Cinda Williams Chima - The Dragon Heir

The Dragon Heir

Book 3 of the Heir Series

Cinda Williams Chima

[v0.9Scanned & Spellchecked by the_usual from dt]

CONTENTS

For Eric and Keith who believe in dragons

A book is like a ship. Itrequires a host of people to launch one. Some help with the structure anddesign, others provide the financing, some cheer from the shoreline, whileothers put their shoulders to the keel and push it free from its moorings.

I'm grateful to all thetalented people at Hyperion, especially my editor, Arianne Lewin, who made merewrite the whole thing and make it a better book. Thanks to Elizabeth Clark,who, along with artist Larry Rostant, is responsible for those gorgeous covers.Thanks to Angus Killick and his team, who put my books into the hands ofteachers and librarians. (And thanks also to those teachers and librarians whoput my books into the hands of readers.)

Bless you, ChristopherSchelling. In addition to being a stellar agent, he regularly convinces me,rightly or wrongly, that I'm not crazy.

Thanks to the genius Pam Daum,for the gorgeous photographs. Writer, artist, forever friends. I miss you.

Thanks to my generouscolleagues in Hudson Writers and Twinsburg Writers for providing the gift ofloving, specific critique. Thanks especially to Marsha McGregor, who enduredsome rather incoherent phone calls and talked me down.

I owe a heartfelt thanks toRod, who provided moral, emotional and technical support (Website, photography,layout and design, printer diagnosis and treatment) while enduring theoccasional rant and doing more than his share of housework and relationshipmaintenance. (Those birthday cards that went out wasn't me.)

Finally, thanks to my earlyreaders, Eric and Keith, who started it all.

Fog clung to Booker Mountainlike an old ragged coat. The pickup's chancy headlights poked frail tunnelsthrough the mist. Although the road was narrow and treacherous, Madison didn'tworry. Her grandmother Min could find her way blindfolded and sound asleep.

Min rammed the truck into lowgear as the grade steepened. Her face was set in hard, angry lines, but Madisonknew Min wasn't mad at her. She felt rescued, cocooned in the pickup with JohnRobert on her lap and Grace jammed between her and the door. Grace wassleeping, her head braced against the window, her hair hanging in knots aroundher face. Min hadn't taken the time to comb it.

"Won't Mama worry whenshe comes home and finds us gone?" Madison asked, speaking softly so asnot to startle John Robert, who was sucking his thumb with that drunk-baby lookon his face.

"Carlene could do with alittle worrying, if you ask me," Min said. "The idea, leaving a ten-year-old incharge of a baby and a toddler for two days."

"Somebody probably calledoff," Madison suggested. "Or maybe Harold Duane asked her to worklate."

"The tavern's only opentill two. She had no business staying out all night."

"I'm real grown up for myage, Mama says."

Min snorted and rolled hereyes. "I know you are, honey. You're more grown up than your mama. Youwere born wise."

They swept past thebrick-and-stone wall and lighted gateposts that marked the Roper place. Minmade a sign with her hand as they passed the broad driveway.

"What's that for?"Madison asked, knowing it was a hex.

Min didn't answer. Min alwayssaid good Christians didn't hex people.

"Why do you want to hexthe Ropers?" Madison persisted. Brice Roper lived there. He was in herclass at school. He had this glow around him like light through rain-smearedglass the kind of glow rich people had,maybe. Brice had four Arabian horses, and he'd let you ride them if he likedyou.

Madison had never been ridingat the Ropers.

"The Ropers want ourmountain," Min said.

Madison blinked. BookerMountain? What would they want with that? "But their place is muchnicer," she blurted out.

If you liked fancy stonehouses with pillars and grassy lawns and miles of white fence. And Arabianhorses.

"Coal," Min saidbluntly. "Bryson Roper can't get the rest of his coal out of the groundwithout going through Booker Mountain. And that belongs to me."

They rounded the last curve,past the mailbox that said M. booker,reader and adviser. The pickup rattled to a stop at the foot of theporch steps.

Madison carried John Robertand Min carried Grace. Madison walked flat-footed across the weathered planksof the porch, so she wouldn't get splinters in her bare feet. By the timethey'd climbed the steps and crossed the porch and carried the kids to the backbedrooms, Min was breathing hard, her face a funny gray color.

Madison felt the cold kiss offear on the back of her neck. "Gramma? You all right?"

Min only waved her hand, toobreathless to speak. She clawed open the neck of her blouse, revealing the opalnecklace she always wore. The one she sometimes let Madison try on.

Once they had the young onessettled in bed, Madison built a fire in the stove and made coffee for both ofthem. Min didn't even complain about how she made it, which was worrisome.

"It's going to be a coldwinter," Min predicted, settling into the only chair with arms, andwrapping a shawl around her shoulders. Some of her color had come back."More snow than we've had in a long time. A dying time."

When Min predicted anything,it was best to listen. Still, Madison was old enough to wonder how a person whocould foretell the future could run into so much bad luck.

Madison liked sitting at thetable in the front room, drinking sweet coffee with Min. The stripey cat laypurring in front of the fire. Only one thing would make it better, if Min wouldonly say yes.

"Read the cards for me,Gramma!" Madison begged. Reading the cards was a serious business, hergrandmother always said, and not done for the entertainment ofyoung girls.

But Min studied Madison amoment, her pale blue eyes glittering like moonstones, her capable handswrapped around her mug of coffee, then nodded. "All right. It's time.Fetch the cards from on top of the mantel."

"You mean it?"Madison scrambled down from her chair before Min could change her mind.

Min kept two decks of cards ina battered wooden box with a cross carved into the top. She called them"gypsy cards," but they looked like regular playing cards to Madison,with a few extras. The box also held a leather pouch full of pebbles and littlebones, but Madison had never seen Min use those.

Min handed her the thickerdeck. Madison shuffled the cards awkwardly, cut them three times, and shuffledagain.

"Lay them out in threerows of three," Min said, and Madison did.

Her grandmother flipped themover, the cards slapping softly on the weathered wood of the table.

"Madison Moss." Nowher voice was a stranger's, the voice of the reader. "Would you hear thetruth?"

"Yes, ma'am,"Madison answered, swallowing hard, hoping there wouldn't be anything scary.

Min studied the cards, pushedher glasses down on her nose, and studied them some more. Madison leanedforward, squinting down at them. The center card in each row was a dragon withsnaky eyes and a long, twisting tail, brilliant with color, glittering withgilt.

Abruptly, Min scooped them upand handed them back to Madison. "Shuffle again."

Mystified, Madison shuffledand spread them. Dragons again. Min frowned at them. Moved them about with thetips of her fingers. Pulling the leather pouch from the box, she emptied itinto her palm. Tossed the pebbles and bones down onto the table. Raked them upand threw them down, muttering to herself.

"What's the matter?"Madison asked, disappointed. "Aren't they working?"

"Oh, child," Minsaid, shaking her head. The color had left her face again. She extended hertrembly hand toward Madison, then drew it back as if afraid to touch her."Never mind. Let's try something else." Min handed her the smaller,thirty-two-card deck, sevens and up.