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LaShawn stiffened as his father’s presence slipped from his mind with the ever-so-faint whisper of alarm, Help me.

One moment his father had been content—they’d found Kanvar’s friend, located the Hall, and seeing no sign of Khalid’s followers, stopped for a quick bite to eat. The next moment his father’s mind went dark, the call for help only a faint echo before unconsciousness.

LaShawn jumped to his knees and scrambled out the door of his house. “Damodar,” he called. Damodar, something’s wrong.

Damodar stirred in his cave, stretching as he came awake. Wrong?

With my father. He’s in trouble. LaShawn clenched his hands and looked down at his right fist in surprise. He unclenched it and clenched it again. It had been a long time since he’d been able to do that firmly. His arm still ached, but it was healed. He had full use of it, thanks to Kanvar.

Kanvar? He snapped his mind out searching for the young prince that had come with his father. LaShawn could not feel him, or Ishayu, his father’s dragon. LaShawn’s gut wrenched. What would it take to subdue two Nagas and a Great Gold dragon? What danger could they face here?

The humans. Damodar hissed and barreled out of his cave along the well-worn path down the hillside to LaShawn’s house.

If anyone were to see the Great Gold dragon move, they would note how ugly and awkward his stride was. He’d lost his hind legs below the knee when LaShawn had, but that did not stop him now. He stretched his wings as he went. It was flight he had missed for so long. When LaShawn’s arm had been crippled by the falling wall that also crushed his legs, Damodar’s right wing and foreleg had been crippled too. But Kanvar had healed that. Damodar flapped his aching wings. They were weak from disuse but with effort they lifted him off the ground. A few moments later, he landed in front of the house where LaShawn waited.

“Yes, the humans,” LaShawn said. “Kanvar seemed to trust his friend, but what is friendship between humans and Nagas? Even in Navgarod that’s rare. Here … I would never trust any human. Uncivilized butchers, all of them.”

Damodar growled in agreement. They will kill your father. It may already be too late.

“We can’t let them do that. Can you fly with me on your back?” LaShawn hobbled over to Damodar and rubbed his golden plates. The sun glimmered off them, warming the smooth gold and half-blinding LaShawn.

If we go to your father’s rescue, they’ll kill us too. We have no weapons. Your sword hand and my wing are weak, unused for … ever it seems.

“You have your joy breath, and unless the humans have singing stones, we should be able to control their minds.”

Of course they have singing stones. That’s what Kanvar and your Lord Father were sent to get.

“So … what? We just sit here and do nothing? Are our lives worth more than my father’s, and a prince’s, an heir to the throne of Stonefountain?” Terror thrummed through LaShawn. He did not want to face the humans again. He was crippled and useless and could do little good to help his father.

You decide, Damodar said. If you wish to go, I will try to carry you. I … would like to fly with you at least one more time in this life, even if it is our last.

LaShawn swallowed. People will see us, he thought. They’ll kill us. Worse, despise us for our crippled bodies. He would rather die than have anyone from home know his fate.

Still clinging to pride, Damodar said gently.

“What else do we have besides our shattered pride?” LaShawn said.

You have your father’s love and your king’s acceptance. What else matters? Damodar sank to the ground and lowered his head so LaShawn could climb onto his neck. But we won’t have either if we let Kanvar and your father die at the hands of the humans.

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Tanveer wore full black scale armor made from the hides of the ferocious black monkeys of Kundiland. Though the armor was well-mended and brightly polished, it gave the impression that it had been through countless battles. It was unadorned and unembellished. Though Tanveer had once been captain of the royal guard at Stonefountain, he wore no insignia or heraldry. He could be any man anywhere that had made a living of traveling and fighting dragons. He wore his blond hair cut short since half of it had been singed off during his fight with Great Red dragons several months before. His stony face that had already been scarred by battle had a new burn scar down the side now to add to the others. The Great Red dragons, along with some Great Blue dragons, had ambushed the Naga guards at Jaffa. Tanveer was one of the few survivors. . . .

Nikeron passed under the archway into Tanveer’s chamber and found Mythris’s body blocking his path. The Great Gold dragon had moved Tanveer’s bed into the center of the chamber and was curled up in a circle around the room’s outer edge. He lay asleep with the tip of his tail across his eyes. Tanveer was sitting upright on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

“Hey, Chan says you’re sick,” Nikeron spoke just loud enough Tanveer might hear him without waking up Mythris. “Do you want me to find a healer?”

