Midnight

by Megan Derr

  Then the boy had realized he'd been seen, and the stable master had bellowed, causing the boy to bolt.

  Devlin had seen him here and there in the days since, and always the little thing was staring at him. The one time Devlin had smiled back and given him a bit of coin, the boy had turned red faced and started to cry. Then he'd bolted, and Devlin had not seen him again.

  Until now.

  He knelt and held out a hand. "Come here, little one. I will not hurt you. It's not safe—"

  "Devlin!"

  Crochton's sharp warning came too late as the boy surged forward and grasped his hand and bit down hard. Devlin swore, but did not tear his hand away for fear of causing injury.

  Now he noticed what he had not before, too angry at the townspeople and too concerned for the boy.

  He was dead.

  Devlin had never been the sort given to tears. If he had the energy to cry, he had the energy to do something more productive. Still, the sight of the sad, little boy turned to a walking dead made his eyes sting.

  Beneath the filth and grime, his skin had gone white. Snow white. Some would say bone white, except his hair had gone deep blue, as had his fingernails, which meant his bones were blue as well now.

  His eyes too were that deep, rich blue. It should not have been beautiful, yet to Devlin it was.

  The boy stared at him, unmoving, lips coated with blood from where he had bit deeply into Devlin's hand.

  "Shh," Devlin said and reached out to stroke the filthy hair.

  He paused when the boy seemed to lean into the touch, but after a moment resumed it.

  Sure enough, the boy was pushing against it, like a cat looking for more petting. Anger coiled in Devlin's gut, threatening to consume him, tempting him to show the bloody bastards who had let this happen why a witch was far worse an enemy than a draugr.

  He had never known a child to turn into a draugr before. How had he died? There were no visible wounds; the little thing was perfectly preserved.

  "Devlin, destroy it and let us get back to work."

  "No," Devlin snarled, looking up at Crochton, who had come out of hiding and stood nearby. "A child, god damn it. He was only a child, and they let him die. They probably killed him."

  Crochton looked at him sternly, but not unkindly. "He's dead now, Devlin. Probably best for the poor thing, given he was on the streets. If you cannot do the deed, lad, then step away and let me. We've more important things to be doing this night. I can feel the draugr, and we need to find them before more harm is done."

  Devlin moved without thought, scooping the frail little body up and holding it close. "No," he said.

  "It's dead," Crochton said sharply. "Just a bloody corpse. If you are too weak to destroy it, then bloody let me!"

  "I said no!" Devlin snapped.

  Crochton looked angrily at him. "What do you intend to do then? Keep it? It's a fucking corpse."

  "I don't know," Devlin said. He started to say something more, but the boy in his arms made a whimpering sound.

  He looked down to see the boy licking blood from his lips.

  "Hungry?" Devlin asked softly. Ignoring Crochton, who continued to lecture and glare, he moved to a crate pushed against the side of a shop in a narrow alleyway. Setting the boy down atop it, he bent to pull a knife from his boot.

  Crochton was right, he knew. The boy was dead, had been turned into a draugr. It would be better simply to destroy him and be done.

  Devlin could not bring himself to do it. All he could see were the sad brown eyes watching him with wonder, the way the boy had cried over a simple bit of kindness, the redness to his cheeks.

  Staring into the dark blue eyes calmly watching him, wondering what, if anything, went through a draugr mind, Devlin lifted his hand and slit the palm open.

  He grimaced at the pain but did not linger over it. Instead, he held his hand out, close to the child's mouth, and nodded that he should drink.

  The child watched him, not moving. Devlin lifted his hand higher still, cupping his palm so the blood filled it, and pushed the child's head into it.

  He drank, small tongue flashing occasionally as he lapped at the blood, pausing every now and then to stare fearfully at Devlin, resuming only when Devlin smiled gently at him.

  "Amazing," Crochton muttered. "He actually retained some sort of comprehension. I wonder why."

  Devlin did not reply, having no answer to give, simply reached out with his free hand to stroke the matted hair.

