Stormdance: The Dragon Singer Chronicles, #2

By Michelle M. Bruhn

Peace is a prize hard won, and for the Dragon Singer, the fight has only just begun.

The dragons have answered Alísa's call. Now, in order to unite the races and end the war, she must find slayers willing to do the same. But humanity's long-engrained fear and hatred of dragonkind are far louder than any argument she possesses, and when a rival dragon clan encroaches on Me'ran, it's all she can do to keep the people from calling the largest slayer clan in the east to eradicate all draconic presence.

Leading dragons is one thing—leading humans is another. With the voices and fears of her past rising up against her, Alísa wonders how she ever thought she could be the one to unite the races. As storms within and without threaten to drown all she holds dear, Alísa must decide—run for cover to protect herself and her dragons, or stay in the only place she has a chance to bring peace. But how can she make peace between humans and dragons when she can't even make peace with herself?

 

A heart-filled adventure for fans of McCaffrey's Harper Hall trilogy, Ciccarelli's The Last Namsara, and the How To Train Your Dragon movies. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michelle M. Bruhn
• Release date: Feb 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781734992540

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Farren didn’t breathe as the final notes from his lute faded, leaving only the crackling percussion of the campfire. No applause came from the clan tonight, no acknowledgment of the words and melody he had woven tirelessly for the past three days. They knew what he had done and whose wrath it would incur.

His eyes met his chief’s. Throughout the song, Karn’s expression had betrayed all his emotions. First the bitter sadness that had lingered since his last battle. Since Alísa had been stolen again before his eyes.

Next came shock, the kind Farren himself would have felt if, upon entering his tent, he found that someone had used his lute and then left it lying on the ground outside its case.

Then anger, walking the line between indignation and outrage. Karn’s face turned the color of his copper hair and his clenched fists pressed against his kilt’s red and brown plaid. A younger man might cower, but Farren had earned too many gray hairs at Karn’s side to fear him anymore. Only Karn’s own clan, people to whom the secret of the Dragon Singers had already been revealed, had heard this song. Farren had revealed nothing new, but by presenting the tales in song he declared his intentions to bring such secrets into the light for many, many others.

Karn stood and spoke in a quiet growl. Leave us.

Threat of dragon-fire could not have made the clan move more quickly.

Hanah stayed at Karn’s side, sadness lingering in her silvery-blue eyes. The lady of the clan stood tall with her auburn hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders, unbraided since the day she learned her daughter’s fate. Her quiet way of mourning for her stolen daughter while remaining strong before the clan. Farren’s heart ached at the thought of Alísa caught in the talons of the dragons, falling subject to evil’s will.

Maker, save her.

Only one other person dared to stay in the chief’s presence. Karn’s apprentice, Alísa’s intended, and Farren’s co-conspirator, Kallar sat unmoving as the stone mountains surrounding this valley. Farren knew better. He had seen the fire in the young man’s heart, and he silently prayed Kallar’s fervor would help and not hinder as they convinced Karn of their plan.

What was that? Karn’s voice was hot water just before boiling.

That is Alísa’s only chance.

Karn’s arm sliced through the air as he stalked toward Farren. Don’t you dare claim you know how to save her—as though sharing these stories will do anything more than paint a target on her back!

Farren kept his voice low and calm. Ignorance and fear are the first steps toward hatred. By—

"And what of Allara’s first clan, when they were brought out of the dark? They tried to kill her! The only way to save Alísa is for us to find her. Spreading the secrets of the chiefs will only accomplish mass panic."

How do you intend to find her first? Farren spread his hands, indicating the surrounding mountains. Will you search every mountain in a month? Storm every cave? Would even a year be enough time?

Don’t presume to know what I can and cannot do—

Karn. Hanah, ever the reasonable one, placed a hand on the chief’s arm. My love, Farren’s counsel has never led you astray. Let him speak.

Karn’s chest heaved with every breath. One. Two. Three.

Go on.

Farren nodded to chief and lady. I do not wish to cause you pain, but I’ve lived among slayers long enough to understand the evil Alísa faces. How much time does she have? You need every person in Arran to be our eyes if we are to find her.

Karn shook his head, defeat in his voice. Generations of chiefs have kept the secret of the Dragon Singers. I cannot go against their wisdom.

Yes. You can. Kallar accused as he stood. His ice-blue eyes gleamed in the firelight, and his half-long, half-shorn hair proclaimed the warrior he never ceased to be. You just won’t. I knew you wouldn’t, which is why I went to Farren first.

Karn’s eyes widened. You? You’re behind this treachery?

If contradicting the ‘wisdom’ of men long dead is treachery—yes. What wisdom is there in keeping people in the dark?

To protect the innocent and keep order. There are others whose empathy is broken, who feel dragon emotions against their wills, yet are not Singers. If everyone knew dragon empathy was a warning sign, these innocent slayers would be in danger, as would the children of Allara and any other Singer who might fight for our side in the future. Would you risk so many for one? Karn’s voice barely whispered past his throat. Even one so dearly loved?

Yes.

Then I have taught you nothing! A chief cannot risk so much, even for their child. I—

Karn’s broad shoulders shuddered as emotion cut off his words. He bowed his head and covered his face with a hand, sitting back down on the log. Hanah went with him, taking his hand as the great chief wept.

Maker above. In all their years together, Farren had never seen Karn weep. Not even when Alísa was first stolen, nor when he came down the mountain after failing to save her. Even Kallar seemed stunned.

