"You will be trained. Another hand on another hilt," Tus added.

"Yes, good thinking, Tus. In time, you will become what the men believe you to be. This may yet be a great day for our cause," Caya agreed.

Tus remained stern as ever, but Caya showed enough joy for the two of them. Myranda mustered a smile for their sake. Things were spinning out of control. Days ago, she lived a simple life, albeit a restless one. Then she seemed to be at the center of something she knew nothing about, but was apparently of monumental importance. Now she would be the figurehead of a group of renegades who were working toward an end to the war, but through a means that was nearly a match for the atrocity of the battlefield. Her simple life had been tied in knots.

"Enough. There are plans to be made. Our man in the field said that the description the soldiers have been given lists you as a young girl of average height, average build, and an injured right shoulder. Not terribly specific, but we should still try to change as much of it as possible," Caya said.

"Of all of the things on list, might I request we begin with the shoulder?" Myranda said.

"One would assume that time would solve that problem for us," Caya said.

"I am not sure that such will be the case," Myranda said.

She pulled aside her sweat and filth-soaked cloak. The sleeve of her tunic was stained again, and when it was pulled back, the two warriors nodded knowingly.

"You did this two days ago?" Tus asked.

"Yes," Myranda said. "Plus whatever time I spent in that carriage."

"Mmm. Only a few days and the arm is ruined. Nasty. It heals badly. You will lose the arm," Tus said.

The wound had worsened. The whole shoulder was swollen, and red streaks of blighted tissue ran outward from the gash.

"But it was only a piece of wood," she said.

"Worse than a blade. Dirty. Causes . . . well . . . things like this. Not often, but sometimes. Not the lucky sort, are you?" Caya said.

"I've led a less than blessed life," she said with a feeble grin.

"Well, Tus . . . we'll get some food in her and set her up in one of the cots. At sun up we'll send her down to Zeb. We can't have our new mascot crippled," Caya decreed. "I'll draw up the writ and stow the new weapons and armor."

"No," Tus said, not as a refusal, but as a statement.

"What now? No food, no cot?" she asked.

"No Zeb. I put a knife in him," Tus said.

"Not another one, Tus," Caya said with frustration.

"He was speaking to the Blues," Tus said, referring to the Alliance Army.

The blue-tinted armor had been around since the beginning of the war, more than a century ago. Each of the three Northern Kingdoms used a different shade, but all were blue. Before the Kingdoms merged, the only thing that all three forces had in common was the color. Hence the name.

"I had a feeling. Six months of training . . . wasted on a traitor. People join us as spies to try to get themselves some favor with the officers in the army. Death is too good for them. With Zeb down and Rankin a runner, we've got no field healers," Caya lamented.

"Rankin went runner? Scum," Tus declared.

"Runner?" Myranda questioned.

"We pay a local white wizard a hefty price to train healers for us. Every so often one of the apprentices is given the money to pay him and never shows. Runs off with the silver. I tell you, I am beginning to wonder if there are any decent people left in this world. Send out the word. We need a new healer. I doubt we'll get any volunteers. The men and women who join us all want to be the one to draw the blade across the throat of the next general. There is no glory in healing," Caya explained.

"Wait!" Myranda said.

There was the solution, right in front of her. It would keep her off of the battlefield, provide her with a hiding place, and even give her six months of hot meals and soft beds.

"I'll be the new healer! Send me to the wizard!" she eagerly offered.

"You? I . . . I think that just might work," Caya considered. "Right, Tus, food and bed for her. I'll give her the letter of intention to give to Wolloff in the morning. Myranda, you had best get your rest. You have a long walk ahead of you."

"Wonderful! I . . . a long walk?" Myranda asked. "What about the four new horses?"

"Horses are for those who require speed. A sore shoulder can wait, but targets of opportunity open and close like the blink of an eye. Two steps too late and a chance is gone forever. Wolloff's tower is just on the north side of Ravenwood. On this terrain, on foot, I cannot imagine it taking you more than five days. So, eat, rest, and leave. We've much to do," Caya stated.

