The Dragon Healer

Dedication

This one is for the readers who have stood by me for so long, always asking for more dragons! I’m truly honored each and every time someone comes up to me at a conference or writes to me about my books. I couldn’t continue to write these stories of my heart without you. Thank you all!

And as always, I dedicate my work to my family, who supported me through several career changes. This last one was a doozy, but they never lost faith in me. I love you, guys!

Chapter One

Silla was a healer. Not the magical kind from fairy stories, but an accomplished apothecary who had trained at the High Temple of Our Lady of Light for many years before being sent out on her journeyman adventure. All healers of the Temple were sent out among the people of various lands for years at a time, to apply their skills in a real world setting. Only after a decade—or sometimes more—as a journeyman would they be invited to return to the Temple and awarded the title of Master.

Silla had at least five more years to go as a journeyman, but she didn’t mind. She quite enjoyed traveling the countryside of Draconia, even if she had been given a route on the border with Skithdron. That nation had been causing more trouble of late, and Silla had seen far too many venom burns on people who had been attacked by skiths. Those evil creatures, born of magic during the Wizard Wars centuries ago, were hunters who didn’t discriminate in their prey. Anything that moved was in danger around a skith.

They were huge and snake-like, with gaping maws that spit acidic venom. If the venom didn’t get you, their multiple rows of serrated teeth would, snapping your head off in one fast chomp.

Luckily, skiths mostly stayed to their side of the border. The flat, rocky terrain in Skithdron was more favorable to their kind. The green, forested mountains of the Draconian border seldom saw a skith incursion—unless they were deliberately herded in that direction. It had been done during the Wizard Wars and a few times since then, but Silla had not been here then.

This new incursion was bad enough that the Draconian King had ordered the creation of a new Lair where fighting dragons and knights would live, train and protect the border. It seemed the skiths’ only natural enemies were dragons. Those magical, flying creatures who could breathe fire could also—she had heard—fry a skith in its tracks. It wasn’t easy, but they could do it.

Bayberry Heath was one of the small towns on Silla’s route. It lay in a protected valley that was as idyllic as it was serene. The town flourished and had a lovely inn as well as several other businesses and shops. Silla always looked forward to the part of her circuit that would bring her to Bayberry Heath, and as she crested the final hill and looked down at the fertile valley, she felt a sense of joy that seldom came to her.

“See that, Hero?” She talked to her horse as if he could actually understand what she said. “We’ll sleep well tonight. A bed at the inn for me and a nice stall full of fresh hay for you.”

The horse snorted and plodded onward. Perhaps she only imagined that he stepped up his pace when he saw the village in the distance…or perhaps not. She’d come to respect animals and their senses much more since she’d been on the road. The animals of the forest always knew when danger was near or a storm was imminent. By learning to read their signs, she had learned how to protect herself as well.

Her horse, Hero, was old but sturdy, and they’d made a good partnership these past few years. Of course, the Temple had sent her out with little more than the clothes on her back. Part of being a journeyman was learning how to be resourceful. She had earned Hero by healing a wealthy man’s wife after a dangerous childbirth. Both the child and the mother had thrived under her care and the man had been so grateful, he’d given her the horse in payment. Silla had wanted to turn him down, but she was frankly tired of all that walking between her assigned villages and farms.

A few months later, another grateful town had given her the cart after she diagnosed the reason behind an outbreak of stomach sickness. The local well had been infested with a particular kind of snail that polluted the water in such a way as to make it seem fine, but sent everyone running for the privy a few hours after drinking. Such a thing could kill the old and the young, but luckily the levels of pollution hadn’t reached that critical stage before she had discovered the problem.

Again, she had tried to refuse the cart, but with it, she could make her rounds much faster. That argument, made by one of the villagers, had finally won her over. The headman of the village had spent a few days teaching Hero and Silla how to handle the cart and then they were off to the next village on their rounds.

Silla had soon discovered that the cart made an excellent bed for those nights when she could not find better shelter. She traded for some cloth in the next village and made a pallet of sorts by stuffing the sewn cloth with soft plant fibers and herbs. The herbs kept the summer bugs at bay and made a lovely, fragrant place for her to rest after a long day on the road.

The cart was more than big enough for her and her few things. A short time later, she decided she had space for other wares that she could trade in the villages for better meals and the occasional night at an inn. Silla made many kinds of medicinal potions and even potted a few rare and useful plants that she could barter or give to her patients when needed. Over the past few years, she’d built up a very nice apothecary shop from which the residents of each village could obtain herbal preparations made by an expert hand or even the plants from which they could make their own remedies, depending on the season. But she never charged for medicines or plants when her patients truly needed them. That was the creed by which her Temple lived. Still, she was able to make a few coins from those who were not ailing and traded more often than not for foodstuffs and other items that would help her do her job in more comfort.

Her route overlapped with another, more senior member of her Temple now and again. He would check on her progress in person, in addition to the written reports she sent back every season to the main Temple. Someone there kept track of the spread of illnesses based on journeymen reports and also kept an eye on the journeymen themselves. The accumulation of wealth was not encouraged. Their order was to live simply, but those who were industrious in bringing remedies to the people along their routes even before the medicines were needed were often rewarded with higher positions in the Temple when they returned to become Masters.

