Dragon Boy (Hilda's Inn Book 2)

by Cyn Bagley

  The handler didn’t respond. Rooso continued, “He killed the black mage and tore through several of Lord Barton’s men. He is a danger.”

  “Your job is to do what I tell you to do.”

  At this point Rooso’s temper rose. He felt his checks redden. He bit his tongue. The assumption that he was a slave to the spy network had rubbed his temper raw more than once. He had assuaged it by telling himself that he was a king’s man. But this time he was angry. Some of his life had to be his. His.

  The handler stood up. He was a few inches taller than Rooso. “I’ll expect a report on Davi tomorrow.” The handler paused and then looked him straight in the face. “Your activities with Mistress Mary Rose?”

  Rooso’s heart sunk. It was like his temper had been hit with cold water. It was extinguished. “My activities?” His tongue almost stumbled.

  “Yes,” the handler said impatiently. “Good job. Now we need to know her entire operation.”

  The handler wrapped a shadow around his body. The only reason Rooso knew that the handler had left was that the door was wide open.

  He had never thought he would be put in this situation. It was the first time in his life that a woman had meant more than his duty. How could he tell her this? She would assume, rightly, that he had been sent to spy on her.

  It was as if the handler had pushed a knife into his heart and then turned it.

  Chapter Eight

  Delhaven

  Michael Ordson

  Late fall had turned into early winter. Michael stopped at the door of the new inn, sniffed the sharp cold air, and slid a little on the melting ice. His leg was sore from walking up and down stairs, arranging the wooden benches and tables in the main room. He sat down on a bench in front of the inn next to Grandpa Stevens. He let his eyes wander down the street. Little by little he relaxed. The dock workers started early and he could hear the grunts of men loading and unloading ships.

  His mind wandered to the kitchen. He didn’t know where Mary Rose had found Hilda’s old kitchen crew. The cook with her new husband, Rob, had arrived that morning. Rob, who had only one arm, helped the cook kindle the fire. A large pot hung from a rod over the flames.

  The cook had a small portion of the hundred year stew from the original Hilda’s inn. She poured it into a huge cauldron and set it over a fire. Then she sent Rob with the drudge, another one of Hilda’s strays, to the market to buy some root vegetables to restart the stew. She had growled loudly at Michael when he offered to buy the vegetables and a little meat. She sniffed and told him that she had enough money to get what was needed this time.

  “He would have the honor,” she stressed that word like it was dirty, “to buy the next batch.” He had smiled at her and rushed out of the kitchen.

  That woman had quite a temper. Josephine would get to deal with her in the future.

  Michael filled his lungs with the wet, cold air. It seared his lungs. Every day he had exercised his leg in addition to the work he had done to prepare the inn for customers. One by one Hilda’s regulars had come by to help clean.

  Even the ale wives had brought a batch of beer to the inn as a housewarming present. When he reached for his money belt, they told him, “No.” One of the ale-wives smiled at him. “It’s just good business,” she said to him.

  It took a few of the regulars to help unload the barrels and put them in a small cellar. One of the barrels was unloaded near the bar. He would have to hire someone to wrestle the barrels from the cellar. Just another thing to put on his list.

  Tomorrow they would officially open. Grandpa Stevens and a few of his pals were already sleeping in the main room on rushes they had spread on the floor as sleeping mats.

  Josephine wouldn’t be finished with her duties at the brothel until tomorrow. Mary Rose and Josephine had picked the new Madame, one of the girls Jo had been grooming for a few months. The new Madame had a good head on her shoulders and was good with numbers.

  Josephine wouldn’t make as much money at the inn as she had when she was working the brothel. Michael hoped his sister had given her a good incentive for working with him.

  He pulled his heart and thoughts away from Josephine and just enjoyed the morning air. Now that they were in business together, Josephine was more formal with him. He still yearned for her so this distance hurt. He pushed his emotions into a tiny part of his mind. Josephine was not for him.

