Dragon Wife (10 page)

The black dragon bowed low, pressing his belly into the grass and stretching his wings back, so they would be out of her way. It was an awesome sight, this creature of legend settling down, awaiting her approach.

It took courage to walk forward, even though the dragon remained motionless, doing nothing to startle her further.

“This is still Huroth,” she murmured, under her breath. “He won’t hurt me. It really is him.”

As she got up next to his shoulder, she could see that each scale wasn’t merely black. Within the glossy patina were blues, purples, and even a little green. She reached out and touched his side, surprised to find his scales warm and flexible, more like hide and less like metal armor than she expected.

He shifted, providing his leg as a way for her to climb onto his back.

“Right. This is it.” She stepped onto the curve of his leg. From there she could reach a spine at the base of his neck, and she pulled herself to a sitting position on his back.

Huroth rose slowly to standing, Orwenna gripping his shoulder spines as if her life depended on it. Falling off was not an option, especially once they were airborne. The thought made her queasy.

Though the dragon’s movements were careful, nothing could prepare her for that first lunge upwards. She bit back a scream and closed her eyes, preferring not to see the ground falling away beneath her. Each powerful beat of his wings made her stomach lurch, as adrenaline pumped through her body. It was going to be a long afternoon.

Chapter Seven

Gradually, Orwenna became accustomed to the rhythmic motion of Huroth’s flight. She couldn’t completely relax, but she did stop grimacing. After a while longer, she managed to open her eyes and look around.

They were following the course of a river, which tumbled down steep rocky steps toward the lowlands. The water was high and wild with snow melt, roaring like a mighty beast. As they flew over a particularly long drop, Orwenna saw rainbows suspended in the white spray of the falls.

Everything moved by so quickly. Their progress on foot must have seemed agonizingly slow to Huroth. In the air, he was eating up the miles in swift bites.

The river changed course, so they left it behind. Now they raced over narrow ridges and timbered slopes. In one clearing she spotted a mountain lion sunning itself. In another she saw a herd of more than twenty elk. They were the size of toys, viewed from so far above.

Despite the tension in her body, Orwenna began to appreciate the wonder of flying. It was incredible, rushing through the sky like this, seeing such a wide expanse of country stretched below her. Only heroes in fantastical stories got to do this sort of thing. Yet here she was, ordinary Orwenna, riding a dragon.

As the day wore on, they left the mountains behind, flying over foothills and then the rolling farmlands of Rhelaun. Orwenna could see the Ashon River ahead of them. It wound like a lazy snake through the fields, reflecting back yellow and pink from the evening clouds.

Whiterock was only a few hours further, traveling at this speed, but she hoped they would stop soon. Her limbs were numb from the effort of holding on, while her neck and back ached fiercely. As the sun dipped near the horizon, the air temperature dropped. Her fingers froze, and her eyes watered from the cold.

Thankfully, Huroth began to descend, angling toward an island in a bend of the Ashon River. It appeared to be uninhabited, with a hillock at one end, a scoop of sandy beach along the side, and a few scattered maples and birches. It was such a safe location, they would not need to set a watch but could both sleep through the night.

Huroth landed on the leeward side of the hillock. Orwenna slid from his back, groaning with pain as she hit the ground. She stumbled forward, her legs giving way. Her muscles, exhausted by hours spent locked in one position, refused to function.

Almost instantly, Huroth was beside her, no longer in drake form. He lifted her gently to lean against him.

“I’m sorry, Wen. I didn’t know it would be so difficult.” He spoke into her hair, his breath warm. “You don’t need to do this again. Tomorrow we’ll walk.”

For one glorious moment she surrendered to his embrace, feeling his powerful arms enfolding her, his heartbeat against the palm of her hand. Then she straightened and pulled away. It was no good him feeling sorry for her, believing she was nothing but a distressed damsel, unable to withstand a bit of dragon riding. She’d actually done quite well with it.

“It wasn’t bad,” she told him, hobbling over to sit on an ivy-covered stump. “I don’t mind riding again. It was exciting.”

“Are you sure? You look like you’re in pain.”

“I am stiff and sore,” she admitted, rubbing her arms.

