Hatchlings Curse: Dragshi Chronicles, #2

Hatchlings Curse

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Book Two of the Dragshi Chronicles

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Helen B. Henderson

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except for brief quotations used in a review.

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Copyright © 2014 Helen B. Henderson.

All rights reserved.

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Freelance Words and Stories

www.helenhenderson-author.webs.com

November 2014

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Cover Art by Fantasia Frog Designs

Dragon image created by Wayne at deviantart "wolverine041269"

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This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of authors.

Contents

Acknowledgements

One – Raiders Return

Two – Broch’s Reprise

Three – A Mission Given

Four – Lover’s Betrayal

Five – Tasks Undertaken

Six – Rebellion in the Camp

Seven – Lovers Reunited

Eight – Fruitless Search

Nine – Dragons Rising

Ten – An Unexpected Find

Eleven – Celebration for a Dragon Lord

Twelve – An Alarm Raised

Thirteen – Trial and Execution

Fourteen – Ancients Discovered

Fifteen – Dragon Flight

Sixteen – A Suitor Falls

Seventeen – Magic Lost

Eighteen – Time of Waiting, Time of Separation

Nineteen – An Attack Thwarted

Twenty – Death of a Kinsman

Twenty One – Hatching and Hatchling

Twenty Two – Respite Before the Storm

Twenty Three – Raid on the Caves

Twenty Four – A Prize Taken

Twenty Five - Captured

Twenty Six – New Friend and Responsibility

Twenty Seven – Petition Made

Twenty Eight – Death and Revenge

A Note from the Author

About the Author:  Helen Henderson

SPECIAL EXCERPT FROM  Hatchling’s Mate

Acknowledgements

I gratefully recognize the following for their assistance in the creation of the Dragshi Chronicles.

The wandering sailor for her friendship and support in all things writing; Carol McPhee, the Nova Scotian pixie who helped romance learn to take its rightful place alongside adventure; and CMDCM R. Stocklin, U.S. Navy (retired) for his insight into all things about the sea.

I also wish to acknowledge the original matriarchs of Clan Miller:  Jessie Treon Miller, Betty Jane Miller Boganski, and Karen Boganski Stocklin.

And from the next generation, Anastasia and Alexis, whose tales have been chronicled; and Maliyah and Logan, who, like their fictional characters, wait to see their destinies fulfilled.

Lastly my husband, Tom, for his patience and support over the years.

One

Thick silence changed the shadowed woods into a sepulcher. Not a single murmur or hoof fall betrayed the four crouched men or their mounts. Branin prayed those who might soon reside beneath the sod would not be his men... or an innocent. All too often of late, the raiders had struck holds, both large and small, with impunity. The erratic attacks made it difficult to predict their next target.

Branin cursed Broch, the firebrand former lady of Ky’Port, who led the raiders with the skill of a trained general. Over the years, many women had tried to seduce him in order to claim they’d bedded a dragon shifter or to garner the power a dragshi wielded. At their first contact, he always made it clear no dragshi could have a permanent liaison with a true human, and that his favors could not be bought with money or wiles. Most women took his word and remained satisfied with what companionship he allowed. If they pursued their relationship to a physical level, it was done with no expectations beyond mutual pleasure. Broch went beyond the usual flattery and flirtations. Sharp words always seemed to lie just beneath her light tone and apparent sincerity. Despite her physical beauty, he had sensed the ruthlessness within her. No matter how hard she threw herself at him, the fire never kindled.

Thank the ancestors, Branin breathed.

He shrugged trying to resettle his battle armor. The heavy metal not only transferred the chill of the late spring morn to his bones, a piece of the horsehair padding had shifted and the neck plate rubbed. Still he stayed motionless. In his earlier days he would have forgone the extra protection, but that was before his mind had touched Anastasia’s. Since her dragon soul twin Jessian awoke and Anastasia joined the ranks of the dragshi to become his mate, he no longer took unnecessary risks. Dragshi, like the true dragons, mated for life in this world and the one beyond. He had to live—for her.

Through the link Branin held with his friend, Liam, he heard his fellow dragon shifter readying his own small group of soldiers. Branin grasped the mental link he held with his men. No hint of betrayal colored their thoughts, only the anticipation of seasoned warriors.

