The Demon Accords Compendium, Volume III

by John Conroe

  She didn’t even know the dragon’s name and had chosen to call her Storm, which was short for Storm Gift. Nira had found the dragon almost two years ago, the morning after a tremendous ocean squall had rolled over the island. Just the size of a large horse at that time, Storm had been a crumpled, wounded mound on this very beach. At first, Nira had thought she’d found a dead sea creature, at least until she got close enough to see the wings. Then she’d been afraid she had a dead dragon on her hands, but a warm exhalation from a half-buried nostril had blown sand and grit over the hand she’d been leaning on.

  Unsure of what to do, she just followed her instincts as best she could. She first cleared the sand away from Storm’s nostrils so she could breathe easier. Then she built several large fires from dry driftwood she had previously stored in the little cave, ringing them around the cold, wet dragonet. She brought a waxed canvas cloth, using it to line a sand hole she dug near the dragon’s mouth and filling the makeshift basin with many bags of fresh rainwater from the pools in the rocks. When Storm had regained consciousness, she dragged herself to the water, drank of it, and promptly passed back out. But the motion had exposed her wings fully and Nira had seen the large rents and tears that seemed more like claw wounds than weather damage. Again, not knowing what else to do, she had sewn as much of the shredded skin as she could, spreading healing salves on all of the dragon’s wounds, and keeping the fires fueled.

  Her father had been away, overseeing the harvest of new wood for his shop, and didn’t return until two days later. By then, the dragon had awoken long enough to eat fish Nira caught and then drag herself into the cave, which Nira had lined with dry straw from the fields atop the cliff.

  Unsure of her father’s response to the presence of such a powerful creature, Nira never found the right path to telling him about Storm. And Storm had healed quickly on a steady diet of fish and crab that Nira worked hard to catch. Luckily, the little bronze dragon had found her feet before the week was out and had taken to the ocean to catch some of her own food. At first, Nira worried that her wounds would get infected, but the water seemed to help more than it hurt. Over the last twenty months, she had seen Storm first heal and then begin to grow, filling out like it was her job. The scars on those giant bronze wings had filled Nira with a fear that Storm would never fly again, yet within three months of their meeting, the dragon was able to soar short distances, launching herself from partway up the cliffs, out over the ocean surface. Gradually the distance grew and Nira learned another fear—that she’d return one day to the cove to find her most amazing friend had flown away. And the dragon’s gift for invisibility gave her numerous scares that her fears had been realized.

  It first occurred three days after the storm. Nira had picked her way down the path and peered into the cave, only to see no sign of her patient. Panicked, she had rushed inside and stumbled right over the sleeping dragon, who had woke with a jerk and a flood of her natural coloring filling out her form. Then she had settled back to rest and Nira had seen her coloring shift, changing to match that of the cave walls and floor so closely that it appeared the beast was invisible. Only the scars on her body failed to change color, but with her wings folded, the bulk of the pale healing skin had been covered by healthy hide that had no difficulty performing its most excellent camouflage.

  Nira learned to kind of see the dragon despite the adaptive coloring, even though it changed so fast that it modified as the dragon moved around. By kind of looking with the edge of her vision, Nira was often able to see Storm’s outline, a skill that got easier with practice. But that almost-invisibility kept Storm from being seen by her father or any of the local fishermen who sometimes worked the waters below the cliffs. And the dragon avoided hunting any of the island’s livestock after a crying Nira had pleaded with her the one time she ate a sheep. Deer and wild boar were fine, and all the redfin, basketmouth, cobblebacks, and any other large fish she could catch. And of course, devil crab that Nira brought her. But Nira had never seen her friend catch anything the size of the grayback siorcfish she was currently consuming.