Huroth strode over. Kneeling in front of her, he began to massage her legs, starting just above her boots. Orwenna opened her mouth to protest then reconsidered. His hands were bloody marvelous!

“We should reach Whiterock by midmorning, tomorrow,” Huroth said, his fingers moving over her upper calves. She barely stifled a sigh of pleasure as he found a tight spot and worked it loose.

“I can manage a couple more hours of riding,” she assured him. “And won’t it make the gossips buzz.” She chuckled at the thought of her arrival, riding on the dragon chieftain’s back. That was going to cause a stir.

Huroth glanced up, curious.

“You’d like to shock the court?”

“Oddly enough, I would. I’m tired of following the rules and trying to be respectable. As far as I can see, it hasn’t done me much good. I might try being infamous and have loads of fun instead.”

“I could help you with that,” Huroth said, grinning wolfishly.

The suggestion in his look left her speechless. There was no doubt this time. He wanted her and wasn’t the least bit bothered if she knew it.

She became acutely aware of his hands on her thighs. She could feel the pressure and heat of each finger through her soft leather leggings. As if he read her mind, his hands slowed, their motion becoming a sensual caress.

Orwenna had been shivering from cold and released muscle tension. Now she trembled in anticipation. He was so close she could smell the musky male scent of his skin and see the silver flecks in his winter-blue eyes. The sunset glowed on the strong lines of his face, lighting the dark mane of his hair with fire.

She reached out, running her hand lightly over the fall of his hair, before daring to touch his face. He brought a hand up, catching her fingers and bringing them to his lips. Even as he kissed her hand, the expression in his eyes changed, and he shook himself, as if clearing his head.

“You’re chilled to the bone,” he said, taking both her hands and rubbing them together between his. “They’re like ice.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

“No. You’re worn out and freezing. What you need right now is some looking after.” He shrugged off his cloak and draped it around her shoulders. “Stay put. I’ll gather firewood.”

She snuggled into the thick fur of the cloak which was still warm from his body heat. A part of her was disappointed, but another part valued his caring. He was ready to place her wellbeing above his own desires. When had a man ever done that for her?

The question brought a welling of tears to her eyes, and that made her realize how tired she was. Huroth was right. She needed rest, food, and a jolly good fire. Anything else could wait.

Once Huroth had gathered a decent pile of wood, Orwenna got up from her tree stump and prepared a shallow fire pit. The soil was sandy and damp to the touch. It smelled of the wide, slow-moving river.

Having used magic so many times recently, she found it came to her readily. The power built swiftly, despite her weariness, and soon a cheerful blaze was brightening the dusk around them. The two of them shared her provisions, saving only some bread and dried apple slices for the morning.

“Have you always been aware of your magic?” Huroth asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

“Since I can remember. It wasn’t as strong in childhood, though my mother started training me when I was quite young. She was proud of her abilities and wanted me to feel the same way.”

“Rightly so. It’s a gift.”

“Most people don’t see it that way. They’re suspicious…even condemning.”

“Probably because it frightens them,” Huroth said. “I understand magic is rare among your kind.”

“Yes. My family is unusual. Every generation we’ve had magic users, at least as far back as my great-great grandmother. Before that, I’m not sure.”

Huroth leaned back against the mossy trunk of a maple tree. He took out his pipe, filled, and lit it.

“I wonder if you have eldrin ancestry,” he mused. “That might explain why magic runs strong in your bloodline.”

“How is that possible?” Orwenna asked. “Eldrin is just another name for the gods.”

“Is that what you’ve been taught?”

“The priests call them various things, the high ones, eldrin, the immaculate masters, the gods. It all means the same thing. We humans were made to serve, to glorify them with our rituals and offerings. If we do a good job, they answer our prayers.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Well…” Orwenna wasn’t sure how to respond. Obedience to the teachings of the priests was assumed, and few questioned it. Her own doubts had always been a private matter, discussed with no one.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Huroth apologized. “I’m simply interested to know how you think of these things.”

“Frankly, I think little of them. The gods have never seemed real to me. It’s not something I would normally admit, but I’m sick of artifice. You asked an honest question, and you deserve an honest answer.”

