Chapter 12
Warm spring sunshine beamed on Rylana’s shoulders as Jildarin flew away from the city with her on his back.
Powerful wings flapping, he carried her along one of the rivers that flowed out of the Icefang Mountains.
As they traveled upstream, farms gave way to forests of fir, pine, spruce, and cedar interspersed with deciduous trees, most now fully leafed out for the year.
“Can you see mushrooms from this high above the ground?” Rylana asked as Jildarin tilted his head now and then to better see the forest floor.
A dragon has eyes as keen as those of an eagle and can spot even tiny prey scampering in leaf litter from two miles away, he replied telepathically.
“But can you see a mushroom? They don’t move much, and they’re only prey for fungi lovers, right?”
That is correct. Even though I can see them from far away, the branches make it difficult to do so from above. We will have to find a promising foraging area and land to continue the search.
“Too bad. I enjoy this mode of transportation.” Rylana patted his back.
Dragons are superior to all mechanical conveyances and domesticated beasts of burden.
“I would call that statement arrogant, but I think you’re right.”
You are wise to observe that.
“I won’t mention your superiority in this area to other people, or everyone would be trying to put reins and a saddle on your kind.”
Nobody saddles a dragon.
“It’s a bit dangerous up here without any kind of harness to hang on to.”
I will not allow you to fall.
“I appreciate that. I’m still going to fantasize about a harness. Or maybe if you wore a leather jerkin, that would give a rider something to grip. Do dragons ever wear clothes?”
Though his wingbeats never faltered, Jildarin’s great silver head turned enough for him to deliver a baleful gaze.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m being practical. A leather jerkin would be like an extra layer of armor for you. It could be beneficial to all.”
Dragons do not need extra armor. Our scales are hard and difficult for enemies to breach.
“They’re also slick and hard to hold on to.”
Sleek, perhaps. Slickness would denote a fungal disease and overall poor health.
“Nobody wants a fungal dragon.”
Correct.
“Speaking of fungi…” Careful to keep her balance on his back—he seemed to be enjoying stretching his wings and sashaying about as much as he was searching—Rylana slid her pack off her shoulders. She eased out the book she’d brought on foraging for local edibles.
That morning, she’d visited the library as soon as it opened and borrowed it.
Now, they were between the breakfast and lunch services at the diner, Jildarin having left instructions on warming or grilling the sandwiches he’d prepared in case he didn’t return in time.
Rylana hoped they did make it back for lunch because her mouth had started watering when he’d mentioned the offerings.
The roast beef, egg salad, and smoked eel sandwiches would be good, but she’d been especially interested in trying the cheese, apple, and fig jam sandwiches he’d prepared, vegetarian offerings for the elves who’d arrived early and were working on the rooftop terrace, as Plant Master Chalora had dubbed it.
That sounded fancier than referring to it as a simple outdoor seating area.
Neither Jildarin nor Rylana had mentioned the landlord’s threat of eviction when the workers had shown up.
Now that Rylana knew who was behind that threat, she hoped she could resolve it.
Her father was stubborn, but, surely, she could talk him out of trying to have her business booted from its home.
What she would have to agree to in return, she didn’t know, and she dreaded her conversation with him.
“Morels,” she read from the chapter on mushrooms, the wind whipping at the pages, “might be spied around the bases of dead or dying elms, cottonwoods, pines, and firs, especially in disturbed environments, such as an area that suffered a burn or riverbanks where flood debris has accumulated.”
What about enchanted morels? Jildarin tilted his wings and angled for a grassy bank with enough room for landing.
“They’re not mentioned in this book, but I would guess they prefer similar environments.”
In nature, magical plants and fungi often grow near other magical objects, such as deposits of mithril ore, phosphorescent crystals, and caves and nesting areas for inherently magical beings that emanate power.
“Like the presence of dragons causing those special spices to grow in their caves?”
Precisely so.
“Have you ever made a morel grow with your emanations?”
I am unaware of them germinating in dragon caves.
“Maybe your kind should spend more time snuggled up to dead elms and cottonwoods instead of rock formations.”
Usually, dragons have no interest in enchanted morels and do not seek to encourage their growth.
