“How are you feeling?” Princess Theora inquired of Damara, just loud enough to be heard over Nigh’s clopping of hooves beneath them.
Ahead of them, Strong cantered with tame power, making it look as though Tyrone weighed next to nothing in his knight suit.
“Fine,” Damara lied.
“You can be honest with me, Damara. I’m worried, too.”
“What did you mean when you said Tyrone saved your life?” she asked, trying to steady her voice.
“It was a long time ago, when I was still in dragon form,” Theo told her. “I got careless and wandered into the kingdom. Hunters caught me and bound my wings. My brother didn’t recognize me and I couldn’t speak wearing the muzzle they’d fastened onto me.”
They braced themselves as Nigh jumped over a branch in the path.
“Chadwick thought the dragons had taken me, like in the children’s story. You know, the one about the Dragon Slave? He demanded that I lead him to where I was being held. He was sure to kill me in the end…so Tyrone set me free.”
“But how did he recognize you?” Damara watched the light glint off Tyrone’s armor.
“I think it was Ivory,” the Princess spoke softly. “But it almost seemed as though he knew all along…”
“The King banished him just because he let you go?”
“Yes.”
What would the King do if he recognized me? I never covered my face riding Chasm!
Damara squinted in the bright light as they emerged from the forest.
“How are you going to tell King Chadwick the truth?” she questioned.
“I’ve tried before, but he wouldn’t listen.” Theo sounded determined. “So this time I’m going to show him.”
How? Damara’s doubts built up on each other, but she remained silent.
It wasn’t long until they reached the ruined town of Swaineford. It was silent there except for Nigh and Strong’s hooves clattering over the great, stone bridge.
What if the King kills Tyrone for defying him? Damara dreaded the scene that played out in her head. Could the Princess stop him?
In time, they entered the lower parts of Wystil and she gawked at all the people going about their lives.
So strange. Damara gazed at the farmers tending to their fields. So normal…
Children played among trees, vendors called out, women hushed babies and beat dust out of rugs. They all seemed to know their purpose.
Even if everything goes well with the King, even if Xander is alive, even if he forgives me, Damara thought, fear boiling her bones. Could I ever fit in?
She found no answer.
At last, the castle came into view. Unlike when she approached on dragonback, the stone structure seemingly rose from the ground, with rooks jabbing ever higher, its walls growing ever wider.
The place an arrow grazed me. The scar on her leg almost felt as though it were burning with the memory of it.
Damara avoided eye contact with the people they passed, studying the jouncing movement of Nigh’s mane.
I can feel them staring at me. She held on even tighter. Do they recognize me, or is it just that I’m riding with the Princess?
Coming upon the castle entrance, Tyrone and Theo slowed their horses to a trot. Damara grew even tenser as she heard the calls of guards hailing the Princess.
What do I say if one of them speaks to me? Do I not respond at all?
To her relief, they made it to the courtyard stables without delay. Dismounting Nigh, Damara gazed around at the building. This was the place where she and her brother spent so much time together when they were young. A heap of hay in the corner, the many wooden posts, nearly everything looked familiar to her. She located the spot in the rafters where she’d seen Ivory, before the wyvern had flown away and was attacked by a falcon.
“Welcome back, Your Highness.”
A young lad’s voice startled Damara. Realizing it was the stable boy talking to the Princess, she withdrew into the wall. The boy was blonde, with no resemblance to Xander by face nor build, but it was his clothes that reminded her of her brother. The simple, baggy tunic and long pants were the same as Xander wore when he helped in the stables.
Just that one hint of history made Damara’s heart quicken.
“May I tether your horse for you?” the boy asked the Princess, glancing at Damara in curiosity.
“No, thank you,” Theo replied, slipping from the saddle. “Go and take the afternoon to yourself. Nothing here concerns you at this time.”
“Oh, yes Ma’am,” he stammered, backing out with a bow. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
The Princess stood still for a moment, anxiously checking to make sure no one else was near. Then she turned to Damara.
