Angela MacDonald's Blog, page 2

Question of Kingship – Dragons of Va’Ha’Den

The bath was nice and Jesop was able to breathe the effect of killing a dragon out of his system by the time he emerged.  He dressed in nothing but comfortable worn out brown pants.  He sat at in the kitchen table with his arms across the back of the chair as Treyven brushed his hair out.

He spread his oils and dye kit out on the kitchen table.  He decided on green to streak down from the temples and blue for the ends.  It would make Jesop match Slang quite nicely.

Trey took his time to oil Jesop’s hair with the lotions that were as much potion as anything.  It was used to keep hair soft and smooth and from fraying wildly with the cold and the wind they were subject to. It was also used to soften dragon scales when they were molting. The oils had perfume in them that would last for a long time and Treyven had chosen a soft spicy musk that hinted of cinnamon and other things.  It was a pleasant smell and one that Jesop would not mind smelling like. It was also one of Slang’s favorites.

Trey talked about his classes and about the people he dealt with daily, just jabbering away about everything in his life, from card games to the fact that he had passed a rather hard test and was accused of cheating for it.

He switched topics like the wind but it all just flowed and Jesop listened to what normal sounded like. He would recall it as well as Trey would in a few years. It helped him understand his new young cadets and the brothers were his link to the world in a way nothing else was.

“I must be boring you,” Trey said all of a sudden.

“No.”  Jesop said with his eyes closed.  “Just listening.”

“At how random my mind is?” Trey asked with a little giggle. His laugh was endearing and had won him hugs and kisses as a little boy.  It likely won him the same now but from the young women in his life.

Jesop sighed heavily. “I am dreading the day I have to send you three out.  It is going to break my heart.”

“Don’t think about it that way.  Be proud papa, Jes.”

“Oh I am, Trey.”

“You going to tell me why dad got so mad at you?”  He asked after a few moments of silence that he spent twisting the hair through the towel to rinse out of the last little bit of a dye he had chosen from the ends of Jesop’s hair.

“He found a bottle in my cupboard,” Jesop said after a moment.  Jesop didn’t want to tell Trey but he might as well.    Trey had seen such fights before and had ended up screaming and weeping and hugging one or the other of them and begging them to stop fighting

“I thought so,” Trey said with a slow deep breath.  “Why do you do that?  You could hide it if you have to keep them.  You know it upsets him.”

“If I had no real reason to have them do you think the Wisdoms would just get me more?”

“I don’t question that you have need of them papa, but put them in a different bottle or hide them under you pillow.  Something.”

“I do. He just hasn’t snooped for a few years and I forgot to.”

“So why is he so mad tonight?  He was about to really rip into you.”

“I know.”

“What did you do?”

“I jarred my shoulder and twisted on it at the same time and I was taking one when he walked in.”

“Slang should have warned you.”

“He was upset and too slow.”

“You want me to stay?”

“Please.”

Trey finished Jesop’s hair and brushed it far longer than he had to.  He waited for his father’s return.  He was well aware that he was likely the only person who could prevent a brutal verbal attack on the Lord Marshal.

Teven returned and did not look at either of them but put away a box of food and set to cooking.  Jesop watched him knowing he was going to get lectured and there was no way to avoid it.  The Keeper was simply beyond law and to so much as insult him was forbidden.

Jesop wondered if the young man who was putting little twisted braids in his hair had any idea how much he appreciated the momentary peace.

“Trey, go home,” Teven said half way through preparing the meal.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t want to be here.”

“You can’t make me leave.”

Teven’s shoulders tightened and he made fists against the counter.

Jesop looked to the young man and shook his head.  It was alright, he could go. Teven was so upset nothing was going to stop him and Teven loved his son enough to ask him to leave because he knew it would upset the young man.

“Dad,” Treyven tried to calm the Keeper down, “he takes them for pain.  And half the scars that bother him you put there.”  His tone was hurt and yet for the first time with a knowing hint of anger.

“Treyven,” Teven warned.  He pointed to the door.

Treyven almost didn’t go but Jesop touched the young mans hand and shook his head.

“Don’t make it worse,” he mouthed.  With clenched teeth Treyven headed out, snatching up the oils.

“And you wonder why Bry never comes to visit.  You make us choose sides,” Treyven said as he slammed the door.

Treven did not turn around as his son went out.  He actually went back to cooking. Jesop got up and put the chair back at the table.  He rolled his shoulder to test it out and moved to step past Teven but was blocked with one step back by the Keeper.  Teven put a hand on Jesop’s chest and pushed him back to the chair he had been in.

Jesop let himself be pushed and sat down with his back to the wall and watched the man return to the task of making a meal.  Jesop resigned himself to the silence and the cold anger of the Keeper.

“What is wrong with you?” Teven finally exploded.  He all but vibrated with anger.  “Is it not enough you have to be so Gods be damned soft spoken, you have to dress like some scout and you don’t even have one affair to your name in the Nest?”  Teven proceeded to bring up every flaw he could think of.  The list was rather long and got meaner as it went. Jesop ceased to hear most of it.  His head hurt and he wanted to rub his temples but if he did Teven would hit his hand away and jar him worse.  He just watched Teven’s mouth move.  “Do you enjoy watching the nest fall apart?”  Teven demanded.  “Don’t you understand that the nest reflect their King?”

“I’m not the king,” Jesop muttered.  Teven hit the table and turned away so angry Jesop thought Teven might well overturn the table. Teven stormed out of the kitchen and paced in the living room as the food cooked.  It began to smell rather good despite the Keeper’s mood.

Teven stalked back in for the foods sake and checked it.

He set the table and served a meal that was all perfectly time to be brought out at once.  He served them both and sat down so angry he didn’t even look up.

Jesop ate what he was given and let Teven, hopefully, calm down.  There was no point in not enjoying the meal.  This was all too normal sadly. Jesop wished desperately for the king to be named.  Teven needed someone else to torment.

Teven snarled at something Tohke had apparently told him and swatted at the air as if batting a fly away in anger. Jesop’s head was not getting better and he felt as if there was a distant growling rumble in the back of his mind and a buzzing in his ears.  He was just wanted to curl up in a quite corner and pull the blankets over his head.  His eyes were dry and felt hard and hot in his head, his spine prickled with needles and his skin ached.  Tension was creeping down his spine and he felt rather ill.

He pushed his plate away.  He held his head in his hands and tried to hide it.

“Jesop,” Teven said firmly.

Jesop winced. It felt as if Teven had hit him in the forehead with a hammer.  He was already in trouble, he didn’t care.  He got up and left the kitchen for his side table and took out the last pills of in the little pouch.

“Jesop,” Teven warned.  Jesop put them in his hand and was tackled, but not before he got them in his mouth.  He made a fist for Teven to try and pry open as he swallowed what he had.  Teven wasn’t above hurting him but once swallowed Jesop surrendered and opened his hand.

The little fight was too much his head exploded with pain.  He caught the edge of the table and held gripped his forehead in the other hand.  He stood trying to catch his breath waiting for the next blow but Teven didn’t make one.

“Those things will kill you,” Teven snarled.

Jesop wanted to snarl and spit back at him several bitter remarks but he hurt too much.

“You are a selfish ungrateful little whelp,” Teven whispered.  “You choke those down and you hide in your lair and you roll whatever weed you want.  You don’t deserve your White at all, let alone the gold buckles.  So you’re right, you’re not a king.  If not for Slang you would be nothing but a cave rat.”

Jesop didn’t feel the sob fast enough to catch it.  He sank side ways to the couch and still held his head, he half laid over and just wished Teven would leave.  Teven didn’t.  He stood there.

Jesop curled up on the couch and just held his head. The pain was enough he might have felt better if he had been hit in the head with a boulder.  Slang rumbled in an attempt to comfort.  The pill’s effect began to sink in and Jesop slowly caught his breath. His muscles about his neck and shoulders relaxed enough he dared to slowly push himself up.

Getting to his feet carefully he lifted his gaze to Teven.  One thing he had always done, even as an eight year old, was to get up and face Teven.  His face was possibly tear streaked and he knew his eyes were blood shot and pain creased his forehead but he didn’t care.

“There anything else you wanted to say?”  He asked the Keeper.

Teven’s jaw twitched. “How can you be such a pathetic weak worm and then leap like you do and kill a dragon with your bare hands?  Why can’t you just be so weak I have the right to just kill you or be strong enough to be king?”

Jesop didn’t say anything, as normal.  He kept his remark that the fact was Teven had been who was responsible for the injury that was blamed for the headaches that Jesop suffered.  What could he say?

“Done yet?”

“I haven’t even touched on the empathy topic yet.”

“Yah, well I hurt and I am tired, go home and come back tomorrow.  You can yell at me then as well as now.  I am sure it’ll help make your day feel complete.”

“How about I just pound on you a little?”

“Here,” he caught a pillow off the couch.  “Why don’t you use this and just smother me and we can both be spared more of this.”  He shoved it at Teven.  Teven grabbed it and swung it hard enough it nearly knocked Jesop over as it hit his guard arm.

“I should witness this sort of thing you know. Save this all for the chance there is another generation who asks ‘what the hell went wrong’.  Oh well, Jesop was made Lord Marshal and didn’t get killed in battle.  Hells the luck.  Won the war to drug himself to a slow death.  Great.”

“Can you not see that I am in pain?”  Jesop asked.  It sort of just popped out and maybe even startled Teven.  Jesop never talked back to him but just took the abuse.

Once said he might as well use it.  He was angry, upset, and in so much pain he just sort of spit out words faster than he could take them back.  “I want you to know I am in so much pain right now I can barely keep my balance and it’s been that way since I was about ten.  Before you go and shout at me about why I am not king why don’t you ask why your not!”  He knew that was mean, knew it was harsh and knew he’d pay for it but it was out but the yelling only intensified the pain.

Even knowing that Teven was most certainly going to punch him he didn’t see it coming. It’d been a long time, but insult Teven about being unworthy of his name or heritage and he would strike. He had killed men for it before. But that was it, just one good blow to the face and Teven left.  Jesop dropped to the couch and lay there until he passed out.  Maybe that was the trick.  The black eye was worth it to get the Keeper to leave.

Turner and Ballas -Dragons of Va’Ha’Den

Few people were allowed into the lower chambers of the nursery.  It was there that a dragoness could rest in safety and shelter while she carried her eggs.  She would remain in the nursery to care for the hatchlings until they shed their creamy blonde egg-skins that protected them as their scales formed underneath. In that fragile stage a dragoness was always very nervous and tense. Only the Arms and a few Wisdoms were ever allowed in, but Jesop had spent more of his childhood here than any other place. Several of the dragoness had adopted him as sort of a wingless son and protected him as no one else had. That protection had failed at times but at least, in his heart, he had a hint of what a mothers love was like.

The dragonesses lifted their heads to look at him as he walked past but none of them objected to him being there. He went down the long hall of the side lairs.  They were rather like little open faced chambers along the walls, offering three walls and the sense of privacy if wanted, but was open enough for them to all see each other if they desired company.

Beyond was a chamber where they could gather. At the far end was a great long low space where the hatchling could run but nothing bigger. It was a safe playground for them that led between the nursery and the hatching lair. Normally there would be chirps, grunts and squeaks of the young at play but now it was silent.

Jesop had other worries on his mind. He was here for a reason. He found her as he expected, in the very back, in the smallest lair she could squeeze into.  Her face and her chest had cuts, her shoulders had even more damage but it was hard to see in her tight backed up space.  Her Arm was with her, stroking her face and washing her cuts with a cloth and salve.

The dragoness opened her eyes and startled.  She lifted her head.  Her Arm spun around.  She was a very pretty young woman, young being a word that made Jesop feel rather old for a moment. The woman grabbed her fist before her chest in respect and bowed even as she stepped to try and hide the dragoness and her wounds.  He had looked up their names before he had come down and as much about them as he possible.  He smiled a little.

“Little Sister,” he said folding his hand over his fist to bow back, a little to show her that he was not here on duty or formally, but as a friend.  He looked up to the young dragoness, far too young to be bred.  All adult males would know that.  At best she might have one healthy egg, a lot of hurt and a lot of trauma.  He would have a Wisdom come and see if it could all be avoided.

“How are you?” He asked the dragoness reaching up a hand as one might reach out a nose to touch in social peace.  She stretched out and had to touch him or be seen as very rude and challenging his rank. With the touch he shared his concern, his fatherly protectiveness and hurt at not knowing what was going on; at being cut out. As he hoped she latched on to the fatherly warmth and sank her head to let him run his hand along her cuts.

They were fight scratches, not done intentionally but no less real.  It showed she had not been willing.  He looked to the young woman who was trying not to cry.  He let his worry show as much in his face as he could.

“I can’t help if no one tells me what is being done,” he whispered.

The girl looked to her dragoness and sniffed, wiped her eyes a little and shook her head. “She doesn’t want me to say anything.”

“I know,” he said, “but if someone doesn’t tell me what is going on so I can stop this, it will happen to others.  It won’t stop, it will get worse.  Your friends and your sisters will all be at risk.”  He almost reached out and touched her with empathy, the thought was there but his hand never moved.  “Please,” he whispered.  “Don’t make me watch this helplessly.”

She drew a breath and turned away trying not to cry.  He stepped over and turned her back with his hand on her shoulders.

“Please, Ranna,” he whispered.

At the sound of her name she turned to him and fell against him sobbing.  He put his arms around her.  Contact with others was always uncomfortable but not so much he couldn’t fake it with a weeping girl.  He imagined being a dragon folding his arms and wings about her to shelter and protect her in his massive strength.

She wrapped an arm around his neck and covered her face with her other hand.  He smoothed her hair and held her just enough to be supportive.  The poor girl was clearly traumatized herself and needed to know someone could and would protect her. Who ever had done this was going to be reminded that Jesop was battle hardened.  Jesop would tear them from the sky.

“Let me fix this,” he whispered to her.  He felt her hand slip into the belt on his left side and tuck something there.  He’d seen the move enough.  It was used to pass a note or a stone to set up a meeting for later.  She turned away and fell against her dragoness and hugged her neck.

“I don’t know anything.  Please Lord Marshall, don’t ask me.”

He stood a moment then walked out with a troubled sad look. She curled up next to her Wing and stayed there, not looking at him.  He left the nursery and made sure he was alone in the hallway before he slipped a finger in his belt to tuck out the little stone.

The pebble was a small round smooth rock that was used for sling shot work.  He considered it and turned his path hoping he was right about the meaning and took the long walk down to the forest that lined the lake shores at the bottom of the Nest.

The path left the cliffs to wind its way thought the boulders and lose stones at the cliffs base.  The path branched off to different areas with the widest path went down to the lake where the young dragons worked to learn to fly and to fly together with their chosen.  Jesop took a narrower path out to the practice field where weapon training was held.

It was late enough the daily lessons were well under way.  The morning’s warm up drills would be done and the field would be open to any who wished to practice.

Few would actually walk out here instead they would be dropped off by their Wings.  Jesop rather liked the feel of the forest and the air that smelled of the pine needles under his feet.  The close trees ended in a swath of sunshine and sweep of grass.

In the open field a long table with a roof was ever at the ready.  Various weapons that were commonly used by the Arms were set out.  Jesop chose a bow.  He was always rather good at that.  He was one of the few who used it by choice and often in battle not just when things were desperate. He loaded it and decided even if she didn’t show up he was going to get in a small practice session. He took a quiver and walked to the line.

Here the forest had been cleared but the trees along the way had grown so large they had reached over to form a canopy.  All shots were made threw the dappled shifting light as a result.  After learning to stay alive in battle the soft lattice of shadows and breath of air was rather calming.  He drew the arrow and aimed at a target about mid way, a hard shot for not having practiced or drawn a bow in over a year, but one he expected to make.

He breathed out slowly and let go.  The arrow shot away and skimmed the target.  He calmly took another and slowing his breath he made his mark and shot.  He caught the edge of the target that time but it deflected off.  His left arm was aching and stiff, resistant to the demands he made of it.  Gently he warmed it up. He tried not to think about all the times that scar had put his aim off.  If he did he would only start to seethe at Teven.

