Shadow of the Dragon

  Shadow of the Dragon

  by

  Kyra Dune

  Wild Child Publishing.com

  Culver City, California

  Shadow of the Dragon Copyright © 2012 by Kyra Dune

  Cover illustration by Wild Child Publishing © 2012

  For information on the cover art, please contact Posh Gosh.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you did not buy it at one of our certified distributors, receive it as a loan from a library or a certified distributor, win it in a contest, or buy at our site, you may have a pirated copy. Please delete it from your computer and purchase it again. Pirating hurts the entire publishing community.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Editor: Daenariea Irene

  ISBN: 978-1-61798-073-2

  If you are interested in purchasing more works of this nature, please visit by www.wildchildpublishing.com.

  Wild Child Publishing.com

  P.O. Box 4897

  Culver City, CA 90231-4897

  Printed in The United States of America

  Dedication

  To my mother, without whom this book would not exist.

  Chapter One

  Micayta dumped the last barrel of dishwater into the well and sealed it shut, making sure the cap on the top of the well was snug. The water was only for cleaning but they still didn’t want it freezing. Pausing to stretch her back, she stared up at the stars glittering in the night sky. Stars that seemed faded of late, as if they no longer shone as brightly as they once had. Even the moonglow seemed weaker as it glinted off the glass roof of the greenhouse behind the tavern.

  She shook her head with a sigh. “You’re losing it,” she muttered to herself. “Miss a little sleep and you start imagining things.”

  She hauled the barrel back inside and set it in the corner, then pulled the back door shut and dropped a heavy wooden bar across it to keep the wind from blowing it open. As she untied her apron, Micayta looked around the kitchen. The dishes were stacked to dry, the cutting table was clear of blood, the floor was swept. Everything was in its place and as clean as it was bound to get.

  After hanging her apron on its hook by the door, Micayta stepped into the tavern’s main room, where a fire blazing in the hearth kept the winter chill at bay. Delane was behind the bar, counting bottles and making marks on a piece of white cloth.

  “Everything’s finished. I’m going home.” Micayta plucked her cloak from the rack by the door. She was already wearing several layers to ward off the cold, but she would still need the cloak to protect her.

  Delane grunted. He didn’t bother to so much as pause in his counting.

  With a roll of her eyes, Micayta pulled on a thick pair of gloves. “Goodnight to you too,” It had been the same routine for the past five years. The same whirl of snow as she opened the door. The same long walk home where the same silent memories waited. Sometimes she felt more like thirty, instead of nineteen.

  Once again Micayta stood on the side of the street, drawing her hood up around her face, thinking about running. Where she’d go didn’t matter. She only wanted to be far away and free of her life. Then she would never again have to face her father with the lies between them like an invisible wall.

  Her hand strayed to the dagger she always wore tucked into her belt. It was a reminder to never trust. Never let anyone get too close to the heart. She practiced with it every day, flinging it over and over again at varied targets. Sometimes she saw one face, sometimes another, but always the blade hit its mark.

  Micayta strode down the center of the street, where the snow was at its thinnest. Along the way, she passed the gaping windows of empty shops, many of which were crumbling into ruin, whole walls collapsed, woodwork stripped. Those that remained occupied were only in slightly better shape. The windows were boarded over and paint was peeling, but the walls at least still stood and the roofs were sturdy, if a bit saggy

  Over the last ten years most of the merchants had closed up shop and taken themselves south in search of warmer climates. Not a single one had sent word back or returned for those left behind. This suggested to some that the endless winter which plagued the lands to the north, east, and west, had consumed the south as well.

  A strange sound apart from the rushing of wind drew Micayta’s eyes to the sky and for a moment she could only stare up in confusion at what seemed to be a large cloud floating slowly by. But as far as she could remember, there had never been clouds at night and certainly none so large, hanging so low over the rooftops.

  Then a building almost directly across the street exploded in a ball of flames, raining debris down on the street. Micayta stumbled back with a cry, the sudden sight and sound shocking her out of her stupor. She turned to run down a narrow alley between two buildings.

  Pale moonlight glinted off crimson scales.

  Another explosion rolled through the night and Micayta lost her footing on a patch of ice. She went down hard on the frosted ground. Her knee cracked against the ground and she cried out. For a moment, she lay panting with her face pressed against the ice. The scent of charred wood came to her on the wind, mixed with another, fouler scent that she could not place. Holding her knee, Micayta rolled over on her back and looked straight up into the face of a nightmare.

  Two long, black horns curved back from a reptilian face covered in crimson scales; sharp spikes ran all down a serpentine neck that was mottled with a faded shade of orange; clawed feet gripped the edge of the bakery roof; two leathery wings cast a dark shadow over the alley. The dragon’s black eyes gazed at something over the rooftops, seemingly oblivious to Micayta’s presence below.

  Micayta lay frozen there, staring up. Her heart was beating so loud she was sure the dragon would look down at any moment and see her. Her life would end in a blast of fire. A thousand things she should have said and should have done rolled through her mind. None of these things happened. After a short time that seemed to drag on endlessly, the dragon lifted off the roof with a massive sweep of its wings and passed on.