Tanveer lifted his head from his hands. His red-rimmed eyes stood out against the unnatural paleness of his face. “How can you even speak to me?”

“All right, I know you’re angry about the sword, but what was I supposed to do, stand around all night with a bloody sword in my hand?”

Tanveer picked up a cloth from beside him on the bed and tossed it across Mythris’s tail into Nikeron’s chest. “You’re supposed to keep a cloth in a pouch on the harness and use it to wipe the sword free of blood before sheathing it. Not that you would have known that, because I never had a chance to teach you even the most basic things about hunting and fighting dragons in the human fashion. I’m sorry. I never prepared you. I didn’t even warn you. I knew you would have to fight, but I didn’t think tonight, didn’t think this soon . . . Forgive me, Nikeron. You almost died.”

“I—” unsure what to say, Nikeron folded the cloth and stuffed it into one of the pouches on the harness. “But I didn’t die. You saved me.”

“I did the unthinkable. The unforgivable. If we were at Stonefountain, my life would be forfeit.”

“Forfeit for what? What are you saying? You saved me.”

“I took full control of your mind and body without asking, without permission. If you’d paid attention to any of my lessons, you know that is forbidden, the worst crime a Naga can commit.”

Nikeron cleared his throat to keep himself from laughing, but couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his face. “Well then, it’s a good thing I never paid attention. Seriously, though. What you did was show me what it feels like to fight a dragon, what my body has to do, how my brain has to think. I learned more from you in moments than I have in all our other lessons combined. You should teach me like that more often.”

Tanveer shot to his feet. “Absolutely not!”

Nikeron shrugged. “Ah well, it was worth a try.”

A Long Way Home Chapter Three, part 1

Nagaron stepped into the cave’s central chamber and found the silence inside disconcerting. Where once several dozen people gathered to cook, eat, work, and sleep nothing remained besides shards of broken pots and various stone tools. He went to the place where his family had slept on woven mats and tanned dragon hides. Sinking to a squat, he picked through the shards of a pot he had fashioned in his youth. He’d learned potting from his father and hunting from his mother. His uncle had taught him how to chip flint into spear heads and how to lash them to the wooden hafts. His older brother had guided him on his very first dragon hunt, and his sister had showed him which berries and mushrooms were safe to bring home for dinner. He shook his head. He’d left his family behind long ago in the realm of the living and left them again now in the Realm of the Dead.

Aarush stepped into the chamber, carrying a dead trihorn in his jaws. Dinner, he said, dropping the lifeless dragon on the ground. You light the fire. I’ll cut it up. You could have helped me widen the entrance so I could fit, you know. It’s like the whole point of this place was to keep dragons out.

Nagaron snorted. “Of course, it was. We preferred to kill lesser dragons for food, rather than have them eat us. There’s nothing left in here to burn. I’ll have to gather some wood.” Nagaron rose and retreated from the cave. When he got back with an armful of wood, he found Aarush by the far side of the chamber, sniffing the air with a puzzled look on his face. His tail lashed back and forth.

“What is it?” Nagaron asked, arranging the wood in the rounded indent in the floor where his family had always done their cooking.

There’s another chamber back here. It’s small.

“It was our sacred place. There are paintings on the wall there that tell the stories of our clan. The elders would gather us children there to teach us our history. Don’t widen the entrance. You’ll ruin the pictures,” Nagaron said, hurrying over to Aarush.

Pictures of the Four Powers? Aarush asked.

“Yes, among other things.”

Aarush sniffed again. The room smells like death. Someone died in there. A few weeks ago, perhaps, from the smell of it.

“Probably a serpent crawled in there. Must have been injured.” Nagaron edged past Aarush and entered the short passageway back to the sacred chamber.

Doesn’t smell like a serpent, Aarush said. Smells human.

When Nagaron stepped into the chamber, the scent Aarush had picked up from out in the central chamber washed over Nagaron. There was no light in the room for him to see, but the scent of death hung heavy on the air mixed with the smell of dead cook fire and rotting fungus. Nagaron retreated. “You’re right,” he told Aarush. “That does smell suspicious. Let’s get this fire going. Then I’ll make a torch and check it out.”

