Dragon's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 4) Read online

  Dragon’s Child

  The Mindbender’s Rise: Book 4

  D. J. Salisbury

  Published by

  Magic Seeker Books

  Dragon’s Child

  Copyright © 2016 by D. J. Salisbury

  All rights reserved.

  [email protected]

  www.DJSalisburyBooks.com

  Published by Magic Seeker Books

  www.MagicSeeker.com

  100 PR 232

  Abbott, TX 76621

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art and design by Deb Salisbury.

  The dragon was created in clay by Moira Starbuck.

  Fantasy Novels by D. J. Salisbury

  Illusion’s Child

  Sorcery’s Child

  Serpent’s Child

  Dragon’s Child

  and

  Necromancer’s Anchor

  I dedicate this novel to Dona Salisbury,

  Michael Pennington,

  and to Forward Motion, a forum for writers.

  Thanks to all of you for your help.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue.

  Chapter 1.

  Chapter 2.

  Chapter 3.

  Chapter 4.

  Chapter 5.

  Chapter 6.

  Chapter 7.

  Chapter 8.

  Chapter 9.

  Chapter 10.

  Chapter 11.

  Chapter 12.

  Chapter 13.

  Chapter 14.

  Chapter 15.

  Chapter 16.

  Chapter 17.

  Chapter 18.

  Chapter 19.

  Chapter 20.

  Chapter 21.

  Chapter 22.

  Chapter 23.

  Chapter 24.

  Chapter 25.

  Chapter 26.

  Chapter 27.

  About the Author

  Prologue.

  In spite of his mistakes, he’d survived, and he hadn’t even gotten anyone killed. Unless he counted Frederick’s ghost, and he wasn’t sure about that. Could a ghost die? He hoped the magician would find a way to reassemble himself.

  Rain splatted on Viper’s head and shivering shoulders, on both of his friends, and on four smoking piles of cinders. Getting wet didn’t matter now. They’d won. He wasn’t even badly injured.

  But Lorel and Tsai’dona both insisted on holding him upright.

  He squeezed the girls’ hands and turned his attention to his enchanted creations.

  Against the ash-coated sand, his magical weapons glistened – glowed! – with suppressed strength. Could the girls see it? He was certain the Kyridon knew the weapons’ secrets.

  “We’re ready to start the next stage of the quest.” He released Tsai’dona’s sticky hand and turned to pat his tall friend’s overgrown mitt. “You can let me go now. I’m not going to pass out.”

  Lorel freed his hand, but frowned down at him. “You look like you’re gonna fall over, kid.”

  Frankly, neither girl looked much better than he felt. Exhaustion marked their faces with deep lines. Lorel’s mahogany skin was paler than he’d ever seen it, and Tsai’dona’s bronzed complexion wasn’t noticeably healthier.

  Being wet and cold didn’t help. Rain soaked their hair and clothing, even their weapons’ sheaths. Why did they insist on wearing swords out in the middle of nowhere? Lorel’s bahtdor-bone swords wouldn’t be affected, but Tsai’dona’s expensive Crayl steel sword would rust.

  Not to mention the red stains streaking their chins and hands. Even their shirts and trouser legs dyed were red. Why, exactly, had they spat his prized red wine vinegar over the starfish?

  For that matter, why was his wagon coated with spiny, yellow-edged, blue starfish? It was an awe-inspiring sight. If he wanted to draw a crowd, it would. But how had they gotten there?

  He was too tired to demand answers. Awakening the Kyridon’s weapons had sapped the spice – and all the magic – out of him.

  Thunder roared, but the rain was easing up. Smoke from the burned forest and grumbling volcano made his eyes water. Even over the smoke, the odor of vinegar stung his nostrils.

  His team of blue-roan draft horses trotted into camp, followed by Tsai’dona’s little mare. “About time you two got here.” He’d called them ages ago. An hour ago? Well, maybe minutes ago.

  Lorel snorted, grabbed a pair of curry combs, and tossed one to Tsai’dona. Both girls set to work combing sand out of the horses’ fur.