Generations— Karn breathed out, his voice slow and halting. Generations of chiefs have decided how best to protect those under their care. Who am I to say otherwise? My heart yearns to do what you say, as though it is the rightest thing in the world. But the heart so easily deceives. Among so many who say it must be one way, how could I possibly be the one who is right?

Hanah’s arm slid from Karn’s back as she faced him. Fear, too, deceives. Perhaps it deceived all the chiefs who decided Bria’s fate and which secrets they would keep.

She looked to Farren and Kallar, her chin lifted with command. It is rare that wise counsel and brash action walk hand-in-hand. Surely you do not come simply with a heart’s desire, but with truth and logic to sway the mind of a chief?

Farren stepped closer to Karn, taking control before Kallar jumped in with blunt words.

Karn, I believe the chiefs of Bria’s day were wrong. This should never have been a secret. If I had known Dragon Singers existed, I could have told you long ago that Alísa was one.

Wide eyes turned on Farren, and he nodded. Alísa’s voice has always been especially moving. Once I even thought I saw an image in my head as she sang. I pushed it away as my overactive imagination rather than recognizing it as a sign. If people like me knew, we could help them at an earlier age. Train them to use or suppress their power so they aren’t left to the mercy of the dragons.

Karn opened his mouth, and Farren rushed to answer his unspoken protest. Yes, this knowledge could put them in danger from humankind as well, but that is why the song is so important. The words I’ve woven encourage understanding and support. Not all will listen, but many will.

I agree, Hanah said. Your tale gave even Bria grace. Though I fail to see how this helps Alísa now.

Kallar huffed and looked at Farren. I told you to use the full song.

Farren inclined his head to chief and lady. There are indeed two more stanzas. I thought it best that you hear it privately first, rather than cause you sorrow before the clan.

Farren raised his lute and lifted his voice once more.

I will tell you a tale

Of a final captured soul.

By tooth and claw, by scaled wing,

The dragons bid Alísa sing

To bring about their goal.

I will tell you a tale

But you decide its end.

To bring her home and save her soul

Her father’s clan must play their role,

To Karn your hand extend.

Karn studied the ground as Farren lowered his instrument. As he had suspected, hearing Alísa’s name and plight in song form affected the chief greatly. Now to convince him of the necessity of these stanzas.

Such words may bring you shame among the clans, but they will make your plea clear. If others heed the song and learn of Alísa’s whereabouts, messengers will be sent to you.

Karn met Farren’s eyes, determination rising. Shame does not concern me—only Alísa’s rescue and the good of our world. He looked to Kallar. You understand the consequences?

Kallar nodded firmly, his jaw set. Something passed between chief and apprentice that Farren couldn’t begin to guess, but the steadiness in Kallar’s eyes made him understand how the young man could call his elders to follow him into caves rank with dragons’ breath.

Karn stood and placed a heavy hand on Farren’s shoulder. You have convinced me. We will stop at every village on the way to Parrin, and you will tell the tales. Parrin is a major trading post—there will be many messengers and bards passing through who will carry the song on their way. His eyes hardened. And every slayer chief who objects will answer to me.

The great chief released Farren’s shoulder and marched back into camp. Hanah watched him go before rising herself, the grace of her movements betraying none of her sorrow. Striding to Farren, she wrapped her arms around him briefly, whispering her thanks.

Then she turned to Kallar. A moment of silent regard passed between them before she grabbed the apprentice and pulled him into a tight embrace. Kallar looked supremely uncomfortable, like he half-expected her to pull a knife from her skirts and stab him in the back. Just as suddenly, Hanah released him and walked after her husband into the cluster of worn leather tents.

Kallar watched her leave, his brow smoothing as though a great burden had been lifted from him. It lasted only a moment before Kallar’s eyes hardened again and settled on Farren.

The last line of the second stanza still doesn’t rhyme.

Farren raised an eyebrow. Do I tell you how to wield your sword?

Kallar grunted. I expected more from a professional songweaver.

Art is never perfected, young slayer, merely set free.

Farren aimed for his tent, the chill of evening beginning to settle in his bones. Kallar took long strides to match his pace.

You also focused only on women, the slayer said. I told you, we don’t know that men can’t be Dragon Singers, too.

Farren inclined his head. Granted. But so far, the pattern holds true, and something within a man of honor feels especially called to protect the women in his life. We want them moved to action, so that is where I laid my focus.

That’s —Kallar paused, his eyebrows lifting as though impressed— kind of manipulative.

Farren tsked and shook a rebuking finger. I prefer ‘perceptive’. ‘Perspicacious’, even.

Whatever.

Words have power, Kallar. You would do well to remember that and choose yours more wisely.

Kallar snorted, angling toward his tent. Good night, Songweaver.

Farren chuckled through his own goodbye, wondering at the odd partnership that had grown between them. He glanced up as a sprinkling of stars shimmered through a break in the cloud-cover, and shivered under their gaze.

He had found Alísa bundled up on an evening much like this, pack over her shoulder and determination in her eyes. There had been a sense of peace in his heart about her leaving—a peace he had always associated with the Maker’s will. But now Alísa was left alone in the talons of the enemy. How could he have been so wrong?

But the plan to convince Karn had worked. Now Farren begged the Maker and any Eldra who might listen that the song would bring them word of Alísa before her mind was too turned by the dragons to save—and before slayers came upon her and ended her misery with violence rather than care.

