by Judith Post
Brom's dark eyes blazed with questions, but he nodded. They led Thurstan to a room with no windows that Christian used to keep records. There was a narrow cot against a wall for days when Jarman had to hide from the sun before returning home. A heavy, oak door could be closed and bolted against unwanted visitors.
"It's not much," Christian said. "You'll eat with us in the Great Hall, but if you look on those shelves…" He pointed to a far wall. "…those are books for entertainment, not records. You're welcome to read any that take your fancy." Many were books on magic, but Thurstan could search among the tomes for others.
They left Thurstan and went to the Great Hall to the heavy, double doors that led outside. People were milling about by now, some eating black bread at the long, meeting table, some readying to go outdoors for the day. Brom and Christian pulled on thick, wool cloaks and strode into the courtyard.
As they crossed the cobblestones, Christian said, "We got off the subject of a monster, poaching in our forests. Our minstrel's lucky he travels only by day, or he might not have arrived at my castle."
Brom looked up at the rampart where Lothar waited, his neck stretched forward for the guards to stroke him. "If something entered my wood, the dragons should have noticed. Yet they didn't."
"But something took large prey in that forest, yes?"
"Yes." Brom narrowed his eyes. "More than once. Which means something could smell their magic and avoid them, even though it might not have recognized the scent as dragons."
Christian leaned against the stone wall, considering what that meant. "Mortals don't smell magic. Neither do large beasts."
"True."
"So the monster has some kind of magic of its own."
"Enough to smell the vampires too." Brom spread his feet, taking his fighting stance without thinking.
"I'm guessing it didn't know their scent either," Christian said, "or why risk that wood when there are others?" He glanced at the gray clouds overhead. "It's been a bitter winter. It's possible the thing is simply hungry, looking for food."
"But why come here, to our serfdoms?"
"Maybe it was driven out of its usual hunting grounds."
Brom scowled. "By what?"
Christian sighed. Good question. What could make a monster run? "I'm going to walk outside the walls for a while. The thing's large enough, we should be able to find a footprint."
"Or pawprint," Brom said, falling into step beside him.
Christian whistled, and a large hound came bounding from the stables. It was his stable master's dog, but he brought it treats each time he went for his horse. The dog had become fond of him. Christian bent to scratch it behind its ears. "When we return, I'll raid Cook's kitchen. We'll find you a snack."
The dog had heard those words before, understood them, and it, too, fell in beside Brom and Christian. The guard opened the outside gates for them, and they started out for Jarman's woods. An inch of snow blanketed the ground. It crunched underfoot. The only tracks they saw were their own. They were halfway to the forest when the dog raised its head to sniff the air.
"Show us," Christian said, and the dog took off. Christian and Brom ran to keep track of it. A few yards away, near a stream, they found the hound circling a deer carcass. The deer must have come to drink, and the thing took it down when it lowered its head to the water.
Christian went to the muddy earth of the banks, stared, and inhaled a sharp breath. Brom came to see. Four paw prints—very similar to the hound's they'd brought, but ten times as large and spaced far apart from each other—clearly showed in the black dirt. The spacing made Christian think the beast had a massive body.
"What do you think made these?" Christian asked.
Brom shook his head. "Damned if I know, but it's going to put up one hell of a fight when we find it."
Christian pointed at the prints in the distance. As the beast left its kill, it stood to walk on two legs, not four. "What do you make of that?"
"A giant bear? An animal that can balance on two legs as well as four?"
They tracked it until its prints grew smaller and smaller and led to the footpath that connected their two lands. There, they blended with too many others.
Christian turned back toward the castle.
"Odd," Brom said. "It dwells in one of our villages. A guard dog that someone's bewitched?"
"For what purpose?" True, the beast would offer unexpected protection, but who could it feed it enough to satisfy its appetites? Maybe a magic spell gone wrong? Christian looked at the hound by his side as they entered the courtyard. Its tail waved when they neared the smoke house.