Once he had hit the target a few times he chose a target further back.  He should not let himself get so stiff.  He made a promise to get out and practice more often. One never knew when a bow would be the difference between life or death. Certainly if the Red Men were back, he was destined to see a lot more battles in his life.

“Can you make the shots distracted?”  He was asked with the bow drawn and his aim at the end target.  He felt a body step up behind him and a hand touched his side and run slowly downward to his hip.  Fingers traced up the side of the belt forward; he let it go.

The shot wasn’t perfect but still on the center black.  He turned to see who was his trouble and found Ranna.  She stepped back and blushed a little.

“It usually really makes a man lose his shot when you do that,” she admitted.

He smiled, “I am sure it does.”

“No one ever says you are any good at archery,” she said a bit amazed at his shot, looking over his shoulder to the target.

“People say, or don’t say, what they wish others to think.  If I was worried what is said of me then I would be more busy defending myself than doing my job.”  He folded his hands over the tip of the bow and set the other on his toe.  “How is Sunset?”

“Upset and hurt. Terrified is more the word.” She scowled.  “It’s not just the males who are doing this.  It’s Banta.  She has made it clear she will ground any dragoness who speaks up, but I’m not a dragoness and I saw it even if They blocked me out.”

“Banta?”  he asked.

“She is angry I guess.  I don’t know what her reasons are exactly but the dragonesses are terrified of her.  They are silent on her orders.  She says this is not a matter for anything but dragons and if the females are not fit enough to out fly or to escape then they deserve their ends.  She is harsh and cold about it.  Sun is not old enough to begin to hope to out-fly males that way and to be ambushed….”  She was angry and her tone and words showed it.  Her fury radiated off of her enough Jesop could feel it through his shields.  Good, so was he.

“Who?”  He asked.

“One of the big Sats, he’s big and blue with a flash of orange on his flares.  He had another big old male with him.  He as a dark russet with gold face marks.”

“Turner and Ballas,” he said almost ready to snarl.  “I know who they are.”

“One came from the side and she jerred away but was grabbed from above as she dove from the other.  They Pinned her.”  She did snarl.  Rage flashed in her eyes and Jesop decided her liked this young woman.

“And Banta allowed it?”

She nodded. “She knows.  It’s been those two all along I think, and it’s because they are too fat to win a real Fall. None of the other Arms will say, but I think they got the same treatment.  I had snuck out,” she admitted, “and was out of the Nest when it happened, somewhere I clearly was not supposed to be.  None of the others saw what happened to their Wings.  I did.

“There is a lot of blood and hurt among the women.  Like my sister Kally, she was supposed to meet Rah Teven and was so excited about it and now she can’t even look at a man.  She won’t say anything but something happened to her.”

“Alright.  Turner and Ballas.”  He picked the bow up.  “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “I will take care of it.”

She nodded. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to deal with Banta first,” he said coldly.

“Just…I am worried for the reaction and for Sun for this.  If Banta learns I told you…””

“I’ll deal this with better than that.  She’ll be alright,” he assured her.  “I will have a Wisdom talk to your sister… to all your sisters.  This will not go unpunished.”

Ranna snapped to attention put her fist to her raised fingers to show she honored him as a warrior and as a king.  He bowed to her as if she was a daughter.  The bow of such honor was rare for him to get, in fact it was only from the lowest ranks he got such a thing and sadly they had never even seen him in battle.  He had work to do and his first stop would be to see Slang.  Banta had to be dealt with and soon.  There was no way he was going to get Farra to take on her own mother but someone had to tear her down.

***********

Jesop related well to those who had secrets that they had to hide for the sake of the reaction of others, as he had one of his own.  Being unable to “Talk” to Slang as all others could “talk”  to their Wings was the biggest one, but not the only secret he carried.

Over the years they had learned to communicate well with Jesop talking and a great deal could be said with a grunt or a grumble.  Even those closest to them had no idea. Jesop was rather certain the reason he wasn’t king was for that one little flaw in the bond but on the other hand he and Slang could fly together like no one else in the full nest.

He had time to think about things before he reached his den and was able to present the girl’s reaction both in the nursery and out of it.  He needed to plan before Slang rushed off to attack the Turner and Ballas, who were likely hoping he would.  If they ambushed him they might be able to kill Slang and so Jesop, leaving the rank of Lord Marshal open. Jesop could only imagine what would follow if that happened.

Getting to the den Jesop told Slang the story as he made  himself tea and joined Slang in the lair.  He had just mentioned his concerns about the potential for the others to attack Slang when Teven and his twin arrived from other ends of the Nest.

Jesop left Slang to join the twins in the kitchen where Teven was busy making fresh tea.

“What’s on your mind?”  Tarra asked.

“Dose Farra think she can take out Banta?” Jesop asked reaching for a cup of tea for himself but Teven caught one off the counter and held it over.  Jesop took it as the woman spoke with her Wing.

“Not likely and not in a fair open fight.  She would be hard pressed Jesop, Banta is her mother. Why what’s this about?”

Jesop leaned against the plain pine table that stood against the wall of the narrow kitchen and looked at Teven’s boots as he thought a moment. “Banta has told the females who have been pinned to keep quiet about it.  They are scared of her.  She seems to be doing this out of some sort of personal rage.  She has to go, Tarra.”

Tarra grunted.  “Farra says she is very bitter at Slang.”

“Slang why?”  He looked up at the woman who stood next to her brother her shoulder almost touching his.

“Because he flew circles around her and then left her so enraged and wild that she was ready for a Fall.  Then he left.  She was humiliated and frustrated.  Farra half thinks that Banta thinks Slang is flawed for his lack of Falls and to be honest Jesop, so do a few of the other females.  It’s really insulting if he’s not and it’s better to hate him as a flawed bird than to have your heart stabbed.”

“Maybe he likes eagles better.  God knows Jesop prefers those outside his own kind.  Maybe they share that,” Teven said with a shrug.  Tarra gave her brother a dirty look but let it be.  For Teven that was a mild insult.

Slang objected with a grumble from the other room.  Jesop didn’t need to have the images to know how Slang felt about it why he did or did not Fall..

“It would be no more appropriate for Slang to go catching barely flighted Wings as for me to bed a twelve year old.  He has already told you that if Farra wants to challenge him to a dance he’d happily take her on. And the others are either like Banta, too old to Fall well or are too fat and lazy to force the sort of dance to produce a nesting he can be proud of.  If they want to impress him they need to get in shape and impress him.”

“I am sure Farra will.  But it dose not mean she can deal with Banta and as you say, it is an issue. She is a bit worried about a Fall with Slang now that you mention it. Banta might take that as a personal insult and go after her, or the eggs.  Banta might be just jealous enough to take it out on Farra.”

“Tohke says that it might be better if he was to Fall with Farra.  Slang should find a female who could take on Banta and have that the whole point.  Banta might well be so enraged as to attack at once. In defending herself and Slang’s attention, any female who could Fall with him then stand up to Banta would take the rank of Mother, no question. The nest could use a strong mother.”

“That was the thought,” Jesop said.  “But I was rather certain Farra was the next mother in line.”

Teven made a slight face and his eyes tightened a bit as he argued with Tohke, and lost as normal when the two of them argued.

“If the rank was to pass over death yes, because Tarra has the links and already does for men here what the Mother is supposed to do for dragons.  Tarra would be next Mother but to win it in a fight Farra is not the best choice and right now fighters might be a better idea any way.  We need power and we need some strong hatchlings. To boost Slang’s place in the Nest he has got to choose his Falls carefully and powerfully.”

“And?”  Tarra asked.  “Who dose he have in mind?”

“Scout Wing Eclipse,” Teven sighed heavily and not happy about it.

“Eclipse?” Tarra objected. “Teven.  A scout?”

“Tohke’s pick not mine.”

“No,” Jesop said thinking about it. “No, he’s right Eclipse is good.  She isn’t exactly the most stunning looking dragoness but she is good. She flew left wing for me for a bit.  She’s very skilled in the air.  In fact I was going to call her in to be a new commander when the next troop took to air.  I have her covering a rather large area. Can Tohke talk to her?  I didn’t even think about using a scout. But by all rights she should be a Sat.  I just need her in the field too much to promote her.”

“So promote her and seal it with a Fall,” Tarra said.  “If she is as good as to have Tohke recommend her she won’t go soft for it.  She might just snarl enough to get others to work a bit harder for things.”

Jesop let his mind shift though maps, lines, and scout runs.  “Are you ready to go out? Could you cover her route?” He asked Tarra.

“I haven’t seen Dall, but for a few days in almost a year,” She objected.  “Come on, Jes.”  She appealed.

“What if I have you two team up and fly together?  I’ll post you in his home territory and make him a commander so you can have a tower together?  I can shift a few others to cover the rest.”

She considered it a moment and shrugged. “I’ll go out then.  But I want to see this.”

He nodded. “I’ll need to rework maps and routes,” he half muttered  to himself.  He considered it all for a bit then looked back to them.  Both of them waited.  Teven was actually making more tea.

“Turner and Ballus,” Jesop said, moving on to the next issue. “They are ambushing and pinning the Wings and from what I can tell they hit the Arms at the same time.  I have already had Wisdoms go look at the girls to find out and heal them if they have been, but they have to be stopped and I don’t want to ground them openly for it.  It would humiliate the Wings who were pinned.”

“They both hate you,” Teven offered sweetly.

Jesop looked at Teven with a hundred remarks to that but didn’t say any of them.

“Personal insult.” Tarra offered. “What if one of the scouts was to let it be known he knew about one of them and was just a little rude.  Turner for one would get pushy and if the other pushed back…”  she shrugged.

“I will be thinking about it and I am sure I will have Slang test out a few people but I want to be sure that you know who is behind it and that they are targeted.  I want this Witnessed, so when you Witness the act you have knowledge about it and Tohke can back up Slang if need be.”

“It is Witnessed,” Teven said.  The magic of the Nest held the whole conversation in its memory and the power of the Keeper was spun out into a history unblemished by words but recorded in exactness to be looked at by King, Keeper or Lord Marshal via the Keepers Stones.

“Is that it then?” Tarra asked.  “I have an appointment to get my hair done before Dall gets home and I would hate to miss it.”

“Go,” Jesop gestured and she smiled, drained her tea and all but ran out. Jesop took a chair at the table. His thoughts were on plotting maps and shifting flights around and trying to get a fight started.  Teven set down a new cup of tea at one point and Jesop took it without seeming to notice.  He sank back in the seat and let his mind work.

“You should get your hair done,” Teven said.

Jesop looked over blinking as if just woke up. “What?”

“Your hair.  You should get it done. The ends are rather frayed. You fly enough to tatter it all up,” he said disgusted catching the end of Jesop’s braid and looking at its split ends. “You should keep up a better appearance than that.”

“Why?” he asked.  He rarely ever had his hair done.  The whole process of oiling, cleaned, dying, cutting and being preened by hands that did nothing else, took far too much time out of his day and seemed of little value to him.

“Because you should have more respect for yourself than that.  How do you think others will look at you if you don’t even care enough to keep you hair in good condition,” Teven dropped the braid and turned to clean up the cups in the sink.

Jesop had not even realized there was anything wrong with his hair. Sure the last dye job was nearly worn out but he had very nice hair he thought. He caught the end of the braid and looked at it.  Teven was right.  It was frayed a bit.

He’d have Trayvore do it.  The boy was Teven’s son and looked so like him it was uncanny at times.  Tray, like Teven other sons were as much at home in Jesop’s lair as in their father’s. Tray had been the only one to do Jesop’s hair for the last few years. That way Jesop could work on papers while he was enduring the process.

The three Rah boys had all been chosen and were in school and rather busy with training now. They had lives of their own.  Asking Trayvore to come up to fix his hair would be a good excuse to see him.  He let the braid go and thought back to the dragons and how to pick a fight.

Teven set to inspecting the kitchen.  Jesop ignored him. Eventually Teven set the little blue bottle on the table and did so with a slightly heavy hand.  Jesop broke out of his thoughts and looked from the bottle up to the man in black who looked at him with an accusing expression.

“What is this?”

Jesop had a number of remarks for that stupid question. He turned to spit back at Teven. For that moment bitter rage snarled in the back of his mind but he let it go.

Jesop didn’t say anything at all. Teven shouted the question at him and slammed it on the table hard enough the bottle of thick glass cracked and Jesop flinched as he always did.  His eyes got wet at once from the attack.  When Teven got angry at him like that it hurt, it made his eyes and head burn. He blinked it away and swallowed the very real pain.

Teven threw the bottle across the room.  It hit the wall on the garbage shoot hard enough it vanished. It would join all the kitchen and would washed down to the compost silos to be tended by the Wisdoms deep in the nest caves where no others could go. Jesop wondered if they would find the little bottle.

Jesop had a headache now that would demand pain killers later. Teven had no idea how much an effect his mood had on the Lord Marshal.  Teven didn’t even need to hit him any more to be felt, Jesop was far too sensitive with his power of empathy to need that. He shifted and tightened his shields. It wouldn’t matter, the headache was there and would linger for days most likely.

The Keeper left furious and slammed the door.  Jesop let out his breath, laid his head on the table until he couldn’t take it any more.  He went to the living room and opened the drawer of the lamp-table and took out a small leather pouch.  Without pulling the bottle free he shook several pills into his hand.  He put the cork back, closed the strings and hid the pouch away.  He dumped the gray pills into his mouth and slammed the last of his tea to swallow them. He sank back into his chair and welcomed the effects.  It started in his shoulders, creeping outward, numbing and relaxing.

He could feel tears escape the corners of his eyes but he made no move to wipe them off.  His splitting headache sank to a dull ache and his body ceased to hurt at all.  Slang grumbled unhappily. The pills numbed the pain but it also numbed the bond between them.

“It’s alright.  I only took four,” he said to the one reason he took only four. To a normal man two would kill. Years and several over doses had built up his immunity and now four just helped him to sleep. “I wish Teven didn’t hate me so much,” he muttered as he started to sink away into sleep.  It was a thought he had often enough.  Now and then Teven was just Teven and not attacking him and it was rather nice at those times.  Those moments never lasted.  Teven was utterly against Jesop taking pills but was often the source of why Jesop did. Why couldn’t he just be a friend?

Rah Tarra – Dragons of Va’Ha’Den

The lair was one of the largest that Kerik had ever been in. It was even larger than many of the common scout lairs on the northern route. Dart could triple in size and still have room.  It also meant that friends could fly in and their Wings could rest there while they stayed.  He was a bit humbled by it and wondered if Cursk had given them the wrong one.

The basic lay out was as all Dens. They were in the shape of a rectangle with the lair at the outside end. The bedroom was off the lair with the bathroom always to the left of the lair door and living room to the right.

The living room, bedroom and bathroom lined up against the lair’s back wall.  The dining, kitchen and supply room lined up as the second layer cut into the mountain.  Most always the door into the inner hallway was off of the dining room.

Inside a den there were no windows but all were well lit with ceiling light panels. Air always circulated gently through gold lined ventilation shafts, or if the magic sealing the lair doors came down, air could blow in through the lair.

Given differences in details and the shape of the natural stone as well as the face of the cliff this was the standard layout of all Dens.  Each layer up the cliff face only got larger and more spacious. Rank meant size and size meant rank.

There were Dens with extra rooms for those with children and the higher ranks were said to have lofts above the living room and even windows.  But Kerik had never been high enough up the cliff to know if it was true.  This was the nicest he had ever been in and by far the largest.

It was furnished rather simply with basic items as to be expected. Over time he would add his own personal style and make it his own.  All his personal things were already delivered and set on the dining room table.