  It took a moment for the pain in her knee and the ice at her back to assure her she was still alive. “Pytaki,” her brother’s name spilled from her lips in a gasp. There was a good chance he was home alone as their father worked late into the night and often did not come home until long after they’d gone to bed. They lived on the edge of town, but even there he must have heard all this noise. He might come to see what was happening.

  She jumped to her feet regardless of the dull, throbbing ache in her left knee. She braced herself against the bakery and limped toward the street. A sudden flash, a gust of heat-driven wind, and a wall of flames leapt up across the entrance to the alley.

  Micayta shrank back from the flames, retreating as far up the alley as she could go. Behind her was a twelve-foot stone fence, with a ten-foot drift of snow pushed up against it. No way out forward or backward. No doors in either building leading from this alley. No place to run.

  “Don’t panic,” she whispered. There was a knotty feeling in her stomach and her hands were shaking from more than the cold. Part of her just wanted to curl up in a little ball and give in, but that was no option. She had to get to her brother.

  The bakery was nothing but a blank brick facade, but the old temple had a single window about ten feet up the wall. If she could somehow get to it, she might have a chance.


  She looked from the snow drift to the window. They were the same height, but the window was maybe a foot closer to the entrance of the alley. To reach it, she’d have to jump sideways and catch hold of the edge of the windowsill. Glancing over her shoulder at the rising flames, Micayta decided to take the chance.

  The snow was packed tight, but still soft. She’d have to be quick to keep herself from sinking in. Micayta backed away, intensely aware of the fire at her back. She took a breath, focused, and burst into a sprint.

  She raced up the snow drift so fast her boots barely left a print. At the top, she kicked one foot against the fence to give her something to brace against, then sprang sideways and caught hold of the windowsill with one hand.

  She hung there a moment, breath frosting in the chill air, then gripped the windowsill with her other hand and pulled herself up and over.

  It was dark inside the old temple and the air filled with a stale, musty scent. Micayta stepped cautiously. There must be stairs leading to the first floor and she had no desire to fall down them.

  The outside sounds were muffled, but she still felt the occasional vibration beneath her feet. It was like a nightmare, but real. Too real. Dragons were supposed to be fairy tales, stories, not real fire breathing monsters. How could this be?

  “Focus,” Micayta told herself, “must focus.” At the moment the how and why of things didn’t matter. What mattered was getting out of this building and finding her brother. A creaking sound made her pause. It seemed to be coming from directly below and growing quickly from a slight noise to a groan. The floor shifted and before she could decide which way to move, it dropped out from beneath her feet.

  An avalanche of broken wood and dust accompanied Micayta on her fall to the first floor of the temple. She hit the floor in a crouch, crying out as she jolted her injured knee. For a moment, she remained as she was, breathing heavily as falling debris settled in around her. Then she pushed herself to her feet.

  Scant, red light gleamed through cracks around the door and the boarded up lower floor windows, so that she had little trouble seeing where it was she needed to go. Every step made Micayta’s knee throb as she made her away across the room, only dimly aware of the indistinct shapes of long unused pews around her.

  The temple’s original door, made of heavy mahogany wood, had long ago been removed and used for other purposes, most likely firewood. In its place was a flimsy, hastily propped piece of wood, the purpose of which was only to keep small children from getting inside the temple.

  She pushed against the door even though she was fairly certain she couldn’t open it from the inside. She felt a slight give, but nothing more. There were likely a couple of boards on the outside, nailed in sideways to keep the door shut.

  With a sigh, Micayta limped back up the center aisle to where she’d fallen through. Her knee was throbbing, but she pushed that to the back of her mind. She had no choice but to ignore the pain and focus on the task at hand.

  She ran straight for the door, jumping up and turning slightly sideways at the last moment so her shoulder took most of the force. The door burst open, sending Micayta tumbling out into the street. She rolled to her feet and took a moment to gather herself, noting the fact that she was standing in a puddle of water.

  Smoke hung thick in the air and the night sky was stained with the red glow of the town burning around her. Ashes floated on the wind and drifted along through the melted snow. They clung to the sopping hood of her cloak.

  Micayta sprinted down the street toward home but even though she’d made this walk countless times over the years, she found herself disoriented and uncertain of her direction. Everything was wrong, altered by fire and smoke. Nothing familiar greeted her eyes.

  Stopping to lean against the side of a building, Micayta tried to clear her mind and focus on her surroundings. Instead, she thought of Delane and the tavern and how only moments past she was thinking of escaping and look at her now. Instead of running away from the chaos, she was running deeper into it.

  She walked on, drifting from street to street, sometimes hearing the sound of screams or running feet, but seeing not another living soul. The smoke was so thick in the air that breathing was a chore and the cloud of gray hid the world around her. There was heat she could feel constantly against her skin and if it grew too hot she knew enough to turn from it and move in a different direction.

