Dragon Boy (Hilda's Inn Book 2)

by Cyn Bagley

  The young girl reached for Hilda’s hand. Unlike Hilda, her hand was soft and young. Evenso Hilda could feel something deep inside the girl. It would come out in puberty as most talents did.

  She spoke in a high, thready voice. “Hello, I am Kayla.” Her eyes were a dark blue. Hilda felt that recognition that this child should be protected at all costs. She saw the same knowledge in Elita’s eyes.

  Elita tensed when Hilda said her name. “You need to send this child to Michael. He will protect her and train her.”

  Hilda could see the denial in Elita’s eyes as she pulled away from Hilda. Elita had had a special hatred of mages when they fought together.

  Even so, Kayla needed training. As surely as the sun would rise in the morning, this girl would be a powerful mage. Only thing she could do was convince Elita how important that Kayla was protected magically as well as physically.

  “Elita,” Hilda said her name again, trying to connect with her. “When we were on the killing fields, there were mages there who used their magic to gain power and burn us to cinders. They called the dragons.”

  Elita frowned. Hilda knew that Elita knew more about what her daughter could do. Sassy was silent and hidden.

  Elita’s shoulders tightened even more, and then she firmed her mouth. She had made a decision and it was not in Hilda’s favor. “My child,” Elita said. “We will protect her. She will not become a mage.”

  Just because Elita believed her daughter wasn’t a mage, that didn’t make it so. The girl would have powers. Being trained could make the difference between being in control of her powers or the powers being in control of her.

  Hilda felt heartsick. She didn’t have the eloquence to convince Elita. There wasn’t much she could do besides kidnap the child. She couldn’t do that to Elita. When Elita realized that Hilda had nothing more to say, she relaxed.

  “We will outfit you,” Elita said. “Our blacksmith will check your weapons and strengthen them.” Dwarfs were the best metal smiths in the world. Hilda nodded at her gracious offer.

  “But you must be gone before the sun sets. At that time our obligation to you is over. You will not find us again.”

  Hilda nodded her head. Davi just listened. He had that faraway look that he got when he was trying to understand someone.

  Then Elita punched her in the gut with these worlds, “Take your dragon.” She pointed at Davi with her chin. “The only reason we didn’t kill him is because he was with you.”

  She turned and left them there. Hilda and Davi walked unescorted to their cabin and waited. Some of the younger dwarfs brought food and checked the horses and gear. One red-cheeked dwarf took their weapons. A few hours later he was back.

  After some very strong coffee with bacon and eggs, Hilda got back on the horse. She winced a little, but didn’t groan or mutter. Davi walked beside her stirrup.

  There were no goodbyes. There were no bird sounds, no insects, and no animals rattling the bushes as they went down the path away from the village. It was many miles before the forest began to talk again.

  Hilda didn’t look back.

  Delhaven, port city

  Michael Ordson

  “You can’t live without your magic,” rang in his ears as his body got stronger as he did the healer’s exercises. Josephine sometimes laughed when she caught him jumping up and down on the wounded leg. In only a few days, Michael had to agree with the healer. There was nothing wrong with the leg. All he had to do was strengthen and then retrain it.

  As he got stronger, Josephine strolled with him down the small alley paved with cobblestones, through the marketplace, and then the docks. They wandered around the place looking for the perfect spot to start their inn. When the old mercenaries heard, through the back alleys, whispered voices, and even from thugs and thieves, that Michael was going to start an inn in the dock area, some of them waylaid them on their search.

  Josephine rejected a broken down building just across from the pub where the sailors came to drink, get rolled, and shanghaied. Michael objected. After all, Josephine ran a brothel.

  “No,” she said firmly, while patting his arm. “These men need a place that is safe. If they want to go to that pub, then it is their decision, but we don’t need to help them find hell. They already found it years ago.”

  He had to agree that it wouldn’t do to have his customers shanghaied on his doorstep.

