There Be Dragons

by Graham, Heather

  For the young Count Carlo Baristo?

  She shuddered and looked to the heavens; unable to prevent a moment in which she wasn’t thankful at all, she wondered only, Dear God, what are you thinking?

  “Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” she said aloud. “My stepfather is quite determined that Lendo, Baristo, and the lands of Fiorelli be cemented by blood.”

  “Ah, yes! And there you will be, wife of the great Carlo, Count Baristo!”

  “And,” she reminded him, “your precious Daphne is to be given over to Michelo Fiorelli. He, at least, is reputed to be handsome and gallant.”

  “Reputed to be so … I don’t remember the last time we’ve seen him. Because he, of course,” Armand added bitterly, “has been off fighting in the south, gallantly coming to the aid of nobles in distress wherever they may be.”

  “There has been a flare-up of trouble in the south,” she reminded him, and added softly, “I remember my father saying we must always be strong at the borders of our world, and that we can never let enemies— such as wartrolls, wargnomes, and the People of the Distant Land—take an inch away from us, because they will then take a foot, a yard, an acre, and a village.”

  “All the more reason I must learn to do battle with a scarecrow,” Armand said dolefully.

  “But you can ride so beautifully,” she told him. “And you have an ability with horses, hounds, hawks, and falcons that is surely a greater gift than you can imagine. You speak softly with such animals, and they listen.”

  He tousled her hair with affection. “Cousin, I don’t speak with the animals, only to them, and draw from them obedience and loyalty because I earn their trust. Just as you do. Ah, well, we are both the offspring of falcon masters, eh? And we both have a gift with animals. Which, of course, if you truly marry Carlo Baristo, is a talent you may well need.”

  She stared at him. “Thank you so very much! As if this isn’t all just as wretched as it can be to begin with!” She shuddered. “I cannot marry Carlo.”

  “He’s not so bad. Many a village lass has been known to swoon at his passing.”

  “He has but one thought in mind.”

  Armand cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed. “Ah, yes. The duties of the bedchamber,” he said solemnly.

  “No!” she told him impatiently. “His thought is to rule all these lands, and he isn’t at all stupid. He wishes to marry me, because I am the daughter of Nico and Elisia, and because my father and mother are remembered with such love and esteem. And naturally, my stepfather sees nothing wrong with this because his daughter will become a duchess, and Duke Fiorelli sees nothing wrong with this, because Daphne is beautiful and accomplished.”

  “So we are all in a sorry state,” Armand said, and his tone was soft, indeed sorry, and somewhat bitter.

  “Daphne thinks the world of you, I believe,” Marina said.

  “Do you dislike her so, then?” Armand asked. He shrugged. “I mean, she is the daughter of your stepfather. And you were pushed to the back of the house soon after she arrived, while she was given your lovely garden view.”

  “Don’t be silly, Armand. I don’t dislike Daphne. I barely know her. I mean, even after all this time. She is always … somewhere. Daphne must play the lute, she must dance, she must sing. We barely pass in the halls, so it seems.” Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t even dislike her silly father.”

  “Hush, fie on you!” he teased. “D’Artois may be listening. Many people believe that the old stone walls of this place have ears.”

  “It’s her!” Marina said softly.

  Armand arched a brow in surprise. “Her?”

  “Geovana.”

  Armand studied his cousin for a moment. “Marina, you mustn’t believe the old rumors. Geovana has always been kind to me, and I do believe she is concerned for the welfare of our land. She has seen so much happen … she lost her husband so long ago, and then her friends, your parents. And think on it—your stepfather isn’t really a horrible sort, and she’s the one who brought him here and introduced him to your mother.”

  “Armand! You may spend your days with horses, but you are as blind as a bat in sunlight. She is like a … wartroll.”

  “She can be quite kind and courteous.”

  “She is a witch. You will note; she is alive, while Elisia, my mother, is not! She is a witch.”