Or you could make a glowstone, Aarush said.

“I could do that. But the sandstone of the bluff doesn’t make good glowstones, not like the rocks on Mt. Stonefountain do.” Nagaron manipulated the wood into a comfortable blaze, lit the end of a long stick, and returned to the sacred chamber. The flame snapped and twisted on the end of the stick as he entered the room.

The torch’s wavering light revealed four dead humans, their bodies contorted as if they had died suddenly from some kind of poison. A gray-haired man and woman along with a younger man and a teenage girl. A rug on the floor, a firepit and cookpot, and wooden beds, table, and chairs, showed signs that the people had been living there for some times. They’d made a comfortable home here, but died as they were sitting around the table.

Nagaron poked at the decomposing food on their plates. “Mushrooms,” he called down the passage to Aarush. “There is a dead family here. They mixed up the edible mushrooms with the poisonous ones. You have to check the undersides. The edible ones have firm ridges. The poisonous ones are soft and break off if you rub them.” Nagaron could hear his older sister’s voice teaching him about the mushrooms as if she were still beside him. Never bring home the wrong ones, Nagaron. You’ll kill us all.

“Looks like they’ve been dead for several weeks. What a waste of life. We’ll have to carry these bodies to the cave where we cached our dead.” Nagaron could not describe the emptiness he’d felt when he had joined the procession along the bluff and watched his brother’s body lowered into the deep chamber to join the other clan members who had died before him.

Forcing the memory aside, Nagaron looked around him. Such a nice home, such a perfect family. He found a leather-bound book on a table beside one of the beds and picked it up, but his torch guttered and went out.

Sighing, Nagaron retreated from the chamber and took the book outside into daylight to read. It turned out to be a journal, written by the elderly woman who lay dead. It recounted how she and her husband, along with their newborn son, escaped slavery to the Nagas at Stonefountain during the battle for Stonefountain in the Great War. They got away on a raft that took them downriver. It had beached on the shore below the bluff, and they had sought shelter in the ancient cave. They had spent the decades since the war making this their home, hunting and gathering and trading with the river ships that stopped at the nearest town.

That’s interesting, Aarush said.

The savory scent of cooked trihorn wafted to Nagaron from the cave. He closed the journal and rejoined his dragon. “This gives me an idea,” Nagaron said, holding the journal up. “I think I see a way that we can get our home back.”

I’m glad to hear that, Aarush said. Let’s discuss it while we eat.

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Parmver turned the book back to himself and frowned at the page. “Has the language changed so much in the last thousand years? I suppose it has.”

“You are not a thousand years old?” Kanvar said. “I mean, my father was just exaggerating right? You couldn’t have been around before Stonefountain fell?”

Parmver rubbed his wrinkled face. He did look ancient. “Yes, I was at Stonefountain. King Khalid was a friend of mine. We grew up together. Learned from the same tutors. He, of course, became King, and I went into the study of plants and their alchemical properties. I split my time between Stonefountain and here.”

Parmver’s memories seeped into Kanvar’s mind, becoming his own as if he had been there all those years before in Parmver’s place.

He stood in a large cavern with walls lined with glowing stones—a rainbow of pastels that flickered with a life of their own and sang. Yes, the rocks sang, a chorus of thousands of voices blended in harmony spinning out a musical refrain so sweet it brought tears to his eyes. There was power in the music, in the stones, and in a huge fountain of water that bubbled up from the rocks at the center of the cavern. The power surged through him, permeating his soul until he glowed and sang with the rocks and flowed with the water out of the cavern, cascading down the side of a mountain with its golden palace.

Hall after mighty hall rose up around the mountain slopes in splendor, adorned in gold and flashing jewels. The water lit the palace as it fell down and flowed into a great river that passed grand houses, arches, and walkways of silver. The great buildings gave way to streets lined with smaller buildings, accented in copper and brass.

The river moved on from there to streets of adobe much like Daro, though the further it went the smaller the houses became, soon falling away to huts of stick and mud, crowded among rotting canvas tents. And people, hungry, dirty, lined the streets, hands hanging down, bellies swollen in starvation, and they looked up at the mighty palace with hopeless fear and anger.

