Book 1: Treoir Dragon Chronicles of the Belador World, Book 1

by Dianna Love

  Not stupid. Insane.

  Cathbad lifted his hand, clearing the compelling spell and teleporting Erath away as he did.

  He teleported to his library in the realm, glad to find it not in shambles. But now that he knew what held her mind captive, he could not see the queen wasting energy on wrecking his library. Still, he needed these books to be safe and sent them to a tomb created during the stone age. He’d warded the tomb from discovery long before meeting Queen Maeve.

  She had always been a potential enemy at some point. The only way he could take her down would be to catch her outside this realm.

  Unlike her, he had the patience to succeed at anything.

  Taking a slow look around his library, he lifted a one-of-a-kind ancient tome he’d taken from a hundred-and-twenty-eight-year-old sorcerer he’d spent over twenty years befriending.

  The sorcerer had not passed the book to him as inheritance.

  Cathbad had killed the old crone when he discovered the sorcerer had been misleading him about dying for ten years. He took the majik writings as was his due, but could not read all of the ink marks.

  No one had been able to translate those parts of the text. He’d leave this book with the Luigsech woman, who would eventually return to the archival centre. Now he had a greater task for her than merely bringing the dragon of Treoir to him.

  Luigsech would find the grimoire.

  She would hand Cathbad the way to control the Imortik master.

  He could remain gone from TÅμr Medb forever if not for needing to know what Queen Maeve was up to, which meant he’d have to be prepared for a future attack when he returned.

  In hindsight, he realized she had only been testing him earlier.

  The next time, she’d be better prepared.

  So would he.

  Chapter 17

  Casidhe stretched, waking up from her afternoon nap and could have slept longer. The bed in her home had been here much longer than she’d been alive and she slept like a babe in it every time. She’d enjoyed the flight on Herrick’s dragon, but the entire trip, which included traveling boxed up as freight, had wiped her out.

  No time to waste. She had to find Skarde.

  She rushed through a shower, because the water never heated above lukewarm. The downside of living in a three-hundred-year-old cottage. She shouldn’t blame the age.

  Her salary provided money to live comfortably and to keep all the appliances running. She could ask Herrick for funds, but she preferred to earn every penny she received. For that reason, she would only spend money she earned, even if clinging to the noble notion of independence did freeze her tits on occasions.

  She dried her hair and wove the dark gold-and-auburn mass into one thick braid that fell to her lower back. Pulling on a pair of gray wool pants, a soft shirt of white cotton with a pale-blue sweater tossed over that, she stepped into her boots and snapped the closures.

  She took in her appearance before the tall mirror, leaned against a wall, and smiled a moment before turning serious.

  There stood a woman determined to make her people proud. To do that, she had to use her gift and her brain to accomplish what she’d felt born to do.

  Smiling again, which had been a personal rule to start each day, she wrapped up a tin of Fenella’s favorite scones she’d cooked before her nap, which were now cooled enough to pack.

  When she stepped outside, the temperature had begun dropping to the fifties with the sun about to fall from the sky.

  She checked the wildflowers and yellow gorse budding out next to her walkway. The scent of coconut wafted off the gorse sometimes called aiteann. Then she moved her old bicycle away from the wall where she propped it each day, placed the scones in her basket hooked to the handlebars, and climbed on, pushing off to roll down the drive.

  Breathing in the fresh smell of grass and the woods lining one side of her drive wiped away the stress she’d carried home from visiting Herrick.

  She could do what he asked.

  She’d had a few concerns after finding out about a red dragon flying around while she’d been in the Caucasus mountain range.

  Had that truly been the red dragon burning a forest first in Ukraine, then later on in Finland earlier today? What did that dragon have against those countries?

  Herrick claimed the only red dragon had come from his time, a child of King Gruffyn. The king had mated with a goddess for one night and that resulted in a red fire dragon who had ruled over all others back then.

