Sorcha's Heart Read online

  Sorcha’s Heart

  Debbie Mumford

  Includes a sneak peak of

  Dragons' Choice

  A Sorcha's Children Novel by Debbie Mumford

  Electronic edition published by WDM Publishing. Copyright © 2011 by Debbie Mumford.

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction, in whole or in part in any form. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  For more about WDM Publishing, please visit our web site at http://wdmpublishing.com/

  Dedication:

  For Bill --

  Thank you for your encouragement and unfailing love. You believed I could write this tale, and I rose to the occasion.

  Sorcha's Heart

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: The Heart of Fire

  Chapter 2: Transformation

  Chapter 3: The Ice Aerie

  Chapter 4: Preparation

  Chapter 5: The Bonding

  Chapter 6: The Clutch

  Chapter 7: Destiny

  Chapter 8: Ambassador of Peace

  Chapter 9: Transforming Destiny

  Epilogue

  Sorcha's Heart

  Chapter One

  The Heart of Fire

  Sorcha knotted her fists so tightly her knuckles whitened. She glared at her mother across the rough oak worktable. “When are you going to acknowledge me as a fully capable wizard? I’m not an apprentice anymore. I don’t need your permission to seek the Heart of Fire.”

  “Fine,” Elspeth shot back, “but I’m warning you this is a mistake. The Heart of Fire is dangerous.” The small, compact woman stretched to reach the braid of garlic hanging from the beam above her head, yanked a bulb loose and tossed it to her daughter.

  “So is this war!” Sorcha caught the bulb by reflex, slammed it on the table and separated out three cloves for the strengthening potion. Her gaze never left her mother. “Don’t you realize how powerful dragons are? If Leofric continues on his present course, he’ll push them too far. They’ll wipe us off the face of the earth.”

  Fear flashed across Elspeth’s face, and Sorcha knew that her mother agreed; the King’s recent aggressive actions could have serious repercussions.

  Sorcha’s mood softened. She picked up her paring knife and began to chop the cloves, pondering the enigma of the woman who had given her not only life, but a heritage of magic. Because of that heritage, strangers often assumed they were sisters rather than mother and child. Elspeth’s long, dark hair sported only an occasional strand of gray. Trim, active, healthy. These words described both her and her mother. Neither of them possessed the lush curves so desired by other women at court, but neither really noted the lack, being too concerned with the practice of magic to worry about attracting the opposite sex.

  Elspeth’s bright green eyes glowed with fervent belief and wily intelligence. Sorcha shared her mother’s fervency and intelligence, but not her eyes. She had inherited her unknown father’s eyes; deep blue, with an exotic slant that engendered frequent comparisons to cats’ eyes.

  “Yes. I do understand,” Elspeth said with calm assurance, “and I’m trying to convince Leofric how dangerous his present policy is.”

  Sorcha opened her mouth to push home her advantage, but Elspeth held up a slim hand to stem the flow of words.

  “But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to sacrifice my only child.” She leaned forward, eyes wide, pleading and vulnerable. “Leave the Heart of Fire alone. It might end this war, but at what cost? Sorcha, you have no idea what that amulet will require as payment for its power.”

  A shiver ran down Sorcha’s spine and she made a reflexive warding sign as she wiped her hands on the tattered hem of her potion-making apron.

  *~*~*

  The quiet waters of the isolated lagoon unnerved Sorcha. She knew a distant barrier reef protected the soft sand from the harsh pounding of the tide’s ebb and flow, but she longed for the accustomed roar of surf—and home. The skirt of her simple shift and tunic tugged damply at her ankles as she prowled the water’s edge. Her eyes darted warily from the aspen thickets that climbed the hill to the north, to the open path winding southward among the dunes covered in beach grass. She might have been the only living creature on the earth.

  As much to reassure herself of her own existence as for something to do, she bent to stare into the unnaturally still water. A cool breeze tickled her nose with the scent of seaweed, and tugged a few wayward hairs from her tightly woven braid as she gazed at her reflection in the sparse predawn light.

