Anthology - Love and War

Cheb quickly scrambled to his feet. "Run for your lives!" he cried. He snatched up his satchel and ran out the door without ever looking back.

"Get out! Save yourself!" Seron shouted to his wife, who was trying to drag the heavy wooden crate out from beneath the bed.

"I'm not leaving without your painting," she cried. The fire quickly spread far beyond the comer of the hut. Soon, the bed and all the rest of their furniture were burning. Two of the walls were aflame, as was part of the roof; a heavy, deadly smoke filled their one-room home.

Seron grabbed his wife around the waist and hauled her to her feet. Both of them were coughing, their eyes were tearing, and their skin was beginning to blister. The fire snapped at the edges of their clothing as he carried his wife to the door of the hut and threw her onto the soft grass outside the door.

But he didn't follow her out into the safety of the night. Instead, he rushed back into the burning hut, diving to the floor next to the bed. The wooden crate was beginning to char, but he knew there was still time; the painting inside had not yet been damaged. He hauled the crate out from beneath the bed and lifted it. The door was just a few yards away…

Though the doorway was open, the smoke and flames were too thick for Kyra to see inside the hut. "Forget the painting!" she screamed. "Seron! Get out of there! Hurry!" she begged.

The roof caved in. The hut collapsed. Seron was buried in an avalanche of fire, and Kyra gave out an anguished cry of pain that stretched on for minutes. When there was nothing left inside her, she crumpled to the dew-wet grass.

Kyra didn't move. There was no reason. Much later, in the darkest hour of the night, a voice whispered in her ear..

.

"Am I late?"

At first, Kyra was startled. She lifted her head and saw Tosch. The familiar sight of the brass dragon set Kyra crying all over again. He did his best to comfort her, nestling her frail, shivering frame between his right wing and his body. But he couldn't see what was so upsetting.

As best she could, she told Tosch what had happened. Then she wept throughout the rest of the night. Finally, just before dawn, Kyra fell into an exhausted sleep. The dragon sighed. The sun would be coming up soon — and he supposed he had better take her with him. There was nothing for Kyra here. He lifted her onto his back and then gently took wing.

Tosch watched a female brass dragon sailing in small, lazy circles overhead. Without thinking, he turned his good profile in her direction.

"I don't think I ever told you, but I do like Palanthas," Kyra announced from her seat on a nearby tree stump.

Tosch nodded absently, glancing down at the blue, yellow, and orange clothes Kyra was sewing together for him. "When will my new cape be finished?" he asked.

"I told you it would take six months," she said. "It's only been four."

"You know only humans count time," he replied with a shrug of his gigantic shoulders. "Has it really been four months?"

"I can't quite believe it, either," she said in an aching, hollow voice.

"Ah, you seem so… lonely, Kyra. Perhaps you should marry again."

"No!" she said emphatically. A moment later, a sad smile washed over her face. "I know you mean well," she said, "but I could never love another man after Seron. We were best friends as well as lovers. We finished each other's thoughts, laughed at each other's jokes." She closed her eyes. "I can't sleep without him. I reach for him at night," she softly admitted, and then rubbed her eyes open. "I saw you preening for that female up there," she gestured with a wan smile on her face, "and my first thought was that I wanted to tell Seron that you hadn't changed a bit."

"Please don't point," he said, embarrassed. "She'll know that we're talking about her."

Kyra lowered her hand. "Sorry," she said. "Apology accepted," he said indulgently. She reached out and stroked his head the way she used to back in the old days. He smiled.

Kyra had spent all her waking hours — and many of her sleeping hours, as well — reliving her life with Seron. Over and over again, every conversation, every hug, every night of passion played in her mind. She remembered he had always wanted her to do something more with her life. He had said she was capable of doing anything she set her mind to. The only thing she had set her mind to, though, was loving him. Shouldn't that have been enough?

He had tried so hard for her. He never brought home a pocketful of money, but he always brought home kindness, laughter, and a sweetness of spirit. If he had wanted her to accomplish more with her life, why couldn't she try to do that for him now?

She laughed at herself. He would have said, 'Don't do it for ME, do it for YOU!"

Was it too late now to do it for either of them?

She glanced down at her hands. Tentatively, she allowed herself to ask the question, If I can do anything I set my mind to, what should I do?

Her mind was blank.

"So, what do you think of the way I'm wearing my scales?" asked Tosch, interrupting her reverie.

"What?"

"My scales… on my back," said the dragon, turning to give her a better look. "I've forced the edges up just a bit. Pretty stylish, huh?"

"It looks very modem. You might start a trend."

"You think so?"

"If anyone can," she laughed, "it's you."

"Well, the only way I can start a trend is if I am seen by everyone," Tosch said thoughtfully. "So I guess I'd better be on my way."

He flapped his wings and slowly rose off the ground. "I'll be back soon to pick up my new cape. Bye, now."

She went back to the only trade she knew — serving ale. She worked long hours at a new tavern where the owner favored her and the customers appreciated her diligence. But the years of hard work and scraping by had taken a toll on her. Now, the younger barmaids had to fend off the pinches and the propositions, and only the regulars took notice of the pale, disheveled Kyra. She did not care — she did not care about much.

Six years passed before Tosch returned. Kyra understood that to a brass dragon, six years was hardly more than a week; she wasn't angry with him. Besides, in her great and enduring sadness, there was precious little happiness. Seeing her old friend was a welcome relief from her neverending sense of loss.

They sat on a sandy beach at the edge of the bay. She glanced up and smiled, slightly averting her eyes. It was self-preservation. Tosch was covered with every imaginable color of cloth; it nearly blinded her whenever she tried to gaze at him. He obviously was not interested in the three-color cape that she had painstakingly made.

"Look," he said, insisting that she focus her eyes on him, "I've had my teeth chiseled. What do you think? Good and straight now, right?"

She shielded her eyes and glanced at his mouth. "Every time I see you, you're different," she said. "I

can hardly remember what you looked like six years ago."

A tear suddenly ran down her cheek. Her chin trembled.

"Now what's wrong?" asked Tosch, perturbed. "I'm sorry. It's just that I sometimes forget what Seron used to look like, too."

The dragon lowered his plummaged head and sighed with exasperation. "You still think of him?" "I never stop."

"Well, I still can't understand what you saw in him. I grant you, he was a passable painter, but after all, he had a wonderful subject. You know," Tosch added, "he was never very nice to me."

"He liked you very much," Kyra said defiantly. "And I don't want you to say another bad word about Seron. Not ever."

"Sorry," apologized Tosch, shrinking just a bit under her wrath. He thought it wise, just then, to say somethingnice about her late husband. "It's too bad he never did a self portrait," offered the dragon. "He would