“I suppose it takes a special dragon to want to cook magical mushrooms for an elf queen.”
A unique one, certainly. As Jildarin alighted in dewy grass overlooking a section of the river flowing over rocks and half-submerged logs, he added, Queen Fareesa and the other elven leaders were agreeable allies during the war.
They respected dragons, treated our kind well, and did not argue overmuch with our leaders.
Throughout history, some of the other elven rulers have been more prickly and contentious.
Long ago, elves even presumed to hunt dragons with their magical bows.
Rylana slid off his back. “Is that your way of saying you’d prefer it if Queen Fareesa’s rivals didn’t take over the throne? You prefer elves from her bloodline?”
Those who troubled dragons have long since passed, but I recognized the name of the family of which she spoke.
“The Shaldonas, wasn’t it? Were they bad allies?”
Their ancestors were. Jildarin huffed with displeasure, and a tendril of smoke wafted up from his nostrils.
“Are you thinking of torching some of the forest to ensure morels will have a proper environment from which to sprout next year?” Rylana asked.
I am thinking of recalcitrant enemies.
“That’ll give you indigestion. Think happy foraging thoughts instead.”
Before you go… Jildarin said.
Rylana had been about to head off to hunt for mushrooms but paused to gaze into his large emerald eyes.
When he was in his other form, his pupils appeared round and normal for a human.
In this form, they were slitted and more reptilian, but the rich color remained the same, and they were warmer—or at least seemed so to her—than those of other dragons she’d seen.
They were not the alien eyes of a predator.
“Yes?” Rylana prompted when he didn’t continue.
Last night, at the back of the park…
“Yes?” she asked again quietly.
When they’d returned from the enclave, he hadn’t brought up their kiss or the meandering conversation that had led up to it.
She’d been tempted to do so, because it had been significant to her—and she’d enjoyed it very much—but he’d gone into his lair, assumed his dragon form, and hadn’t appeared to be in the mood for chitchat.
That had led her to believe he might have regrets, and wariness crept into her as she waited for him to continue.
I believe the alcoholic beverage that I consumed affected the way my mind worked. What I spoke of and did… Well, even if I said things that were true, I then acted on a strange impulse that, surely, only came over me due to the inebriation. I believe the lip pressing…
“Was a mistake?” Rylana offered even if she didn’t want to believe it had been.
Yes. It was a mistake. I do not wish to give my mother more reason to target you and believe you are a distraction. I will not imbibe alcohol again in your presence.
“All right,” Rylana said sturdily, telling herself she wasn’t disappointed. After all, she’d suspected he might feel that way. “We’ll put it on the list of things to be avoided when we’re together. Right under dragon spices.”
Perhaps above.
“You were affected that much, huh?”
I believe my kind have more tolerance for dragon spices than alcohol.
“All right,” she said again. “Let me see if I can find some mushrooms.”
Rylana forced a smile for him before heading into the woods and peering about as the dewy undergrowth dampened her trousers.
Too bad she didn’t have more experience with mushroom hunting.
She carried the book with her so she could refer to it.
It held diagrams of morels, as well as thorough text descriptions to help one identify the correct species while avoiding lookalike mushrooms that were poisonous.
If she found what she believed were enchanted morels, she would get an expert to confirm the find before setting them on Jildarin’s cutting board.
I will use my power in an attempt to sense the faint magical signature that the mushrooms will have. Back on the bank, Jildarin settled to his belly, tail drooping over the edge as he rested his jaw in the grass, his eyes closing.
“That looks more like taking a nap.”
I am relaxing my other senses to focus on my ability to detect magic.
“All right, but if I hear snoring, I’m going to put a harness on you while you’re sleeping.” Rylana clambered over logs and checked unhealthy-looking cottonwoods as she teased Jildarin.
Should you attempt to do so, you will find yourself walking back to the city.
“If I find your mushrooms, you’ll have to give me a ride back.”
I’ll have to give the mushrooms a ride back.
“You’ll need me to hold them. Dragons don’t have pockets. Now, if you deigned to wear a leather jerkin, we could incorporate some pockets into it. Or maybe we could have some saddlebags made for you. The gnome at that dress shop was handy with a needle.”
It is perhaps strange that I do not mind your company.