The kingdom of valleys ends,
where the endless plains begin,
and there beyond lies Osyrae,
home to black dragonkin,
once their sire ruled men,
now that line lays abhorred,
fear that long come day,
a dragon king,
– untitled bard verse, circa 610 E.R.
Stirrings in the North
Wren was still small. It wasn’t simply that he was years younger than his classmates, he was shorter than most girls his age, and any early bursts of growth had long since fallen behind. He stood a full head shorter than Celia, the younger of his two companions. It was also not simply a question of height, he was slight in form, and his head bowed easily to those around him.
He was possessed of an unmistakably demure nature – even if the word conventionally belonged to women, there was an aptness to the description – he was easily, and often mistaken for a young girl. A mistake that quite foolishly many would make for his hair alone, not even his stature, or poise. The ignorant would blame this on his upbringing, to be raised in a niche where women reigned as men did in most other corners of the world. To look around him though, at the other men and boys that shared that way of life, they were little like Wren.
Men of the order were not so different than outsiders. A few less rough edges, slightly less assuming, but on the whole nothing incongruous to the upper classes, and scholarly circles. They were far more mindful of women, but no less angling for their attentions, and affections. Vastly more successful, but this was only marginally owing to any particular quality of their own.
It was a strange dance to watch. Different than what played out between outsiders, who couched their advances and acceptances far more deeply in properties. There was an overtness to the exchange amongst members of the order, yet still polite, cordial, playfully coy, and rarely crass. The differences though, lay as much in the women. Self assured, privileged over the men, unashamed of their own wants. They were as likely to approach, as be approached, and many quite content to take their affections in one another.
None of this was lost on the young, and no one attempted to shield them from the truth of it, for no one was ashamed. Frankly the young were warned of it firmly, of their own coming desires, for most of them would bloom at a young age. A curse and a blessing of their gift and practice. To channel living energy was to be alive, and desires of the flesh are inseparably part of life. There were roughly two options. The path that Clarions took, to repress, to be more chased, and reserved. The latter to embrace it, and find some balance that gave one peace.
Wren was still quite young, but boys of the wider world had turned a longing eye in younger years. His had looked to each of his friends more than once, but it was always Celia that held his gaze. Audry was more developed, but she was more than another year his elder, imposing, worldly in a vague sort of way – for in truth she had seen it and traveled, even if as a small child. She had been well aware of her mother’s dalliances, and affinity for strong but accommodating men. Wren felt as though he would wilt before her. Celia was more like him, reserved, introspective. It was not night and day where his attentions lay, but the gravity of it was clear.
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Coria 10th, 647 E.R.
Audrey had hugged each of her dear friends in turn, and run off. She had duties to attend to, but Wren and Celia’s free days had aligned. Neither was much for coming up with plans on what to do, all but invariably left to their own they were apt to wander, or sit somewhere on the grounds. They looked to each other and laughed. It had become a joke that didn’t even need to be spoken any more. ‘What do you want to do?’ invariably lead to a lack of answer. Except at that moment, Wren did know, if only abstractly.
There were hardly details in his mind. Lycians may be open and unashamed, but that did not mean they spelled out the specifics for the young, who were left mostly to their own devices to figure it out. He knew he wanted to kiss her. Watching her laugh, watching her give him the amused look they so often shared only made the feeling stronger. He was not so bold though, and instead he bit his lip and earned a funny look from his friend.
Wren took Celia’s hand, but looked away, avoiding her gaze as she considered him quizzically. “Let’s go to the orchard,” he said. It was mid spring, the flowers would be blooming, and it might be private. All of this had been keenly in mind with the suggestion, which was far more direction than either of them would typically offer
“Ok,” Celia said without much concern, squeezed his hand, and they walked on.
The orchard was indeed in bloom, fragrant, and lush. Invariably Wren wanted to look not at the trees, but to Celia, yet he didn’t. One need not have shame heaped upon them, to be embarrassed by desire. It is vulnerable, volatile, frightening, and needful all at once – this is at its worst for the very young.