  Viper pushed his tangled hair out of his face. How’d he get so much sand in his hair?

  How’d his coat sleeve get so bloody? Blast. He’d cut himself to invoke the blood magic. Which he’d sworn he’d never do. But to complete the magic for the last weapon, he needed blood magic, and death magic. Or thought he did. In the end, Frederick’s ghost had offered up the power. And died for it. He’d feel guilt over that forever.

  Right now he needed to ask Tsai’dona to stitch him back together. The cut on his palm was shallow, but his wrist looked messy, between the gash and the fang punctures.

  The Kyridon’s venom had stopped the bleeding. He looked around for the snake, but saw only slithery sand-tracks leading to the wagon. Fine. He wasn’t sure he’d forgiven the creature for Nightshade’s death. Though the serpent had saved him from RedAdder…

  Suddenly, Tsai’dona was finished cleaning and saddling her horse. His wrist was stitched and he hadn’t felt a thing. Had he passed out sitting up? Wait – how’d he get up on the driver’s bench?

  Tsai’dona wrapped a bandage around the wound, patted his shoulder, and hopped down to the ground. “Go change into clothes that aren’t so wet and bloody. It’s not nearly cold enough for leather and fur.”

  He was cold enough, but she was probably right that he’d get too hot soon. And he was soaked to the skin. He ducked into the wagon and changed into wool trousers and jacket, with a linen shirt and his Paduan wool coat. The girl couldn’t complain about his serdil-fur boots, since they were the only pair he had left after one of his old boots had vanished into the ocean, and serdils had eaten the other.

  His ankle still wasn’t inured to the new padding he’d stuffed inside the left boot – the mound of serdil fur made his stump itch. But it was warm, and they certainly had plenty of it.

  When he climbed back out to the driver’s bench, Tsai’dona was strolling around the four soggy piles of ash. She paused at each heap to examine his work. “The weapons look like cloudy, colored glass.” She stopped at the southernmost pile and picked up the scimitar. “This one looks like it has fire inside it.”

  The weapon’s blade was translucent ash gray, with crimson flames flaring up its length. The runes he’d carved glowed brilliant scarlet. So did a series of tiny skulls and clawed footprints. The lava lizard’s ghost had left its mark.

  Of course, any creature who called itself ‘Volcano Conqueror who is Bigger than Everything’ would never allow itself to be forgotten. He had to remember to warn the wielder of this weapon that it would be contrary.

  Lorel looked up from harnessing Periwinkle and glared at her friend in mock disgust. “They all changed when the kid called the ghosts into them.”

  “But how?” Tsai’dona pushed her straight, dark hair out of her face, and stood on tiptoe to lay the scimitar on the driver’s platform. That was one of the things he liked most about her – she was only a little taller than his own four foot two inches. Maybe six inches taller. Or ten. At seven foot something, Lorel, the blasted pine tree, was nearly twice as tall.

  “I guess it was t
he magic.” Lorel shrugged and turned back to the horses. Her black hair had escaped its braid again. He rather liked her ringlets, though he knew better than to say so.

  Tsai’dona handed the flute and the seahorn up to him and rolled her eyes. “I knew that much.”

  “It might have been the flames.” Could heat change Hreshith bone that much? Viper examined the flute critically. It seemed to glitter from within, lighting up the now-blue dragons and white clouds Lorel had carved on its sky-blue barrel. He tried to ignore the seahorn lying beside his foot. It looked far too much like an open-mouthed green snake pretending to be made of glass. The blasted thing even had shark-toothed fangs.

  “You take all the mystery out of things.” Lorel scooped the six-foot-long broadsword out of the sand, hopped up to the driver’s seat, and lugged the gold-patterned black sword under the swinging door, into the wagon. Seconds later, she reached under the door, and one by one took the other three weapons from his hands and stowed them inside. “When you ain’t putting mystery into things.”