  A chill lanced up his spine suddenly, and he knew by the colorful swearing that Crochton had felt the same.

  He turned his head to see the draugr shuffling toward them, blue eyes glowing, surrounded by a mist that was swiftly taking over the whole of the village.

  "Damn it to hell," Crochton said. "We missed our chance to see where they go when they are finished with the village."

  Devlin started to speak but was distracted as the boy shoved his hand away and hopped down from the crate, taking remarkably sure steps as he moved to stand in front of them.

  No, Devlin realized.

  The boy was standing in front of him. He had thrown his arms out and was making angry, growling noises at the approaching draugr.

  "Oh my god," Crochton said in wonder. "It cannot be."

  "What?" Devlin snapped, too busy drawing his runes and focusing on defeating the draugr as well as protecting himself, Crochton, and the boy.

  Crochton shook his head and replied, "I think the boy was coming for you all along. He is trying to protect you, Devlin. You are what he sought in death, and what he is trying to protect."

  Devlin froze, runes forgotten as he stared at the boy who stood before him, arms spread out as he tried to warn off the other draugr.

  "I wish I had protected him," Devlin said softly after a moment. "I was going to take him home."

  Crochton looked at him with a sympathy Devlin could not remember him ever showing anyone. "The kindest thing you can do now, Devlin, is to destroy him completely."

  "No," Devlin said, suddenly determined. "I'll find another way."

  "There is no other way," Crochton replied, even as he braced himself to face the draugr that were now far too close. "He's dead. There is nothing else you can do."

  Devlin threw his runes at the draugr, watching as three burst into flame. "If no other way exists, I'll make it. The boy is mine, now. I will do as I see fit."

  "What would your father say?" Crochton demanded. "He would not stand for this."

  At that, Devlin only grinned. "He would say I'm old enough to make my own decisions, no matter how bloody stupid a decision it might be."

  Crochton grunted in defeat. "As you will it, then, you bloody fool."

  Devlin looked at the frail, broken bird trying so hard to protect him from the monsters drawing ever closer. Even in death, the boy had only wanted Devlin. It was humbling and heartbreaking, and he would do whatever was necessary to see the boy was happier in death than he had ever been in life.

  Dragon

  "We should go home after we are finished here, Heartbeat," Midnight said into the silence that had fallen as they all dressed to go hunting.

  Devlin stood patiently as Barra fussed over his jacket, a beautiful piece the exact shade of Midnight's hair with quartz for buttons and a fat sapphire nestled in the folds of his neck cloth. He often felt like Barra's doll, but he turned Devlin out so well, it was hardly a chore to be so. "Pray tell, where else would we go?" he asked, being purposely obtuse.

  Midnight rolled his eyes and finished tying his own neck cloth, fastening a silver snowflake in the folds. His cufflinks matched, offsetting the deep burgundy of his coat. "Well, if you insist, we can return to the city."

  "No," Devlin said, pausing to murmur a thanks to Barra. "It would be nice to return to the country for a time. After this, there will be nothing keeping me in the city. I could use a bit of countryside not infested with draugr." Twitching the lace of his cuffs so it fell properly, he picked up his gloves.
"I am hoping to solve this sooner rather than later, though the elusiveness of our prey is proving more than a little vexing."

  "It has only been a few days, Heartbeat," Midnight said, standing still as Barra pulled his hair back and neatly tied it off with a ribbon to match the burgundy coat. "The siren song plays faintly, and where there is a song, there is a singer. We will find him."

  Devlin hadn't needed the reminder that Midnight could hear the siren song. He scowled. "Midnight—"

  "Yes, Heartbeat," Midnight said with exaggerated patience. "At your command, I will flee to safety. However, I think you underestimate me. I keep telling you, no voice but yours compels me."

  Ignoring him, Devlin shrugged into his greatcoat and pulled on his gloves. "Come then. Let us go pick a fight with the walking dead."

  Smiling, Midnight followed after him, Barra on their heels.

