Free Redheart (Leland Dragon Series) by Jackie Gamber Page A

which was rare, highly skilled dragon warriors allowed themselves to become glorified bodyguards to venurs and wizards, and for what? For the ownership of tribal lands that belonged to dragons anyway!
    It had only been a matter of time until humans abused the pact, perverting it to serve their own needs. More and more dragons became lost in battles, and fewer and fewer tribes received land payments. Blackclaw had seen it coming, even as a fledgling, though his warnings went unheeded. Recently, those dragons who had received long-overdue deeds had discovered too late they now owned territories emptied of prey and water, stripped of valuable crystals, and reduced to rubble.
    Many dragons had been forced to abandon their territories. Tribes were beginning to band together into new, blended lines. So what had all the talk of honor gotten them? What had hundreds of years of loyal service rewarded them? A struggle to survive.
    A knock broke through his ponderings. He smelled a fresh kill from the opposite side of the oak door, and knew it was Whitetail. “Enter,” he said, and swung his gaze to the wispy dragon that shuffled in. “It will not be long, now, Whitetail. Dragonkind is finally sharing their anger aloud. Soon, they will come to realize what I have always known.”
    “Humans should serve dragons. You are not the first leader to suggest this.”
    “I am the first leader, however, who will make it come to pass.”
    Whitetail offered out a wooden tray that held a small bear carcass. “Humans will not easily comply.”
    Blackclaw snorted in amusement. “And what should this mean to me? Do you suppose this bear worried about the ants crawling across his dinner?” He wrested the tray from his advisor’s grip, tossed the carcass to the stone floor, and pounced. The snap of bear bone echoed against the high granite ceiling.
    “Shall I retrieve the circlet while you finish?” asked Whitetail.
    Blackclaw grunted his response.
    Whitetail shuffled toward the far end of the room. Beside Blackclaw’s feather-stuffed sleeping roll stood a carved wooden table. A small but sturdy trunk squatted on top of the table. Whitetail opened the lid. Inside, golden headwear was drenched by torchlight, and a ruby crystal flashed. The Circlet of Aspira.
    Blackclaw shoved away his meal, and lapped at his palms. “Give it to me.”
    Whitetail obeyed. Blackclaw delicately held the tiny crown. “If only I had mastered this years ago, Whitetail, all my dreams would already be history.”
    “What you lack in magic, you make up for in determination,” said Whitetail.
    Blackclaw swept his paw around the opulent chamber. “All things I have now came by my own power; things I have wished for since my earliest memories.” He leaned toward Whitetail. “Have you ever wanted anything so deeply that the smell of your wish tickled your nostrils? Caused a rumble in your gut?”
    “Yes, sir. Indeed.”
    Blackclaw nodded. “I will lead the dragons into a new era, Whitetail. Magic or no magic, it will come to pass.” He held up the circlet. “Magic, however, would be quicker. I will not give up.”
    He pressed his thumb against his razor-sharp incisor. Then he smeared his blood across the face of the red crystal, and closed his eyes. He focused on his smoldering desire for control. He gritted his teeth, letting the wish consume him until he could feel it ignite in his heart. Vivid images welled up like smoke.
    In his mind, shadows of angry dragons swept over farmlands, spitting flames and destroying. Humans fled, crying in anguish, begging for mercy. Those who did not submit were forced into chains and led away to suffer. They would die, in the end. All humans would die in the end, if necessary.
    The circlet began to vibrate. Stabbing pain shot through his wrists and sliced up into his shoulders. “I will not let go!” he shouted, as he always shouted, and held the circlet to his breast with all his strength. A sudden blast of cold wind slammed