  More like he’d murdered at will and tried to steal hoards from other dragons. She’d had the history given to her by the last Luigsech to live with Herrick’s people in the mountains.

  Generation after generation, a Luigsech female had carried that history from back when her ancestor had been saved from King Gruffyn and his evil son Daegan. Similarly, Fenella’s Connell squire family passed down the ice dragon clan history.

  Her skin chilled at the idea of meeting up with Daegan of Treoir, but Herrick had been firm about her not engaging with that one. She had only to perform research and that was in her wheelhouse.

  Fenella joked often, accusing Casidhe she had an insatiable curiosity, then reminding her of the old saying curiosity killed the cat.

  Not so long as Casidhe had the Blade of Justice.

  That irritating voice in the back of her mind, the one that spoke up only when she made a mistake, reminded her she had no sword on her back at the moment.

  “Give me a break. It’s hidden in the cottage,” she complained to the wind. She kept the ring Herrick had given her in a different spot, hidden even better. What was the point of wearing a ring even on a chain if she had no idea what to do with it? Herrick had only said to keep it close for when he called to give her instructions.

  At the end of a beautiful ride along the countryside, she pedaled into a village on the outskirts of County Galway. She waved at store owners and local residents she passed. When the day came for her to move home to Herrick’s castle, she’d miss these people who had taken their time welcoming her until she’d become one of the community.

  Slowing down, she braked, then parked her bike outside the ancestral research centre. Some visitors showed up here when they were actually looking for the Connemara Heritage and History Centre asking about the tours. Fenella would give them directions with a smile since those were not their customers.

  Casidhe’s reputation with the old languages brought in plenty of business.

  She’d just settled her bike in a stand that could support four when she felt the sensation of being watched. Similar warnings often started in the same spot, between her shoulder blades and crawling down her spine.

  Lifting the sweet smelling package wrapped in a worn, but clean, cloth from the basket, she pretended to study it for a moment as she angled her head to peer through fine hairs falling along her face.

  No one stood on the walkway across the street, but Sundays could be slow. Two women came out of the bakery Casidhe patronized when she didn’t cook. They laughed at a private conversation and continued on past the wide space between buildings filled with trees. She sometimes took her lunch and a book there.

  Sending a look down the stretch of street in both directions, she shook off her concern. Nothing unusual in this quiet little village.

  Still, had she made a mistake by leaving the sword at home?

  Of course not.

  For now, the stubborn blade would only draw attention, not blood.

  She opened the door, jangling a bell at the top, and carried the tin in. The soothing aroma of old leather and pages of assorted materials, all aged to perfection, filled her nose.

  This was her happy place.

  “There’s my Cas. I’ve missed ya, girl.” Fenella lifted her plump body from a leather desk chair that had molded to fit her shape over the years. “Tell me that’s blueberry scones I’m a smellin’.”

  “It is.” Smiling at her friend, Casidhe handed off the treat and Fenella immediately tasted
one. She took her time as if she’d been given a rare royal dish.

  Casidhe made those for her at least twice a month. “Anythin’ goin’ on?”

  Swallowing a bite, Fenella said, “Aye. Our friend Cavan stopped by this mornin’.”

  Working to keep the trepidation out of her voice, Casidhe asked, “What did he come askin’ for this time?”

  “He started in about the Treoirs again. I reminded him that if he be representin’ a descendant, that person should ha’ sent a family artifact. If his client truly be of the Treoir family, he or she would know such. We had a moment of starin’ before he smiled and shook his head. Handsome devil, that one. Told me his client knows not what I spoke of, but Cavan would impress upon him that perhaps he should be visitin’ himself next time.”

  Glad not to be eating anything at the moment, Casidhe’s throat tightened. Had Cavan meant it when he made that suggestion? Did he know the red dragon? She breathed in and out, trying to calm her heart. “Is that all he wanted?”

  “No. Wanted to speak with ya.”

  “Why?” Casidhe stood up quickly. “He doesn’t know me.”

