Free Reawakening by Amy Rae Durreson Page A

see what was happening, but he caught a glimpse of Dit with his swords out and Jancis in the mouth of the healer’s wagon, her bow drawn. They were all running toward a threat, his beautiful, foolish hoard, and he loved them for it.
    He didn’t want them wasting or ruining weapons, though, not when so many strange dangers gathered around them. Keeping his voice soft and slow, he rumbled, “Hold.”
    He didn’t think they’d listen, but then he heard Ia repeat it, her voice hoarse.
    Barrett was in the central circle, peering over Cayl’s shoulder with blanched cheeks. The dragon turned his gaze that way, noting the way the light changed as he shifted his head slightly, the shadows illuminated by the fires that burned behind his eyes, making them glow like gold.
    “You lie under my wing, did I not tell you?” he rumbled.
    Barrett swallowed, his eyes going rounder, and then stammered, “T-tarn?”
    “Oh, fuck, no!” Ia spat, while everyone else still looked bewildered, and she stomped forward and shoved her sword away to cross her arms. “Spellsword out of Amel, my hairy ass!”
    “Ia?” Sethan was there too, next to Cayl with every line in his body taut and tense.
    She ignored him to step forward, gazing up into the dragon’s eyes, a tiny, frail, indomitable figure. Then she slammed her clenched fist against her breast and said, “Hail to ye, Tarnamell, first among kings.”
    It was an old greeting, though the words had been warped over the centuries, and he replied to it formally, “Hail to thee, Daughter of Myrtilis, bright wand in battle.”
    She continued to gaze up at him, and for a moment she looked very young, eyes bright with wonder. Then the storm went screaming overhead, rasping against the tough skin of his wings, and her expression hardened again. Before she could express her opinion, the dragon said, as humbly as he could manage, “I did not share all the truth with you.”
    “You don’t say?” she snapped. No fear in this one, for all he could have swallowed her effortlessly.
    “Ia,” Barrett whispered. “Should you really be talking to the extremely large dragon king quite like that?”
    “I’ll talk to whomever I want however I want,” Ia snapped back and then looked back up at the dragon. “So, how much trouble are we in?”
    “The storm is not natural,” he told her.
    Now at last, Sethan stepped forward. When he spoke, his voice was cold and precise, and his face was blank. “That much we surmised. Are we the targets of this or are you?”
    “In human form, none can find me,” the dragon told him. “They would not have looked my way, and would not have found me if they searched every wagon to pass across the desert. The Shadow would not think I had business in the desert.”
    “And now?” Sethan demanded, his lips thin.
    The dragon sighed, making the canvas billow and the fire leap like a startled deer. “Now, yes, but I lie between you and the storm. Would you have me move?”
    “And what price will we pay for your help?” Cayl asked, speaking for the first time. “In my experience, great spirits do not give kindnesses freely.”
    “Fear not,” the dragon said. “For you are mine, and under my protection, whether you desire it or not.”
    Cayl went paler, but Ia held up her hand. “After the storm, boys. Tarn—”
    “That is a mortal name.”
    “Well, you’ve been using it, so you’ll have to cope. Can we stop the storm? Turn the wind away?”
    The scouring of the sand was beginning to switch from a pleasant rub to a painful itch. It made the dragon consider paths he did not wish to tread. “The storm is driven by the spirit of Alagard—”
    “The desert turned against us?” Ia protested.
    “He is enslaved by the Shadow,” the dragon told them. “He acts against his will. Can you not hear his guilt?”
    “Seems to me,” Ia said, as easily as if she was talking to his human form, “that the storm won’t stop until the spirit stops moving it. You knew