Midnight

by Megan Derr

  Troyes snarled angrily. "No attack. Would protect!"

  "I'm sorry," Barra said, recoiling as though struck. "I intended no insult, truly."

  "Troyes," Neirin said quietly but with an edge.

  "Sorry, wolf-elf," Troyes said and reached out to ruffle Barra's hair.

  Neirin smiled tiredly. "We had an even longer night than I had feared," he said. "Please, I am fine. Only a bit sore. It will ease as the day wears on."

  Barra only shook his head. "I smell blood. You are far from fine."

  "I said leave it," Neirin said firmly.

  "If you insist," Barra said quietly.

  Neirin sighed. "Come, the graveyard is not too far from here, but it will still take us some time to reach it."

  "Would you care to make use of my horse?" Devlin asked, ignoring the resentful glare Neirin cast him. "If you move as slowly the whole day as you have so far, we will fall prey to further draugr, and in your state—whatever that state is—that would not end well, no matter how strong your dragon may be."

  "You do not know my dragon," Neirin retorted. Then he grimaced. "But I concede your point, rune master. I will accept your offer. Troyes, if you will assist me?"

  Troyes rumbled in discontent but moved to obey. The care and almost tenderness he displayed helping Neirin up made Devlin look away.

  He was not feeling guilty.

  Not since Midnight was the one who apparently went off kissing people when Devlin had always believed he was simply going to the bookstore.

  "If you are done trying to set the ground afire with the power of your glare," Neirin broke in, amusement plain in his voice, "perhaps we should be on our way?"

  "Perhaps you should be silent and start moving," Devlin snapped.

  Barra rolled his eyes. "Do not mind His Grace. He and Master Midnight had a bit of a tiff last night. He's still a tad out of sorts. Nothing an apology won't fix."

  Devlin ignored him. "If you are not going to proceed, I will be more than happy to simply find it myself."

  "Must be quite the apology owed," Neirin murmured, nudging the horse into motion before Devlin could deliver a scathing retort.

  "What in the bloody hell is the point of being an eleventh duke if no one is going to show proper deference," Devlin groused as he trudged after them.

  He did not owe an apology. Midnight was the one who had betrayed him. Played and teased and flirted, and all the while he was getting his kisses elsewhere. Why then press Devlin time and again? Obviously he was not needed for such things.

  His stomach roiled, reminding him he'd had naught more than brandy since storming from his room. He had returned only when the sun was well up and he knew Midnight would be sound asleep.

  As always, Midnight had been enchanting in sleep. The urge to go to him, wake him, to coax out a familiar smile had been almost more than Devlin could resist.

  Then he had imagined Midnight kissing someone else, some unworthy stranger, and he'd lost the desire to do anything but go and find more brandy.

  He shivered, but couldn't tell if it was from the cold inside or out.

  Shoving away his thoughts as best he could, he focused on present circumstances. They had left the fields and foothills well behind and were into the mountains proper, though far from the higher, more difficult slopes.

  "So how do the knights and dragons bury their own?" he asked, moving close enough to rest his hand against his horse's neck. She nickered at him, perhaps the only one at present who was neither angry at him nor in the mood to mock him.

  "In stone," Neirin replied. "Knight and dragon together, in death as in life."

  From the opposite side of the horse, Troyes growled low.

  Devlin said nothing, merely sunk back into his gloomy thoughts. Why was he so upset? It made no sense. He had always been ashamed of not letting Midnight out to explore more, of always keeping Midnight close.

  Obviously he had been feeling guilty for no reason. Indeed, it would seem he'd been too trusting.

  Or at least too naïve.

  The sound of growling distracted him, and he looked up to see that Troyes had shifted to his dragon form and was now prowling several paces ahead. He was somewhere between a feral cat and a great snake. Devlin could see why they were called living weapons.

  Mostly from genuine curiosity, but also to distract himself, he asked, "So how do knights and dragons pair off? Is there some special rite to it? Simply go to tea and see if you get on?"

