“Well, hello.” Tybalt’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Is your day of work, whatever it may be, done and gone, then?”
Now that he’d been spotted, he decided it best to enter. Morgen sat up on her knees and looked over at him. She rested her palm on the stone hearth to help her onto her feet. Once standing, she put her hands on her hips and gestured to the room. “There is more cleaning to be done, but I’ve cleared off enough grime so you can see the floor now, which in itself was quite a feat.”
Her pride was evident, and for good reason. He had to admit it was pleasant to see it look the way it used to. At the same time, it reminded him of how alone he’d been, because no matter how the house looked, it lacked the echo of his parents’ voices.
“It looks the way my mother kept it,” he said, forcing a gruff voice to cover his sadness.
“And I would guess she was not fond of you leaving your clothes wherever you pleased.” She looked at him before continuing, “I will see if I can get them clean tomorrow in the lake while I wash our clothes.”
“If I am not better overnight,” Tybalt called to her.
She ignored him.
Emich was beginning to question his decision to leave the workshop for this. “I am a grown man living on my own. I do not need you or anyone else to care for me.”
Morgen collected a mug, went to the nearly empty barrel of ale and sighed. “You are doing a fine job of it, to be sure. I do not understand why you would not want to keep your home in better condition when your metalwork is the best I have seen anywhere out of the city.”
“I do not need to keep it pretty if I choose to be alone,” he growled.
She brought him the half-filled cup and said, “Thirsty after being at the forge?”
He couldn’t understand it. This woman, someone he’d only known for two days, had no problem walking into his home and telling him how he should be living. He had almost no experience being with women and couldn’t figure her out. Not that he wanted to—she was infuriating.
Rather than argue, he lifted the drink to his lips and came close to emptying the mug. It was then he realized the tables were cleaned of his minerals and glanced around the room. “Where did you put my ore? They are not just useless rocks, woman!”
She lifted her chin in defiance, and her eyes flashed. “I am a miner’s daughter—I know iron when I see it. It is in a bucket by the door.”
He glanced toward the threshold and saw that, just as she had said, a wooden pail held his valuable minerals.
Her voice rose this time to inquire, “Why do you have raw ore? I would imagine you would buy iron billets from traders. Do you smelt it yourself?”
This was exactly why he shouldn’t have brought them here. It had taken less than a day for her to start poking around and asking questions. He needed them away from the mines and out of his business. So long as the duke and the church knew nothing of his minerals, he would pay no taxes, and treasure seekers would leave his mountain alone. “It is time for us to come to an understanding.”
Tybalt shifted in his place to interject, “We are very thankful for your generosity, letting us stay here. Whatever we can do for you, we will.”
Emich noticed Morgen’s forehead wrinkle in a frown. She went to stand by her father, resting her hand on his shoulder while they both waited for him to speak.
He cleared his throat and removed his leather apron, throwing it on the dining table. Emich brushed the end of his nose and said, “You may remain until the old man can travel. And providing you do not eat me out of house and home, you may also share in my food and drink. For all this, you may tend to my home in repayment. But what you may not do is ask me questions about my business, tell me what to do in my own home, or leave this meadow. You may bathe at the lake, or even take the horses riding on this very lawn, but you are not to disturb me while I am in my workshop. If you can keep to my rules, you may stay. For now.”
Morgen took a deep breath and exchanged a glance with her father. Tybalt was quick to react. “Again, we are thankful for your kindness, and I speak for us both when I say we will do everything we can to keep to this agreement.”
Emich nodded, feeling only slightly better than he had before. But then he saw Morgen make a face and whisper to her father.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, feeling his muscles begin to tense.
She straightened up. “It is beyond my understanding why you do not want us leaving your meadow if you hate the sound of our voices so.”
She was the curious type. This would be a problem. Emich took a deep breath, considering what to say.
“It is for your safety,” he answered. Morgen visibly tensed. He was fully aware she’d been warned about the mountain. “A dragon guards Drachenberg. It is protective of its home and will kill anyone who goes near. You should do as I say if you wish to live.”
Tybalt mumbled, “I recall hearing a fellow in the village say something about seeking a dragon to slay for the duke.”
Emich answered with bitterness in his voice, “I met the same fool.”
“Why is he a fool? Because he says there is a dragon or because he tries to slay it?” Morgen asked, narrowing her eyes. “You did assure me I would be safe here.”
“And you will be if you follow my rules,” he growled back, his frustration peaking again. “What did I say about all of these questions? Can we not sit in each other’s company and have silence, or else talk of the weather?”
Tybalt reached up to grip his daughter’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “Liebling? I am feeling hungry. Would you find us something to eat, perhaps?”
“Ja.” She sighed and went to the wooden cupboard she’d already begun to sort out. Noises echoed while she shuffled things about, and she said over her shoulder, “You have no veg. Do you only live on bread, cheese and sausage?”
“Nein, I have barley cereal for supper some days.” He had little talent for cooking, for he’d grown up in his father’s workshop, not his mother’s kitchen.