But the river moved on, out through fields of rice and wheat where Great Gold dragons oversaw ragged laborers, working the soil. Great Blue dragons in chains pulling the plows. And Kanvar felt the dragons’ anger and the people’s desperation. And he heard the thoughts of those who would rebel, but they were whipped into silence.

Kanvar found himself flying with Parmver’s memories on the back of a gold dragon, away from the horrors of the city, far across the water where he could work with his plants and potions in peace. Where he could search for cures to ease sickness and make people’s life better. Only to return to Stonefountain again with tinctures and tonics. Most of them taken immediately by the Nagas who lived in the golden palace.

“Khalid.” Parmver faced the Golden King in a private chamber. “Your men have taken almost all of my medicines. I made this batch for those in the city. The coughing sickness has come there. Thousands could die if it goes unchecked. Please, tell them to return my remedies to me. I can stop this sickness before it spreads.”

“Parmver.” Khalid’s golden crown flashed in the sunlight from the window arch. “There are hundreds of children born a day out there. And so very few born here even in a decade, and half of those have deformities and have to be discarded. We must use your medicines to protect our own. This entire civilization would crumble without us.”

Parmver clenched his fists. He could hardly contain his anger in the presence of the king and had to work hard to keep his thoughts shielded where the king couldn’t hear them. “By the Fountain, give me back my medicines for the people. You are their king. You should care what happens to them. If you do not treat them justly, they will rebel against you.”

Khalid’s face turned red, and he pounded his fist on a golden pillar. “They dare not rebel. They cannot. I know all of their thoughts. We control their very minds if we must. There will be no rebellion. Our powers are too strong.”

“As you say.” Parmver kept his mind shielded from his old friend. Friend no more, it seemed. The power of kingship had twisted him into something Parmver no longer recognized. He left the palace and went out into the hopeless city. He had one vial of the tincture left. He may be able to save one person.

A ragged and desperate man saw him in the street, came over, and fell to his knees before Parmver. “Mighty one, please help us. My daughter is sick with the cough. I have heard that you have found a cure. Please, save us. I’ll give you anything.”

Parmver knelt in the dirt and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You have nothing of worth to give me.” It didn’t matter. He would help this man anyway.

“Oh, but I do. I was given this just this morning,” the man spluttered. “It’s very pretty. Surely it would be worth my daughter’s life.” He reached into a grubby pocket and pulled out a little iron box. When he opened it, a searing dagger of music stabbed Parmver’s mind. Looking past the pain, he saw a glowing blue stone in the box. It had to come from the walls of Stonefountain. And the song, instead of beautifully in tune with the other rocks of the cavern, was piercing in a desperate cry of pain. The stone screamed at being separated from the others of the Fountain.

Parmver reached out and snapped the lid shut. The stone fell silent, trapped in the iron box. “Who gave you this?” Parmver demanded.

The man’s eyes widened in sudden fear. He leapt to his feet and tried to run, but Parmver caught him and pried the box from the man’s shaking hands. In its place he gave the man the only vial of medicine he’d been allowed to keep. One dose to protect himself from the sickness. He gave it to the man. “For your daughter,” he said. Then he let the man go, and never saw him again.

His stomach churned with revulsion as he looked down at the little iron box. His dragon, Ceiron, leaned down, keening just above his head. Trembling with fear, Parmver opened the box. The stone screamed. His mind lost contact with the dragon standing beside him. “By the Fountain,” he swore. “Do you know what this means, Ceiron? The people can rise up in rebellion and Khalid will never know it’s coming. The stones will hide their thoughts. We will be powerless.”

He closed the box and raced to the Khalid’s chambers, but was stopped by the royal guard before he could enter. Khalid, he called, seeking his old friend’s mind. But Khalid’s mind was locked away from him with heavy shields.

Parmver stumbled away from the guards, breathing heavily, and raced to a window overlooking the city. He saw shadows moving in the streets, a mob gathering in the falling darkness. He had to do something. Thousands of stones were gone. Spread among the poorest of the people. Given to those who were the most desperate. Put into the hands of the palace guards. The Fountain’s song was broken and with it the power that created their civilization. “All is lost,” he moaned.

Not all, Ceiron said. Perhaps we can save one person. Like the daughter of the man you gave the medicine to. Go get the king’s son and meet me back here. Ceiron took flight from the window. And Parmver ran.