  The meal was gory and while Nira was used to cleaning fish and the occasional hawk-chicken, something about seeing a creature the size of three men get torn apart with casual ease was disturbing. She turned as she finished toweling off, still hearing the gruesome noises as she dressed in her clean clothes. That crunching and tearing would have been her if Storm hadn’t intercepted the predator. Fairie was very much a kill-or-be-killed world. There was a tremendous profusion of deadly predators, from tiny venomous tinks, trap-jawed flying pucks, flocks of vicious Drake eagles, direwolves, giant wolverines, man-crushing constrictor snakes, three or four kinds of big cats, goblins, orcs, trolls, giant bears, and on and on, all the way up the food chain to the dragons themselves. The oceans were even worse, with some truly massive predators that might give a smaller dragon like Storm pause.

  On one hand Nira knew, at least intellectually, that the oceans were very dangerous, but she rarely swam very far out into them, preferring boats to cold water on bare skin. And the forests of Lileire were largely lacking predators that might take on a human. There were smaller mammalian predators, including a species of cat that grew to the size of a three-gallon whiskey keg, but all of them were afraid of people. There were numerous flying killers as well, but the biggest was the Drake eagle, which, while certainly big enough to injure a person, were almost entirely interested in ocean fish. So the thought of becoming prey to something wasn’t one she’d entertained throughout her short fifteen years. Now, the shock and the violence had left her shaking.

  “Storm, if you hadn’t been here, I’d be dead,” she said, sitting on a rock and looking out at the ocean.

  The tearing and chomping sounds stopped. She turned and found the young dragon staring at her, muzzle dripping blood onto the cobbled beach. The keg-sized head tilted, and the bloody, tooth-filled maw opened to emit a sound like the call of a tiger owl crossed with the caw of a crow. She might be young for a dragon, but she was massive when compared to a human, and her visage would terrify her enemies, but Nira found nothing remotely scary about her friend. With a little cry, she launched herself across the beach and wrapped both arms around the thick neck, burying her face against scaled skin still wet with salt water.

  This time, the dragon issued a deep meep and brought the underside of her head to rest gently on the top of the girl’s own skull. Nira cried for a full minute, her giant friend holding absolutely still. Finally, the plopping sound of blood and saliva dripping onto the stony beach directly behind her brought her around. She wiped her nose and patted the warm neck, then pulled back and stepped carefully out from under the bloody mouth, trying to avoid getting any crimson spatters on her clothes.

  “Storm, I have to go. I need to get back home before Papa does or he’ll come looking for me,” she said, still wiping her runny nose and wet eyes.

  The dragon snorted, then turned carefully and eyed the massive meal lying in front of it with a wistful expression.

  Nira laughed. “Yes, you should keep eating. You definitely earned it. Have you ever killed such a big fish before?”

  Storm pulled her head and neck back, her fist-sized eyes widening. Over the two years, Nira had learned to read dragon expressions, and this one was surprise. The dragoness turned and looked at the siorc again, then lifted her head and spread her wings. Her mouth opened and a jet of fire shot up into the air overhead, the heat washing over Nira’s face and exposed arms.

  As the stream of fire ended, the dragon took another breath and roared, the sound bouncing off the cliff and forcing Nira to put her hands over her ears.

  Finished, the young female dragon looked back at Nira with such pride that the girl had to laugh and nod. “Yes, you are the deadliest hunter around, and I am your friend forever.”

  Storm folded her wings and settled back down over the carcass. She eyed it for a moment, then her head shot forward like a striking snake and her jaws ripped free
a chunk of fish the size of Nira’s torso.

  Leaving her to her feast, Nira climbed back up the trail, taking her time to account for her still-shaky legs. Near the top, she looked back down and found the dragon watching her. She waved and saw the big head bob slightly. Then the dragon’s adaptive camouflage changed her skin to match the beach and she faded from view. Only her movements gave Nira a reference to see her hidden form. That and the massive chunks of siorc that kept disappearing.

  Fifteen minutes later, Nira was back home. Her father hadn’t returned, so she set about making a vegetable casserole with garden produce and some of the eggs, along with a bit of hard cheese. She set it to bake in the stone oven and then put her dirty clothes in the washbucket to soak some of the dirt out.

  Her father returned home five minutes after she pulled dinner from the oven, making her smile at their long-running joke that he was never late for a meal.

  “How did it go today?” she asked as she spooned him up a plateful.