Liam’s image appeared in Branin’s mind. The tall man looked as relaxed as if he strolled with his wife, Dealan, through a summer garden. Liam sent on a tight link from his position farther along the trail.

Branin retorted. He and Liam had only selected men for the mission who didn’t object to a mind link.

Branin heard the other man’s interest in keeping the conversation going and kept up the voiceless banter. It helped relieve some of the tension. Liam was one of the few dragshi with battle experience and the only shifter who could beat Branin in either armed or unarmed combat. Their skills were so closely matched, their bouts provided many an evening’s entertainment for the other residents of Cloud Eyrie. Both hated the calm before a battle.

Although I know how to wait patiently, it does not mean I enjoy it, Branin fumed.

The snap of a twig crackled into the cloudless sky. Branin signaled his men to readiness. The raiders are here!

Labored breathing and a swish preceded the entrance of a man on skis. His arms pumped in a rhythmic motion propelling him along the icy trail. Heavy furs covering his body added to the man’s broad shoulders, making him look more animal than human.

Recognition pulled at Branin. Branin’s frustration that it was not the expected band of thieves turned the mental command into a sharp hiss.

The newcomer looked around. His gaze lingered on his backtrail before he slid over to Branin. The time it took to remove the skis and gulp a swallow of water only added to Branin’s frustration.

He forced himself to relax. Uaine would not delay unnecessarily since he was a skilled fighter and tactician.

Uaine’s expression announced bad news even before he spoke. The Ceoltier Guild sent word. Raiders struck three valleys over. Six men on skis broke into a woodcutter’s shed and took the supplies kept there for stranded travelers. All were captured. Uaine lifted his head bringing his eyes level with Branin’s. I’m sorry. Broch was not among them. The men were just local footpads. Not the ones you sought.

Branin bit back a curse. Stand down, he called over his shoulder. At the command, soldiers converged around him.

Liam rode up with his small party and joined the circle of men. He raised an eyebrow. Air search?

Uaine, take charge of the men, Branin ordered. There is a clearing down the trail large enough for Liam and me to shift into dragon form. We’ll leave our mounts with you and search by wing. If nothing is found by sunset, take the men home.

After making arrangements for continued watches and to be notified of any sightings of Broch, Branin led the way to the clearing.

Liam walked to the opening in the trees and waved to Uaine who tightened his grip on the reins of two fidgeting horses. White mist surrounded Liam. When it cleared, a yellow dragon towered where the man had once stood. Now in the form of his dragon soul twin, Orfhlaith, Liam reared back on his haunches and launched himself skyward.

Branin summoned his own magic. A heartbeat later, he spread the amber wings of the dragon form of his soul twin, Llewlyn, and leapt after Liam.

~ * ~

A breeze blew strands of long black hair into eyes. Impatiently, she pushed them away and wriggled her tall frame into the rain-hollowed dip in the rocks. Three blankets and a sleeping fur created a comfortable bed while the overhanging ledge and a line of boulders concealed her from observation by either ground or air. From her resting place near the mountain’s crest, she lifted the spy glass to her eye. Far below, a line of men on horseback turned into the trail heading to their village. Good, she snarled. Go back to your homes and your wives.

Practiced movements slid the mariner’s tool into its leather carrying case and poured a stoneware mug half-full of wine. Not fine crystal, but this will do. Wine not only keeps away the chill, but is as good a way to pass the time as any. Relishing the tart bite of the sparkling drink, she watched the distance widen between her hiding spot and her pursuers. The southern region had been good to her. Thick woods made pursuit difficult, and the winter, mild compared to that of her home, allowed travel—and raids—throughout the entire cold season. It kept her men happy and well fed.

Those dragons will give up soon, she reassured herself. They had already flown six circuits of the area. Unless his Lordship Branin Llewlyn is looking for me, Lady Broch of Ky’Port, not Broch the leader of a raider band. Anger at his refusal of her favors years before resurfaced. Pain shot up her thigh just as it had ever since her childhood when a dragon shifter had healed her broken leg. In fact, the crescent-shaped scar that remained after the dragon’s fire had been the cause of the rumor of a curse that haunted Broch all her life.

As if he sensed her thoughts, an amber dragon winged into view.