Morgen seemed to want to say something more, but she glanced at her father as she picked up a knife and began sawing at a loaf of bread. She took a breath and said with a sour expression, “The weather was fine today.”
Emich shook his head. It was he who’d declared a conversation about the weather was allowed. “I had not noticed.”
“My clothes have finally dried,” Tybalt said with a smile. “If we are not away tomorrow, then I might hobble down to the lake with Morgen. I wonder—are there fish in the water?”
“I hear their tails splashing on occasion, so suppose my father did not catch them all.” Emich sat at the dining table and watched Morgen prepare a meal from across the room. He cleared his throat and gestured toward the threshold into the byre. “My father’s fishing pole should be on a worktable through there if you wish to take it out.”
Tybalt grinned back at him. “I may give it a try since I am of no use sitting about like a lame horse.”
Emich didn’t have the interest to force a smile back at Tybalt. He decided to check on the horses to avoid further conversation. It was too challenging for him to think of what to say next, and he didn’t know how to keep these people entertained. He mumbled something about tending to the animals and hid in the byre until it was time to eat.
The evening went by uncomfortably. He escaped as quickly as he could, taking a candle into his living quarters. Emich could still hear their muffled voices through the closed door, but at least he didn’t have to engage in conversation with them or try to prevent his eyes from wandering to Morgen. She was fascinating, which deeply bothered him.
He stood with his back to the door. The large room before him had once been his parents’. A wood-enclosed four-poster bed was placed against the center wall. Embroidered draperies, a gift from his father to his mother, hung around it. She had prized nothing more than their feather mattress. He could remember her fluffing it every morning with pride in her eyes.
A heavy wood
en chest sat along the foot of the bed, and a wardrobe stood against the adjoining wall. The floor stones were arranged in a pattern and needed a proper cleaning like the hall and kitchen space had, though he would not invite Morgen into his room to nose around. The window was shuttered and closed. He opened it to observe how low the sun was in the sky.
Emich felt his energy building up and wanted to get away to clear his head. He waited for the sky to deepen to a dark blue before walking to the fur rug that covered the floor beside the bed and brushing it aside, revealing a wooden hatch door. He lifted it and dropped down into the dark passage.
7
This very tunnel had been dug out by his grandfather long before Emich’s birth, during a time when more of their kind roamed freely. It was a long walk to the tunnel’s end, a hidden opening surrounded by trees that afforded a means of escape if needed. Emich’s hands brushed along the earthen walls as he climbed into the shadow of the night. Moonlight filtered through the pine boughs, leaving slanted patterns on the ground.
He made his way through the woodland, knowing his direction by heart. He’d been exploring this mountainside since he could walk with his father leading the way. His kin had claimed the ridges and peaks generations back. Common folk chose to abandon the place to the dragons for fear that their livestock, children or daughters would be eaten.
Emich hiked far beyond the lake to where the rocky earth opened into a clearing. A curved stone wall braced against the evening winds. He walked beyond it to a sloped cliff and climbed down to a large rocky ledge. Emich glanced about for movement before slipping off his shoes and shirt. Then he pulled off his breeches and stood in the cool night, bathing in the moonlight.
Staring up at the sky, he thought of the creature he wished to become, the contours of its scaly body, its wings and snakelike tail. He recalled his father standing before him in the form of the fantastic beast. Emich could still remember the euphoric sensation that had come over him. Though it had taken years of effort in his youth to learn to assume the form without fail, he had finally done so. It was now as easy as changing his clothes.
Emich felt the mythic creature hidden within. His skin tingled. His body grew, raising him from the rock he stood on. A patchwork of dark-blue scales replaced his pale skin while he bent onto all fours. Strong leathery wings grew from his back, and he stretched them to chase the tingling down his spine. His tail flicked around his back legs, its arrow-like hardened point hanging free over the rocky ledge. His spiked crown ran from the tip of his muzzle to his ear holes, decorating the top of his head. Eyes designed for piercing the darkness stared into the shadows. His body moved better when warm; he was limited to short flights in the cool night.
A raspy breath escaped his jaws as he opened his wings and rose onto his muscular back legs. He filled his lungs with air before pointing himself down the mountain and launching from the ledge. He glided fast toward the treetops. Emich angled his wings to collect the currents beneath him and lifted upward, away from the rocky palisades.
From these heights, the world appeared different. The trees, streams and lakes were smaller, although the Alps were just as large. No height could shrink them enough to seem like mere rolling hills.
He spotted one of the hidden openings to their mines and knew it would likely be some time before he could return to their depths in search of more iron deposits. So long as his guests remained, he would have to be careful. People gossiped enough about him and his kin. It would be the end of him if the villagers found out there was more to him than met the eye.
His wings carried him along a series of ridges where few lived. Gliding through the skies always relaxed him. Worrisome thoughts were cast aside as he found himself alone for the first time in days.
Before his body got too sluggish or slow to react, he turned back and spotted a narrow spire of smoke lifting into the sky beyond the next ridge. He suspected it was a traveler stopped for the night.