  Tension mounted as she waited for the perfect moment. Unable to remain still, she straightened, searching the sky’s melting darkness. Only fading stars and dawn’s awakening color met her restless gaze.

  She must complete her quest, must recover the Heart of Fire. Humanity’s existence depended on her success.

  The warning, when it came, took the form of tingling skin as all the tiny hairs from neck to wrists rose in unison. The dragon soared into sight above the aspen covered hill, and Sorcha fought the instinct to run. Instead, she stood her ground and watched him land at the edge of the lagoon. Gods and goddesses, he was longer than the house she shared with her mother! He had to measure thirty feet from his deadly looking teeth to the triangular tail-tip that splashed the lagoon’s still water. He folded leathery wings flat against glistening black scales, and turned his massive head, piercing her with a fiery gaze.

  “Greetings, little wizard,” he said, his rough voice conjuring wind-swept crags and the barren isolation of frozen wastes. “It seems the Heart of Fire requires more than one witness to its rebirth.”

  “Y-you know about the Heart of Fire?” she stammered. Her heart thundered, causing the pulse in her temple to throb and her ears to ring. She fought to calm herself, to retain the razor- edge of her intellect as she confronted her hereditary enemy. Human versus dragon; their skirmishes consumed her homeland, and now that King Leofric had initiated a more aggressive policy for his knights, she feared humanity’s annihilation.

  The dragon’s huge maw twisted in what she hoped was a smile. “Of course, little wizard. Who do you think forged the medallion? Human wizards could not bend the stone’s power to their will long enough to contain it in a prison of gold.” He snorted at the thought and ejected a thin finger of flame. “Only a flight of dragons could create the Heart of Fire.”

  “If wizards are so weak,” she said, standing tall, chin high in defiance, “why has it called me to bring it to light?” Understanding dawned, and she continued recklessly, ignoring the lingering smell of sulfur, “You are here to witness what I’ve been called to do!”

  The dragon lowered his head and studied her closely. “Well spoken, little wizard.” He paused, blinked, lower lid rising to cover his slit-pupiled, red eye. “What is your name?”

  Sorcha swallowed hard and tried to ignore the fear that knotted her stomach. “I will not trade names with a dragon. Now stand aside. I have work to complete.”

  He jerked his head back and unfurled his wings. The brightening sky vanished behind a curtain of shadow.

  “You dare insult me? Order me like a common dog?” His words thundered, rending the morning’s soft peace. “I could devour you in a single bite!”

  Though her legs wobbled and threatened to collapse, Sorcha stood her ground. She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering, and prayed she wouldn’t squeak when she found her voice.

  “But you won’t,” she said, amazed at the coolness of her tone. “The stone called me to find it. You need me. If you didn’t, I’d already be dragon fod
der.”

  The massive beast refolded his wings and the returning light warmed Sorcha’s taut face. He shuffled his four huge clawed feet and settled himself on the lagoon’s sandy beach.

  “Very well,” he said. “Call the stone. I’ll not hinder your efforts.” He laid his huge head upon his front feet, reminding Sorcha of her mother’s sleek black tomcat.

  She clung to her mother’s image; Elspeth wouldn’t let a dragon destroy her hard-earned competence. Sorcha’s heart rate slowed and the pounding in her temple subsided as she focused on her mother’s teaching. Concentrating on the runes she’d recently discovered and taken such pains to memorize, she turned to face a large rock that broke the water’s surface a short distance from shore. She removed her leather boots, tossed them into the stiff beach grass, and stepped forward into the water, placing her bare feet in firm contact with the threshold between land and sea.

  She lifted her hands in supplication and chanted the runes, giving voice to long dead syllables of an incantation ancient before her kingdom sprang to life. Behind her, she felt, as much as heard, the dragon’s low rumble as he hummed a counterpoint to her invocation.

