Dragon!: Book Two: Revenge Read online

  Gareth began putting clues together. Six men dead, so far. The one beside the gazebo told a tale in itself. The knife in the chest was probably put there by his father as he was attacked in his peaceful and serene place. He carried a knife to clean the fish from the lake. Another nearby died of an arrow, probably from a bow in the hands of his father, and the unknown cause of death in the next in line was also probably due to the old man, too. This idea was supported by the last three who died in an attack from Cinder—protecting his friend and master.

  The scenario seemed to account for the deaths in the most logical manner. His father probably lay dead under a tree or in the house, or some other place that couldn’t be seen from the air. It didn’t matter. He was dead, and the bodies of so many attackers only confirmed it.

  However, killing his father was one thing. The man was not superior in size, speed, or any other fighting attributes. In those regards, he was simply a man. But a black dragon? The largest and most powerful creature to ever exist? There were not even folktales of men defeating a black. That just left a single question.

  Who killed Cinder? And how?

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Are you alright, Gareth?” His son shook his shoulder, alarm clear in his expression, again. “You’re mumbling about killing.”

  “Who killed Cinder?” Gareth spat, pulling back from the mental contact with Blackie, Gareth found himself panting, his heart racing and sweat coating his body. He looked around, realized he’d abruptly left Blackie’s mind and was back at home sitting on his porch. A glance at his hands verified they were shaking. He wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

  Paul asked, “Cinder’s dead?”

  The words triggered Gareth to realize that while he was trying to find out what happened and flying over the valley, there was a danger for Blackie. Whatever had killed Cinder might still be there. He leaped to his feet wildly looking around the porch for his wife. When he didn’t see her, he grabbed Paul’s shoulders and shouted, “Sara. I need her.”

  “I’ll go find her,” Paul ran inside, worry plain in his hesitation.

  “Don’t worry about leaving me alone. I have to go back to Blackie again,” The words were too late as Gareth fell into his seat and closed his eyes and made contact with Blackie. He was pleased to find the animal was still in the air. Do not land again. Fly higher than an arrow can reach. Danger!

  Gareth understood Blackie’s reluctance to land, and he was tired from flying so far. But Gareth felt uncertainty and fear in the dragon’s emotions, too. Never had Gareth ordered the dragon to do things in the sharp mental tone he’d just used. Locating his father’s remains became a secondary issue for Gareth, at least until he knew more. He couldn’t allow Blackie to remain in the area even if the dragon wanted to.

  Cinder had been a full grown dragon for the last few hundred years. He was still in his prime. Nothing should have been able to kill him. Nothing. No force in the known world could take down an adult black dragon—And Blackie was smaller, not yet mature, being only thirty. If there were something that could kill Cinder, it could also kill Blackie.

  Touching minds again, he glanced at the ground from a dizzying height. Blackie was doing exactly what he asked. Gareth ordered, Fly away from this place to that mountain you see far ahead. There you will be wary, but you can hunt and feed. Find a peak or cliff on the mountain men cannot climb. Eat anything you hunt on those slopes and remain there unless you see humans or another dragon. At the first sight or smell of them, you will leave and fly to another mountain farther away and wait for me.

  It was perhaps the longest and most complicated message he’d ever tried to convey to the dragon. Usually, one simple directive at a time was all Blackie understood. If Gareth wanted it to fly higher and turn left, he gave it one instruction at a time, and often had to modify it until the dragon understood. Over the years either the dragon understood more and more, or Gareth became more adept at giving orders.

  As soon as Gareth sorted out some of the information and developed a plan of action, he’d contact Blackie again and repeat each part of his instructions one step at a time. Moving Blackie from one mountain peak to another every day or two was a good idea. He had to keep him safe and at a distance from his father’s valley.

  “What is wrong?” Sara had called before her running feet touched the porch.

  “Something killed Cinder.”

  She came to his side and knelt. “Cinder was over three hundred years old. Maybe it was his time to die of old age.”

  “There are strange men in the valley, all dead. Three from dragon spit, another with a knife in his chest and one from an arrow. It looks like the valley was attacked by force. There must have been others.”

  “But your father is dead?”

  “I haven’t found him or touched minds with him. I assume so.”

  “Is Blackie looking?”

  “No. I sent him away to a mountain north of there.”

  “Why? I thought you intended to have him find out what’s happening.”

  Gareth drew a deep breath and reached for Sara’s hand. “If they can kill Cinder they can kill Blackie. I sent him away to protect him.”

  “You have to go to him and to that valley. But you have another problem to settle before leaving,” her eyes lowered, and her lip trembled.

  “What is that?”

  “I’ve been thinking, Gareth. If you’re injured and lay unconscious for two days, who would ‘hear’ Tad, and what would they hear? And worse, what would they do about it?”

  Gareth paused before speaking, trying to find the right words to fit the circumstances. “They will understand his thoughts, and some would have the ability to see through his eyes. Others might put thoughts or ideas into his head.”

  “If they said to use a knife and stab Amy in the middle of the night, would he?”