  “The woodworkers and foresters’ co-op were very happy with the payments,” he said. “Had some comments from some of the crab guys though.”

  “What? The work had nothing to do with crabs,” she asked, confused.

  “They see the witchwood profits and feel like they got left out of the deal.”

  “They were never part of the deal,” she protested. “Neither were the food farmers, the deep sea fishermen, the jewelers, or any other shop owners. The Realm Holder asked for furniture, not crab.”

  “Nira, there has never been a Realm Holder in the Middle Realm. Now there is, and he can change people’s fortunes overnight. He changed ours. They see it as a once in a lifetime opportunity and they’re fearful at missing out.”

  “But you have no control over what Lord Declan wants,” she said.

  “Not directly, but we had his ear for a couple of months,” Armond said. “Anyway, I told them that I had dropped a hint about the flavor of devil crab to Lady Stacia and that she had immediately tried it.”

  “Is that true?” she asked, not remembering any such conversation.

  “It happened early on, while you were sanding chair and table legs for me, but, Nira, you saw how she eats, right?” he asked.

  “Yes, like two men.”

  “I’d say three. Anyway, she loved the crab and immediately ordered more. The seafood merchants paid attention, as did the nobility of Idiria. By herself, she will change the demand for devil crab; it’s just going to take some time to reach us here on Lileire. I explained that and they calmed down.”

  “They should be damned grateful you thought of them at all!”

  “Nira,” he admonished, although he couldn’t stop a little smile at her harsh language. “Oh, by the way, the crab men reported that they’ve been seeing big siorcfish recently. Chasing blubberpups. Apparently, the water is warm enough now that the big graybacks can come this far north, so be careful.”

  Her outrage disappeared as she thought of how he would react if she told him about her swim. Of course, she’d also have to explain how a dragon saved her, and then how she happened to know a friendly dragon. She decided to concentrate on her food.

  “Oh, and last but least… the women’s council request you attend them,” he said with a grimace.

  “What? Why? When?”

  “Tomorrow, at lunchtime. The back room at the inn. And as to why? Can’t you figure it out?”

  “Papa, I haven’t done anything wrong! I just got back!”

  He laughed at her expression. “Nira, dear, did it occur to you that we just told the whole village that you were a regular companion of Lady Stacia’s and can speak directly to the Realm Holder and call him by his first name?”

  “But why would that get me in trouble?” she asked, still highly alarmed. The women’s council could make life hell for anyone in the community. Even the headman wasn’t immune to their ire.

  “It isn’t trouble, daughter mine. They want to get access to your influence,” he said with a sly grin.

  “Influence?”

  “Nira, if you sent word to Idiria that you needed to see and speak to Lord Declan and Lady Stacia, what do you think would happen?”

  “They might write me back?”

  “Actually, I’m pretty sure the Realm Holder would be here in an instant, probably at his lady wife’s request. They are truly fond of you, Nira.”

  She started to shake her head, but then an image of Stacia demanding just such a thing popped into her head. If anyone they considered a friend needed them, they would move the sky, earth, and sea to do it. And Lord Declan could do just that.

  “But what do they want?” she asked, hating the plaintive whine in her voice.

  “To control you, no doubt,” her father said, understanding who they were. “They will start with intimidation and bluster, or perhaps bribery. Some may want you to marry their sons. You’ll need to be firm or you’ll be betrothed before lunch is over,” he warned, pointing with his spoon for emphasis.

  “Papa!” she said, dropping her own spoon and putting both hands over her mouth.

  He chuckled a little, clearly pleased with his own prank. “You are fifteen, daughter. You may not freely enter a marriage contract without my permission for almost a full year. And I’m not giving it.”

  She relaxed a bit, torn between relief and annoyance. “But you need to be on your guard. They will all want to exploit your relationship to their advantages. I warned Lottie and her crony Bett not to trifle with you.”

  “Or what?” Nira asked. The senior ladies of the island did not take well to threats.

  “Or that I would be sure to tell Lady Stacia that her favorite young lady friend was being bullied,” he said, smiling to himself. “Ah, nice to see them afraid for once.”