  The runes of summoning wove the triune threshold (not sea—not land; not day—not night; not dragon—not human) into a knife with which to rend the fabric of time and space. The water surrounding the rock sizzled and vaporized as the granite glowed red, turned to lava and flowed away to congeal on the lagoon’s floor. A blue-green sphere remained, hovered above the steaming mass for a moment, and then flew to Sorcha’s outstretched hands.

  A cool mist of salt water kissed her fingers before the sphere evaporated and the medallion fell into her palm. Gold filigree encircled a fire opal the size of her fist. The whole dangled from an extremely long, finely wrought, gold-link chain.

  Elation overwhelmed her and she whooped with joy, squeezing the medallion to her chest. The Heart of Fire pulsed in her hand. She felt the raw power straining to be free, to escape the control of the sigil-worked gold filigree setting. She had done it! Despite her mother’s dire warnings...

  “Well done, little wizard,” growled a whirlwind of sound. “Now give the stone to me.”

  Gods and goddesses, she’d forgotten the dragon! Sorcha whirled to face her adversary, agile mind searching for avenues of escape.

  “The stone? Oh, well,” she said, desperate to buy time. She’d think of something. She had to think of something! “I don’t think so. I mean, I can’t just hand over this much power.” Her voice rose to an undignified pitch. “You could decimate my people!”

  His laughter, a landslide of pebbles skittering down a slope of shale, jeered at her. “You don’t have a choice. I needed you to bring the medallion out of hiding, but now that task is finished.”

  He rose above her, a mountain of muscle, black and menacing. In sheer defiance, Sorcha lifted the Heart of Fire and dropped its chain around her neck. The medallion thudded against her left thigh—and she knew she’d solved nothing. The dragon would slice her in two with one swipe of his claw and pull the opal from her quivering flesh.

  “No!” The cry thundered across the lagoon, lashing Sorcha’s mind with echoes of utter wretchedness. Her vision darkened and she wondered who had screamed; it had sounded more human than draconic.

  Waves of pain rolled over her, tumbling her body against an unaccountably hard surface. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, didn’t understand what was happening. Air. Her lungs seared with a desperate need for air. She clawed her way to rational thought, forced her chest to expand, and gasped lungfuls of sweet, moist air into her tortured body.

  She lay heaving and panting on the beach. The familiar scents of salt and seaweed, far from comforting her, inspired a violent urge to retch. She concentrated on quelling her unhappy stomach and attempted to lift her head. Pain swamped her mind and she desisted. Keeping her eyes tightly shut, she dug her claws into the damp sand, and willed her body to relax.

  “Rest, little one. I am here.” The dragon’s voice, a soft rumble of distant thunder, comforted her. She wondered why, but before she could think of an answer, exhaustion conquered her anguished body and she slept.

  Chapter Two

  Transformation

  Pain accompanied Sorcha’s return to consciousness. Muscles she didn’t know she possessed screamed their displeasure. Sand grated against the soft skin of cheek and neck, urging her to rise, but lethargy kept her grounded. The slightest movement caused a cascade of agony throughout her system. She’d never been beaten, but she couldn’t imagine that a victim of mob violence would ache more than she did. She should open her eyes and orient herself in time and space, but the task felt too strenuous to attempt. She’d find a less active way to gather information.

  Allowing her eyes to remain safely closed, Sorcha turned her attention from her body’s tortured protests to the world surrounding her. She heard the roar of distant breakers and the soft susurrus of the breeze on the lagoon’s sheltered beach. Yes, the lagoon, the beach. That explained the sand under her cheek. Above those soothing natural sounds, she heard an insistent thrumming, the deepened and magnified purring of a thousand cats. The dragon maintained his vigil.

  Gods and goddesses, the dragon!

  She focused her attention on her enemy’s terrifying presence and discovered a strand of unknown power brushing the edge of her mind. Cat-like, it twisted and slipped away when she tried to grab it, but came willingly when she quieted her mind and ignored it. The connection it formed expanded her mind, altering its landscape forever.

  Dragons whispered through this tunnel. She heard them—and understood. What’s more, she felt their pain and embarrassment as her thoughts exploded into the conversational stream.

