Free Bones of the Dragon by Margaret Weis

remembered, too late, he was not to make any sudden moves. The bird was not a bird. The bird was a beast, and the beast was a wyvern. At Skylan’s involuntary start, the wyvern reared back her head, flapped her wings, and screeched at him.
    “I warned you to keep still, fool!” Owl Mother hissed angrily.
    Skylan froze and forced himself to sit quietly, though his muscles shook with the effort. He liked to think he wasn’t afraid of anything, but magic was different. The bravest, boldest warrior could be excused for fearing the power of those who had been old when the gods themselves were young. His stomach clenched and his bowels gripped.
    The wyvern’s red eyes glared at him. Her reptilian scales glistened orange in the firelight. Her wings, made of membrane stretched between the fine, delicate bones, were so thin he could see the light shine through them. Her long tail curled over Owl Mother’s wrist. Two clawed feet dug into the leather glove.
    The wyvern looked deceptively like a dragon, but there was no relation, as Skylan well knew. He was accustomed to dragons, who had long been allies of the Vindrasi. The spiritbone of the great Dragon Kahg hung from a nail on the mast of the dragonship. The spirit of the dragon sailed with them, and when summoned by the prayers of the Bone Priestess, the dragon would take on physical form to join Skylan and his forces in battle.
    Dragons were thinking, reasoning, intelligent beings, gifted with miraculous powers bestowed on them by their Dragon Goddess, Vindrash, consort of Torval.
    The Vindrasi believed wyverns were made of magic in mockery of dragons. Wyverns belonged to the Nethervold, the twilight world of the fae folk. Most of mankind could not see the Nethervold. But there were some, like Owl Mother, who had learned how to draw aside the curtain of moonbeams and stardust that kept the two worlds apart. She had now opened that curtain for Skylan, and he was sorry he’d ever agreed to come.
    “I think I should go. . . .” He spoke through stiff lips.
    “Don’t move, and keep your mouth shut,” Owl Mother told him. “Or you’ll get us both killed.”
    Holding the nervous wyvern on her arm, Owl Mother dipped her fingers in Skylan’s blood and traced a rune on his forehead and a similar rune on herown forehead. She placed her hand on the rune on Skylan’s head and began to hum.
    Her humming grew louder and louder, a single, jarring, off-key note that spread from her throat throughout her body. At the sound of her humming, the wyvern closed her eyes. She seemed entranced. Her wings folded at her sides. Her clawed feet eased their grip. She began to make a noise of her own, a high-pitched keening wail that was painful to the ears.
    Except for a splitting headache, Skylan felt no different. He was disappointed and angered. All this fear and discomfort for nothing, and now he was bound by his word to do menial labor for this crazy old crone—
    The magic burned him like a cauterizing iron, searing his flesh. He tried to bear the agony like a warrior, but he couldn’t manage. He fell onto the floor, writhing with pain, and finally passed out.
    He woke, choking on something, to find Owl Mother bending over him. Seeing he was conscious, she reached into his mouth to pluck out a wad of cloth.
    “So you wouldn’t swallow your tongue,” she told him.
    Skylan looked nervously about for the wyvern. The beast was gone. He cast a glance at the tapestry and saw it was closed again. Relieved, he sank back on the floor, drawing in welcome breaths, and realized, suddenly, that he was no longer in pain. Sitting up, he examined his wound in the firelight.
    Owl Mother had washed off the blood while he’d been unconscious. The wound had closed, leaving a long jagged weal that was tender to the touch. He no longer felt weak. Elated, he jumped to his feet and immediately regretted the sudden movement. The wound still hurt when he put his weight on his leg. He would in the future