No … it wasn’t the water that had done that. The pain had faded, disappeared, the moment he had seen her eyes.
His thirst sated, his head cleared, he sat back by the water’s edge, looking at her, marveling at her, wondering if she wasn’t just an invention of his subconscious mind, a sprite to wake him gently after his fall. But she was there before him, those eyes still so brilliant, still so kind. And her hair! The wealth of it, touched by the sun.
“Thank you so much,” he said.
“If you’re a warrior returning, I can help get you home. Now, you are on one of the bluffs above the valley at the base of the castle at Lendo. Baristo is to the west, and to the northeast, the lands of the great Fiorelli. But you needn’t fear if you are lost at all; I will gladly help you back.”
“I’m not lost,” he said, but then he wondered if he was. Not in place, not here, on these familiar bluffs. But lost in his future, and his purpose.
“What’s your name?” she asked softly.
He started to answer, but hesitated. He didn’t want her to know who he was, not yet at any rate. He was suddenly not at all in a great hurry to get home.
There would be time enough for duty and responsibility when he did arrive.
She leaned forward, touching his head with worry. “You must have struck your head quite hard. I should get you to a physician.”
“No … no, there’s no real harm. I think I just need time.”
“You don’t remember your name?” Thankfully, she didn’t really give him time to answer. “I’ll have to call you something, you know.” She grinned. “You really are quite the warrior, you know, rather handsome. Perhaps, for now, we can just consider you to be Prince Charming.”
“And you, my lady, beyond a doubt, I shall have to call Angel.”
She inclined her head. “I shall accept, thank you. You poor fellow, truly. Any man who risks his life going to the borders … well, you are a prince charming, whatever your name and place may be. Is it terrible there?” she queried.
“We hold our own,” he said.
She leaned against a rock at his side. He heard a sudden cawing sound, and turned to see that there was an outstandingly beautiful falcon, not a hundred yards from them. Bandages surrounded the animal’s wing.
“A falcon,” he murmured.
“Yes,” the woman said lightly.
“She’s injured.” He arched a brow to her. “So you seek out all manner of wounded creatures in the hills?” he asked.
His Angel walked over to the falcon, gently touching her wing. “Poor thing, such an exquisite creature, and she was hurt by a hunter’s arrow.”
“Why would a hunter seek out a falcon?” he asked.
“Some men are simply killers, and they care not what they hunt,” she murmured. “Isn’t she lovely?”
“A beautiful creature,” he agreed. “You seem to have a way with her, with all manner of beings, I imagine.”
“Oh, yes! I am a falcon mas—” She cut herself off quickly, glancing his way with a rueful grin. “I think that they are magnificent creatures. And she is healing. And you … I wonder how I can help you. What might bring back your memory.”
He came to his feet, a little unsteady.
“Oh, be careful!” she said.
“Walk with me a bit … perhaps I’ll get my bearings.”
“Gladly, sir. I will gladly walk with you.”
Amazingly the falcon found the strength to flutter her wings and hopped upon his arm. The three set off for a walk in the ancient forest along the cliffs together.
Chapter 4
Never, ever, would Marina doubt the word of Thomasina, the falcon, again.
The man she walked beside was everything she had asked for, and more.
He had not injured his head so badly as it had first appeared, and so they spent time just walking the beautiful landscape, traversing some of the little bridges that crossed the streams, finding high tors, and little copses where trees gave shade from the sun, and nature created the most beautiful dens. They talked about horses at first, and Marina, anxious to help, described the wonders of Calasia, the way the mountains fell to the sea, how lovely the aqua waters could be, and how the landscape with the jagged hills and then higher mountains had provided the bases for castles to be hewn into rock, and the deep valleys where rich earth allowed farmers to plow and grow the richest crops.
They came upon Radifini by the ancient stones and pillars, and Marina fell ever further under the man’s enchantment, because he was immediately courteous and kind to her dear, old friend. Radifini listened to the story about the bump on his head, stroked his beard, smiled at him, and seemed not to think it a serious thing that he didn’t know his name, or quite where he should be going.
“All of us have to stop during life at some point, and think about who we are, and where it is we really want to be going,” he said. The old wizard talked with them a while, then said there were things he simply must be doing, and he left them alone.
Marina said that knowing Radifini was part of what made her world here, this part of Lendo, so very special for her.
And her lost “prince” smiled.
He listened to her with wonder, and when she asked why he frowned, he admitted sadly that things were dangerous upon the border lands, that they encountered wartrolls frequently, and he was afraid that the people and rulers of Lendo and Baristo did not fully see the danger.
“They are real then, the wartrolls?” she asked him. “You’ve captured one?”
He shook his head. “I’ve battled them often enough. And they are real—just as your falcon is real. Except she is one form of natural magic and beauty. Wartrolls are magical and evil. They do not die, as mortal men do. They are large, great hulking fellows. And they endure blow after blow … I don’t know if they truly have scales for skin, like an armor. And I don’t know if they can survive with injuries ten times greater than we can bear. But I’ve seen them rise when a man could not do so.”
