by Laynie Bynum
"I'm fine. You have more important things to worry about, I'm sure."
He paused, wanting to ask more questions. She didn't seem to be "fine," and she had never looked so fatigued. But in truth, he didn't have time for this. He had battle plans to prepare and a lieutenant to question. Not in that order. And if he didn't get it done, her exhaustion would hardly matter when Dag'naath arrived at the head of an army.
No, the best way to keep his betrothed safe was to defeat the enemy. He released a heavy breath. "Has my lieutenant arrived yet? You offered to let me use your castle if I needed, and now, I do."
"Straight to the business of war again?" Her bottom lip stuck out a tiny bit more.
"It's just that I—"
"It's all right," she interrupted, grinning and looking at him from the corner of her eye. "I understand. I only meant it in jest. Yes. He got here shortly before you did. As soon as you got to the gates, I sent a servant to tell him to come, so he should be here in just a moment."
Onen took advantage of that moment to enjoy the feel of her wrapped in his arms, her downy hair under his cheek as he rested his head on her, taking in her scent. When this war ended, he could spend all day like that, if she wanted. Even if she merely let him. All he had to do was win the war.
All too soon, yet not soon enough, his lieutenant arrived and bowed low, left fist over his chest. "My lord, if I’m interrupting..."
Onen gave his exhausted-looking betrothed one last, quick smile." Nonsense, Desmut. It's good to see another friendly face, especially one so loyal. Come in."
Once they were seated in the brown, stuffed leather chairs by the fire in the great hall, Desmut frowned and pressed his lips tight for a moment, then said, "I'll make this brief. We dedicated our scouts to finding Dag'draath among the attackers, but they saw no sign of him. One of his less important lieutenants actually commanded their force.”
Onen reared his head back and a dozen thoughts raced through his mind to explain that, though none made sense. Still working through unlikely ideas in his head, he spoke slowly. “I see. What was their force composition? I need to know what I’m dealing with.”
Desmut frowned, pausing. “The besieging force is comprised of ur'gels. Many hundreds."
Onen's eyes narrowed. "Ur'gels? The new ones?"
"Yes. When they attack, it'll be the perfect time to learn more about them. But you needn't fear for the castle, my lord. We're getting fresh reinforcements tomorrow. While our defenders hold the walls against their attack, the reinforcements will cut off their escape. The battle will become another great victory for you."
Onen felt a flush of relief. His castle was in good hands while he traveled, and it was an important weight off his mind. "Well done. Go back and coordinate things, and I'll be there with an additional force. We’ll arrive long before dawn.”
“Sire, there’s no need. Your walls will hold until our reinforcements from—”
Onen held up his hand for silence. “No. I'm taking no chances with the new ur'gels, since we haven't faced them in battle. I know you can hold the castle, but I want to see them for myself, and I can’t return with you just yet."
He almost added that he didn't need any more "great victories" like the last one, but demoralizing his officers was hardly the result he wanted. He bit his tongue.
Desmut saluted and bowed, then strode from the great hall, leaving Onen alone with Y'serra.
Onen watched his lieutenant leave, but when he turned back to Y'serra.
She was slightly hunched over, with one hand on a table for support. She looked pallid.
He furrowed his eyebrows at her. Why would she hide something from him as small as being ill? Or was it no small thing at all? "You said you were fine. You aren't okay at all, are you?"
She smiled wanly at him. Then, quite suddenly, she stood tall, squared her shoulders, and her strained expression relaxed into a bemused look. "Since you ask, I may as well tell you now. I was going to wait until you had less on your mind, but when would that be? The truth is that I’m with child. The nausea comes and goes, and—"
He was already grinning and rushing to wrap his arms around her. Embracing her, he swung her off her feet in a circle. "Really, you are? This isn’t some poor joke?"
It wasn't often one of his kind sired a child, after all, or the world would teem with offspring demigods. His heart pounded, and he couldn't stop smiling down at her.