Relax, Broch urged. Shifters can track anger. She changed the direction of her thoughts. Instead of a darker emotion, she pictured Branin in her bed. Her body warmed with heat that had nothing to do with the late afternoon sun. One hand rose to loosen her collar. A finger grazed the sea pearl embedded in the handfast token around her neck. Branin’s dark hair lightened into that of another—Hicca, her husband.

Memories of the passions Hicca aroused at their first meeting inflamed her skin even more than the imagined tryst with the dragon lord. Hicca might not be the best lover I’ve ever had, but he chased away the cold many a night during the past cold season. Unlike Branin who’d rejected her, at their handfasting, Hicca had knelt in an unusual display of acknowledgement of her position as helpmate.

Maybe it is time for me to return to the northern camp. Maybe by now Hicca will have returned. It will take more than two sevenday for Morcant to sail Deep Lion around the continent’s horn, time for the clamor raised by my raids to dissipate. She smiled and finished the wine. And, giving the people more time to gather more money... for me.

~ * ~

Mist dampened Broch’s hair and face and slickened her grip on the ship rail. For days, banks of iron gray clouds had hounded Deep Lion. Her sigh escaped over the waves. For the first time in days, sunbeams pierced the clouds and orange light burnished the back of her closed eyelids. She didn’t know how long she’d stood that way enjoying the last of the day’s warmth, until the fading brightness made her open her eyes. Kissing the horizon, the sun painted the cave-pocked bluffs a deep crimson. Broch turned from the view to watch the crew, most of whom had stripped to short breeches. Sweat, mingled with sea mist, glistened on the men’s tanned skin. The first stirrings of an unexpected emotion added more moisture to her already sea-dampened clothes until she turned her face back to the breeze.

A flicker of movement at the corner of her eye chilled her bones. The darkness of a shadow glided across the deck. With a cry, Broch dropped into a crouch, expecting to see red wings. Instead of a dragon with claws unfurled to pluck her from the deck, a flock of sea birds rose from the waves. Stream after stream of them obscured the sky, forming intriguing designs amidst the clouds.

They are only birds, not dragons, Broch chastised herself. The closer the flat-hulled Deep Lion came to land, the more omnipresent the birds became. Their raucous cries permeated the air both day and night. Like the crew, Broch’s nerves vibrated in reaction to the clamor until sleep became impossible. Some birds grew so bold as to line the rigging at dawn, hampering the sailors every time they tried to raise or lower canvas.

Realization of her defensive position straightened Broch. Frantic glances to see if anyone noticed her reaction to the birds added to her racing nerves, but no one gave any indication of her unusual action. The crew of Deep Lion kept about their duties. Hafgan and Lludd, her right hands, leaned in the shade of the main mast, their faces expressionless masks.

Her desire to yell at the birds, to lash out at those who inspired the fearful move, filled Broch, but she restrained her urges. No dragon soared amidst the smaller creatures. Relief warred with anger and fear. She was safe—for now.

~ * ~

The cabin boy’s knock and message of Deep Lion’s approach to land brought Broch back to the bow rail. She pulled the fine tulle fabric of her headscarf tighter around her face. At least I need not fear identification by those cursed ceoltiers. Between the jar of cream she’d acquired in the Far East and the work of the region’s skilled surgeons, her burn scars were no longer recognizable as such. Flares of fire enveloped her at the memory of the pain, of enduring the knives and needles the physicians used to scrape the raised welts smooth and to stretch the puckered skin that marred her face. Once again, the features of the cot holder who’d caused the injuries filled Broch’s vision. As it had since the failed raid on the homestead, anticipation of her revenge added to the heat ravaging her body.

Commands and the sound of running feet brought Broch back from her contemplations to watch the crew. The soft slap of water beneath the hull accompanied Deep Lion’s maneuvers around rocks hiding beneath a sea smooth as glass. Despite the weather on the horizon that should have churned both wind and waves, there was barely enough force to move the ship. Even the lightest canvas failed to hold air for long. Come on, blow, Broch growled at the gray skies. She wanted to get into port, get a hot bath, and food, she added. Too bad the only man of the crew skinny enough to fit in the small galley was not a dab hand with pots and pans. She smiled. He has other attributes. Until the birds became too obnoxious, the cook’s skills shortened the sleepless nights. Although she had not summoned him to her quarters for more than a sevenday, maybe she would request him to share her bed when they reached port.