  Outside, his horse stood ready. Devlin mounted and motioned to the other two. "Do as you see fit, but remember to take care. I will meet the both of you outside the village, by the pond. I believe we will explore those mounds we discovered when we encountered the knight and dragon."

  Barra's face shuttered. "Aye, Your Grace. Though, if you hope to be gaining his help, perhaps I should stay well away."

  "If that bigoted knight decides to speak rudely about the company I keep again, I shall let Midnight take him to task for it. Dragons do not frighten me. Now, let us be off. There is much to do, and the moonlight will not last forever."

  Without another word, he gave the signal to his horse and raced through the village as quickly as was wise, heading for the pond.

  Shortly after arriving, he was joined by a wolf and a long, sinuous dark cat. "Splendid. No trouble shifting or getting out of the village unnoticed?"

  A chuff and a meow were his replies, and Devlin nodded. "Let us go, then."

  The two animals raced off ahead of him, and while it looked as though they simply darted across the landscape, he knew they both were alert for any clue, any scent, any oddity. He chased after them, going more slowly, not wanting harm to come to his horse.

  They reached the old burial mounds in record time. Dismounting, Devlin secured his horse to a tree and joined Barra and Midnight amongst the mounds. As he had expected, the wards he had placed had proven insufficient. They had, to the last, been broken. He knelt by the nearest mound and held his hand over it, fingers spread, palm down. Closing his eyes, Devlin felt the broken magic and the greater magic of the draugr or their puppet master. "Midnight," he said, not opening his eyes, still trying to feel, "what do you hear?"

  "It's muted," Midnight replied. "Faint, almost as though the sorcerer is distracted or putting his energies elsewhere. Perhaps we trouble him?"

  Devlin slowly opened his eyes. "I doubt we are so fortunate as to be that intimidating. My fear is that he is trying something new. You tore off their heads like they were made of paper, and that somehow took away his control and allowed me to burn them. I would imagine he is angry, at the very least."

  He stood up and brushed off his hands. "The wards were broken by an outside force, which means our puppet master must be close by, which begs the question: why would he go to such trouble to break these wards when there are countless corpses in the village graveyard that would be far more useful."

  Midnight's eyes glowed and flashed. "I smell old draugr here," he said. "Either the bodies recently bespelled were draugr before, or this place was used in the past and the bodies of those days were turned to draugr."

  "Places like this are steeped in blood and corpses," Barra said. "You cannot have history without them, and this place has more than its fair share of history, eh? Not to mention the dragons." His face darkened briefly at the word 'dragon'. "Must have been all manner of battles here with them about, eh?"

  Devlin nodded. "Quite. So this is hardly the first time the village has been plagued by draugr. Then again, most remote villages like this are troubled by such things at least once, oft times more. It would explain why the problem was brought to us so quickly. They recognized it straight off."

  "It may also explain why they are here again," Midnight said. "Where the dead walked once, they can walk twice."

  "Yes," Devlin said. "Much easier to do it a second time now that the path has been laid, so to speak. Are you certain there is no way to hear from where the siren song originates?"

  Midnight shook his head. "No, Heartbeat, I am sorry."

  "No need to apologize," Devlin said. "Obviously our singer knows his game."

  "I suppose it's too much to hope that only a very small number of persons in the world are capable of a siren song that only the dead can hear," Barra said with a sigh.

  Devlin snorted. "You can bet that if such a list existed, the writer and his efforts would have been dealt with straight away in decisive fashion. I certainly do not fancy my name being jotted down somewhere for all and sundry to see, especially if it lists my talents right alongside it."

  "Even if everyone knows what you do and are good at anyway," Midnight inserted dryly.

  "That is neither here nor there," Devlin said primly.

  "Of course not," Midnight retorted. "Whatever was I thinking?"

  "I'm certain I could not say."

  Midnight laughed, moving closer, tossing his head to flick the long tail of his hair over his shoulder. "Heartbeat, I—"

  As one they all stopped and turned in search of the source of the feeling that raked across their senses.