1

REMEMBRANCE

The bright emerald green of Laen’s mane did little to mark her place among the trees of the forest. Already, Alísa and her companions had lost the little drek thrice. Graydonn’s telepathic tracking skills helped them keep up, but the dragon had his own troubles weaving through the trunks. His taloned paws crunched ferns and fallen leaves and sent up scents of long-dried earth. Alísa rested a hand on his grass-green scales and kept her eyes in the boughs.

Selene’s cloud-like voice lifted from behind them. Laen, you’re still going too fast.

Maybe if she stayed solid while she led us, Sesína grumbled in all their minds, instead of taunting us with her dreki phasing short-cuts.

Alísa smirked, looking back at the ebony dragoness. Sesína’s emerald eyes met Alísa’s, then rolled in a very human fashion. I’m just saying.

Falier and Selene walked on either side of Sesína—the brother and sister duo from the Hold in Me’ran, and the first human friends Alísa had made in her new life in the eastern forests. Falier caught Alísa’s eye and smiled at her. Alísa smiled back, trying not to grin like a fool. It had only been three days since he had asked to pursue her—she had to keep some dignity.

Falier had taken a day back at the Hold with his family to clean up from their adventure into dragons’ caves, his jerkin fresh and crisp and his short brown curls and sun-tanned skin free of the mud and blood of battle. He had also shaved, much to Alísa’s dismay. Maybe he would let his facial hair grow if she asked him, but that seemed an inappropriate request this early in their relationship.

On the other side of Sesína, Selene cupped her hands to her mouth and called for Laen again, effortlessly winding her blue-plaid skirt through the brush and brambles. Unlike Alísa, who had to pull her own skirt close. Everything about the short, blonde woman radiated grace and confidence.

Maybe one day I’ll have that too. Knowing me, it will take much longer than Selene’s twenty-one years.

Sesína snorted, hearing Alísa’s thoughts through their mother-daughter Illumination bond—though, truly, it had become more a sisterly bond as the young dragoness grew.

You’re a leader of dragons now, Alísa, Sesína whispered through the bond. "You can’t be without some confidence."

Alísa’s boot caught on the forest floor and she stumbled, steadying herself on Graydonn’s back.

Sesína cough-laughed. Grace, on the other hand…

Alísa didn’t dare look back as her cheeks flushed red. Falier had to have noticed. So much for dignity.

There. Graydonn pointed his snout to the right.

Sure enough, Laen sat on an oak branch a few trees away, watching them. The drek’s silvery body shimmered even in the shade of the trees, the emerald-green mane running the length of her spine waving in the morning breeze like the grasses of the hill country.

Slow! Laen barked her annoyance.

Sesína growled. Take to the skies and I’ll show you slow!

Laen unfurled her wings and growled back, telepathically sending the group a picture instead of a word—a much smaller Sesína with a piece of ebony eggshell stuck on top of her head, as though she had just hatched. Alísa laughed at the admonishment.

Sesína hummed with annoyance. Whose side are you on?

Laen, Selene chided, hands on her hips. We’re counting on you to show us to your home. You can’t keep leaving us behind.

The little drek’s wings drooped as she let out a loud breath. Then she straightened and hopped to a pine branch, making an obvious show of looking back to make sure they followed.

Bit of a firebrand, isn’t she? Falier said. Alísa looked just in time to see him give Sesína a light shove. Don’t have any of those in our little group yet.

Sesína flicked her tail in annoyance. That little twerp and I are nothing alike. I miss Chrí.

A lump settled in Alísa’s throat. Chrí.

Sesína’s eyes dimmed and she hurried forward to nose Alísa’s arm. I’m sorry.

We all miss her, Graydonn said solemnly. It will be good to remember her with her family today.

Alísa sniffed and nodded, lifting her eyes to latch onto Laen again. None of them had visited the home of the dreki before. Possibly, no human had ever seen it, and the strained relationship between dragons and dreki made Alísa certain no dragon had either. At least, no dragon who lived to tell the tale. The dreki were a secretive people, supremely loyal to their friends and even more dangerous to their enemies.

Now, though, certain members of each race had united under a common purpose—the ending of the dragon-human war. A lofty goal, to be sure, yet they had made great strides already. Alísa and her dragon clan’s victory over Rorenth had proven their willingness to lay their lives on the line for humans. Now she needed to find slayers willing to do the same for dragons.

Memories of her father rose in her mind. His desire to free her, and his refusal to listen when she told him her dragon clan was good. She’d had to fight him to get her dragons to safety. Her greatest failure.

I was so proud of your flow of thoughts until you let that moment cloud it, Sesína said. You’ve accomplished much—remember that and let it be.

Let it be? He’s my father!

Guilt painted Sesína’s emotions. Poor choice of words. I only meant that you shouldn’t let someone’s unwillingness to listen mark you a failure.

Alísa shook her head. His clan is my family, and their lives are built on a lie that has them killing you, my other family. And I couldn’t get them to stop.

Namor stopped.

The old slayer rose in Alísa’s mind—watchful, battle-scarred, and stubborn. He had fought dragons all his life, whether as a mountain-storming wayfarer or as village-bound protector. He had nearly mind-choked Graydonn from the sky the first time he saw the dragon, but after seeing Alísa and her dragons defend the village, Namor had listened.

Still, he was only one slayer, and the other slayer of the village, Yarlan, had seen it all and remained antagonistic. She needed to convince many more slayers to have any chance of ending the war. Tonight’s presentation to Me’ran would be the first big step—gain the confidence of normals, then use their testimony to bring her peacefully before slayers. There had been enough bloodshed already.