  “There is no such thing, not really. Witches, wizards, creatures of the dark … they are called such because, in our minds, we must come up with reasons that our enemies should conquer, and we should fail. We find we must say, ‘It’s magic; it’s destiny.’ And thus we deal with that which otherwise we cannot. Anyway, you should start to think of Geovana more kindly. She’ll be your mother-in-law.”

  “I can’t marry him,” Marina said. “And stop smirking at me!”

  “I am not smirking. I am being bitter with you. So, what will you do? Run away?”

  “I believe we are part of the prosperity here in Lendo, that our family has kept the traditions, safety, and laws of the village … I couldn’t leave. Who knows what might happen if none of us was here?”

  Armand touched her on the chin. “Then you shall have to start calling Geovana ‘Mother’ soon, for it seems your stepfather and the Countess of Baristo are quite determined. And, by the way, if you wish to avoid your future mate, you might want to run back upstairs. He and his men will be arriving for their birds and horses quite soon—there’s a hunt planned for this morning.”

  “Now you tell me, Armand! I wish to avoid him at all costs!”

  She started back for the stairs, but even as she began to flee, the gates to the rear courtyard opened, and a group of men came walking in.

  They came with long strides, clad in the colors of Baristo, and Marina thought they all walked alike, with stiff shoulders and a terrible swagger. She halted, for they were between her and the stairway, and she was certainly far too late to escape them.

  Naturally, Carlo Baristo was at the head of the swains, beyond a doubt, the best swaggerer of the group. Tall and dark, he was a man in fine form, spending a great deal of his time battling scarecrows in the yard, and, true in his case, winning the battle each time against his immobile opponent.

  He smiled when he saw her. There was something about his smile that made her uneasy. It was a smarmy smile at best. And then there was his voice. It might sound just fine to others, but Marina always felt the sound was like the tear of metal against metal. Then, of course, it could all simply be because she didn’t like or trust the man.

  “Ah, Marina, my dear. Will you be joining us, then?”

  “No, I’m so sorry, I’m afraid I can’t.”

  “Oh? And why not?”

  She stared at him blankly. “Because … I must bring flowers to my parents’ grave sites.”

  He arched a brow. “Marina, I’m so sorry to remind you, but your parents are dead. Surely, it will make little difference if you bring the flowers now—or later.”

  “Ah, but this is a vow I’ve made, you see, and therefore, I must.”

  “I’m certain your parents, known for their wisdom and compassion, would quite understand.”

  “But I would not, for the vow is in my heart. Perhaps I should remind you as well, I’m not particularly fond of the hunt.”

  “A falcon master’s daughter, and not fond of the hunt!”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “And alas, I’m afraid the entire village is fond of eating, and my men and I do bring in the majority of the meat.”

  “Of course! No one has ever doubted your ability, my lord, to best the beasts in the forest with your arrows and knives. I’ve heard there is new fighting at the border, that the wartroll and People of the Distant Land have begun to encroach again. In fact, I’ve heard we never do see Fiorelli’s son, Michelo, because he is in command of defenses there. With your incredible ability with weapons, we must all be grateful you are here, among us, fighting rabbits, and not risking life and limb at the border.
Indeed, we all must eat. I am so sorry, forgive my blindness. As for today, forgive me again. I truly cannot accompany you. I am committed this morning. So, Carlo, if you’ll be kind enough to excuse me …”

  Marina started by him. A strong hand upon her arm curtailed what she hoped would be a swift departure. Her sarcasm, no matter how pleasantly spoken, had not been lost on him. He was angry. But then, beneath his pleasantries, it seemed he was angry most of the time.

  “Marina, are you aware your stepfather, my mother, and the great Duke Fiorelli have quite agreed on the future of our three holdings—and the fate of our lives. You’re to be my wife, which of course, pleases me to no end. A lovely, magnificent Christmas present. Since that is to be our destiny, perhaps we should spend more time together.”

  “I am committed this morning, Carlo.”

  He released her arm, yet his eyes pierced like daggers—which were they, as she often thought—she’d have been pinned to the spot. He lowered his head to speak with her. “In very little time, my dear, you will truly be committed.”