“Mother says a dragon has been seen in the north,” Wren commented, trying to make conversation. Wren waffled on that a moment. Renae was not his mother, she was the matron of the cloister. She encouraged him though to call her mother, and it always felt odd, even if it had become habit.
“She told you?” Celia asked curiously, interrupting the stray train of thought.
“No – but I heard her talking with Andria about it.”
“There hasn’t been a dragon in the north in a very long time,” Celia said with some concern. “That’s all mother would tell me when I asked her about it.”
“Renae does not like to talk about it either,” Wren said. “My grandmother died fighting a dragon.”
“She did?” Celia asked, and stopped abruptly. “Your grandmother fought a dragon?”
Wren simply nodded, even when such a question seemed to demand a better answer. He did not like to talk about his family, save his sisters. The others were dead, and it was all tragedy, and pain. Renae had always been very supportive on the matter, and of his reluctance to speak of it. She never mentioned his mother, or grandmother, but Mercu had told him the tale. Silence set in again, and the two walked on without much direction.
“Wren,” Celia began after a few more minutes had passed.
He hesitated. “Yes?”
“What’s wrong?” Celia pressed.
“Nothing,” Wren said, and pursed his lips uneasily.
“Lying isn’t like you,” Celia chided, and squeezed his hand tighter.
Wren started to turn his head, but found he couldn’t, not at first. His eyes fell, and he turned very slowly, before managing at last to look up. He still couldn’t speak, could barely look Celia in the eye whose gaze was filled with concern. He swallowed. “I…” was all he managed.
Celia said nothing, she just held Wren’s hand as his eyes fell again to the ground. When he didn’t look up she stepped closer, and hugged him to her chest. He buried his face in her robe, and tried not to cry, he was so embarrassed. He tried to look up, but couldn’t quite, even for physical reasons. If he tried he just wound up staring at her neck. This gave way to temptation, and he nuzzled there instead. It was brazen, frightening, innocent enough in fact, and pure instinct, excusable…he tried to convince himself, but was hardly sure. It felt familiar, and out of place all at once.
There was a hesitance then, a stiffness in Celia’s embrace. Wren stopped, his nose rested against the side of her neck, his breath on her skin. She shivered. There was a moment of silence, of utter indecision, and a lack of any real communication between the two. He knew as he searched his own feelings, that the instinct hadn’t been his own, even as surely as the want of it had been.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said.
It was Celia’s turn to swallow.
Wren started to pull away, and for a moment it felt as though he might slip her grasp, but Celia suddenly pulled him in tighter, and didn’t let him go – crushing him to her – to no complaint from the boy.
“No,” Celia answered. “No, I’m sorry, Little Bird.”
Wren struggled a bit with the nickname just then. It was mostly Renae who ever called him that, but others had picked up on it. Not all with much love, but Celia had always been at least playful about it. No part of this helped it feel quite right to him in that moment.
“I like you,” Wren said. It was utterly lackluster, and he knew it, but what else could he say. He could jump straight to love, it probably wouldn’t be wrong to say, he did after all. There were four people in his life he felt he could not live without; Renae, Katrisha, and his two dearest friends – yet to say love seemed too far.
“I like you too,” Celia offered, yet the unspoken ‘but’ was louder in Wren’s head than the words themselves.
“I’m sorry,” Wren said again.
“Stop saying that,” Celia demanded somewhere between pleading, and anger.
“I’ll go,” Wren offered, and pulled away, but Celia didn’t let him fully escape her grasp, and held him by both shoulders. He looked down, for much too long. He stared at the ground, before reluctantly looking up again. Celia was biting her lip, her intent unreadable. Wren felt very small.
Celia stepped closer, her eyes hopelessly uncertain, she leaned down, and stopped. She didn’t quite seem to know the mechanics of it, but Wren’s heart leapt to think she might be about to kiss him. There were no other thoughts but that in his head – of their lips meeting – and then he pushed up into it. Their lips came together, awkwardly, tentatively, but then pressed more firmly – both of them.