Laen chirped and trilled excitedly ahead of them, tickling the surrounding leaves with her outstretched wings.

Here!

A wall of trees rose up before them, the undergrowth between them thick with brush and bramble. Laen gave another trill and dove between two of the trees, leaving them to find their own path through. None stood out—unwelcoming, to say the least.

Allow me, Graydonn said, padding forward. He studied the blockage, then plunged a wing into the tangled mess. With a small grunt of effort, he pulled back the brush and gave Alísa a respectful slow blink.

Alísa smiled at the dragon, ducking through the makeshift entrance, and gasped with delight. Lush green surrounded her, deep with life. Flowers of every color graced the forest floor, the tree trunk wall, and the branches above her head, some drooping to kiss the ground on delicate vines. A small creek ran through the space, sparkling where the morning sunlight peeked through the boughs. And amidst the splendor, dreki—at least sixty of them, jewel-tone manes bright against silvery bodies.

Oh, wow. Falier stood beside her, their shoulders almost touching. It’s…

His voice trailed off as awe rippled from him, echoed by the others as they entered the glade. The emotion felt like another kind of flower, opening up to bask in sunlight it could never hope to take in fully.

Beautiful, Alísa whispered, finishing his sentence.

Falier looked down at her, his eyes softening as he reached for her hand. Alísa gave it, expecting him to use the skin-contact to aid his telepathy, as he typically did. This time, however, he merely slipped his fingers between hers and looked back out at the wonders of the dreki’s home. A rush ran through Alísa, warmth rising in her chest.

A flash of emerald whisked past and settled on Selene’s shoulder. Home, Laen chirped.

Out of the group, Selene looked the most overcome. She stayed completely still, only her eyes moving slowly over the scene.

Falier studied his sister. You all right?

Selene reached up to stroke Laen’s mane. It’s a lot, but I’ll be okay. The dreki are talking to each other.

Memory stirred within Alísa. Not only did Selene see what everyone else did, she also saw sound-lights and telepathy lines. While the space brought warmth and peace to Alísa, it must be over-stimulating for Selene.

Selene caught her staring and met Alísa’s eyes. She gave a half-smile, her gaze flitting to Alísa and Falier’s clasped hands before returning to the dreki and their home. Selene seemed happy enough with Alísa and Falier’s relationship. Falier’s parents, on the other hand… Both were amiable and outwardly supportive of Falier’s choice, but Kat seemed to have reservations and Parsen was, as always, hard for Alísa to read. Hopefully, she could prove herself worthy in their eyes.

Singer!

Alísa whipped her head around to see five dreki in front of her. They turned flips and spun around each other, much like they did at Me’ran’s céilí dances.

Singer! Singer! Singer!

Alísa smiled, letting go of Falier’s hand to clasp her hands in front of her. Thank you f—for your welcome. Your home is b—beautiful.

An image of the center of the glade slipped into Alísa’s mind. Come.

With a glance that called the others to follow, Alísa heeded their invitation. A few more joyful dreki joined them as they walked, while others stopped to stare at them with eerily-glowing eyes.

A drek with a blue mane swooped past Alísa and landed on Falier’s shoulder.

Drum?

Falier gave an apologetic smile. Sorry, Ska, I didn’t think to bring it.

Ska’s head and wings drooped as he let out a little sigh, then he leapt into the air to rejoin the rest of the dreki.

You know, Falier called after him, smirking, it’s times like this I think you just tolerate me because you like the bodhrán.

Another image wafted into the minds of the group, one of them sitting on the ground. Alísa lowered to her knees, careful not to sit on too many flowers, though it was impossible not to crush a few. Falier sat beside her with Selene on his other side, while Sesína and Graydonn lowered to their bellies behind them.

As they settled, the dreki began congregating near them, hovering a few feet above the ground. Now that they were closer, Alísa noticed a few very small dreki, perhaps small enough to land on the palm of her hand. Adolescents. Their flight was less stable than the adults, more of a flutter than a hover, and their manes were a dusting of color along their spines rather than the flowing locks of the older dreki.

In front of you, Alísa, Sesína said.

Alísa pulled her eyes from the curiosity of the adolescents and gave a little gasp. Laen hovered before her, accompanied by a drek with a ruby mane and wing-baubles. Chrí had shown Alísa a picture of her mate before she died, and a pull deep inside her recognized this as him.

Her heart pounded. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t even know his name.

Singer, the little male voice came, accompanied by a picture of bright red bird feathers and his name.

Rann, she whispered. I am so sorry for your loss.

Rann gave her a picture of Chrí nestled amidst Alísa’s mahogany curls and nuzzling her cheek. The image was so real—the light pull on Alísa’s hair, the smoothness of Chrí’s muzzle, the soft sound of her breathing, and a deep love that filled Alísa’s empathic senses. It was all so life-like it would live forever in her memories of her friend. The beauty of this gift from Rann sent a tear sliding down her cheek.

Thank you.

The tiniest squeak drew Alísa’s eyes from Rann’s face to a little silver lump clinging to his mane. Her heart squeezed.

Is that—

Pride emanated from the drek. He looked to Laen, drawing Alísa’s attention to a second silvery lump on her back, this one with shining purple eyes. The image Chrí had given her just before she died had two tiny eggs, one red like the father, one a lavender purple like the mother.

Rann sent an image of the two babies snuggled in Alísa’s hands, accompanied by the feeling of a question.

Alísa grinned, lifting cupped hands. Yes! Of course.

