It grew louder and attracted the attention of all. The dragon emerged from the darkness of the night and flew directly at us. It spread the great wings wide to catch the thin mountain air and turned her wings, so they caught the air like the sails on a ship, and it slowed.
The dragon landed on the path a dozen steps from us, where there were no trees. The force of her landing kicked up swirls of wind that drove stinging sand and gravel our way. We protected our faces with our bare arms, and the coals from the campfire spread down the hillside. Anna had the presence of mind to leap to her feet and stomp them out—or she did that while getting a head start on running from the beast. Whatever, she prevented the fires from spreading—while positioning herself where she could escape if needed.
The dragon smelled of rotted meat, rank urine, and death. It extended its head on the long neck and peered closely at us as if it couldn’t find Kendra in the dark. She stood and extended her hand. The dragon sniffed, then a long red tongue flicked out several times, never touching my sister, like an act performed by gypsies with a whip and a brave young girl. She never flinched.
Emma had hold of my bicep, cutting off my circulation. Who would think such a slip of a girl had that much strength?
Flier had disappeared at some time while the dragon landed, off in the forest watching, I assumed.
Anna remained down the slope where she had prevented the fire from spreading and turning into an inferno. That left the three of us standing uneasily near the dragon. I suspected the dragon was not going to attack Kendra. That left two of us. Emma looked at me as if she’d read my mind, and I returned the look. She grinned. I knew I was in trouble.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
T he dragon, unlike the other times we’d been close, not only smelled terrible, but she acted as nervous, as I felt. She spun and peered into the darkness near the summit, and I wondered how well adapted her eyesight was for night vision. Could she see things I couldn’t? Dragons do not normally fly at night, I’d heard from Kendra. It repositioned itself, her body half-turned away from us, where her head and eyes were never far from the path we were going to follow in the morning. She looked and acted like an old yellow dog protecting her master.
Flier and Anna had already gone over the summit and searched for campfires or signs of danger and found none. Emma slipped free of me, and I expected her to race to join her sister down the slope near the edge of the trees for protection, but instead, she moved a few steps closer to the dragon. She didn’t do anything aggressive, and neither did the dragon. A sense of mutual understanding emanated from both of them. At a distance of perhaps five steps, they eyed each other in the same way opponents in the King’s Army do before engaging in a wrestling match. Not a lethal engagement, but one deciding superiority.
“Easy,” Kendra cooed, although it wasn’t clear which one she spoke to. “Just take it easy and make sure nobody gets hurt.”
As if to confirm her words, the dragon gave a small snort and pulled away from Emma slightly as if it too smelled something it disliked. From my perspective, the dragon appeared more ill at ease than the little girl.
What that exchange seemed to tell me was that the dragon sensed a power in Emma and if it didn’t fear it, the dragon did respect it. The concept was almost silly, even to me. A dragon the size of a small barn acted wary of a tiny girl about six or seven years old. She held no weapons, made no aggressive moves, and displayed nothing of danger, which told me she “communicated” in another fashion.
Emma then backed off a step, as if defusing the situation only after the dragon had relented. When considered like that, she had established her superiority—or perhaps I had misinterpreted the entire encounter, a possibility when considering my lack of knowledge.
Kendra placed a consoling arm over Emma’s shoulder and urged the girl to sit near the remains of the fire. The dragon remained seated in the same place, still watching the summit of the pass, but she did not act scared or upset. Perhaps it was her age. An alarming thought was that it was because of false confidence.
“Your dragon stinks,” I said loud enough for Kendra to hear and hopefully not the dragon. My silliness drew smiles from the two at the fire, but there was a deeper concern. Emma had knocked me out with her mind-tricks. Her older sister often deferred to her, unusual for siblings. Kendra was touching minds with the dragon, and my small-magic seemed to have increased to mid-magic, or more. It was definitely stronger than at any time in my past.
I’d touched Anna’s mind and implanted a few words of our language, and as hoped, she’d used them as if they were her own. My half-baked plan had been to teach her more, while also teaching Emma. The point standing out in the open and doing all of that introspection with a dragon close enough to throw a rock at, was that the four of us were using some sort of mental communication. Five, if you counted the dragon. Worse, none of us understood what was happening.
Rumors of mages communicating over long distances had been confirmed by Avery just before we sailed. He said the mage known as Twin at Crestfallen was proficient at it.
The ideas and the impacts of them bounced around in my mind so fast I couldn’t track any or remain on one subject longer than a few moments. Before one thought could be completed, another tore away my logical mind and went in a different direction. If the five of us could use our minds to communicate, could we all learn to “speak” with each other? As it was, Kendra could speak with the dragon but none of us. I could speak with the girls but not Kendra. Emma seemed to also speak to the Dragon, so she completed our circle.
Circle? What the hell does that mean?
“Are you all right?” Emma asked.
My attention flicked in her direction, then to Anna. In my mind, I said to her, *Anna, come join us at the fire.*
She immediately walked closer, her fearful eyes on the dragon, but that only made her smart. Do what I say but watch out for yourself seemed to be her motto. But I hadn’t “said” anything. I’d made a suggestion in my head. I turned my attention to Flier, wherever he might be hiding. I projected the same exact thought to him. If he heard me, he didn’t respond.
“Is that thing going to stay here all night?” Anna asked with a voice tinged with fear.
Kendra said, “I don’t know why the dragon is acting like that. Is she scared? I just don’t know.”
Anna said, “What would she be scared about? If that dragon is scared, shouldn’t we be the same?” She arrived at my side looking for confirmation in her summation.
*Call for Flier to join us.* I told Anna, fighting to keep my lips from moving as I concentrated on the intent, not the words.
She immediately placed her hands to her mouth and called, “Flier, come join us.”
That satisfied me that my abilities allowed my skills to put my ideas into her head, even if she couldn’t respond—or perhaps she could. There were instantly more questions. How far away could I do it? What if she refused to call Flier or do what I said? Could I force her?
Kendra could also tell where mages were located, even at great distances. Did all this mean that while mages demonstrated their powers at celebrations with flashes of lightning, did they have other powers or skills they kept hidden? It seemed logical and probably true. It also seemed to answer a few odd questions that had arisen in the past.