Dragon Bound - The Saga of Flames and Frost

Chapter 9

Illara stared at the dragon, her heart pounding against her ribs. It certainly looked like Nicodemus. His breast seemed strangely dark and dull, and she wasn't familiar enough with dragons to be able to distinguish any differences. Even in the books they had always appeared nearly identical – black scales, ridged head, and those massive teeth.

She sought for the voice in her head. "Nicodemus?"

Thor yelled, "Be gone! This is my keep! My land! Everything within it belongs to me!"

The wings flapped, rhythmic, steady, but she could not make out the emotion in those dark eyes.

Thor's voice raised. "I have taken her! You can see she's barely dressed! She has been –"

Illara tossed back her head. "I have not been," she challenged. "Since my cleansing ceremony at the keep I have not been touched by any other person, male or female." She tossed her head dismissively up at Thor. "He may have tried to grope me, but my knife took care of that!"

Hot fury boiled up in the dragon's gaze, and she could feel the heat of his breath rising.

Thor snarled, "Go ahead. Use flame within my keep's walls." He spread his arms wide. "I'm right here."

The dragon stared at him ... his claws curled ...

He turned and eased closer to Illara.

She shook her head. "Not until you tell me you're Nicodemus."

He blinked in surprise. He glanced down to the chasm beneath them.

"I don't care," she snapped. "I've had just about enough of being man-handled and dragon-handled. Either you show me you are Nicodemus or I continue my climb down."

A long pause. The only sound was the steady beat of his wings and the whistle of the mountain air through the rocks.

At last the voice came in her head, low and flat. "I am he."

Illara pressed her lips together. Clearly something had happened since their first meeting, but she would take the time to ferret that out later. Right now her fingers were cramping up and her ankles were beginning to shake.

She nodded. "All right. How do I get to you?"

"You jump."

She stared at him in shock. He was a good fifteen feet from her, and her strength was fading by the minute. "What?"

He eased lower in the air, until he was perhaps fifteen feet down as well. "Jump."

Troy had his feet in ledges now and was looking for a hand-hold. "You stay put," he ordered. "And when I get you back up onto the roof –"

She jumped.

The night air was cool as it rushed past her face. Her arms and legs were wide, as if she were a flying squirrel floating ... floating ... floating ...

Wham.

She landed hard on Nicodemus's back, although the flattened scales provided a give that she hadn't expected. Her hands latched onto the rough edges of the scales and her legs clamped her into place.

Nicodemus immediately spiraled into a turn, aiming north into the depths of the mountain range. His wings spread wide and they drove the air, propelling them forward at a breathtaking speed.

It took all of Illara's strength to hold in place against the rippling motion and rushing wind. She desperately wanted to know what was going on, but Nicodemus wasn't talking and she didn't want to press him. There would be plenty of time to discuss the situation once they reached his home.

The wings flapped ... flapped ...

At last they began to approach a massive, black keep, seemingly built into the largest peak before them. If there was a path down from it, Illara couldn't see it. Perhaps it descended within the very rock itself. The keep was a full three stories tall, square, with the same crenelated-edged roofline.

Nicodemus drew up to the roof and curled his wings, settling them down onto it with the softest of landings. Then he knelt down low. She carefully slid down his side, using the scales as steps, to reach the stone floor.

She turned to him. "Nicodemus –"

He drew wide his wings, gave a powerful flap, and he was in the air again. He made a long, sweeping arc and headed down and back. He became lost to view behind the neighboring peak.

She ran to the wall, staring after him. "Nicodemus! Come back!"

There was a motion behind her, and she spun, pressing her back into the wall.

A wrinkled woman stood there, perhaps in her seventies, with a long, white braid and a simple brown tunic. Her face was compassionate and she held out a hand. "Come, child, let us get you inside."

Illara wanted to argue that she was no child, she was the dragon bound, but she ached with exhaustion and she could barely put breath behind words. She took a step ... two ... she stumbled ...

The woman was at her side, and in a moment a sturdy shoulder was beneath her own. Together they made their way across to the door. A flight of stairs, another door, and Illara was facing a room similar to the bedroom she had just left. Only this one featured black curtains and bedding, and there was a painting over the mantle of a shepherd tending his flock by a river.

The woman pulled back the blanket and eased Illara into the bed. "I will fetch you food in the morning," she assured Illara. "For now you need to rest."

Illara desperately wanted to know where she was. What was going on. Where Nicodemus had gone to.

She took in a breath –

The world faded away.