True to his word, he cut a chunk of meat from a ham hanging in the larder and gave it to the dog. The hound trotted back to its master.
Brom paced outdoors. "It's a new moon tonight—no light. I say we warn our people to stay inside and delay the hunt until the moon waxes."
Christian nodded. "Jarman and his pack can see in total darkness, but we'd be stumbling around. The thing could be on us before we saw it."
With a quick nod, Brom whistled for Lothar, and the dragon landed beside them. It lowered its head and nuzzled Christian's jaw. For a cold-blooded reptile, Lothar was extremely affectionate. Christian rubbed its scaly forehead, and a puff of contented smoke huffed into the air.
"Lothar likes you," Brom stated.
"Now." Christian smiled at the memory. "When we first met, he tried to toast me."
"You can't hold that against him. It's instinct." Once on Lothar's back, Brom called, "I'll see you at eight!'
Christian watched them sail away before heading back inside. He ended up in the kitchen, discussing the paw prints they'd found with Brina, Cook, and his mother.
Cook frowned. "Giant wolves used to roam these lands, according to legends, until mages drove them out."
Christian's father was a mage. His mother was a clairvoyant and healer. She'd forced so much healing power into him when he caught the fever as a boy that it melded with his natural gifts to give him fire magic.
"If a giant wolf attacked me, would my fire magic drive it away?"
"If it didn’t chomp you before you burst into flames," Brina said. "Which is why you're not going out to find it unless we go with you."
"You!" Christian shook his head. "Your magic is powerful, but it does nothing to protect you."
Brina could drain life energy from others or restore it, and her magic, combined with his, somehow created ice, but none of those skills would ward away wolves.
"I'll be with her." Cook's hands went to her hips. "So will our coven."
Christian sighed. "Brom and I won't do anything until the moon gives off more light. This beast knows scents and will keep downwind from us if it stalks us."
Brina raised an eyebrow. His witch was beautiful when she was angry with him.
He hurried to say, "Brom will be at my side with Lothar. What wolf would dare a dragon?"
Cook frowned, unswayed.
Lady Enid, as usual, proved the voice of reason. "The hunt has to wait. Tonight, we have guests coming for dinner. We have things to prepare."
Christian could take a hint. Grateful for the chance to escape, he hurried from the room.
He found Thurstan crouched near a brazier of coals in the hallway that led to his study, where he used the light from a torch to read by. Christian glanced at the title of the book he read. MAGICAL CREATURES.
When Thurstan heard Christian's footsteps, he looked up and gave a sheepish smile. "Fascinating tales. They'd make great stories for songs." A scroll spilled open on the floor beside him, where Thurstan had dashed lines and lyrics. "This land is going to inspire me, I can tell."
"I'm glad to hear that. Have you found everything you need? Will this room suit you?"
The scribe smiled. His hazel eyes glowed in the torchlight, almost as though lit from within. "I often sleep in stalls or cellars, next to beer kegs. You're treating me like royalty. I have no complaints."
"What? No gat
ehouses?"
Thurstan laughed. "More great stories. Every guard has a tale to tell."
Christian's instinct was to like this man, but he'd learned from experience that coincidences were few and far between. He studied him more closely. Were the gold flecks in his eyes because of something other than shades of hazel? "I don't suppose you found any stories of giant hounds in there, did you?" He nodded toward the leather-bound book.
Thurstan flipped through its pages. "What type would you like? The three-headed dog, Ceres? Hecate's hell hounds? The Norse dog, Garm? You'll have to be more specific."
"Hmm, that many to choose from, eh?"
Thurstan handed the book up to him. "If you're a believer."
"Some huge beast is hunting in our lands. Brom and I just found a carcass that it fed from."
Thurstan rose to stand beside him. "In that case, you're talking reality, not tall tales."
"You've traveled far. I'm sure you've seen strange sights."
Thurstan shook his head. "Nothing that compares with your lands. I can't wait to create songs about you."
