by John Conroe
“Oh, but Fod, you’ve forgotten that your menfolk are due on our property tomorrow, helping Tom and my Lawson,” Haute said. “But you’re sure right about all those muscles.”
Actually, Nira’s mind had no difficulty imagining the two best-looking boys on the island hefting logs without shirts.
“Nira, Nattle asked if I’d pass on his regards to you,” Maggie said. “He didn’t have time the other night.”
“Well how could he, dear, what with his having his hands full of, I mean with young Keply like that,” Fod said.
That kicked off a general verbal melee that Nira found amazing. She ate the rest of her cake while listening and watching wide-eyed as the infighting went hard. Two of Lottie’s servers changed out the plates with substantial bowls of soup, this one a vegetable and hawk-chicken broth soup served with hot, crusty bread.
Nira managed five spoonfuls before Lottie leaned in. “You haven’t seen my Max in months. He’s becoming quite the young man himself.”
Max was built just like his mother and father, and Nira, who knew she was considered fair to look at, if a bit skinny, also knew no girl would ever be able to compete with food for Max’s attention.
“How can he not?” Nira said, getting a nod from the innkeeper.
“Kya mentioned how impressed he was with your storytelling, Nira,” Bett said from the other side.
“Thank you, Bett,” Nira said, knowing it was likely true because Kya loved stories. He was a very nice boy and had often asked Nira to read him stories, as his own mastery of the written word was lacking.
The rest of the table had quieted to listen and now some faces looked a little salty.
“How do we know what was real and what was part of Nira’s famous imagination in that story she told?” Weese Slogan asked. She’d been looking like she’d smelled dragon dung all lunch.
“Well, a good story always has a bit of embellishment,” Lottie said, giving Weese a hard stare.
“Well, that was a great story,” Weese said sarcastic-like. Nira had been working herself through the hurt of her friends’ new partnership for the last few days. She realized she was more hurt by Keply than Nattle. And Mrs. Slogan had been like a surrogate mother to her for all those years of childhood, right up until they’d left for Idiria. This felt like a hot knife to the heart.
“What do you mean Mrs. Slogan?” Nira asked, putting down her spoon.
“Nira, you’ve always been… you know… flighty.”
“Well now, ma’am, I don’t know exactly what you’re talking about. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you tell me I was flighty.”
“Nira, everybody on Lileire knows you always have your nose in a book or spend your days off loitering about the island. It’s not really your fault, nor your poor father’s, but he should have taken a harder hand with you, made you work a bit more.”
She felt flooded with red; it was all she could see. Nira kicked her chair back and stood up, almost knocking it over. “You… you… mean, petty bitch!” That last was a word she’d heard Lady Stacia say often.
The whole table gasped, but she was too far gone to think about it. “I work twice as hard as you and have my whole life, ever since my ma died. Just as my papa has. But now you think to lock in Nattle for your daughter and are afraid I want to steal him, so you lie and slander!”
Weese looked shocked, but a little glimmer of triumph shone in her eyes. The rest of the women were aghast. Nira’s hand shook with adrenaline as she reached into her blouse and pulled forth a wooden amulet on a leather thong. “See this? Lord Declan carved it for me with a scrap from the shop floor.” She held the skillful rendition of a beastkin wolf on two legs up for all to view. “Lady Stacia insisted he carve her likeness in her combat form to be my protector from elven magic. It’s my wax seal when I write them a letter, which, I believe I will go do right now. Lots to tell them about who is best to work with here on the island, and who is not so good. Lottie, lunch was great.”
And she stormed out.
Lottie and Bett caught up to her down by the quay. She had stopped in her tracks, staring out to sea.
“Now Nira, don’t let the words of a jealous woman steer you wrong,” Lottie began.
“You hit the matter square on the nose,” Bett said.
Nira didn’t answer, still staring.
“Now is a horrible time to write a letter. Never commit angry words to good paper until you’ve had time to think things through,” Lottie said
Vaguely Nira was aware of the other women boiling out of the inn back behind them but she kept staring.
