The dragon turned to look down into the crevasse where the black dragon had convalesced, and it sniffed more, smelling the scent of the black and the blood. It reared back and roared, but Gray couldn’t determine if it was in anger, fear, support, or a challenge.
He held out his hand like he would to greet a strange dog and slowly advanced. The dragon came alert, drew its head away, and emitted a low growl from deep inside. The effect chilled Gray, and he backed off a step. The dragon shifted, balancing itself as if ready to strike, like a snake. Gray backed away faster.
Turning Gray ran back up the slope where Stinson was standing and smirking. Gray never paused. He kept walking right passed Stinson and kept his tears and fears hidden. Later he heard the wings beating overhead as the red flew on ahead, but didn’t look up.
CHAPTER FOUR
Later, Stinson called and waved from the top of a hill well behind, then stumbled face first into the sand. Gray couldn’t leave him to die. He returned to find Stinson exhausted, pale, and his water bottles so empty they were dry inside when Gray ran a finger inside one. Despite what he’d threatened Stinson with the day before, he put one of his own water bottles to his lips and let him sip.
Stinson’s hands grabbed the bottle and tried to tip it higher, attempting to suck it dry, but Gray was ready for that and yanked it away, splashing some on the ground. He preferred to spill it rather than let Stinson have another drop.
“I need water,” Stinson croaked.
“So do I.” Gray backed off a few steps and squatted, just out of reach of Stinson. “What are you doing here?”
“Water.”
Seeing someone he’d known his entire life dying of thirst like those in the triad tore at him. “I have enough for us to reach a stream around mid-morning if we travel a good part of the night while it’s cool. We’ll have to share what I have.”
“I’m too tired for that. And I’m thirsty now.”
Gray drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, as he considered his options. Nobody on the council, or in the entire family at Oasis would blame him if he walked away. But he would have to face himself for the rest of his life. Stinson was disliked, but leaving him to die in the drylands was entirely different from leaving the triad. When he left Stinson before, he’d expected Stinson to return home. Here he would die without water.
“You drank all your water again. In one day you drank what was to last at least two days. Now you want mine. When will you learn your lesson?”
“I knew you would be stingy and save yours.”
There it was. Stinson felt entitled to drink Gray’s water because he couldn’t resist drinking all of his. Another thought came to mind. “What if you had not caught up with me?”
“Well, I did, didn’t I?”
The arrogance and contempt were still there, not even thinly veiled. Then Gray realized that of the two of them, Stinson had consumed the most water in the last two days, and, therefore, he was in better condition than Gray. While he complained about needing water, Stinson drank three bottles while Gray had only one. Gray firmly capped his bottle and stood.
“I’m traveling south and east tonight. I’ll drink no water until after daybreak, and neither will you. If you cannot keep up with me, I may not return to help.” With those words, he strode away. He kept his ears on the sounds of the shuffling feet. He would not be surprised if Stinson tried to attack him from behind and take his water.
Gray tightened his fingers on his staff, ready to fight for the remaining water. If Stinson made the move, Gray decided to kill him. One solid strike on the head and then leave him. He almost wished it would happen, when he considered the future if they made it to the stream and on to Fleming. Stinson would surely cause more problems, perhaps one of them fatal. It was not the first time he’d had that thought.
However, as the sun peeked over the rim of the desert, flooding it in reds and oranges, Gray turned and found Stinson still back there, shuffling along as if he was asleep on his feet. He wore a determined expression. He also wore a sly smile that belonged on the face of a highwayman, and he seemed to be walking better than Gray.
He’s stronger than me. Gray turned his face to the sun and kept listening for the footsteps to draw closer. When they didn’t, he slowed at the top of a ridge and looked ahead. The lay of the land was rougher, with more small hills.
He knew this place, too. Long before mid-morning they would reach the stream Tessa described. Beyond that was the road that would carry them into Fleming. When Stinson arrived at his side, he wordlessly handed him a full bottle of water, leaving the remaining one to himself. Gray drank deep, too, almost half the bottle. He kept his eyes on Stinson, who said nothing.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Gray snarled, angry at himself for speaking first.
“Thank you for what? For giving me the water you promised?” Stinson tipped his bottle again and drained it.
Gray turned and continued his trek. The stream came upon him suddenly. It cut through the volcanic rock in a twisting, winding manner, deep enough to soak his sore and tired feet. First, he filled the two remaining water bottles. He laid down and allowed his face to fall into the water as he scooped one handful after another into his mouth.
Sated, he moved to the shade of a stand of short willows and sat. A handful of nuts and dried berries kept him from thinking about food as he waited. Eventually, Stinson stumbled over the bank and headed for the water.
Gray intercepted him first. His staff was held ready to fight. “No, we talk first.”
Stinson had taken one more step before the staff struck the side of his knee. Wailing in pain, Stinson was on the ground.
This time, Gray sat on a boulder near the water and waited. Stinson continued to howl, but when he saw it was not doing any good, he began to crawl to the water. Gray stood and slammed the staff down on the ground a finger’s length from the end of Stinson’s hand. “The next time it will be your hand.”
“What’re you doing?”
“I said we talk.”
“Okay, what do you want to talk about? You’ve already refused to help me. Then you hit me with your staff when I wasn’t looking, and if you think the whole family isn’t going to hear about it, you’re crazy.”
“We’re about to come to an agreement before you reach that water.” Gray didn’t raise his voice, and as he talked he moved closer, the staff held ready to strike.
Stinson held an arm up in self-defense. “What do you want me to do?”
The question came as a surprise, not because he asked it, but because Gray didn’t have an answer. He wanted cooperation. He wanted Stinson to stop thinking only of himself. But there was more. He wanted Stinson to help complete the mission. Most of all he wanted to trust him. “Help me. Stop fighting everything I do and don’t give me a reason to kill you.”
“You’re going to kill me?”
Gray’s temper flashed again, but he fought to remain calm, at least on the outside. “I’m giving you a choice.”
“Water. I need it.”
When Stinson didn’t promise to cooperate, Gray spun and walked in the direction of the road without looking back. The restful interlude beside the stream, and the water he’d filled up on provided him with a burst of energy. He increased his pace.
He felt the familiar touch of the red dragon on his back again. It was neither friendly nor angry. It was the same touch as he’d felt for most of his life in Oasis. It said that a dragon was nearby. The roost for the reds was always in range of his perception, as well as that of most of his family. All assumed that if they could sense the dragons—the dragons could sense them. But that didn’t make them friends, or candidates for bonding.