There wasn’t much, just a couple boxes of odds and ends, a blanket his grandmother had woven him, and a small wooden chest with his valuable trinkets inside.  Kerik trailed his fingers over the smooth tabletop and couldn’t help but think of the scout who had just left his company, he missed him almost desperately.  For that he had to had to admit he was indeed suffering Neglect.  The idea was terrifying.  Dart was very silent about it.  Kerik wasn’t sure if that helped or not.  Kerik didn’t even know the man’s name he realized and half laughed.

He saw on the table a small silver box.  He opened it to find it full of trade chits.  More than he had ever had in his life combined. To be able to honor those who aided him or gave him supply was a massive gesture outside the Nest.  Few chits ever made it to the hands of the civilians. Most stayed inside the nest, going to the master craftsmen already there or into the chit drawers in the store rooms. From there the Lord Marshel would know what Master or what village would be rewarded for their efforts, but few would ever see the chits themselves. He was still staring at them wondering if they truly left them for him when the door chimed.

He turned and opened it, not sure who would be there, let alone so soon after his arrival.  The woman in the door was stunning.  She wore dark blue of a Sat and carried a bundle.  She stepped in and smiled.

“Kerik?”

“Yes,” he said staring at her, a bit stunned.

“I am Rah Tarra,” she said.

He nodded, half stuttering that he knew who she was.  She was the twin sister of the Keeper and one of the only Sats to fly scout runs.  She was also only one of three women to make the rank of Sat.

“Not who you expected?” She asked amused.

“Uh no,” he said.

“Not who Jesop expected to be sent either, but after all the praise he has for you and Dart I thought I’d deliver this all to you.”  She stepped past him into the room looking around the lair. “You know he picked this lair for you himself.  He always does that when he promotes people.”  She set the box she carried on the table and opened it.

“Promote?”  He asked still a little stunned.

“He promoted you several months ago to Wing Commander.  You have a few training lessons to take to master the needed skills but he thinks you will be able to fly in and pass it without effort.  But Teven is the judge not Jesop.”

“Commander?  But we barely have enough to fly alone let alone in full Flights.”

“He is sort of trying to shift things about without the council realizing it. He wants Wing Commanders to more-or-less own a territory and a Tower, with his Flight in the local erreis.  The Commander will over see them, make sure they are rewarded or scolded as need be. They will be there to keep an eye on things and know their area so they can spot trouble a stranger might miss.  I’m sure he will talk to you about it sooner or later.

“He has a few already working but has to be careful to choose commanders who can actually do it. He has been meaning to get you in for a long time but every time it looks about to happen someone gets hurt and he’s up there pulling his hair out in worry for his scouts who pay the price for our lack of numbers.”

“I wasn’t aware he even knew our names.”

“He knows everyone’s name and he knows the good ones in detail.  Like he plans to make you commander of your home territory so you can visit family. You wont be going back to the North Reach. Villages with people you knew as a child might be more willing to offer you company as well as giving an insight to those who might be likely candidates for choosing.”

“Oh.”  That was a shock and something he had never considered before.  It sounded like too much to be true. He had been home only once since he had been picked up and brought to the nest at twelve.

“But for now, Dart has to heal.  I’m no dragon healer.  He will be here tomorrow in the morning.  I am here to deliver all this; starting with a map to the upper hallways and a trade room pass.”  She set them on the table.  “And,” she pulled out three sets of folded dark brown leather with an almost golden dye to the threads at the edges in a sort of decorative detail that was new.  The buckles were etched sliver to show his new rank and not the flat steel of the old buckles that were all smoked dark.  She set those on the table.  “You can break those in while Dart heals and by time you are both up for it you should make quite a pair.”  She smiled and put him so at ease it felt as if they were old friends.  “And there is this of course.”  She held over his promotion papers and then another folded paper.

He took the second and unfolded it. The letter was written in black ink in the same flowing and beautiful hand that wrote all his orders.  He realized that Jesop personally wrote orders out and didn’t hand the job to others.  That was something he had never once considered.

“Kerik Dart, I wanted to express my gratitude for the unfair length of time you have spent on the wind.  I want you to know I am aware of what you have done for the Nest and that you have not been overlooked.  Rank and reward are yours as earned by the sheer time spent on duty, but as there are fewer and fewer I can simply trust to get a job done and turn them lose to do so, I would add a personal reward as well. 

Wind to your Wings…Jesop.”

He looked up to the woman a bit unsure what the personal reward might be.  She took out the last thing in the box and held it out.  It was draped in dark brown velvet.  Lifting the fabric he saw a set of daggers that were so stunning in their sheaths and grips he could only stare at them in shock.

They were all in silver and opal with the sheaths etched in spells and the belt hooks dangling with crystals.  He slowly took them in disbelief and drew one slowly to see the blade as etched as the sheath.  He couldn’t breathe for a moment.  He had never seen such craftsmanship and could not imagine them even real.

“These can’t be for me,” he said in awe.

“Oh yes.  He picked them out for you.  He wants you to understand that he values your work.  Being a scout can make a man feel very alone and very unappreciated.  Jesop has no greater respect than for his scouts.  And you, he is most grateful to.”

“Then I go and crash and …”

She smiled, “I do not think he is the least bit upset at you about it.  Upset at himself for not pulling you before this last flight, or pulling you months ago – maybe, but not you.” She set the velvet down and touched his hand that held the daggers.  “Those of us who are not blind by rank all value our scouts like nothing else.  And a scout who has a wing like Dart…” She paused looking at him.  Her touch to his hand mad made every muscle in his body jump. He was frozen in war with himself.  He wanted to grab her and force her down with all the passion, power, and strength of a dragon on fire, but she was a Rah. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, and his mouth had gone utterly dry. She took the daggers from his hands.

“I am not a Wisdom,” she said softly as she set the daggers on the table. “But I am an empath. Jesop was worried for you. Maybe another reason Slang allowed me to be the one to deliver your reward,” she smiled mischievously, “and as my mate is on route and has been out for six months I could use a little attention almost as much as you need it.”

He tried to say something, anything, this mouth moved but no sound came out.

“Don’t worry, the fact Dart isn’t panicked at all is proof you are in far more control than you think. Besides,” She unhooked the top of her collar, “I’m stronger than I looked.  I doubt you could hurt me if you tried.”

That was all the permission he needed.

When Kerik had worn himself out and was too tired to even move Tarra gently traced her finger up and down his back.  He could feel she was using magics, deep, and soothing.  With all his energies open and raw, she was easing away the effects of the Neglect.  For a moment he wanted to fight it, to hold onto such wild passions but he was too tired and was drifting toward sleep.  All the damage was being melted out of him by no effort of his own.

When he did wake later she was still there, laying beside him.  She was propped up on her elbow.

“You want to tell me about it?” She asked

He watched her face and felt utterly safe and secure in her care. This was almost dream like. He opened his mind and shrugged a little. He almost felt as if he had taken some sort of drug, or drank too much.  His normal private nature was simply not there.  He couldn’t help but talk to her.

“It was there, a thought, a reaction but nothing I couldn’t hide well enough. He had to make an effort to make sure.  I am certain that was what he was doing. I think he did it to make sure he could protect me but it’s rather an unsettling thing and to have such weakness revealed in front of a dragon like Cursk…”

“Cursk is the best to do so in front of.  Ramar suffered Neglect so badly he killed his mate. He was so upset and horrified at what he had done he tried to kill himself.  Many of Cursk’s scars came from the reaction of the dragons about when Ramar tried to rape the late king.  Only the defense of Boulder and Taralk saved him.

“It took years to get that bad,” she said sadly.  “His pride held him back from healing and made him say it was nothing and he could deal with it,” she sighed sadly. “Dragons can’t feel it when it gets to us, they can only sense us reacting differently to things.  It is never a thing that can be simply willed away.  It does not just let go of us.

“Can you tell me a bit about what he seemed like to you…explain him to me as if you wanted to me to go find him and know him in a crowd. I assure you it is so I can help you heal through this.”

He looked at her a long time.  Talking about it, admitting weakness was against everything that was natural to him, but then, so was getting flustered by another man.  He was in awe at the skill the woman had, to make him so at ease and trusting with her.  He was certain he had never been so at peace with another person in his life.

“He went out there knowing I might have this issue and took that chance alone, didn’t he. That’s why we rested in a tower with just the two of us and not in an eerie.”

“Likely.  Who was he?” She asked.

“I don’t know his name, he never gave it and I suppose that was on purpose as well. He was taller than most.  He walked like a true acrobat, I’d guess a Sat but for the fact he was so powerful but he referred to himself as a scout. He moves silently, startled the hell out of me once.  Soft spoken, like a man with no rank yet he was with Cursk. He had no doubt he could get a Wisdom here for me if I wanted it.  He seems to know rank well enough to pull a favor and avoid reports.” His mind strayed  The memories filled all his thought.  He had just reached the point when he realized the truth, on the slopes of Esyah when there was sudden wrenching feeling inside his head. He caught his breath painfully.  He wasn’t sure what she had done but he had a headache to prove se had done something.  She smoothed his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” she said with an apology.  She sat up naked and beautiful with her hair spilling down her back. “I have good news and bad news,” she said.

“Alright.”

“The good news is you are all better and just fine and this won’t bother you again, unless you spend six years on your own.” She began to gather her leathers. “You will be more tolerant for the healing of it if you are, but be aware of it.  That’s the good news.

“The bad news is that I couldn’t remove what is there.  I could go into detail on it but it’d be rather boring to you I am sure, and it might just fade out eventually.  In the mean time you are going to be walking around with a crush on him, rather like most young women who meet him.

“It’ll pop up in your thoughts a few times, you might have a dream or two but nothing to worry about, it’s just there.  And I doubt you’ll even notice it as anything unless you run into him.  Not likely, he’s not one to be wandering about and it’s hard to find him even when you look.

“But its nothing to worry about at all.  All I ask is that if a scout under your command gets a case of Neglect that you act with support and understanding.”

He smiled a little. “I will.  And thank you.  This was far more pleasant than dealing with a Wisdom.”

She laughed good naturedly. “And no reports,” she winked and slipped from his bed.  “Get some sleep Commander you have earned it.”

*************

Tarra knew Jesop was in her lair before she even found him in the kitchen.  He was making tea for two and sat at the little side table.  He looked up and smiled faintly. She knew just as fast that he knew she had been with someone.  She felt a little guilty about that.  She always did for some reason. She slipped into her chair across from him with all the ease her twin brother did not have with Jesop.

“I was with your new commander,” she said to explain that she had been healing and not just out for pleasure. It also gave them something to talk about.

“How is he?”

“He’s fine for now. He’s healed but he will likely always react to you.”

“How bad?”

“It’s just a little crush more or less. The rest of it is fine but he has been so looped in with Dart to deal with his loneliness that somehow it got tangled up in Dart as well and Dart was rather impressed with you for his own reasons and that sort of locked it in.  I tried to pull it and nearly made him black out.”

“Is it an issue?”

“No.  He might never be real comfortable sitting having tea with you but then on the other hand he might enjoy nothing more than your company, a game of pegs and a cup of tea.”  She smiled and touched his hand.  “And how are you doing?  How long have you been unattended to?”

He looked at her with his soft eyes and smiled at her so warmly and so kindly it made her heart hurt for him. He was such a kind man and so very lonely.  She doubted anyone except her had any idea of that truth.

“Don’t tease me, Tarra,” he said.

“Tease you Jesop?  If I was teasing you’d know it,” she laughed.

They had, as teenagers found themselves tangled up a few times and taught each other a great deal about such things, but Teven was too powerful a reality to them both to even consider letting it be more. Even these meeting they hid from him as best they could. Not to mention she had a double lair with a man who tolerated her healing touch but was not about to let it slide for her to have another in his bed.  No matter if it was the Lord Marshall.

He smoothed his newly shaven face and sighed weary.

“I want to know about what going on with the females.”

“They won’t talk,” she admitted with frustration.

“Make them tell you.  I can’t help them and I can’t act if they don’t.  Slang is upset, Toke is about ready to kill and the nest is dying.  If they are being Pinned Slang is going to take some wings off. I get one more nest full of hollow eggs and a fist full of wailing Grays and I am going to kill someone myself.”

“Farra is upset as well.  All she says is if Slang can’t bring himself to at least flick his tail at her she is not settling for less and his nest can die for his pride.”

“Pride…Farra!” he objected well aware a dragon can hear all sounds in the den.  “You go flick a tail at him and I am rather sure he’ll take to air.  He’s been looking at you since you could fly you little vain hummingbird.”

The dragoness grunted from inside the lair.

“She threatens to right now.”

“Wait for Dall.  The last thing I need is him attacking me for nest lines. Teven’s abuse is bad enough.” He rubbed his eyes.  “Anyway, I am tired and sore and going to bed, but I want to know what is going on and Farra, you tell your mother I am serious!  She or you, have got to get this to open up so we can deal with it before we’re all dead.  The young girls are all so battered they fear males and can’t form eggs.  Something is very wrong.”  He drained his tea and got up.  She stood up in his way and smoothed his face.

“Don’t let Teven bully you, Jesop.  He loves you. I mean it.”

“Teven is Teven and always will be,” he said catching her hands.  “And normally he is just part of life that I deal with but some times I get tired and he pushes and pushes and sooner or later I am going get pushed too far and fall off a cliff.  That or I am going to haul off and knock him out.”

“You should.”

“He’s Keeper.”

“He should act like it then.” She kissed him and for a moment thought he was going to stay but he kissed her forehead.  “And when Dall gets home I dare your Farra to get Slang to wing.  The old buzzard could use a good challenge.”

“Then you line up someone for yourself Jesop, it’s not fair to even suggest it and think you’ll do fine alone.”

“Maybe I’ll go find my new commander,” he teased.

She punched him in the chest. “That’s not funny, Jes.”

He laughed though and left on that note.  It was nice to see him laugh, it wasn’t often and her twin brother did not help matters in that area at all.

The Nest – Dragons of Va’Ha’Den

The Nest was an ancient volcano with three great main calderas. The largest was also the highest with the two successive both lower and slightly smaller in turn.  Stretching over 50 miles from the farthest south wall to the farthest north wall the Nest was the home of the King. It was the stronghold of the Vayden and the only true city held by them.

Every wall soared nearly perfectly vertically upward for miles.  They were all carved with millions of lairs that attached to the dens of the Arms.  Arm and Wing lived together, from the day of Choosing.  As cadets they lived in a single room with a sandy floor on the front half and a stone floor with a bed and desk on the back half.

Each rank that was gained came with lairs that became more comfortable, larger, and higher up the wall.  Cadets lived at the ground level while the King’s lair was just above the great common lair that dominated the far southern face, looking north over the entire expanse.

Forests lined the bottoms of the cliffs where ancient rocks had fallen to make steep bank down to the lake that filled the bottom of the main caldera.  The lake, warmed from below, spilled down into the second one in layers of water falls where it was met with many hotter springs, creating a maze of pools and cascades that provided places for people as well as dragons, to bath, soak, and visit with one another.

From there it poured down to the lowest caldera and into a vastly deep lake that emerged outside the mountain into the great river Suffah, that made its way eventually out to the lowlands far to the east.  The warm waters of the lake made the Nest ever warm with rarely a winter so cold as for snow to actually fall inside. The Nest and Mount Eysah were held in its own weather patterns and no creature other than a dragon had any hope of scaling the heights.

They breached the top of the north wall at its lowest point, a narrow pass that many of the young and old used to get in and out.  Burdened with Dart, Cursk had to labor to even get that high.  Once over the jagged cliffs the heat from the waters created an updraft that aided the dragon in the long glide from one end to the other.

Jesop had ordered Kerik moved from his low den just barely inside the main caldera to mid way both up the wall and farther south along it. Most of the Nest was horrifyingly empty with as many craftsmen living in the Nest as Wings.  The dens in the 3rd ring were completely deserted with only a fraction of the 2nd ring being used at all.  Those that were living there were the artisans and their families.  The 1st ring showed how empty it was by the lack of light from the dens.  There were only hundreds where there should have been many thousands. Jesop’s heart sank every time he came home after sunset.  The darkness was a painful reminder to how fragile the state of affairs were.

