Raine pulled herself up to her former position, again in the crook of Weynild's arm, her head on her breast. She listened to the powerful heart beat thunderously in the chest, then slow, and then settle into a deep, ponderous beat.
Weynild shifted so their bodies were in perfect alignment, then pulled a fur to cover them both. Sleep was overtaking her quickly, and she sensed the youngster as well.
“One of us is a monster,” the dragon murmured as she drifted into sleep, “and somehow I don't think it's me.”
Weynild entered the cottage unsurprised to see Raine still asleep in the bed. She was on her stomach, her head resting on her arm. Furs were draped over the lower half of her body but her naked back was exposed. Weynild moved closer to examine the intricate, filigreed markings, the deep blue interleaved with gold. She sat down on the bed next to the sleeping figure and slowly began to trace the markings.
Raine stirred and raised her head slightly. “I see you're up early, right at the crack of—”
She paused glancing at the ample light streaming through the curtained window. “—midday.”
Weynild had paused when Raine stirred. “I wanted to let you sleep. You earned your rest.”
With this comment, she again lowered her fingers to stroke the markings, and Raine inhaled sharply at the touch.
“These are sensitive?”
“Yes,” Raine said, “odd since they are little more than decorative scars.”
“I understand the ceremony is brutally painful.”
Raine's response was very matter-of-fact. “The entire purpose of the ceremony is for the Scinterian to experience pain so immense it will dwarf all felt subsequent in life. If you have survived pain that makes you long for death, there is not much you fear from that point on.”
She shifted slightly on the bed, propping her chin on her arm.
“My uncle at first refused to let me attempt the ceremony. He was afraid I would not succeed or even survive because of my 'mixed' heritage. Arlanians are not known for their fortitude.”
“No,” Weynild murmured, tracing the markings, “they are known for a completely different set of talents.”
“But I did survive, and when he saw that I sustained the markings on my back without so much as shedding a tear, he told them to carve the markings on my forearms as well.” She turned her wrist to look at the gold and blue interleaved beneath her skin.
Weynild stroked the pattern on her back and the sensation was so wondrous Raine sighed her name in one long breath.
“Talan'alaith'illaria.”
Weynild again paused. Although many had spoken her name over the centuries, no one had ever said it quite that way before, rolling it off the tongue as if the sound itself gave her pleasure. Raine cocked her head to the side to look at her.
“So you are worshiped by the wood elves?”
“Hmmph,” Weynild said with a tone of disdain. “The forest people are always too quick to take a knee.”
“Well, obviously I worship you as well. Did you not see me on my knees?”
“Yes,” Weynild said, “I remember it quite clearly. But there was nothing obsequious about that worship. In fact, although you may have been on your knees, I don't know that I have ever been so dominated in a sex act before.”
“Well we shall have to do that more often then.”
Weynild continued to trace the pattern, leaning down to put her lips on the raised outlines. This caused Raine to let loose another sigh of pleasure. Weynild particularly liked to look at these markings when the girl was writhing beneath her, the lean muscles in stark relief, when Weynild was “mounting” her as Raine had so lyrically put it. She was just about to comment on this fact when a woman's scream pierced the air.
Weynild paused, but neither had much of a reaction. If anything, Weynild was mildly irritated and Raine mildly resigned.
“I should probably go check on that.” Raine said.
“Hmm,” Weynild said, disgruntled, “yes, you probably should.”
“I can hide these as well,” Raine said, concentrating. Weynild watched with fascination as the intricate markings disappeared, seeming to dissolve into the skin. “Unlike my eyes, I cannot hide them for very long, so I generally just wear clothing that will cover them.”
It was an interesting and useful trick, Weynild thought. She had wondered how Raine had kept both her identities secret for so long. But if her eye color could be controlled and her markings hidden, it would not be so difficult, especially since all thought that both races were extinct.
Raine stood and Weynild was distracted once more by the supple form in front of her. A second scream split the air, this one just as successfully dampening the mood as the first, if not more so for its closer proximity.
“I am not in the habit of rescuing maidens,” Weynild said with ill-temper, “I generally devour or deflower them, if not both.”
“Well I hope not in that order,” Raine said absently, pulling on her shift, pants, and boots. She did not bother with her armor.
The response brought a short laugh from Weynild, soothing her temper. The utter confidence of the reply, no jealousy or insecurity within the words, was amazingly attractive. Weynild’s armor formed about her body.
“Hmm,” Raine said, assessing her choice of weapons. She eschewed the more elaborate weaponry and settled on her sword. “I think this will do.” She walked out the door, the sword dangling from her hand carelessly, and Weynild followed.
Both stood on the crest of the hill looking into the valley below, perusing the scene before them. Neither spoke for a long moment and it was Raine who broke the silence.
“Hyr'rok'kin,” she said, stating the obvious.
Weynild did not take her eyes from the pack of monsters chasing the woman on horseback. “Yes,” she said, her tone as even as Raine's. “I did not expect them this far east.”