Rann landed on Alísa’s lap—a gentle weight, perhaps only eight pounds—and nosed his passenger into her open hand. The little one squeaked and opened eyes a shade lighter than Rann’s. Rann hopped onto Alísa’s shoulder, giving Laen room to deposit the purple-eyed baby beside its sibling.

In Alísa’s hands, the babies seemed even smaller, the two of them fitting perfectly in her palms. They curled together, tiny wings stretching and noses pressing into the warmth of each other. Neither had any hint of a mane, and the baubles that graced the ends of adult dreki wings were nowhere to be found either. The only color either drek had was its bright eyes.

Her human and dragon friends leaned in close, taking in the little lives with her.

They’re beautiful, Rann, Selene said, reaching a single finger to stroke the one with red eyes. Have you named them?

Rann gave a low, cooing trill. Rís. An image of a red dawn accompanied the name—presumably the baby with red eyes. Then Rann pointed his muzzle at the purple one. Chrí.

Alísa’s heart caught at the name, but instead of the impression of lavender that came with the mother’s name, a picture of bluebells rose in her mind.

They’re perfect.

Multiple dreki trilled above Alísa’s head, drawing everyone’s attention. Rann joined with his own trill. With one last glance at his children, he took to the air with the rest of his kind. It was time to honor the dreki who had given their lives.

The dreki hovered in a circle multiple dreki high, all facing the center. They stared into the empty space, their faces solemn and their emotions a mixture of the thickened air of grief and the deep green of peace. Then the dreki’s eyes and wing-baubles began to glow—the sign their minds were joining in the deep, unfathomable way of their kind.

Squeaking trills brought Alísa’s eyes back down as the baby dreki called to their kin. They fixed their eyes on the others, eye-lights fading in and out of the clan’s glow as though they didn’t know how to join yet.

Then the emotions hit.

Grief’s thunderclouds darkened Alísa’s mind, accented by strikes of anger, presumably for lives snuffed out too soon. As the dreki’s minds became one, their power grew, as did their shared feelings. Alísa’s heartbeat quickened as she remembered the last time dreki emotions had overwhelmed her. Her body tensed as her mind automatically began fighting against her empathy.

A nudge at her shoulder called Alísa from her thoughts. Graydonn’s head came into view, and sorrow salted his voice as it entered her mind.

It’s okay, Alísa. Remember, you are stronger when you embrace your gift.

Alísa breathed. She had already learned this, and she chided herself for returning to old habits. With each inhale she took in the dreki’s grief, and with each exhale she breathed out her own. Her heartbeat slowed, and though a sob wrenched through her, her pain and fear eased.

There, the dragon soothed, returning his gaze to the dreki.

As the dreki’s wing-baubles glowed, sparkles of color separated from them, little fairy lights coalescing in the center of the circle. The lights swirled around each other, dancing in and out like the dreki often did, until the shape of a drek with an orange mane appeared in their midst.

As one voice, the dreki said a name Alísa didn’t recognize. Then the image faded away, only to be replaced by one of the same drek dancing in the air with another. The image faded again while another faded in, the new one of the drek as a youngster, snuggled between its parents.

Curious, Alísa shut her eyes and focused until the astral plane appeared. All the beings in the grove appeared as lights against blackness, each outlined in the color of their eyes. Beams of light shone from the dreki, almost a blinding white flowing into the center where the images appeared in the physical realm. A subtle change occurred as the image shifted again, a single drek’s strand becoming brighter amidst the rays.

Alísa opened her eyes. Memories. The images were memories, each one streaming from an individual drek and materializing in the strange sparkles as the clan remembered their fallen kin.

Soon images of another fallen drek replaced the first, the clan cycling through memories of those they so dearly missed. Their grief renewed with each new honored drek, yet the dark closeness loosened its hold as memories unfolded, giving glimpses of joy and peace.

Then came Chrí’s turn, her likeness shining with bright lavender hues and bringing fresh tears to Alísa’s eyes. First came images of a mischievous youngster, then the passionate defender that Alísa had known. Rann shared a memory of bringing her some of the sweet lavenders that were part of her name, then one of her bringing him a dead bird with red feathers like in his name. Alísa fought not to giggle at the gift that was obviously supposed to be romantic.

Finally, Rann sent an image of Chrí curled around their eggs. The baby dreki chirped at the picture, bringing a silent sob to Alísa’s chest. They never got to know their mother, yet they recognized her. Their grief was quiet, as if they knew they should be sad but didn’t quite know how.

Alísa blew out a tremulous breath. Could she have done anything differently, something that could have kept these brave dreki alive? Perhaps not go into battle at all, but that would have been wrong, too. Then other lives would be at stake. She had known that going into battle meant facing death to keep others safe, and so had the dreki.

The images of Chrí vanished and another drek took her place, then another and another, until the remembrance came to a close. The dreki ended their mindshare, their eye- and wing-lights fading. Alísa sighed as the combined emotions faded into individuals. Though crowds could overwhelm her empathy, too, there was relief here.

The dreki began to disperse, sorrow, joy, and remnants of anger diminishing as individuals flew into boughs and other spaces in the grove. About a third of the dreki stayed nearby, many tiny glowing eyes fixing on Alísa and her group.

Rann flew back to Alísa’s lap and nuzzled his children. The babies trilled at him, the sounds low and soft, and he answered with trilled coos before looking up at Alísa.

Sing?

She met Rann’s steady gaze for a moment, then looked up to the few dreki remaining. All watched her with anticipation.