In a few moments, a clay bowl filled with perhaps the worst porridge Myranda had ever eaten was set before her. When she'd managed to swallow the horrid stuff, a cot and blanket were placed mercifully near to the rekindled fire. She settled stiffly onto the bed, such as it was, and basked in the warmth of the fire. Her body had dealt with such extremes of heat and cold, it was fairly screaming. Cramps twisted her muscles through the whole night. She closed her eyes and an instant later she was awakened by a rough prodding from Tus. The sun had yet to peek over the mountains.

"Food. Eat it slow. It will last," Tus said, tossing her a pack.

She managed to catch it, much to the detriment of the injured shoulder.

"Flint," he said, holding up a second pack. "And tinder. One night, one fire. It will last. Walk close to the mountains. Too close to the roads, the patrols will kill you. Too close to the mountains, other things will kill you."

With that ominous warning, she was sent on her way.

The cottage was not even out of sight when she began to regret not asking for a new cloak. Fortunately, though, it was not nearly so difficult to walk in the forest as it had been in the field. The dense needles of the evergreens held much of the snow, keeping the ground at a manageable depth. Closer to the mountain, the trees were a bit thinner, but a strong and constant wind kept the ground still more manageable. The iciness of the breeze tore at her, but the greater ease of movement made it worth the discomfort. She had been in danger of freezing to death often enough in the past to know that she was in no such danger now--at least, not if she kept moving.

As she walked, she marveled at how much more alive the woods were than the field. The whistling of the wind carried with it the calls of a dozen different animals. She recognized the call of an eagle overhead and the distant howl of a wolf. Tracks speckled the ground here and there. Some were from moose, others from elk. A long line of impressions in the snow gave her the feel of tracks, but were far too large. More likely they were the places where great lumps of wind-blown snow had fallen from the trees.

When the sun was beginning to slip from the sky, she collected some of the fallen tree boughs and moved to the far side of a stand of stout old pines. Carefully she lit the fire where it would not cause the tree-borne snow to melt and rain down over her. She pulled open the pack of food, relieved to find salted meat rather than the coarse and heavy biscuit that, when soaked for a great deal of time in warm water, became the hideous porridge she had choked down the night before. After eating what she judged to be the day's ration, she marveled at the fact that a bedroll had been included with the other things in the pack. The attitude of those that had sent her off gave her the feeling she would be expected to do without.

The night was actually a bit more pleasant than the previous one. The bedroll was a bit softer than the cot and the fire kept her reasonably warm, at least on the side facing it. Wind whipped down off of the mountain constantly, but the trees served as a decent wind break. The morning found her better rested, and she moved even more quickly than the previous day. By sundown of that rather uneventful day, she'd covered easily twice the ground. Night was spent in a similar manner, and just as she drifted off to sleep, she wondered if, perhaps, her luck was changing.

The very instant her eyes opened the following morning, she regretted her thought. The sky was wrong, too dark. Worse yet, the air had the unmistakable feel of coming snow. Her bedroll and tree system would do no good against a blizzard. Myranda thought hard. If she recalled correctly, telltale hollows were scattered along the mountainside. They could only be the mouths of caves. That meant shelter. She quickened her pace and trained her eyes on the mountain. Whole sections of the slope had been swept clean by the wind, and in one such section there was a large, hollow opening. It extended far enough back that its end was shrouded in darkness.

Ice crystals were beginning to sting her face when she reached the mouth of the cave. To escape the powerful wind, she had to make her way much deeper than she had expected. The darkness was complete, save for the bit of light that found its way back from the mouth. She leaned her pack-covered back against the cave wall and slid to a seat. A bit winded from the rush to shelter, each breath burned her lungs with sheer cold. As she slowly recovered, she realized how much warmer the cave was than the outside. She brushed some of the more tenacious ice crystals from her cloak and took a deep breath through her nose. It was not the dank, moldy smell she expected, though there was a hint of it. Instead there was a rich, earthy smell, with a hint of smoke behind it.