To call the kiss unskilled really wouldn’t have done it justice. It was a wreck, both of them knew it instinctively, but they also didn’t care. Celia’s hesitance was impossible to miss, but she did return the kiss, her eyes open at first, filled with insecurity, but Wren saw none of this, his were closed so tight it almost hurt. He wrapped his arms around Celia, and for a moment her hesitance melted, her eyes narrowed, closed, and the two eased into one another.
Wren felt so small in Celia’s arms – to both of them – yet he was like a tiny ball of fire to Celia’s comforting, consoling part. She was not unmoved, she felt strings she didn’t have words for, and her kiss did warm into a needful thing, however overshadowed by Wren’s insistence.
The kiss broke, and Wren’s lips wandered aimlessly over Celia’s cheek, her chin, and found again her neck. She shivered, and grew tense again. Wren stopped. He knew he was too far ahead, he buried his face in her neck seeking comfort instead, but it was all the same to her. She couldn’t know what haunted him.
“What do you want?” Celia asked, her voice halting, and nervous.
Wren was silent for more than a moment, this didn’t help. “I don’t know,” he finally offered. “Just to be with you, completely. To feel you, all of you…to touch you.” There was a breath of pause, “I’m sorry.”
Celia tensed further at those words, and Wren cringed. She had asked him not to say that, and again he had. He resisted apologizing for that in turn. They stood like that for far too long. Wren started to pull away again, when he felt Celia rest her hand his arm. She brought his hand up, and rested it over her heart, where her robe was slightly parted, and then let go.
Wren let his hand rest there for some time. He didn’t know what was next, and he also could tell Celia was at best unsure, but that barely registered over his own curiosity. That awareness was like fine threads binding something wild, not enough. His hand slipped a bit under the edge of the fabric, and he moved to kiss her again. She responded to the kiss. She wasn’t unwilling, but her trepidation was like ice to Wren’s intensity, she seemed to be melting, but he was constantly aware, kept from completely losing himself in the moment.
The kiss broke, and their eyes met again. Celia brushed back his hair, a look of love and something horribly torn in her gaze. Her fingers came down along Wren’s arm. Her hand rested there, and squeezed gently, enough to stop him from moving any further. She trembled, the uncertainty turning to fear, sadness, confusion. She winced as though in pain. “No,” she whispered softly. “No. I’m sorry, no,” she began to weep. Then she slipped away, ran, and did not look back.
Wren leaned against a nearby tree, clutched his robe to his chest, and watched her go. He was guilty, troubled, and a little desperate. There was a flash of memory, more sensation than anything, but there were hints of a scent he did not know, and shadows by the moonlight – long hair, and twined fingers. There was a glimmer of blue eyes in the dark, and the sensation of lips trailing along a throat – his throat – but he knew it wasn’t his.
No one had ever kissed him like that, touched him that way. He knew what the memory was, and as much as he tried to push it away, it took him, and he fell to his knees, trembling. He was at once elated and furious, trapped in the beauty of a moment that wasn’t his, and suddenly wildly, felt like it could never be. He was in two places at once, both felt slightly numb, and all the more real. The memories were always more vivid than his own, but none had ever been so intense, or so filled with things he could not place.
It took Wren some time to struggle back to his feet. It faded to a vague shadow, all but inseparable from his own memory, save the knowledge that it wasn’t. He made his way ploddingly back to the cloister. His demeanor drew more than a few glances, but no one asked. Eventually he found himself on a balcony, overlooking one of the many courtyards. He sat, his feet dangling over the edge, as he was prone to do – particularly when mulling things over.
Time was a bit of a blur, as was oft the case when his mother’s memories intruded. As unnerving as the experience was, it had done nothing to shake the state he had been left in from his brief encounter with Celia, truthfully it had made things very much worse. That sensation gnawed at him, he wanted to feel it, not just a memory that wasn’t his. To feel fingers, and lips on his skin, to lose himself completely in someone else. To give those feelings in turn. He wanted it to be with Celia, but in that moment he didn’t entirely care, almost anyone would do. The realization of that made him a bit angry at himself.
He heard footsteps behind him, he didn’t even turn to look. He realized he had been sitting there for well over an hour. “I thought that was you,” Audry said with a quizzical tone.
