Dragons and Mages: A Limited Edition Anthology

by Pauline Creeden

  “What could it have been searching for at an inn?”

  At least Jack didn’t scoff at her idea that the dragon was after something. She surveyed the damaged inn, thinking back to the first report she’d heard of the dragon’s attack.

  “Jack, when that guard came to give the news to the King of Glinnia that Searl had been razed, do you remember what he said about the village witch?”

  The boy screwed up his face, trying to think back. She would be impressed if he remembered that bit of detail. So much other excitement had been happening since then.

  “He said everyone was saved because the village hedge which had warned them of the coming danger.”

  Samara nodded. Clever boy. Perhaps her father’s kingdom would be safe in his hands after all.

  “Now, I do not wish to question the power of hedge witches, Jack, but dragons, by nature, have a silent approach before a kill. They are difficult to detect until they are almost upon us. Yet, both here and at Searl, that dragon gave away its presence and waited for people to leave before attacking.”

  “Why?” Jack asked. “That makes little sense.”

  “True,” she said. “If we could but talk to it, now that might shed some light on this mystery.”

  “Is that possible?” Jack asked. “Can someone talk to a dragon?”

  “My mother could,” she said. “I do not know how, so I cannot teach you that trick.”

  She dug inside her kirtle and pulled out what she’d carried with a heavy heart. Her pain now grew lighter as she handed the item to Jack.

  “A toy king’s scepter,” the boy said, smiling. “For me?”

  “A queen’s scepter,” Samara corrected, her throat squeezing tight with emotion, as clarity finally dawned. This was the role she was meant to play in this life. To pass on her mother’s precious gift to this blessed boy. Blinking to clear her misty sight, she grabbed a fistful of dirt. Her hand came away with a mixture of dark Glinnia soil mixed with ash from the dragon’s fire.

  How fitting.

  With a twirl of her left hand, Samara fashioned a golden chain that linked with the scepter. She then attached the cord around Jack’s neck. “I want you to keep this with you always. It belonged to my mother. If that dragon comes back, it just might guide you on what to do to stay safe.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said and tucked it into his tunic. “I promise to never take it off.”

  She nodded, satisfied, and stood. Every bone and muscle of her body ached. She held out her hand to the child. “Come, let’s gather everyone and head back to that cave. We need to rest for there is still have a long way to go to reach Bernada and my father’s castle.”

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, Sir Hugh’s squire rode off on his master’s horse with news of the dragon’s attack back to the King of Glinnia.

  “I think we should leave,” Samara said with a frown. “In case that dragon returns here.”

  “You’re not still thinking it’s looking for something?” Sir Hugh said, with a roll of his eyes. “Since it didn’t return last night, it’s probably gone off to find an easier kill.”

  He sounded cranky, and Samara put his bad mood to the fact that last night she’d arranged for the innkeeper, his wife, and Jack to bed down between her and Sir Hugh.

  She hid her smile and said, “I still believe we’re no longer safe here. We should continue on our journey.”

  “I hope you’re not thinking of taking my horses,” the innkeeper said. “I’ll need them all to lug logs to help us rebuild the inn.”

  “By horse or by foot, we should leave as soon as we can,” Samara said, not at all put off by the thought of entering her father’s kingdom as ignominiously as she left it.

  Sir Hugh appeared less pleased by the prospect.

  At her insistence, with a longsuffering sigh, he agreed they could set off within the hour by foot. Without his manservant’s help, wearing armor would be cumbersome. Reluctantly, he left most of his gear with the innkeeper, with a stern order that the items were to be safeguarded. He did wear his chainmaille over his tunic and leggings and carried his sword and helmet.

  As he strapped his sheathed sword onto his back, Samara’s head swung around in surprise. Those colorful ribbons normally tied to the hilt were missing. She frowned. Had he lost his trophies in the fire or squirreled them away for safe keeping? Neither possibility pleased her. She would have been happier if he’d burned them.

