Excerpt from Dragons Gather

I still write on Dragons Gather sometimes. Eventually I will have it finished. Here's an excerpt from it. Our hero has discovered that a woman to whom he is attracted is indirectly responsible for the deaths of an entire village.
      
From Dragons Gather

Ireached the camp, my pulse pounding in my head. Feathen was mending a harness and waved to me. I ignored him. Kassler watched from his wagon. Maladora was not in the women's wagon, but Shellia was.
      Shellia looked at me and gasped. "What’s happened?"
      "Where is she?" I snapped.
      "I … she … Stefean, you need--"
      "WHERE IS SHE?" I yelled, stepping toward Shellia.
      She stumbled back. "She went for a walk. Toward the river. You must listen to me!"
      But I was already heading into the forest. The path to the river was easy to follow even in my state. I saw a glimpse of her gown through the brush. I strode to her, my anger overcoming fear. She was sipping a cup of mulled wine as she walked under the oak trees. She smiled at me at first and then frowned as she registered the state I was in.
      "What’s wrong?" she asked.
      “I was in a tavern, my lady,” I said, breathing like I was in a race. “You hear such interesting things in a tavern. Rumors, stories, truths, you hear everything.” I placed a hand on a tree to steady myself.
      “Stefean, what’s wrong?” she said, taking a step toward me.
      “Duntann,” I choked out. “They killed everyone.”
      “What?” she whispered.
      “They. Killed. Everyone!" I ground out.
      “Oh, gods, no,” she whispered.
      “They died because a wizardling was killed there,” I said. “I killed him. I killed him because you used your witchery on me!”
      She was silent.
      “Yes, I know,” I rasped. “I know you are a mind witch. I know what you did in Duntann. I’ve known all along.”
      “Stefean.” But she did not continue.
      “What will you do now, my lady witch?” I asked harshly. “Will you take my memory? If so, then hurry because I do not want to remember this!”
      “It’s ... it’s not your fault,” she said.
      “Then it must be yours!” I hurled my accusation at her.
      “No, no, it’s not our fault,” she said. “The Dreadmen--”
      “They crucified the villagers,” I said. “They hung them upside down on trees and left them to die. Then they burned the fields and forests. Galekarn decided to make an example of them. They murdered everyone to the last man, woman, and child.” I pointed at her. “You killed them.”
      “The Dreadmen killed them,” she said unsteadily. “I am not responsible for their actions.”
      "A pretty argument, my lady," I mocked. “Should we have a soothsayer hold a séance and let you communicate that to the shades of the dead? I wonder how they would feel about it.”
      She threw her cup at me and missed. “What do you want of me?” she yelled. “To feel guilt? I do. To be a slave again? I will never do that!” She brought up a fist. “They held me. They crushed me. It isn’t my fault I was a slave!”
      “You made me kill!” I shouted.
      “It was already in you!” she shouted back. “It was in all of them. All that hate and fear. I could feel it. So much hate and fear. I only released it.”
      "Is that your justification? My gods, those people would have never acted on those feelings. I would have never acted on them. You used your power on me. On those poor, dead villagers. On Shellia--"
      “No, not her,” Maladora cut in. “Shellia helped me willingly. You don’t know her. You don’t know what is in her heart. You don’t know what she believes--"
      “And you do?!” I yelled. “And knowing her heart”--I spat the word--“gives you the right to risk her life? Do you know what the Dreadmen will do to her if they catch us? Do you?”
      Her voice was small. “Yes, I do.” She looked at the ground. “I do.”
      I stopped, horribly aware of how much I didn’t know of her life, of what she had endured as a slave to the wizard. In the quiet, I felt ashamed. My anger faded away. I watched her lovely, still hands. Her hair glinted in the sunlight.
      “If there had been any other way …” she said softly. “I had waited so long for a chance. I took it. I didn’t think … I didn’t want anyone to be hurt. I was afraid of returning to the capital. This was my only chance. The other mind adepts were becoming suspicious of me. I was afraid I would lose the little freedom I had.” Tears ran down her face. “But I did not want others to be hurt. I was only trying to escape. That’s all. I didn’t think they would all be killed. I would have died myself before I would have let that happen, but I didn’t know.” She collapsed to her knees. She wept silently as I stood there.
      “I’m sorry.” I said finally. “You couldn’t have known.”
      I stepped toward her. I couldn’t catch my breath.
      Her emerald eyes met mine.
      I grabbed her arms and raised her up. My world narrowed to her face. The world faded into silence.
      Her eyes were wide and fearful and full of longing. “If you kiss me, how will you know if it is what you want or what I want?” she whispered.
      “My lady,” I said deliberately, “I don’t care.”
      I kissed her cold lips. She was shaking. She pulled away and lowered her head.
      “I will stop if you want me to stop,” I said softly. “Only you must tell me to stop.”
      She lifted her tear-stained face up to me. “Kiss me,” she whispered.
      I kissed her gently and then with more urgency, matched by her own. We fell against each other, hungry, savage. Her mind reached out to mine. I nearly pulled away, but her touch was gentle, an invitation. I gave myself over to it. We were lost together, sharing each other’s pleasure and pain, loss and hope.
      When it was over, we huddled together on the ground on the imperfect bed of our clothes. She held my hand over her breast. I nuzzled in her hair. I was content, but I wanted more of her. I would never have my fill of her. A doubt surfaced. Was she using her witchery on me? Was this passion real? I considered the thought, turning it around to examine its sides, and then I put it down and never took it back up.

Copyright 2010 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved.