A Keeper’s Tale: The Story of Tomkin and the Dragon

by JA Andrews

  Tomkin began to creep back toward the door.

  “I know, child,” said the kobold. “But they are both here, and while Marshwell might object to you staying here, the more pressing issue is the dragon. You need to convince him you are more valuable to him alive. You need to tell him who you are.”

  Tomkin hesitated.

  “It feels a bit awkward to introduce myself now.”

  “Awkward is better than dead,” Wink pointed out.

  “I don’t think it will help.”

  “Yes it will. Because whether you like it or not, you are valuable to a good many people. If the dragon can recognize the value of the boy from Marshwell, he’ll recognize you are worth even more.”

  Tomkin froze. She was…what?

  “Your holding is larger than Marshwell. If your families allied, then Vorath would face a large enough force that it would be difficult for him. He will realize he needs you on his side.”

  Tomkin looked hard at Mags. Her holding was larger than Marshwell? There were only two in all of Queensland. North Peak was on the far northern border, days away. That left only…

  Tomkin’s stomach sank down to the flagstone floor.

  Mags sighed. “I don’t want to be me any longer.”

  Wink set his long, knobby hand on Mags’ shoulder. “You can’t become someone new without making peace with who you already are.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, Wink,” Mags said softly.

  “Always, my lady.”

  Tomkin stepped out into the rain, barely feeling it. His mind spun. The only other holding larger than Marshwell was…Greentree.

  Mags stood and drew herself up as tall as she could. “I’ll go to Vorath and say, ‘Hello, I need to introduce myself. My name is—’”

  Tomkin marched into their firelight. “Lissa of Greentree!”

  11

  Mags whirled toward Tomkin, her hand flying to her mouth.

  “You are Lady Lissa? Of Greentree?” This was the woman he was supposed to marry? This?

  Tomkin stomped toward her, until she had to step back.

  “You lied to me!” he declared.

  Mags dropped her hand and stepped forward, straight as an arrow. “I did not lie to you. I just didn’t tell you who I am.”

  “Lies don’t always involve words.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him. “Well, why should I tell you? We’re not friends.”

  Tomkin glared at her with equal fury. “No. We are not friends. Nor will we ever be. It’s nice to know I was right about you, even before I met you. I didn’t find a castle with one dragon, I found a castle with two.”

  Mags’ face filled with disgust. “You have no idea how insulted I was that my father matched me with the youngest son of someone as insignificant as the Duke of Marshwell. Marshwell!”

  Tomkin stared at her angry face. He’d been worried about her. He had tried to rescue her. When all this time she had been here because she was running away from him. She had chosen living with a dragon over marrying him.

  “Your land is a stinking swamp,” she continued, stepping forward until she was almost touching him. She stood glaring up at him like a little ball of fire. “And you are such an insignificant part of it, that were I to marry you, we’d probably end up crammed together in a mud hut stuck in the middle of your ‘mournful’ marshes. Which would fit, because having to spend my life with you would be worth mourning.”

  “You’re in Marshwell right now,” Tomkin said, gritting his teeth and motioning to the castle and the cliffs and the river. “Do you see any marshes? Marshwell is a beautiful place.”

  Mags gave the pouring rain behind him a disgusted glance. “Yes, it’s lovely here.”

  “You tried to steal this castle to make it your home! How did you think that was going to work? Do you think you can just saunter into Marshwell, flip your soaking wet hair around, and declare something yours? This isn’t Greentree. Here, you are nobody. I can kick you out of here at any moment.”

  “Like you can kick out the dragon?”

  He leaned forward until he was looking down into her furious face. “I’d rather have the dragon.”

  Mags gave him a withering look. “You and your family left this castle in ruins. I’m not taking anything from anyone. You already threw it away.”

  “Well I’m claiming it again for Marshwell.” Tomkin grabbed the torn sleeve of his shirt, right above Marshwell’s shield, and yanked. The sleeve tore off easily and he peeled it off his arm. It flipped inside out in the process and he tugged at the wet fabric, swearing and grunting at it, trying to turn it the right way.

