Page 75 of Dragon Avenger (Age of Fire 2)

Shortly, she dragged herself outside. The mountaintops to the east were just visible through a part in the trees. She must have come some length down the river, perhaps as far west as Tumbledown, though the hills here were covered with grass and rock, and trees seemed to grow thickly only out of the wind.

That she’d come so far without drowning was as miraculous as if she’d sprouted her wings. Yet she had not the tiniest memory of being in the water beyond the leap off the cliff with the dogs dragging at her.

The elf’s behavior surprised her as much as her survival. According to Mother and Father, elves were soft-stepping hunters of spear and bow who blew horns and sang swanlike warbles over the corpses of dead dragons as they danced, holding hands sticky with dragon blood.

The only part of that legend that rang true was the elf’s quiet nature. Whether passing over brick, wood planking, or soft grass, he hardly made a sound, save for the whispers of the wind moving around him. The rest of his manner was as gentle and tender as a mother dragon’s over still-wet hatchlings.

Thoughts of Mother and Jizara left her cold and sleepy and miserable. Why didn’t memories heal and fade like wounds?

That evening he cooked her a platter full of organs and entrails in a sharp-smelling herb she’d learned to call gar-loque, or dragon-buds, as the smell of the white clusters when crushed was faintly dragonish.

The meal filled her gorge but did little for her anguished mind.

To divert her thoughts, the next day Wistala ventured out of the stable and viewed Rainfall’s home.

It was a vast home and garden for a single hominid and a few animals. Treble vast when she learned that the wild orchards, melons, and wheat- and tuber-fields around were also his. He made no effort to farm as she understood the word, though he threw the horse’s manure on two beds of flowers surrounding the trees on his threshold.>Wistala bit into a dog, exchanging pain for pain. It howled, and the Dragonblade’s men left off his victory song and turned toward her.

Other men, some carrying two-handled saws, gathered behind.

She wouldn’t end up on these rocks, her head and claws sawed off. Wistala gathered what remained of her strength and managed to stand. She tottered a few steps toward the edge of the cliff, dragging dogs at every step. The dogs pulled back, at war with her body.

Perhaps the Dragonblade read her intent. He ran forward, bloody sword held out, waving on the others, who stood gaping at Father’s bloody wounds.

The two still-living dogs snarled and fought her every step, their muzzles covered with blood, the spiky hair on their backs standing straight up. They dragged her back, away from the ledge, toward the Dragonblade.

“You shan’t have—,” Wistala grunted. She swung her tail, knocked a dog off its feet, and lunged at the ledge. She got the claws of one sii over. Now she had some real traction.

Tearing—pain.

Fly! She’d fly once before she died.

She got a saa at the edge, and the dead dog fell over the side, its jaws finally relaxing. Freed of its weight, she coiled her spine and jumped.

Wistala felt light as one of Bartleghaff’s long tip-feathers as she spun through the air. She struck the prominence Father used to climb up from the river, rolling over on a growling dog and hearing a snap, and felt free air one last time before she plunged into the cold, roaring river.

BOOK TWO

Drakka

WHOSOEVER SAVES A SINGLE LIFE HAS SAVED A WORLD.

—Hypatian Low-Priest Proverb

Chapter 11

Drifting, flying, but the air—so cold. Impossible to see through the clouds.

Tiring—so she glided. A hurtful pull in the back—had a wing joint slipped?

Now she could see.

A hominid bent over her, face shadowed. Can’t raise her claw to strike it—

A sound, sharp and regular tap-top-tap-top, movement in time with the beats, lulling her, and she slept. . . .

Fighting for breath—cold. Nose must be kept out of water. Drowned dog pulling me under, if I don’t get free, I’ll die. Bite! Tear! Rushes of warm blood in the cold. Nose up! Nose up! One more breath before I go under!

Wistala stretched, unbelievable warmth and well-being suffusing her body, dreams fair and foul gone.

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