“Tether my horse to that post there,” Theo instructed as she handed the reins to her. “I want you to stay close to the exit and brush Nigh. Don’t draw any attention to yourself, understand?”
Damara nodded without quite understanding why. Quietly, she did as the Princess said, finding a brush. With gentle strokes, she brushed Nigh and watched as Tyrone tethered his own horse nearby.
She saw Theo take an apple and hand it to Tyrone, who promptly began carving into it with his knife.
“Once you’ve finished doing that, place it right here,” the Princess told him in hushed tones, gesturing to a cleared workspace. “I’ll pick it up when I come back with Chadwick. Until then, please be careful. Stand by Damara if you must.”
She’s bringing the King here? Damara moved further behind Nigh. But why?
Princess Theora left the stables. Tyrone made quick work of the apple, removing a part of its core like a cork. Damara was intrigued as he pulled from his belt a well-wrapped item- the same thing the Wizard had given him earlier that day.
The vial! she immediately recognized. Tyrone poured what little liquid it held into the apple, then replaced the core. Just as Theo requested, he left it on the workspace. At last, he bundled both his gloves and the empty vial together in cloth, and came to Damara’s side without a word.
“What are we doing?” she hissed, but he shook his helmeted head and declined to answer.
They waited for some time, all the while knowing the King could walk in at any moment. Damara couldn’t see Tyrone’s expression, but heard him clear his throat repeatedly. He kept his back to the wall, watching the entrance.
“The court is waiting on me, Theora,” a strong male voice said in approach.
Damara started as the Princess returned, bringing with her King Chadwick. He held himself tall, dressed in a royal robe of purple, studying the scene with sharp eyes. Damara tried not to stare.
“Why have you brought me here?”
Across the room from her, a sandy colored horse tossed its head and neighed.
“I have to show you something.” Theo picked up the tampered apple and walked over to the horse. The animal stretched its neck for the fruit, but the Princess held it just out of reach, turning to face her brother. “The steed you know so well,” she said. “See what can happen to even the ones closest to you.”
With that, Theo fed the apple to the King’s horse and stepped back. For a moment, nothing happened.
The King folded his arms in impatience. “I told you, Theo, the court is waiting on me.”
Suddenly, the horse brayed in agony, violent seizures causing it to collapse on the ground.
“What have you done?!” the King yelled in alarm. He rushed to kneel beside his fallen steed, laying his hand on the horse’s head as it heaved.
From behind Nigh, Damara watched, amazed, as the horse began to change. Its entire structure transformed beneath its flesh, warping the animal. At the same time, the horse’s coat was shed and scales grew in its place, interlocking with each other to form a flawless, reptilian hide. Boney ridges drove out the animal’s mane and tail, rising like mountain crests atop its spine. Its once soft lips stretched taut and tough, revealing new rows of pointed teeth that lined its jaws.
When
all was done, the beast rose from the ground, a coppery sheen reflecting off powerful muscles clad with scales. The monigon looked both elegant and fearsome, smooth and burly.
“Timber?” King Chadwick whispered the animal’s name in awe. The beast tossed its head, just as before. Its nicker was hoarse and growly.
Princess Theora touched the King’s shoulder. “This is what happened to me, Brother,” she murmured, gazing at the large monigon. “I was the dragon called River.”
The King looked astonished.
“River,” Theo continued, “your captive. You had had my jaws bound so I could not speak. You demanded that I lead you to where your sister was. But I was there, Chadwick. You had me as a slave, not the dragons.”
“But…” King Chadwick shook his head in disbelief. “But the battle…in the valley…you were there.”
“Only after Tyrone set me free. He saw me for who I really was. With his help, I escaped and became human again. Only then did I pull you from battle.”
“Tyrone?” the King’s voice cracked and he stared at Theo, dismayed. “I…I banished him.”
“You didn’t understand, Brother.”