  Then again, they had served as a good reminder that this man was incapable of being faithful to one woman. In the absence of that annoying cue, she would have to safeguard herself against his charms without that colorful prompt.

  The innkeeper’s wife baked them a fresh loaf of bread to take on the journey, along with fetching some cheese that looked only slightly charred.

  At the promised hour, the three of them began their trek to the Sorcerers’ Kingdom.

  “Two days’ walk at most,” she said with encouragement.

  “You said it would be at least a day by horseback,” Sir Hugh said. “So, how could we get there so quickly on foot?”

  “You ask too many questions, Sir Hugh,” Samara said and stepped up her pace.

  “She’s probably going to cast a spell to speed us along,” Jack whispered to the knight.

  “Then why doesn’t she just whisk us right up to her father’s doorstep?” he asked.

  Samara ignored them and kept walking. Little spells took little effort. A big one like transporting the three of them to her home would land her there as weak as a newborn kitten, unable to lift her head to say, “Papa, I’m back.”

  She might have come around to her father’s way of thinking about the boy, but Samara still had some pride left. If she must lose, she would do so on her terms.

  By late afternoon, when their route took them by a lake, Samara called a halt. They were on the outskirts of her father’s castle, well able to reach it before nightfall.

  “We should wash here in order to make ourselves presentable before the king,” she said, wrinkling her nose at man and boy.

  “Why?” Jack asked.

  “I’m not dirty,” Sir Hugh protested. “I changed before we left.”

  “The scorched scent of us fighting that fire still lingers on our bodies, hair, and clothes,” Samara explained in a reasonable tone. “We cannot arrive before my father while we are both filthy and stinky.”

  The knight and boy looked at each other and down at their clothes.

  Samara pointed imperiously toward the lake. “Wash!”

  Sir Hugh drew the boy aside to whisper something to him.

  She frowned when Jack giggled, uneasiness creeping up her back. “What about the word ‘wash’ needs a translation?”

  They both shook, wrapping hands around each other’s right forearms in the manner of a man-to-man agreement and then, together, they turned to present her a united front.

  “Since you’re the one who wants us to look fit and proper for presentation,” Sir Hugh said, “we believe it should be you who cleans our clothes.”

  The challenge in his blue eyes was unmistakable. The man was provoking her for sport.

  “I’m no more a washer woman,” she said through clenched teeth, “than a witch. Take care where you tread, sir.”

  Jack started to strip off his tunic.

  They couldn’t possibly be serious about this. She was a princess, and they expected her to wash their clothes?

  Sir Hugh’s chainmaille dropped to the ground with an alarming clatter.

  His tunic followed. When he began to strip down his hose, Samara, open-mouthed, barely swung around before the man was as completely naked as Jack already was and heading for the water.

  Only when she heard the second splash did she glance around. There, on the ground, lay a pile of dirty tunics and hoses. Next to Sir Hugh’s tunic, lay the tied-up ribbons of his court ladies. Samara’s ears burned at sight of that colorful display. So, he hadn’t disposed of them at all. She w
anted to stuff those ribbons down his lecherous throat.

  In the water, Jack and Sir Hugh shouted challenges to each other as they tore through the water, heading for the middle of the lake.

  Samara stood still for a long moment, fuming, and then an alternate course of action presented itself. Her gaze flew to the two miscreants and a smile tilted her lips upward.

  This is how a sorceress washes clothes.

  She took off her own kirtle, and, chuckling to herself, she waded into the lake in her shift. Before she began to clean her own clothes, she pointed to the ones the man and boy had left on the ground and cast her spell. Her arm swung toward the two who were frolicking in the lake and their clothes rose into the air and, following her orders, draped themselves over their owners. Shouts of protest followed.

  She ignored their affront and washed her own clothes in the water. Simultaneously, the knight and boy’s clothes, with them in it, were raised and then dunked in the lake, over and over. Their cries for mercy fell on deaf ears.

  Samara couldn’t stop chuckling. That should teach them the danger of underestimating a sorceress. She hadn’t had so much fun doing chores in all her life.

