With a Dragon's Heart Read online

  “Is someone following us?” she hissed.

  It had certainly sounded like the same noise as before, though they must have covered another mile or so since they’d last heard it.

  Vehel frowned. “Do we keep going, or do we investigate?”

  Dela wasn’t sure she wanted to do either option, but she wasn’t going to look like a coward in front of the others. “I say we investigate.”

  Warsgra nodded. “Aye. There are four of us. We’re all strong, and we’re armed. If someone’s following us, they should be the ones who are frightened.”

  She looked between them. They each wore similar expressions of determination, with rigid jaws and thinned lips. She wished she was able to share their determination, but a volley of butterflies had taken flight in her stomach, and she was doing her best to stop her hand around the hilt of her dagger from shaking.

  They’d been following a path of sorts through the undergrowth, something created most likely by a trail of the creatures who called this place home. But now they needed to step off it. Warsgra led the way, with Vehel following. Dela went next, and Orergon brought up the rear.

  Brightly colored flowers in reds, yellows, purples, and oranges, stood out against the lush, dark green foliage. A giant millipede crossed their path, its hundreds of legs working together in a wave. The jungle was fragrant with the perfume of the array of flowers, the air thick and warm.

  They’d placed the fruit down on the trail, needing to move easily and quickly if attacked—something that was difficult to do with the large orbs swinging by their sides. Dela still had her stone, too, which she’d slipped inside the pocket of her pants. She wished she had somewhere else she could put it where she knew it would be safe, like how her brother’s ring was always around her neck, and she knew it was there because it was pressed close to her skin, but she kept checking, her hand slipping into her pocket to reassure herself.

  They moved as quietly as possible, not wanting to alert anyone to their presence. If someone was following them, they most likely knew where they were anyway, but it was still best to be cautious. Weapons were aimed, Vehel sweeping his bow and arrow across the area, ready to let loose if someone attacked.

  Sudden movement erupted on one side of them, and they all spun to face it. Then the same noise came again, but from behind them this time, so they twisted toward the new threat.

  Dela was breathing hard, her heart pounding.

  Had they made a mistake coming deeper into the jungle? Were they surrounded?

  She strained to see through the tangle of plants, and trees, and bushes. Was someone hiding? All she could see was foliage running deeper and thicker.

  Something slithered across the ground nearby, and Warsgra let out a yell of shock.

  Dela spun around, expecting to fight someone, but there was no one there. Yet Warsgra was hacking at the ground with his axe.

  “It’s the trees!” he yelled.

  Confused, she frowned. “What?”

  On the jungle floor, something whipped out toward her, like a snake through the undergrowth. More out of luck than judgment, she leaped out of its way. She blinked hard, trying to piece together what she was seeing. It was the root of a tree, moving as though with purpose, as though it knew they were there and was trying to get them.

  Warsgra yelled again, and was suddenly pulled off his feet.

  “Warsgra!” Dela yelled as he was dragged into the undergrowth.

  She looked to the others in horror. They were all waging battles of their own, each of them fighting against the jungle floor which had suddenly come alive with movement. Another root snaked out and hooked around her ankle. She bent to hack at it with her blade. Vehel had the least useful weapon with his bow and arrow, but she saw he was tapping into his magic, and a blue light emitted from his palm. When he held his hand above the root, it recoiled as though burned.

  “Help Warsgra!” she yelled to Vehel.

  He looked to her, his light blue eyes wild with worry. “My magic! It’s not strong enough yet!”

  By the Gods, they should never have used his magic to get those fruit down. She’d known it at the time, and yet she’d allowed herself to be persuaded. Now Warsgra was paying for the mistake.

  And as she looked up, she saw it wasn’t only the tree roots that were moving. The entire tree they belonged to had uprooted itself. Its branches reached down like giant arms, swiping against them, so they all ducked. But now it had hold of Warsgra, it rescinded its attack on the rest of them, and the roots withdrew, slithering back through the undergrowth. The entire tree got moving through the jungle, and it was taking Warsgra with it.

  “No, stop!” Dela yelled after it. Wildly, she cast a glance over her shoulder at the others. “What does it want with him?”

  Orergon winced. “You don’t think it feeds on flesh, do you? There are some plants that do that.”

  She stared at him in horror. “We need to get him back!”

  He held her gaze. “We will.”

  At least the tree was easy to follow. The size of it, together with the crashing it made, and the trail of destruction left in its wake, made it easier for them to chase after. Dela had no idea how they were going to cut Warsgra down when they reached him. Warsgra was a fierce fighter, and she tried to take some comfort in him having kept hold of his axe when he’d been taken. He’d fight like a warrior and would keep fighting until he was free. It was little reassurance as they followed in the wake of the tree, as it used its roots to stride across the jungle, destroying anything that lay in its path.

  What kind of manner of thing was this—was it a plant, or was it alive? It had followed them, she was sure, so did that mean it could think? Or was it working on instinct in the same way any other tree would push its roots down to find water, and lift its branches to the sky for sunlight?

  Dela didn’t know, but she knew they had to free Warsgra before the tree decided he was its next meal.