“I appreciate your candor.”

“I’ve always felt more connection to the natural world. The cycle of seasons has sacredness, as do the plants and animals, the rocks, rivers, and sea. I don’t perform rituals to them, nor do I expect them to take action on my behalf. It’s enough just to be a part of it all, to join in the great dance, so to speak.”

She glanced up to see Huroth gazing at her, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“That is very like our dragon beliefs,” he said. “We honor Oatha, the Creator, who dreamed all things into being and who exists within all things. We praise Oatha for the beauty and majesty of this world, but we don’t expect favors or intervention. Oatha’s gift to us is our life. Our offering to Oatha, is to live in a worthy manner, to add our steps to ‘the dance’, as you put it.”

Huroth smiled across the fire at her. “It appears we’re not so different after all, you and I.”

“Apparently not,” she said, pleased.

They sat in comfortable silence as Orwenna considered what he’d told her. Huroth drew on his pipe, forming a wobbly smoke ring which drifted over the camp. He tried another, slightly more symmetrical this time.

“I’m still working on it,” he said. “My father could make perfect circles.”

“That last one was pretty good.”

A third smoke ring rose slowly then dissipated. Above them, the waxing moon peeked out from an inky ribbon of cloud. An owl hooted on the far shore and was answered by another, somewhere on the island.

“If you don’t worship the eldrin,” Orwenna asked, “why call your current shape eldrin form? I assumed it was because dragons fancied themselves demigods.”

“That’s not far off the mark, at least for some of us.” Huroth gave a dry laugh. “But the Eldrin weren’t deities. They were a powerful race, highly skilled with magic, though no more divine than you or I.

“My ancestors took this shape so they could visit the eldrin cities and learn from their sorcerers. Our drake form has advantages, but it’s also limiting. Eldrin form allows us a greater variety of experiences, including the ability to mix with humans.”

“Bravo,” Orwenna said, raising her canteen in a toast. “Here’s to mixing with humans.” She took a long swallow and passed the canteen to Huroth, who set his pipe aside on a flat rock.

“To mixing with humans,” he repeated, lifting the canteen and drinking. “May it prove to be the best and wisest path.” A somber note entered his voice, and Orwenna saw a shadow of worry in his eyes.

“Are you thinking about the coming battle?” she asked.

“It has been years since my clan fought, and we’ve never faced a human army. So it’s difficult to gauge the risk. Our hides are not impenetrable, despite what your legends say.”

“Oh.” She’d been counting on the fact they were. “But you breathe fire?”

“We do.” Huroth’s frown deepened. “I’m not overly keen to slay men who’ve done me no wrong. It’s the bitter edge to my bargain with your king.”

“But the Keskan army is invading our land. The attack is unprovoked, and many innocent lives will be lost if it’s not stopped quickly. My home lies near the southern border. It will be in grave peril, as are my family and friends.”

“That makes a difference,” Huroth said. “I can’t regret fighting to protect your home and loved ones.”

“Thank you.”

Orwenna was touched by his words but also frightened. The battle could remain a mere idea no longer. Its danger loomed before her, terribly real.

On an impulse she rose and stepped around the fire to where Huroth sat.

“Promise me you won’t get hurt,” she said, sinking down beside him. He drew her near, so that her head rested on his shoulder, and his arm circled her waist.

“I can’t promise that,” Huroth said softly. He cradled her face in his hand. “But I’ve been through many battles, and I’m still in one piece. You’re giving me an added reason to stay alive.”

Orwenna moved closer still, fitting herself to his shape, wrapping her arms tightly around him. It felt incredibly right, his long muscular body pressed against hers. She never wanted to let him go.

“My sweet Wen,” he murmured, his lips brushing her forehead. The tenderness in his voice split her heart open. She didn’t make a sound or move a muscle, wishing to stretch this perfect moment out and savor it.

An owl passed overhead, gliding on silent wings, its shape black against the moonlit sky. The river sang a low song, as the night breeze whispered in the tree boughs.

“We both need sleep,” Huroth said regretfully. “Tomorrow will be a hard day.”