The vague thought that it would be treason to abduct the king’s son made little impression on him. He raced to the nursery and snatched the five-year-old child from his bed, ignoring the surprised protest of the nurse who looked after him.

Ceiron met Parmver back at the window, carrying a squirming wyrmling, the Great Dragon King’s newest hatchling. Ceiron’s mate hovered beside him. Parmver leapt up onto Ceiron’s neck, and they took flight, swiftly, silently, away from the city. In the darkness behind him, Parmver heard the sudden scream of thousands of tortured stones taken from their iron prisons.

Parmver’s memories pulled from Kanvar’s mind. Kanvar looked up to see tears in the old man’s eyes.

“Well, I hadn’t meant to share that information with you in exactly that fashion, though I suppose it works well enough. Training you to control your powers is most definitely at the top of my list.” Parmver pulled out a gold handkerchief and dried his eyes. “So, yes I was at Stonefountain, and if I hadn’t rescued your grandfather, perhaps no Nagas would have survived at all.”

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Kachanaba launched back into the air and dove toward the ballista, moving fast to keep them from being able to take aim at him. He blasted the soldiers manning the ballista with Joy Breath as he swooped past them. That will hold them for a bit. I think we should deal with Wallace first. Kachanaba landed in front of Nikeron’s tent and folded his wings.

Nikeron slid down from Kachanaba’s neck and confronted his captains who had been meeting close by with Marshall when Nikeron arrived. Kachanaba growled and sucked in another breath as they walked over to Wallace.

Don’t stun him with Joy Breath, Chan. I will never have the respect of the Host, they will never acknowledge me as their true leader, until I’ve proved myself in battle. Let me fight Wallace. I need to do this, Nikeron said.

Kachanaba growled again and stalked into the tent.

Nikeron drew his long sword and stepped toward his captains who stopped their advance when they saw Nikeron draw his weapon.

“Your dragon just attacked my soldiers,” Marshall said, his own hand dropping to his sword hilt. “Why?”

Nikeron set himself in a fighting stance before answering. “I warned you all on the day I introduced you to Kachanaba that he could read your minds. Had you forgotten that, Wallace? Did you think we would not know that you’d set those soldiers on the ballista to shoot us down? Do you think Kachanaba could not see into your mind and know that you would make your move today to take command of this Host?”

Wallace’s face colored, and he drew his own sword. The other captains stepped back, leaving space for Nikeron and Wallace to fight. “That is a lie,” Wallace said. “Your dragon can’t read minds. Your accusation is unfounded and unsubstantiated. If I wanted to fight you, I would have challenged you, not had you shot down. You impugn my honor, boy, and I won’t have that.”

“I was hoping you would say that.” Nikeron executed a well-framed attack against Wallace. Now was his chance to use everything he’d learned from Raptor’s mind: the sword movements, the reflexes, the attacks, and the parries.

End it quickly, Kachanaba reminded him. You still don’t have the stamina for any kind of extended fight.

Nikeron felt that keenly. Ten days of even the most strenuous training could not build in him a lifetime of muscles and stamina. And Wallace was good. Better than Raptor possibly.

Don’t think like that. Niki, keep your balance. Focus.

Wallace had faked Nikeron into a false strike, moving out of the way at the last moment so Nikeron stumbled forward. Wallace’s blade rasped across the steel reinforcements Kachanaba had added to the armor’s midsection. Nikeron regained his balance and knocked Wallace’s blade away. Wallace attacked again without waiting.

Read his mind Niki, just like you practiced with Raptor.

Nikeron forced his mind to burrow into Wallace’s thoughts and sense what his next moves would be. Wallace was surprised his killing strike had not pierced Nikeron’s armor. He’d seen how the raptor claws had torn through the silver dragon scales on Nikeron’s stomach and assumed it was Nikeron’s weak point.

Not anymore, Nikeron thought to himself.

Having made contact with Wallace’s mind, Nikeron ramped up the fight. Moving with confidence now, always knowing what Wallace was doing, what he planned to do, and why. But blocking Wallace, no matter how effective, would not win the fight, and Kachanaba was right, Nikeron’s strength was fading. He attempted the trick Aelle had used to defeat Raptor at the Dragon Den, but Wallace didn’t fall for it. Nikeron switched to other attacks he’d learned from Raptor, but Wallace knew them all, and he knew after only a few minutes fighting with Nikeron that all he had to do was keep the fight going and Nikeron’s strength would fail him. Wallace was a seasoned fighter, trained to find weaknesses in his opponent, and he had no trouble seeing Nikeron’s.