  “Hey, I’m a sorcerer. It’s my job to create mysteries.” Only a second-level sorcerer, but someday he’d complete his education.

  Tsai’dona laughed and mounted her horse. The little gray mare pranced as if she were aching to gallop.

  Lorel slid back under the door and joined him on the driver’s bench. She flicked the reins gently. “If we’re heading east, we’ll leave this sandy desert behind by tomorrow.” She shoved her ringlets back from her face. “The beach ahead is pretty narrow, with foothills inland. There’ll be better hunting there. Better grazing for the horses, too. Weaver bless all hoofed critters, I miss Nightshade. I want to run!”

  Viper nodded sympathy. Driving the wagon would leave her screaming like a turybird long before they reached Noran. If only Nightshade had survived. But now the stallion’s ghost resided inside the broadsword. “We’ll get you a warhorse yet. One with long legs and lots of energy.”

  Lorel smiled wanly. Maybe she didn’t believe him, but that was a promise he intended to keep. He had enough Hreshith-bone dust stored in the wagon to buy a dozen warhorses.

  “We’re heading toward more volcanoes.” Tsai’dona reined her mare closer to the wagon. “We’ll have to be careful about our path.”

  Lorel sighed. “We ain’t got no choices, unless we leave the beach.”

  “This one recommends that all receptacles be replenished at the impending tributary.” The Kyridon slid its serpentine head under the door, lifting the wood a few inches.

  He still hadn’t forgiven the serpent for engineering Nightshade’s death, but he was grateful it had stopped RedAdder’s ghost from destroying him. Or worse, from collecting his spirit for her ‘master,’ whomever or whatever that was.

  “Potables will become immoderately inadequate now that voluminous littoral niveous glaciations have liquefied. All potables appear situated in the elevated altitudes, and the ascent will be strenuous.”

  Lorel rolled her eyes. “What did it say, kid?”

  He couldn’t tell her that the serpent had schemed for Nightshade to die, intending to use the stallion’s spirit to awaken one of the magical weapons. She’d never forgive either of them. And attacking a thirty-foot-long snake would be the death of his turybird. Not even her goddess, the Weaver, could protect her from the Kyridon’s venom. Especially when the only devotion he’d seen from the girl was to swear by or at the Weaver.

  “Wake up, kid.” Lorel nudged his shoulder. “What did it say?”

  He rolled his eyes. If she bothered to listen, she’d understand the creature easily enough. “We need to fill the casks at the next stream because so much snow has melted that it will be hard to get drinkable water unless we climb the mountains.”

  Tsai’dona giggled. “Sounds like good advice to me.”

  Lorel sighed. She handed the reins to him and leaned back. “I’m gonna take a nap. Driving is boring.”

  As if he didn’t know.

  Chapter 1.

  The reins lay loose in Viper’s lap, but he didn’t bother to urge the team. He was too bored.

  Unguided as usual, the horses picked their way along the beach.

  Powdery white sand extended to the horizon. Craggy cliffs lay to the right, the endless ocean seethed to his left. He wasn’t doing magic, and it wasn’t an Alignment day. The waves should stay where they belonged.

  Sitting on the wagon’s driver’s bench, pretending to guide the team, was boring, even with Lorel sleeping beside him. Maybe because Lorel was napping. He couldn’t read as long as she sat beside him.

  Besides, his bladder was full.

  He yawned and dumped the reins into Lorel’s hands.

  She opened one eye and tried to pass them back.

  He scooted away from her. “You hold on to those for a while. I’m going to visit the bushes.”

  “Why?” She stretched and yawned.

  “Mind your own business.”

  Lorel chuckled and dropped the reins into her lap.

  Viper shrugged out of his cloak, slid to the ground, and limped away from the plodding wagon. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll catch up later.”

  “Ain’t no way I’m stopping,” she called back.

  He looked around for Tsai’dona, but she was riding nearly a mile ahead, not close enough to embarrass him. He headed for a niche in the cliff wall.