“So it is,” Wren said disinterestedly.
“You alright?” Audry asked sitting down next to him, and hanging her own feet.
“Been better,” Wren muttered.
“I’m here to listen,” Audry offered sweetly. “You aren’t moping over my brother again are you?”
“No, and…” Wren sighed, even that fraught thought seemed to wither before what he was feeling. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, and…” he trailed off.
Audry put her hand on Wren’s and squeezed. “Is something wrong with Celia?” she asked astutely, seeing only one possible person that could have finished that sentence for either of them.
“I…” Wren started to turn to Audry, and looked much more plainly away.
“You what?” Audry said squeezing Wren’s hand again.
“I kissed her,” Wren said reluctantly, and bit his lip.
Audry hesitated for a moment, and then with a touch of disappointment in her voice finally said simply, “Oh.”
“I really Kissed her,” Wren said with a bit of frustration in his voice, failing to read Audry’s tone.
“And?” Audry said her voice tight, but trying to remain supportive.
“It was very nice…” Wren started, “and then it wasn’t.”
“What was wrong?” Audry asked not sure what to make of Wren’s statement.
“It started to be more than a kiss,” Wren choked. “I…I don’t even know what came over me, it felt good…till she wanted to stop. I did, but…oh fates, she ran off pretty quick after that.”
“That’s rough,” Audry said softly, “they warned us that we might start to have these feelings soon.”
“For you, and the older kids sure,” Wren muttered. “I’m three years younger, and Celia is a year younger herself.”
“You were always ahead of the class,” Audry laughed sweetly squeezing his hand all the more tightly.
“Now I’ve one less friend for it too,” Wren whimpered. “It was so much stronger than they warned…so,” he paused to swallow. “…it was like starving, gasping for air, and she was the only relief. I still don’t think I was in my right mind even after she left. I just…”
Audry looked away, but held on. “I want to say I can relate…I kind of can, I am older like you say…” she said trailing off. “I can understand liking someone, and not feeling like… Never mind, that’s my trouble, not yours. I’m sure Celia will forgive you, it’s always been the three of us, hasn’t it? Yeah, she’ll forgive you.”
Wren looked at Audry perplexed by her rambling. “Who?” he asked curiously, somewhere between wanting to help, and simply being glad for someone else’s problems to distract him from his own. “I’ve never really seen you talking with the other boys, or girls…not at length any way.”
Audry looked at Wren for a moment, then shook her head trying to clear it. “Sorry, no…its…they…just, someone younger…so I never said anything.”
“Oh,” Wren said a bit flummoxed, “oh I’m sorry. I…didn’t realize you were interested in Celia too…and here I’m going on about kissing her, and…I’m so sorry.”
There was a look of absolute disbelief on Audry’s face, it looked almost as though she wanted to be mad. Then finally, laughingly, almost crying she conked her head on the railing post between them. “If I ever called you brilliant, I take it back right this instant.”
“You…wait, what?” Wren said, suddenly not quite sure if he should be offended.
“You, you darling…silly…” She hesitated for a breath, and more emphatically finished. “You.” Audry said, slowly embracing what she was admitting as she said it. Wren was younger, but he never seemed it. He was timid and sweet, but it had always felt more like kind and considerate.
Wren closed his eyes, and knocked his head against the same post in embarrassment. It took him a moment to realize Audry was still squeezing his hand, and as he opened his eyes he could see Audry watching him from the other side of the rail. “So, what you are saying,” Wren started awkwardly.
“Is I love you, you silly boy. I’ve loved you for a while now…” Audry said flatly, “but I’m older…and I always knew it would be Celia for you. I didn’t want it to be, and if she’s hesitated…” She stopped for a moment. “Sasha’s right,” she said under her breath so softly Wren barely heard it. “I won’t.”
Wren’s presence had always put her at ease, and on edge at once. He was so small, but his presence wasn’t. He felt big and strong, and safe even if he wasn’t, and she was far too ready to say anything on her mind around him, until a few thoughts had made her hold her tongue.