“He saved you…and I…” The King passed a hand over his face. Timber, the monigon steed, bumped his shoulder with the crown of his head as though hoping for a treat.
“He never left the kingdom, Chadwick.”
The King lifted his head. “You mean…?”
“He’s here now.”
At these words, Tyrone walked into the open and bowed before the King.
King Chadwick froze, facing him as Tyrone lifted the helm from his head. Damara saw how he stood there waiting, a grim expression on his face.
“Tyrone.” The King’s voice was throaty. “Wh-why are you here?”
“The war is over,” Tyrone said. “The few dragons left alive are not our enemies. They have proven their loyalty time and again. Please believe, they are our allies.”
“Tyrone worked with them to save people from the towns,” Theo stepped in. “He had a refugee camp for the survivors. There are dozens who will vouch for him, if only you will listen.”
“The Dragon Knight,” Chadwick stammered. “It was you! You marked territory as your own…why?”
“He didn’t,” Theora refuted. “That was the scheme of another, the leader of our enemies, now dead.”
“My men killed him?”
“No. Your men killed the last of his followers, but not the leader.”
Damara was scared stiff as the Princess called attention to her, coming over to bring her out beside Tyrone.
“Who is this?” The King’s eyes were heavy on Damara and she fought the urge to flee.
She became short of breath and gave a quick curtsey. Will he recognize me as Chasm’s rider?
The man’s face was rough. Lines creased his forehead. He had a beard, short but thick. Damara noted the downward turn of his mouth and the shadow over his eyes.
He looks exhausted, she marveled. Like Tyrone…
He’s human.
“Her name is Damara,” Theo answered her brother, laying a hand on her shoulder. “She was the one to kill our final enemy.”
“Her?” Chadwick scrutinized Damara. “You expect me to believe a child slew a dragon?” His eyes widened. “Wait…this is the rider! The Dragon Witch!”
Oh God. Damara felt her knees weaken beneath her. He’ll have me executed!
Theo’s grip tightened on her shoulder, reassuring. “No, Brother. She was taken against her will. But now Wystil is saved because of her. She, Tyrone, and the few remaining dragons have all proven themselves faithful.”
Does he believe her? Damara dreaded whatever was coming next.
The King was silent for a long time.
Then, looking them in the eye, he stated, “I will allow that dragons and Wystil may be able to live side by side in peace, just so long as our customs and sovereignty are respected. In addition, I revoke Tyrone’s banishment and find the child, Damara, guiltless. ”
Princess Theora gave a relieved, breathy laugh. She tried to hug her brother but the King waved her away, leaving the stables without another word.
Damara stared after him, relief flooding through her body.
She turned to see Theo and Tyrone embrace. She thought she saw a tear dash down Tyrone’s face, but it was gone so quickly she couldn’t be sure. He glanced at her from over the Princess’ shoulder and she dropped her gaze.
I’m safe, she told herself, her heart still pounding. The King declared me so.
Now there’s only one thing left…
Sister, come home.
The words called to her stronger now than ever.
Brother…I’m coming.
. . .
Damara dismounted Strong at the head of a road, beside the bush where she once hid a blanket and some rope for her dragon saddle. So long ago that seemed.
“Which house is yours?” Tyrone asked her.
She pointed down the road, choking out the words, “I last lived there.”
“Are you alright?” He looked down at her, inquiry filling his eyes.
Her legs were shaking so much she feared they’d give out on her. She stared at Strong’s mud caked hooves, unable to control her breathing.
“I’m terrified.”
What if Xander rejects me? Bids me go die?
“I’ll be right behind you until I know you’re safe,” Tyrone assured her. “Good?”
What will I do if he sends me away?
“Damara?”
She forced herself to nod, feeling sick.
Could I live with myself?
“Alright. Go on now. It’ll be fine.”
Silently, she turned to face the puddle-riddled path and began walking down it. One step. One step after another. Careful not to trip. Careful not to step in the water.
Xander could be dead.
Or he might hate me.