"I suppose I am not the first person to shelter in this cave," she said aloud. Only her echoes came as a reply.

Perhaps the cave was so warm because someone had a fire going further inside. For a moment, she considered trying to find whosoever shared the cave, but she decided against it. Partially, she was afraid she might not be welcome, but mostly she was too tired to rouse herself. If the cave had a current resident, her call a moment earlier would summon it. When she heard the sounds movement echoing from beyond her sight, then silence, she decided she was welcome enough to wait out the storm.

She glanced at the mouth of the cave. The wind sounded fairly weak, and the snow had not even whited out the horizon. It wouldn't be long before she could safely continue on her way. Her eyes were just about to turn back to the darkness of the cave when she saw the area just outside the cave mouth darken. She squinted at the odd sight, confused. A strange sound accompanied it, something akin to the rustling of leather. As it grew louder, it was joined by a scratching and thumping noise from within the cave.

The noises were growing at both ends, so much so that she could feel the ground shake with each thump. Confusion turned to fear as the answer became painfully clear. This cave had a resident--but it was not a who, it was a what, and it had a visitor that concerned it more than a simple human. She rose to her feet and broke into a sprint for the mouth of the cave. The uneven floor of the cave slowed her, and before she had gotten halfway to freedom, the first of the beasts appeared.

It was the first she had ever seen of a dragon, and if she hadn't been so terrified, Myranda would have been fascinated. The creature was enormous--from tail to snout it was easily ten paces. At the end of a stout, curving neck was a reptilian head that could effortlessly consume Myranda in little more than a bite. It folded its wings neatly onto its back after touching down thunderously. Wide plates of amber scales armored the underside of the creature from the tip of its chin to the end of its serpentine tail. The rest of the beast was covered with red scales larger than her hands. It crouched on all fours to stalk inside. The forelegs, ending in claws that looked like a bestial mockery of human hands, flexed and moved effortlessly along the rocky floor. The powerful hind legs thrust the massive creature along with a terrible smoothness and grace that seemed out of place for something so large.

Myranda spun around to race back into the depths of the cave, perhaps to find an alcove to hide in. She was met with an equally spine-tingling sight. Emerging from the darkness was a second dragon. It was slightly smaller than the first, with sleeker, more delicate features that led her to believe that this was a female. It was also red with a yellow belly, and stalked fiercely at the intruder. A few steps more and they would clash.

Panicked and cornered, Myranda backed toward the wall, afraid to take her eyes off of the spectacle for even a moment. The hammering of massive footfalls rose to near deafening levels and even the breathing of the creatures added to the thundering din. Perhaps it was the shaking of the floor, its unevenness, or her fear, but somehow at the very moment that the dragons collided she lost her footing. A sharp pain in the back of her head dizzied her, and she fell to the ground. She managed to keep the awesome clash in her vision for the last few moments of consciousness.

Hours passed before her wits slowly returned to her. She became aware of a throbbing in her head and a heaviness on her chest. It must have been well into the afternoon, as the mouth of the cave was shrouded in shadow, leaving Myranda in near blackness. She tried to raise her left arm, but found it pinned down somehow. A brief attempt to use her right arm reminded her quite forcefully of its malady. She managed to wrestle her arm out from beneath whatever had held it down. Her first act was to feel the back of her throbbing head.

Satisfied when she felt no blood, only a nasty lump, she turned her one useful arm to the task of identifying the cause of the heaviness on her chest. Whatever it was, it was smooth and hard, like a stone or piece of wood. It was also large. As large as her thigh, and roughly the same shape. Had a piece of the roof fallen? No, it was not as heavy as a like-sized piece of stone. The surface of the object was covered with small, overlapping areas. As she ran her fingers over it, giving special attention to a raised, rougher area, she felt the entire object shift. It pressed toward her fingers, then dropped back down heavily. The movement concluded with a soft puff of warm air across her face.