  Chapter 5

  Warsgra

  While he’d been trying to hack one root off his leg, another had appeared and grabbed Warsgra’s other leg. On his back, he was dragged through the foliage. He managed to keep hold of his axe, but the speed at which he was being dragged made it impossible to fight back. It was all he could do to protect his face with his arms from the numerous branches whipping him. He bumped and skidded and slid across the jungle floor. Roots and stones and twigs and thorns jabbed him in the back as he was pulled, faster than he could get his bearings. The one thing he focused on was keeping hold of his axe, his fingers like iron around the handle. If he lost the axe, he’d be done for. At some point, this thing would need to stop, and the moment it did, he’d hack away at the root tangled tightly around his ankle.

  Warsgra wasn’t a man who relied on others, but he knew Orergon, Vehel, and Dela would come after him. He was determined to break free himself before they reached him. The last thing he wanted was for Dela to put herself in danger on his behalf. He was already kicking himself for leading them off the small trail they’d been following. Who knew how far this would take them from their original direction. Too deep in the jungle, it was hard to see the sky. Without being able to see the sky, it was impossible to navigate. People could find themselves wandering in circles this deep in the jungle, never finding their way out again. He didn’t want Dela and the others to put themselves in that kind of jeopardy on his behalf. Besides, he was determined to free himself.

  The root, or whatever it was knotted around his ankle, continued to pull him. He wanted to use his axe to swipe out at it, but he didn’t want to risk either losing the axe as he swung it, or missing and hacking off his own foot. Branches lashed at his face as he continued to be dragged, and he yelled out and then sucked air in over his teeth in pain. He figured he’d be lucky to have any skin left on his back by the time they came to a rest. If he was about to be eaten by some kind of tree monster, however, he figured a little lost skin would be the least of his worries.

  Fi
nally, the tree creature came to a halt, and Warsgra didn’t even take a moment to catch his breath. He sat up and swung the axe, ignoring the pain the movement caused, and the blade hit the tree root. The mighty axe half-severed the root, but the tree creature shrieked in a combination of pain and anger, and even as Warsgra lifted the axe once more to drive it back down on the same spot, numerous other roots slithered out of the undergrowth. The thick trunk of the tree, at least eight men in diameter, towered over him. He spotted the creature’s face, whirled knots of wood creating its eyes and slit in the grain for the gaping maw of its mouth. Surely it wasn’t possible for this thing to eat people? Warsgra didn’t like to think so, but he also didn’t want to risk finding out.

  But more roots lashed out at him, slipping around his ankles, calves, and thighs. He roared in anger and chopped with the axe, but, no faster could he cut, so more of the roots appeared. They went for his arms, sliding up his bare back, the roots cold and wet against his skin, to reach his shoulders. He had to ignore the ones on his legs now, knowing that if one of the roots tightened around his throat, he’d be a dead Norc. His heart thundered in his chest, and he tried not to give in to blind panic, knowing he needed the clarity of thought if he was to survive. He needed to fight as though he was in battle with many strong Norcs, and they were coming at him from every direction.

  But sometimes, no matter how great a warrior, there would come a time when he had to admit he was outnumbered. Though Warsgra swung his axe with dexterity and skill, the blade whirling around his body, the silver blade flashing in the streams of light that penetrated the jungle canopy, one of the branches from the trees swept down and coiled around his legs where the roots were. The roots suddenly released him, slithering back to their dark, dank home beneath ground, but Warsgra didn’t get even a second to lunge away. Instead, the branches, all the smaller twigs feeling like a hundred bony fingers digging into his skin, suddenly yanked. Warsgra found himself hanging upside down from the tree’s canopy, all the blood rushing to his head. By some miracle, he’d managed to keep hold of his axe, but now it dangled from his fingers, gravity pulling it from his grasp. He gave a roar of frustration, which sent nearby birds bursting from the treetops.

  By the Gods, how was he supposed to get out of this one?

  He took the handle of his axe in both hands and just swung there for a moment, assessing the situation. The jungle floor looked a long way down. If he could get the tree to release him, would it just drop him? Being dropped from this height might result in broken bones or worse—a broken neck. Then he’d be as good as dead anyway. No, the better option would be to go up, to get into the branches and climb down. He didn’t think the tree was going to allow that to happen, however.

  Now that he was up here, he was able to spot other creatures the tree had plucked from the jungle. A hoofed animal, similar to a small deer, dangled from another branch nearby. Farther away, a monkey also hung in a similar way. Both animals were dead, and Warsgra knew he would meet a similar fate if he didn’t break free.

  He was strong and fit, perhaps even more so after his recent journey. Still hanging, he attempted a sit-up, hoping to swing himself up to catch hold of the branch holding him.

  The muscles of his abs contracted, defined beneath his skin. He had the strength to pull himself up, but not with the weight of his axe pulling him down. Damn. The only way he’d be able to do this is if he dropped his only weapon. What was his better chance of survival? Releasing the axe and climbing into the tree defenseless? Or using the axe and risk being dropped fifty feet to the ground? He didn’t like his odds either way, but hanging here doing nothing wasn’t an option either. Already, he felt as though his head was swelling from the collection of blood in his skull. How long could someone hang upside down before that in itself killed them? Was that what had killed the other animals the tree had caught, or had they already been dead when they’d been hauled up here?