The headlands that protected the city slid by, revealing the ship’s destination. Finally, Broch breathed, Alcari. Beyond the clutter of the docks, neat concentric arcs of increasingly larger and more elaborate homes made the mountainside look like terraced gardens. With each new vista, Broch became more introspective. The town reminded her too much of another town and of her time there with Hicca.

Will I find a clue within the rich townhouses of Alcari to Hicca’s disappearance? Or at the docks?

Two

Amber light glinting off the high cliffs drew Broch’s gaze from the water slipping beneath the ship’s hull. She tracked the dark ribbon that wound along the cliff only to disappear into the dirty brown water. Even with the path submerged beneath the high tide and obscured from sight, she unerringly located the spot where convicted prisoners were chained as punishment.

No, she corrected, not punishment—execution. Her hands clenched the rail so tight the skin over the knuckles tightened to translucence.

That dragshi witch said the Ceoltier Guild put Hicca to the crabs, Broch growled. That would be the only reason he never joined me after that last raid. To reinforce the anticipated pleasure that settling old scores brought her, she walked to the hold that contained her special cargo, bales of dried plants that were a strong soporific to dragons. Pain shot up her thigh. Unlike the earlier times, she no longer needed to be in their presence. The scar burned at the mere thought of a dragon.

Hatred solidified into an implacable thirst for revenge. I will wipe those scourges from the earth, starting with the dragshi, Broch snarled. Except for his high and mighty Lord Branin Llewlyn. I offered him a kingdom to rule at my side. That one will regret not accepting my favors. Shifter or not, he will come to me on his knees. Chuckles left her throat at the image. Maybe after I tire of him and he no longer pleases me, I’ll tell him how his precious Anastasia died. How that dragon spawn of a trader girl fed the crabs before she drowned.

Broch watched Morcant give orders to the helmsmen. She knew the captain would keep the material required for her revenge safe. His failure carried repercussions he dared not risk. A whisper, a word in the wrong ear and his location would be betrayed to the kin of the girl he had killed for rejecting his favors. The lack of a body did not hamper the girl’s family who’d posted warrants for Morcant’s return to their island—dead or alive.

All reflections ended with the bump of the ship against the bolsters. Broch hurried to the crewman sliding a gangplank through a hole in the rail. Hafgan and Lludd appeared at her side. The hulking men moved quietly for their size. The only survivors of her original band, she was so familiar with the identical twins she could tell them apart, even without seeing their eyes. Hafgan’s eyes were blue, while his brother’s were gray.

Too bad neither Hafgan nor Lludd tempt me enough to have them warm my bed. The image of the men shirtless in her bed sent a rush of fire up her neck that quickly faded in the harbor’s chill breeze. She would have to bed both men or neither, and the risk of losing their loyalty was too great. Better to have someone more dispensable.

Scan of the activity on the dock yielded just the normal bustle. The smoke-laden air of the harbor burned her eyes, but Broch resisted the urge to wipe them dry. She had gotten used to the dab of artist’s putty used to create a slant to her eyes. Not only did it give her an exotic look, the foreign image she projected strengthened her disguise. With tanned skin and the straight black tresses that replaced her natural color, the bright red of the highlands, she no longer feared identification.

After a final search of those gathered on the dock to see if any paid undue attention to her, Broch took Hafgan’s arm and allowed him to escort her down the ramp to a waiting coach. In the role of her assistant, he handed her up. Instead of climbing in, she stopped on the running board and for several minutes watched Lludd supervising the offloading of her personal belongings. Satisfied her cargo would be properly taken to the warehouses, she nodded to herself and entered the coach. Her weight settled onto the red velvet cushions, releasing the delicate scent of lilish flowers.

With a quiet, Ready, mistress? Hafgan took a hold of the rail and stepped onto the running board. At her nod, he turned his head towards the driver and said, Go. The crack of a whip and squeak of springs signaled the man’s acknowledgement of the order.