Cursk let Dart go at the lair door well above where Kerik’s old lair had been.  Dart fumbled.  He caught the edge, talons scraping and grabbing at the stone.  Several shards broke free to crash downward, shattering into little more than flecks as they bounced off the lower cliff face.

Cursk had to shove himself off the cliff as he swept sideways to not crush in after Dart.  More little rocks clattered downward but Dart was inside and Cursk was free.  He spiraled upward with relief.  He was old for this era but by the ancient reports he was just now nearing his prime.  If only his Arm was not an invalid…

In the dark Jesop knew Slang was waiting in the air somewhere and he left Cursk’s saddle and simply leapt from the dragon.  He hung a moment with the shimmering lights of the great city about him and the warm steaming lake below, reflecting the city lights and the stars back at him.  A great hand caught him out of the air.  Slang veered south and upward to the lair they lived in.   It was one layer up and just west of the Great Lair.  He was after all, Lord Marshall and while young for such rank he had already seen more battle than most anyone alive.

Light as a feather the great green dragon set him down and they both half ran half walked into the sandy lair out of the air and out of the sight of the world.  It was good to be home and good to be in Slang’s presence.

Inside lights rose up soft and warm.  The light bars in the ceiling of a Lair were activated by a dragon’s presence, not needing the touch that the control pads needed inside the Den itself.

“Have a Wisdom sent to him.  No reports,” Jesop said.

Slang grunted to say he had already seen to it and Jesop looked up and at the dragon and smiled. “I missed you too.”

Slang chuckled and caught him.  Jesop let himself fall into the dragon’s hand.  It was nice to have such a big dragon to hold you and not just be able to hold onto you.  He was so sore, so very tired, worried, and guilty about the fate of the all the scouts but mostly for Kerik. He got an image of Slang watching out over Dart to be sure nothing came of it.  Jesop relaxed a little.

“I don’t know what to do Slang,” he said.  It was good Slang would watch out over Dart but that was just one of the things on the Lord Marshal’s mind.  “We haven’t had anyone chosen in months, few and fewer are flying.  Our skies will be empty soon if things don’t change.”

Slang rumbled.  He was not just any dragon and he had to wait for certain standard of female.  He could not just go snatching young scouts out of the air, no matter how tempting it was.  He needed to remind all the Wings of the way things should be.  All the females he might have taken wind for were all scouts and quite busy.  He shared Jesop’s worries but couldn’t do much more than they already were.

Despite how much was on his mind Jesop was almost about to fall asleep in Slang’s hand when the dragon grunted in warning.  Jesop got up.  He crossed the lair to the door to his bedroom. He shrugged off the slim pack he wore on this back and tossed his Belts to the chair as he stepped up into the room. He peeled off his leather jacket and hung it in his wardrobe. It went with the other worn and dirty but not fouled leathers that he kept locked away.

Picking up his pack he left his room and pulled out the folders as he crossed the living room to the dinning room.  He set them all on the table before he slipped into the kitchen. Jesop took out his tea pot and filled it, already feeling tension building from what he knew he was about to endure.  Once the water was on he checked his cold drawer for food and found it utterly empty.

The soup yesterday night had worn off and he was hungry but he was as likely to cook as he was to spout wings.  He settled for tea.  Once it was steeped enough he added several spoons of honey and hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter.  It wouldn’t be long now, he thought as he sipped his hot drink.

The door made a soft chime as it opened to warn him that time was up.  He sighed and took another sip of tea.  It was only a few steps from the front door to the kitchen and Tev was there.  He saw Jesop on the counter, looked him over and shook his head.

“One of these days I am going to take all those damn browns and burn them,” Teven said.  Jesop let him grumble, he noticed that the man had a plate in his hands and Teven was as good a cook as Jesop was not.  So despite the hard words and the likely scolding he was about to get from his Keeper he was also going to eat well.

“Where did you go this time?” Teven demanded. “Off to some Jazidin whore or to pick some Scout weed?  You find it necessary to slip off, and if I tell the council the truth I look like I am failing to Keep you,” he half snarled at that.  “And don’t think your laying the folders out on the table convinces me for a moment that you were here.”  He took the tea out of Jesop’s hand and set it on the small table that stood against the kitchen wall across from the stove.  Teven turned to glare at Jesop with his hands on his hips.  “Well?”  He demanded.  He gestured shortly.  Jesop slid down and went to the table as ordered.  He sat and took the fork and whispered a thanks to the Spirits for the food, as he always did, and took a bite of wonderful tasting cooked vegetable of some sort. He didn’t even know what it was let alone how it was cooked, but most things Teven brought were that way, he just ate and enjoyed it.

Teven made himself tea, leaned back on the counter and gave Jesop a moment to eat before he cleared his throat. “Well, where did you go?”

Jesop considered lying and even trying to deny he went anywhere but Teven really did know better and if he didn’t tell, Slang would tell Toke anyway.  The two Wings were nest brothers and as close with each other as Teven and Jesop were at odds.

Odds, was not the right word, but they were far from being friends. Teven hated Jesop and had since they were children. Fate was cruel to make Jesop outrank Teven, to deny him the crown that everyone had thought would be his, after all he had the biggest dragon in their generation; was the grandson of the old king and the 12th Rah in a line to be Chosen.  But he was made Keeper by the dragons instead and that was that.  Jesop, the orphan, outranked him.

“I went after Dart and Kerik,” Jesop said around a bite.

“And?”

“Dart will fly again…only because I know what I am doing with wings.  He would have been grounded, Teven.”  Jesop looked over.  “Our scouts deserve better than that.  A faulty scar and a dragon looses everything.”

“So?  What happened?”

“Red Men,” he shook his head.  “The pack is broken.  I ordered a flight of scouts to hunt out the nest to kill any young.”

“How is he?  Six years out is a long time,” Teven said, his tone almost sounding concerned.

“Worn out and in need of some attention.”

“Neglect?”

Jesop shrugged a shoulder. “He’s a strong man and very close to his Wing.  I expect he’ll be Wing Leader when Duth goes down.”

“That says a lot.” Teven almost seemed impressed that Jesop thought so highly of the scout’s skill.

“Like I said, he’s a strong man and close to his Wing.”

“You hope Dart Falls?”

“I won’t let him leave until he does.”

“Good.”  Teven grunted.  “At least you’re not stupid.”

Jesop let that slide and just ate his meal.

“Take a bath Jesop, you smell… and throw out those browns and get back into White like you belong and for Gods sake shave that beard off.  You look like a scout.”

Jesop made no remark, just cleaned his plate as the Keeper in black went to gather up the paper work.  It would be his job to file it or deliver it as need be.  Jesop got up, washed the plate, wiped down his sink and set the plate to the side for Teven to take home.

He made another cup of tea for himself and spooned in more honey.  He retook his seat on the counter and knew he’d change out of the browns, shave and put on his damned whites and Teven would grunt and assume it was done as ordered.  It was not because Teven ordered, it was because Slang deserved his Arm to at least look the part he had been forced to play.

Jesop’s arm ached, the weather was about to change.  His arm had been stabbed through once.  A spear had staked him to the ground on the cliff top and Teven had been the one to do it.  It had taken a year for the healer to fix it and now it ached at sudden weather changes.  That wasn’t the only scar he had from Teven’s attacks as boys.  It was just the only one that still ached and was prone to betray him now and then.

How sad was it the only person who was remotely a friend was Teven. Dragons didn’t count, they were all his friends, after all, they had made him Lord Marshal.  He shook his head at himself and wished they would choose a king, but no black dragons had been hatched and hardly any eggs that had come had even been fertile.  Empty slime, nothing more.

His head hurt and when Teven was far enough away he’d take something to help with that and take a few more to help him sleep.  At least now he wasn’t hungry.  Teven stopped in the door with the folders.

The Keeper was a grand looking man and looked rather like his father and his father in turn.  He was built like a Sat with solid strong body, handsome face so much so that being a Rah was to say a man was handsome and exactly what women wanted.  Teven was no exception.  The normally celibate post of Keeper was not that.

Teven had had a wife of all things, until she died and then he had more lovers than Jesop cared to think about.  Toke should be snatching scouts out of the air everyday, everyone already knew Teven slept with all their Arms.

“Toke is upset,” he said seriously.  “He said one of the younger scouts came in the other day and went directly to the nursery and was not in good shape.  She won’t say anything but he thinks she was pinned down.  He’s worried that all the last few have been that way and that’s why at best, we get grays.  He’s not sure who is doing it but he’s getting very upset about it.  So if you know any female who will talk to you, now would be the time to go figure this out.”  He took his plate and left Jesop.

Jesop sighed, slid off the counter, took out his little blue bottle from the back of a small kitchen counter drawer.  He shook out several gray pills, debated the number and put them all back but two.  Once he downed them he put the jar back.  The last sip of tea swallowed them and he washed the cups and put them away before he went to go bath, shave, and put on his whites.

Towards Home

Jesop half dreaded getting back but he knew that speed would help Dart more than anything. The dragon needed to get into the hot pools for the warmth but also the healing minerals.  Another few more days and Dart would have been forever bound to the ground with pain in his wings.  They would never have borne his weight again.

He had gotten all the reports read and letters written so the work he was supposed to be doing was done, and had also he had saved Kerik and Dart.  At least, he had saved them from the woods. If Kerik manifested signs of Neglect to any other, they might kill Dart before Jesop had a chance to see if it could be healed.  He still wasn’t positive if Kerik had it but if anyone would, it would be that scout. Last night he had shown a few signs, but it might have just been stress from the long time out, the injury to Dart, his own injuries or the trauma of having been lost in the forest for so long. It was hard to say.

Jesop watched Kerik saddle Dart with care.  It was always impressive how gentle a dragon could be with his Arm but it was also, at times, amazing how gentle an Arm could be with his Wing.

Every time Jesop had meant to pull Kerik home there had been someone injured and Kerik had taken up the slack.  One route after another, for years.  Normally, that wasn’t such an issue as other scouts would cross paths and share eerries but they had so few numbers that it was becoming less and less possible.  Jesop tried to lay out timelines and routes to allow it, but if one Wing was a day late or a day early they missed each other.

Jesop suspected that Slang would have someone lined up to help Kerik the moment they returned. A Wisdom with skill could heal Neglect before it became a dangerous issue if it was caught in time.  Kerik deserved a good massage even if he didn’t have Neglect. That was another reason to hurry back. He needed Kerik in the right hands before the effects set in or scarred his psyche.

It had just been a matter of time before they got hurt.  Kerik and Dart should have been back at the Nest long before this run and if they were lost for it, Jesop would never forgive himself. Almost worse was the fact he had confirmed Red Men were in the North Reach.  That was far more troubling than the fate of one Scout Pair.  Merta had whispered of such an evil returning but now there was no doubt.

“Are we ready then?” Jesop asked Dart.  The dragon bobbed his head in affirmation.  Jesop nodded to him.  “You are a hell of a Wing, Dart,” he said soft enough only the dragon heard him.  “Why don’t you mount up and we’ll catch you on a fly by.”  He left the two inside for Cursk who waited outside.  “You sure you can do this?  Dart is no hatchling.”

Cursk rumbled in a good natured manner but clearly meaning to sound injured.  Jesop chuckled as he caught the saddle rope and stepped up to the stirrups and into the place. He patted Cursk on the neck. “If you get tired, land.  I mean it old buzzard.  I can not afford to have you get hurt.”  Cursk gave a grunt of serious agreement before he launched off the top. The wind caught his wings, filled them, and lifted them up.  In a great graceful arch the old dragon circled up and around letting Dart get into place. Cursk angled down into a near dive to gain speed.  Dart leapt from the top in perfect timing for Cursk to grab the younger dragon around the sides with all four hands.  They cleared the mountain, caught the draft and began to slow climb.

Once Cursk was high enough they cut south.  His wings labored to keep them high enough.  This was not an easy way to travel and was done rarely.  Poor Kerik had to have Cursk’s chest nearly pinning him to the saddle, while Dart had to keep his wings tight and in place or risk sending them both crashing down.  It took a lot of effort and a great deal of trust for this to happen.  Then again, Cursk was Dart’s grandfather. He had volunteered to Slang for this.  Without him Jesop would have been unable to do anything but wait for the dot on his map, that was Kerik, to simply blink out.

As they flew south towards the Nest he went through everything he had ever read about the ancient enemy in the Red Men and none of it was good.  They had not been reported in several thousand years.  Many had thought them wiped out.  It seemed just one more unfair burden to lay on him.  It was as if every ancient enemy was crawling up from the bowls of the earth in reaction to his birth.  He tried not to be bitter and held onto the tiny hope that when he got home the Nest would have named a king and he would not have to try and rule through a dysfunctional council.

The home mountain, called Eysah from the outside but was known as the Nest from the inside, came into view and the weary Cursk grunted.  He just couldn’t make it up and over the great Rim with Dart as a burden.  He shifted to spiral down toward a clearing on the long north-slope where the young would often practice hunting.  He almost dropped Dart as it was, but circled around and landed softly.  He was just too tired to try the climb and the long glide into the ancient caldera.

Kerik slid out of his own saddle where he had been tucked between the dragons for the ride. Jesop knew it must have made his ribs burn from being pinned for so long, but if he did have Neglect making him ride so close to another person would be a bad idea.  Putting him safely between dragons on the other hand would smother him in their strength and musk, helping to prepare him for being back in the Nest.

Jesop didn’t think Kerik knew who he was yet, all for the better in his mind.  There was no side ways looks or fumbled attempts to know how to treat him and he could just be himself a little.  He stretched out his own sore muscles and watched Kerik do the same.

“You know I was trying to think of the last time I was home,” Kerik said looking at nothing but the trees that were all around them.  “I can’t.”

“Six years,” Jesop said.  “I looked it up.”  He tried to explain.  “You’ve been out a long time. Most of it alone.”  He tested, he needed to know if the man had it or not.  Catch it now and fix it fast.  Last night it had almost seemed like he did, but then he was so calm after that first startled reaction that Jesop wasn’t sure.  Was Kerik’s pride and strength that great?  Likely. Jesop knew his own would be.

“I have been busy I guess.  I didn’t realize it was that long.  I suppose my place is full of dust,” Kerik tried to seem at ease but Jesop could sense a tension in him, but that was not necessarily from Neglect.  Most who suffered it were simply unable to hide it.

“I suppose it won’t matter,” Jesop said with a little smile.  “That long and as many kills and successes as you have had you are sure to have a new lair when you get home and a pile of Chits.”

Kerik laughed and leaned back against Dart.  “I doubt I’ll be home long enough to enjoy it, I am sure once Dart can fly we’ll be out again.”

“I doubt it,” Jesop said seriously.

“Why?” Kerik asked suddenly worried.

“The hatchlings are few, gray, and not choosing.  There are rather unhappy rumors about why. Dart is one of the best fliers in the air right now who also has a fit Arm. I doubt you’ll leave Nest again until he has sired several nestings.  If we lose a little border ground it won’t matter if we have no Wings to maintain them any way.”

“You look fit.”

Jesop almost laughed.

“And he’s rather a grand looking dragon,” Kerik said of Cursk who was rather old, scarred, and Wild looking.

“Cursk is not mine.”

“Cursk, as in the  Sar Remar Cursk?  General Cursk?”

Jesop smiled that at least Kerik knew who Cursk was and that little reaction would do good for Cursk’s ego.  The old dragon needed that.  Jesop leaned back on him in the same easy stance that Kerik had with Dart.

“The same.”

That alone made Kerik a little worried.  To think that Cursk, the great wizard Cursk was right there and this man had been honored with a flight and was now carrying Dart was unthinkable. Was this utterly flawless scout sent out to test him with a Wing who would not hesitate to kill Dart if Kerik proved to have Neglect?  The idea was terrifying.