  Neirin gave a snort that sounded suspiciously like laughter. "Go to tea, indeed. Dragons choose their knights a few months or so after birth, once they are able to stumble about on their own."

  "What makes a knight suitable?" Devlin asked. "A certain degree of arrogance?"

  "In a manner of speaking, yes, actually," Neirin said. "Are you asking merely to make mockery?"

  Devlin shook his head. "No. Dragons are a mystery even to nightwalkers. I never thought to see one, let alone spend an extended length of time with one. It is fascinating."

  "It's also distracting, I would wager," Barra said.

  "Do be quiet," Devlin retorted.

  Barra merely snickered.

  Neirin shook his head, but wisely did not laugh. "No man should own a weapon he cannot properly wield. Dragons obey only their knights, and they choose as knights only those who hold no fear of them. Every living person fears dragons on some level because that is what they are made to inspire. Only the holiest of kings and his knights are perfectly without fear of dragons, and so we are their Owners."

  "The swords get to choose, hmm?" Devlin said aloud. "That is vastly intriguing. Will you have to kill me, now that I know your secrets?"

  "A knight once betrayed us," Neirin said. "He took the secrets of the dragons to those who should not know them. To betray the clans almost certainly means death."

  Devlin said nothing.

  "Why would you tell us, then?" Barra demanded. "It is foolish to risk your life and Troyes simply for the sake of conversation."

  Neirin shrugged. "One cannot expect trust if he is not willing to give it. As I said last night, I am forging a new path." His gaze lingered on Barra, who only looked away.

  Devlin thought he caught a hint of a flush though, and would have smiled, except seeing one of his oldest friends dance carefully around an infatuation for an arrogant knight reminded him all too well of his own woes.

  His fingers twitched, seeking out the space over his heart, but Devlin fought the impulse.

  A day or so and all would go back to the way it was. He simply had to be patient.

  Except, he thought bitterly, matters would never be what they had been. Whenever Midnight smiled in his fond and gentle way, Devlin would wonder who else received those smiles. Who else heard Midnight's easy laughter?

  Who had tasted him, and felt him, and known him as Devlin never would?

  Bloody hell!

  Midnight was his, god damn it all. Why had someone else—but he had always wanted—

  Heaving a sigh, he rubbed at his aching temples and wished he had thought to bring a flask of brandy.

  Instead he rubbed his temples again and tried to clear his mind. He did it only through sheer force of will and years upon years of practice. One who could not clear his mind could not be a rune master.

  When his mind was clear, he focused only on thoughts of Midnight, himself, the turmoil into which he had found himself cast. Though he dare not close his eyes while walking up a mountain, he did block out all outside distractions before reaching into his jacket.

  Three runes came to his hand, warm to the touch.

  He pulled them out, then stared at them in silence. Their basic meanings were clear enough. Runes had various meanings, but part of being a rune master was knowing what each meant according to the situation. That was seldom as easy as it sounded, but these three were easy enough with present circumstances being what they were.

  Dark.

  Love.

  Lie.

  Dark wa
s Midnight. Love and lie were simple enough. It was the collective meaning that eluded him and stirred a deep and twisting ache in his chest.

  His love for Midnight was a lie? Midnight's for his? Were they only confirming that Midnight was a liar?

  Regretting calling upon the runes when he clearly was not stable enough to handle their truths, he returned two, kissed the last, and returned it as well.

  He kicked at a stone, then another when the first did not make a suitable racket.

  "Is he always like this when he is in trouble?"

  "Only when he is in trouble with Midnight," Barra replied. "He raised Midnight from childhood."

  "Ah," Neirin said, and his smile this time was sympathetic. "No one knows your weaknesses better than someone who has known you for so long. He is certainly intriguing, your draugr. I can only imagine the magic that must have gone into his making."

  Devlin nodded but said nothing, not trusting himself to speak of Midnight.