Don’t panic, Kachanaba told him. You’re in his mind. Keep moving, keep fighting. You have the advantage of knowing whatever move he makes before he does. Use that to move in a way he’s not expecting. Don’t let him lead the fight. You have the control here.

Gasping for breath, Nikeron forced his way deeper into Wallace’s mind. Nikeron knew in his heart, a single slice with his full power across Wallace’s mind would shatter Wallace’s will and destroy his ability to think and move on his own. The temptation grew stronger as Wallace pressed him harder, sensing that Nikeron’s strength was about to fail him.

What kind of man do you want to be? Kachanaba questioned Nikeron softly.

A live one, Nikeron countered, blocking a series of sword thrusts from Wallace.

Aelle would know if you won this fight by destroying Wallace’s mind. Would she still love you if you did? Kachanaba asked.

Shut up, Chan, I’m trying to fight. This isn’t the time for a philosophy lesson. Nikeron turned his full attention back to Wallace and forced his body to keep moving, to keep responding to Wallace’s attacks.

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Khalid laughed. “I promised you he’d call for me. He’s mine to the core. He has no existence outside of my power and influence.” He reached out and pressed his hand against Devaj’s chest, intending to slip inside Devaj’s body.

Devaj pulled as much power as he could from the gold dragonstones and repulsed Khalid’s touch. “I didn’t summon you back here, Khalid. I called the dagger to free Lord Taral. His brother would not forgive me for leaving him trapped in your company.”

“Fistas?” Taral’s face lit with hope. “My brother sent you to free me?” Then he frowned. “But that means freeing Khalid as well. My brother would never have wanted that.”

Khalid intensified his push against Devaj’s shields. “Fistas was a traitor, and so are you Taral. And you, boy,” he said to Devaj, “had better drop those shields and stop fighting me or I’ll make you suffer far beyond anything I’ve done to you before. You are no match for me. If you try to fight, you will pay dearly.”

Devaj backed away from Khalid toward the center of the fountain. Uncontrolled terror washed over him, and his shields wavered.

Khalid sprang at him, pressing his whole body against Devaj’s, wrapping his fingers around Devaj’s mind.

Elkatran roared.

Devaj’s hand slipped into his pocket and closed around the silver coin Loghern had given him. A wave built inside of him, a giant wall of water that swelled up and crashed down around him, flinging Khalid back.

Khalid sprang forward again, and again Devaj drove him back with the cresting wave. And from deep within the thrum and roar of the ocean, he heard the endless voices break into a song of power and hope. In countless number like the drops of water in the ocean, the spirits of Stonefountain rose up to join Devaj. Devaj lifted his voice and sang with them, turning all their power inside himself and thrusting it out again at Khalid.

Khalid howled in rage, and at his shriek, other spirits rose up—dark men and women who had followed Khalid in life and others who had joined him in his conquest and rule of the Fountain after death. Their powers combined in Khalid to block Devaj’s attack. “You don’t know what you’re playing at, boy,” Khalid said. “I’ve had a thousand years to master this fountain.” Khalid shrieked again, as if the only music he could master was discord and dissonance, but the power of his song joined with those who stood with him and stabbed at Devaj like a sword to his heart.

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“Is Shaunty safely in bed,” Eithne whispered to Theodoric.

Theodoric’s brow furrowed. “He was indeed in bed and seemed asleep when I checked on him. I warned the new nurse to keep a close eye on him.”

“Ah, so he’ll show up in some exasperating way in half an hour or so,” Eithne said. “Should I wait until he comes to have them set him a place, or instruct them to do it now?”

“I should lock him in holding for a week and see if that irons the mischief out of him.”

“I wouldn’t bother. He’d find some way to enjoy it. The problem is, he cares nothing for punishments other children find unhappy or humiliating. I know the other Ladies whisper that we have spoiled him, but they don’t understand him at all.” A conspiratorial sparkle came into Eithne’s eyes. “I think the best solution is to send him to live with them for a few weeks each. We’ll see what they have to say after that.”

“No doubt you’re right,” Theodoric said.

. . .

