Dragon Defense (Heirs to the Throne Book 3) Read online

  “This will be easy, two women alone and helpless.” He tied his horse well away from the cabin and settled down to watch all night. As the first rays of morning penetrated the mountain mists, the two women walked to a nearby glade. They performed a strange dance without music, moving slowly, side by side in perfect symmetry.

  Women of the tribe danced to seductive music punctuated by rapid drumbeats, their undulating hips, shaking torsos, and filmy veils offered glimpses of flesh. The silent dance of these women, though serene, looked strangely seductive. He watched their bodies move slowly with graceful gestures.

  He assessed the old woman. Short and stocky, the woman moved with uncommon grace. Did the slow dance spin magic to retain youth and strength? He decided an old woman signified no danger.

  Astride his horse he saw the women bow and start a series of kicks and thrusts. The girl charged, countered by a duck and roll by the old woman. A fascinating game but he decided it was time to strike. His blood did not rise to the challenge as he jabbed the horse with his heel and coiled the rope to snare the girl.

  *****

  The sound of thundering hooves startled Bess. She froze as the desert rider charged with robes swirling in a vortex of color. Bess stood paralyzed by terrifying memories. The rope snaked out of the rider’s hand and yanked Shariel from her feet. Bess remembered the bite of the rope, the rough hands that bruised young breasts, and the taste of leather gloves that muffled screams.

  “No!” Bess shouted. “Not again!”

  She escaped Jarrack’s harem, lived like a hermit to keep Shariel safe, but smoldering embers of hatred exploded into rage. Bess sprang like a jungle cat and snagged the rider’s flowing robe as the horse thundered past. She jerked with all her strength.

  Already off balance with Shariel’s weight, the astonished rider tumbled to the ground. He faced a scratching, clawing berserker. The old woman transformed into a battle-hardened warrior, moving her empty hands in a mesmerizing pattern. She faced his blade, prepared to fight unarmed.

  *****

  Shariel dangled from the saddle horn, helpless, while the stallion turned to trample Bess.

  Stop! Shariel’s mind screamed at the horse. To her amazement the animal halted and stood still. He snorted and pawed the turf. Back up, she commanded mentally.

  The horse arched his neck, tossed his mane, and finally sidled backwards. His ears flattened, the horse champed at the bit and stared wild-eyed. Shariel must proceed with caution.

  Easy now, she told him.

  The rider bared his sword and faced the troublesome old woman. Shariel understood the rider’s deadly intent. Bess stood her ground, facing cold steel and certain death without fear. A flicker of doubt crossed the rider’s face, and he hesitated. Bess charged him, screaming.

  Shariel spotted a boulder a few feet away. Move toward the boulder. The horse sidestepped toward the boulder. Shariel’s foot grazed the boulder. Move left.

  The horse snorted but obeyed. Shariel braced her foot against the rock and pushed up to release the rope. The horse quivered and side-stepped away from the boulder, yanking her off her feet.

  Steady boy, move left. Now stand still.

  The horse moved back to the boulder. Shariel sent a stream of soothing thoughts to the horse and jerked the coil over the saddle horn. She slithered free and turned to see the rider ready to strike Bess a deathblow.

  Stop! Stand still! Shariel’s mind shouted at the rider with all her strength.

  The man’s gaze shifted, but he stood frozen.

  Shariel vaulted from the boulder. She somersaulted across the glade while the rider watched her nimble body, transfixed.

  Bess jumped up, twisted her body, and kicked the rider’s chest with both feet. The impact of the old woman’s compact body jolted the rider. He staggered, shook his head, and raised the sword to strike the crazy old witch.

  He forgot the girl, a grievous mistake, since Shariel’s somersault gained momentum. Her foot smashed into the rider’s head like a sledge hammer, and he crumpled, unconscious.

  “What do we do with him?” Shariel asked Bess.

  “Tie him up. We’ll ask a few questions when he wakes,” Bess said in a flat tone. “Is the stallion under control?”

  “Yes.” The horse pawed the turf, held captive behind an invisible barrier. He looked ready to charge. “Maybe I’ll take him away from the rider and calm his nerves.”