  "We seldom encounter magic in the clans, and I can see his making is great magic indeed. However, I sense that, like the dragons, it is better that as few know his secrets as possible."

  "Yes," Devlin replied. "I shudder to think what many would do if they thought death could be overcome in such fashion."

  The possible repercussions of his actions in regards to Midnight had not struck him until too late—not that knowing them sooner would have stopped him.

  Many nightwalkers were long lived—vampires, imps, pixies, to name a few. A very small number were truly immortal—demons and kitsune the most infamous of that lot. Several of the nightwalkers with more typically human lifespans envied the longer-lived races, and Devlin did not want to know what some of them might do if they were to obtain the secrets of Midnight's making.

  "There it is," Neirin said suddenly, lifting a hand to point.

  Devlin followed the direction he indicated and saw what looked like the opening to a cave. Normal, save for the fact that the rock had been carved with runes and other markings unfamiliar to him, forming columns and an archway.

  "Here do knights and noble blades find eternal rest and reward," Neirin recited. "The phrase is actually a good deal more complicated, but that is the essential message. Troyes."

  Immediately Troyes shifted and moved to help him down from the horse.

  Devlin noticed that blood stained the back of his jacket in patches.

  You cannot possibly begin to understand the full consequences of my actions.

  What, Devlin wondered, would be the penalty for showing outsiders the graveyard?

  "You shouldn't be doing this," Barra said, clearly sharing Devlin's line of thought.

  Neirin ignored him and simply stood leaning against Troyes for a few moments. Eventually he pushed away, standing up straight with what was obviously serious effort, and slowly moved toward the entrance to the graveyard.

  Devlin rested his hand briefly on Barra's shoulder, doing what he could to soothe his worried friend.

  Then he simply did what they had come here to do.

  "I sense draugr were here," he said after a moment, moving to join Neirin at the entrance. "Likely traces of the one we destroyed last night, possibly more, but I simply cannot tell for certain." He wished Midnight were here; he would be so much better at sensing and tracking the draugr.

  But they dare not explore a dragon graveyard in the dark, and Midnight would just spend the whole of it ignoring him anyway.

  He hated when Midnight ignored him.

  "Perhaps we will obtain more clues once in—"

  Neirin's words were drowned out by Troyes's sudden growls as he shifted back to his dragon form. His tail lashed back and forth, legs splaying, bracing himself as though to strike.

  "What is it?" Neirin asked.

  The dragon gave a series of sharp, low barks. Neirin paled.

  "Whatever is the matter?" Devlin asked.

  "You have to go," Neirin said. "Now! I thought we would be—I guess they had me followed after—" He shook his head. "You have to go. I cannot promise they will let you live if they find you here. Please!"

  Barra did not move. "We cannot just leave you."

  "Yes, you can," Neirin insisted. "You must. Please, I am sorry. I thought I could show you without any danger, for no one comes here."

  Troyes growled, tail beginning to strike the underbrush with real fury now.

  "Go! Please, for me, go," Neirin said, staring hard at Barra.

  "Fine," Barra said, clearly wanting to do no such thing.

  Devlin did not waste time arguing, merely mounted his horse and turned it around. "Barra, we go. As fast as we can."

  "Do not stop until you are well clear of the mountain," Neirin said, then turned his back to them and motioned to Troyes, who lunged off into the woods, to be followed more slowly by Neirin.

  "Barra!" Devlin snapped. "We do him more harm than good by remaining."

  Tearing his eyes away from the forms that had vanished into the trees, Barra gave a stiff nod and shifted to his wolf form. Whining briefly, he then lunged off, racing quickly ahead, leaving Devlin to catch up.

  The sounds of growling and crashing in the underbrush urged them on, but the attack Devlin feared never came.

  By the time they reached safety, he was exhausted simply from the tension. His dismount was more of a fall, but he managed to remain on his feet.

  Barra immediately shifted back. "What will they do to him, Your Grace?" he asked, eyes dark with worry and fear. "They've already whipped him—I don't need a wolf's senses to know that much."