  It was Grandpa Stevens, the notorious story teller and consumer of Hilda’s stew and brew, who finally came to their rescue. He hobbled toward them during one of their discussions, then sidled up and said, “I know a place, not far from here.”

  Josephine got that look on her face that meant her nose was ready to twitch from Grandpa’s smell. She quickly schooled her face and asked, “Where is it?”

  Grandpa Stevens opened and closed his mouth like a fish. Yea, Josephine had that affect on Michael. She was a goddess and her voice was smooth, like fine wine. Her skirts swirled around her small ankles. Her corset complemented her bust and waist. Most men gave her that sweeping look that followed her face, bust, and feet.

  “Ummm, Ummm.” Grandpa Stevens finally got out a few sounds that weren’t articulate. Michael watched him with an arched eyebrow. He tried not to laugh.

  Josephine frowned, “Well, spit it out.” She tapped her boot on the cobblestones, which caught Michael’s interest when her body wiggled in interesting ways.

  Grandpa Stevens swallowed his tongue. Hemmed and hawed. Then he finally said, “Follow me.” Josephine followed him. Michael followed behind, enjoying the swish of Josephine’s hips under the skirt and petticoat.

  “Is it safe?” Josephine asked, Grandpa Stevens didn’t answer her.

  “I know him,” Michael said, behind her. “He won’t lead us wrong.”

  The two of them followed Grandpa Stevens a block away from the docks. It was still close enough for anyone to find them if they wanted a safe place to rest.

  The building was three stories. The door was ground level and led into a larger room. The rooms were small and hadn’t been maintained in a long time. It would take a lot of work to clean and repair them. Unlike some of the places they had looked at lately this one felt comfortable. There were no surprises in the woodwork, no peepholes, and no ghosts.

  They did hear footsteps over their heads in one of the rooms. “Who’s up there?”

  “Squatters,” said Grandpa Stevens. “We found this place and want to keep it. Are you with us?”

  Josephine looked around the main room. The walls had wainscoting half-way up the walls. Michael could already see where they would put the bar. Josephine nodded her head in approval, then said, “I want to see the upstairs first.”

  Michael could hear her mumble about the quality of the place. It wouldn’t take that much to repair. Michael felt the stairs creep as they walked up them. Oh yes, the stairs would need work. He would have to ask Mary Rose if she had a carpenter in her string of clients.

  The upstairs would need much more work. Some of the walls were bare to the studs. Josephina sighed, but Michael knew she was already seeing the possibilities in it when she said, “We could do this, if we only open the front room first and serve ale.”

  “No brothel,” Michael said.

  “No brothel,” she agreed. She turned to Grandpa Stevens. “Would your merry band of squatters like to help with getting this place into shape?”

  “What’s in it for us?” He straightened his back and his wrinkles seemed to straighten as he prepared to bargain.

  “A place to stay for the rest of your lives?” Before Grandpa Stevens agreed, Michael rushed in with a stipulation. “If you are going to be part-owners,” Josephine gave him a look again, “then you’ll have to help with expenses.”

  Grandpa Stevens snorted, “Young man you can’t con a conman. I knew we’d have to pitch in. We’ll add our small pensions into the pot as long as we have a place to stay and food to eat.”

  Grandpa Stevens spit on his hand and pres
ented it to Michael. Michael shook. Then he said, “To make it all legal, I’ll have a scribe write it out. We don’t want any misunderstandings.”

  Grandpa Stevens agreed. They now had a small house to turn into a pub. They wouldn’t be able to accommodate horses, but since they were near the docks it wasn’t necessary.

  The only problem that Michael saw was that he was much closer to the water. The undine’s words still rang in his ears. “You can’t live without your magic.” He would sure as hell try.

  Chapter Seven

  Delhaven Castle

  Lord Barton

  Lord Barton sat on his favorite stuffed chair in front of the fireplace, watching the fire flicker and crack. The shadows of the fire set the sharpness of his features in relief. He held a pipe in his hand, lit it, and puffed.