  Bess nodded. “Hobble him near the stream and come back to help me drag this garbage into the cabin.”

  As Shariel approached the stallion, she filled her mind with images of green grass and cool water. The horse snorted, shook his head, and flattened his ears. When she reached out to touch his nose, the horse flared his nostrils and nipped at her hand.

  She jerked back in surprise. I’ll have none of that! Stand still! Her mental shout made the horse quiver. Finally he lowered his head and snorted. I see, you respond when you’re ordered around. He suffered her touch. Follow me. The horse trailed behind her without further protest.

  *****

  Tied with his own rope, the rider woke inside the small cabin. The old woman sat weaving, but the girl was gone. He tugged the rope, testing the knots, and sighed. “What do you plan to do with me?” he demanded.

  Bess cast a withering glance and said, “I’ll skin you alive and feed your carcass to the wolves.”

  He shuddered. “I meant no harm.”

  “No harm?” Bess scowled. “You waved your sword over my head but meant no harm? I suppose you offered to take Shariel on a pleasant horse ride? Don’t lie. I spent time in Jarrack’s dungeon, so I know exactly what you had in mind!”

  “Shariel will be honored. Jarrack pledged her in marriage to a noble pasha, so more riders will come if I die.”

  Bess frowned. “A simple mountain girl has nothing to do with pashas.”

  He laughed. “Now you lie! You spent time in Jarrack’s harem, so you know her bloodline. Her marriage will cement alliances and produce sons of Jarrack’s blood. She must fulfill her destiny.”

  Bess groaned. This man was the most dangerous kind of fanatic, a true believer.

  “You’ve got plenty of Jarrack’s children in the tribes. You don’t need Shariel to produce sons.”

  “Many carry Jarrack’s blood but few possess his special talent. One in a hundred could fulfill Jarrack’s plan.”

  “Shariel will wither your manhood if you touch her.”

  The rider blanched. “She’s not meant for a lowly warrior. She’s promised to Mullah Jacobin. You stole the girl from Jarrack’s castle, and I pledged to return her.”

  Bess drew a short sword from the scabbard at her waist. The hilt fit her small hand perfectly as she hefted the weight and glared at the rider.

  “Shariel won’t be forced to marry because of a vile father like Jarrack. She’s free to choose her own path.” The rider braced himself to die, but Bess slit halfway through the rope. “A warrior should die with a sword in his hand, but I prefer to keep my floors clean.” She gestured at his sword hanging on the wall and went outside. “Come when you’re ready.”

  Bess closed the door and nodded at Shariel. “I heard,” the girl said.

  “We can’t wait for your mother’s summons. I’ll answer questions on the trail.” Bess marched across the clearing.

  *****

  Quietly the rider unlatched the window and peered outside. He coiled his body and launched himself through the opening, rolling as he hit the ground. He crouched with his sword ready but saw no one. He crept around the side of the cabin, eyed the safety of the woods, and considered escape. No. With his decision made, he arrogantly walked into the clearing—ready for battle.

  Twang!

  The sound reverberated as a thud hit his chest. Surprised, he stared at the vibrating shaft protruding from his chest, touched the arrow, and frowned. He saw Bess in the crook of a tree, a second arrow nocked and ready to fire. “You said…”

  She laughed. “I said you shoul
d die like a warrior, sword in hand. I never promised you’d get a chance to use it. If you’d run into the woods, I might have missed. Shariel never misses.”

  He followed her gaze to the tree where Shariel stood, her bow aimed at his heart.

  She fired and the rider’s face contorted with rage. He opened his mouth to shout but spat blood instead of curses. After the death spasm, the rider lay clutching the arrows.

  Shariel examined the body. “We didn’t know his name,” she said.

  Bess retrieved the arrows and wiped them clean. “Marasuta says we should leave our enemies nameless so they won’t haunt our dreams.” Bess headed into the cabin. “There’s much to do. I’m nearly finished with the weaving; we’ll need the extra coppers to cover expenses on the journey.”