“I…I don’t know what to say,” Wren said looking into the hopeful determined eyes across from him.
“Say yes,” Audry said hopefully, “kiss me, and see if it stirs the same feelings?”
Wren hesitated, it wasn’t even close to an unappealing idea. “But what about Celia?” he asked, biting his lip.
“Nothing changes,” Audry assured him. “She’s still our friend. She was the one who was uncomfortable. This should make it easier, take the weight of it off her.”
Audry leaned around the rail closer to Wren, and waited, hoped that he would accept her offer. She doubted if she was right, that Celia wouldn’t mind, but a part of her – if she was honest with herself – didn’t care. If Celia had turned Wren away she wouldn’t. She had been told such an opportunity might come. He was sweet, kind, and made her happy. So what if he was younger, he was now a class ahead of her, as was Celia. She felt left behind, worried she was losing them. Others didn’t know how special Wren was, but Sasha had warned her – that wouldn’t last forever.
“I…ok,” Wren said letting go of his hesitation, and leaning closer for a testing kiss, and then again longer. As Audry pulled him close Wren remembered kissing Celia, the half hearted return, the hesitation. Audry didn’t hesitate, she didn’t pull away, she was in control, and a part of Wren liked that.
Neither had noticed Celia, they were too distracted to have looked down into the courtyard below. She looked away, uncomfortable, and sad. She tried to convince herself it was for the best, that it was easier that way. Part of her knew what she had wanted, but part of her doubted. Most of all, she hadn’t been ready. Wren was the only boy who interested her, and if he was taken, it did simplify things, make who she felt she was more clear, but it also didn’t make her happy.
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Coria 31st, 647 E.R.
Wren glanced up from looking at the floor. Andrew still stood before him. Over a year they had mostly avoided each other successfully. No small feat when living within the same cloister. It had helped that Wren had moved ahead to a higher class, but that day had brought them face to face in the middle of a long hallway, and for once, each had not simply walked past.
Wren had heard from Audry that Andrew was doing better with his studies, that his constant practicing with writing was making the head cleric consider him for early apprenticeship. He winced that Audry had never blamed him for any of it. Not that she had ever entirely seemed to believe all of it.
Wren steeled himself, and took a step towards Andrew, who backed away from him hesitantly. Wren frowned with frustration, and walked right up to him. He could see the fear in Andrew’s eyes, that he wanted to run, but some shred of pride wouldn’t let him that time. Wren was still smaller which gave Andrew no comfort as Wren reached up a hand slowly to Andrew’s temple.
He winced at Wren’s touch, but held his ground. Wren moved his fingers searchingly, and Andrew moved his hands as though ready to push Wren away, when Wren softly said, “Speak.” However soft the word was, it still rung strangely in the ears.
“I hate you,” Andrew said in a tiny horse voice, but was shocked at the words that actually came out of his mouth.
“I know,” Wren said stepping back, and starting to walk past, “and I’m sorry.”
“Why now?” Andrew called after Wren, his voice still hoarse. “Why after a year?”
“Because I was afraid,” Wren said stopping, but not turning. “Because I didn’t know if I could fix what I did…and maybe…a part of me didn’t want to try, because I was still angry.”
“Did…Audry ask you?” Andrew questioned, his tone changing.
“She’s part of the reason I tried,” Wren sighed, and turned back to face Andrew, “but she didn’t ask. That bridge is yours to mend.“
“I had heard…that you two…” Andrew said squinting angrily, and clenching his fist, but obviously still too afraid to act on his anger after what his last outburst had cost him. “Why did it have to be you?”
“Ask her that…” Wren trailed off. “I love her, maybe I always did, but I was blind to it till she made me see.”
“Don’t lie…you did it to spite me,” Andrew said defensively, “and this is just so you can gloat.”
Wren clenched his own fist in frustration more than anger. “I never told Renae what happened, but I told my sisters…they made me understand it, what I never did before. I didn’t do it to you, I played my part, a part that I will always feel guilt for, but you…you followed your visions to their own end.”
“What nonsense are you babbling?” Andrew growled.