  “Softly, little one,” Caedyrn whispered. “Restrain yourself.”

  Sorcha pulled back, away from the vile, alien presence. She huddled on the sand, feeling violated beyond her ability to endure. Her body ached in a thousand places, and her mind... The sanctity of her mind had been breached. Her thoughts were no longer her own. An alien species, hostile and unknown, prowled in the depths. She couldn’t live this way.

  She wouldn’t live this way!

  With grim determination, Sorcha put aside her fear and confusion and searched her memory for an appropriate spell. An incantation bubbled to the surface of her mind and she tested its suitability for ousting the alien presence. She’d never attempted a working of this magnitude on herself before. Yes, she’d healed minor cuts and abrasions, but this problem required an application of magic she’d never studied. No matter; she had no choice.

  “Perhaps you were right, Mother,” she thought, examining each element of the spell one more time. “The price may have been too high, especially if I don’t live to use the Heart of Fire.” She sought her well of magic, always so comforting in its accessibility.

  “No!” Caedyrn cried, distress tingeing his thoughts. “You must not use human magic against the flight.” His thoughts echoed through every recess of her mind. “You’ll destroy yourself and the Heart of Fire with you!”

  She struggled to shield her thoughts from this unwelcome intruder, but a new terror sapped her remaining strength and caused her to ignore the dragon’s presence—she couldn’t touch her reserve of power! She could feel it, resting languidly just below the surface of her mind, but she couldn’t reach it. Never before had her magic failed her, not since its awakening in early childhood. She retreated to a corner of her mind to search for nonexistent options.

  The dragon called to her, quietly, soothingly. “You’ve nothing to fear,” he crooned, directing her attention to the bright, pulsing strand that warmed the edges of her mind. “You’re linked to the flight now. Push right there to broadcast to our species as a whole. Pull back here and touch an individual, or blank out all intrusions like this, for privacy and peaceful meditation.”

  When he finished, he nudged her toward the strand. “Try, little one,” he cajoled. “I’ll withdraw. Call me back.”


  Sorcha, bereft of her gift and unable to think of another option, gingerly checked the limits of her mind. The connection pulsed with eager vibration, but it awaited her touch. She exhaled a long groaning sigh, savored the privacy she’d always assumed inviolate, and remembered the overtone of concern she’d detected in Caedyrn’s thoughts.

  Could the dragon be worried about her? Ridiculous. If she’d detected concern, it had been for the Heart of Fire, not for her. Still, he offered assistance that she sorely needed.

  “Caedyrn?”

  The link responded to her tentative touch. His presence bloomed in her mind; calm, reassuring, protective.

  “I am here, little one.”

  “How do I know your name?” Her mind-voice felt brittle, fragile as the sea-mist bubble that had surrounded the Heart of Fire.

  “I sang it into the link as you slept. Your courage demanded my respect.”

  “Courage? I don’t understand.”

  His mind-voice rang through her very soul. “Open your eyes, little one. Raise your head and accept your destiny.”

  Caedyrn’s words bewildered and annoyed Sorcha. What did this dragon know about her, or her destiny? She tried to push her annoyance away; clear thinking was required. Everything had changed. Her adversary seemed to admire her and now offered support. She needed to throw off her lassitude, face the physical pain and discover what had transformed her enemy into a would- be guardian.

  Consciously holding her pain in check, Sorcha opened her eyes. The world looked wrong. Details too distant for human sight snapped into focus, while items close by dissolved in red haze. She lifted her head and swung it around, searching for Caedyrn. Her first glimpse of him wavered in that bloody fog, then her head came into alignment and his features snapped into precise focus. She wanted to shake her head. Instead, she blinked several times in rapid succession. Halfway through pushing herself up—hands planted in the sand, head oriented on Caedyrn—she froze. Information assailed her: focused sight required her snout be pointed forward; her lower lid flew up when she blinked; claws flexed in the sand at the end of her arms...