  Shariel thought about her mother while she packed. She dreamed of a beautiful mother, one who welcomed her lost daughter with loving arms. Now she worried about the desert rider’s words.

  I’m the daughter of Jarrack and possess his talent. Like my father, I forced the horse and the man to do my will. Am I cursed to become evil? What will happen to me?

  A prickling sensation crept up her spine, and Shariel saw Chacka watching her with eerie gold eyes.

  We run with you, Shariel. Chacka’s mental message sounded clear as the spoken word. Shariel couldn’t believe it. When she talked openly to the wolf, she never expected a reply.

  Do not quake with fear, Chacka said.

  I’m surprised, not afraid, Shariel answered mentally, I’m glad you’re, coming and I’ll explain to Aunt Bess.

  She knows. Chacka’s golden eyes shifted to Bess, who stood watching from the doorway.

  “The wolf’s talking with you? It’s about time. Let’s bury the corpse and load the horse before more riders appear. They travel in packs, too.”

  *****

  In another part of the forest Mikla poured dishwater over cooking coals. Steam billowed and its hiss reflected her mood.

  “Three nights!” she grumbled. “Rabik left three nights ago, but you sit like a toothless dog. Make yourself useful.” Mikla tossed Peshal a dishrag.

  At another time, her brother would chase her and threaten to beat her for the insult to his male status. Mikla hoped to provoke that response, but Peshal looked as limp as the dishrag he accepted without protest. He was an impostor posing as her brother.

  “Stop it!” Mikla screamed.

  Peshal raised liquid blue eyes to gaze at her. “What?”

  “Stop acting like you sold me into slavery on purpose and don’t take my abuse!”

  Peshal’s lips twitched into a weak smile. “By gambling away your future, I’m not fit to wipe your shoes. Your dishonor is my doing.”

  Mikla’s anger melted, and she regretted the taunt. “I haven’t been dishonored, yet. Father safeguarded my honor when he sent you to guard me. Buy back your debt and win my freedom.”

  Peshal covered his face with his hands. “I’d sell myself into slavery if I could regain your respect. I’m not worthy to face father.”

  “Enough! I’ll not hear the son of a pasha speak those words. Use your wits! Explore any means to right your wrong. Father put faith in you, so don’t shame him by failing.”

  Peshal stiffened. “I’d rather strike my colors and become a wanderer than shame my family again.” He gazed at Mikla’s round face, framed by abundant russet hair and accented by dusky gray eyes. Her freckled skin and ruddy cheeks, now red with anger, highlighted her sensual lips.

  A pasha should pay a lofty bride’s price for Mikla. She should be enjoying the pampered life in a harem instead of working as a common drudge to redeem Peshal’s gambling debt. Rabik would soon demand full payment from her.

  Peshal swallowed to fend off another outbreak of emotion. He must become the man Mikla once admired, the brave half-brother she idolized. Peshal pushed straight dark hair out of his eyes. “So why wait? Let’s find that son of a jackal, Rabik, and help complete his task. I’ll use every piece of gold to redeem your freedom.”

  Mikla sighed with relief. “His trail leads over the next ridge to a small village nestled at the foot of the pass.”

  Peshal’s eyebrows arched. “You rode alone from camp against orders?”

  Mikla laughed. “Rabik planned to return before the setting of yesterday’s sun. He’s dead or captured.”

  “Then let’s flee! If he’s dead, it solves our problem. If he’s captured it’s much the same.”

  Mikla frowned. “I won’t spend the rest of my days waiting for Rabik or his brother to claim his property.”

  “You always think with a clear mind, sister. Your husband will gain a good advisor with his bride’s price.”

  “Your words are kindly spoken,” Mikla answered with a mocking tone.

  Her teases were a welcome relief to her scorn. “Break camp,” he said.

  As they rode around the village and up a winding mountain path, Mikla said, “His trail is too easy to follow. What an arrogant fool!” They found the cabin with the door open and the ground trampled by footprints. As he slipped off his mount, Peshal motioned for Mikla to stay back. He crept to the door with saber in hand and peeked inside.

  “It’s empty,” he said. “I see blood outside the door and the trail of his stallion.” He pointed at the evidence. “They left in that direction.”