  Mags crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow.

  With a final snap of the fabric, Tomkin flipped it the right way, grabbed a thin piece of wood off the floor, and tied the sleeve to it. This was his castle and no spoiled girl was going to take it. He marched over to a nearby window and jabbed the piece of wood into a crack between the rocks. When he let go, the stick sagged to the side, the sleeve hanging limp and soaked against the side of the window. It looked pathetic.

  Tomkin spun back towards her. “Colbreth Castle belongs to Marshwell.”

  Mags eyed the makeshift flag with contempt. There was a scraping noise behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see the stick, weighed down by the wet sleeve, tip over and fall out the window.

  “Take it up with Vorath,” Mags said.

  A gust of wind blew into the tower and Tomkin’s bare arm felt even colder than the rest of him. He glared at her. “I came here to tell you I found us a way out.”

  “I don’t want a way out.”

  “You can’t be serious about that. The dragon is going to kill you. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but when he is done with you, he will kill you.”

  Mags took a deep breath, then looked at Tomkin like he was a child. “I understand you don’t want to be here. I do not understand your misguided attempt to save me. I release you from whatever obligation you feel you are under.” Her voice softened and took on a pleading tone. “You should go. Get out tonight, because you’re obviously going to make Vorath mad, and I don’t want to be the reason you stayed and died.”

  She gestured toward the night. “Just leave this castle and leave us alone. You haven’t cared about this place for generations. Don’t start now. I’ll talk to Vorath about getting his own flock of sheep and then he won’t need to hunt from anyone in your land. We’ll live happily here and you can live happily far away.”

  Mags turned away from him and went back to the fire, picking up a piece of wood and tossing it on. She held her hands out to it. Wink positioned himself next to her, his back turned as well.

  Tomkin stood, shivering. He couldn’t just leave her, as much as he wanted to. He couldn’t walk away and let her kill herself.

  “What am I supposed to tell your father?” he asked her quietly.

  Mags’ back stiffened and she turned, eyes glinting. “You don’t have to tell my father anything. I will explain it to him myself.”

  Tomkin’s temper flared. “Fine. Wink, try not to get killed also. When all this is over and we are searching for your mistress’s bones, I’d like a witness to the fact that I did everything besides throw her over my shoulder and carry her out of here like the child she is.” He whirled around to go.

  The hair on his arm and neck stood up, sending a tingling feeling across his shoulders. With a blinding flash, lightning hit the roof of the tower. The concussion of thunder was not a sound, it was a force. Like the water giant pounding his colossal fist into Tomkin’s chest.

  A scattering of rocks landed around him and Tomkin ducked back against the wall. He looked up in time to see a large stone plummeting towards him.

  Even the castle is trying to kill me.

  Pain split his head with a flash brighter than the lighting, dropping him to his knees. The edges of the tower blurred and darkness rushed over him.

  * * *

  The next thing Tomkin knew, he wa
s lying on the hard ground, his arms and legs too heavy to move. When he opened his eyes, the light of the fire stabbed into them. He groaned, squeezed them closed, and turned his head away. Pain shot into his skull.

  “Stay still.” Mags’ voice came too loud next to his ear.

  Something touched the back of his head and the pain took his breath away. He tried to pull away, but a hand stopped him.

  “Stay still,” she said firmly.

  He wanted to tell her to stop touching him, but his mouth didn’t seem to want to do anything but groan.

  “If you’d stop making that noise,” Mags said, “it would be nice.”

  Tomkin groaned again, putting a little extra effort and volume into it.

  “Oh, stop.” He was jostled, his head lifted and set back down on something soft. Which was nice. Damp, but nice. Something warm started to stroke through his hair. Warm and wet.

  He cracked his eyes open again. Next to the fire, Wink peered into a copper cup.

  Tomkin shifted, stretching his legs a little. Another burst of pain lanced through his skull. He lifted his hand, still a little heavier and clumsier than it should be, to feel his head.

  “Don’t touch,” Mags said and batted his hand away.

  “Why not?” Tomkin demanded. Except it sounded more plaintive than demanding.

  “Because you crashed your head into a rock and you shouldn’t touch it. You’ll be fine—at least I think you will—but you shouldn’t touch it. I’m trying to clean it up, and you need to leave it alone.”

  “I didn’t crash my head into a rock! A part of the tower fell off and smashed into me!”

  “Is there a difference?”

  The world shifted and he saw Mags hand something to Wink over his head. It was a small, dark red rag. Wink dropped it in the copper cup. He wrung it out and handed it back to her, not nearly as red.

  “Is that my blood?” Tomkin shoved at the ground, trying to sit up.

  “Of course it’s your blood.” Mags pressed firmly on his shoulder, immobilizing him. “You ran your head into a rock. Now lay still so I can clean it up. There’s an awful lot in your hair.”

  He wanted to protest. Actually, he wanted to tell Mags he hated her, but her arm had been so freakishly strong and the wet rag, almost hot, felt so good on his head, he settled for a scowl.

  She was Lissa of Greentree. His betrothed, technically.

  “You lied to me.”

  The rag paused, then continued stroking through his hair. If that rag hadn’t been connected to Lying Lissa, it might have been soothing. And if there weren’t stabs of pain each time she came too close to the wound.

  “I didn’t lie.” Her voice was prim.

  “You knew who I was,” Tomkin accused her, and this time it almost came out accusing, except for the slight slur.

  The rag continued stroking across his hair, but it was getting colder. She passed it to Wink again before answering.

  “I came here because I am done being Lissa of Greentree.” The rag came back hot. “I had no intention of telling anyone my name. It doesn’t do much good to run away from your life and then tell the first person you meet who you are.”

  There was a logic to that. It was a stupid logic, but he had nothing to say to it. He hadn’t wanted to marry her—and now he knew he needed to find a way to get his father to end the betrothal—but he wouldn’t have lied to her about who he was. “What exactly was so terrible about being you? The fact you were betrothed to the second son of a lesser duke?” His voice had cracked a little at the end, and he clamped his mouth shut, putting more emphasis on his scowl.

  The rag stopped and Mags’ arm rested on Tomkin’s shoulder.

  That was the moment he realized his head was in her lap. In her lap! He shoved himself off of her.

  Pain split his skull and flashes of light arced across his vision. He grabbed at his head, just as Mags’ shrill voice stabbed into his ears.

  “Don’t be stupid. Lay down until you feel better.”

  He shoved her hands away and leaned back against the wall, focusing on the fire that kept slipping sideways. The castle bucked under him like a living creature.

  Tomkin focused on the feeling of the solid wall behind him and waited for the world to stop shifting. A gust of wind blew past, brushing chilly fingers across Tomkin’s neck. His head throbbed from his shivering.

  “Oh, come on,” Mags said, exasperated. “Let’s move you closer to the fire. I didn’t do all that work to your head just to have you freeze to death.”

  12

  Mags stood in front of him and offered her hand. He wanted to refuse, just because it was Mags offering, but he was too cold. He took her hand and rose to his feet. The fire slid to the left again, in a crooked, tipping sort of way, and Mags shoved her shoulder under his arm.

  “Don’t fall. You’ll hit your head again. This way, just a few steps.”

  The two of them stumbled to the corner, and Mags sort of helped, sort of hindered, as he sank down against the wall. The stones this close to the fire were warm on his back. Tomkin drew his knees up and rested his chin on them, looking into the flames and absorbing the warmth.

  Mags went to the corner and came back with a little bowl of nuts. She sat next to him, offering the bowl. He glanced around for Wink, but the kobold must have disappeared off to…wherever kobolds disappeared to.

  “You’re still shivering.” Mags gave a tiny, annoyed sigh, then scooted next to him. He wanted to be annoyed right back at her, but she was so warm.