"Me?" Christian frowned. "I'd rather knights didn't ride here to challenge us. They brag of ridding this land of dragons, sometimes only to prove how brave they are. You'd do us a favor by implying your songs sprang from your creativity, not from actual events."
"I understand. I swear it will be so."
Christian, for no reason he could think of, believed him. He clapped Thurstan on the back and said, "Come. Let me show you the latest records I've kept. See if you'd enjoy such a job while you're here. It's not a full time responsibility. You'll still have ample time to write and sing."
They went to the table in the records room and spent the next hour, going over figures. Christian was satisfied to see that Thurstan enjoyed business as much as songwriting. If he could convince him to stay, he'd have a perfect combination of steward and minstrel.
* * *
By eight that evening, Christian and Brina had dressed in finer clothes to take their place at the raised, massive table in the Great Hall. Christian gazed at the girdle cinching Brina's tunic, showing her curvy figure to full advantage. A veil covered her lush, golden hair. He swallowed a burst of pride. She refused some of the finery he'd gladly provide for her, insisting it made her feel gaudy, but no one could be more beautiful in his eyes.
People flowed into the room, not a full-fledged feast, more of a celebration, and he watched them take their places at the lower tables. Each table denoted a certain station in life, but he knew each and every person in his villages. Voices stilled when Brom led Ignisia to the head table to join them. Eyes followed Ignisia's form-fitting, crimson, silk sheath with its high slit. Brom's exotic bride shocked some, enthralled others, but everyone rejoiced that she'd married and settled here rather than battling them.
Conversation flowed again until Jarman entered with two witches on his arms. The vampire wore elegant, black clothing, and the witches were donned in their best peasant gowns. Scowls of disapproval puckered the brows of the occupants at the closest table. The lords and ladies tolerated Jarman and his pack. After all, without their help, the vampire army might have defeated their serfdom. But they'd condone a vampire before they rubbed elbows with peasants, so they weren't happy when Jarman led his guests to Christian's table.
Jarman, as usual, paid them no heed. Smiling broadly enough to show his fangs, he settled his companions in their seats. Christian greeted them with a nod, inwardly amused. Jarman's fangs were a reminder for everyone to treat his guests civilly.
Lady Enid leaned forward to see Thurstan better. "You've met Jarman. Dear friend, would you care to introduce your guests?"
Jarman's emerald eyes sparkled as he said, "This is my fair Emma, and beside her, her sister, Isolda. And, dear ladies, my friend, Christian, lord of these lands, and his wife, Brina." He went on to introduce the others at the table.
Emma, Christian noticed, wasn't as attractive as he'd expected. Most vampires rated physical appearances highly, but the girl, though lacking in beauty, had a confident air that he found alluring. Her sister was even plainer with mousey-brown hair pulled back in a bun, but her vivid, blue eyes more than made up for it. He'd never seen eyes like hers, though she rarely met his gaze. Obviously shy, Isolda kept her head bent downward unless spoken to.
Servants entered, carrying slabs of venison and rows of succulent fowl. The tables filled with food and drink. Voices rose and fell, as people enjoyed a rare treat in February. Ignisia placed her hand over Brom's when she finished eating, her thumb caressing his skin. The exotic beauty had few inhibitions that Christian noticed. Thurstan stood and moved into the center of the room to begin singing a song of a long ago kingdom.
It was a good way for Thurstan to introduce himself. Lords and ladies, guards and servants, were entertained by his story. It was almost as though the scribe were a different person when he sang, no longer the quiet, restless poet they'd first met.
Isolda's gaze never left the minstrel as he paced and sang. Clearly, she was mesmerized. Jarman caught Christian's attention and smiled. By the end of the evening, Jarman looked entirely too smug and satisfied, because Thurstan's gaze kept returning to Isolda's. The attraction seemed to be mutual.
At the close of his song, Thurstan returned to their table to drink from his tankard.
"Well done!" Brom praised. "Our serfdoms might be small, but you've provided us the entertainment of kings."