Silla was about halfway there now. According to the older healer she’d spent a companionable afternoon with a fortnight ago, she was progressing well. Another five years or so, and she’d be able to return to the Temple with her head held high.

She almost regretted the fact that she’d have to go back. Silla had found that she enjoyed the freedom to travel where she willed. Actually being at the Temple was much more restrictive. Of course, it was better than what her life had been before.

As dusk settled over the valley of Bayberry Heath, Silla topped the last small rise that led down into the village. The innkeeper was already lighting his lanterns to welcome strangers in the night. She could see the little dot of flame dance and bounce as he walked along the gate, lighting the two lanterns on either side of the entrance to his yard that would burn through the night to welcome weary travelers.

It was a sight for sore eyes. And this time, she didn’t have to imagine Hero’s pace picking up as he probably scented other horses in the stable not too far away. A few more minutes and they’d be there in time for a nice dinner of fresh fodder for Hero and good, hot food she didn’t have to prepare for herself. She could almost taste the inn’s savory stew. She closed her eyes for just a moment, imagining how good it was going to taste.

Suddenly, an inhuman bellow of unmistakable pain shattered the night. Silla’s eyes flew open as she searched for the source of the sound. It had come from up ahead and frightened Hero into a near standstill.

She got him going again, even as she searched the night for whatever had made that tone of pure anguish. If there was any way she could help, she would, but she had no idea what kind of creature could have made such a noise. It wasn’t any of the domesticated animals she knew. She’d been called upon to heal a cow or horse more than once and hadn’t minded in the least. Her skills were for all things living—person, animal or plant.

Hero balked only once more as they entered the inn yard, and his reasons became clear at once. Next to the inn, on the side away from the horse stables, was an open area filled with sand that Silla had seen before but never questioned. Now she understood why it was there. It was an area set aside for dragons. There was one there now.

It was the dragon that had howled in pain as a big man poured bucket after bucket of water on what looked like deep, acidic burns around the joint where wing met body. Silla winced in sympathy as the creature writhed in pain. Smoke puffed out of his nostrils, but he seemed to be making an effort to contain his agony as the man scurried with the help of what looked to be every able-bodied person from the village.

The innkeeper saw her and came right over, grabbing on to Hero’s halter.

“Thank the Mother of All you’ve come, Healer Silla. If ever there was a need for your medicines, it is now. Can you help yon dragon? We would all count it as a favor. He went down protecting us from a rogue skith and is badly burned.”

Silla jumped down from her cart and grabbed her satchel. “I will see what I can do. Will you take Hero to the stables? Leave the cart in easy reach. There are some plants in back that I may need for the dragon’s treatment, if his knight will allow.”

“Sure thing, mistress. And thank ye.” The innkeeper took charge of her horse and cart while Silla approached the dragon and all the people trying to help him.

Sir Broderick was at his wit’s end, trying to help his dragon partner, Phelan, his best friend in all the world. They had been in tight spaces before, but never had Phelan been so injured or in such pain.

They’d fought skiths before and come out unharmed. It had been a lucky—or rather,
un
lucky—shot that had taken Phelan down this time. Thankfully, the good people of Bayberry Heath had been willing to help, getting as much water as they could to bathe the wound free of the terrible acid.

Brodie didn’t know what else to do. They’d poured as much water as they could on the burns, bathing the dragon thoroughly. The acid was diluted enough by now to be harmless, draining away into the sand pit beneath them. But Phelan was still in terrible pain.

The shoulder joint on a dragon was one of his few vulnerable places. The acid had eaten deep into Phelan’s flesh before they’d been able to land and get water on it. Brodie felt anguish at not knowing what to do to help ease Phelan’s pain.

“Sir, I am a journeyman healer from the High Temple of Our Lady of Light. Though I have never treated a dragon before, I offer what help my humble skills may bring to your partner.”

The soft voice at his side distracted Brodie for a moment. He turned and stopped in his tracks. Before him was an angel sent from above, a gorgeous woman in the simple clothes of a healer. The marks of her Temple were clearly visible on her cloak, and Brodie thought he’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

“Mistress, we welcome any help you may give.” Brodie found his voice after a moment of pure shock. “I confess, I don’t know what else to do to ease Phelan’s pain. Please help him.” That last bit came out on a broken whisper, but Brodie couldn’t help it. He had looked back at Phelan while speaking and realized once more he’d never seen his dragon partner in such bad shape. It hurt Brodie to see the great dragon humbled so much.

She started forward even before he’d finished speaking, urgency in her steps, though she approached the dragon carefully. Brodie caught up with her and escorted her to Phelan’s worst injury, that in the bend where wing met body.

The healer had pulled a jar from her satchel and uncapped it. Brodie could smell the scent of healing herbs, and he knew the jar contained something that would halt Phelan’s pain. That ointment would numb anywhere it touched. Brodie had seen and felt its effects before. This woman could help Phelan. Brodie was sure of it.

Rather than slather on the medicine right away, the healer took a moment to examine Phelan’s injury with sure hands. She even bent to smell the wound and used a clean cloth from her pack to dry the area around it as best she could from the dousing the villagers had helped Brodie accomplish.