“But…,” he started and faltered.  Rarely if ever did a dragon allow themselves to be touched.  Even Wings rarely tolerated it and to give an Arm use of a saddle was even more rare.  Whoever this man was he was special for such a great Wing to behave so warmly toward him.  Kerik tried to remember if Remar had any sons.

“Cursk gets bored like anyone would who is stuck to the Nest all the time.  I needed someone who knew the area and he volunteered.”

“I thought he’d be bigger,” Kerik admitted trying to put the fear aside.

Cursk puffed up and rumbled with a dragon’s laugh.

“Size is not always the best thing in a battle.  Skill with your Arm, strength in motion is worth far more.  When Dart is up to it he might get a few lessons from an old war hero.”  Jesop looked up at the dragon who actually flushed a little at his ear-flares with the praise and the affection that Jesop never failed to hold for a dragon.  He loved them all for whatever reason, but a few were even more special to him and this was one of them.  He had enough empathy that on contact he could share such things and let it whisper to them when he touched any dragon.  He suspected that was why he was Lord Marshal.  They loved to be loved.

“We’ll we’re honored.” Kerik stood, folded his hands with his three right fingers straight up against his fist to say he saw the dragon as an honored elder.  Cursk rumbled and Dart flushed at the flares and sank his head in embarrassed pleasure at such an honor to be touched by Cursk.

Oh this was going well for the old dragon’s sake, now if only Jesop could find out about Kerik’s state of being.

“Scout Marrlanda has a rather fine Wing.  She is a bit younger than we are but she’s an adult and has her own strong record going.  The older bullies have taken a liking to her.  She is unhappy about it and avoids flying much but you might go ahead and introduce yourself.  Her class mates are all out and she can’t have many visitors that she might like.”

“Marrlanda huh?  I don’t think I have heard her name before.”

“She’s young but her Wing would make a good mother, strong, and skilled.” Jesop folded his arms across his chest.  “The dragoness has even mentioned the desire for it but she is picky and demands not only flight skill but looks as well and Dart is a rather fine dragon.”

“I like to think so.”  Kerik smiled.  “But,” he added with real concern, “he took a blow to the head and I am not sure he can shield me enough for a Fall.”

“How bad is it?”

“Just tender.  As long as I touch him he can talk to me but it hurts like hell if I talk back.”

Jesop left Cursk and went to Dart, he stepped upon his arm and ran his hand under the ear flares and into the fold of soft skin between neck and skull.  He gently felt his way over the thick skin.  Dart winced when he touched the right spot.

“Its swollen, but it should go down.  If he can talk now he hasn’t lost it, its just sore.  If you get the right tea for him it should be fine in a few days at most.”

“You know a lot about injuries,” Kerik said.  “I took all the classes and have been applying them a bit but I feel rather inept with it.”

“I spent most of my childhood in the Nursery lairs and watched the mothers teach their daughters.  I sort of was taught along the way.”  Jesop left it at that, to say more would be to make it clear who he was.  “Skip school and get a better education.”  He smiled.  “How often dose that happen?”

“Depends on what sort of education your after,” Kerik smiled back.  Jesop left himself within reach and just set to rubbing at Darts scales and hitting the spots that felt wonderfully good to any dragon.  Dart groaned and laid his head on the ground as Kerik laughed at whatever he said.  “What are you doing?  He rather likes it apparently.”

“There is a blood vessel right here.”  He caught Kerik’s hand and slid it under the skull to the most vulnerable place and showed him.  “Feel the vessel right there along the inside edge of his skull?”

“That’s a blood vessel?”  Kerik asked almost afraid for the vulnerability.

“It’s not as weak a place as you think.  I have seen Worm claws actually get in there and miss the vessel and do little more then really cause pain and make telepathy hard.  “But if you run you fingers over it, make a sort of fluttering pressure it simulates a Fall Force and causes the body to flush with altered blood flow.  It is great for easing pain and helping a dragon with a head ache.”

Kerik tried it a little and Jesop let him learn the skill if nothing else.

“Why don’t they teach that?”

“Young dragons get rowdy with it.  And you can kill a dragon that way, and a young one easily.  The older the harder the walls of the vessel are but if you pinch it you cut off blood flow to the brain and it’s just better to tell the young to keep your fingers down in the deep folds of the skin and leave it alone.”

Jesop was about to decide the man had no Neglect and count themselves lucky but Kerik tried to say something and faltered, he stopped and cleared his throat and pulled his hand away, gripping them behind his back  He half muttered something at Dart, who was likely to have heard it but Jesop missed it.

“You alright?” Jesop asked reaching out with his hand to touch the Kerik’s arm.  Empathy he never used on people, he never tested emotions and he never forced others to feel what he wanted them to.  It was solely for dragons.  The emotions of men were too easily his own and he blocked them so well few knew he was an empath at all.

Kerik closed his eyes and actually shivered a little.  He bowed his head.  Jesop nearly swore.

“I’m fine,” Kerik said softly. “Just worn out.”

Jesop lowered his hand.  There was no doubt now.  It had to be dealt with and quickly.

“You’ve been out a long time.” Jesop said with sympathetic and apologetic honesty.  “It is not fair to ask that of you then not support the effects of it.  If you need a Wisdom I can get you one.  No questions asked, no reports.”

Kerik looked up with a pained expression in his eyes.  He glanced at Dart for a moment as Dart spoke to him.

“I can deal with it, it’s…” his voice broke off and he looked back to Dart.  He nodded.  He almost spoke but struggled with it.  The nest did not accept such weakness.  Men were killed while dragons tended to have their wings shredded or to be stoned.  If they lived they did so with misery and isolation.

The harshness like the trouble itself was a side effect of the dragon’s mentality.  Rank was often displayed in mating, or earned from it, sexual confusion was not tolerated.  Kerik wasn’t sure what a Wisdom could do to help him but maybe this other scout knew something he didn’t.  Dart seemed to think so.

“Let’s go ahead and get up in the air before it gets dark.” Jesop said offering him escape.  They got back into their places and Cursk launched up in a massive leap and took to the air before he came around and snatched the other off the ground.  Pounding the air with his wings he gained the height, up and over the rim of the great volcano and into view of the Nest.

The Tower

All the warning Kerik received before he was dropped was a grunt and slight squeeze.  The dragon that had carried him swept open great wings and slowed.  Veering left the dragon let of Kerik with a slight toss.  He landed hard, his body stiff and cold from the height and the length of the flight.  Staggering, he nearly fell but caught himself on the face of the cliff before him. His broken ribs, jarred by the landing, made him hold his side and gasp. Looking back he watched the Wing who grabbed him off them mountain face. He was a purple and green dragon, a young male, likely too young for Kerik to have ever met, but every bit as large as Dart.

Lowering his gaze he tried to place where he was but the mountains here were unrecognizable.  He had to be well outside his normal range, maybe into the territory of the scout who had come to his aid.  To further his sense of disorientation he realized the place he had been dropped off at was not an eerie but a tower. Unlike eeries that were carved from natural caves, towers were constructed, at least in part, of cut and quarried stone.

The front wall of this one was built of massive grey blocks.  The monolithic stones that were used here were larger than any that men might have move. Each one was surely carried up and set in place by dragon hands. The doorway to the lair was a great arch, bound in place by a single massive stone with a carved seal.  The design was one Kerik had never seen before.  For a moment he felt a hint of panic at being on his own up here, there was no way down for a man alone.  What if they felt it was his own fault Dart and he had crashed, what if he was to be punished, what if they were about to exile him up here for some reason?

Drawing a deep breathe he swallowed the fear and reassured himself that if he was in trouble they would have just left him on the forest floor.  His entire body ached from the dragon’s grip and the long ride, but the ribs had to hurt the worse.  Holding his side he entered the door. He felt for the light plate just inside the door and found it exactly where it should be.

The cool smooth copper plaque was slow to respond, showing its age, but the light slowly came on as his hand warmed the metal.  His own body heat and energy was absorbed into the etched copper.  Strips in the ceiling began to glow. First just the spell lines were visible but slowly the light spread until the entire ceiling became a single light source.

Towers tended to be small, crude, and reachable only by flight. They had been built out of need, often in times of war, to provide safe haven for those on dangerous routes. They were positioned over important passes, rivers, or trails.  Over time many had been converted into dwellings for the old, places to retire to, when the Nest had become over crowded. Now, in the days with so few dragons that everyone not only had a lair the Nest but most of it was empty and closed off, the towers had become all but deserted, sealed up, and forgotten. Even the nicer ones were a far fry from the communal eeries Kerik normally stayed in.  This one was no different.

The space was larger than Kerik expected but still smaller than he might of anticipated to be chosen for two dragons to use.  If two or more Wings were to nest here they would have to be very friendly and lay very close together. Despite the size the place seemed to be well built and carefully thought out.

The deep sandy bed for the Wings was immediately to the left with three great curled steps down into it. The higher smooth stone floor for the Arms circled around the behind the dragon bed. To the right was a kitchen area complete with cooking stove, sink and a number of cabinets.  A table that would fit up to six, with benches down each side, dominated the open space between the Wings and the back wall. It seemed a large table for so small a den.

Bunk beds stood in the far back corner.  A number of trunks lined the wall, one of them was sure to have bedding as well as other supplies for both short visits as well as long tern stops. Most important to Kerik however, was directly across from the entry.  There was a doorway that Kerik had no doubt led to a bathing room. Nothing promised rest and recovery like a hot pool inside safe stone walls.  Kerik limped for it at once.

Every ancient place in these mountains that was made for a Wing and an Arm would have a hot bath.  The Masters of old had made these place drew the waters to bubble up from far below into pools for scouts to soak in.  Every den, every eerie, every tower would have such a pool.  The magic remained despite a nearly non existent wizard presence.  The art was slowly being lost but for now the water was hot and very welcomed. It would heal in ways nothing else might.

Opening the door Kerik was hit with the rich smell of the minerals of the pool. It had clearly been sealed up a very long time. The bathing pool itself was about ten feet across made with four rounded seats carved in its sides. It had been unused long enough mineral deposits had build up in ripples out from the edge of the pool into the walkways around it.  There was no evidence anyone had been here in a thousand years.  It made him very uneasy but the thought of a hot soak pushed the concern aside.

He peeled off his Belts and Leathers.

The uniform of an Arm fit to form out of necessity.  Any friction in flight would mean burns on the skin.   The two sets of Belts with their 52 buckles were even more important.  They fit to hold joints from being pulled out or muscles from ripping.  The strain from flight would tear a normal man apart, make him black out or even kill him by the sheer speed and height. Being bonded altered the body, made it stronger, but even Full Savonts had to wear belts at top flight speeds. After years of wearing leathers an Arm could forget what it felt like to not wear them always.  A good set was so comfortable you would choose them for daily wear. Most Arms rarely wore anything else, even at home.  However, a new pair was all about soaking in an hot water, blisters, chaffing, and a great deal of soreness.

Kerik’s leathers were so ‘broken in’ the leather had actually worn through in places and was about to in others.  He had not had time get new ones or if he had, to break them in, let alone get them comfortable. Several of the main buckles had been fixed with ones traded off of the Civilian population.  They didn’t even match right, but his leathers stayed on.

Such condition would be shameful to be seen in the Nest.  His Leathers should have long ago been discarded for glove making but might not even be worth that at this point. He hoped that maybe in one of the trunks along the wall there might be a spare set of browns but he doubted it.  There should be a kilt and blouse though.  That would be enough for tonight.

Carefully he sank into the hot water and welcomed the heat into his deeply bruised, broken, and strained body. The crash had left him far more injured than he had let on to Dart, but now he was free to wince and study the damage. He had not realized just how extensively he had been injured. The broken ribs he had known about but he was bruised, had gashes on his left side, and a wicked looking lump on his left arm. Being clutched to a dragon’s chest with no way to shelter from the cold had left him chilled and stiff.  Even at the best of times such a ride was unpleasant. He had to wonder how much of the pain he was in was from the flight verses the crash.  Dart had taken serious damage to his wings in order to save Kerik from being ripped from his saddle or worse, crushed by Dart himself.

Kerik sank in deeper and closed his eyes.  He tried to relax and let the water work its magic.

With the heat soaking in Kerik was just drifting to sleep when Dart was let to half-fall half-drop to the tower “Top”.  The dragon groaned in pain as he landed.  He gave a reassuring rumble to Kerik.  Dart limped inside and moaned with relief.  He sank into the sand of the bed and let out a great shudder huff of breath.

Kerik pulled himself out of the pool. If Dart was here the other scout was sure to be along shortly.  He wanted to at least see if there was something to wear before he had to deal with another person. He also wanted to see Darts injuries and dare to learn how bad they were.

Kerik pulled open the door of the lone side-cabinet that stood along the wall. The expected towels were there as well as an un-dyed linen blouse and soft woolen kilt of scout brown.  Grateful to whomever had left the spares, he dressed.  He was half afraid to see Dart’s condition.  They had been on the ground for almost two weeks and for broken wings that might have been too long. The bones of the wing was difficult to heal and the skin even more so. Once damaged they rarely mended without debilitating scars.

The Wing who had carried Dart was just crawling inside as Kerik left the bathing room.  The old dragon looked utterly exhausted.  He was a deep burnt rusty red color with ear flares that looked to be hinted with gold and black.  Long healed scars marred the old Wings face, flares, and the one shoulder that Kerik could see.  Whoever he was he had clearly been in the war with the Worms.  Pushing inside he edged past Dart to the back and curled up to rest.

The scout who had ran the mountain with Kerik strode in tossing his pack aside. He was a tall man who walked with a sense of mission.  Kerik noticed at once that he had streaks of blue and green dye in his hair.  The natural red was darker than most and the dye would have had to be very high quality to take at all.  It was nearly faded but he clearly had someone who cared about him a great deal.  To get those colors for his hair had to have been for something special.  Kerik touched his own hair, it had been so long since he had been able to put dye in any evidence ever had was long gone. Such vanities tended to be limited to those of rank who stayed at the Nest.

The scout didn’t even seem to notice Kerik but moved to take Dart’s wing immediately.  Pulling it out gently he began to inspect it.  Dart gasped, but allowed the stranger to touch the mangled flesh of his wing.  In the light of the lair Kerik realized how filthy and torn Dart’s wings were.  He winced and felt a little ill. The idea he had neglected Dart was horrific and likely would make the other scout dislike him for it.

“There’s a medical trunk, get the splints.” The scout pointed to a trunk at the end of the beds, without looking back at Kerik.  Kerik was quick to fetch the healing supplies.  The luck to have gotten someone with healing abilities was something he could not have hoped for.  Everything might just be ok. Someone must have called for this scout just for that reason.  Maybe that was why it had taken so long for them to be found.  Maybe this stranger had come from the far south.  Maybe he had flown for a week to get this far north.  Maybe he had been in the middle of a long far route and had been called back and sent to save Dart’s wings.

Kerik handed over the splint bundle. The splints, like much of what the scouts used was magic.  Once there had been enough wizards in the Nest to supply all the Vayden with all sorts of magical items but now, with only a handful for the entire population, only scouts or those in battle had access. The splints had to be breathed on, then smoothed and warmed in the hands just right.  When it became pliable it was pressed onto the skin over the breaks. The magic activated once it was put into place. Instantly it would meld to the skin and lock itself to the bone with such strength it could re-snap bones and pull them straight.  In this case it did.  Dart whistled in pain as his ear flares went grey.

Kerik put up his hand to Dart to offer support and what reassurance he could. Dart bowed his head and rested his brow against Kerik’s chest, breathing heavily. Kerik wrapped his arms around his Wing’s face, gently smoothing the soft skin just under his eyes. The healer didn’t seem to notice.  He kept his focus on Dart. Setting one bond after another, he used every splint before his hands took to the hide of the wings themselves.

In one place he took a knife and with a sure swift move sliced away a tangle of hide and scab, but he had a bandage in place and melded in so the wound would heal without leaving a tight scar that would hinder flight in the years to come. Kerik couldn’t watch after that. Dart had hidden how very badly he had been injured.  Kerik had to choke down tears for the misery his soul-mate had to have been enduring. There was no greater fear for a dragon than to lose his wings. The fear had to have been making Dart sick to his stomach.