  "No," Devlin agreed. "That was plain enough to even the most oblivious of normal folk. I do not know, Barra. He is pretentious and obnoxious and entirely too arrogant, but no man deserves to be whipped. I do not know what else he may face. We will see him again, though, I will stake my life on it."

  Once again he found himself wishing Midnight were about; Midnight always knew what to say or do, especially with situations such as this.

  "Come on," he said when Barra only continued to stand about, staring at the mountains looking miserable and lost. "Let us see what else we may accomplish, and then you can harangue me for angering Midnight until your aggravating knight shows up again. No doubt he will appear properly suffering and chivalrous."

  Barra smiled weakly and at last gave a nod. "Aye, Your Grace. Speaking of, you'd best apologize to Midnight before he gets any further depressed. I don't know what the two of you argued about, but I know it's got him bloody despondent."

  Devlin sighed and said nothing, merely mounted his horse again and led the way back to their lodgings.

  Angel

  He had abandoned his rooms with the approach of sunset, still unable to speak to or even look at Midnight. Barra had frowned at him in disapproval and tried to make him stay, but Devlin had resisted.

  Did Barra know Midnight had taken lovers? Was Devlin the only fool in the household not to realize? Had they sensed he would be displeased and pitied him, avoided telling him?

  Was he making any sense, even to himself?

  No, he was not. Devlin kicked irritably at debris in the streets as he walked. The sun had set over two hours ago, by his pocket watch. The moon was waning slowly away to nothing. He hoped they finished before they reached a moonless night—full moon held power, but so did the darkest of nights.

  Would Midnight come find him?

  Remembering the stricken look on his face the previous night, when Devlin had told him to cease using 'Heartbeat'…

  No, Midnight would not come find him. At some point, he would have to go to Midnight.

  And apologize, damn it all, as much as the idea still chafed. Midnight had a right to lovers, even if the thought left Devlin feeling like someone had carved a hole in his chest. He, on the other hand, should not have been so cruel.

  If they were back in the city, would Midnight have run off to his lover for comfort?

  Devlin suddenly wanted badly to throw something. Or break something. An
y manner of violence would suit, really. When he thought about someone else seeing and touching the runes he had placed on that body—

  Violence was not nearly sufficient. He wanted to bypass violence and go straight on to murder.

  Draugr, he told himself furiously. He should be focusing on the other draugr. The ones that were a problem to everyone, not the one that was merely a personal heartache.

  What did they know so far?

  Very little, that was the dismal truth. A powerful magic user was using a siren song to make and control draugr. His spells were strong enough to manipulate even dragon corpses.

  Yet even between Devlin and Midnight's considerable skills, they could not sense so much as a trace of the magic user, merely the traces of his draugr. It would have to be a sorcerer or necromancer at the very least, and Devlin should be more than capable of sensing them.

  He could not. So far as he could tell, he was the only magic user in the entire damned area. Only the draugr were proof that anything was happening.

  The complete lack of clues had him deeply worried. His knowledge of the nightwalker world was vast—it was the reason he served as a sort of inquirer into such affairs on behalf of Lord Tamor.

  He had not even sensed the siren song, and he should have been able to sense spellwork. If Midnight had not defied him, likely he would even now be ignorant of the song.

  It was still quite possible, no matter what Neirin said, that the culprit was hiding somewhere in the dragon lands. If he was good enough to elude the dragons, then he was definitely capable of slipping past Devlin, though it pained him to admit it.

  Perhaps it was time to cast his runes on the matter. He did not like to use them for such broad, uncertain questions, but he was swiftly running out of options.

  Of course, he acknowledged sourly, he could go apologize to Midnight. Then Midnight and Barra would resume helping him. They could go on working together as though all was as it had been…

  And then Midnight could go off when they returned home and play with his damnable lover.

  Snarling, Devlin turned sharply down a small street, headed as far as he could possibly get away from his lodging, the village, anywhere Midnight had been or might go.