Omensent: Birth of a Dragon Lord
Page 5
A loud knock at the door of his study brought Lord Michael back to reality. “Lord Michael?” He recognized the voice as belonging to Lady Skie Meadowdown, a longtime friend of his family, and his newborn son's nanny.
“Come in, dear Skie.” He answered, slowly turning away from the window. Since his beloved wife's death, Lady Skie had become invaluable to him, helping with the daily tasks of running the castle on top of her responsibilities as his son's nanny. He had come to depend on her almost as much as he had his wife. Indeed, he didn't know what he would do without her. Her unwavering support had been the only thing besides his son that had kept him from toppling over into the abyss of despair.
Lady Skie entered the study, bringing with her a soothing peacefulness into the room. She was a tiny, slender-figured woman of middle age, with long dark hair and glittering green eyes that seemed to lighten or darken with her moods. Though she was tiny in stature, she had a commanding presence about her that demanded respect, almost as if she were royalty. She always seemed to have a soothing, almost magical air about her that brought peacefulness to the troubled soul, easing one's mind and spirit. Many in the village looked upon her as something akin to a holy person, coming to her with their worries and fears. She would lend her ear to anyone with the need to speak, and would always send the person away feeling much more content and secure. It was like she always knew what to say to set one’s heart at ease.
Lord Michael gestured for her to sit in one of the plush, overstuffed chairs near the fireplace, then poured them each a glass of wine. “Have the clerics discovered anything new about Damion?” He had proudly named his son Damion Omensent after his wife's final words.
“They say he is in remarkably good shape, all things considered.” Lady Skie replied, noting the look of relief that crossed his face. “Other than his brow scales, he seems to be in perfect health.”
After laying Alaya's body to rest in his family's private cemetery, Lord Michael had sent for the most powerful clerics in the region to ensure Damion's health, and to try to find a cure for his strange affliction. They had been working tirelessly for weeks in order to discover the cause for the Damion’s strange deformity, keeping the newborn under constant observation in case there was any sudden change in his health.
“We can only assume that the scales are a result of the dragonspawn attack.” She took a sip from her wine. “Something must have happened that caused the deformity. That's the only possible explanation.”
He sighed in relief. “So he is completely human? I mean, he isn't going to grow up to be an invalid, or worse, a savage like the dragonspawn, right?”
Lady Skie shook her head. “As far as we can tell, he is a perfectly normal, healthy baby boy. He has an unusually strong aura, and his brow scales may make him look rather different, but otherwise, he is completely human.”
Lord Michael closed his eyes, giving silent thanks to the gods. “This is good news. I had been afraid that he could turn out to be more beast than human. Still, I fear he's going to have a very tough life ahead of him. People can be cruel to those who are different from themselves, and he is very different. I do not want him to be forced to live as an outcast.” He looked at Lady Skie gravely. “I would like you to take personal charge of his education, and as soon as he is old enough, we'll begin his training in the art of combat. I'm going to make sure that he has every advantage, so he has a chance at a long life.”
“Do not worry, my lord. Damion is surrounded by people who love him. He is going to grow up to be just like his father, a kind and gentle soul.” She rose to her feet. “It is almost time for Damion to be fed. He has an amazingly large appetite for an infant.” She placed a caring hand on his shoulder. “Do not worry. Everything will be fine. Go get some rest. You look as though you haven't slept in days.” With that, she left him to his thoughts, which were already drifting back to the memory of the horrible attack.