“Nira!” Lottie said.
“What? Oh, Lottie. Ah no, I won’t write any letters,” Nira said. Both women relaxed in relief.
“Stevie?” She turned to a young boy who had been gawking at the women’s council as it flooded around. “Run and find my papa in his shop. Tell him a ship flying Lord Declan’s flag is inbound to port.”
Every person in the vicinity, women’s council or just passersby with curious ears, all turned and looked out to sea. A ship flying a giant green flag with a white tree on one side and a white wolf on the other was clearly headed in.
Lottie gasped, picked up her skirts, and ran back to the inn. Rhine Cobblink turned and raced for her husband’s office. The rest of the women fell into excited conversation. Except one. Weese Slogan stood outside the circles of gossip, all the women turning their backs to her. She looked at Nira and her face went pale. Then she turned, hiked up her own skirts, and ran away.
The ship was just docking when her father pulled up in his wagon, Stevie riding passenger.
Nira had already waved to Declan and Stacia and was standing near the dock, a small knot of the town’s influential hovering about her. Lentin and his wife, Rhine, Constable Kuldennie, Dorian and Lottie Stumbler, and Bett Sounder. The rest of the women’s council was hanging back but watching everything with hungry eyes.
“Hi, Papa,” Nira greeted her father. “Look, they’re here much earlier than we thought.”
Armond waved to the Lord and Lady Realm Holders, who were standing on the side of the boat, staying out of the crew’s way. Actually, Nira had noticed that not a single person other than the captain had come within an arm’s length of the couple. The landing crew started to toss hawsers to the dockside crew to be slipped around the giant bronze cleats on the dock’s edge.
One of the catchers was so busy eyeballing the couple on deck, he missed his toss and the hawser fell into the sea. The dock boss bawled him out but suddenly the looped rope lifted itself out of the ocean and hooked itself over the cleat. Everything went still and quiet, all eyes turning to the lanky young man and beautiful woman.
“Good trip, Lord Declan?” Armond called out.
“I guess,” the young lord said with a quirky smile. “I never sailed on these kinds of ships before, but it seemed pretty smooth.”
The captain, who was overseeing the boarding plank placement, wiped his bald pate. “Fastest we’ve ever made it,” he said to Armond, his eyes a little wild. “Half the normal time.”
“Declan dislikes ocean travel,” the lady of the realm said, having moved silently up behind the captain while he worked. “I suspect that might be why your lovely ship moved so fast.”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Lord Declan said, with a grin. “Thanks for a safe ride, Captain.”
“You’re surely welcome, Lord Declan, my lady,” the seafarer said, sketching a short bow and waving them toward the boarding plank.
The young man walked easily off the ship, like a normal healthy human. His lady, on the other hand, moved as smoothly as an elven warrior. Nira saw many faces focus on her: sailors on the ship, a crabber offloading his catch, and the entire welcoming party. Declan was smiling, but Stacia was not. Her head was up and turning, looking at everything and everyone.
The couple was wearing what Nira recognized to be Earth clothing; Declan wore blue trousers of a thick material Stacia called denim
, and a long-sleeved pullover shirt of black stretchy material, while his lady wore a button-down shirt of dark green, with tightly fitted trousers of some stretchy gray material. Nira found the trousers to be rather daring. Women on Lileire often wore work pants, but they were baggy. These pants clung to the lady’s legs and backside in a manner almost scandalous, but Nira found herself wanting a pair. In addition, Declan wore a belt with his pants, an oddly scabbarded knife on his left hip and something else on his right. She’d seen him wear them before and assumed the black metal object on his right hip was a weapon. Stacia wore no belt but had a black strap over one shoulder and around the opposite waist. An arm-length black object hung from the strap, angled from her right armpit to her left thigh. It too was a weapon but nothing Nira could make heads or tails of. Like a crossbow without the bow.
“Lord Declan, might I present our headman, Lentin Cobblink, and his wife, Rhine,” Armond said.