  That made up his mind.

  With a growl of frustration, he released his grip on the handle. He watched the axe flip and roll as it fell through the air and then hit the jungle floor with a thud. His hands were stiff from having held the weapon so fast for so long, and he flexed his fingers a couple of times and then got moving. Letting out a grunt of exertion, he crunched his abs again, pulling himself up, and he caught hold of the branch above. The branch reacted to his hold, swinging and swaying to try to dislodge him, but he held firm. Even though it had hold of his ankles, he was able to drag himself up, hooking one knee over, and then his chest, so he lay across the top. The smaller branches were less flexible than the roots, and he found he was able to use his hands to snap each of the individual twigs clawing into his ankles and calves. He still had his boots on, and some of the larger branches were wrapped around them. Once he’d managed to get the smaller twigs off his calves, he yanked off his boot, and then pulled off the branches still locked around it. Finally, one leg was free.

  The tree must have realized he was trying to escape. Another branch swiped at him, and he ducked it before turning his attention to the leg still encased in wood. He set to work, breaking and snapping, his teeth gritted in determination. For each twig he managed to break, another replaced it, but Warsgra’s determination to live far surpassed the tree’s need for another hanging meal. Perhaps, in whatever part of its wooden mind of fibers and knots and whirls, the tree understood this particular catch was causing more damage than it was worth.

  Working on a different tactic, the leaves and branches began to shake. Warsgra clung on, still not wanting to fall the distance to the ground. It would be different if he jumped or climbed, but falling unguarded could cause a lot of damage.

  He finally managed to get enough of the branch off his other leg, and then he yanked off the boot again and shook the rest free. Still needing to keep his balance as the tree did its best to dislodge him, he clung to the wood and shoved his foot back in the boot.

  Warsgra edged his way back down the branch, heading toward the thicker parts which protruded from the trunk. The tree creature’s face—or at least what appeared to be its face—was only a little farther down the trunk. Warsgra wanted to avoid that if he could. If he stayed at what appeared to be the rear of the tree, it might not notice him jumping.

  When he reached a point where he didn’t think he’d break a leg upon landing, he sucked in a breath. His axe was lying a little way off, on the other side of the tree, but there was no way he was abandoning it. Even if he was spotted and caught again, he didn’t intend to leave the weapon he’d carried with him all this time.

  Warsgra launched himself into the air. He hit the floor, dropping to the ground to minimize the impact, one hand in the dirt for balance, and then pushed himself up again and got moving.

  Already, the roots slithered around him, like hundreds of snakes hidden in long grass. Warsgra didn’t plan on staying still long enough for them to get hold of him again. He snatched up the handle of his axe and turned in the direction the tree had dragged him.

  Moving faster than he’d ever thought himself capable of, he ran. He used his big body to crash through the bushes, barging overhanging branches out of the way, even as they lashed at his face. He could handle these kinds of branches, though—the ones that only moved because something was making them.

  A number of feet came crashing through the jungle toward him, and moments later, he spotted familiar shapes running through the bushes.

  “Stop!” he yelled, waving his axe at them in an effort to be seen. “Get away from here!”

  He didn’t want the others getting caught up in this like he had. He’d only just freed himself, and he definitely didn’t want one of them to end up in the situation he’d barely escaped from.

  “Warsgra!” Dela’s sweet voice.

  “Turn around,” he roared at them. “Go back.”

  They must have realized what was happening, as they all skidded to a halt. Dela threw her arms around his neck.

  “By the Gods, War
sgra. We thought we might never see you again!”

  He squeezed her in return but quickly released her again. He spun her around and pushed her back the same way they’d come. “We have to get out of here. It’ll come after us.”

  “What?”

  “It was the tree. The whole damned thing is alive. Like, thinking alive, I’m sure of it.”

  Behind him, he heard the crunch of the tree pulling up more roots, ready to get on the move again. The tree had rooted itself in one place while it had hung him, but that didn’t mean it would stay in that position.

  They turned as a group and ran. But they were surrounded by trees, and at every moment, Warsgra expected another root or branch to dart out at him from the undergrowth. At least with the trail of destruction the tree had created as it had crashed its way through the jungle, it had been easy for Dela and the others to find him, and it was easy to follow in order for them to find their way back, too.

  They reached the path where they’d originated.

  The fruit they’d left on the ground, half wrapped in the clothing they’d used as slings, were now covered in little furry bodies.

  “Winged marmosets!” Dela cried.

  The little creatures sat on top of the fruit, most of which had been munched into, and bared their sharp teeth at the new arrivals, claiming it as their own. Their wings—leathery and thin, like a bat’s—spread from the backs and flapped as though to make themselves appear larger and more of a threat.

  “Let’s leave it,” said Orergon. “I just want to get out of this jungle now.”

  “Me, too,” Dela said, already taking a wide berth around the abandoned fruit and the creatures. “They can have it.”

  The four of them hurried on, hoping they were still going in the right direction.

  Chapter 6

  Orergon