"Yes," she replied, but she didn't meet his gaze, and her thin smile had gone. "But it’s not good news.”
“Far from it. It’s the best news.” He couldn’t seem to get his heart to slow down, and it too all his effort to stop himself from shouting in joy.
“Not necessarily. I’m sorry, but someone close to me, one of my ladies, had a dream.”
“Your maid... had a dream? That’s what bothers you?” He raised both eyebrows at her, his smile waning into a smirk.
“She told me all about it. I immediately took her to go tell her dream to Tamra, my seer, who consulted her charts and then said she was certain the maid's dream was an omen, no mere dream." Y’serra closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath.
After pausing for a heartbeat's time, incredulous, Onen frowned. "An omen of what? You have to tell me, no matter how hard." Omens could mean anything and everything, or nothing at all, and the fact that Y’serra was putting such faith into one interpretation set his teeth to grinding in frustration.
"Oh, dear Onen..."
He paused. She'd never called him "dear" before either. She must be truly upset. His tension rose, and with it, a dull ache wrapped around his head. Whether it was a true omen or something else entirely. She believed it.
Y’serra’s fingers moved continually in her lap, also giving her someplace to rest her gaze besides on Onen. "The omen showed our child bringing about your end. I'm afraid for your life."
He laughed before he could stop himself. "I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you. It's just... Well, a child can't hurt me. Even a grown man can't hurt me. What do I have to fear from our own child? Please. It was just a dream."
"No. You don't get it. This is an omen, not just some silly maid's nightmare. The world can't spare you, not now and not twenty years from now. That's a blink of the eye. So..."
"Go on. I won't laugh again. So...?" Onen clasped his hands together on his lap and leaned forward a little, watching her expressions carefully as he listened for her ideas on saving a god from the terrifying baby.
"So, I have to protect you." Y'serra's hand trembled lightly as she dabbed at her eyes with a kerchief. "I... I'm leaving here, and leaving you."
"How will you manage that?" Onen forced a smile, but inside, his heart had begun to race again. If she thought she was doing the right thing, nothing could change her mind, even if he thought it ridiculous.
"I have to go away to protect you. Don't you see?"
He froze. There it was, the thing he’had sensed. "Wait. What? No, I do not see. How could you say that? You can't leave. I... The people need your services, your leadership."
She shook her head, looking at him squarely over her handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes. "I have to. I couldn't bear for our child to end you. It would crush me, and without you to protect it, crush all of Iynia."
Onen’s eyes flared wide and his eyebrows furrowed together. He clenched his teeth together. That was not at all what he’d expected. And why did she seem so damn calm about it? She must have known for a while, then, to have come to grips with it like this. When would she have told him about their baby, if not for the omen?
Or rather, if not for some maid's simple nightmare. He had to stop her. "Y'serra, you can't be serious. Think about this. You have to see how ridiculous it is. You can't run from problems, you can't put them in some mental box and pretend they went away. You know that."
She stopped dabbing at her eyes and looked up at him, frozen and wide-eyed.
He hoped she was having a moment of doubt. He had to drive his point home to s
top her. "Those problems always come back, only stronger and without warning. No matter how painful, it’s always better to know it and face it down, just so that they don't blind-side you later."
She sniffled once and wiped a teary eye with her kerchief, slowly shaking her head. "But what of the omen?"
"I don't believe this is an omen, though. Omens have supporting signs. Patterns of three, a single dead rose in your nightstand bouquet, that sort of thing. Did you not pay the oracle enough gold, or something?"
She frowned, but looked up at him from the corner of her eye. "You might be right. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to at least think on it more, before deciding."
"Right. That's exactly the best way to do things. Plan them out first, then do something about the situation. It’s a big decision, one that affects all three of us. It’s worth taking time to think on it.”
She lunged forward to embrace him, and buried her face in his chest.