  In lieu of using soap, she cast little spells to loosen the dirt and brighten the colors. Once satisfied that all the items were clean, she took hers to the shore, and, looking over her shoulder, finally took pity on the two still rising up and dipping into the water and released them from her spell.

  Their hoses and tunics stripped off them and flew over to land on a nearby rock face to dry beside her clothing.

  Relishing the silence coming from the water, she returned to the lake and swam toward a little cove away from prying eyes. Being in the water always gave her a clean fresh feeling that she thoroughly adored. It was heavenly to be unsoiled.

  “Enjoying yourself?” Sir Hugh asked.

  Samara squealed and sank under. When she resurfaced, the knight was calmly watching her, long arms skimming the surface to keep him afloat. Had he come to retaliate?

  “You started it,” she said, feeling a slight trepidation.

  “I’m here to finish it,” he replied.

  Except, he didn’t look angry. In fact, his eyes weren’t even on her face but delving below the surface. The letch!

  “I should have guessed that since I’m the only woman nearby, I would catch your interest.”

  He chuckled, gaze returning to her face. “What makes you think I wouldn’t be interested in you even if other women were around?”

  “I’ve seen your ribbons, Sir Hugh. You’re not a man who limits his choices.”

  “If you were given a selection of sweets to taste, would you only choose one, Samara?”

  “Yes,” she answered. “Else one displays gluttony.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Liar!”

  She pressed her lips tight, for he was right. If given a choice of sweets, she might be tempted to take more than one. “Women are not sweets.”

  “Women are very sweet,” he countered.

  He circled her as he spoke, studying all parts of her that were so visibly drawn by her wet and clinging or floating shift beneath the clear water.

  Like a sweet, she felt thoroughly licked.

  “Sir Hugh,” she began, extending a hand to keep him back, for he was also moving closer with each circuit, “have a care. We have an audience.”

  She checked, but Jack was closer to shore following some ducks swimming with a slew of ducklings. She turned back, only to find the knight’s arms pulling her tight against his naked form, while his lips descended to claim hers.

  The kiss was as devastating as she’d imagined it would be, making her cling to him for far more than simple support. By the time he released her, she didn’t have the breath to complain.

  “That was to taste your particular brand of sweetness, sorceress,” he murmured. Before she could protest, he tugged her back. “This is my thank you.” His head dipped; eyes dark with a desire that deceptively swore he found her sweeter than any other he’d ever tasted.

  Her whole body quivered in reaction to that second kiss and she had an urge to tie her own ribbon around his arm to stake her claim to his attention. That foolish thought finally brought her to her senses. She pushed away, her body trembling at the memory of him so warm and solidly entwined around her.

  “Enough,” she said. The word came out shaky.

  “I was showing my gratitude.”

  “For what?” Flustered, her mind stopped functioning with any sense of normalcy. What had they been talking about?

  “For saving me.” He brushed a wet strand of her hair behind her left ear. “From the dragon.”

  “Oh, that. You’re welcome. No need to say any more on that score,” she stammered. “I think we’re all clean enough now. Time to dress and get on with our journey.”

  His hand held her in place when she would have swum away.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Is there a sorcerer in your kingdom who courts you?”

  “No,” she replied, before thinking that yes might have been a better deterrent.

  “Why not?” he asked. “Are they all blind?”

  The compliment disarmed her, making her smile. She shrugged. “I suppose we’re all a suspicious lot. Being also a princess, I might be the worst. How could I be certain that the one courting me is less interested in gaining power than in choosing for me as his mate?”

  “Good,” Sir Hugh said, sounding smugly satisfied. “I quite fancy your distrustful mind, for it means you’ve remained untied to another until I could find you.”

  She chuckled at his audacity. “Now that you have found me, what do you plan to do about me?”

  “To begin with, you may show me your kingdom, Samara.” Sir Hugh spoilt that sweet comment by adding, “Then we can move on to more personal things you can introduce me to.”