  “I really must go.”

  “Straight to the grave?”

  Was it a threat? Or was he simply questioning her intent?

  Thankfully, her cloak was all-encompassing. He could have no idea that she was still clad in her white nightgown.

  “Straight to the grave!” she said sincerely.

  “Strange.”

  “What is that?”

  “You have no flowers,” he pointed out.

  She stared at him blankly.

  “Marina!”

  They both turned as her name was called. Armand was hurrying toward her, a large bundle of wildflowers in his hands.

  “I think you’ve forgotten these,” he said, his expression entirely guileless. “Lord Baristo, we’re ready; your party awaits.”

  Carlo looked from one of them to the other, seeking the conspiracy in Armand’s timely appearance. They both returned his stare with complete innocence.

  “Fine, then. I shall see you later, my lady. This evening, at supper.”

  “Yes,” she said, and again started by. “I fear so,” she muttered beneath her breath.

  “What?” he demanded.

  She stopped, and turned back. “I certainly hope so,” she said sweetly.

  “Marina,” he replied slowly, “you are going now?” There was doubt and an edge to his tone.

  “Yes, now, right now, of course.”

  “Your feet are bare,” Carlo noted.

  “In honor of my parents,” she said quickly.

  “Part of your vow, eh?”

  “Oh, yes!” And smiling, she turned and started out—ruing the fact she had no shoes. Lendo was a place of incredible beauty, with cliffs and hills rising high from the sea, and within the great mass of rocks and rises, there were fields and forests, all offering a rich bounty. They were blessed with plentiful fishing, and an abundance of game in the forests, wild hogs, rabbits, pheasants, and more. But the walk up the cliffs and through the plateaus was not a pleasant one in bare feet. Still—this small torment was nothing compared to the torture of a day spent hunting with Carlo Baristo. Determined, she kept walking.

  She had cleared the castle, built into a low level of cliffs, and was on the rise when she heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her. Turning, she saw that Armand had ridden out with her mare, Arabella. He dismounted quickly, giving her a hand up into the saddle. He winked as he did so. “You didn’t mention anything about not riding in all those vows.”

  She smiled down at him. “Thank you, cousin.”

  “My pleasure, Marina.” He bowed deeply. “I am off, then.” He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe Carlo, Count Baristo, will meet up with a killer rabbit. One can only hope!”

  He turned back before she could reply. Both heartened and further depressed, Marina rode onward, very grateful to Armand.

  She stopped at the site of her parents’ graves, laid her flowers, and said her prayers. But then she moved on, to one of the cliffs, and toward a plateau where she often came. It was near the caves that were rumored to harbor the menacing Dragon in the Den. She didn’t believe in the dragon, though there were lovely stories told about the way her father had rescued her mother. There was even an underlying superstition in the village that the dragon was as old as man, that he had come before, demanding a sacrifice each year, and if the strength and peace of Lendo ever began to fail, the dragon could come again.

  She loved the area herself. There were places touched by beautiful foliage, streams and rivers, and delicate waterfalls. And there was the ancient area, a place where pillars stood, where carved stone seats remained, and it was possible to wonder about the people who created such a charming little realm of both tranquility and mystery.

  Marina sat on one of the small benches and curled her feet beneath her. She was actually quite fond of being alone—it was a way to sit and imagine that there had been a dragon, and that it must have been spectacular, her father defying a mighty beast to save her mother. Yet even as she began to imagine the creature, she was aware she had company. Turning around, she saw her friend, the strange, self-proclaimed mystic, Radifini.

  Her stepfather dismissed Radifini as a crazy old hermit; Radifini himself insisted he was a wizard, and that he had been a man of great esteem in days of old that were still not so long ago—and he could not believe so many had forgotten his powers!

  Marina wasn’t certain where he actually lived, except that it had to be here, somewhere in the cliffs. He told her that, indeed, his home—where he still looked hard to foresee the future and gaze over all that was left of Lendo and the house of d’Or—was within the cliffs. But he never asked her there, for it was dangerous sometimes to foresee the future.