  Even though his heart ached, this life was much better than being a beggar—as if either Mary Rose or Hilda would let him become a card-carrying member of the beggar’s guild.

  Just as he was about to snort, Grandpa Stevens offered his pipe to Michael. Michael shook his head, no. The rhythmic sound of loading stopped. There was a shout and then silence. Michael looked down the street, but then the rhythms began again.

  Michael flicked his fingers once. No fire. He had been too busy with this new business to worry about his magic. The undine had left him alone. There was something inside that was just a little disappointed.

  Michael felt warmth coming from the open front door. If he squinted he could see Josephine’s aura. It swirled with the warmth of orange and yellow. There were little bits of blue, like jewels, scattered in it. So he hadn’t lost all of his magic.

  “Michael,” she called to him from the doorway. He suppressed that recognition in his heart that said “mine.”

  “Right here,” he said. Grandpa Stevens looked up and grinned at Josephine.

  “Lovely,” Grandpa Stevens grinned, his teeth yellowed and broken. He patted the seat between him and Michael. “Come sit here by me.”

  Josephine grinned back. “And get my rear pinched?” Michael could hear the smile in her voice. “I think not.”

  “Michael, I need to ask you a question.” Her flirtatious expression immediately changed to a more guarded look.

  “Yes, Josephine.” It had been nice to sit here and absorb the morning. He limped a little and she looked at his leg. Yes, his leg should be completely healed. But the messages to his brain were still slightly messed up. The limp would go away as long as he kept using the leg.

  He followed her into the main room. “You just got a message from the Mercenary Guild,” she said. “They are looking for Hilda.”

  “What for?” he asked. She handed him the letter. He could read, unlike Hilda, because it was a requirement for his schooling at the Mage Academy.

  “It says here that Lord Barton made a complaint against Hilda. That she burned her inn instead of handing it over to its rightful owner.”

  For a moment Michael admired Lord Barton’s cunning. There was an undercurrent of anger too. “You read this?”

  Josephine looked down, then up. “You won’t give away my secret.”

  Then, Michael knew. No lower class woman would have learned how to read.

  “Who are you?”

  “My business,” she said. There was some pain in her voice. She took the parchment from him. “You don’t mind if I send this to Mistress Mary Rose?”

  Michael shook his head, no. He was still stunned. How did someone of her status sink to the bottom. “If you are wondering,” she said “I was taught to read when I was a companion to a young lady.” She pursed her lips and refused to say more.

  Therein lies a story. Some day she would tell him as they rolled in soft sheets and pillows. He closed his eyes and banished the image from his mind. It would be a long time if ever.

  ***

  The bare limbs of the trees mocked Michael as he waited in the main room waiting for Master Roffe to check his leg and body. Master Roffe tapped his knee to check for reflexes after checking his throat and ears. He even had Michael show him his tongue.

  “You’re as good as I can get you,” Master Roffe said, while he packed his instruments into his bag.

  “I still limp,” Michael said. He could feel his heart sink. He had hoped that by the end of his time with Master Roffe he would be as vigorous as before his attack from the Grimoire.

 
; “You may get better or not.”

  Michael tried to read the healer’s face. There was something he was saying by not saying it.

  “Do you think I’ll ever do magic again?”

  Master Roffe looked into his face. “I can’t tell you that. You do remember that I know someone who does mind healing? Well, she has agreed to look you over.” From Master Roffe’s voice, it sounded like a high honor.

  But, a woman? There were a lot of herb witches who helped birthing women and others who were good at healing small wounds and colds. But Michael had never heard of a woman healer who dealt with mind wounds.

  “She is very good,” continued Master Roffe. “If you don’t mind I’ll bring her around this afternoon.”

  Josephine stepped lightly into the room. Michael knew she had been listening at the door by how quickly she walked in. “I hope she won’t mind if I supervise.” She laughed. It was forced. So she knew this woman healer.

  Master Roffe glanced at Josephine. “Then it will be no problem if I bring her this afternoon.”