  “That’s a question that has no yes or no answer. They cannot make him do something he does not want to do. But they can influence him in other ways.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Remember I explained how the Sisterhood keeps the vermin from their homes? They project the thoughts that a cat is inside their house, and it’s hungry. The mice escape the open door. The sisterhood didn’t make the mice leave, they make the circumstances correct for the mice to flee.”

  “Tell me they cannot do something similar with Tad.”

  “I wish I could. A clever manipulator could probably devise circumstances with a young mind that would make him do things he wouldn’t otherwise do.”

  “I’m not trying to be fearful, but if I understand correctly, without you, Tad would reveal himself to the world and lead them to wherever he is. There would be a race to capture him for his powers. Each power group would want him on their side, or kill him to prevent him from joining the other. If they came here, the rest of our family would probably die as if we never were. I’m not scared for myself, but for the others.”

  Gareth hung his head. “Don’t be. I should have already thought about it, but Tad has only recently started to use his mind, and I’ve been so busy thinking about my father. It’s hard to think of that such a beautiful little boy may be a threat to everyone. But yes, others can follow his mental broadcasts and come directly to this island, or to Vespa. Or anywhere else he is.”

  Sara stiffened. “He is not a threat. Those people who want to use him for their own desires are the threats.”

  “Hey, I understand, and you’re right, of course. He’s my grandson, too. But to protect everyone in the family, I have to take him with me when I leave.”

  “What will we tell Paul and Amy?”

  “As parents, I’m sure they’ll have plenty to say about it. No matter what we tell them,” Gareth said. “You seem more worried about their reaction than leaving here.”

  Sara shook her head and stood and spun to turn away as her face flushed with anger. “I have to start dinner.”

  “When’s the next ship scheduled to arrive?”<
br />
  Sara turned back long enough to count on her fingers, an old habit she never tried to break. “Six days is the schedule, but maybe sooner or later, as always.”

  “I need to go talk to Paul and Amy and get this over with. Hold dinner for me.”

  “Tad is only six. Be gentle.”

  “Closer to seven, and he’ll be safer with me than here. The family will be safer if he’s with me, too.”

  She snorted, still angry. “Tell that to his mother and father and see how well it goes. I’ll hold dinner on the table. It’ll be sitting right beside the medical kit.”

  Laughing, Gareth pecked her cheek as he passed by her, but his mind was already on the impending confrontation. On the front porch, he paused looking out at the expanse of soft colored blue water and brilliant white beach. Palm trees with sweeping curved trunks swayed in gentle breezes while sharp black rocks protruded from the waters as if to remind him that there is harshness in even the most beautiful place.

  The open ocean lay to his left at the end of the bay, past the rickety pilings holding up the dock the supply ships used. A small warehouse held the goods unloaded from the cargo vessels, and the crews were never permitted ashore. Gareth ensured their cooperation with constant reminders of the perils of the island, especially the stories of the jumping red spiders that attacked a man’s private areas. Their fear of the island was both a good and bad thing. Good that nobody wanted to travel to the island. Bad that he paid twice what the shipping costs should be, but over the centuries his father had collected a vast fortune, a little here, more from over there, until money was no problem. He sent more to Bitters Island than Gareth could spend in ten lifetimes. But it was the principle of paying too much that Gareth objected to.

  Paul and Amy lived only two houses away, a short walk, a few hundred steps on the stone-lined path. Paul was his oldest son. Flowering shrubs lined the sides, most planted there by Sara in the early days. She would go hiking in the forests on the island, a shovel over her shoulder and a bucket hanging from her free hand. Over time, the walkway not only became beautiful, the various flowers added sweet scents to the island’s air.

  The path continued on much further down the beach past Amy’s house, eventually leading to a cluster of five more houses sitting on the shores of the bay, each with a wide front porch to sit and watch the water and sunsets. All had been built with the hands of his family in joyful times. While thinking of what to say to Paul and Amy, he hadn’t realized that he stood on the front steps leading to their porch.

  One deep breath intended to calm and prepare himself, then he climbed the steps and stood at the door. It opened before he could knock.

  Amy stood there wearing a weak smile of greeting, but dark eyes that looked angry or suspicious. “I need to talk to you and Paul. Do you have time for me?”

  The smile grew fainter and looked out of place. Perhaps Sara was right about the woman. “Yes, of course. Want to come in?”

  He gestured to the three chairs and the hanging swing seat on the porch. “Out here is better.”

  “Oh, you mean just the three of us.” She turned and called, “Jimmy, run over to Katy’s and ask her to send Bev here to watch the little ones while your dad and I talk with Grandpa Gareth.”

  Jimmy grumbled like any other twelve-year-old who was asked by his mother to do a chore, but finally rushed past and ran down the pathway to another house as Paul stood up from the dinner table and moved to stand beside Amy. Neither looked pleased to see him, and he understood. He had not visited them for too long. The family tended to come see him in his house, not the other way around, although he had to admit to himself he had visited the other children more often. Their expressions said they expected bad news.

  “Let me get some refreshments,” Amy said, standing and suddenly and rushing back to the kitchen. While there, she settled a squabble between two of her children.

