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  Spark the Fire

  Book One of The Dragons of Mother Stone

  Melissa McShane

  Copyright © 2021 by Melissa McShane

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any way whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Night Harbor Publishing

  www.nightharborpublishing.com

  For my Family

  Contents

  Author’s Note: About Dragons

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  About the Author

  Also by Melissa McShane

  Author’s Note: About Dragons

  Dragons have six fingers on each hand, and the number twelve is semi-religious to them. They measure the passage of time in twelvedays as well as seasons and years, and frequently count by dozens as well as more conventional base ten numbers (thanks to having ten toes on their feet).

  Dragons measure time of day by the position of the sun: dawn, morning, mid-morning, noon, mid-afternoon, late afternoon, dusk/sunset. Time of night is measured by relation to midnight: dusk/sunset, evening, late evening, midnight, the dreaming hours, pre-dawn, dawn.

  Dragons take approximately thirty years to reach adolescence and are considered adults at age fifty-five, though it can take another ten to fifteen years for a dragon to achieve her full adult size.

  Dragon time and distance measurements are inexact and based on the average dragon body. The basic unit of time is the heartbeat, or beat. A dragon’s resting heart rate is about twenty-five beats per minute, so a single beat is the equivalent of two and a half seconds, a hundred beats is a little over four minutes, and a thousand beats is almost forty-two minutes.

  An adult dragon is approximately the same length and height (not including wingspan) as a double-decker bus, but slimmer. Their basic unit of distance is the dragonlength, which is somewhere between twenty-five and thirty feet long (counting from tip of the nose to tip of the tail). For smaller distances, they use the handspan, which is approximately twelve inches long. For long distances, they are more likely to measure by the length of time it takes to fly somewhere rather than how far it is in dragonlengths. A dragon standing erect is sixteen to twenty feet tall.

  Adult dragons weigh between 4000-5000 pounds. An active dragon will eat, on average, 250-300 pounds of meat per day, plus a quantity of stone equaling another 8-10 pounds (sometimes less depending on the “richness” of the stone). Dragons generally eat twice a day, though in lean times a dragon will gorge herself on available food and then not eat again for several days.

  An adult dragon can fly up to 120 miles per hour.

  Chapter One

  The sun had barely peeked over the distant horizon when Lamprophyre took to the air above the nook where she’d spent the night. Six, seven, twelve sure strokes of her wings to gain altitude, and then she coasted along the updrafts that coursed through the mountain heights, maintaining speed with minute twitches of her wingtips.

  In only a dozen dozen heartbeats, she descended from the rocky crags where only dragons and the hardiest of birds survived to the lower slopes, covered with a mossy scruff and the occasional scraggly pine. Here, small animals lived, rock hares and slender black birds and the goats who leaped fearlessly from cliff to sharp-edged cliff as if they, like the dragons, would fly and not fall if they missed their step.

  She spiraled downward past the rocky slopes to land on the foothills, which were gently rolling rather than proudly stark, with soil and grass covering them like flesh laid over the bones of the mountain. The air of the lowlands, humid and heavy even just after dawn, weighed on Lamprophyre’s wings and the delicate scales surrounding her eyes and mouth.

  Three days of hunting with nothing to show for it wore on her soul in a different way. Not for the first time, she considered turning back. It wasn’t as if anyone in the flight knew she’d intended anything but an extended search for game, and none of them would know she’d failed. But she would know, and that burned more fiercely than her physical or emotional pains.

  She crept over the gentle slopes of the foothills, crushing green plants whose names she didn’t know—what was the point of knowing the names of such transitory things?—and sending up more thick, heavily-scented drafts of air that choked her if she breathed too deeply. Ahead, where the ground flattened out, trees grew in clumps thick enough to hide a dragon, if she had to hide. Far better to conceal herself by blending with her surroundings, turning her bright blue scales mottled green and brown and furling the copper membranes of her wings. But it didn’t matter, because there wasn’t anyone to see her.

  She blew hot air through her nostrils in exasperation. The creatures she sought had plagued the dragon flight for weeks, and now they were nowhere to be seen. Stupid humans with their stupid, incomprehensible desires and their stupid encroaching on dragon territory.

  Lamprophyre clambered over yet another rise and saw no movement beyond a flock of birds busily pecking the ground of the wide, grassy plains. They looked like a scattering of dark pebbles against the rich green. It was a lovely color, she had to admit, deep and bright and—

  Lamprophyre scowled. The same green as Coquina, Stones take her. Coquina who could do no wrong, Coquina who was always two steps ahead of Lamprophyre, two wingbeats above. Lamprophyre’s intentions hardened into granite resolve. She would succeed, and then Coquina would be the one eating Lamprophyre’s dust.