Myranda held her breath as her heart raced. Now she remembered where she was. She was in a dragon's cave, and that left very little doubt as to what had laid its head upon her chest. Despite her best efforts, she began to tremble in fear. The creature seemed not to mind, the deep, rhythmic breaths on her face leading her to believe it had drifted back to sleep.

With her one healthy arm, Myranda set about the task of escaping her predicament. She slid her hand underneath the head, finding it mercifully light enough to lift. Slowly and smoothly as she could manage, she tried to lower the beast's head to the cave floor beside her. After an interminable sequence of awkward movements, she succeeded in doing so without waking it. She rolled off of the packs, still affixed to her back, and slammed down hard on the injured shoulder. The pain was intense, but she managed to remain silent. Another few tricky movements brought her to her feet, heart still pounding in her chest.

Myranda cast a glance at the spot next to where she'd been lying, only to find that the weak rays of sun that made it this far into the cave were falling on an empty floor. Her panicked search for the creature was ended when she felt something rub against her right hand. She was startled, pulling her hand away and looking desperately for the culprit. There beside her, sitting on its haunches, was a small dragon, staring back at her. Myranda froze. This creature was barely a fifth the size of the ones she'd seen earlier, perhaps the size of a large dog--but if it chose to, it could certainly reduce her to a bloody meal in seconds.

A long moment passed before one of the two moved again. The beast took the initiative. It walked to her left side and reared onto its hind legs briefly, brushing its head across her hand. Not knowing what else to do, and eager to prevent the creature from rearing up again, she dropped her hand to her side. The dragon swiftly thrust its head into her palm. The feeling of the ridges above its eyes brushing against her fingers for the third time made her realize what the animal was after. She stroked the dragon's brow. It sat beside her, pushing back with every stroke.

So, you like that? Myranda thought.

With little else to do, Myranda stroked the beast and thought. It had the feminine features of the smaller dragon. All in all it was a near perfect miniature of the beast that must have been its mother. Its head was more or less waist-level for Myranda, and from tail to nose it might be as long as she was tall. It had wings delicately folded on its back, still moist from hatching. The eyes were reptilian slits in a beautiful gold iris. A larger, thick scale swept back from the creature's forehead, clearly distinguishing where the head began with an almost crown-like flourish.

The forelegs, now that she could get a fair look at them, were indeed very much like her own arms. The paws in particular were like hands, though each toe was stouter, and tapered into a nasty-looking claw. Despite this, the creature's flexing and scratching at the ground betrayed a near-human level dexterity. As the creature enjoyed its stroking more and more, it scratched harder and harder at the stone floor, scoring lines into it with ease. The contentment was further evidenced, it would seem, by the curling of the tail. It writhed about with snake-like motion.

In her fascination, Myranda forgot that the natural masterpiece beside her was still an enormous danger. If she tried to run it would certainly chase her and easily catch her. She carried no weapon with which to fight it, though she doubted she could bring herself to harm the beautiful creature even if she had. Worse yet, either of the two larger dragons could return at any moment. Something had to be done.

In an act of pure optimism, Myranda tried to simply walk away, hoping to escape without rousing any of the creature's more predatory instincts. The dragon merely followed, stopping when she stopped and continuing when she did. This would not do. With all other options exhausted, she turned to reason.

"Listen," she said, turning to address the dragon directly. It was startled at first by the sound of Myranda's voice, so she lowered to a whisper. "I am very glad you like me. I like you, too, but you can't follow me. You see, I am afraid you might not be so kind when your stomach starts to rumble. At that point, I fear I will be little more than a wounded animal to you, which I am sure you will find quite tasty."

The little dragon stared back. She took another step, and the beast followed. Myranda sighed and looked around the cave. The evidence of the clash between the two dragons earlier was in no short supply. Deep gashes in the rock were littered about the walls and floor. Pools and spatters of thick, dark blood painted whole sections of the poorly-lit cave. She could not help but wonder how she had managed to escape injury. The whole of the cave had been their battleground, and she had been helpless in the center. Regardless, her luck could not afford to be pushed any further.

