Darkfest stared after the amazing creature. The dragon had promised he would do them no harm; still, though mystified by the warning, he took it to heart. They would be away from the valley before dawn.
~ * ~
Channa Leigh stood at the window, letting the evening breeze waft across her face, letting its warmth dry her hair. When she went to put on her dress, she was surprised to find her old dress gone and a lovely new one in its place. And even more surprised that it fit as if it had been made for her.
Now, waiting for Darkfest to return, she wondered if the blood of the dragon could indeed restore her sight.
She sensed the wizard’s presence even before he spoke her name. She turned toward the sound of his voice. “My lord?”
“I have conjured a potion made from the dragon’s blood,” he said, entering the room.
A shudder escaped her at the thought of partaking of another creature’s life force. “Is it…does it...taste vile?”
“Nay, beloved. It tastes of peppermint and honey.”
“How can that be?”
“A bit of wizardry,” he replied, and she heard the smile in his voice. “A lovely potion for a lovely maid.”
She flushed, pleased by his flattery.
He closed the distance between them and placed the crystal goblet in her hand. “I am Darkfest,” he intoned. “Master of fire and light. Drink, Channa Leigh, and receive thy sight.”
With hands that trembled, she lifted the goblet to her lips and drank. It did, indeed, taste of peppermint and honey.
Darkfest watched her carefully, his heart pounding with anticipation as she drank the last of the brew.
He took the cup from her hand and set it aside. “Channa Leigh?”
She followed the sound of his voice. “Perhaps it takes a bit of time for the magic to work.”
“Nay. I must have mixed it wrong.” He paced the floor, going over the spell in his mind, and then he shook his head. “No, I did everything that was to be done, as it was meant to be done.”
“My lord…”
“Forgive me, Channa Leigh.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” But he heard the disappointment in her voice. It was like a knife slicing though his heart. He had given her hope, and now that hope was gone.
He paced the floor, muttering to himself, as night flung her cloak across the sky. Channa Leigh slept, her head pillowed on her arm, and still he paced until he felt the breath of the sun warm the land.
In an instant, he recalled the dragon’s warning. Lifting Channa Leigh from the bed, he draped her over his shoulder and bolted out of the castle even as it began to dissolve.
Their horses waited outside. Grabbing the reins, he closed his eyes, a distant part of his mind wondering why Channa Leigh did not wake up.
In desperation, he summoned his power, uncertain of the danger that stalked them. And even as he felt it slither up his spine, he saw it take shape, moving like a long black shadow around the edge of the valley, and everywhere it touched, thorns sprang in its wake. A dull roar filled the air, as if the very earth cried out in pain.
“I am Darkfest,” he shouted, “master of fire and tide. Thou wicked dragon, I summon thee to my side.”
There was a mighty beating of wings, a blast of furnace heat, and Blackencrill descended to stand beside him.
Darkfest glared at the beast. “Foul dragon, ye will take us from this place now, or yer flesh will rot from yer bones.”
The dragon snorted, an oddly delicate sound coming from so large a creature. “I but promised I would not harm ye,” he said. “In return for yer kindness, I warned ye to leave the valley before the sun’s rising.” He glanced at the sky. “I fear ye did not listen.”
Channa Leigh stirred in his arms. “My lord?”
“All is well, beloved,” Darkfest said. “Fear not. The dragon will see us to safety.”