Raine counted a dozen of the hideous creatures. “It is a scouting mission. But I agree, they should not be this far east this soon.” Raine's expression remained impassive, but Weynild could sense her foreboding. Even so, her manner was completely relaxed, as if it were the larger meaning of the Hyr'rok'kin presence that disturbed her, not their actual presence. Weynild prepared to transform to her larger manifestation.
“I've got this,” Raine said, sensing her intent. A smile played at the corner of her mouth and she could not have been more unconcerned. “I thought you might enjoy seeing me in a different type of action.”
Weynild paused, her golden eyes gleaming. “I think I would enjoy that very much.”
The woman on horseback was getting closer, still screaming in terror. The malformed pig-like creatures chasing her were gaining on her, some running upright and others going to all-fours to increase their speed. They were Horde Shards, the festering foot soldiers of the Hyr'rok'kin army. Raine started casually down the hill toward them to close the distance.
The presence of another woman increased the frenzy of the pack and they quickened their pace. Hyr'rok'kin were not known for their intelligence, but even so, the leader of the pack had a flicker of unease at the approaching figure. She was not large, was not wearing armor, carried only a sword, and seemed to be dressed in pajamas. But there was not the slightest sense of fear about her and her features communicated nothing beyond a calm anticipation.
The pack, the woman and horse, and the approaching figure all converged. A Shard closest to the horse leaped upward with a great, muscular movement, thinking himself in range to drag the horse down by its haunches. And he would have been close enough had his flight not been interrupted by the tip of a sword that pierced his armor, pierced his rough hide, slipped between his ribs and stabbed his black heart, killing him instantly.
Raine swung the sword around, violently dislodging the impaled carcass and sending it into two other marauders who went down in a crunch of broken bones. The sword came around again, graceful, effortless, wickedly sharp, flitting through the air and slitting the throats of t
he two with a single blow.
The pack howled in rage and turned all their attention to the stranger in the pajamas. But she just laughed and danced out of the way, cutting three more down with the sword that swung through flesh as facilely as it did air. One sought to behead her from behind but she ducked as the war ax missed its mark and took advantage of her attacker's over-commitment, thrusting the sword behind her and killing him without bothering to turn around. Another approached from the front, striking downward in a tremendous wood-chopping motion, but the aggressor might as well have been a statue so slowly did he move compared to his opponent. Raine stepped to the side as the battle ax sunk with a dull thud into the wet earth, then with a fluid swing, decapitated him.
The fight was over as quickly as it had begun, with one side utilizing overwhelming force. Eleven of the twelve Hyr'rok'kin lay bloodied at Raine's feet and one was attempting to flee back down the hill the way it had come. The Horde were blood-thirsty when in packs but cowards when alone. Raine did not feel like chasing him so she pulled the battle ax from the earth and gauged the distance. She flung the ax with stupendous force and it spun through the air, landing in the back of the Shard with a solid “thwack.” He went down with a cry of pain, quivered for a moment, and then went still.
Raine had little reaction to the melee and did not even appear out of breath. She walked back up the hill, carelessly swinging her sword much as she had on the way down. The woman on horseback dismounted near Weynild and stared at Raine in wonder. Raine ignored her. She sensed Weynild was greatly entertained by the exhibition and even somewhat aroused.
“Impressive,” the dragon said, the sensuality in her tone unmistakable.
Raine bowed with mocking chivalry. “I am honored to entertain you.”
The woman looked from one to the other in bewilderment. She had just witnessed an extraordinary fight and these two acted as if it were little more than a joke. Or even more bewildering, that it had been little more than foreplay. The powerful attraction between the two was evident. The older woman, the one with the beautiful skin and strange golden eyes, turned toward her.
“And why is it you trespass on my land so far into the lowlands?”
Without really knowing why, the woman went to her knee. The influence of true royalty was too great to resist. “I beg your forgiveness,” the woman said, “I've been lost and wandering for three days.”
“Where are you from?” Raine asked, thrusting her sword into the soft earth.
The woman named a small village on the edge of the wilderness, near the swampland. Raine knew the place.
“Did you see any other Hyr'rok'kin?” she asked.
“No,” the woman said, trembling. “I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw them. We heard rumors, but we thought the empire would protect us.”
Weynild snorted and Raine hid a smile while the woman amended her statement.
“Or at least we thought it would be a year or so before the Hyr'rok'kin came.”
Raine glanced down at the dead bodies below. Swarms of flies were already beginning to gather. “This is a scouting party and I'm sure the army is far behind. But you’re wise to be concerned. They are coming.”
Raine turned her attention to the next matter at hand, which was to get rid of the woman as quickly as possible. She let loose a high, thin whistle and a young wolf came trotting from the nearby forest. She knelt down, rubbed the fur on his neck, then held his head in her hands.
“I want you to take her to Havershire,” Raine instructed the wolf. He cocked his head to one side questioningly, and she pointed to the southwest in exasperation. “That way.”
The wolf yelped his understanding, then went and stood next to the woman. She watched this latest exchange in astonishment, now certain that she was in the presence of some forest deity. What a story she would have to tell back at the inn!
“He will lead you home,” Raine said. “In the future, I would advise you to stay out of the lowlands.”