  “Sit down. Don’t fash yerself, girl. He heard a woman name Luigsech could translate old books that many others could not. He left one for ya. Appears old enough to have been created at the start of time.”

  That didn’t sound very sinister, right? “Where is it?”

  “’Tis on the table at yer right.”

  Casidhe jumped around as if Fenella had said a snake sat on the table.

  “What has ya so angsty, Cas?”

  “Just tired,” she murmured. Lifting her gaze from the book, she thought about why she was angsty, as Fenella put it. She’d need a scroll as long as the street outside to explain her many reasons .

  “How be the clan?” Fenella asked softly.

  “Good, though I had little time to speak with anyone before I was sent back.”

  Fenella winced as if Casidhe had said someone insulted her. Too tired to explain, Casidhe moved to another subject. “I heard about humans finding out nonhumans lived among them in North America. Is it crazy there?”

  “Aye. ’Tis enough to give ya chills. Humans have always panicked at every word of anythin’ strange, but today they have the Internet. Instead of a handful, thousands jump up in arms.” Fenella pecked at her baked good, chewing until she could speak again. “Nothin’ like that goin’ on here. For now, the locals laugh at those in the states losin’ their minds.”

  “What about that dragon burnin’ the forest in Ukraine?”

  Fenella sat back with a piece of scone in hand. “I just heard of it when I spoke to old Peadar. Ya know I’m no’ much for electronics, but I visited the grocer after lunch and saw the videos on their television. I admit the pictures were convincin’ though I been hopin’ not, but ya must think so.”

  “Yes, I do. They appear authentic.”

  “Do ... they know, Cas?” Fenella referenced Herrick and the clan.

  Keeping her voice soft as if someone could hear through the walls, Casidhe said, “The seer spoke of the red dragon. I had no way to use my mobile phone while there, but I wasn’t about to dispute her claim. I saw the film for a moment before I had to be packed in my box for the cargo flight. I just wonder. Is that the red dragon?”

  “Well, the video of the dragon in Finland had been poor quality, but aye, it seemed a red dragon to me. Has to be the one if there be no other, I suppose. Just canna believe he still lives.” Fenella’s face tightened with fear she tried not to show by smiling. “Do they think he will come here?”

  Still wondering if Cavan was connected to the Treoir family, Casidhe couldn’t in good conscience say yes or no that a Treoir would show up here. She tried to brush it off. “Just like Cavan’s visit, if someone from Treoir actually comes here, all we have to do is say we’ll research and tell them we’ll be in touch. If they are human treasure seekers pretendin’ to be a Treoir, we stay put.”

  “If not?”

  Casidhe had thought about this a bit while squished up in that box. “I felt Cavan’s power the first time he visited, but he may only be treasure huntin’ too. If a powerful Treoir presents himself or herself, I will keep my energy hidden from them and assure them I can deliver what they want. A smart person will watch as we leave to see where we go. We would instead use our secret exit route from this buildin’ for that reason.” The day Cavan and his female partner first presented themselves to Fenella, Casidhe had taken the tunnel exit from this building, which had more than one final route.

  She’d traveled underground to the giant hollow tree large enough to move around in, which had stood since the time before the Dragani War. The Lann an Cheartais had rested there since she moved here, shielded by a spell preventing anyone from discovering it.

  “We will be fine,” Casidhe assured her dear friend she considered family. She would allow no one to harm this woman. “I’ve been given the duty of locatin’ the red dragon, but told not to contact him. Just to send any information to the castle as soon as I have it.”

  Fenella set aside the ledgers she’d been working on when Casidhe arrived and placed her hands in front of her. “That was before ya knew the red dragon was truly alive, Cas.”

  “I knew. I believed the seer when she spoke of the red dragon.”

  “Thought ya did no like that one?”

  “She’s okay,” Casidhe muttered then moved off that topic. “In the meantime, I wish to go through Cavan’s book, which might indicate if he is a threat or not. Then I’ll focus all my energy on figurin’ out who could possibly be in contact with the Treoir dragon if he does live. Once I have that, I will give you notes for sendin’ a message to the clan.”

