“Then that’s one more thing to worry about. When it gets hungry, it knows where we are. Either of us would make a good meal for it, so I’m going to carry my bow from now on.”
That didn’t work out like I wanted. “I don’t see any reason to overreact.”
Despite what he said, Quester unslung his bow and pulled an arrow, but he didn’t string the bow. The longer a bow was strung, the weaker it became as the wood conformed to the new shape. Quester had the string resting in a groove where he could place one end of the bow on the ground and slide his hand upward and the bow would be strung and ready in a few seconds.
If Quester strung it to use on the wolf, he would order the wolf to run or grab his friend to spoil his aim, if necessary. He would not allow the wolf to be hurt. The idea occurred to him that he was as protective as the wolf was. “You still mad at me?”
“You’re a poor liar is all I have to say. You’re holding back. I’ll let you tell me more when you trust me. For now, I’ll put it aside—but won’t forget.”
Quester walked on in silence, without once glancing behind at Shell or he would have seen the embarrassment and the conflict he felt. Shell considered telling it all to Quester, but since he had never heard of a member of the Dragon Clan and a wolf bonding together, he wondered if he would be considered an outcast or worse. They might think him and the wolf mutants.
Besides, he knew very little of the facts of what transpired between him and the wolf. The change in position when he asked for it could have been coincidence, and even spotting her could have happened without his mental suggestion.
But the warning that woke him and the attack on the highwaymen was not mere happenstance or coincidence. The wolf had known Shell was in danger and woke him. That was a fact, as was the ability to know where the wolf was located at any time. Things were happening Shell didn’t understand or know how to explain.
Shell found he used different muscles for walking when most of the way was uphill. His legs ached, and his breath came in short gasps. Looking at Quester, he found the other at least as tired as he. “We don’t have to go so fast.”
“If we hope to get to Breslau and help before the battles are fought, we need to hurry.”
“You didn’t even know of Breslau two days ago.”
“If I had,” Quester panted and drew in a deep breath to finish his sentence, “I would already be there.”
Shell looked to his left in awe of the mountain looming above. It grew larger every day, yet he never seemed to get closer. Their footing grew treacherous. The soft loam of the grasslands had gradually given way to coarse rock under a thin layer of dirt. The gray rock protruded above the dirt in many places, and where the paths and trails they followed were the steepest, only a thin layer of sand and gravel covered the solid rock, making the surface not only steep but as slippery as ice on winter mornings.
At every vantage, overlook, or unobstructed viewpoint, Quester insisted on pausing and watching ahead to make sure no possible enemies were there. Shell monitored the wolf and knew the way was clear but couldn’t say anything.
Twice he felt the wolf slip behind them and check their back-trail before moving ahead again. They ate slices of venison as they moved, stopping at streams now and then, but never once saw evidence of other humans. Shell dropped two slices of venison in the middle of the trail and enjoyed tracking the location of the wolf as she moved to their rear and ate the treats.
By the end of the day, Bear Mountain was no longer in front of them. It stood to their left, the slopes rising gently to meet the white snow and glaciers that covered the top third. Shell was about to suggest they turn to try and locate the dragon lairs when the ground shook and a rumbling so low it was felt more than heard, stilled them.
Their eyes turned to the mountain. Somewhere up near the pointed peak smoke drifted up in a spiral, spreading as it reached higher. Shell watched and found another movement in the air, as his back tingled slightly. “Feel that?”
“Only the second time in my life, but unmistakable. It’s like someone is outlining the dragon on my back with a piece of spring grass.”
Four dragons flew together, probably disturbed by the ground shaking, and two of them veered off to the north. The remaining two flapped their wings fiercely and flew west. As Shell and Quester felt the gentle touch of the dragons, they seemed to react also, as if sensing two Dragon Clan. They turned and flew directly at the two men as if curious—or hungry.
Shell glanced from side to side, searching for a place to hide. But Quester placed his hands on his hips and gawked as if fascinated. The dragons continued in their direction, losing altitude and searching with eyes Shell knew were red. He’d heard too many stories not to know what to expect.
There were tales of King Ember and King Emory. One was the old King of Princeton that was dropped from so high; his body made an impression in the ground that filled with water after rain, as well as a hundred other stories he’d heard since childhood. But the one commonality of the stories was that Dragon Clan were never injured by dragons.
However, as two red dragons flapped their great wings and flew at him, Shell was willing to forget the old stories and run. Only the image of Quester standing stoic in front of him kept the panic from erupting as the pain on his back increased.
He heard the wings flapping, one harsh sound on the down strokes and a different, softer sound on the upstrokes. Both dragons spotted them at the same time. Their heads pointed at them, the angle of their approach adjusted slightly, and the red eyes became visible.
The dragon on the left was larger, and it opened its mouth displaying a mouthful of jagged teeth. It roared so loud Shell’s knees went weak, and he couldn’t run if he needed to.
The pair passed over them at treetop level, flying on besides each other, neither turning their head to look behind.
“Beautiful,” Quester said, closing his eyes as if to lock away the memory. “My first two dragons and they flew here to take a look at me.”
“And me too,” Shell added, just to have something to say. “Were you scared?”
“No. I almost called out to them, I was so happy. I’ve waited my whole life to see one, and today they were to so close to me, I felt the wind from their wings.”
Shell nodded. “They were magnificent. I could even smell them. They were so close.”
The barrier that had been between the two men all morning seemed to have evaporated with each beat of dragon wings. They watched the two fly away until they disappeared, and then the tingling came again.
“Coming back,” Quester said.
Shell shook his head. “No, it feels different.”
“It’s the same to me. What’s the difference?”
Shell struggled to identify what it was but felt certain the tingling was different, more defined and intense. He looked off to Bear Mountain, where the new tingle originated, but saw no dragons. Then he felt a sense of familiarity. He’d heard nightly what he now heard in his mind, even if he hadn’t felt the nearness of the animal. The night whisperer was coming. The dragon he felt was the one that had called to him for more than a year.
The wolf is bad enough not to explain, but how do I tell Quester about this? Shell waited and watched. The awareness intensity increased from a tickle to an itch, and then a sharp sting. He spared a glance at Quester, and from the wince he displayed, Shell knew they shared the same strong feeling.
Quester said, “I feel it, but don’t see it.”
“There,” Shell pointed. A flick of movement and an approaching figure flying at treetop level stood out.
“A Red,” Quester muttered.