“What reason did I have to hate you, to hurt you?” Wren asked shaking. “None, save the ones you gave me, because of what you saw in your dreams.” He watched Andrew for a moment – watched him stand there quietly. Wren had never had a high opinion of Andrew’s intelligence, but for just a moment he was sure he saw understanding on Andrew’s face, fighting with willful ignorance.
“Believe me, or don’t.” Wren sighed, turned, and marched away.
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Coria 37th (May 1st), 647 E.R.
Wren sat with his head on Audry’s shoulder, and watched the light from the stained glass windows dancing on the far wall of the cloister’s main entry hall. Audry squeezed Wren’s hand suddenly, causing him to turn his head, and look up at her. “I spoke to Andrew today,” Audry said softly with a wry grin. “I think the bigger surprise was he spoke back.”
Wren looked away again nervously, but clung tightly to Audry. “What did he have to say?”
“Quite a lot actually.” Audry laughed. “Seems not talking for so long can make one rather chatty.”
“I…I’m sorry,” Wren said trying not to cry.
“Oh don’t start that again.” Audry sighed. “I don’t care if part of him is still mad. He deserved it, and we are all better for it…except you, poor dear. I know how it hurt you.”
“I’ll be…” Wren stopped mid sentence as there was a sudden commotion outside, and both turned as the main doors were flung open. Two men carried in a third as two sisters held the door, and a several more looked on, prepared to step in as soon as the two men were out of the way.
Audry gasped when she saw the blood on the men’s clothing. “What happened?” she asked aghast, and covered her mouth. She had seen a few bad wounds over the years come in, but nothing like that.
“Afraid he caught the business end of a dragon,” one of the men said wiping the sweat from his forehead, but leaving bloody marks in it’s place.
“What end of a dragon isn’t the business end?” The wounded man said with a cough, as sisters descended on him in an effort to deal with his wounds.
“I know you,” Wren said staring at one of the men standing, but he was not sure from where.
“I believe we have seen each other a few times,” the man said scratching his head. “You are Renae’s boy, and the brother to the twins at the castle aren’t you? Wren wasn’t it? I’m Eran, formerly…”
“You said you had come from up north,” one of the Sisters said standing up, and interrupting Eran. “How is he still alive with wounds this grave? It seems almost as though they have been partly healed…however badly.”
“Sorry if my skills are not up to par,” Eran grumbled. “I did leave the cloister for a few reasons after all.”
The Sister narrowed her eyes for a moment, and then suddenly recognition struck her. “I remember you, Lanie’s boy. It’s been what, eight years since you left? But why are you in royal army attire?”
“That’s it,” Wren said drawing both of their looks. “I remember you arguing here with Renoa.”
Eran grumbled, “Yes…yes…multiple reasons for leaving as I said. Can we get back to Rory now, please?”
“No,” the wounded man on the floor coughed, “please don’t mind me.”
“You’ve already got the attention of two sisters dear brother,” the other blood drenched man laughed. “I’m sure that should be sufficient even for you.”
“Shut it Henry,” Rory coughed.
“What’s happening?” came the sound of Renae’s voice from the stairs above.
“A wounded man good Matron,” Eran called up. “We would have taken him to a Clarion healer, they were just slightly closer, but the three of us aren’t on the best of terms with the local Clarions. Besides, you can’t swing a wounded man around here without hitting a better healer than those useless preaching bastards.”
“What caused his wounds?” Renae asked with concern for the bloodied men below.
“A dragon we have been tracking for some time in the mountains up north,” Eran responded.
“I had heard some reports,” Renae said sadly, “no human casualties yet, but cattle, and a few sightings, and reports of it flying into the mountains.”
“Speaking of reports,” Eran said turning to Henry. “I’ll ride for the castle, stay with your brother.”
“Who died and put you in charge?” Henry said mockingly.
“Not funny,” Rory groaned on the floor. “He’s your senior though. I’m obviously down, go with him if you wish. I’ll be fine here with the lovely ladies.”
“No, I’ll stay,” Henry said deflated.
“Oh, you finally realized the perfect excuse you have for a lovely holiday,” Rory coughed.