  "The song," Midnight said, holding his head and whimpering softly. "It's increased, the volume is near deafening, but it does not call me. It does not call any of the ordinary draugr. It's calling to something else… No, it's taunting something." He looked up, toward the hills.

  Devlin followed his gaze and saw the barest hint of movement. A flicker of something, almost like moonlight on water.

  He did not waste time trying to solve the puzzle from a distance, but bolted forward, running up the small hill as quickly as he was able with Midnight and Barra close on his heels.

  Pure, unadulterated shock nearly had him tumbling right back down the incline. "Bloody hell."

  "Indeed," Midnight said grimly as the long, sinuous neck of the dark blue dragon swiveled around so that two glowing blue eyes could focus upon them.

  Then it breathed black fire.

  Devlin shoved Barra as he moved, hitting the ground hard and rolling, barely keeping from tumbling right back down the hill they had just climbed.

  Barra twisted away, shifting as he went, and threw back his head to howl. Normally such a cry would bring pack to help; no werewolf, however, would ever answer the cry of a mongrel lone wolf. He wondered what Barra hoped to accomplish, but could not spare the attention or breath to ask as he once more was forced to flee from the black fire breath of the draugr dragon.

  "Who the hell would be crazy enough to wake a bloody dragon," Devlin demanded. "How did anyone wake it? Dragons only obey their knights."

  Midnight tried to get in close but jumped and turned into a raven at the last, unable to get past the teeth and tail and fire. He landed on the ground near Devlin and shifted back. "The song was not waking it, not the way it has all the others. It was taunting it, rather than controlling it. I think the dragon woke on its own, and the singer must have its lord. The dragon is attempting to reclaim its knight."

  "Damn it," Devlin said. He reached into his jacket for his runes, attempting to focus his thoughts, but the dragon was simply too fast. Striking seemingly without warning, it did not give him a chance to form a spell and cast his runes.

  Barra was on the opposite side. "Let me and Midnight distract it," he called. "Maybe that will give you a chance."

  Devlin nodded, not liking the plan—such as it was—but not seeing any other way. Shifting back, Barra threw himself toward the dragon, dodging out of the way just in time. As he withdrew, Midnight surged forward, a sleek and elegant shadow, mewling loudly to draw the dragon's attention.

  But the
dragon, it seemed, was no fool. Though he drove both back, he never quite took his attention from Devlin.

  Until something flashed, as brilliant as the moonlight, and a deafening roar echoed across the landscape. The flash of silver became a blur, and Devlin barely stumbled out of the way as the figure met the dead dragon head on.

  He had seen hundreds of fights in his lifetime, far too many of them fatal. None of them compared to the dark and deadly beauty of the fight before him now. The steel-colored dragon fought the dark blue one with ease, black fire meeting silver, tail clashing with tail—then the steel dragon's teeth sank into the neck of the dead one, and a horrific screech filled the air.

  Devlin clapped his hands over his ears, recoiling from the sound. He reached for his runes to put the affair to an end once and for all when the dead dragon suddenly broke free and attacked the silver with renewed fervor.

  It swung around wildly as the silver dragon dodged its teeth, massive tail arcing out—and headed straight for Barra, who did not see it until too late.

  A blur of movement, a startled cry, and suddenly Barra was no longer on the hill.

  The silver dragon moved, once more sinking his teeth into the dead one, this time holding on for dear life.

  Devlin formed the spell in his mind and cast three runes. Dark witchfire erupted, consuming the dead dragon.

  The living dragon did not let go, but held fast to the dragon's throat.

  "Will it be all right?" Midnight asked. "It needs to let go, or it will be burned."

  If the living dragon was bothered by the flames, however, it gave no indication. Instead, it remained there and resolutely held on until the flames shifted in color, then it simply dropped the dead dragon and slunk from the fire.

  Its eyes shimmered rich amber as it stalked toward Midnight, growling deep and low.

  Devlin stepped in front of Midnight. "Back off, dragon."

  The dragon gave a series of sharp, chittering barks and simply moved to circle around.

  "Enough, Troyes!" The voice was faint but audible.