  The thought of eating dust made Lamprophyre consider taking to the air. She’d certainly have a better view. But that meant the humans would be more likely to see her, however she concealed herself against the sky, and for this to work, she needed surprise. She continued creeping along the hills, casting her mind out for a stray thought that would reveal her prey.

  The sun climbed higher, its edges fuzzy as it burned through the morning mist. Lamprophyre came out of the foothills and crossed the grassy plains to the first clump of trees. The birds scattered as she drew near, not soon enough, as three of them found. Lamprophyre crunched their bones happily between her back teeth. She much preferred cooked food, as any rational person did, but sometimes a couple of raw morsels stirred the blood. She wiped her mouth and pressed on, finally taking a rest in the shade of the tall, skinny trees, lush with leaves and the buds of orange flowers.

  A thought brushed her mind, the faintest breath of a mental bre
eze: …never going to find…

  Lamprophyre sat up and cast about her. Her range for intercepting thought was only average, which meant the thinker couldn’t be far away, no more than thirty dragonlengths. She slunk around the side of the copse and strained to hear more thoughts.

  She caught the next one just as she saw motion off to her left: …outpaced us already…

  Lamprophyre flattened herself to the ground and watched a double column of riders come into view. They were a muddy streak against the vibrant green, brown horses, brown clothes, brown skin. All had white hair—no, those were caps covering their heads and hanging low over their necks. The jingling of metal chinking against metal reached her ears, but no speech.

  Lamprophyre watched the humans, examining each. She didn’t know enough about humans to be able to interpret their expressions, but she could tell who their leader was by the way she rode ahead of the columns, how she held her head alertly, searching for danger. Humans weren’t so different from dragons in that respect. Finally, Lamprophyre had a target.

  She scooted back behind the trees and flapped her wings once, twice, gaining just enough altitude to put herself above the leafy canopy. Concealing herself against the sky was difficult and couldn’t be maintained long, but Lamprophyre was the best in her clutch, far better than stupid Coquina. Her body tingled as the concealment spread over her scales, turning her a misty yellow-gray to match the morning sky. Then she spread her wings and shot upward, resisting the urge to shout for joy as she flew. There was nothing in the world to beat that sensation.

  She spiraled upward to get a better view. Before her, the plains spread out into the distance, gradually changing from verdant green to a muddier olive. Behind her, the foothills marched on to where they rose to meet the mountains, their greenery fading into dusty brown and gray. And beyond that, Lamprophyre’s mountain home stretched to meet the sky, surrounding Mother Stone and her rocky slopes, white with snow year-round. It was so beautiful it made Lamprophyre’s chest ache with longing—but she had a purpose, and finally she could achieve it.

  She glided down toward the columns of riders, counting: seventeen in all. It wouldn’t matter to her plan, but she did wonder idly whether that was a lot, or a few, for whatever purpose they had. Some of the other dragons had encountered humans in much larger groups. They’d scattered them, sent them fleeing out of dragon territory, regardless of the size of the group, but it was curious.

  The female at the head of the columns had called a stop and was looking around intently. If she had detected Lamprophyre’s approach, she was smarter and more observant than Lamprophyre had imagined a human could be. The female’s intelligence wouldn’t save her in the end, but it might mean the success of Lamprophyre’s plan.

  Lamprophyre furled her wings and dropped, snapping them open at the last minute with a crack like thunder, but not dropping concealment. The horses shifted restlessly, raising their heads and tossing their manes, and the humans turned in their seats, exclaiming over thunder out of a clear sky. Their thoughts were a wild tangle Lamprophyre blocked easily, not wanting the distraction. She glided past overhead, maddening the horses, who smelled danger even though their riders could not.

  The leader shouted something and waved her hand, keeping a firm grip on the reins with the other. Lamprophyre curved into the sky and hung, flapping her wings to stay aloft. Then she let her concealment fall, blue and copper bleeding across her scales and wings, and dove.

  They didn’t see her at first, preoccupied with looking for a terrestrial enemy. Then the leader shouted and pointed, and the columns disintegrated into a mass of horses and humans, screaming and fumbling for weapons. The leader stayed outside the melee, sawing at her horse’s reins to get it to stay put. Just as if she knew what Lamprophyre wanted and was actually cooperating.

  Lamprophyre smiled and flexed her hands. She swept low over the leader, slowed her flight just so, and plucked the leader off her horse as easily as snatching a roe deer from the herd.