  As dangerous as it could be to scoff at a belief in dragons.

  “So, my lady, you are here again,” he said sternly. “Dreaming. What—they have no pots and pans for you to scrub today? The servants are all in attendance, and the Countess of Baristo has not warned your stepfather that you must make the beds or polish the silver, since you are in truth but an orphan now, and must be prepared to offer more than blue eyes and a pretty smile if you are to make a good match?”

  “I’m here again,” she said, “because apparently, they are all delighted, thinking they have found the finest match in the world for me.”

  “Oh?” Radifini joined her on the bench. “And who would this illustrious suitor be?”

  “Carlo, Count of Baristo. It will be a Christmas wedding. Daphne will be married as well, to Michelo, son of the great Duke Fiorelli.”

  “Ah,” Radifini said gravely. He patted her knee. “Well, then.”

  Marina sighed, leaning her elbows upon her knees. “Well, then,” she repeated.

  “Merry Christmas?” he offered weakly. She rewarded him with an angry glare.

  “Ah, well. You’re less than pleased,” Radifini noted. “He’s rich, powerful, handsome, some would say.”

  “I think that he’s really a reptile,” Marina told him.

  “And you’re running away—in bare feet, cloak, and nightgown?”

  “I’m not running away,” she said.

  “So you’ve agreed to the marriage?”

  “I’ve not said a word.”

  “And why not?”

  “I can’t leave Lendo. I must stay—it’s bad enough that my stepfather rules, with the wretched Countess of Baristo always at his side! I think she has designs upon him. Her husband is gone, as is my mother. But d’Artois is not really so cruel, and when I insist upon the old traditions and holidays, he listens. So … I must stay. And make sure that I am in a position of power, as well.”

  “What if Baristo is a reptile, and makes you miserable?”

  She laughed. “I’m probably quite capable of making him very miserable, as well.”

  “But that’s no real life,” Radifini said. He stroked his long white beard. “And not as it should be … Why, I remember when your parents were married; i
ndeed, I remember when you were born! I was there, with all my power, and my white magic … and still, we lost them far too soon.”

  Marina placed a hand affectionately over his. “I am sure that you loved my parents, and that you were always there for them.”

  “Mock me if you will, young lady. The belief in magic is lost, so none of you young people seem to know what is out there, what glory, what danger. I did more than love your parents. I countered a great deal of evil, but … some are blind to what they can’t see, touch, or feel, and they don’t believe when they should. And always, if one looks, there’s so much in the heart. But your father … perhaps he was too good a man. Still, you know. I serve the house of d’Or, and the day will come when I am able to make a difference!”

  She squeezed his hand gently. “Radifini, you make a difference every time I see you! I love to listen to you. You bring back the real splendor of Lendo, and you give me back the laughter and spirit of my parents. You’re a really wondrous white wizard, I do believe it!”

  She thought that he was about to shake his head sadly, and insist she didn’t really believe what couldn’t be felt, seen, or touched, and their downfall might well be in that lack of vision. But just as they sat together, there was a disturbance in the brush. Jumping up, Marina first thought she saw an animal—a very large wolf? A horse?—coming low through the brush. But there was nothing. The sun made a sudden shift in the sky then, and a ray of light, almost dazzling, touched down upon the old pillars and seats of the small cove.

  She blinked, certain she saw a woman slipping behind one of the pillars and into the ruins beyond. But the light had blinded her; she didn’t know exactly what she had seen.

  “Radifini, did you—”

  “Sh!” he warned softly.

  Then she heard the sound, as well. Horses coming, riding hard upon the plateau.

  She wrapped her cloak around her and stood very still. In seconds, Carlo, Count of Baristo, came into the small clearing area, his huge mount pawing the earth and working its bit. He was joined by one of his huntsmen.

  “Ah, Marina! Imagine … you’ve fulfilled your vow—and so quickly. No matter, you must leave. There’s danger here. We’ve been hunting a wolf. It’s wounded now … running. Have you seen the creature?”