Keeping his head bowed, Devaj stepped back behind LaShawn and buckled the sword round his waist, putting the tail of his coat over the hilt to hide it. The rest of the greetings proceeded without incident and the royal company and guests resorted to the tables that had been set for them along the edges of the room. Lord Theodoric and his wife sat at the head table with their married daughters and their husbands to their left and LaShawn on their right. LaShawn motioned Devaj to the place on the other side of him.

“Right about now, I’d say,” Eithne spoke as she and Theodoric sat, followed by their guests.

There was a flash of purple on the balcony, and a young boy jumped, stocking footed, to stand atop the stair railing and slid down the full length of the staircase with his bright purple cloak flapping majestically behind him. When he reached the end, he dived into a somersault and came back to his feet, flashing a smile at the assembled lords and ladies who clapped appreciatively.

“The jester has arrived,” Lord Theodoric said, motioning to the servants who horridly added a place setting and chair between LaShawn and Devaj.

“I bet he practiced that for weeks,” Eithne said, hiding a grin behind a stern look at the boy.

Lord Theodoric got to his feet, scowling as the child cavorted up to the table. “You and I will have a severe talk in the morning, Shaunty.”

“Yes, Father,” Shaunty said with a bow. “I will welcome your chastisement as always.”

. . .

“Deas?” Shaunty lay across his chair and tipped his head upside down to look into Devaj’s down-turned face. “Your dragon must be very powerful.”

Devaj gave him a painful smile and whispered. “My dragon is very sick. He was hurt in the war, and some think he may never recover.”

“But your mind, I think it shattered everyone’s shields. It did mine for sure,” Shaunty said.

“But you are very young,” Devaj answered. “And you haven’t bonded yet.”

“True.” Shaunty popped back vertical. “I think when I bond it will be to the Great Black dragon from the Western Mountains. They say the black dragon’s wings are so big they cover the whole sky when he spreads them, and that is what blocks out the sun at nighttime.”

. . . 40 years later . . .

“Jinjani,” a pale man with hair so blond it was almost white and sparkling blue eyes clasped his hand. “I’ve heard so much about you. Finally, a person after my own heart.” He projected an image into Jinjani’s mind of himself, that very morning, sneaking into the palace kitchen and making off with an entire tray of cream pies, which he’d shared in secret with his Great Black dragon who was so large he had a mansion of his own on the far side of the river and seldom budged from it.

“This is Lord Shaunty,” Devaj said.

Shaunty laughed. “My dragon, Fernyiges, has a sweet tooth.”

“I see that.” Jinjani couldn’t help smiling.

. . .

Edric led Jinjani up to the base of the steps leading onto a dais where Devaj’s golden throne stood, flanked by two thrones to the left where Lord Theodoric and his wife stood and two thrones to the right where Shaunty, dressed in a luxurious white robe, waited for his royal bride, so the wedding could commence. As Jinjani approached, Shaunty grinned and shared a mental image of how he had surreptitiously rubbed itching powder on the arms of some of the Naga lords present who did not support His Majesty.

Kanvar and Dharanidhar

Still trying to make a good picture of Kanvar and Dharanidhar

Dragonbound Hero Series Card

Jinjani woke to a roar like the crack and thunder of a great storm over the mountain. Terror seized his heart. Fly, fly, escape.

The image of massive burning claws and a maw like a volcano burst into his mind along with a dreadful force of thought. Irazu, you will wish you had never hatched. You dare steal from me?

Thunder sounded again above the mountain and a piercing cry of despair. Jinjani felt massive claws rake across his body, grabbing him, pinning him, and shaking him.

Shield your mind, the memory of Raza’s voice penetrated Jinjani’s thoughts. Grandfather had drilled him on shielding his mind. But Jinjani was in too much shock and pain to build any kind of shield. Rolling to his knees, he grabbed the iron helmet and pulled it on. The dragons’ voices vanished from his mind, but the sound of them fighting above still came to his ears.