“If the stories about the wartrolls are true,” she murmured, “then perhaps it’s true that a great dragon lives somewhere near, high in its den, in these hills.”
“The dragon,” he said, and leaned closer to her. “I’ve heard tales of the dragon. They say that it is winged, magnificent, and terrible.”
She smiled wistfully. “Indeed. According to legend, dragons had not been seen for years, and then, when Count Nico d’Or was just about to marry the Princess Elisia, the dragon appeared to sweep her away. But they were deeply, truly in love, devoted to one another. And Nico would gladly have given his life for her. He rode alone, into the hills, and he fought the dragon with the strength of a hundred men and brought her home.”
“It’s a pretty tale,” he told her, smiling.
“It might well be true!” she said.
“He fought a dragon—alone?” he teased.
“I believe it might have been true.”
“How could he have the strength of a hundred men?”
“Love, courage, and conviction can give a man, or woman, the strength of hundreds.”
It was then he reached out to touch her face, marveling at the line of bone, the softness of her skin. And the belief in her eyes, those blue pools of sea and sky. She gave him a smile, a curl of amusement that was still touched by determination and the most beguiling inner belief and therein, strength.
And it was then he said, “I have never met anyone as wonderful as you.”
Her smile deepened, and she said, “You are my one wish, my greatest desire, and just this day …”
“It cannot end here,” he said, forgetting his father’s commitment for him.
She didn’t reply. She looked to the sky rather, and said, “I would dare the day, and the night, and be grateful for the magic within them.”
“The sun is setting,” he noted.
“And I should be gone,” she murmured.
He caught her hand. “But you won’t leave me?”
“Not this night.”
And so, they found bounty from the land, the water that bubbled in the stream, fruits from the trees, berries from the brush, and though he was obviously a well-honed warrior, he seemed satisfied with what they ate. Marina herself didn’t think she could find hunger for anything more than his mere presence when she was in his company.
She didn’t know what would be happening in the court at Lendo, and that night, she didn’t care. She would endure whatever the future brought, for this one night.
The sun fell and they stayed together, finding shelter against the cliffs and rocks. And they mused that one particularly high tor with dark caves might be the one where the dragon slept, if indeed, there was a dragon.
They talked, and they rested, and they touched. They lay together beneath the stars.
Marina held tight to every moment; she savored each word he said. She knew she would remember forever his eyes, and how they touched upon hers, the sound of his voice, and indeed, the scent that was his, the presence, the very vibrance and vitality that was life, and love.
She thought, when she awoke in the morning, he would be gone, that her dream, and her wish, would have vanished. But, as striking in sleep as he was when awake, he still lay at her side.
The sun was up. A new day had dawned. And the dream was over.
She rose. Moving away from the cliff where they had spent their night, she crept carefully, silently, and returned to the stream.
Thomasina, drinking at the stream, saw her and said, “A wish well spent?”
“A dream realized,” Marina told her, and leaned to kiss the falcon gently upon the head. “Your wound … ?”
“Nearly healed,” Thomasina said.
“Then I must go.”
But she could not leave so quickly. She tiptoed back to her sleeping Prince Charming. She watched him a moment, her heart beating too quickly, and she knew that whatever came, she would always have this memory.
And she would love him forever.
She turned, as he was stirring, and ran down the cliff until she found Arabella, then made her way home.
Michelo awoke, and was stunned to find his Angel gone. The beautiful falcon, like a touch of magic, remained, and he looked at her, shaking his head. “How could she leave me?” Rising, he came to the falcon and carefully unwrapped the bandages. The injury was all but healed, and so he removed the binding completely. “Now, beautiful creature, you can fly free,” he murmured. “If only it were so easy. Has she run free, as well?”
The falcon watched him sagely as he strode the area of the stream and the cliff, searching for her—his angel. At last, he saw something on the grass on the downward slope to the valley. Hoping it would give him some clue to the identity of his beloved, he hurried to see what it might be.
A shoe.
A delicate shoe, small, in gold satin.
As he studied the shoe, he heard a sound. Battle with the wartrolls had made him quick and alert. In fact, he wondered how he hadn’t awakened when she had left him, and rued the fact that the one time he should really need to awaken at the slightest whisper of sound, he had not.
There was no danger. It was the old man, Radifini, coming down to join him.
“She’s gone, sir. I have discovered the love of my life, and she is gone. All of these years, I have fought for these lands, never really understanding why honor was so dear, and now … I know that it is people, not land, that makes the fight, and love, not glory, that makes the warrior.”
“Ah, young Michelo, you are a romantic, as well as a warrior,” Radifini said.
“You know who I am?”
“Of course,” Radifini said.
“You didn’t betray me,” Michelo said ruefully.
“Ah, well, there is who you are, and then, there is who you are. And you both needed to know the real who of one another, so …”
“Then who is she?” Michelo asked.
“The stepdaughter of Pietro d’Artois, Count of Lendo. Stepsister to the one you are to wed.”
Michelo stared at him with horror and misery dawning.
“She is the betrothed of Carlo, Count Baristo,” Radifini continued.