Declan nodded at them but stepped forward to touch Nira on her arm, then shake Armond’s forearm before turning to the Cobblinks.
Stacia stepped up to Nira and hugged her, then turned to meet the officials, as Armond continued to name important people.
Behind Nira, she heard Bett whisper to Lottie, “She doesn’t dress much like a lady.”
“Because I’m more of a warrior than a lady,” Stacia said turning to Bett, who instantly went red with embarrassment.
“A warrior with the ears of a wolf,” Nira said to Bett and Lottie, but also warning the rest of the crowd.
“Milord, you’re here much earlier than expected?” Armond asked, his tone very deferential.
“Things are heating up fast back on Earth,” Declan said. “I need to take care of several things here as fast as I can.” Then he suddenly turned and looked back up the street behind the welcoming crowd. Oddly, Lady Stacia looked the same direction at exactly the same time.
Nira turned and looked, as did most of the others. She gasped in shock. A massive black-furred creature stood in the middle of the street, a slim, black-suited figure with long silver hair and silver eyes standing hipshot in front of it, arms crossed. She had the pointed ears of an elf and the coloring of Winter.
“Princess,” Declan said in an easy tone. “Is your mother done with our agreement?”
The elven woman laughed. “I hold you in too much esteem to attempt such a foolish method of attack. Mother still abides the accord you struck.”
“Good to know. To what, may I ask, do we owe the honor of your unannounced visit to my Realm?”
“Your realm?” the elf asked, eyebrows up. “You are hardly here enough to warrant ownership of a realm.”
“Well, we’re thinking it’ll make a nice retirement spot, but in the meantime, we’ve got Vorsook to fight and all that,” Declan said.
Nira knew exactly who this was, and her body clenched with dread. Princess Neeve, the Black Frost of Winter. And Declan was speaking to her as if she were just a citizen of Idiria.
“I will be most wroth if you two get killed by the Others… before I can kill you myself,” the Black Frost said.
“Oh snowflake, that’s sweet, but we’re not as young as we used to be. Fighting us now is a whole order of magnitude different,” Stacia said. She stood in a loose easy stance, weight balanced on both feet equally, hands folded over the back end of her weird weapon.
“I should hope so. I want a challenge when it’s time,” Neeve said haughtily.
“Yeah, yeah, talk, talk, talk,” Stacia said. “Either throw down or tell us why you are here.”
“So rude,” the elven princess said, although she wore a tight smile. “Mother is intrigued by your fascination with the disgusting vegetation of this island. You shipped so much of it to Idiria and now you’re here, at its source?”
“Spies couldn’t figure it out?” Declan asked. “You’ve seen me use it on Earth, Neeve. What’s the big mystery?”
“It has a limited use for storage, but that barely offsets its unpleasantness,” Neeve said. Nira had been looking closely at her black clothing and now she realized she’d seen its like before, only bronze-colored, not black—it was dragon skin.
“Not unpleasant at all to use, but then, neither is iron,” Declan said.
A look of disgust filled Neeve’s face. “I give you the courtesy of a direct question rather than the slinking of spies and you answer me with cryptic statements.”
“You want a direct answer… I can make weapons of it… Can’t you?” Declan asked.
Neeve frowned. “Such things would be of limited use against our forces. Your machines are more viable.”
“Again, Vorsook, snowflake. Not everything is about you,” Stacia said.
The elf frowned. Behind her, the giant thing that Nira thought must be a troll shifted its stance and growled softly. “How can wood, even magically sensitive wood, be useful against the Others?”
“I’m not giving away my secrets, Princess, but I’ll give you a broad hint—C3. Command, Control, and Communications,” Declan said, his words only making the elf frown deeper.
The black-furred giant suddenly turned and looked away to the north. It grunted and Neeve turned to it in surprise. Then she turned back to Declan and Stacia.
“A dragon is approaching, a big one?” she commented.
“Multi-tasking, your frostiness,” Stacia said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“You are meeting with the dragons,” Neeve stated.