Only one song came to mind—one she had sung many times as her father’s clan honored their fallen warriors. All growing up, she had known by that song that death wasn’t the end, and that those who gave their lives willingly to protect others were honored above all. That was Chrí. Though her children may not yet understand the words, Alísa would make sure they knew this truth.

She exhaled, then pulled in a deep new breath, her tears renewing as she released it in song.

Why must the good die before their time,

And flames devour their prey?

When will our mourning be made right

And smoke break for the day?

But in this world of suffering

The Maker holds us all.

His blessings follow those who stand,

Though some to home he calls.

In her mind, the voices of her father’s clan echoed the final two lines. Though terribly wrong in their thinking about dragons, they, too, stood for those weaker than they. So many slayers did. If she could only reach them with the truth about dragonkind, they would surely stand for both races and not just their own.

Alísa smiled as the remaining dreki chirped their gratitude before fluttering away, Laen and Rann the last to leave as they coaxed Rann’s little ones onto their backs. Though anxiety still fluttered within Alísa as she thought of tonight’s presentation, resolve became the foundation beneath it.

Tonight, the next phase in her quest to end the war would begin.

2

PRESENTATION

Excitement and nerves clashed within Alísa like the heat of the great bonfire against the coming chill of night. Everyone had come, just as she’d hoped, but with the eyes of every villager in Me’ran about to be fixed on her, strikes of lightning shot from her heart to her fingertips. The very same feeling she had before facing the teeth and talons of violent dragons. It seemed battlefields came in many forms.

She forced her eyes away from the people and to Falier, who stood only a few feet away. With his bodhrán drum strapped to his back, his fingers moving in warm-up patterns, and a light in his eyes, her pursuer exuded the eagerness she should have.  

Why did I let Falier talk me into this?

Across the distance to the cave, Alísa felt Sesína’s eye-roll through their bond. Love apparently makes one crazy. Remind me never to fall.

Alísa blew out her breath, then stopped as Falier noticed her stare. She gave a smile she didn’t feel, and he grinned back, the care in his twilight eyes sending a flip of a different kind through her stomach.

You’re going to do great. He spoke just loud enough for her to hear over the buzzing chatter of the crowd. Just like we practiced.

Sesína sent a mental agreement as Alísa forced a nod. They had practiced. They had spent all day yesterday crafting their tale into a form Me’ran knew and would respond well to. A tale of heroism to convey the happenings of the last week. A tale of dragons willing to rise up to end the war between the races. A tale to inspire humanity to do the same.

Alísa loosened the reins of her empathy, letting it spread beyond her to Falier and holding it there before it could catch the crowd. She latched onto his eager excitement, letting it call her own from the depths of her mind. This wasn’t just a nerve-wracking performance—this was the next step in her quest to unite the races and end the war.

That thought brought a true smile to her lips. Me’ran had already accepted her and the first dragons of her clan after they had proven their care for humankind by defending the village. Now Me’ran would learn of the other dragons who had risked their lives to keep violent dragons out of the eastern forests. As everything unfolded for the people through her songs and Falier’s storytelling, they would accept the new dragons, accept her mission, and be the bridge between her and the slayers of nearby villages. With their support, the slayers would have to hear the truth.

Movement drew Alísa’s eyes to the crest of the hill where a man and woman walked together, the evening sunlight gently gracing their backs as they joined the crowd. The people—so many people—gathered on either side of the great bonfire on the dancing grounds. Some stood, while most sat on chairs pulled from the Hold or on the log benches that normally surrounded the fire. A few children sat on the ground in front.

Falier’s father, Parsen, stood with them before the crowd, his gaze fixed on the people. Parsen stood tall and confident before them, a holder respected by his village. He must have been taking roll in his head, for as the couple joined at the back of the group he raised his arms for attention. The crowd stilled at his call.

A little over a week ago, Parsen began, our village suffered its first dragon attack in many years. Through it, our world was turned upside down, not merely by the loss of property, but also by the revelation of our rescuers—the good dragons led by Alísa.

As Parsen spoke, Alísa scanned the crowd, searching for familiar faces. The rest of Falier’s family stood on the far left side, the ladies easy to spot by their blond hair catching the firelight. Kat’s eyes rested on Falier even as her husband spoke, the corners turned down in either sadness or worry. The story of the battle and Falier’s part in it had been hard on her yesterday. Would a second telling be any easier?

Laen sat on Selene’s shoulder and about fifteen other dreki perched on the roof of the Hold beyond the crowd. The rest of the dreki clan might be watching from the forest, but no eye-lights gave them away.

Namor and Tenza, a slayer couple in perhaps their mid-fifties, sat on a log at the front of the crowd. Namor leaned against his staff, his salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a low ponytail, revealing eyes that were kinder now than when he and Alísa had first met. Vigilance still lived there, but now it made Alísa feel safe rather than guarded against.

Tenza’s graying black hair swept from her temples in a crown of two braids, the rest cascading over her shoulders. She had a strong and quiet grace about her, like the swordswomen of Karn’s clan. Like her husband, her almond-shaped eyes seemed to see all.

But their fight to protect Me’ran was not the end of the story, Parsen brought Alísa’s attention back to him. He neared the end of the introduction now—time to focus. With Falier as their ally, they left to continue the work. Now they have returned with a tale to tell.

With a slight nod to Falier, Parsen took his place beside Kat in the audience. Falier stepped forward and pulled out his bodhrán, letting it sit at his side, held up by the shoulder straps. Head held high, he seemed completely in his element.