  Paul walked to the chair next to the swing and sat, motioning for Gareth to take the favored place. Amy returned with three glasses of coconut milk, a local favorite. Before any could speak, Jimmy returned with Bev, Katy’s oldest girl. She nodded, but understood adults talking, and she led the way inside, careful to shut the door behind them.

  Amy said, “You came here for a reason. Don’t make us all uncomfortable with trying to be social, first.”

  Gareth looked from one parent to the other, trying to decide how best to proceed. “It’s about Tad.”

  “What did he break this time?” Paul asked, seemingly relieved at the subject.

  Amy still wore a wary expression.

  Gareth looked at Amy instead of Paul. “You know about my abilities to communicate with my mind? Of course, you do. It’s what brought us all here. Well, Tad is developing the same sort of talent.”

  “Same what? Amy prompted.

  Gareth decided to get it out and then talk about the problems and what to do. “Tad can send his thoughts and feelings to others. Anywhere. To anyone with the talent to listen, a person we call sensitive. He sends them out like a single child might when crying out in a crowd of mothers and the correct mother hears her child, if that makes sense.”

  Paul turned to the door and opened it a crack, making sure no inquisitive children were listening. He turned back and said, “Dad, are you sure?”

  “I’ve been squelching them for a while.”

  Amy leaned forward. “What does that mean? Squelching?”

  “I am not allowing his thoughts to escape out into the world. I dampen them, not changing any, but I prevent others from listening or from being able to follow them to the source. I’m sorry, that’s the best way I can explain.”

  She looked angry.

  Paul said, with a sideways warning glance at his wife for confirmation, “You don’t control what he thinks, you just prevent him from telling the whole world of his existence?”

  “Yes, something like that.”

  Amy sat up straighter and snapped, “I don’t like it.”

  “Me neither,” Gareth said in a soft voice. “But the reality is that his mind can bring our enemies to us. To Bitters Island. He puts us all in danger.”

  “Nonsense. He’s just a child.” Amy crossed her arms over her chest.

  Gareth looked to Paul for support and only saw confusion in his expression. He said, “Listen without interrupting for a second and be prepared not to like what I’m going to say. My father is dead. Men attacked his compound and killed his dragon, Cinder. I don’t know who or how, but I do know that if they can attack a secure place like that, and somehow kill a full grown black dragon, we are all at risk. This island is no longer a sanctuary. You will all flee to Vespa to a place I own. I have to leave right away and try to figure out what’s happening at my father’s home.”

  “You’ll go alone?” Paul asked.

  Gareth turned to him, holding his face blank, trying to find the right words.

  “Take me with you,” Paul said, “Or John. Or both of us. You’re getting older.”

  “No, he's not.” Amy snapped. “Just look at him. He doesn't look a day older than when we got married. Hell, he looks younger than you.”

  Gareth swallowed and then plunged ahead, “It will be safer for all if Tad goes with me.”

  “You’re not taking my son anywhere,” Amy said, standing and ending the conversation as she stormed inside and slammed the door so hard Gareth felt it through the porch swing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The lonely walk from Paul and Amy’s house back to Gareth’s took nearly twice as long as it had earlier. As promised, his dinner was waiting on the eating table in the front room. But Sara being Sara, there was also a tall glass of tropical fruit juice beside the plate, and a bottle of spirits.

  Sara looked up from her knitting and said, “It must have gone better than I expected because you were there so long yet I see no bruises.”

  “I think Amy threw me out.”

  “So now you have to give her time to think and understand. And time
to listen to Paul.”

  “He didn’t react too well, either. Did you already add spirits to my drink?”

  “I did.”

  “A little?”

  “No. I expected her to be upset with you. I put in more than normal.”

  Gareth fell into the chair and reached for the bottle. He dashed more in the glass and lifted it. One sip told him it was very strong. He gulped more.

  “That won’t help, you know.”

  “She’s furious with me.”

  “Not at you, but at the circumstances. She’ll see. Give her time. Why don’t you sit on the porch and watch the ocean while you contact Blackie and I’ll bring your out food out there? Try to relax.”

  “When I told her about Tad she acted like it’s my fault.”

  Sara paused at the doorway before entering. “Maybe it is. Have you ever thought about that?”

  “How can that be?”

  “Tad has your color hair, and his nose is shaped like yours. You don’t object to that.”

  Gareth sat his mug aside. “The boy may have inherited his mental abilities from me?”

  “Who knows?” Sara slipped inside before he could object.

  Gareth took another sip of his drink and considered a refill. A stronger one. The sun had set long ago, but he watched out to sea hoping to see the lights of the supply ship. It could be early this month, which was not unusual for sailing ships to keep loose schedules depending on storms, winds, and tides.

  Did Tad inherit his abilities from me? Gareth tried to remember any hint of such a thing from the almost daily mental conversations he’d had with the man he called his father, over the last thirty years. Together they had discussed crop failures and how to divert food from other locations to the affected areas with as little disruption of normal commerce as possible. They had quietly shifted power away from the King to more open minded Earls and Counts. When sickness broke out, they had doctors traveling long before word reached them.