  Tomkin stared into the fire and munched on the nuts, trying not do anything that would hurt his head. Like moving, or thinking.

  “Coming here had nothing to do with marrying you,” Mags said quietly.

  Tomkin stared into the fire. “You’ve made it clear how you feel about Marshwell and youngest sons. Don’t try to apologize for it now.”

  “I’m not apologizing,” she said. “I don’t want to marry you any more than you want to marry me. But that’s not why I didn’t tell you who I was, and it’s not why I left Greentree.”

  “Who do you want to marry?” he asked. It was a sullen, sulky question, and he was annoyed at himself for asking.

  “I don’t want to marry anyone,” she snapped. “At least not anyone I know. I just want to have a home that is mine and that I can run. Greentree is massive. Do you have any idea what it takes to run a holding like that?”

  Tomkin’s head throbbed and Mags’ voice kept stabbing into the pain. He was trying to follow what she was saying, but mostly he wished she would just stop talking.

  “I didn’t mean to sound so…mean about Marshwell,” Mags’ voice was quieter, thank the skies. “I don’t have anything against it. The parts I’ve seen are pretty. And it’s insignificant enough that I wouldn’t be required to do things like visit court every year.”

  Tomkin ignored the “insignificant” part.

  “I’d forgotten Greentree goes to court,” Tomkin said. A memory nagged at him. The pain was receding now that Mags was done being shrill. And the fire was so warm. Some part of his brain was telling him to stop talking, that he was about to say something he shouldn’t. It sounded suspiciously like some sort of long-bearded mentor, the kind that shows up in all the old stories, directing the hero onto the right path. But the bearded voice was tucked pretty far back, and whatever part was feeding words to his mouth seemed unhindered by it.

  With the corner behind them and the wall of rain like a dark, rustling curtain at the edge of the firelight, it was like they sat in a haven of calm, separated from the rest of the world.

  “You know Princess Ellona, don’t you?” Tomkin asked. “I hear she’s the most beautiful girl in Queensland.”

  Mags snorted.

  Tomkin glanced at her. “Isn’t she?”

  “Oh yes, she’s lovely.” The look on Mags’ face was so venomous, Tomkin pulled away from her.

  The memory clicked into place. “Oh, right. You don’t get along with the princess,
do you? Didn’t you do something horrible to her? Slap her face in front of the court, or something stupid like that?”

  “Slap her face!” Mags’ shrill voice pierced into Tomkin’s head and he doubled over, slapping his hands over his ears.

  Obviously, that wasn’t the right story. But it was something like that. That’s where Mags’d got her Dragon nickname…maybe.

  Past his hands, Mags’ voice screeched on.

  “Mags!” He interrupted her.

  She whirled on him. “My name is Lissa!”

  “Well I’m less annoyed with Mags than I am with Lissa of Greentree,” he shot at her, keeping his head ducked and his ears covered, “so I’m sticking with Mags. And will you please lower your voice? You normal voice is almost soothing. But when you yell, it’s like a tiny man pounding an axe into my skull.”

  She was silent. Tomkin turned to look at her and found her face such a mess of emotions he didn’t know how to interpret it.

  Her eyes were unusually bright. Did they normally look like that? Maybe it was the fire. They were pretty. Light brown. And so shiny.

  She blinked and the shine disappeared.

  “Are you crying?”

  The bearded old man voice in his brain threw his hands up in the air in despair. Tomkin paused. He blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog. He sat straighter and took some deep breaths while he ran back over the low points of their conversation.

  He grimaced. “I’m sorry, Mags. My brain isn’t working quite right. I’m not usually this….”

  “Thick?” she offered, but her voice was lower, and her scowl had loosened a little.

  Tomkin let out a short laugh. Thick was just the word. “I had no right to say anything about you and the princess. I have no idea what happened there. It was just rumors and I hate when people spread rumors about me.” His mouth was running a little faster than he was comfortable with, but a glance at Mags’ face showed her scowl was almost gone, so he let it run. “Last summer my brother was home for a short time between skirmishes on the border.”