  He had sacrificed his spymaster for magic. That action alone should have been enough to help him gain the throne. When Lord Barton’s men had found the shredded body of the mage, Lord Barton knew he had lost control. Even the strongest stomach couldn’t handle the scene. A strong creature, Lord Barton suspected the Draugr had eaten the black mage head first. All that was left was blood puddled and spread across the alley. Plus there were bits and pieces of the mage’s clothing in the blood.

  The death of the black mage hadn’t bothered him much. He had planned on keeping the mage, stripped of his magical objects, in the torture room. Eventually the mage would have been killed in the process. What upset him was that the quick death of the mage had stopped his plans. When he also lost the tainted undine after the magic well was capped, his plans were stopped. He would have to rethink and re-plan.

  But he was not a man to be upset by the whims of fortune. He made his own. He rang the bell on a small table next to the chair. He set the pipe down. The man servant didn’t look at him or address him. The servant carried a small tray full of meats and cheeses, which he set next to Lord Barton. Next he went to a sideboard and opened it. Inside were crystal shot glasses. They were expensive and had been brought from a far land. Only Lord Barton drank from them.

  The servant poured a shot of whiskey and then handed it to Lord Barton. Lord Barton put the drink to his lips, threw back his head, and swallowed. He handed the servant the shot glass. The servant would wash and dry the glass, not allowing the kitchen staff to put their dirty hands on it, then afterwards he would put it back into the sideboard, close it, and lock it.

  Lord Barton allowed himself one shot.

  So his plans would need to be revised. He needed a new spymaster. That was a problem when you had a good spymaster:, they killed their rivals instead of training a replacement. Lord Barton sighed.

  His son, John, was safely away with his tutor. He had been somewhat pleased at the progress. When he had first seen the urchin, taken from the orchards that supplied the castle, he had thought that the boy would be unteachable. It seemed that even though the child hadn’t had the finest food or the finest lessons, he was smart enough to pick up the basics.

  Lord Barton didn’t need a smart heir. Damn, even the king’s heir was given to raucous behavior. He just needed an heir to prove his virility. He need an obedient son. He could even work with a son who was smart enough to be grateful.

  That was the only thing so far that hadn’t slipped from his fingers. He couldn’t depend on magic or mages. He should have known this fact after the mage wars. The burned and blackened bodies, the smell of disease, the crushing and mutilations could be laid to magic. Oh yes, men could do all of those things too. But mages could do them in a matter of minutes. The cold started in his heart and then shivered across his limbs. He leaned toward the fire.

  The black mage had said there was a dragon in the city. In the next few days he would search, but after all the trouble of the last few days, the dragon was probably gone. It would be much better to search for the Draugr and kill it.

  After seeing what the Draugr did to the black mage, Lord Barton knew in his bones that the Draugr needed to be killed. The hubris of the mage to think he could control that thing. Lord Barton didn’t know how to kill it, but it must be done. Lord Barton was ambitious, but he did know his duty. So he couldn’t leave yet, until he knew that the thing was gone or dead. More dead, he corrected his thoughts.

  He finished the meat and cheeses, then picked up his pipe, held it to his lips, and lit it. He puffed for awhile, letting his muscles relax. In the corner a dark shadow stepped away from the wall and slipped through the open door behind Lord Barton.

  No one saw him or felt him as he slid through the castle shadows and into the street. He kept to the shadows until he reached a house with one lamp next to the door. He knocked on it. The door opened, and he slid through the opening.

  There was a loud click when the door locked behind him.

  Delhaven, Guild House

  Rooso Derne

  Rooso stepped into a small room lit with one candle. A figure in a black cloak with face, feet, and hands covered sat on a small wooden chair facing the door. Rooso pulled off his face covering and hood. Then he ran his hand through his bright red hair. It glowed in the candlelight. He smiled at his visitor. “Waiting long?”