“You two argue,” Eran said shaking his head, and made for the still open door. “I have the nest of a dragon to report.”
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Coria 38th, 647 E.R.
Katrisha matched each of Kiannae’s blows, blocking them with her staff. The two had been going back and forth for several minutes as Horence watched chiming in alternating critiques, encouragements, and the occasional heckle. The staves so far were intact, but the strength of the blows was beginning to concern Horence.
Horence was about to intercede when Katrisha suddenly avoided a blow instead of blocking it, and swung low nearly connecting with Kiannae’s leg, who managed to raise it out of the way, and bring her staff down again, only to have it blocked.
The dodge seemed to diffuse the intensity of the spar, and they held a moment. “Nice try Kat,” Horence laughed, “but she’s still too quick for you.”
Katrisha’s eyes turned to the gate for just a split second as she caught sight of an approaching horse. Kiannae tried for the opening, but missed as Katrisha responded just in time. Kiannae was suddenly distracted by the sound of the horse’s hooves, and found herself on the ground as Katrisha swept her leg.
“Might call that one a foul,” Horence laughed again, “but fair is fair, she tried first when you were distracted, and you caught it.”
Katrisha offered her sister her hand, and helped her up. Kiannae dusted herself off, and rubbed her sore rear from the fall she had taken. “Suppose it’s fair you win once,” she said.
“Three times,” Katrisha corrected.
“For the last time, those didn’t count,” Kiannae muttered.
“You’ve said ‘for the last time’ at least the last six times I’ve mentioned it,” Katrisha chided. On both occasions there had been mitigating circumstances. A splintered stave, and icy patches providing poor footing. Both in theory of equal disadvantage to both. Really the stave had been to Katrisha’s disadvantage, it had been her stave that splintered.
“Is it my fault you haven’t listened?” Kiannae laughed.
“Dear fates,” Katrisha suddenly proclaimed seeing the rider who had dismounted, and was now walking towards them. “Are you alright, Eran?” she asked him.
“I’m fine,” Eran said not slowing.
“What are you…oh,” Kiannae said noticing the blood.
“What news Eran?” Horence asked in a concerned tone.
“We found the nest Sir,” Eran said with a salute.
“And the blood?” Horence asked pointedly.
“Rory’s Sir,” Eran answered with a bit of melancholy. “He’ll live though. I have faith in the Order. I left his brother there to keep him company as well, or at least out of trouble.”
“You left Henry to keep Rory out of trouble?” Horence asked incredulously. “Isn’t that a bit like leaving a loose lantern to keep the powder room lit?”
“Don’t start, if you please. Sir,” Eran laughed. “Would you inform the King I have a report. I think I should make myself more presentable first, don’t you?”
“Yes, go, you are dismissed,” Horence said with a salute.
“So they found the dragon?” Katrisha asked excitedly.
“So it seems,” Horence said eying her sternly, “and for the last time you two won’t be having anything to do with it.”
“You said that the last three times we asked,” Kiannae protested, and winced as she expected the response.
“Is it my fault you didn’t listen?” Horence said with a grin.
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Kiannae stood on the balcony beside her sister with her eyes closed. She was completely fixed on the the dining hall below as a servant eyed the place a table should be, and poked at it cautiously. “You are so much better at that one than I am,” Katrisha said in a tone somewhere between genuine appreciation, and frustration.
“That’s just because I am better,” Kiannae laughed.
“Sad you can’t use that trick on yourself,” Katrisha countered.
“I can use it on you,” Kiannae said turning towards Katrisha and focusing. There was a yelp from the dining room below as the table reappeared, and Katrisha gasped as the world went black, and only strange aura like outlines could be seen around everything.
“Ok…this is an experience,” Katrisha said reaching out to touch the outline of her sister’s hand. The spell suddenly fragmented as it crossed its own boundary.
“Yup, and any magic crossing the shell disrupts it,” Kiannae said with a shrug. “Let me try again, and this time don’t touch me.”