  The nod Jo gave Master Roffe was stiff as he said goodbye.

  “Tell me about this healer,” Michael watched Josephine stiffen up more. Her hands were wringing the towel in her hand. He reached for her hands, but she stepped back.

  “You’ll meet her soon and then you’ll decide.” She walked… no, stomped… out the door. If Michael hadn’t been so worried about maybe regaining his magic, he would have called it off. Then he remembered. She was there to help him make this inn a success. She didn’t want anything more from him. He sighed. Well, well, it would be interesting—caught between two women who didn’t like each other.

  That afternoon he found Josephine in the kitchen with the cook. She was laughing, something he hadn’t seen for some time, and was tasting the stew. “It is good,” she said, the humor warming her voice. “You make biscuits too?”

  Michael stopped in the doorway and leaned against the door jamb. It was these moments that made him want to take her in his arms. Then Josephine saw him. “Is she here?” Her body language changed to wariness. Her arms folded against her body.

  Yes, she was there.

  Michael limped into the main room with Josephine following him. The healer was standing next to the fireplace mantel. Michael was aware that she watched him with an impassive face as he limped toward her. This woman was beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Josephine.

  “Sister,” she greeted Josephine. “Is this him?”

  Michael stopped. He turned to Josephine, but her lips were tight like she was trying to stop any negative words from coming out.

  Finally she answered, “Healer Althea, this is Michael. Michael. Healer Althea.” Then she went back to the kitchen, leaving Michael alone in the middle of the main room. Healer Althea looked him up and down like a prize steer. For a moment he felt ready for slaughter.

  “Walk,” she ordered and pointed in front of her. “Back and forth.”

  Michael strode up and down the small room as she watched his body move. “Stop,” she ordered. “Have you been doing your exercises?”

  Inside he wanted to roar at her that he did his exercises every day. That he was half a man because of the mental injuries. He bit his tongue and just said, “Yes, healer.”

  “We’ll see,” she said. Michael could see her eyes unfocus just a little as she looked at the knee. Her eyes traveled up the leg. “Turn around,” she said. He turned so his back was to her. His leg began to shake just a little. It wouldn’t be long before he would need to sit.

  After what seemed like an eternity, she said, “Sit.” He felt like a dog showing tricks to a new master. His temper began to rise again.

  He sat down and refused to look at her face. She was beautiful, yes. But he wasn’t too sure about her bedside manner. This healer, this woman, was by far one of the hardest women he had ever been around. Even the cook flirted a little. She was stone-faced.

  “Hold still,” Healer Althea said. She put her hands in the hollow between his neck and shoulders. Heat grew from her hands and settled into his neck. He could feel the heat climb up his neck. It was both pleasant and painful as the nerves began to prick and pull.

  “What?” he said. He felt the heat diminish for a moment.

  “Hold still and don’t talk,” she said sternly. Once again he felt the heat and pricking. It lasted for a short time; then she lifted her hands. “There is hope yet.”

  Michael wanted to ask questions. He felt hope surge in his chest. Then he squashed it. He knew a lot of theory. No one could heal magic or the brain. He wanted to shout, “What do you mean?”

  But what did he have to lose? He took a deep breath, shook his shoulders until he felt a little relaxed, then asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  She nodded at him and a small smile told him that she was pleased with his answer. “Keep up the exercises. I’ll see you in three days.”

  He watched her pick up her bags. In normal circumstances he would have opened the door for her, but he was so relaxed he could barely move.

  “Sleep,” she said. He didn’t realize it was a command until he woke up an hour later.

  Chapter Nine

  In the Forest

  Davi Dracson

  Dragons lived in mountain caves. Because dwarfs also liked tunneling in mountains, it made them good companions and servants, as long as they were willing to give their treasure to the dragons. So the two species became dependent on each other. Dragons provided security and dwarfs provided the gold.