  “Check the grave.” Mikla pointed at the fresh mound under the trees.

  Peshal shuddered. “I dislike disturbing the dead.”

  “I’ll do it,” Mikla offered, but Peshal cast an angry glance at her. He trudged to the mound and gasped. Mikla slipped off her horse and joined her brother. A sword with a note lay across the grave.

  Mikla read the note aloud, “This rider died sword in hand. If you’re kin, take him home. If you follow, mark the sign of the wolf.” At the tip of the blade they saw a clear paw print in the soft soil.

  A knot of fear formed in Mikla’s chest. “The witch controls a wolf!” she whispered.

  “Rabik is dead so we’re free.” Peshal glanced nervously into the dark woods.

  Mikla ground her teeth. “No! Your debt to Rabik was well known. His brothers can claim you killed Rabik.”

  Peshal’s eyes widened. “They’d legally take you and kill me in revenge. Oh what will we do?”

  With a trembling hand she gently led him away from the grave. “Let’s capture the girl and use the reward to repay your debt to Rabik’s family.”

  “How can we capture a powerful witch? That stallion never allowed anyone except Rabik to ride him. She bewitched the horse and travels with a wolf.”

  Mikla bit her lip. “We must use surprise and overwhelm her.”

  *****

  At the edge of the village Shariel waited for Bess to deliver the cloth and buy supplies. For a full day they rode hard across solid ground and trudged up streams to cover their tracks.

  Finally Aunt Bess stopped and climbed off the horse. “We’ll camp here and talk.”

  Shariel hobbled the stallion in a grassy field. “The horse must rest. It’s hard to carry two riders.”

  Bess shook her head. “That warhorse could continue for hours but my old bones slow our pace.” She walked toward a large fallen tree and sat, looking tired and worried.

  “You’re doing fine,” Shariel said.

  “If riders track us down, you must drop me and run! The stallion goes faster with one rider.”

  “I’ll never leave you behind!”

  Bess gestured for Shariel to join her on the log. “Riders won’t harm an old hag like me unless I get in their way. If you’re captured, you’ll wish me dead.”

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s time to explain about my history,” Bess said and stared into the distance, like she could see into the past. “I came to Drako on the same spaceship that brought Donovan and Krystal. We escaped from the Institute, needed to find a safe place to hide. Trenton was born on this world, so he brought us here. Donovan and a small group traveled
to Havenshire, while the rest of us found places to live in the countryside.

  “No one knew that the assassin infiltrated the crew of our ship. Jarrack had orders to kill Dr. Alexander and Donovan but failed. Donovan destroyed the spaceship and hid our equipment behind force fields at the spaceport. Jarrack swore revenge and fled into the desert. He joined the riders.” Bess stood, brushed flecks of bark from her clothes, and paced in front of Shariel. The girl sat silent, praying that Bess would finally tell her the things she’d longed to hear.

  “After living on spaceships, Drako seemed like paradise. I loved it here. An old woman in the village taught me to weave, and I married a good man. I hoped to spend the rest of my life raising kids, but I couldn’t get pregnant. The Institute tampered with our cloned bodies, made it impossible for spacer women to bear children.”

  Shariel saw the pain of the memory in her aunt’s face and curled her own fists tight. Bess continued, “Desert riders raided our village and kidnapped women for Jarrack’s breeding program. They killed my husband and dragged me off to live in the desert. I became a servant in the harem and met Ronda.”

  Shariel held her breath. Bess struggled to keep her composure, her eyes brimmed with tears and her face turned red. “As an unwilling consort, Ronda bore Jarrack one daughter. We became fast friends. I loved her daughter like my own and felt relieved that Jarrack only cared about sons. He planned to use them to extend his life.”

  “How can he extend his life with sons?” Shariel asked.

  “The Institute had machines to transfer minds into cloned bodies but our ship’s technology was destroyed. Jarrack developed the power of mind control. He planned to send his mind into the body of a son and live forever. I guess he decided that talented daughters might bear grandsons for his scheme, so he gave orders to find daughters like you.”