A gap between the curtains allowed Broch an unobstructed view as the carriage wove through groups of sailors looking for entertainments not available aboard ship. Their whistles at slatterns in dirty skirts reminded Broch of another need the town could answer. The women didn’t interest her, but the tavern truckle in tight leather breeches could solve the problem of bedmate. Calling out for the coachman to stop, she searched the men lounging against the open shutters of a window that, judging from the sounds within, belonged to a popular inn.

One, a blond man in his early twenties, caught her eye. Hicca! Broch called before she could censor herself. Any resemblance to the missing Hicca vanished when the man turned, shattering the illusion. Her pulse racing, Broch called to Hafgan, dropped a few coins in his hand and pointed toward the blond. That one, tonight after dinner. Find him suitable clothes and make sure he bathes first. And Hafgan, make sure he has no entanglements, I might want him for more than tonight.

At Hafgan’s raised eyebrow, she added, "We will be in Alcari for a sevenday while Morcant sells the spices and fine silks we brought. If the leman pleases me, he travels aboard Deep Lion until Gelenrad and possibly onto our mountain camp. At least until he fails to satisfy me."

Nodding, Hafgan dropped off and signaled the driver to continue on. As the coach pulled away, Broch watched Hafgan put an arm around the blond’s shoulder and guide him to a shadowed corner. Anticipation of the evening’s pleasure tingled her nerves. She would not sleep alone tonight. Memories of other nights in Gelenrad, of mutual pleasures shared with Hicca, surfaced to be replaced by the emptiness that haunted her since she left the north. One of the holdless who remained behind might know what happened to Hicca. Something deep within her steadfastly refused to believe he might be dead.

While we’re in the mountains, Broch mused, I will hunt up the woman who burned me and slowly immerse her inch by inch into a vat of hot oil. She considered an alternate plan. Or maybe I’ll make her watch her children treated first.

~ * ~

Anastasia’s worry ripped through Branin’s mind. Despite being new to the dragshi, the strength of her link to him made it difficult to fully block. His mate’s distress added a mental pain to the exhaustion and cold already crippling his body. His muscles ached from fighting the unpredictable downdrafts. Grateful for the strength of his soul twin Llewlyn’s dragon form, Branin’s wings stroked harder for Cloud Eyrie—and Anastasia.

Earlier that day, Eirwen, the lady ruler of the dragshi, had selected him as the strongest of the dragshi, to determine if flight was possible. Outlying villages required life-saving medicine—and soon. Flooded rivers and washed-out roads prevented travel by foot or horse. Only recently had the early spring storms abated. Gale force winds had for too long trapped the dragshi within their complex, preventing a rescue mission by air. In response to the desperate need, taking advantage of a more favorable forecast, Branin had risked the weather to test the winds, only to be caught far from home.

Now, as a solitary beam of light broke through overcast skies, he followed the glow as it slid over the snow. For a moment it lingered on the cliff face beneath Cloud Eyrie before vanishing in the gloom. Thick gray clouds obscured the horizon and signaled the approach of yet another winter storm. Pulling upon hidden reserves, Branin raced toward the safety of the complex the dragon shifters called home.

A gust plunged him toward the granite outcroppings below. Ice crystals fell from his amber pinions to vanish in the mist. He halted his fall. His long-vision showed the jagged rocks below and how close he had come to a life-ending collision. Hovering, he caught his breath, then pulled for the safety of the heights.

Cloud Eyrie’s stone walls appeared none too quickly. Winds swirled the thick haze covering the mountain and revealed another problem. His plan to land on the cliff ledge the dragshis used for takeoffs and landings vanished. The ribbons of snow showed erratic air currents which could send him over the edge before the transition from dragon form to human was complete.

Branin growled in frustration. Before he met Anastasia, he might have risked breaking a limb. Now the danger was too great, not only to himself, but to her as well. A broken wing might only cripple him, but if he died, so would Anastasia.

Another course of action, one generally shunned by the other dragshi, leaped forward. Shifting form in mid-air with the buildings themselves to blunt the worst of the winds, offered some safety. He would have preferred the large main courtyard, but the wide veranda was too exposed. A gust at the wrong time could throw him against a wall with just as deadly consequences as his original plan.

Swift strokes shifted him over to a narrow space between the main chamber and a side wing. Three beats later, he hovered beside the balcony of his quarters. Branin stiffened his shoulders so just the tips of his wings moved to slow his