, lifeless bulk of its mother. Getting no response again, the puny male dragon whined pitifully. Instinctively, he reared his weary head back and squeaked out a high-pitched wail. The sound would have brought a living mother dragon raging home from a hundred leagues or more. A living mother dragon would have stopped at nothing to feed her hatchling’s hungry belly.
This hatchling wasn’t so lucky. His mother was dead. After a long, sorrowful time of nudging and wailing, the song of misery finally ended. Mercifully, the starving little dragon fell into an exhausted slumber.

  Being highly intelligent creatures, dragons are taught by their mothers the skills they’ll need to thrive in the ever-dangerous world of men. This particular hatchling’s mother was now four days dead. She was once the proud and ferocious high predator, and undisputed queen of the small, but very active, range of mountains sheltering her nest. Sadly, her reign had ended.

  Years ago, she summoned a mate. His seed readily quickened inside her. She laid her eggs in this remote cavern high up in the rocky passes. Then, as all female dragons do after laying their eggs, she began warning away every living creature that might threaten the welfare of her unhatched young. It wasn’t long until every beast in the area, great and small, understood what valleys, caves and streams to avoid, and what the consequences were for not doing so. She then returned to her nest and spent a full year tenderly and methodically incubating the eggs.

  When the day of hatching finally came, she proudly coaxed her two little ones out of their shells. She fed them their first meal of red meat from a valley stag she slaughtered. The two baby dragons devoured it greedily. She beamed as they began growling and tumbling with each other all around the gravel-strewn cavern floor. They were working their tender muscles and fluttering their wings awkwardly. Every now and then, one would pause to shriek at the wonder of life and belch out a puff of smoke. More than once a thin tendril of flame accompanied the swirling gray clouds that left the hatchlings’ toothy mouths.

  On the second day after the hatching, she left them to hunt their next meal. She didn’t know how horrible a mistake she was making. She hadn’t considered the small group of men traveling through the neighboring valley a viable threat to her nest. Her valley was much higher in elevation, and no man had ever dared venture into it.