their squabbles with the other dragons and Bardon, changed focus in unison, and dive-bombed the Dragon Keeper.
Kale shrieked as a dozen flying missiles battered her arms, back, and legs. A score more of the creatures flew by, hurling tiny jets of flame at her hair. She held her arms straight in front of her, crossed them at the wrists, and lowered her hands so that her outstretched fingers pointed down to the earth. Quickly, she built an energy charge.
Protect your eyes!
she warned, then flung her arms in a circle above her head.
Heeding the warning, Bardon and her fighting dragons turned their heads as soon as they saw what she was going to do. A blast of light issued from her body.
The black dragons had no forewarning. The explosion bounced the closest ones backward. They fell to the ground, lifeless. Others were tossed away, stunned. The remaining veered off and circled above.
Kale brought her arms down in front of her and again gathered energy. Some of the dazed dragons recovered quickly enough to join another onslaught. The black beasts gathered in the air, then plummeted downward. Kale’s minor dragons flew above the cloud of attackers and spit. Their caustic saliva knocked several dozen out of their formation, and Crispin’s spit fried the wings of others, causing them to drop out. But the majority of the black dragons continued their assault as if nothing had happened to their comrades.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kale saw Bardon pick up the blanket and race toward the center of the fight. She let off her blast of light right before he tackled her. She fell to the ground enveloped once again by a thick, scorched layer of cloth. Inexplicably, her husband slapped her head through the protection.
“What are you doing?” she screamed.
“Your hair is on fire.”
The muffled reply startled her. She felt hot. What little air she could pull into her lungs stank. But burning?
“Let me out!” She thrashed against the shroud once more.
Bardon released his wife, then gently lifted her to her feet and took her to the stream. “Bend over.”
She knelt beside the water, and he cupped his hand to splash the spots that still smoldered.
“Where are they?” she asked.
Bardon paused to look around. “Gone.”
“What were they?”
“Tiny black fire dragons.”
Kale sat back on her heels. Water streamed down her shoulders from her wet hair. She glared at what was their campsite, but now looked like a battleground.
The minor dragons lined up on a fallen log, all silently watching her. They didn’t look any worse for the battle. Greer and Celisse stood nearby with char marks on their scales. She hadn’t seen them join the fight. Her husband had red welts on his face and neck. He held one hand with the other as if to protect an injury. She felt the first prickles of pain on her scalp and her arms and legs. She’d been burned repeatedly.
“I’m a Dragon Keeper,” she said. “There are horrid black dragons I know nothing about, and they attacked me. They left fighting all of you and attacked me.” Her voice broke, and she shuddered. “What’s going on? And why do you know about these beasts? Why haven’t I been informed?”
Celisse stretched her long neck across the campsite and picked up the moonbeam cape from where Kale had used it as a pillow. She laid it in front of Kale. Gymn and Metta dove into the hollows and pulled out small brown jars of ointment.
Kale sniffed. “Let me see your hand.”
“The stings on my face hurt more than my hand.”
“I can see the welts. I want to see the hand.” She took hold of his wrist and pulled. “Oh, Bardon, you got burned helping me.”
He moved to sit closer to her as she relaxed into a more comfortable position. “It’s nothing.” His eyes examined her scalp. “Like I said, the stings are worse.”
She grabbed a jar, read the label, and picked up another. After looking at several, she found the one she wanted. “Here, this will help.”
She
Kale shrieked as a dozen flying missiles battered her arms, back, and legs. A score more of the creatures flew by, hurling tiny jets of flame at her hair. She held her arms straight in front of her, crossed them at the wrists, and lowered her hands so that her outstretched fingers pointed down to the earth. Quickly, she built an energy charge.
Protect your eyes!
she warned, then flung her arms in a circle above her head.
Heeding the warning, Bardon and her fighting dragons turned their heads as soon as they saw what she was going to do. A blast of light issued from her body.
The black dragons had no forewarning. The explosion bounced the closest ones backward. They fell to the ground, lifeless. Others were tossed away, stunned. The remaining veered off and circled above.
Kale brought her arms down in front of her and again gathered energy. Some of the dazed dragons recovered quickly enough to join another onslaught. The black beasts gathered in the air, then plummeted downward. Kale’s minor dragons flew above the cloud of attackers and spit. Their caustic saliva knocked several dozen out of their formation, and Crispin’s spit fried the wings of others, causing them to drop out. But the majority of the black dragons continued their assault as if nothing had happened to their comrades.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kale saw Bardon pick up the blanket and race toward the center of the fight. She let off her blast of light right before he tackled her. She fell to the ground enveloped once again by a thick, scorched layer of cloth. Inexplicably, her husband slapped her head through the protection.
“What are you doing?” she screamed.
“Your hair is on fire.”
The muffled reply startled her. She felt hot. What little air she could pull into her lungs stank. But burning?
“Let me out!” She thrashed against the shroud once more.
Bardon released his wife, then gently lifted her to her feet and took her to the stream. “Bend over.”
She knelt beside the water, and he cupped his hand to splash the spots that still smoldered.
“Where are they?” she asked.
Bardon paused to look around. “Gone.”
“What were they?”
“Tiny black fire dragons.”
Kale sat back on her heels. Water streamed down her shoulders from her wet hair. She glared at what was their campsite, but now looked like a battleground.
The minor dragons lined up on a fallen log, all silently watching her. They didn’t look any worse for the battle. Greer and Celisse stood nearby with char marks on their scales. She hadn’t seen them join the fight. Her husband had red welts on his face and neck. He held one hand with the other as if to protect an injury. She felt the first prickles of pain on her scalp and her arms and legs. She’d been burned repeatedly.
“I’m a Dragon Keeper,” she said. “There are horrid black dragons I know nothing about, and they attacked me. They left fighting all of you and attacked me.” Her voice broke, and she shuddered. “What’s going on? And why do you know about these beasts? Why haven’t I been informed?”
Celisse stretched her long neck across the campsite and picked up the moonbeam cape from where Kale had used it as a pillow. She laid it in front of Kale. Gymn and Metta dove into the hollows and pulled out small brown jars of ointment.
Kale sniffed. “Let me see your hand.”
“The stings on my face hurt more than my hand.”
“I can see the welts. I want to see the hand.” She took hold of his wrist and pulled. “Oh, Bardon, you got burned helping me.”
He moved to sit closer to her as she relaxed into a more comfortable position. “It’s nothing.” His eyes examined her scalp. “Like I said, the stings are worse.”
She grabbed a jar, read the label, and picked up another. After looking at several, she found the one she wanted. “Here, this will help.”
She
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