Michelo rose, bearing the shoe. “There is a way to change this. I’ll go to my father. He is a great believer in magic and omens—after all, he was alive in the time when the Dragon in the Den supposedly appeared, and kidnapped the Princess Elisia!” Michelo plotted quickly. “I’ll tell him that … my heart belongs to the owner of the shoe. I will slip it on her foot … and declare that it is an omen, that we must be together!”
“Good young sir! I fear that you are underestimating Carlo Baristo!” Radifini told him.
“He cannot love her. He cannot love her as I do!” Michelo swore.
“Well, I bid you good fortune then. I also caution you to take great care. And if, perchance, you should discover you need the aid of an old wizard, well, you know where I can be found,” Radifini said gravely, and turned and walked away.
With his shoe, and his destiny set in his own mind, Michelo knew it was time to head for home.
Carlo was in a rage, which was not a pretty thing.
He had his father’s bluster and the streak of evil that only his mother held in greater supply.
At his own castle in Baristo, he paced before the great fire. “They have told me—my spies have told me—that she didn’t come in at all last night! She’ll concoct a lie, of course, but she stayed out—in the hills. She loathes me—mocks me! Me—Carlo, Count of Baristo! The wretched girl. How can I marry such a young woman? She defies me; she thinks that she will say and do as she pleases!”
Geovana liked Marina even less than her son did—after all, she was the child of the falcon master-who-never-should-have-been-count and the wretched Princess Elisia, for whom men had gone to war, and all adored.
“It has never been the plan that you should stay married, Carlo. You need but walk with her to the altar, make her your bride, and then …”
“And then?” Carlo demanded of his mother.
And Geovana smiled her lovely, serene smile and said sweetly, “My son! Terrible things have been known to happen here! Great rocks—flying into bedrooms. And then, of course, there is the dragon.”
“The dragon! Bah. If there was a dragon, it hasn’t appeared in years!”
“Oh, but there is a dragon. And it will appear—if summoned,” Geovana said, still calm, amused. “You will marry—for Lendo. And when it is yours, joined with Baristo … well, those lands will be greater than those owned by the great Duke Fiorelli!”
Smiling, Geovana left him, heading for her balcony (where, it was still whispered, she had the power to raise the elements, wind and fire, earth and water. And, perhaps, the dragon.)
The great Duke Orisini Fiorelli was really a very good man. He was a cheerful man, as well, one who loved his wife and was grateful for his children. He woke each morning in a good mood, and as was his custom, he walked to his balcony that morning, ready to start the day by waving to any of his people who might be down below. Though he was a little concerned that his son had not appeared as yet, he had deep faith in the boy, and would never believe that Michelo could have fallen on his way home.
That morning, he yawned and stretched, and looked around, but saw no one. He was about to return to his bedchamber when he saw something, perched on his balcony rail, that caught his astonished attention.
A falcon. Shimmering in the morning light. A magical creature, he thought with awe.
“How lovely you are! How I would love to own you, gorgeous creature. But then, you look as if you are the wind, freedom itself, so … I shall just admire you!”
Then, he could have sworn that it talked! Words came to him, as if carried softly on the wind.
“Oh, great Duke! Orisini Fiorelli of Calasia! You are the man with the greatest power, and the greatest responsibility!”
“Is my conscience talking to me?” he gasped. “Where have I failed?”
“Today, in the square at Lendo, you must not allow the future to be set without thought! I will come, and drop an olive branch before the lady who must become the bride of your son. Wrong can wear the face of right. But, you, great duke, must not be fooled!”
The falcon flapped its wing in the air. Then it turned, soared into the sky, and disappeared over the hills. Orisini stared after it. Amazed, and fearing his years were taking a toll on his mind, he shook his head. He returned to his bedroom, where his wife was stirring.
He sat on the edge of the bed. “I saw a falcon. It talked to me,” he said.
“That’s nice, dear,” she said, still half-asleep.
“A falcon … my conscience!” He stood, determined. “That’s what will be done!” he exclaimed.
His wife woke in full, blinking with confusion. “What will be done?” she asked.
“Today … in the square at Lendo. We will assemble all the ladies of Calasia in full. A falcon will come, and drop an olive branch. And Michelo must marry the girl who stands where the branch is dropped!”
He started out of the room. His wife, fully awake, jumped out of bed. “Orisini! There are bats flying about in your head, my love! The marriage is arranged. The invitations to the wedding are printed! There is to be a great feast … It will be Christmas Day! Orisini!” she wailed.
But he was gone.
And she sighed. The printers were going to just be furious!
Michelo came home to jubilation. The people greeted him even as he approached his house, and he greeted them with pleasure in return. At last, he walked into his parents’ home, the great castle in the heart of Calasia. His mother, on the staircase, ran down, crying his name, eager to embrace him. His younger sister, growing now into womanhood herself, raced to him, and he lifted her, and swung her about with happiness. He kissed and hugged his mother, and then his father came, too, and for several minutes, they did nothing other than rejoice in one another’s company.
There Be Dragons Page 6