Ignisia tilted her head, considering the minstrel. "There's a mystery to you—in your movements and voice. Most of us feel out of place in the mortal world, but we're comfortable in these lands. I hope you find that true, also."
A flush reddened Thurstan's cheeks at her compliment. He looked surprised, and worried, but gave a quick nod.
Ignisia patted Brom's hand. "It's late. We need to return to our castle."
"You're not spending the night?" Lady Enid inquired.
"No need. Our dragons will get us home quickly and safely." She rose, and Brom followed suit.
It was a signal to the others. People began drifting away. Tables were cleared, and several guests spread their cloaks on the empty, wooden surfaces to use them as beds.
Christian and his party stood, too. Jarman offered an arm to each of the sisters. "It's time I take you home. Your village is close, but you'll be missed if you don't wake at your usual time in the morning."
A grim reminder. Christian frowned. He turned to the two women. "I'd gladly offer to buy both of you from your lord, so that you can live safely in my lands." The words tasted foul in his mouth. He didn't often think of people as property, but that's exactly what serfs were, and he knew the lord who ruled the sisters. Careless and self-indulgent, he'd think little more of them than cattle.
Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise. "And why would you do that, my lord?"
"Jarman worries about your safety. Magic's welcomed here."
Isolda shook her head. "Our lord would become suspicious. He'd punish us just to provoke you."
"Not if I need a weaver, and he needs coins—which I've heard he does." Christian looked at Isolda. "Jarman swears you're the best spinner in the country."
She blushed and ducked her head.
Emma raised a brow, considering his words. "Rumor in our land is that you can't entice craftsmen here, that no one wants to live with the odd friends you make."
Christian smiled. "I find what I need, but your skills would be welcome."
"What would you expect of me?" Emma gave an eloquent shrug. "I'm the older of us. I ran my father's household until he died. I have no special skills."
Brina came to stand beside Christian. She wove her arm through her husband's. "Christian would never break up a family. If he buys Isolda, he buys you. It's that simple."
Emma looked at Jarman, a sparkle in her eyes. "A worthy plan if you put it into motion."
"I'll ride to Gilbert's castle in a month's time," Christian promised. "He's in town now, isn't he?"
Christian walked them to the door. He was in a jubilant mood, feeling hopeful for the two sisters Jarman was so fond of, and satisfied with his new scribe and minstrel. No one had to leave the walls to return home, except guests who could fly. If the beast prowled outside his walls, it would only find game to prey on.
Brina grinned at his smug look. "I'd say our evening was successful."
"The whole day was better than usual," he told her.
A flash of concern flitted over Lady Enid's face.
"Mother?" he asked.
Lady Enid sighed. "I don't wish to dampen your mood."
"But?" His mother could see things others didn't.
"I read my cards before dinner this evening. Your cares won't go away quite that easily."
He braced himself. His mother's cards had yet to be wrong. "Is there already a set outcome?"
"That's not the nature of fortune-telling," she answered. "It shows the journey, not the results."
"So I might prevail?"
"If you heed the cards' warning and time things properly."
Christian nodded. "I've learned from experience. I'll do as you tell me."
She laughed. "You never have, naughty boy, but you do listen to the signs. I'll do a thorough reading tomorrow."
Thurstan looked from one of them to the other. "Is there no magic your kingdom doesn't practice?"
"Let's hope not." Brina started to the stairs that led to the turret. Lady Enid accompanied her. "Magic has proved a useful weapon, but I'm off to bed." She tossed Christian a meaningful look. "Will you join me soon?"
He gave a quick nod. His Brina might not be as open as Brom's Ignisia, but she was every bit as passionate. "Nothing will keep me away."
When the ladies left them, Christian turned to Thurstan. "I enjoyed your music this evening. I hope you feel welcome here."
Thurstan stared. "You have no idea how unusual you are."
Christian laughed. "If I cared about that, it would ruin me. Sleep well tonight, my friend. I'll see you in the morning. Merchants are coming. We'll need sharp minds for business."