Damara was afraid to look at any of the people she passed. She kept her eyes low to the ground, begging not to be noticed.
Do they recognize me?
Will they call me a witch?
Will Xander call me a witch?
The sun reflected in a puddle at her feet. Bright, like the torch in her dream.
Those same three words called to her. Sister, come home.
Hastily, she took the ivory ring from her finger, holding it in the sweaty palm of her hand as she rehearsed something in her head.
Please, Brother- take this. She would hold the treasure out to him. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. Please forgive me…I love you, Brother.
People walked in the streets, brushing past her. She held the ring tight in her hand. She heard Strong’s steady clopping a ways behind her.
Please, Brother- the words played over. I love you, Brother.
Damara stopped. She lifted her head.
There he was.
Xander.
Standing a stone’s throw away from her in the street.
Damara’s knees grew weak with joy at the sight of him.
He’s alive!
Her brother stood talking to his mentor. Even from the distance, she could see his plastery hands holding a pargeting mould close to his chest. He looked just as she remembered him. Tall, broad shouldered, upright.
Damara was unable to bring herself any closer. Xander was there, but she felt as though her legs were bound, keeping her in place. She stared, breath wavering, dress fluttering.
At that same moment, his head turned in her direction. He himself stood still for an instant.
But then, dropping his pargeting mould, he began to run.
Right at her.
Shakily, Damara opened her hand on his fast approach. The ivory ring glinted in her palm. Her mouth was dry but he was breaking towards her, faster still, and she willed herself to speak.
“Please, Brother-” she began, holding the treasure farther out.
Xander barreled into her, knocking the
ring from her hand, weeping aloud, kissing her head, wrapping his strong arms around her.
Damara was stunned.
She could feel him shaking. She was shaking, too.
The sound of his heart beating strong inside his chest comforted her.
He doesn’t hate me.
Biting tears welled up in her eyes.
How can he not hate me?
“Damara,” Xander cried, burying his face in her hair. “I thought you were killed!”
“X-Xander,” Damara could barely utter his name, constricted in his arms. “I’m- I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry…I should never have run away. I should have listened to you. You were right. I know that now. I’ve learned so much…but I should have listened to you…” Tears wet her cheeks as she sobbed, “I was such a fool!”
Xander held her even tighter, smothering her.
“I don’t deserve to be taken back,” Damara whispered.
Xander hushed her, pulling away just enough to look into her face. His eyes shone wet with happiness.
“Sister,” he whispered. “You’re home.”
Home. Damara clung to her brother, settling in his arms as peace overcame her.
I’m home.
Again,
Special Thanks to
Mom
Dear Readers,
Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to leave me a review at your preferred retailer. I would greatly appreciate it.
Thanks again.
Delaney Walnofer
About the Author
Delaney Walnofer challenged herself to write Dragon Clutch, the sequel to Dragon Slave, over summer break after her sophomore year in high school. She completed the manuscript with just one day to spare, and describes the undertaking as “a self-inflicted, full-time job”. There were days she spent up to ten hours doing nothing but working toward her goal. During the two months of intensive writing, Delaney found inspiration from listening to vinyl, as well as from the rare, precious moments when it rained at her house. At the most stressful point of her project, Delaney found the need to take her dad’s longboard out into the undesirable Californian heat and spend a few hours carving down the street.
Born in 1998, Delaney has always been a storyteller. At eleven years of age, she began planning her first book, Dragon Slave, which she finished writing four years later. She plans to write the final book of The Dragon Slave Trilogy over the summer of 2015.
Dragon Clutch is dedicated to the Ghost of King Tazpin, in memory of Delaney’s first pet beetle, whom she visually memorialized on the book’s back cover.
Please Note:
This book is the second volume of the Dragon Slave Trilogy. Though connected through world, characters, and conflict, each book may stand alone. Therefore, if you enjoyed this one, please consider reading the first, Dragon Slave, and the third, Dragon Fool. Thank you.
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