Emich swept down upon the ledge where he’d left his clothing. Returning to his human form took little concentration, although it drained him of his remaining energy. Within moments, he was standing naked on the rock. He quickly dressed and raced home.
Once in bed, he tried to calm his thoughts and find sleep, but he found himself staring at the design embroidered into the woolen curtain that hung at his feet—a dragon with wings outstretched, clinging to a sword with its pointed talons.
Morgen breathed in the pine-scented air and glanced at the lake. Birds sang their morning songs, and she looked up at the sky, trying to imagine what a real dragon might look like. She and her father had heard many tales from other miners, warning them of the dangers of exploring the mountains alone. Dragons were said to be very protective of their underground caverns, eating anyone who trespassed.
She would have liked to think that Emich had only warned them to scare her, but she had heard more than one person talk of Dragon Mountain with caution. She did not frighten easily, but she was uneasy imagining what could live amongst these peaks.
Morgen had plenty to do that day, but she wanted to take a look at the overgrown garden. She walked around the side of the building. A large square plot was filled with plants. Some were shriveled and dead, and others were taking over and choking out everything else. She was happy to discover the scalloped fronds of cabbage. A few bright flowers displayed some color around the edges, and she couldn’t help but wonder who had once loved and tended to them.
Morgen was curious to learn more about this quiet homestead in the mountains. She was even more eager to catch another glimpse of Emich at work at his forge, which had been the true reason for her jaunt out of doors before washing laundry at the lake.
She wandered around the home and looped toward the workshop. Smoke filtered out through the roof as she crept closer. Again, she allowed herself to stand by the doorway, edging her face just far enough out to watch. Whenever he moved, she was quick to dart back so she wouldn’t get caught.
With his back turned to her, he pumped the long handle to the billows. The coals in the forge glowed bright orange, and she noted the billets of iron roasting in the fire. He continued until the metal began to spit and spark. He stepped away from the billows to grab his tongs, pulled out three red-hot pieces and stacked them on top of his anvil. He repositioned his grip on the wide-mouthed tongs and grabbed his hammer.
Sweat dripped from his brow as he lifted his arm, raising his tool high before forcing it upon the stacked layers of iron. Her favorite sound met her ears. The clanking of metal filled the workshop. She watched him pound the iron rhythmically until it formed a single mass and lost its glow.
Morgen had sought opportunities through her life to observe smiths at work. This was the closest she’d been able to get without being scolded or yelled at. She’d watched a number of smiths from a distance away so they could not chase her off. They all had their own method or style. Some spent energy drawing out the metal, while others did the same work in fewer strikes.
She could tell Emich was well practiced. He appeared quite young to have as much skill as he did. Morgen wondered who had taught him.
Not five strides away, a bird swept down into the grass and squawked loudly. Morgen pulled away from the open threshold, worried the sound would draw his notice. She released the air from her lungs slowly, scolding herself for staying so long. She had chores to do if she was to work for their keep.
She hurried back to the house to gather the pile of dirty clothes, rags and sheets. Tybalt was sitting with his leg up on the bench, just where she’d left him. When he saw her, he breathed a sigh of relief. “I did not know where you went to for so long. Thought I might have to go fight off a dragon—I hear they have a taste for maidens.”
She could tell he was teasing her, but there was still a nervous edge to his voice. Morgen lifted the pile of washing onto the table before Tybalt said, “All I do is sit and worry the snows will come early and I will miss my chance. Would you mind finding the fishing po
le he spoke of? It might be just the distraction I need.”
It didn’t take her long to find the short wooden pole with the string and hook attached. She handed it to him and helped him onto his feet. “How is your leg? Can you walk any better, or does it pain you?”
Tybalt set his hand on her shoulder and said, “I hate to say it, but it might be a day or two until I can move without your help. If we could find a stick for me to use as a crutch, I will not bother you.”
“Are you sure you do not want me to have another look at it?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Worse things have happened to me while swinging a pick. I will soon be well enough that we can leave. I must hurry to get there during the thaw. Before long, snow will cover the mountain’s treasures.”
Morgen gathered the laundry under her arm and helped her father outside. They walked the short distance to the near side of the lake. Gravel lined the edge of the shore. Large slabs of stone were visible through the crystal-clear waters.
Tybalt lowered himself into the grass a few strides from the still surface and said, “I only need a juicy worm now.”
He hunched over the ground and began digging with his calloused hands. She continued to set her pile nearby since he appeared content busying himself with the first thing he’d been able to do in days.
Morgen plucked the first thing off the top of the wash—a dirty, stained shirt which she presumed had once been white—and shook her head.
“You are not planning on frightening away my fish, are you?” Tybalt asked with a playful wink.
She groaned and bent over to grab everything again. Morgen continued along the shore until she was confident her washing wouldn’t harm his chances. Some narrow-trunked larch trees screened her father’s view of her, and a cluster of rocks led into the water, providing a good place to set her pile.
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