  When he returned to the beach, he stood between the wheel tracks and stared at the distant, bright blue wagon. Was it was worth the effort to run that far?

  It wasn’t. Especially while limping on one foot. His padded boot already prickled against his ankle’s stump.

  Besides, it was too hot to run, even if it was only springtime. Too bad his old, lightweight-leather padded boot was ruined, but he’d rather the serdil chewed it up than his leg. He’d happily wear these serdil-fur boots, given the alternative.

  A shadow passed over him. He looked up, half expecting to see a mythical flying fish.

  It was a dragon.

  Red as port wine, more graceful than a sea breeze. Its aura, the brightest he’d ever seen, glowed in crystalline white and blue with streaks of vibrant coppery green.

  Its beauty thundered through him.

  What a dazzling fourteenth birthday present. He’d treasure the sight forever.

  He stopped walking and stared, fascinated by its elegance and majesty and sleek body. He’d never been so close to a dragon.

  If only he could tell Trevor. His teacher always believed in dragons. Had talked about them the day before his murder.

  The creature flew as far as the horizon, made a lazy turn, and headed back toward him.

  Comparing it with the forest below it, he guessed the dragon spanned nearly three pine trees, making it over sixty feet long, with a quarter of that length in neck and another third in sinuous tail.

  It folded its wings and dived.

  The horses screamed. He pitied Lorel. She’d have no luck controlling them now that they’d seen it.

  He hoped the horses weren’t the gorgeous creature’s intended dinner. He was too far away to help, even if he could think of a spell. As exhausted as he was, he’d never be able to build a shield that big.

  Now wait a minute. That dragon was aimed at him!

  Gathering the little magic left in his core, Viper fled toward the wagon and willed an illusion over himself to make him appear like a patch of sand.

  The dragon didn’t hesitate.

  He tightened his concentration and projected a second illusion, one of himself racing toward the mountains. After willing a dome shield to surround him, he turned and limped toward the ocean.

  The dragon ignored his illusions and his shield altogether. It struck the ground behind him, spraying sand everywhere.

  He threw himself onto the beach and rolled aside.

  It seized him around the torso in one huge forepaw, jerked him to its chest, and jumped into the air on the rebound.

  The force of the collision stunned him.<
br />
  Surely his neck was broken. He’d never move again. Not that it mattered. How long until it ate him?

  Lorel would be furious. Nothing he could do about that, either.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the creature to toss him into the air and bite him in half, but the dragon only flew higher and higher.

  His entire body jolted with every wingbeat. The huge paw squeezed and relaxed with each motion, mashing him, leaving him breathless. It was a relief when the dragon’s flight smoothed out into a long glide.

  The Kyridon’s mind reached toward him.

  He pushed the serpent’s spirit away. It shouldn’t suffer the sensation of being eaten with him. Bad enough he had to go through it.

  But the dragon still didn’t devour him.

  Bitter wind whipped his hair into his face, slapping him awake. Icy air cut through him. The paw that clutched him kept him warm from shoulder to knee, but his face and foot felt ready freeze and fall off.

  Twisting and grunting, he tried to wiggle free. He squirmed until he could look down.

  And froze.

  He dangled beneath the dragon’s chest, hundreds – thousands! – of feet above the ground.

  Viper closed his eyes and held his breath. He couldn’t be that high up. It was just a hallucination, made worse by fear.

  Air hissed out of his nose, blowing steam around his face. He gasped in another wintry breath and opened his eyes.

  Thousands of feet above the mountain.

  He tried to scream, but all that came out was a squeak.

  The dragon soared upward with the wind.

  Harsh terrain passed below him. Hours dragged by, hours that felt like days. Still the dragon flew up the ragged mountains, passing over forests and snow-choked valleys.

  Now what could he do? He could still feel the Kyridon in the back of his mind, but as ever, he couldn’t tell what it was thinking. Even if the serpent convinced her to try, there was no hope that Lorel would ever find him. She couldn’t get the wagon up these mountains. Look at that canyon, that cliff, all that ice. She’d never make it.