  He pulled off his gloves and and his shadow dispelled around him. The grin glowed and then sputtered out as the concealing magic grounded. The best mages were able to ground anywhere. Rooso had been one of the best of the best, a long time ago. Now he was a spy, reporting back through the king’s spy network.

  “Not long,” growled the visitor. “You have news.”

  “Just some ruminating from the lord himself. It seems his pet mage was the one who let the Draugr loose.”

  He let his visitor think on the implications as he warmed his hands by the fire. The tea kettle started to whistle. He poured himself a cup of tea and didn’t bother to give his handler another cup. One more minor sin wouldn’t make that much of a difference since he knew his handler was going to punish him.

  Oh yes, Rooso had been a bad, bad boy. He was now closer to Mistress Mary Rose than any operative had ever been. What made him bad, was that he hadn’t reported his every meeting with the infamous brothel owner. Since many of those meetings left him and the infamous madame naked, breathless, and moaning, he would rather keep those meetings private. She was every bit as good as her reputation. He felt a stab of jealousy, the first he had felt for a long time. He knew he was in trouble when he wanted to protect her instead of protecting his king’s interests.

  Rooso sipped his tea and waited for the handler to say something. The handler looked pointedly at his cup. Rooso poured him a cup.

  “You still don’t make good tea,” grumbled the handler. The handler sipped his tea through the mask. It was not really a mask but a magic shadow. The handler could eat and drink wearing the mask. Rooso had never seen his handler, but he had heard the handler’s voice enough that he knew the handler was not a woman.

  Also his handler’s magic was the best illusion magic that Rooso had ever seen. Before his run-in with the Grimoire, Michael’s potential as a mage would have been at least as good as this handler. Rooso felt a brief stab of pity for Michael.

  “So why are you here?” Rooso was curious. It wasn’t often the handler felt the need to meet him in his small nest. Even when he was in Mary Rose’s arms, some part of him didn’t let go. He was aware and wary of anything that could be a danger. Some of it was caused by his nature. He didn’t trust easily. Of course, his training only made his distrust worse.

  When he had gone to the Mage Academy at least a decade ago, he had been groomed and trained. He had wanted to be the king’s mage with power and glory, and maybe gain his own land. Coming from the docks, it was a a high goal. But the king’s spymaster met him and his die was cast.

  He was trained as a spy, a mole, and assassin. To have his handler show up physically could compromise his entire operation here. Suddenly he felt tired to the marrow of his bones. “Are you going to take off your disguise?” he asked.

  Rooso sipped
his tea, waiting for the answer. The tea warmed his stomach and spread until he relaxed. At least he looked relaxed.

  The handler shook his head no, then went on the attack. “You were there, but didn’t tell us the details.” The handler set down his tea and then folded his hands in his lap.

  “Where exactly?” Rooso let some impatience slip into his voice. “I am all through the city on a daily basis. You know this.”

  “The well.”

  Oh, the magical well, that had been part of Hilda’s property. Lord Barton had burned down the property to get it so that he could tap into the magic. Instead Davi, under the direction of Michael and with the help of Hilda, Mary Rose, Rooso, and Stefan had capped the well. Not a bit of magic slipped through that ley line since they had closed it.

  “Yes, I was there. You have my report. What more do you want?”

  “Who is Davi?”

  Rooso had been very careful about describing Davi. Even the king’s mages would want to dissect a young dragon and use him in their magic potions. Rooso would have been one of them until he met Davi. Also, Davi was under the protection of Hilda. She was one woman he didn’t want to cross.

  “He is a young man saved by Michael. I don’t know the particulars, but there was a black mage who had a village ensorcelled with a powerful grimoire. Michael saved the young man, but was unable to save the village.”

  “You didn’t say where this village was…” the growl was back in his handler’s voice.

  “From what Michael said, it was about ten or more days north of Delhaven. What more do you want?”

  “Don’t you think it was fortunate that he had enough power to close a well we had no idea was here until recently?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it. I was more worried about the Draugr. You know I put that in my report.”