  “Happy to do anythin’ to help.”

  Turning back to the three-inch-thick book with a tooled leather cover the color of wet leaves in autumn, she ran her fingers over a strange emblem and raised letters, which her mind translated into Before Ainvar.

  What was Cavan up to? Herrick had said the man may have only been a very old mage snooping around for King Gruffyn’s hoard, which had never been found.

  She knew all about that from the spoken history of King Gruffyn’s dragon family.

  “What be that book he left, Cas?”

  Snapping out of her moment, Casidhe said, “I’m not certain. The title is odd, sounds to be about a person I’ve not heard of before.”

  “That surprises me.” Fenella smiled.

  Casidhe took the ribbing with a smile. “This could be a fictional story or a historical recountin’. By the bindin’ alone, I would venture to say it is a historical accountin’ of a time before Herrick’s based on the strange language I have yet to identify. I’ll know more once I sit down with it.” She had a feeling she would not be using gloves as she normally did for the rare books brought to her by humans.

  Cavan might be nothing more than a gold-hunting mage, but he had power, which meant she’d see more in this text if she used her uncovered fingers.

  Standing up and gathering her purse, Fenella announced, “I be headin’ out early today, Cas. I am off to see Peadar about the goats he promised me.”

  Smiling, she turned to Fenella. “That’s why you were talkin’ to him? Will you be bringin’ home kids?”

  “Of course I will, and I will be expectin’ ya to help feed ’em.”

  “Deal.” Casidhe loved visiting Fenella’s farm, even if it was a long bike ride, but worth it to play with the baby goats.

  Before leaving, Fenella pulled her sweater on slowly. She spoke low again as if the walls could hear. “So yer trip was good, aye?”

  In a weak and lonely moment, Casidhe had shared her sense of feeling on the outside of the clan one night with Fenella and had feared the woman would tell Herrick. Instead, her friend had understood and shielded her qualms.

  She couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Yes, but he would rather I had sent a message in my place.”

  Fenella quickly tr
ied to soothe her. “He means well and ’tis probably more worried about ya travelin’ alone.”

  That could be it, but Casidhe’s heart argued something had been off. She’d like to tell Fenella how the sword had come to her, but Herrick cautioned her from sharing that with anyone.

  Casidhe had wondered if he’d included Fenella in that warning, but decided that couldn’t be so. In the ten years they’d spent together working in this ancestral research centre, Fenella had become more family than friend.

  That woman was as loyal and devoted as they came, but Casidhe would carry her burden alone rather than put this sweet woman in danger by sharing too much.

  Standing, she walked over and gave Fenella another hug, whispering, “All is fine. He needs me to find out more on that blasted dragon and we need to know more about this Cavan guy. I will read the dusty old book. His coin is as good as anyone’s and he may just be huntin’ fool’s gold.”

  Because anyone trying to find and take a dragon’s hoard was indeed a fool.

  Fenella hugged her hard and let her go. “I shall see ya on the morrow. Doona stay too late and travel at dark.”

  “I won’t,” Casidhe promised.

  Shaking her head with a sigh, Fenella fretted, “Ya will, because ya have no mind of time when ya open a book. Set yer alarm and go home when ’tis still light out.”

  Laughing at her, Casidhe opened the door and watched Fenella head to her pickup truck that had traveled a lot of roads in twenty years.

  That feeling of being watched sizzled along Casidhe’s skin, snapping her attention up to search quickly.

  Nothing there again.

  She closed the door and walked over to the comfy chair she preferred for reading. If she sat at a desk, it hurt her neck and back. This way, she could also see if anyone walked up to the door.

  Turning pages of Cavan’s book carefully, she scanned the title page and notes on the next page written as a preface.

  Then she reached a page of strange text, which she could not interpret upon first glance. That was odd. She could always pull out bits and pieces just by looking.