“Yes, your,” the woman flailed about for a title, “your grace, I don't know how to thank you!”
“Just go,” Weynild said, her patience at an end. The wolf bounded off and the woman pulled herself awkwardly onto the horse and began following the canine. Raine watched them disappear, then turned to the bodies once more.
“You,” she said politely, “you don't want that, do you?”
Weynild grasped her meaning and laughed. “It is true dragons will eat almost anything, but not even I can stand the taste of Hyr'rok'kin.”
“Very well, then,” Raine said, then let out another thin whistle. This time an entire pack of wolves came from the forest. Raine gestured toward the corpses. “I would be grateful if you would take care of that.”
There were several growls of protest and Raine clarified. “You don't have to eat it,” she said, “just get rid of it.”
Somehow the wolves adopted an air of both relief and understanding. They began dragging the carcasses away, shredding the larger bodies into smaller pieces to facilitate the removal.
To Weynild's surprise and appreciation, Raine stripped on the spot and began ambling toward the stream.
“I'm going to wash this filth from my body,” she said over her shoulder, indicating the blackened bloodstains on her skin. Weynild watched the perfect form step away, controlling the urge to take her to the ground on the spot. She cared nothing about the bloodstains. But she knew that within minutes they would be back in the cottage, starting anew from where they had been interrupted.
Hours later, Raine lay in her lover's arms. It seemed the vast majority of their time was consumed with either sexual activity or recovering from sexual activity. She thought back to the skirmish from earlier in the day and a shadow passed over her features. That was likely to change very soon.
Weynild sensed the shift in her lover's mood, as well as the cause. She shared both the belief and the melancholy it brought. It did not seem possible that in such a short time she should feel so utterly connected to this one. Unlike the girl, she had slept with hundreds, if not thousands over the centuries. The engagements had ranged from the laughably brief to the tumultuously too long. She had even conceived several children, a few who had actually survived. But she had never felt such an intense desire for anyone, nor ever experienced such satisfaction. She tangled her fingers in Raine's hair.
“So you asked me my true name, now I must know yours.”
“My true name is Raine, and my surname, the name of the father, is Estania.”
It was Weynild's turn to pause at the revelation. “So you are royalty as well.”
Raine rolled on to her side, propping herself up on her elbow. “Not exactly. Scinterians do not have kings, they have only generals.”
“And your father, Garik, was one of their greatest.”
“You knew my father?” Raine said in surprise.
Weynild shook her head. “Not really. But I knew of him. His prowess in battle was legendary and I see now where your skill comes from.” Weynild examined the deep violet eyes, then added as an after-thought. “I am glad I did not meet your mother.”
That statement could have had multiple meanings but Raine shrewdly guessed the correct one. “You have been with an Arlanian before.”
“Yes,” Weynild said with just a hint of regret, “it did not end well.”
Raine eyed her, and Weynild continued. “He was a young male, rather strapping for an Arlanian, but even so, such a fragile creature. Arlanians are uniquely tragic in that their desire far outpaces their ability to withstand the consequences. He did not survive.”
Weynild was curious how Raine would handle such an admission, but the dragon would not lie to her.
For her part, Raine had long ago accepted the self-destructive tendencies of her mother's people. What they did of their own accord was not her business. Rather it was the indignities and violence that had been thrust upon them that filled her with rage.
“Was the act consensual?”
> “Oh yes,” Weynild replied. “There was no force or coercion involved.”
Raine shifted onto her back once more, resting her head in the crook of Weynild's arm.
“Then I will not judge.”
Weynild wrapped her arms around her and the two fell into a dreamless sleep.
They settled into their pattern of domestic bliss once more but it was only a few days before they were again disturbed. Raine eyed the cloud of dust approaching from the north. Her eyesight was exceptionally acute and she could make out the form of horses in the dust. When they got a little closer, she could make out the forms on top of the beasts. Although she could not yet differentiate them into man, elf, or dwarf, at least she could tell they were not Hyr'rok'kin.
They were men, human men, as well as a few women. Imperial troops accompanied by a priest, a bard, and a scout. Raine assessed them as they neared and determined they were little if any threat. She felt Weynild's presence at her side and turned to glance at her, doing a quick double-take.
Weynild had disguised herself as a very old woman, inconspicuously and drably dressed. She would have attracted no attention in any slum in the hold.
“Well that's a new look for you,” Raine said sardonically.
“Shut up,” Weynild said.
The band neared and the leader of the group signaled for them to hold up. He eyed the woman standing in front of the cottage. My god she was a beauty, with gorgeous blue eyes and hair the color of wheat. He glanced to the crone, startled that such a supple branch could spring from such gnarled roots. He pulled himself from the distraction.
“Tell me miss, have you or your mother seen any Hyr'rok'kin about?”
Raine muffled laughter. “Oh, I assure you, she is far too old to be my mother.”
This seemed to be some great private joke between the two of them, but the soldier on horseback did not understand the humor. “Even so,” he said uneasily, “have you seen any of the beasts round about?”
The Dragon's Lover Page 4