Windburn

Hours passed, the day came, the sun rose and waned, and as the west lit up with the final rays of the day, we reached the Namib Sea.

The sand dunes reared out of the desert into the sea, the triangular dunes mimicking that of a dragon’s head in an eerie replica.

Below me, The Bastard shivered. “I smell a dragon. This does not bode well. Breeding season is on us and it makes them moodier than usual.”

Cactus twisted around. “I don’t see any dragons. And even I couldn’t miss that.”

A laugh burst out of The Bastard. “How many dragons have you dealt with, boy?”

My shoulders twitched as though we had eyes on us. I slowly turned my head, searching the skies around us. If I were a dragon, and so large as to be seen from miles away, I would not swoop in from the side or behind my prey. I tipped my head back and stared into the sky above us.

The body of a dragon swept downward, silent on its leathery wings, its mouth open in a soundless roar. “Above us!”

The Bastard dropped, tucking his wings tightly as he spiraled to one side. The dragon whooshed past, sending out a wave of air in its wake.

“I cannot avoid her in the air. We have to land,” The Bastard hollered.

He didn’t waste any more time or words, but barreled straight toward the closest dune. We hit the ground hard enough that the three of us were bucked off and into the loose sand. I scrambled to my feet, as did Peta and Cactus. From above, the dragon roared and spat a straight blast of fire at us. Cactus lifted his hands and deflected it before it could do any damage.

The sound of feet running on the sand spun me around. The Bastard pranced, then reared up as a whip curled around his neck right behind his jaw. I rushed forward, swung my spear in a wide arc and cut through the leather. There was an “oomph” on the other end of the line and the sound of someone hitting the sand.

A flash of white fur and Peta put herself between whoever wielded the whip and me, blocking my view of them.

The Bastard shook his head, his long mane flipping in the air. “Damn Trackers, always so touchy about every little thing. I didn’t mean to step on you.”

“Fuck you, horse!” someone yelled back from what seemed like a far greater distance than she should have been. Wait . . .Tracker . . . then we’d found her.

Peta stayed where she was, crouched with her belly pressed into the sand, ready to leap on whoever was attacking. I stepped beside her and saw why I’d not been able to see the Tracker sooner. She had tumbled down the edge of the sand dune into a shallow valley perhaps thirty feet in depth. I spun my spear and buried the haft into the sand.

The Tracker stood and stared up at us, covered in sand, her eyes flashing with anger visible even at a distance. Her hair was cut short, barely brushing the edges of her shoulders; it was the color of obsidian. Her eyes narrowed. “You want to fight? Then get your ass down here and we’ll fight, witch.”

I did not correct her as to my designation. “Tracker, I want only to talk to you. I’d like to employ your services.”

“That’s more than talking then, isn’t it?”

Above us the dragon roared. I flattened myself to the sand out of instinct. Claw tips raked either side of me, missing me by mere inches. Peta screamed, and I rolled in time to see her scooped into the air. From my knees I snapped my arm back and threw my spear with everything I had. The blade buried into the dragon’s leg, right above the claw that held Peta in a death grip.

The red dragon roared and its claw opened. Peta fell, but like any self-respecting cat, landed on her feet. My spear fell beside her, blade in the sand.

I ran to her side and crouched so I could put a hand on her back. My familiar’s bond with me was humming with energy so intense it felt as though she would fly away at the drop of a leaf. She shifted into her housecat form and I lifted her to my shoulder.

“Thanks, Dirt Girl.”

“Any time, cat.” I spoke to her, but my eyes were glued to the Tracker. She had stepped back and waved at the space around her.

“If you want to talk, then fucking well spit it out,” she yelled up at me.

I scooped up my spear and started down the slope, taking my time. “Call off your dragon.”

“Ophelia,” she waved a hand above her head, “ease off, you big bitch.”

The dragon dropped like a giant red rock, thumping into the sand and sending up a wave as if it were water and not earth. I made myself not look at the enormous creature. But even from the corner of my eye I couldn’t help but pick up details. The dragon was easily twice the size of the adult Firewyrms I’d encountered in the Pit, and her wingspan was impressive. Not to mention the size of her teeth and claws. Her hide caught the sun, sending flickers of red light dancing across the sand like a prism.

A formidable creature indeed.

I reached out to the power of the earth and tugged it to me. In case this discussion with the Tracker went in a direction I did not like.

“You know,” Peta said, her body swaying with each step I took, “I can’t help but think this is a crossroads for you.”

“Why?” The question escaped me before I thought better of it.

“You mean besides the fact that you’re willfully breaking rules?”

We were halfway down the slope. “Yeah, besides that.”

Her whiskers tickled my cheek as she spoke. “Trackers bring chaos to all they do. Like you, they can’t help it.” She blinked several times. “It’s because of their heritage. Add a Tracker to your own tendency to cause problems . . .”