  It was an instinctual knowledge. So Davi was not comfortable walking through the dark forest for hours. He would have given his right wing, if he had grown one yet, to get out of the trees. The silence was deafening. No animals rustled in the brush and no chirps from birds in the trees.

  Davi knew they were disturbing the forest animals, but the quiet felt ominous. The danger under the quiet scraped across his nerves. There was something out there with them.

  Hilda didn’t said anything. Could she feel the danger scrape across her nerves? He couldn’t tell. Hilda was alert, but she was always alert, even when she was in danger. He noticed that she touched the hilt of her sword. She held the horse’s reins loosely in her hand.

  His mind wandered to the horse next to him. Hilda had been curious as to why he wouldn’t ride. It was just hard for him to ride an animal that could talk to him. One evening when he was brushing the horses after a long day, the horse snickered at his smell. He had to tell the horse that he was a dragon.

  The horse brushed against him. Yes, they could be friends. And yes, the horse trusted him not to rip or rend him. But, he would get bucked off if he tried to ride. The horse had some standards. And no, it wasn’t like talking to humans using full sentences. It was more like pictures and impressions.

  Davi was a dragon who hadn’t transformed yet. The longer he could stay in human form, the more power he could gain. Or at least that is what the she-dragon told him. He was growing much faster than a human.

  The she-dragon who had saved Michael’s life after his brush with Grimoire had given him some advice. Not every dragonling was human first. Not every dragonling could survive among humans and grow to their full strength.

  But mostly he remember the she-dragon as beautiful. As he walked through the forest he imagined her scales, her claws, and her teeth. One day he would be her consort. As he felt the adrenaline course through his human body, he ruefully knew he was too young for the responsibility of dragonlings, home, and treasure. He let her image fade. It was a future he couldn’t think about now.

  A branch snapped behind them. Hilda turned in her saddle toward the noise. Davi could smell rotten decay mixed with mud and grass.

  Then the rot drifted away. The sounds were gone. Davi’s muscles tightened as he readied for battle. Hilda swung off the horse and pulled out her sword. They faced the noise and waited.

  Davi sniffed. There was no one waiting for them on the path. He walked slowly, holding the hor
ses. Hilda walked in front of them looking back and forth, up and down, searching for danger. It seemed like hours when Hilda finally stopped at a clearing.

  Davi unsaddled the horse and then unloaded the pack horse.

  “We’ll rest here,” Hilda said. What she didn’t say is that she wanted to scout to look for the thing that had been following them. The horses needed some rest time and some grass. He curried the pack animal who had been a little skittish with him at first, while Hilda rubbed down the saddle horse. Then she pulled out a few oats and gave a small handful to each horse.

  Hilda took each horse to the small stream to drink and then set them out to graze. Davi was already in the woods looking for small branches they could use for a small fire. The tree rustled above his head. A small gray squirrel jumped and scurried up the bark. It had a nut in its paws. At that moment he felt the muscles that were so tight around his neck, shoulders, and back relax.

  A black bird raised its beak to the sky and crowed. Whatever had been stalking them was gone or hidden. Davi scratched around looking for the appropriate kindling for the fire. There must be small twigs, fully dry, to start the fire. If he could find some dry moss, hard to do in a forest, it would also help with the fire. Then he looked for branches that were a little larger. When he got back, Hilda had already dug a small fire pit and lined it with rocks from the stream.

  Davi dumped his load and went back to get a few more dried branches. He walked down the path they had just been on. He could feel the darkness pull at him as he searched for any sign they had been followed as he picked up branches.

  Then he found it. A small rabbit had been pulled apart and eaten. Blood and guts spewed on a small tree at the side of the path. He sniffed. This time he could smell the death that had been hidden in the mud. It was the Draugr.

  He could feel someone watching him. He picked up a branch and went back toward the camp. He didn’t look back. Whoever was watching didn’t need to know that Davi knew he was being watched.

  He felt a sense of relief when he reached the small clearing, a cheerful fire, and food cooking.