It was beyond imagination that he and Dart were worthy of a healer who had clearly been sent knowing Dart was injured.  The man’s hands were obviously skilled with wing injuries and the tools used to mend such.  He was not an outright healer but he was close no doubt.  Certainly he held enough power to activate the magics of the splits properly and possibly more.  Kerik had to wonder if the scout had been active in the war.  Surely only a veteran would move so swift and skilled.

“That’s all I can do for you,” the scout told Dart, “but at least you’ll be sure to fly again.” Kerik felt a sudden rush thinking he recognized the voice; that he knew the scout who had come. The name seemed just out of his grasp, like a friend you had not seen since childhood.

Dart bobbed his head in thanks.  The scout folded his hands in modest appreciation of the thanks given and stepped back with a bow.  Kerik tried not to stare.  He was certain he knew the scouts voice, yet he had no idea how.  There was simply no way he could know someone so impressive and not recognize him for who he was at once.

“You should sleep,” the scout told the two Wings. He touched the nose of the old one who wafted warm hot air at the scout in a show of affection.  Kerik was under the impression that the old dragon was not the scouts Wing but one sent to lift Dart off the forest floor.  The clear affection between the two implied they were indeed bonded.  The scout did not look old enough to be bonded to the battle scarred Wing but if they were then it would explain the skill with injured wings.

Dart sighed heavily and nestled into the sand.  He let out a shuddering breathe of relief. Having been seen to, his wings mended by skilled hands, he let go of a fear he had been holding in. Kerik wanted to talk to Dart but dared not.  If Darts head felt well enough to talk he would.  Kerik just leaned on him instead.

“Sleep,” Kerik whispered.  “It will be alright now.”

The scout who had most certainly just saved Dart’s wings said nothing as he headed for the bathing room. He was already undoing his Belt’s release buckles. He tossed the harness of thick leather straps to the floor near the bed just before he passed through the door.  He vanished into the bathroom.  Kerik let out a breath of relief. He was about to ask Dart how he knew the man but Dart was already asleep.

Trying to figure it out, Kerik set to pulling the saddle and packs off of Dart, careful not to bump any injuries. He expected they would stay several days and there was no point to leave it on. Besides, his saddle was almost in as bad of shape as his Leathers.  That could be dangerous. A broken strap could really cause trouble if it happened at the wrong moment.  Kerik drug the heavy gear aside wondering if it was worth cleaning.  With a sign he decided not and set to digging for anything worth keeping in his pack.  Finding nothing he turned his attention to food.

In the kitchen station was the standard pantry with dried good, sealed for long term storage.  Nothing fancy but after a week of nothing at all anything was welcome.  He put water on to boil for soup as well as tea.  The other scout emerged from the bathing room in nothing but a towel. Kerik had thought he was in bad shape until then. He actually wined in sympathy.

Kerik could see extensive bruises from a battering the man had been through.  None that he could see was new, so not his fault.  Every mark was deep, yellowed, and specked with scab.  The scouts left side was a mess of contact rash, mostly scabs, but with an evil looking red and purple bruise flared out from under it. Kerik wasn’t sure what could make a mark like that but it had to hurt. The man’s right ankle though looked like it was sprained and that seemed newer.  The suspicion he had been in the war was pretty confirmed by the scars that were long healed but pretty impressive.  They were everywhere.

The scout tossed his old Leathers to the bed.  They were at least three sets of Browns, with the dye and wear showing their different ages.  His leathers weren’t as bad as Kerik’s but they were far from in good shape.  This man was no stranger to the routes.

Kerik wanted to talk to him but wasn’t sure what to say.  Instead he turned his focus back to watching the water. He tried not to think too much about anything beyond the task at hand.  He had been without any contact in more months than he could exactly recall. Even then it had been short at best and he had not had a real affair in years.  It was hard to not be effected by the idea that some was behind him.  Dragon were very social creatures and if they were too long away from others they would suffer, even be driven insane, that effect echoed down the bond.  Kerik tried not to think about how long he had been alone. It made him very nervous.

He tried to think of the symptoms and Neglect but nearly choked on the thought. Fear about it made him almost drop the packet of soup he held.  Dart rumbled in his sleep, feeling the emotional shift in his bonded. Kerik choked it down and tried to let his Wing sleep.

Being a sufferer of Neglect would come with as much social backlash as if Dart’s wings had been torn from him. If an Arm didn’t get enough physical contact with his own species he would have the madness set in.  It was one of very few negative side effect of being bonded with a dragon.  While most of the results of the bond were in the Arm’s favor this one was not.  Neglect was known to get so bad that it drove both Arm and Wing insane. The Arm would become so desperate to be with another it led to often brutal cases of violent and desperate rape that always ended in death one way or another.

Dart grumbled at him in warning, waking from the echoes of Kerik’s sudden emotional shift. Kerik only felt worse about things knowing he had woken Dart. He had real reason to worry though and both he and Dart had to admit it.  “I know, I know,” Kerik whispered and half swore under his breath.

He tasted the soup and drew a slow breath trying to think normal conversation might ease the shock and the symptoms.  He turned around and nearly jumped. The other scout had slipped up utterly silent on the stone floor with his boots off.  He wore loose house-pants and a soft blouse.  The sleeves were rolled and the front undone. His hair was out of the braid, wet and very long over the front of one shoulder, as long as a Sats.  Kerik took a startled step back into the edge of the stove.

“Sorry,” the scout apologized.  “I didn’t mean to sneak up like that.”

“I haven’t had to deal with people in awhile I was not expecting you to even be on this side of the lair,”  Kerik half choked and felt himself turn red at the admittance of the fact he had been alone so long.  However, the scout was looking at the soup and spared Kerik the humiliation of being seen so easily rattled.

Leaning over to breathe in the aroma the scout caught his hair from falling forward.

The scout was taller than Kerik had realized; taller than Kerik by several inches and he was stunning.  Kerik felt his heart rate pick up at the thought and that in turn terrified him.  Something was definitely wrong. He took a step back and looked to Dart with a sense of panic.  Dart met his eyes and sent a wave of strength and love.

“I hope you don’t mind if I do some paper work while that finishes,” the scout said tossing his hair back over his shoulder in an utterly unconscious move.  “I won’t be much good for conversation with all of it yelling at me any way.”

“Why would I mind?”  Kerik asked trying to shake off the discomfort.  The other man just looked at him a moment then went to go pick up his pack and pull out folders of paper work.

Kerik turned back to the food and tried to calm his nerves.  Dart started working on mild trances to help steady Kerik’s heart rate.  The fact he had his heart rate up and was so flustered by the presence of a person was a terrifying warning of the onset of Neglect. Maybe if was just the edges of it.  Maybe getting home and being with someone would help.  Maybe with Dart’s help it wouldn’t set in.

He wished Dart’s head wound would heal so he could talk to his Wing.  Not being able to speak back and forth as easily as thinking left him feeling oddly isolated and desperately alone, that could not be helping with his reactions to the other scout either.  This was bad, very bad.

He took his time to find a set of bowls, to pour tea, to dig out a jar of old honey and bring the meal to the table where the man was working away on the reports he had pulled out.  He looked up, smiled faintly in thanks for the meal, finished what he was doing, and quickly put it all away.

Kerik was so hungry for a bit he forgot everything else but the food, the rather hot food.  He burned the roof of his mouth twice but didn’t slow down.

“You want to play Pegs?” the scout asked.

Kerik looked up and smiled. “Sure.” The idea sounded great.  He hadn’t played for years.  He was very likely to be rather terrible at it but every scout knew how to play. The other man dug in his pack and pulled out a small peg board, with the dice and pegs hidden in the bottom.

“I’m not sure I can recall how to play,” Kerik admitted trying to cover how uneasy he was.

“You will.  It’s why we are supposed to play so much as cadets, so even at the worst of times and whatever rank or state of mind we can do something together.  Sometimes it’s too much work to talk.  Not to mention it’s hard to make up things to talk about if you’re a Scout stuck with an Ambassador.”

Kerik gave a wary smile of agreement. The board was set up and they began to play.  It was a game of stratagy where you tried to block the other and reach the far side at the same time.  It was a simple game with the dice to say how many moves you got and the effects you could call on. It was based on a battle in air, or so the story went.  It was very clear early on the other man was far better than Kerik had ever been, but it was fun none the less.

“Here,” the scout tossed over a soft leather pouch when the game had ended with Kerik’s pieces utterly wiped out.  It almost seemed a sympathy gift. Kerik took the pouch almost afraid to think it might be what he thought, but once he pulled it open and the soft aroma rose up, he smiled.  It had been so long since he’d had scout weed he almost forgot what it smelled like.

It was frowned on by the higher ranks for the fact it was so favored by scouts, but it helped to relax the body, calm the mind and slow the heart, at the same time making the senses alert.  It allowed men weary and tense from battle to be able to sleep and men on night watch able to stay awake, alert, and aware at a level they never could alone. Kerik pulled out a soft leaf and a pinch of grind to roll in it.  He went to pass it back but saw the man had another and was already rolling his own.

“That’s for you,” the scout said.  He tucked his own worn pouch in his pack and drew on his roll.  He was apparently enough of a wizard the end lit and began to burn.  He drew the smoke in and held it a moment before he swallowed it. He held his over his burning roll for Kerik to use to light his off of.

“How did you get two?”

“Personally, I didn’t,” he said and let his breath out with just a hint of the smoke escaping him.  “Slang had it sent to you on his own personal orders.”

“Slang?”  He asked shocked.  The Wing of the Lord Marshall himself?  “Why?”

The scout smiled and shrugged a little. “I guess he figured you earned it.  After all, you are the longest running scout without rest and one of the best alive.  You were scheduled for three moons of rest before this and longer now to account for Dart’s healing.”

“Three?  But, who will cover my flights?”

“A few Ambassadors lost a bet to Rah Teven and for the price they are stuck doing a moon of flights.  Just as well, they were all getting a bit soft in the middle.”

“Rah Teven isn’t supposed to gambling,” Kerik said shocked.

“Our Keeper does a great deal he is not supposed to do,” the scout’s disapproval of the behavior of the Keeper was clear in his tone. He scowled deeply as he thought of the Keeper but shook it off.

Kerik found himself noticing small details about the scout across the table from him and a growing tension in his body. Distracted he inhaled too sharply making himself cough and choke on the smoke. He wiped the tears from his eyes and caught his breath. Dart lifted his head with his ear flares lifted in alert awareness.  Dart had to feel Kerik’s physical tension on some level and for him to make a rookie mistake with his smoke was a warning, if nothing else was. Kerik was afraid to even consider what his body was starting to whisper for him to do.  If Dart’s head had not hurt so much he would have had something to say.

“You must be tired,” the scout said as if he didn’t notice Kerik’s episode of coughing.  “Why don’t you go on ahead to bed.  Get some sleep.  If we leave early enough we can reach the Nest just after dark.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep,” Kerik lamented honestly with a sad weary tone.  He sounded so pathetic to his own ears it made him cringe.  He drew another lung-full held it, and leaned his head on his hand.  He tried to let the smoke settle in and calm his nerves, to unwind the building whispers of Neglect.

“Another game?”

Kerik nodded.  “Maybe that would help,” Kerik didn’t think staying up or being anywhere near this stranger was a good idea at this point but sleep was not likely to happen and lying in bed restlessly was just a bad idea all around. At least the game would offer a distraction. He watched the scout reset the game almost blindly as he forced himself to settle his nerves and run through mind games to shake his growing discomfort.  He had not worked on the exercises since he was a teenager as an exercise to build up his telepathy with Dart. It helped a little, even if it did give him a headache.

Kerik did a bit better the second game.  He was sweating be time it was over and eager to get away from the man. Any moment the other scout had to notice and if that happened Kerik and Dart’s lives would come crashing down. If he was found to be so weak as to have Neglect it was all over. Being eaten by orcs would be a better fate.  Kerik had no idea what he was going to do.  The obsessive insanity and sexual perversion that came with Neglect was said to be incurable and Arms who fell into it were often killed as soon as it was suspected.

Kerik excused himself with a plea of being too tired to think.  He dressed in his leathers as quickly as he could to hide the demands of his body and crawled into bed with his back to the room.  He did drop off rather quickly but was plagued with erotic dreams that bordered on the frightening violent side. He woke only to Dart’s rumble with no idea how long he had been out.

He slid from the bed feeling more worn out than he had the day before.  He had almost forgotten his fear of having Neglect until he saw the man asleep at the table.  His head rested on a folded arm. Kerik went to Dart and leaned against his beloved partner.

“How did you sleep?” Dart asked.

“Not so pleasant dreams.  How is your head?”

“Sore yet, but healing.  How do you feel?”

“Strung out and worn out.” Kerik glanced back to the other man not sure how to tell Dart how he was struggling with dangerous thoughts.

“Let him sleep, he only laid his head down a few marks ago.  He’s been doing papers all night.”

“Just as well, I need to cook some food and another bath would be nice, he can stay asleep for all I care.”

“How do you feel other than that?” Dart asked concerned.

Kerik shrugged.  His body ached and a lot of it was tension. “I’ll be glad when we’re home.  I seriously need some attention.”

Dart touched his Arm gently with the back of his great fingers and sighed with happiness at him.  He was so proud of the choice he had made, everything about Kerik was right; as it should be.  He was worried for him, for the length of time they had been away, but if anyone could handle it Kerik was the one.  He was strong, he was wise, he was perfect.

“I love you too, Dart, but I need a hot soak before I endure more cold air.” Kerik felt better for the dragon’s touch and the love conveyed with it.  Dart blew warm musky air on Kerik in an act of intimate devotion.  Kerik felt much of the tension fade away.  Maybe all of the stress from last night was just that, and he had somehow escaped Neglect.  Feeling better he went to go bath.

Off the Forest Floor

It was not unlike Jesop to sneak out to do a scout run.  Normally that even brought him a bit of peace, but there was nothing typical about this time.  Kneeling he touched the smear of dragon blood on the deep soft turf of the forest floor.  He was getting closer.  They had to be only a day ahead of him now.  The fact that he had not found Kerik and Dart bothered him.  However, the reality that they were still moving was a good sign.  If Dart had been hurt too badly he would have sank into a state of hibernation by now.  If it had just been Jesop who was after the two he might have felt a bit better about it all, but he wasn’t.  The two were being hunted by something other than Jesop. Something big.

He had to get to them and get them off this mountain before they were taken down by whatever creature it was that was leaving tracks on top of the Scout’s and his Wing’s.  If only the council had let him leave as soon as Dart had gone down, he might have them already safely back at the Nest.  He should just left.  He might even have gotten back before anyone realized he had been absent.  He pushed his irritation at the council aside and looked up hoping to glimpse Cursk, but the canopy was just too high and dense to see so much as a sliver of sky let alone a dragon.

Shifting his lean pack on his back he set off at a jog again.  The ground was relatively level here and travel was fairly easy for a man to move over.  That was not going to be the same for a wounded dragon.  In the last three days Jesop had gained a week on the two who were lost and grounded in this old growth forest.  Jesop tried not to blame himself.  He should have pulled Kerik and Dart home months ago… no, years ago. The two had been out on patrol for far too long.  The worry had been the onset of Neglect, but now it was just trying to get them home alive.

Maybe it was better that Jesop be the one to find the Scout.  If Kerik had Neglect few would tolerate it.  They would most certainly react poorly and lash out.  Jesop knew the value of every scout, of every Arm, and every Wing; Kerik simply could not be replaced.  Not by a dozen cadets could he be replaced.  If the man turned out to be suffering, Jesop would find a way to help him.  He just had to know before they got into the company of anyone else.

His dark worries cut off when he caught a hint of a smell that was of something not forest and not dragon.  Slowing he focused on the stink and moved toward it. Maybe he could learn what was tracking Kerik and Dart.  Whatever it was, it was not orc and it was not goblin.  Jesop knew those smells well enough to be very aware this was different. Hopefully it was just some magic warped creature and nothing smarter than a dog.