  Chapter Two

  Instantly she beat her wings hard to gain altitude, leaving behind the screaming mass. The leader struggled, but Lamprophyre had expected that and gripped her tighter. “Don’t fight me, or I’ll drop you,” she shouted over the sound of the wind in her wings. “I wouldn’t even do it on purpose.”

  The leader froze. “You speak my language,” she said.

  “No, you speak mine.” The female was heavy and awkward even now that she wasn’t fighting, and Lamprophyre was breathless and not interested in conversation. Explaining that humans had learned to speak from dragons, far in the distant past, was more work than she was willing to do at the moment. “Hold still,” she warned again, but the warning was unnecessary, because the human clung to Lamprophyre’s arms and pressed her face against the dragon’s chest.

  She swept along northward for more than a thousand dragonlengths until she was deep within the foothills. Then she descended slowly, alit in one of the valleys, and gently set her prize on the ground. The female staggered, but remained upright. Her cap had fallen off somewhere in their flight, and her short, dark brown hair was disordered and her eyes wide. She dropped into a crouch and put her head between her knees, breathing heavily. Lamprophyre calmed her breathing as well, concealing her excitement. It had worked! The first part, anyway. Now to see if she could pull off the rest.

  The human rose from her crouch, then dropped to one knee, bowing her head. “My lord Katayan,” she said, “please, spare my life.”

  Lamprophyre settled back on her haunches. “I’m not your lord. My name is Lamprophyre.”

  The female didn’t raise her head. “Aren’t you Katayan, that which the Immanence gave shape to rule all dragons?”

  “No. I’ve never heard of that. There’s no such person as Katayan. Get up—I want to see your face.”

  The female slowly stood and raised her head. Her dark eyes met Lamprophyre’s fearlessly. “Then I ask that you kill me quickly,” she said, “and spare my men your wrath.”

  “I don’t want to kill you,” Lamprophyre said, feeling irritable. She thought about pointing out that if she’d wanted the female dead she would have killed her immediately, decided that would ruin any chance of them reaching accord, and added, “I’m taking you to meet someone you can explain yourself to. To tell what you humans are doing invading our territory.”

  “Me?” The female sounded so startled Lamprophyre felt a twinge of uncertainty. “Why me?”

  “I could tell you’re the leader of those humans. We’re tired of scaring you people off. I want you to talk to Hyaloclast and see if we can’t come to an agreement.”

  “But I—who’s Hyaloclast?”

  “The dragon queen. Now, do you want to ride, or should I carry you again?”

  The female took a few steps backward, and Lamprophyre was about to lunge for her when she stopped and examined the dragon. “Why would you let me ride?”

  “I thought it would look better. More noble. You are sort of an emissary of your people.”

  The female said nothing.

  Lamprophyre started to feel nervous. She had thought the human leader would leap at the chance to speak with Hyaloclast, but this female wasn’t behaving at all as Lamprophyre had expected. Again that twinge of uncertainty shot through her, and she suppressed it.

  Finally, the female said, “I’ll ride, if that’s allowed.”

  Lamprophyre crouched low and rolled her shoulders toward the female. Awkwardly, the human climbed up Lamprophyre’s arm and shoulder and fitted herself into the notch just ahead of Lamprophyre’s wings. “Can you see where to hold on?” Lamprophyre asked.

  “It’s as if you were made for human riders,” the female said.

  Lamprophyre sat up abruptly, and the female clung to the ridge of scales at the base of her neck. “Never say that again,” she said. “We’re not human servants.”

  “Sorry,” the female said. “I just meant it’s surprisingly comfortable. I would never dream of y
ou as a servant of any kind. You’re magnificent.”

  The compliment embarrassed Lamprophyre. To cover her embarrassment, she shrugged her shoulders to settle the human more securely in the notch. She’d never been this close to a human before, and even though she knew from stories that humans had once ridden dragons, she hadn’t been able to guess how it would feel to have a person perched there at the scruff of her neck, like a fly she couldn’t reach to swat. “Hold on, then,” she said, and leapt into the sky.

  The strain on muscles that hadn’t flown far in three days had ebbed, and Lamprophyre felt powerful, ready to catch the air currents and soar high above the smelly green ground. She had to remind herself that she had a passenger—how awful if she lost her to a roll or a dive! “What’s your name?” she called back over her shoulder.

  “Rokshan,” came the reply, faint and blown about by the wind. “And you said you are…?”

  “Lamprophyre.”

  “Lamp—that’s a mouthful.”

  “Not much harder than Rokshan.”

  The female said nothing for a few breaths. “And you want me to negotiate with your queen,” she finally said.

  “It’s been centuries since humans set foot in dragon lands,” Lamprophyre said. “And now you’re all over the place. I want you to explain why.”