He lost sense of his surroundings for a moment as he smelled her hair again, warm and chestnutty with a hint of rosewater. He brushed stray strands back with only his fingertips, smiling wanly. Though his heart still sped, now it was because of her scent, her warmth, her closeness... Everything about her.
But still, he couldn’t shake his unease. Y'serra had surprised him with how quickly she'd agreed to stay for a while. There was more to his unease, though. Things felt off, somehow, just as they had before.
Perhaps he should keep an eye on her. If she was telling him the truth, then her baby was his too, after all.
Chapter Eight
Heading out the gate, Onen rode bareback atop a horse he'd picked at random from Y'serra's garrison stables, and urged it to go faster. They went up the hill, which slowed it a bit, but then reached the crest, where it gained speed again—until it skidded to a halt and suddenly reared.
That was a horse's normal reaction when it saw its first dragon, much less a dozen of them. Onen had expected it and managed to slide off its back and dart away, right before it fled, wide-eyed and terrified, back to the castle.
Arc'homir's echoing voice rang in his mind. We came when you called, Onen Suun. I welcome you on my back for our journey.
Onen wasted no time. He ran to the dragon king—oldest, and still the largest of his kind—and then scrambled up the offered leg and onto its back.
There was no way to fight with a sword from such a huge creature's back, so there was nothing so quaint as a saddle waiting for him. Instead, he adjusted his vanach-fur leggings and sat as best he could with his legs on either side of Arc'Homir's neck ridge, his body nestled between two wicked spikes that stood taller than him. He grabbed the furry, nest-like material on its neck to help hang on. Onen had often wondered whether dragons had real fur somehow growing over their scales, or if the scales themselves frayed into the nest-like material, but it didn't actually matter in terms of staying on.
"I'm secure," he said aloud, even knowing it was his accompanying thought the dragon heard.
Arc’homir flexed his mighty muscles and launched himself into the air, beating his vast wings heavily to gain altitude. The wind buffeted Onen, but it would only grow stronger and colder as the dragon squad gained speed and altitude. So, you said those new ur'gels are attacking? I'm eager to see what they taste like. There was no humor in it, either. Dragons were omnivores, but meat was their favorite. Human-sized meat was a treat, though in no way filling.
"Yes. Make your way to my castle. I told my lieutenant we'd be there tomorrow, so we need to hurry."
The dragon's mental connection brushed against Onen’s feelings of fear, rage, and sadness. Your feelings run strong today, my friend. Be at ease, though. I’m sure your castle could stand sieges far longer than this.
Onen decided to explain later that some of what the king felt from him had nothing to do with his castle being under siege. He was simply focusing as hard as he could, considering every possible angle to his last conversation with Y'serra. Not so much her declaring that she was pregnant and leaving—he had eight or nine more months to deal with that issue—but rather, on the fact that his people were in harm's way and facing an unknown threat from a new bloodline of ur’gels .
You will be a father? The dragon asked as the terrain dwindled below. Congratulations. I understand you have no eggs, though. Humans, not you personally.
"True." Onen smiled into the storm-strong winds. "It takes nine of our months to get to the live birth, and usually only one."
And yet, there are so many of you, and so few of us, and we lay clutches.
It was nice to have conversation for a distraction, and Onen spent the rest of the trip in idle chat about their differences, both in family and daily life.
All too soon, and not soon enough, the tip of his castle's tallest spire came into view ahead.
"Have your dragons spread out and circle in. I want to see what we're up against."
But of course. Arc'honen slowed considerably to allow some of the other dragons to shoot ahead as they spread out.
Long before the dragon warriors sent images and thoughts back to their king, however, it was already clear that something was definitely wrong. No enemy army was visible below, not even with Arc'homir sharing his eagle-eyed vision through their connection.
When the other dragons' reports came back, they all said the same thing: The enemy was nowhere in sight.
Arc’homir laughed. Are you quite certain the message was trustworthy? Perhaps the report was from a bet lost, or a wager among your human guards?
Onen was certain, all right. His lieutenant had his full trust in everything, even with his life. "If he said ur'gels were here, they were."