Katrisha frowned as she faded from view again. Laurel stepped onto the balcony a moment later in something of a hurry, Mar trotting along behind him. He was startled, and Mar took off in terror when Katrisha greeted Laurel with a, “Boo.” She had snapped into view with a ball of light in her hand, which she let drift away, and vanished again as Kiannae recovered the spell.
“Nicely done,” Laurel said obviously trying to catch his breath from the start he had been given. “I can barely see the aura even,” he said admiring the vague outline of Katrisha before him.
“Do you think this would be useful against the dragon?” Katrisha said excitedly, still invisible.
“There’s no telling,” Laurel said narrowing his eyes, “dragons are magical in origin, if the one up north is more than a beast it might see right through your illusion, just as I can.”
Kiannae frowned, and let the spell fade. “We can help, I know we can,” she protested.
“I have no doubt of your ability,” Laurel said putting a hand on each of the girl’s shoulders. “You have both been getting frightfully good, but I will not risk your safety. I’m not all that keen to risk my own. So no more of this, please. Now I must go, the King and Knights are waiting.”
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Katrisha paced frustratedly around the tower chamber she shared with her twin. She seemed far more bothered than Kiannae, who watched her sister uncertainly. “I’m not happy about it either,” Kiannae offered.
Katrisha stopped, and seemed to almost tremble as she stared at Kiannae. “It’s not…” She closed her eyes, and tapped her foot frustratedly. “I had a dream,” she said.
Kiannae did not look particularly happy at those words. “I did to,” she said, and swallowed. They stared defiantly into eachother’s eyes. “Laurel was dead,” they said in unison.
Katrisha stormed towards the window then, and pounded her fist on the padded sill hard enough to still hurt.
“We are supposed to ignore prophecy,” Kiannae offered, but her heart was not in it.
“Unless it is very specific,” Katrisha said. “Unless we know what it means.”
“How can we?” Kiannae demanded. “What if…trying to be involved is what causes it?”
“I remember in the dream,” Katrisha said, “he was being brought into the castle. We were already here. He was out there.”
“I…” Kiannae frowned. “I remember that too.”
“There was a voice in the dream,” Katrisha said then.
“There wasn’t in mine…” Kiannae said uncertainly.
“It…said,” she was flustered, and turned back to her sister, “‘Head the warning.’”
“We have to protect others,” Kiannae said.
“Always,” Katrisha said firmly. They had made that pact before, and for Laurel, for family it went double, or more.
⁃ ◇ ❖ ◇ ⁃
Katrisha and Kiannae peered down from the balcony above the ballroom, now serving as an impromptu war room. Eran placed markers on various maps for the King, and addressing various Knights questions. Idolus stood by, and seemed more interested in eyeing Eran with displeasure, than on anything Eran was actually saying.
“That you are alive at all tells me it’s little more than a beast, and that your expedition stumbled into its lair. Were it an agent, an intelligent dragon on a mission, you would have been hunted down,” Laurel offered.
“Even a feral dragon is not to be trifled with. They are more intelligent than any common beast, and far more ferocious, even than dire breads. As if size alone, thick scales, and razor sharp claws and fangs were not enough.” Armon shook his head.
Laurel sighed. “Worse this is no mere drake, like the last one you fought Armon, but a full grown dragon, almost in proportion with the greater dragons from all reports. This is a perilous endeavor, even with a mage, a healer, and all the enchanted gear at our disposal, we may have losses.”
“I will go if you will have me,” Armon offered.
“To advise,” Arlen said, “but I’ll not put you in harm’s way old fellow. You are getting a bit slow in our spars.”
Laurel looked to Eran. “We need every advantage we can get, will you risk joining another expedition?”
“Yes, of course,” Eran answered with a nod. To say he wasn’t terrified would be disingenuous, but he had not left his old life behind to sit idle in perilous times. Quite the opposite. He had dreamed of adventure.
Kiannae looked to her sister lying to her left, both trying not to be noticed by the adults below. She was still uncertain, but Katrisha’s gaze on the map was fiercely determined. She took a long breath, and nodded more for her own benefit than Katrisha’s, as her sister did not see it. Yet all at once she felt as though she was forgetting something frightfully important.