“Just one. And the Speaker too. Just a little chat; nothing to worry about. Now, we’ve been polite, but I must ask you to leave,” Declan said.
“Or?” Neeve asked with deadly smile.
Suddenly she sank up to her knees in the ground and was unable to pull free. The troll also sank at the same time and it roared in fury but seemed unable to escape.
“Tell your pal to chill out. There’s an Earth elemental holding you both in place. He won’t ever be able to pull free,” Declan said. “Neeve, if I wanted you dead, you both would have sank so far underground that your dear mom would never find you.”
All humor was gone from the elf’s face, but she turned and spoke sharply to the giant in Elvish.
It stopped moving. Declan smiled and suddenly both the elf and the giant were lifted back up to solid ground. The troll instantly turned and moved both hands. A tear ripped through the air behind it and an opening formed, showing a snow-filled forest. “You have a few tricks, boy, but don’t think they’ll save you when I finally come for you both,” the elf said, turning and stepping through the magical opening. The troll followed and the doorway to elsewhere collapsed with a snap.
Declan turned back to the crowd. “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah. Things are speeding up, Armond, and I needed to take care of this now. And as you likely surmised, we’re going to meet with a dragon and the Speaker. Do you maybe have a big clearing or field we could borrow?”
Fifteen minutes later, they had relocated to a big pasture owned by Old Kenny, which was the closest suitable spot near the town. The four sheep that he kept there had been hastily rounded up and locked in the barn.
Most of the town was standing behind the wooden rail fence while Nira, Armond, Lentin, and Constable Kuldennie stood with the lord and lady. They had only just situated themselves on the field when a massive shadow crossed over them, big enough to darken most of the open space all at once. Nira’s heart felt like it was freezing up in her chest at the sight of the massive dragon that flew over them.
“That’s Gargax,” Declan said. “I think he’s considered the king of the dragons, or the alpha. I’m pretty sure it’s because he’s the largest.”
Nothing that big should be able to fly, let alone do so with the agility it displayed as it wheeled around for a landing. Gargax had to be almost ten times bigger than Storm, or at least that’s what Nira estimated as the beast landed on the ground with an earth-shaking impact. It turned its snaky head, which was as big as an ox, and studied them with predatory eyes.
A human-sized female voice suddenly answered him. “He says greetings, Middle Realm Holder.”
Nira looked and spotted a person high up on the dragon’s vast back. Gargax was bigger than the ship that Declan and Stacia had arrived on, and the top of his back was higher off the ground than the roof of the Whitefish Inn.
The person climbed down the dragon like one of the island’s boys going after sea bird eggs on a cliff. Within seconds, she was on the ground and approaching fast. She had black, black hair and dark eyes that tilted on the outside edges a bit like an elf’s, and she wore pants like Declan’s, with a thick brown leather jacket, a neck scarf, and up on her head were a set of round lenses that appeared to go over her eyes. That made sense to Nira; it must be very cold up in the skies and if the wind of a fast ship could make your eyes water, a flying dragon must be much, much worse.
Declan and Stacia both hugged her, then stood back to introduce her to Nira’s father and Lentin. They also immediately introduced Nira.
“Wow, the Irish genes are strong,” Ashley said aside to Declan when she shook Nira’s forearm.
Nira looked to the lord for explaination. “The folk on this island most likely came from a place on Old Earth called Ireland,” Declan said. “It’s also where my family came from. Your coloring and hair color ring true to that place. Even the name of your island, Lileire, refers back to Ireland, which the locals call Eirè.”
“This hair is common there?” Nira asked, clutching a strand of her reddish blonde hair.
“Yes, along with blue eyes and freckles,” Stacia said.
“Sorry, Nira, I didn’t mean to blurt that out,” Ashley, the Speaker to the Dragons, apologized with a smile. “It was a little unexpected. Awkward.”
“I don’t think she was offended, Ashley,” Declan said. “Were you?” he asked Nira.