  It took Samara a moment to recover from the latter audacious words before the former intriguing ones sank in. If he expected her to show him her kingdom, then he did not plan to hurry off on his oft-lamented dragon hunt.

  When had he decided that she, a quarrelsome sorceress who was more apt to roast him than bed him, would prove more entertaining than his favorite sport?

  “I believe I would like to show you my home,” Samara said. In fact, it might prove amusing to have him meet the many bad-tempered and irritable members of her family and friends, all of whom were capable of turning him into an insignificant toad at the drop of a curly-cued hat.

  Not that he would come to any real harm. Despite not being able to cast a single spell, she was certain this knight could hold his own among her sort. He would approach every encounter with his unflappable self-assurance and end up charming everyone as he had done her.

  He drew her closer, and she let him, for she was starting to like being held by him and holding this man. A dangerous liking, Samara!

  “Are you anxious to return home?” he asked.

  “I suppose, I am,” she said, ignoring her own warning as his stomach muscles flexed convulsively under her gentle stroke. “It’s where I belong. Or, it was.”

  “No more?”

  Her eyes sought the boy. “He’s the one my father wants.”

  “Surely, your father still loves and values you?” Sir Hugh said. “He could have sent another sorcerer to fetch Jack. Instead, he trusted you to accomplish this important task.”

  “He insisted that only I could bring the boy safely back to the Sorcerer’s Kingdom. I can’t imagine why, since he knew how I felt about the matter.”

  That made him frown, and he held her back, head tilted to study her. “How do you feel about it?”

  “The boy is destined to take my place as ruler of the Sorcerers’ Kingdom, a prophesy had deemed it should be so. How do you think I felt at hearing that news?”

  He watched her in silence, a brooding looks on his handsome face. “Over the years, my uncle has tried to have children and failed. Because of wars
and some unfortunate mishaps due to duels and such, I am his immediate heir. Hence, one day I expect to rule Glinnia. I would be most displeased if anyone tried to wrest that right from me. So, I understand your pain, Samara.”

  A weight lifted off her shoulders at Sir Hugh’s words. Since she heard the prophesy, anger had been her first reaction, toward both her father and the unknown boy. It took her a while to shake that self-centered perspective. Once she became acquainted with Jack, and grew to care for him, she had felt ashamed of her earlier childish jealousy.

  Hearing that Sir Hugh, too, would have reacted similarly warmed her heart and her guilt at her earlier short-sightedness floated away, like dirt and soot confronting water.

  “I have lately started to like Jack a little,” she admitted, smiling.

  “You must have a gentle soul to do so,” he replied. “What I still fail to comprehend is your father’s thinking. This prophecy declared the boy must rule after him. So be it. How little sensitivity he must have, to ask you to care for the wellbeing of your usurper.”

  Before she knew it, she was again in the circle of his arms, this time being held with infinite gentleness. “I would have told him to go hades,” he murmured against her wet hair.

  She chuckled. Circling her arms around him allowing herself to take pleasure from the touch of his cool skin. “I think I might have sworn a little and thrown an object or two during our initial discussion. All my father would say was to believe in him and have faith in his decision.”

  Sir Hugh’s gaze was surprisingly comforting.

  She absently trailed a finger down his muscled chest. “What I’ve yet to comprehend is why he asked for a knight to accompany Jack and me home. I wonder sometimes if he does not trust me to keep Jack safe. That this is a test to see if he can allow me to stay in the Sorcerers’ Kingdom once the boy arrives.”

  “There’s something odd about that request,” Sir Hugh said matter-of-factly, giving her a considering look.

  “Why do you say that?” she asked, pulling away. Surely Hugh didn’t doubt her ability to safeguard Jack, too?

  He shrugged. “I went to my uncle to protest in private about my being sent on this errand, when my duty clearly lay in hunting the rampant grey.” He gave her an apologetic grin. “Sorry, but your presence did not elicit my immediate enthusiastic response.”