Alísa sent up a quick prayer to Eldra Nahne—the spiritual shepherd of holders and songweavers—asking for help to match him, to not let him down with the anxiety tying knots in her stomach. She breathed, focusing on the moment, and fixed her eyes on Falier.

The young holder began a quiet, rapid roll on his bodhrán. Friends and family, tonight we tell you a tale of heroism. Of dastardly deeds of beasts lusting for blood, and of dragons who rose up and said, ‘No more!’

BUM, ba, ba, bum!

Falier hit a four-beat transition on his drum. Alísa’s cue. Picturing Songweaver Farren—his confidence and love of storytelling—Alísa lifted her arms. She breathed as she moved, loosening her throat muscles to allow her words to flow. Just as they had practiced.

Of a slayer who became dragon-friend, and the d—dragons who rose t-t-t-to t-train him —breathe, keep going— though normally the b—bitterest of foes.

bum, bum, BA, bum!

And of a Dragon Singer —Falier sent Alísa a look of admiration— who inspired them all.

ba, ba, BUM!

Falier backed toward the fire, drumming the beat of the song she planned to sing. She smiled lightly, thinking once more of Farren. She had written this song in a style he created, changing the rhyming scheme a little to add her own flair. Perhaps, one day, she would get to sing it for him, too.

I will tell you a tale

Of a journey through the night.

Of peaceful ones who rose to fight,

Of battle looming, testing might,

And how they might prevail.

I will tell you a tale.

Will you hear my tale?

As though part of the drama themselves, the dreki rose from their perches and flew to Alísa. Their wing-baubles caught the firelight, flashing color around her as their joy flashed over her mind. She latched onto their happiness, letting it chase away the last vestiges of her nerves and relax her stiff muscles. Farren would swell with pride if he could see her now.

I will tell you a tale

Of a dragoness so strong,

Who waited all her life for song,

Of hope through others proving wrong,

And now she would not fail.

I will tell you a tale

Of a dragon young, but wise,

Who saw through more than amber eyes,

Rose up and bid a slayer rise,

Whose heart has pierced the veil.

I will tell you a tale

Of a dragoness so brave,

Whose eyes are toward the weak to save,

Of heart and soul and flesh she gave

Unto a Singer frail.

I will tell you a tale.

Will you hear my tale?

I will tell you a tale

Of a fallen enemy.

A clan has risen, setting free

Man from fear’s captivity

So peace can now prevail.

I will tell you a tale.

Will you hear my tale?

Falier rolled on the bodhrán as her song ended, bridging the music to the storytelling. Dreki whisked back to their spots as Alísa allowed Falier to take the foreground. He told the tale in much the same style as a traveling bard, embellishing the story with hyperbole, dynamic contrasts, and beats and rolls on his drum.

He told of the bloodlust of Rorenth, the alpha dragon strengthened by a dark bond to the Nameless Ones. Of how Rorenth had sent scouts to raze villages in the eastern forests to the ground, and that to defeat him and protect the people, the Dragon Singer needed the aid of more dragons. He facetiously told of his great fear riding a dragon for the first time, then spoke of the mighty Graydonn who would not let him fall. He told of Sesína’s aerial acrobatics and hunting prowess that kept her human companions alive on the journey. And he told of the unwavering belief of Koriana, who led them through dangerous territories and became their emissary to Tsamen’s dragon clan, where they all hoped for more dragons to join the fight.

The sun dipped below the trees as the story entered Tsamen’s cave, adding an eerie ambiance to the tale. As Alísa waited for her next singing cue, she let her empathy flow out a little further and tasted the feelings of the crowd. Fear came first, though its strength was what one might expect from those hearing a scary story. Awe and wonder followed behind fear—a good sign.

When Falier’s voice rose like the din of the dragons debating in Tsamen’s cave, Alísa pulled her focus from her empathy back to his story. Her next cue was fast approaching.

The dragons argued with voice and mind, some for the Dragon Singer, some against. The surly alpha female, Paili, rose above them all, ready to make an end of the Singer and her clan. But then, like sun breaking through the clouds, the Maker granted a new song—a song of warning that froze every dragon in their spot.

Pulling from her memories, Alísa sang the admonition she had received. She prayed it would stir the people here as well. The slayers of the other villages and the eastern wayfarers would never listen to a seventeen-year-old girl who claimed she knew the hearts of dragons. Warriors would need the testimony of these people, who had witnessed her dragons’ bravery both firsthand and through this tale, if they were going to hear her.

Who will seek wisdom in an age of violence?

Only the quiet, who stand by nothing else.

Who will listen to the quiet in a time of chaos?

Only the ones who tire of the noise.

Who will stand with the weak through the storms?

Only the ones who too are affected.

None will listen. None will stand. None will seek the truth,

Until fire meets fire, and sword meets sword,

Until man gives life for dragon,

And dragon gives life for man.

Woe to the ones who will not stand!

At the end of the song, Falier took over again. He told of the dragons who left Tsamen and Paili’s clan to follow the Dragon Singer. Then came the message of the dreki, who told of Karn’s march on Rorenth’s mountain, and Alísa’s desperate decision to join the fight in hopes of splitting Rorenth’s attention in two. Falier told of daring feats by each of the dragons in the battle, painting each as a hero in their own right. Tears sprang to Alísa’s eyes as he spoke of Sareth’s sacrifice to shield her from Rorenth’s wrath, and of the dreki who, with Falier and Graydonn, dealt the final blow at great cost.