  “Hello, is someone there?” A voice came from the haze.

  Micayta paused, squinting against the cloud of smoke. “Pytaki?”

  “Micayta?” And then her brother was beside her, brown eyes wide. In his fear he looked much younger than his fourteen years. “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know.” Her relief was so great that she almost reached out to embrace him, but she resisted the urge. It would only frighten him. “Have you seen our father?”

  Pytaki shook his head. “He hasn’t come home yet.”

  Micayta glanced over her shoulder. Somewhere back there, just off the main street, was the smithy where their father worked. Likely, he was there still, or else out wandering the streets as she was. She thought briefly of going back for him, decided he could take care of himself, and focused on getting her brother out of town instead.

  “We have to go.”

  “But what about father?”

  “Our father can take care of himself.” She took a firm grip on his arm. “Let’s go.”

  Micayta steered him in the opposite direction, leaving no room for argument. Out into the deepening darkness beyond Talphan, where the sky began to clear and the stars were visible once more.

  She pushed Pytaki as fast as she dared over the unstable ground, sure now of where she was going. An abandoned farmhouse lay just under a mile outside town and though it wasn’t nearly far enough away from the dragon, it was the only safe point of refuge she knew.

  She helped her brother over two low hills and then there it was, barely visible beneath piles of snow that glittered sharply in the moonlight. Safety. The roof had collapsed in some places and the walls had bent under the pressure, but it would be warmer inside and good protection from the steadily dropping temperature and rising wind.

  “Wh-who l-lives here?” Pytaki asked. His teeth were chattering so that he could hardly speak.

  “Nobody,” Micayta said. She pulled him around to the back of the house, where an unboarded window provided entry. She’d never been at night before, but she knew her way around the inside even without benefit of light.

  Toward the center of the house, Micayta stopped and felt her way along the wall until she found the oil lamp hanging from its hook. With a twist of the little key in the side, light flared to life within the glass globe on the top of the lamp. Oil was a precious commodity and supposed to be used only in an emergency situation, but she’d been stealing a little here and there for years and hiding it away in this private little world she’d made her own.

  The dim light revealed a door, which she opened. On the other side was a small bedroom furnished with hand-carved furniture. A four-poster bed covered by a faded pink quilt, a toy box engraved with long-eared animals, a dresser filled with musty dresses. A little girl’s dream room, though Micayta couldn’t recall the couple that had lived there ever having a child.

  “It’s kind of creepy,” Pytaki said, lingering in the doorway.

  “It’s not creepy; it’s safe and warm. Stop being such a child.” Micayta let the light play across familiar pictures painted on the walls, scenes of trees and flowers and animals to which she could give no name. The pictures were faded and much of their color was lost, but as always, they brought a sense of comfort to her heart.

  It was to this place that she’d come to escape and to dream of the day her mother would swoop in and whisk her off to some bright paradise beyond the sea. She came here still, when she was lonely or tired, though such dreams had become as faded as the pictures that once inspired them.

  “Let’s try to sleep,” Micayta said,
indicating the bed.

  Pytaki hesitated for a moment longer before approaching the bed. Micayta waited until he’d crawled under the quilt before she put out the light and lay down beside him.

  “Do you think father’s all right?” he asked.

  “I think we’ll find out tomorrow. Now sleep.”

  Micayta lay on her back, staring up at a ceiling she couldn’t see and listening to the faint rustle of the sheets as Pytaki rolled over on his side to face the wall. They were in the same position as when they slept in their bed at home. The thought gave Micayta a twinge, but only a small one.

  Chapter Two

  Micayta followed the gray light of dawn through the heavy snowfall, drawing her cloak closer as she went. She’d left Pytaki sleeping with the precious oil burning away in the lamp by the bed. She hadn’t wanted to bring him into town. Hadn’t wanted him to see the things she feared to see herself.

  Talphan, which was nearly the entirety of the world as she knew it, was gone. Not even the freshly falling snow could cover the scorched earth, the wrecked homes, and the unrecognizable streets.

  Breathing raggedly, she pushed her feet toward the main street. The scent of ash rose the further into town she walked, mingling with the unmistakable smell of death. A charred corpse lay in the middle of the street. She stopped, staring at it, trying to affix some identity to the charred mess.

  A bad idea.

  Turning, Micayta bent double and heaved the meager contents of her stomach into the snow. Her stomach contracted painfully with each spasm and she spent a few moments with her throat burning and her eyes tearing up.

  When she was finished, she grabbed a handful of clean snow and rubbed it across her face. She remained bent over for a moment; nose pinched, and drew in deep breaths of frigid air. This settled her enough to move on, though she gave the corpse a wide berth as she continued up the street.

  The main street was strewn with rubble and the destruction was so great that it was impossible for her to tell which blasted ruin might be the tavern. She hoped Delane had somehow survived, but thought it unlikely. Only one thing left now. Only one place to go. With leaden feet, Micayta turned down the street that would lead her to the smithy.