  Personally, Nira thought her papa had mostly avoided the wrath of the women’s council because he was a widower, extremely respected in his trade, even-tempered and polite, and quite eligible for matchmaking. He was probably overstating things.

  By a quarter past noon the next day, Nira thought her father hadn’t overstated a thing and in fact, may have underreported the problem. She was pinned between Bett and Lottie, at a long table in the private meeting room of the inn. Millie Rumple sat next to Lottie and Sillet Willyknees next to her. On Nira’s left side, Bett had Rhine Cobblink and Oddette Paux next to her.

  Across the table, from the far left, was old Asilla Mixby, Weese Slogan, who was Keply’s ma, Maggie Strawridge, who was Nattle’s ma, Fod Waxwillow, whose son Milken was considered the best-looking boy on the island, Hauten Kneef, who also had a well thought of son, Mia Umbrell, and Kite Phoseby. And all of them had been staring holes in her the moment they got her trapped… er… seated.

  “… tell him he needs to try the best caught cobbleback he ever had,” Mia said, clanging her fork into her porcelain plate to make her point.

  “Don’t try to eat the plate too, dear,” Lottie said to Mia. “It’s not as tender as you might like.”

  Mia, who was a larger woman, frowned and looked down at her mostly empty plate.

  Nira almost smiled, but with a monumental effort of will, managed to keep her face blank as she took her maybe third or fourth bite of the devil crab cake Lottie’s staff had served first.

  “Nira dear, you haven’t said more than three words,” Bett commented.

  “Papa says it’s important to be a good listener,” she said.

  “Well that’s true, dear,” Bett said, leaning forward to share a look with her buddy as she spoke.

  “It’s just that you’ve said not a word about the matters at hand,” Lottie took over.

  “I’m sorry, Lottie. I heard quite a few sets of instruction but no questions,” Nira said.

  “That’s what I mean, dear. You haven’t commented on what you were told.”

  “Lottie, I heard that I was to tell Lord Declan that he needed to double all his orders for witchwood, buy a year’s supply of crab and cobbleback, bring his lady here f
or a week-long stay and rent out the whole inn, and tell Lady Stacia she should shop for all her dresses here in town, and also finds ways to employ all the children on the island for life.”

  “Yes, so?” Bett asked.

  “So… what?”

  “When are ya going to get it done, girl?” Bett demanded, her voice starting to rise.

  “Oh… you were all serious?” Nira asked, taking a bite of crab and looking around the table. “Yes, it appears you were. Well then, let me consider how best I might go about this. I could write his lordship and say, see here you daft man, get about this business and be quick about it. No, that wouldn’t work… not even a little. Stacia says he’s very muley, hates to be told what to do. Usually stops talking to people who annoy him.” Heads nodded as the women acknowledged the general muley-ness of men.

  “Or I could write Stacia and suggest these very ideas and have her tell him to get about it. But then I’m telling her how to run her man and most ladies don’t take well to that, from what I’ve seen here on the island, so no, that won’t work either.”

  “Well now, it works quite often,” Lottie said.

  “I don’t know, Lottie. I’ve seen you tell most of these fine ladies right here where, when, and how their men should be handled, yet I’ve not seen a one of them take your advice and you’re a woman of wisdom while I’m just still considered a girl.”

  Lottie frowned at Nira, then looked hurriedly around the table. “I’ve always thought your advice was wonderful,” Haute said, getting a nod from the innkeeper but shaking her head when Lottie looked away.

  “She’s got a point, ladies,” Maggie said. “As fine and intelligent a young lady as our Nira is, she’s a might young to be handing out advice to a married woman, especially a lady like Lady Stacia. In fact, she should be receiving advice on husbands, as the time is fast approaching for her to be betrothed.”

  “Excellent idea,” Fod Waxwillow declaired. “Nira, you should come over tomorrow to lunch and I’ll start your lessons. My husband and son, Milken, will be around, and you can see how it’s done. You remember Milken, right? My, how that boy has put on muscle. As they have to cut and load all those logs for his lordship, he hardly wears a shirt at all these days.”