And so we stand before you today, with the very same dragons watching over us from Twi-Peak, recovering from their wounds so they can continue the fight for peace. But peace cannot be won by only a small clan of dragons and a couple of young slayers, no matter how incredible one of them might be. Falier shot Alísa a smile that made her blush. And so we appeal to you. Take inspiration from the self-sacrifice of the dragons and their Dragon Singer and help us pave the path to peace.

Alísa breathed low and deep. She had been able to avoid speaking for most of this presentation, but as the leader of this movement, it fell to her to make the appeal.

It has always been m—my hope to bring slayers into this c-c-clan as well. To p-p-present a united front and p-prove humans and dragons can live and work together in p-peace. I do not ask those who are not w—warriors to become so, but you, the p-p-p-p —breathe— the people they protect, have great influence.

The image of her father rose in Alísa’s mind, of the shock on his face when he found her among dragons at the end of the battle. The pain of that encounter, when she had appealed to him and failed to gain his ear, was still too raw to expose to Me’ran—but the one thing she could convey from it was her need for others to stand with her. She needed the people. No slayer would hear her otherwise.

I ask you to help us make ourselves known to the slayers of your neighboring v—villages. T-tell them what you know to be t-true so we can give them a chance t-t-to turn and join us in seeking p-p-peace between our kinds. The fighting will end, and the races will live in harmony, as they did in the time of Belinor and the founding of our c-c-country. And songs will be sung of the brave people of Me’ran, with whom it all started.

A silent pause, the end of the presentation, and relief swept over Alísa. It was over—she had done it!

A cheer came up from a few in the crowd, as did a smattering of applause, but the sounds were awkward and silenced quickly when the rest in the crowd did not join in. Anxiety swam in Alísa’s belly. She had stopped reading the crowd as she sang and spoke. She reached out with her empathy again.

Fear.

Shock.

Wonder.

Anger.

‘Give the slayers a chance to turn’?

Alísa tensed at the venom-laced tone, her heart skipping a beat as the crowd parted for Yarlan to step to the front, warrior braids in his sandy hair and a sword at his hip. A slayer through and through, and one who had been antagonistic even after witnessing Sesína and the others save the village from Rorenth’s scouts. His hate-filled eyes fixed on her, and it was all Alísa could do to not shrink back.

3

COMPROMISE

By my people’s stunned silence, Yarlan growled, I can only hope they, too, know what this means. If the slayers—our protectors—do not turn, this dragon in human skin intends to destroy them! Just as she did the dragons who wouldn’t follow her.

Alísa’s heart raced as the silence of the crowd turned to angry mutterings and fearful murmurs. A few parents pulled their children from the front row. Falier came to her side, bodhrán slung against his back and brow creased in a mixture of confusion and anger.

No, no, no! This isn’t what’s supposed to happen!

Sesína’s alarm shot through their bond. Are you in danger? I’m coming!

No! Stay away. Seeing a dragon might antagonize Yarlan more.

Singer. Laen’s voice entered Alísa’s mind as the drek flew from Selene’s shoulder to hers. The drek stared down Yarlan as the rest of the dreki flew to the trees behind Alísa. Their agitated chittering clashed against the crowd’s fear. Alísa pulled her empathy back, holding it as close to herself as she could to avoid being overwhelmed by the negative emotions.

Silence! Namor’s voice carried over the crowd, quieting them. He leaned on his wife as they made their way up front, the missing lower half of his leg painfully obvious. Yarlan has made his accusation. We must allow Alísa the chance to respond.

Namor’s eyes softened as he nodded her forward.

Alísa breathed out, the respectful silence of the crowd relaxing the tension inside her. She steeled herself, bringing a picture of her father to the forefront of her mind. His strength, his courage, his words—all things she needed now.

Unbidden, she found Kallar in the image too, standing beside Karn in her stead.

She swallowed and shook the thought away. Eldra Branni, give me strength.

I and my clan desire p-p-peace, not violence. We wish to bring the t-t-truth to the slayers in a way they’ll understand. We will give them every chance to turn, just as we did the d—dragons. But if they w—will not stop k-k-k-killing innocent dragons, we must s—s—stop them.

‘Kill’, Yarlan growled, looming over her. The word she won’t say is ‘kill’.

Alísa fought not to step back, taking strength from Falier tensing up tall and Laen hissing from her shoulder. Fear and fire rose within her, battling for control. Yarlan’s words spewed poison over the people, taking the need for justice she presented and turning it to malice.

Now she has dragons—many dragons—waiting in Twi-Peak for her command, and she asks us to march her to the homes of our friends and allies. Can we allow her to murder them?

Many eyes fixed on Alísa, some waiting, some condemning. She lifted a hand to her chest, where her dragon-scale necklace hid underneath her shirt, and stared past the eyes to the wall of the Hold.

I’m not t-t-t-t-t-talking about m—m—m—

She never said anything about murder, Yarlan, a male voice in the crowd interrupted.

Though the man spoke in her favor, Alísa’s cheeks heated with shame. What kind of leader couldn’t finish a sentence?

Surely if our friends in Soren hear of this they’ll understand.

And if they don’t, a woman near him said, it’s all right to just kill them? Because they disagree?

The man was silent for a moment, and when his voice returned it held less confidence. If what she and Falier say is true, the killing of innocent dragons is just as bad as them burning down a village.

"And what about this village? Yarlan said, wresting back control. Whether this girl is held in their thrall or actually on their side—"

There is no thrall, Namor said, his voice once again bringing