Using the trees as cover he kept alert.  He opened his bond with Slang as much as he could.  Unlike all others he and Slang could not actually speak to each other, all they had were emotions and vague images.  It was a flaw they had learned to hide very well, and likely no one knew.  Cursk might suspect but he made no mention of it.  Hopefully Slang could pick up Jesop’s state of mind and emotions well enough to relay to the dragon who had brought Jesop out here, that something was close.

Along with that Jesop hoped Slang would tell Cursk how glad he was to have a dragon close at hand, even if they were separated by the ancient towering trees.  Slang knew to send no responce back to Jesop right now, it might end up being a distraction at the wrong moment. If he could pick up things from so far away it would be impressive but that was a stretch even for them.

Mixing with the smell of the creature he neared was the faint smell of fire.  That was not good. Either they had caught up to Kerik or the creature was smart enough to build fires.  Jesop hoped that was not the case.

Through the trees he began to see what was there.  Well before he could see clearly he knew there was more than one.  He was very glad he had chosen to leave his Whites at home and wear Scout Browns.  At least he had some sort of camouflage out here. In white and gold he would have stood out dangerously. He had argued with Teven about it a number to of times but the in some situations it really was best to drop rank.

Daring to get a little closer he moved up another tree to try and see what he was dealing with.  It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at.  Even then he needed to get closer to confirm it so he had no doubt in his mind at all.  Kneeling by the closest tree he could risk, he let it really sink in what he was seeing.

This was bad, very bad, not only did he have to worry about Dart and Kerik, now he had to worry about getting himself off the mountain.  If things could not be any worse, there just had to be a creature not seen in the mountains for thousands of years.  Red Men.  There were at least ten of them, crouched around a small fire.

The Red Men had once been an enemy and a feared one, nearly as hated as the Worms.  After the last great war with them they had been driven far to the north and into nearly nothing but folklore.  No one was likely to believe him when he told them what he was seeing.  How in the hells was he supposed to get two men and a wounded dragon off the forest floor with Red Men on his heels.

Backing away carefully he set to the task of circling them to try and get between them and Kerik.  Doing his best he focused on relaying the emotions of urgency and escape, as well as the threat level to Slang.  Once he was sure his message was sent to the best of his ability, he simply focused on staying hidden and gaining ground.  He had just gotten back on the trial of his lost scouts when he had the impression that there was a mountain peak ahead of them.  There would be an exposed stretch where Cursk could pick up Dart; that Slang had sent a couple of scouts in at top speed to pick up the men, they just had to get in the open.

Jesop focused on the idea of the mountain to try and see the best path.  Since he and Slang had lost the ability to speak telepathically they had learned to absolutely trust the impression each other sent and made it through a war together without a single spoken word.  Jesop had no doubt he was accessing Slang’s ability to see his maps in his office, to look at the mountain.  With any luck he might just be ale to pull this off.

Jesop swore under his breathe when he heard the Red Men begin to move behind him.  They were remarkably quite for their size but whatever they had been up to was over and they were back in motion.  The sun was setting and if memory served him right the Red Men preferred the dark.  It was time to pick up the speed and hope he didn’t lose Kerik and Dart’s trial.

Slang sent him the impression that Cursk had caught the scent of Dart and was circling over him, a few miles to the northwest.  Jesop took advantage and sprinted all out.  At close to 20 feet tall a Red Man could easily overtake a man, and was known to be able to leap up and take all but the largest of dragons from the air.  To be as silent and fast as possible was all he worried about.  Running had been a skill he had learned young and still held to this day.  There were times he was almost grateful he had spent most of his early childhood running and hiding.  It was certainly a skill most men in his position never had to master.

Just about the time Jesop began to worry he had passed them in the night he caught the scent of wounded dragon.  If he could smell it the Red Men could as well.  The monsters were just toying with their prey, knowing there was no escape.  Jesop couldn’t hear them at the moment so they had to be coming in slowly, likely to not alert the dragon to their numbers or race.

Jesop raced up on the camp.  Kerik was asleep against Dart’s side, the dragon’s wings were limp and clearly broken.  His breathe was short with pain.  That would have to be dealt with as soon as they were clear.

“Kerik,” he breathed the scout’s name as he knelt and pulled off his pack. Kerik jerked awake.  “Time to go. How is Dart?” He asked as he dug in his pack for the three flask orbs that were tucked in near the bottom.

“He has a head injury, he can only speak to me with a great deal of pain.”

“Run,” Jesop told the dragon.  “As fast as you can, there is a clearing,” he pointed northwest, “you will be picked up.  Go.  Now!”

It was likely Dart would be able to smell the sort of rank Jesop held. There was an off chance he might even know exactly who had come to the rescue, but if not, Dart would certainly be able to smell the age of Cursk on Jesop and that would give him authority to get Dart to trust him and to move.  Dart tilted his head at him, almost as if he was trying to figure out who exactly Jesop was.

“Go!” Jesop assured him.  “Run as fast as you can.  They are almost here!”

“Go,” Kerik pleaded softly pushing at Dart’s arm.  Dart turned and ran, an awkward and gangly thing for a dragon.  It had to be terrible to do with broken wings.

“Stay as close to me as you can,” he told Kerik.  “Ready?” Jesop tossed the pack off to the side, it might distract one of them a moment.  That one moment might matter in the end.

“After you,” Kerik said.

Jesop followed Dart a few yards then cut due west.  If nothing else the Red Men would have to divide up. Jesop had to trust to Cursk to get Dart away, his immediate concern was to get Kerik off the mountain.

The ground began to climb steeply.  They had finally left the forested high plateau for the upper slopes.  Scrambling up the steep escarpment they left the trees for the boulder heights above the tree-line.  Veering northward they were able to sprint again. The massive boulders here were too large and too close for the Wings to pick them up but Jesop was trusting to the impression of the mountain he had gotten from Slang.

Below and behind them they heard the roar of the Red Men who had realized their prey was making a run for it.  Stalking was forsaken for a charge.  Their heavy breathing and thudding feet were heard almost at once as they began to close in.

“I hope you have a plan!” Kerik yelled just behind Jesop.

“I do,” Jesop called back.  The boulders suddenly opened up to the tundra slopes.  “That way!” He pointed for Kerik to go up hill. “Get high and fold in!”  He gave the last order but stayed on his path, he had a plan for his pursuit.   Behind him he heard the wind through a dragon’s wings as it swept in and snatched Kerik off the ground.  Hopefully the man heard him tell him to fold in his arms. If not he might well add broken arms to his injuries for this trip.  His mind off of Kerik he was able to focus on himself for the moment.  Whichever scout Slang had sent to retrieve him, he was certain it had not arrived yet.  He had to buy more time for his own rescue.

Rounding the north face of the mountain the vast expanse of the surrounding mountain range and the arch of the twilight sky came into view. To the east the stars were just coming out, while the sunset was glorious in lavenders and blues with pink touched clouds.

Not far ahead, he knew from Slang that there was a massive shale rock-slide that dropped off over a high cliff.  He aimed for it. The Red Men were so close begin him he could all but feel their breath on the back of his neck and the thud of their heavy feet against the ground.  Further down the slope he heard Dart roar in pain and anger.  For one moment Jesop’s heart nearly stopped in fear for Dart, but the Scout roared again but this time in defiance.  Dart was off the ground!  He might have taken a bit of a swipe but Cursk had once again proven himself.  Jesop loved that old Wing!

His feet hit the first of the shale.  For three strides nothing happened but that didn’t last.  The rocks began to slip under his weight. He had to slow.  With his left hand reached out to help balance and steady himself he worked to stay on top of the rocks and not set off an avalanche.  Looking back Jesop could see the hulking monsters staggering to a stop at the edge of the shifting shale.  They clearly knew the danger of it, but he was so close, barely out of reach.  He couldn’t help but laugh at them.

One roared in frustration and lunged towards him.  Jesop scrambled forward trying to cut horizontally across the rocks.  The massive weight of the Red Men was going to set the entire mountain into motion and that was Jesop’s hope, just not until he got off it. As luck had it once the first went after him the rest followed. Jesop fought his way out onto the slide as far as he dared but the little slide he started was rapidly consumed but the side the Red Men set off.   Jesop swore and changed his tactic as the entire expanse of loose stone let go and began to move.  Using what little magic would apply he raced straight down the river of stones.  If he could manage to keep his feet on top of the rocks and not get drug down too much, he might escape this.

The roar of the stone crashing like a waterfall over the cliff was deafening and dangerous.  Jesop felt his bad ankle twist but he never missed a step. Everything counted on that last step before an Arm launched into the air.  If you were too close, or were in the air wrong it made it very dangerous and difficult for a Wing to catch you.  While Jesop’s leap wasn’t going to be perfect he did his best and threw himself as hard and far as he could, tucking his arms against his chest.  There was that one moment of breathless exhilaration.  The dust of the falling rock nearly choking him then great hands closed around him.  The Wing had come in at a steep angle, diving to catch him, likely barely in time.  They rushed at the trees below but the dragon’s great wings opened, pulling them up with enough force any but an Arm would have blacked out by the sheer force.  They skimmed the canopy then shot upward at a steep angle.

“Roll back,” he told the scout.  The dragon obeyed, pivoting in a gentle sideways roll to sweep back at the rock slide where the Red Men struggled against it, roaring in rage at his escape.  They were fighting to hold each other against the rock slide and some might even have been able to escape but Jesop had other plans.  He hurled the Flash Orbs at them.

The Wing who held him circled back again so they could both see as the orbs hit the rocks.  The concussion was impressive.  The first one was well aimed and not only blew up a number of the Red Men but sent rock shards in all directions with deadly force.  With the explosion of the second two the entire mountain face was obliterated down to the solid bed rock.  Whatever was left of the Red Men would be buried under thousands of tons of rubble.

The dragon who held him roared in victory, palms flushing with warmth at the pride felt.

“Release,” Jesop said.  The dragon let go.  Jesop reached out his arm and caught the Wing’s front shoulder. With the ability that had put him in White he swung up onto the dragon neck.   “Didn’t even have time for a saddle, hmm,” he smiled and lay against the Wings neck, hidden from the wind by her skull ridge and ear flares.  “Thank you,” he smoothed his hands down the dragon’s neck.

Few Arms were ever allowed to ride or even touch a Wing he was not bonded to.  Jesop however, as Lord Marshall, was welcomed by most dragons. He was tolerated more than any other, Marshall or otherwise, he had ever heard of.  Maybe it was his level of empathy.  They could feel how he loved them all, how beautiful they were to him, how overwhelming proud he was of them.  It surely had to feed their ego’s a bit.  He smiled and rested his cheek on Banner’s neck.  All it had taken was to see a bit more of her and he knew exactly who she was and how hard she had to of flown to reach him.  He knew who her Arm was and their patrol route.  She had to have forced herself to a speed-level difficult for her young age.  She and Donna would be rewarded.  Maybe a new lair, higher up the Nest wall. Jesop would have to think about it later.  He would talk to Slang about it when he got him.  For now he needed to see to Dart’s broken wings and to Kerik’s mental stability.

“Take us to North Eerie 97,” he said and closed his eyes to trust her and savor her smell, her strength, and her warmth.

memorial day

How better too spend the weekend?  WoW, bon-fires, and a bottle of wine.

Lord Regent- chapter one/ Rregents way

Chapter One                              .

Lord Regent

Standing alone on the high balcony of the King’s Palace, Oirion could hear the bells of the great cathedral calling out to midday mass. He felt a small twinge of regret that he couldn’t be there.  His soul could use a little peace right about now.  Somehow he doubted he would ever be at peace again.  He felt a stab of resentment towards Shannon for his fate but almost as quickly it turned to grief for the loss of the bond with Jamie.  In the back of his mind he knew that ultimately it had all been his own choices that had put him where he was now.  Well, not on the balcony exactly, he thought to himself.

He sighed and shifted his cloak about his shoulders against the sharp wind that tugged and pulled at its length, continually putting it out of place.  He tried to get his mind off his dark mood he turned his focus out to the city.

Where he stood he could see not only the great spires and steeples of the holy building, but also the famous Walden’s Way – the bridge that spanned the river in the middle of the city of Brosten.  Just off to the right and only slightly lower on the hill was the great King’s Theater.  Oirion had been to all those places before, but he had been a different man then.

So much had happened since he had come to Brosten with Jamie. It seemed so very long ago.  The strange and twisted path his life had taken since was hard for him to explain even to himself, let alone to others. It had only been fourteen months ago.  He counted the months in his head again to be certain.  His soul felt tired, as if he had been running on sheer momentum for too long.

He wasn’t even Oirion Hennen anymore; he didn’t have the same face or body, or even the same voice.  He had traded being a down-cast bishop under constant harassment from a corrupt church to being Regent of all of Purt.  More difficult to deal with was that his very soul had been torn apart and remade. In a whirlwind of war and rescues, he had ended up a very different man indeed.  How much of his emotional upheaval was lack of Jamie, he wondered. Where once the golden light of a healer had been was now the knot of shields and ice-cold power that was Shannon.

Dwelling on it did not help he reminded himself.  What was done was done and could not be undone. Armond himself had reworked their bonds.  As much as Oirion wanted to rebel against it, he was forced to accept and to trust Armond, not only as the angel he appeared as, but also as the boy he had been born as.

Travis would never set him up to be destroyed and so there had to be a way to make the bond between a priest and a demon work.  He didn’t understand it, but he was trying to be at peace with it.

“The vote of confidence is touching, but I really am very tired,” he muttered to Armond as he rubbed his eyes.  He lifted his cup of dark coffee.  It had long grown cold, but he didn’t mind it that way.  Most of the people of the southern kingdoms adored coffee like the northern kingdoms adored wine.  They drank it a number of ways, the most popular being boiled with cream and sweetened.  They had little shops that served coffee like a tavern might serve ale or beer.  Even the nobility went to those shops.  It seemed all the latest craze.

He wondered briefly where the beans for the coffee came from. He had no idea what race even grew them.  The weather of late though, was sure to cut into the trade and the kingdoms were going to suffer wicked withdrawals.  He chuckled at the thought of riots over the loss of their favorite beverage. The newspapers might read: Lack of Coffee Sets Off Civil War.

A sudden gust of wind blew his long hair up over his shoulder into his face as well as into his drink.  The weather was chill.  He sighed and set the cup down, tossing his hair back over his shoulder.

The weather. It was a serious issue. His thoughts went back to real matters that needed to be addressed.  It was cold.  It felt merely cool to him, but he had lived much of his life along the Norwood border where snow came while this city was still basking in summer and his Purtan blood did not feel the cold as once it had.  Even so, for this time of year this far south, it was shockingly cold.

Never in record had it been this cold; the river had ice along its banks; plants that were native to the area were frost- bitten and struggled to stay alive, if they weren’t already dead.   People had taken to building massive fires in the courtyards, burning anything they could.  They all crowded close to try to stay warm.  Oirion had allowed it as it was helping to clean up the trash in the city, but before long it would be more than broken crates and battered wagons. It would slowly progress until either the weather warmed or the city was burned to the last stick of wood.

Most homes here had no way to heat them: it had never been needed before.  The warm waters of the ocean currents and the southern location made Brosten a warm city, the coldest weather just enough to make the breath steam and only in the coldest of winter nights… until now.

At 30,000 years as capital of Fairwah, this city was young.  It was not built like the ancient fortresses of the age past.  The old places were built when magic storms warped the land and hurricanes, tornadoes, and tsunami’s slammed into cities with the force of an enemy siege. In those days, Brosten had been a small fishing village tucked near the river, over-looking the harbor.

Unlike most other great older cities of Purt, even if a new king was found, the light and heat offered to the masses would be very limited.  The ancient lines just had not been woven through the city with the same extensiveness as in the ancient places, but at least the main buildings would offer some shelter.  Anything would be better than nothing.