"I know you just hatched, and you might not know this yet, but you have a mother. She is very large, clearly very protective, and I do not want her to get the wrong idea about me. Just stay here and let me leave. That way you and I can both continue living. Please?" she begged.

The dragon stared back innocently, but followed again when Myranda tried to leave. She turned back.

"Please, you need to stay here. If you don't, someone will come looking for you and find me. You must have brothers and sisters. Don't you want to stay with them? Why don't I just take you back to where you hatched? Then you can see your family again and you will forget all about me. If I am lucky they will still be asleep and I won't be torn to shreds," she said.

Myranda took a deep breath and turned her back to the cave's mouth. Darkness became more and more complete. Before long, she found herself feeling along the wall, muttering about how insane she was for doing this. A few minutes had passed and she had traveled far into the cave when she kicked something. Feeling for it, she found a piece of wood with oily cloth on the end. A torch! Without questioning why such a thing could be found in a dragon's cave, she blindly retrieved the flint and lit it.

The light of the torch revealed a grizzly scene. The contents of a pack identical to her own were scattered about the floor. Against one wall, the pulverized remains of a human skeleton lay on the floor, scorched black. Myranda shuddered at the sight of it. A twinkle drew her gaze to a bag against the opposite wall. It had been torn, leaving its contents strewn about the floor. Silver coins.

"This does not bode well," she said, her heart beating so hard she could fairly hear it echo. "At least we know what happened to Rankin. He didn't run after all."

A minute or so more walking brought her to what she had been both dreading and searching for, but it was not what she expected. The floor was stained with blood, and a pile of gold objects lay before her. The smashed shells of half a dozen dragon eggs lay nestled among the gold pitchers, scepters, and coins. Their contents were never given a chance at life. Only one egg was empty, the one egg that had been spared. Tears welled in her eyes as she cast light upon the faithful mother. It lay, battered and torn, curled up around the egg that the young dragon beside her had hatched from just hours ago. It moved no more, succumbed to its wounds after driving the attacker away.

The tears ran down Myranda's face. Hours ago, it had seemed a monster, but it was now a fallen hero. Her home had been invaded, her family had been destroyed, and her life had been given, all for the precious gift that now looked over the tragedy with the innocent eyes of a newborn. The hatchling was too young to understand the sight before it, yet somehow Myranda sensed some sorrow in the creature, as though it knew what had occurred. She turned to the young dragon, tears still in her eyes.

"You are an orphan, just like me," Myranda said, kneeling to come eye to eye with the beast. "If you and I are to share the same plight, we may as well share it together. I know how empty the world can be when you are alone."

She dropped the torch and hugged the little dragon about the neck. It seemed pleased at the attention, regardless of the cause. Myranda then retrieved the torch, wiped away her tears, and headed back toward the cave's mouth, dragon in tow. It never occurred to her to take even a coin from the fortune that made up the nest. To her it was now a monument to the sacrifice that had been made, and she would not disturb it. Besides, plundering a resting place had been the cause of this whole mess in the first place.

When she reached the mouth of the cave it was nearly sundown. From the looks of it, the storm that had chased her into the cave had run its course rather quickly. There was little new snow on the ground, and the wind was no more than the constant breeze that came down off of the mountains. Already the colder temperatures of night were closing in. She hurried to the nearest cluster of trees that would spare them the icy breeze and gathered some wood for the fire.

This was the first time the dragon had left the cave. It stared with wonder and excitement at the world opening up before it. The creature pranced through the snow, rushing to trees, bushes and plants, drawing in the scent and moving on. It discovered a set of tracks made by a moose and scampered in the direction of the smell, turning back after a few dozen paces to return to Myranda's side. It watched her with fascination as she readied the fire, having trouble getting the frosty wood to light.

"You know, you could lend a hand here," she said with a grin. "You could huff out a little fire and I could have a seat and relax."

The creature looked at Myranda, then at the wood, and then in the direction of some noise only she could hear.

"No? I didn't think so," Myranda said.