It’s all right. You’re safe, Jinjani told himself. Just stay inside and they’ll never know you’re here. In the silence between the deafening blasts of the dragons’ roars, Jinjani heard the piercing scream of a human child. He flung on his weapons harness, sheathed his sword and hunting knife, grabbed his spears, and sprang out of the cave, searching the sky for the source of the scream. Above the lake, two Great Red volcanic dragons clawed each other in combat. Their burning bodies lit the night with red fire. The smaller of the dragons broke free and dived toward the ground. It landed nearly on top of Jinjani’s cached kill. In the burning red light from its body, Jinjani saw that it carried an iron cage, which housed a woman, a man, and two small children. As soon as the cage came to ground, the dragon tore the bars off the side of it and turned the opening to the trees. Then he spread his wings as if to hide the cage from the much larger red dragon that thundered to the ground beside him and made a swipe toward it. The smaller dragon roared and threw his body in the path of the strike as the people scrambled from the cage and tried to escape. The man’s leg seemed to be broken, and the woman incapable of helping him while carrying the children.

“Run,” the man yelled. “Leave me. Go!”

The children filled the air with terrified cries and clung to their mother while the little dragon did his best to keep the larger dragon occupied.

Jinjani dropped his spears and rushed forward. “Come with me,” he told the woman as he snatched up a child in each arm. He raced for his cave, deposited the children inside, and went back for their parents. The woman had got an arm under the man’s shoulders and was helping him limp out of range of the two dragons.

The larger dragon breathed fire as he got his claws on the smaller one. He shook him, filling the air with a sound like the rattle of rocks from a landslide. Then he flapped to the lake and shoved the smaller dragon down into the freezing water.

Jinjani got on the man’s other side and half carried him through the trees to the cave. It was a tight fit for the man, the woman, and the two children in the alcove, but they fit. Jinjani unbuckled his food pouch and canteen from the pack and handed it to them. All four were shivering with cold. He wrapped his cloak around the children, the blanket from his bedroll around the man, and stripped out of his coat to give to the woman.

“Stay here,” he told them. He pressed his pack into the entrance to hide the alcove, then pulled out his flask of calendula oil and rubbed it across the backpack and himself to hide their scent.

At the lake, the larger dragon alternated between thrusting the young dragon beneath the water and shaking and clawing him. Steam sizzled up from the lake with each dip of the dragon, and its red glow turned black and faded out. Roaring, the giant red dragon threw the small one aside and came back to the cage. He lowered his head to catch the humans’ scent.

Swearing silently, Jinjani loaded Kumar Raza’s double crossbow. Two shots, that’s all he would have and then he’d have to resort to the spears. He positioned himself next to where they lay on the ground. He didn’t need Grandfather to tell him that no weapon he had would pierce the Great Red dragon’s volcanic hide. The crossbow, the spears, the swords, all were useless against a Great Red dragon. Still, he held his ground, frozen in place, praying to the Fountain that the scent of the calendula oil would mask his position and keep the family safe.

The Great Red dragon dropped to all fours and stalked toward the cave, hunting via scent like a raptor, growling with the pleasure of the hunt, but the scent turned wrong and he shook his head and sniffed.

Jinjani held his breath and remained still. Thunder clapped across the sky, and the heavy clouds opened up with a freezing rain. It hissed against the red dragon, sending steam up into the sky, threatening to douse its fire the way he had the smaller dragon’s.

The red dragon let out a petulant roar and sprang into the sky, speeding southeast away from the storm.

It took Jinjani a moment before he remembered to breathe. “By the Fountain, that’s the closest I ever want to be to a Great Red volcanic dragon,” he muttered.

He shivered as the cold rain struck his armor and turned to ice, but his body felt too heavy to move, like the weight of giant rock pinned him to the ground. Then the rain turned to white flakes like volcanic ash, only cold and wet. It drifted toward the ground, and a freezing wind whipped it up again into eddies and carried it aloft to be replaced by smaller colder flakes, which hushed the dark night with silence. Jinjani went over to the body of the young red dragon where the older dragon had callously thrown it aside. It now resembled a lump of pitted black volcanic rock in the shape of a dragon. Frozen rain and snow slicked the surface. Jinjani sent his mind out in search of the dragon’s as he circled the creature. There seemed no chance it could still be living.

He stopped near the dragon’s head. The dragonstone on its forehead lay dark and cold. Jinjani reached out and stroked the lifeless crystal. “But you weren’t like that, were you?” he murmured. “You gave your life to save that family.”

The faintest flicker of light pulsed for a moment in the dragonstone. Fire.

Jinjani jerked his hand away. Had the dead dragon spoken?

Fire.

It spoke again. It was alive, barely.