The recent storms that hammered against them had been fairly regular and all laced with energy and power that if not soon dealt with would begin to warp things, starting with little spells, insects and simple plants, but the warp would grow to include trees, animals and even people.  The populace was scared and they should be, but it was not elves that sent the storms as most thought, but the Barrier Shield itself.  The planet was heaving under its great weight; the truth of that was far more troublesome than any feared invasion.

Storms like no one alive had ever seen had been set off and what they felt today was just the reflected remnants of the power from a year ago.

No one had been ready for this.  All over Purt the strain was being felt.  The last news Oirion had heard was of riots, looting, and several civil wars on the brink of spilling over borders into other kingdoms.  Most of the kings of the empire were desperate to hold onto their thrones under Shannon and yet had no idea how to deal with the weather, blaming the change in leadership of the Empire for it, or other races, or any other thing they could cling to.  None of them seemed to understand the truth behind it all.

Oirion had argued in the council in Brosten the truth of the weather and tried to point out the causes, but the human lords were young and blind.  They resented him and were still angry that he had denied them crowning their prince to the kingship when the old king had died.  Oirion was here to prevent that foolish boy from having any taste of power and to find a true king.  He understood why he had to be the one to do it, but he hated the whole thing.

He almost snarled at Shannon for making him deal with this task.  How the devil was he supposed to find a true king? To find a person with the right bloodlines to activate the power of the Wells of Purt was hard enough, but to try to find one who would be able and willing to be a king, let alone a good king, was a task that seemed impossible.

He had been here for six months already, spending every free moment he could searching, and had found nothing; not a single heir to the line of angels neither old nor young, no one.  The bloodlines were so forgotten and with the rash of murders that had targeted those very lines for the last few years, anyone left was hidden well enough demons couldn’t sniff them out. How was he supposed to do what they had failed at?

“Your Grace, the constable is here to see you,” the page at the door of the balcony said.  It grated on Oirion’s nerves to be waited on by pages and guards.  Being always watched made him uneasy and irritable, but to deny such would be to diminish the rank he held in the eyes of the court here.  His threats and presence alone held them from making Prince Ammeron king.

“Show him in,” Oirion said.  The constable, of all the men here, Oirion considered a decent man.  It was the constable who had gotten him and Jamie here a year before and set everything into motion.  It was a shame he could not let the man know who he truly was inside the body he wore now.

He turned from the balcony wall as the constable was let in.  The constable was a Purtan man whose age was impossible to guess at, but he was likely older than any human in the court or of any comparable rank.  He had been the constable of the city for at least sixty years and that Oirion knew for a fact, but little beyond that.

It was rare for a Purtan to hold rank, let alone one that was built on promotion.  The prejudice against Purtans wasn’t as bad here as in other places, but Oirion was the only pure Purtan in the high court of Brosten; all others were human.  A few lords had some Purtan blood in their far past, but for the majority they were as human as the King of Ramdell.

The constable came to him and dropped to a knee at once. “Your Grace,” he said.

Oirion hated that as well, but the game of rank and power had rules and this one he couldn’t cast off.  Again he had to enforce his rank to keep order and control of the court and its lords.

“Constable,” Oirion offered his hand.  The man caught Oirion’s hand and lifted it to his forehead to show that the constable deemed himself unworthy to kiss the hand of the Regent.  Oirion almost grumbled at that; if any man in Brosten was worthy, it was this one.

“What can I do for you?” Oirion asked, withdrawing his hand and motioning the man to stand.  “Would you care to step out of the wind?”

“Honestly, Your Grace, I would rather we stay outside for what I have to say,” the constable said.

Oirion nodded. “Bring us something hot to drink,” he told the page.  The page bowed and was gone. “What’s on your mind, Tyven?” Oirion asked.

“I did not get to the position I am in or keep this rank without… insight,” Tyven said with a nervous glance to the door.  “I have a skill for knowing things,” he said and turned his focus on Oirion.

Oirion turned his back on the city and leaned against the low but thick stone wall that was the balcony rail.  He folded his arms over his chest in a most un-princely manner, but in a less intimidating stance.  The constable was tense and it showed.

“You imply that you do not know those things the way most men do,” Oirion said, trying to help the man get to the point.

“I… hmm, I see things,” Tyven said, “like in a dream and yet not, more like…”

“You’re a seer?” Oirion asked, a little impressed and curious.

“Not exactly; it is like that in a way, but even more rare.”

“I don’t suppose you have any blood of angels in you to get such a gift?”

“No,” Tyven smiled faintly.  “My great grandmother was a Gypsen with a history of such in her line.  I am not a Vel, by any means.” He half smiled as if flattered at the thought of being a Vel, with a whisper of angelic blood, or a Von with the pure traceable lines. “My point is that I know things.  I see them and while I cannot always understand or explain what I see, I have leaned to use that insight well.  That is how I was able to find the… sites I found, to know to trust Gallus; that it was imperative that Oirion and Jamie came to Brosten… I knew these things.” He glanced over and fell silent moments before the page returned with two mugs of coffee. They each took one and the young man fell back. “And how I know your page is… for sale,” he muttered behind his mug as he took a sip.

“I trust, then, that you came here for a reason and that you were motivated by what you see,” Oirion said softly as he took his own sip of the hot bitter drink.

“That is indeed the case,” the constable said.  He held his cup near his chest, his fingers wrapped around it to stay warm.

“Step inside, boy,” Oirion told his page, a young man about nineteen years of age whose name Oirion wasn’t sure he knew. “You look ready to pass out with the chill.  This is mild for Norwood, but your body is not used to it; step in and warm up, child.” He spoke as if he simply had not noticed before.  The page bowed and happily ducked in, far more interested in heat than the conversation he might hear over the wind. Oirion looked back to the constable.

“I fear I am not used to it, either,” Tyven said a bit ruefully.  “Thank God, I am Purtan; the poor humans are even worse off.”

“A few days and you will adjust and find it cool, but not unpleasant as such.  We were born of days far colder than the world knows now.  That is a conversation we can have inside near a fire, though, so what is on your mind.”

“The duchess,” Tyven said.

“The one who has of yet to speak up at any council meeting, can’t be so much as 20?  That one?”

“Yes.  That one.  She is,” he paused to think of the word, “she is special.  She will somehow be linked to the king.  I know you will find him,” he stressed the word to make his point, “but not without her.  I know he’s not young, that he is… not acceptable in the eyes of the nobility, but as rough as he might seem, he is a worthy king.  Even as some might say David Sailor is a pirate and should be in chains, not sitting as King of Crouse, many will not like him and yet I know he is a worthy and good king, and Purt is lucky to have him.”

“The girl duchess is the key to me finding a king for Fairwah?” Oirion asked skeptically. It seemed most unlikely.

Tyven took another sip of coffee and looked out to the harbor.  He squinted away.

“Soon Brosten will suffer like no city in Purt has suffered since the War of Angels.  We sit upon soft earth that could easily slip under the waves, sheering off the stones. I do not seek to put out political fires or physical fires, but to send people to the country to distant family, to go inland with what they still own.” He sighed sadly and heavily. He looked back to Oirion.  “You must believe me, Your Grace.”

“I want to,” Oirion admitted.  “I know you’re a good man, Tyven. I know Gallus trusts you, but you’re asking me to put a lot of faith in a girl who seems as if she is about to wither under the weight of her own silk gowns.  You are going to have to give me more than that if you want me to turn from the focus I am using now.”

Tyven shifted on his feet and looked again to the harbor.  “There is a rumor that you are the descendant of Oirion Silverwood, the adept of Krent, but I know the truth,” Tyven said, not looking to Oirion, but watching the harbor beyond the cloud of smoke from the great fires built throughout the city.

“And what is that?” Oirion asked carefully.

“That we have met before,” Tyven said, looking over.

Oirion took a slow drink of his coffee. “I have met a lot of people in my life,” he said.

Tyven set his mug on the wall top and looked out over the city as if searching for what to say. He nodded and seemed to change the subject.

“I had a pitcher of ale with Oirion Hennen once. Very stressful time in my life, though. There was a great deal of darkness in my city.  I knew beyond all doubt that he was needed to save Gallus and to stop whatever was happening with the blood rings, but it was hard for me to look at him… an odd thing… it startled me every time I saw him as I never got used to his face.

“In my mind he was… something else, and to see him looking like such a normal human man at the end of his prime was very unsettling.  The moment I looked away I knew why Armond needed his help, why he might be able to protect Gallus, why he mattered so very much, but to look at him was to see an illusion that hid his very soul.”  He looked over at Oirion.  “Like I said, I know who you are.”

Oirion set his mug aside and rested his hands on either side of him, holding the edge of the cold stone wall.  The idea was very unsettling, and worse that perhaps on some level Tyven was speaking of things deeper than that he had been Oirion Hennen until eight months ago.

“Nothing is that simple, Tyven.”

Tyven searched for the words, meeting his eyes.  “You are who you always were.  I don’t know how else to say what I see, but while you no longer wear a mask, you are still not just the face you wear.”

Oirion made sure the boy was still inside. He could see him though the window standing by the fire with his back to the heat, hands held behind him to soak it in.   Tyven was walking a very dangerous line that made Oirion very uneasy, but he had to know just what the constable knew… there was something about himself not even Oirion himself dared to look at too closely.  It was just too perilous.

“Alright,” he said carefully.  “Say I believe you, and I only would because of Gallus. Take a moment and tell me something that you know I need to hear.”

Tyven watched the skies as dark clouds began to roll in from the south, getting close enough to see the lightning low and near the water, not normal at all.  It seemed to snake out over the surface of the ocean as if trying to avoid the sky. As they began to hear the rumble of the incoming storm, he looked to Oirion.

“I know that you will not be king of any one kingdom, but more than one of your sons will wear a crown.”

“More than one of my sons?” Oirion asked and almost laughed. “I’d have to have more than one son for that to happen.”

“You don’t already?” Tyven asked truly surprised.

Oirion gestured vaguely.  “I won’t believe I have any until I see it.  Travis hinted at such, but never spoke of crowns.”

“You would doubt Armond?” Tyven asked shocked.

“No,” Oirion almost laughed at the man’s reaction.  “I would doubt my own fertility.  The chances are very slim for one and less for more than that.”

“Well, I see it. I know that if the Barrier comes down and Purt lasts another generation, more than one of your sons will wear crowns. Maybe they aren’t all born yet; that I don’t know.”

“I don’t know, Tyven,” Oirion half chuckled as he turned to look out at the harbor, standing with his back to the building.  “I still think you’re asking an awful lot and could easily be playing the game of Deals and demons.  You’d understand why I would be cautious even of those I might want to trust.” He picked up his cups.  “Come inside and warm up.” He turned to lead the way to the door.

“He is afraid he’ll hurt you,” Tyven said quickly.  Oirion stopped.  “It’s why he sent you so far away.  He has been so alone so long and in such pain that he is afraid he won’t be able to help himself and will get too close and hurt you. The idea terrifies him.” Tyven took a step towards Oirion, desperate to get him to believe.  “It’s why he makes a joke of the whispers of your being his consort.  It’s the only way he can distance himself from it and yet not deny it.”

“I am not his consort,” Oirion said, knowing at once who Tyven spoke of.  “It is a soul bond, not a physical one.”

“That, I do not know.  That, I do not care about.  What is a body compared to a soul?  You don’t understand. I know who you are!” There were almost tears in his eyes.  “I know; I see it right now! I see it always.”

“This is who I am,” Oirion said.  “I am not wearing a mask.”

“Yes, you are,” Tyven whispered.  “Even from yourself and I know that. Somewhere in your heart the idea that I see past the mask is terrifying to you.  Tell me honestly you don’t feel a deep panic threatening to come up at the mere idea I can see your soul for what it is and I know who you are.”

Oirion felt a chill creep up his back.  He dared not even think about it and slammed up shields against his own thoughts.  On the steps of Ulam Bac he had given his everything to open that damned gate and to save Shannon, and it had cost him his life.  In that moment he had known a truth so great and so fantastic that Powers of ages past had risen up to make certain all who saw it forgot it, to make it mean nothing to their minds if they did recall, or if that failed they would be driven insane so no thoughts would be noticed and their words discarded.

“I know who you are,” Tyven said again.  “Please, talk to her; just talk to her at least.  That’s all I ask.”

“Come inside, Tyven,” Oirion said softly, swallowing his fear and his tension.  “You’re freezing.”

Oirion handed the mugs to the page who went at once to get them refilled.  They both moved to the fire to take the boy’s place and warm up a little.  Oirion’s chill was not from the weather, though, and no fire was going to make it vanish so easily.

“What am I supposed to talk to her about?” Oirion asked, standing beside Tyven.

“I don’t know.  I just know she is the key to finding the king,” Tyven said softly in the way those who have just had a serious fight and are trying to make peace do.  It was a very uneasy feeling for them both.

“You know I can’t very well leave the city; the lords are barely under control as it is.  If they crown Ammeron and I find another king, there will be civil war.”

“If you must leave to find him, my men and I can keep order until you get back, and if we can’t stop a coronation, we can make the people turn against him in force and his crown will mean nothing.”

“You can do that?”

“I know I can,” Tyven said, looking over and smiling timidly. “Like I said, I did not get where I am without knowing things.”

“Sometimes knowing things is dangerous,” Oirion responded, very worried for the constable.  Some truths are better hidden and he knew it.

“I know that as well,” Tyven nodded.  “I also know I’m not the one you need to worry about.  We must find… you must find that man.  If you fail, then a dark storm will crush Brosten and bury Fairwah in such darkness I fear I will be dead and know nothing for this world.”

Oirion left the fire to take his fresh mug of coffee from the page and moved to a small side table with a set of chairs under the grand windows.  Tyven joined him, still a bit uneasy.

“How is Gallus?” Tyven asked.  “Ulam Bac seems very far away just now and if I did not know him as a friend, I would have such doubts… but I do know him and worry for him.  Is he well?  Is he truly bonded to Jamie?”

Oirion didn’t care to talk about it, really, but Tyven was Gallus’s friend and the two men had risked a lot to reach out to  him and Jamie a year ago.

“The magic he has stepped into is something that must seem very strange and difficult to deal with. The power of the bond changes a man and while most are bonded as teenagers and woven together slowly over time, Gallus stepped into a bond that was adult and well-mastered.  He will have a difficult time adjusting to it, but he and Jamie were friends before and it is a bond created and blessed by the hand of Armond himself, so they will both be alright.”

“And Father James?  He has to have a hard time adjusting to life without Oirion Hennen and his power.”

“Jamie is a strong man and will be able to adjust and find balance faster than any other man could hope to.”

“They say that you are Oirion’s older cousin.  I wasn’t aware Lord Hennen had any other children than his daughter.”

“He had a son,” Oirion said taking a sip, “a rebel who was killed in Amdor before I was born.”

Tyven sipped his hot drink.

“How did the classes work?  Has it helped the young guards?” Oirion asked of the classes Jamie had taught the year before.

“Some have embraced it, but others struggle to. We have long been taught the evils of magic and fear runs deep.”

“Time will heal that,” Oirion said.  “Magic is our heritage, all of our heritage.”

Tyven set his mug down.

“I should go, Your Grace, to dress for the dinner tonight, so with your leave…” he rose and Oirion gestured the man he could go.  The page hurried to open the door for Tyven and closed it behind him.

Oirion watched the young man, well aware the page had been put where he was as a spy of sorts.  If Oirion was Shannon, he would just dismiss the boy and find someone loyal to him, but he wasn’t Shannon.  Anyone he found here would be for sale.  That was the nature of a court that was under the influence of greedy powers for too long.

“What do you think of the constable?” Oirion asked the young man.

“He does a noble service to the kingdom.  Brosten is a safer city because of him,” he said.  “He has served the kingdom a long time.”  The boy had a head for political words and that would likely make him a man of power one day; the idea was rather sad to Oirion.

Just a little something I wrote awhile back