Very well, old friend. Let's land on that perch you call a dragon pad, shall we? Perhaps your people on the ground know more. Or maybe you missed the battle.
The amusement in the dragon's voice was both obvious and irritating.
Onen frowned. "Yes, circle and land. Something is going on, and I want to know what."
Arc'homir banked west, then north. He continued in a long, lazy circle that wound around again and again, each loop smaller than the last, and slower. Eventually, he came skidding to a halt on the huge clay-brick platform in the courtyard of his hilltop keep, nestled within the concentric curtain walls of Onen's ancient residence.
A ladder appeared and Onen climbed down to find two soldiers awaiting him, looking nervously at the dragon.
Both saluted, kneeling low and bringing their left fist over their chest. "Great Suun, your orders?"
"Gather those who created the reports that brought me here."
They saluted again, and one ran off while the other struggled with the ladder. Its great height made it heavy, despite being made of a light, foreign wood.
As he waited for the other one to return, Onen folded his arms and drummed his fingers on his pauldron, the plate armor covering his left upper arm and shoulder. The tink-tink sound it made was heavy enough to be satisfying, yet soft enough that few could hear his impatience.
Minutes later, the returning soldier came around the corner of a battlement at a full run, his chainmail rattling. He halted and saluted, panting for air—through clenched teeth, to avoid the chance of disrespecting a god—and gasped out, "My lord, they await you in your great hall."
Onen flung a thought at Arc'homir. I'll be back. Stay alert.
Then, he followed the soldier. He kept his hand on his sword hilt as they went, half expecting ur’gel assassins to leap at him. When they reached his great hall, he didn't even look around before he strode up to a group of perhaps a dozen warriors, all sitting around a table. They wore no armor or visible weapons, but their scars and their bulk were dead giveaways, as was the “swordsman’s ring” they all had to greater or lesser degree, the ring of callouses along the outer edge of their index fingers and thumbs that came from hours of heavy training tearing up their sword hands.
Onen decided they must be off-duty. As he approached, they looked up and it was a
wonder that he still got a little thrill every time a worshiper recognized him.
"What happened? Tell it true."
"My lord," one said, taking a step forward.
Onen looked at him long enough to burn the memory of the man's face into his mind. “Yes, you. Tell me of the ur’gels.”
The soldier glanced at his companions, but they all were looking anywhere but at him. He pursed his lips, then looked back to Onen and stood up as straight and tall as he could. “Lord Suun, the ur’gels were here yesterday, an army of them. Some of us went to get a bit of sleep at the end of our sentry duty, knowing how little sleep a soldier can expect during a siege. When we woke up, though, the ur'gel were gone. All of them, like they’d just vanished."
What a waste of a trip. Part of him wanted to throttle whoever set off the alarm that caught his attention in the first place. That alarm had never rung before in all the generations he’d called the castle his home, but then again, an army of ur’gels had never showed up at his drawbridge before. The soldiers had only been doing their duty when they sent out the alert.
They’d seen an enemy army—that much Onen believed—but it all only left more questions. Why were the ur’gels led by a minor lieutenant, instead of a highly regarded one? How had they hoped to have any chance to survive attacking a god’s home? But then, how had they vanished without a trace overnight?
Whatever the real story, Dag'draath was planning something big. Onen felt that down to his bones, though he had no idea what it was.
Well, he whisper-thought to the dragon king, there's nothing I can do about this now except to set a few things in motion. In the meantime, I have another issue I can deal with right now.
Arc’homir let out a sound from deep in his throat that reminded Onen of a great cat purring. Do you mean your impending offspring?
Yes. Onen climbed up to the platform, and the dragon again offered his leg to climb. Can you fly me to Y'serra's castle? She and I need to have a serious discussion.
But of course. Arc’homir chuckled, a near-perfect imitation of a humans. A soon as Onen was situated on his neck, he vaulted into the air, beating his mighty wings.