When the fire was finally lit, Myranda laid out her bed roll and sat upon it. She pulled her pack in front of her and pulled out some of the salted meat. It had been cooked once, and could be eaten cold if she wished, but if was not the most appetizing of foods warm, let alone cold. She put her piece on the end of a stick and held it over the fire. Instantly she had the undivided attention of the little dragon. Most creatures would have been frightened to go near the fire, but this one stood among the flames to get a better whiff of the tantalizing fare.

"No, no, no," Myranda said.

The dragon turned to her. Myranda pulled the meat away and continued to admonish the animal.

"I know you must be hungry, but that food is mine. Hot food is mine," she said. "Here, you can have this. I wish I had something better for your first meal."

Myranda pulled out a second piece of meat. The dragon sniffed the meat, then opened its mouth for the first time since Myranda had first seen it. It was a tad unnerving seeing the rows of needle sharp teeth in the front, and smaller gripping teeth in the back. She had nearly forgotten the nature of the beast that was her new companion. It snatched the meat from her fingers greedily, a tooth grazing her skin. The hungry dragon gulped the food down without chewing, flicking its tongue between teeth here and there to catch stray drops. A second and third piece of meat met the same fate for the sake of distracting the ravenous creature from Myranda's own meal. The dragon sniffed at the pack while Myranda was eating, pawing at it. After being scolded several times for doing so, the little creature stopped. Instead, it sat, impatiently watching Myranda finish her meal. The very instant Myranda's hands were empty, the dragon stood, rigidly awaiting another piece of meat.

"I'm sorry, but that is all for today. You've already eaten half of my share for today and all of it for tomorrow. I hope that one of us becomes an exceptional hunter exceptionally fast, or there are several hungry days ahead of us," Myranda said.

Myranda took out her canteen and took a long swig. The dragon smacked its tongue several times, making it clear that it too needed to wash down the excessively salty meal.

"I know, it makes you thirsty eating that stuff. Particularly if you eat twice your share. I've got water here, but . . . I don't know how to give it to you. Well . . . here," she said, pouring a bit of it into her cupped hand.

With the limited mobility of her injured shoulder, she had a hard time of it, but the effort did not go unappreciated. In a flash, the tongue was out, writhing about as though it had a life of its own. It had a very slight rough feel to its top side, and a smooth bottom. The feeling was bizarre as it curled in her palm and between her fingers. She found the tongue sweeping with special interest over the slight abrasion the tooth had caused. As she refilled her palm once more, she found the dragon's interest lingering on the drops of blood that seeped from the cut here and there. It was time to put an end to this.

"We need to find a better way. Partially because my hand is freezing, but mostly because I am afraid you are getting to like the taste of me. Not that I don't trust you. It's just that the food will be running thin soon, and it is clear you have a healthy appetite. I do not want to give you any ideas about an alternate menu," she said, as though the dragon could understand.

She looked for some vessel to pour the water into. Failing to find one, she decided that the dragon could drink in the same way she did.

"Open up," she said.

The dragon looked back, confused.

"Look, see? Like this," Myranda said, pointed to her mouth and opening and closing it a few exaggerated times. "Can you do that?"

Eventually the dragon imitated long enough for Myranda to spray some water from the canteen into the gaping maw. The dragon quickly learned what to do now, and continued to hold its mouth open until its thirst had been slaked, at the cost of the rest of the contents of the canteen.

"Now I have to melt snow down to replace it. If this keeps up, you are going to be the world's most spoiled dragon," she said.

Unslighted by the remark, the dragon padded over to the bedroll and lay down.

"Tired already? You just woke up!" Myranda remarked.

It paid her no mind, curling its tail around its legs and settling its head comfortably onto its folded over neck. Myranda smiled. It was good to have a companion, though a baby dragon would hardly have been her first choice. As she stared at the creature, it shifted to rest its head on her lap. Myranda began to pet dragon in the way it had come to crave. As she did, both sighed in contentment.

"You know, you need a name," Myranda said. "Would you like that?"