“A strange thing, thinking about a dragon wanting protection from people,” she murmured. “He is paying you for your troubles?”
Emich winced. She said it like she expected his interest was purely in wealth. “I have no need for pennies, gold or otherwise. I do not seek custom orders—I forge what I want. I only do this to avoid trouble, even though in the end it may be unavoidable.”
“What do you mean? How do you think dealing with a dragon is less trouble than not?”
He looked at the incredulous expression on her face and answered, “If I do not help him, I would hate to imagine what he might do. Best satisfy his order and be done with him.”
“So that he might fight off his ‘vile attackers’?” she asked with a raised brow.
“If I do not make his armor, he will ruin my peace on my ancestor’s mountain.”
Morgen’s face pinched up, and he could tell he’d said the wrong thing. She fired back at him, “You poor child.”
Emich sighed. “You do not understand. He expects his order to be completed in four weeks.”
“So?”
“I do not know how to make hard enough armor to deflect blows and thin enough for him to take flight. Then there is the matter of ease. He wishes to be able to put on the armor himself without aid. Men have hands to fasten straps and pull things on, but a dragon does not. I have no idea if I can accomplish such a feat so quickly. If I am unable to, Rubrecht will entertain himself until I do. This means missing livestock, scorched homes and violated maids. The angry mob of villagers will naturally take vengeance on the dragon of Drachenberg. It will put an end to my peace and possibly my life.”
Morgen blinked back at him. “Maybe it is for the best.”
The soft rays of daylight slanted in through the kitchen windows. He tried to breathe out the pain that pressed in on his chest, and he stirred up dust motes floating through the air. Emich hadn’t expected her to lay flowers at his feet after sharing his news, but it was no less agonizing hearing confirmation that he was just as unbearable as he thought he was. He couldn’t look at her as he answered, “Maybe it is. But this is why I live alone. It is easier. I never expected to see Rubrecht again—never thought I would see his shadow on my meadow—or I never would have allowed you to stay. Your father left you, thinking you safe in my care, and now you will be in danger if you remain.”
Emich spread his hands apart on the table and stood up again. He went to the worktable to grab an empty sack and tossed it on a stool near the threshold leading into the byre. “My food supplies have been depleted. Today seems a good day to travel to the village. I have known the smith there since I was a child. I trust him and his wife. I am sure a gold florin would persuade him to let you stay until your father returns.”
“You are taking me to the village?” she asked with a frown.
Emich walked past her to open his bedroom door and found a clean shirt and doublet to wear. He peeled off his dirty shirt and pulled on the new one as he reentered the hall. As quick as he could, he buttoned his doublet and raked his fingers through his hair. Then he noticed Morgen watching him in stillness, and he gestured toward her door. “Gather your things. Best get you out of the dragon’s den.”
She stood up slowly and went to her room in silence. He returned to his private quarters for his purse of coin, then gathered a few other empty sacks and took them into the byre where the horses were milling about. He didn’t waste any time hooking up the cart to the steeds and securing the empty ale barrel in the back. By the time he flung open the double doors, letting in the morning sunlight, Morgen had appeared with her things folded and pressed to her chest.
Emich held out one of the empty sacks to her so she could pack her belongings away. She took it in silence. While he watched her drop the door knocker in the bag and proceed to pack away her spare clothing, he muttered, “I can see I repulse and frighten you more than ever, so you may sit as far from me as possible in the back of the cart.”
Outside in the patchy sunlight, he latched the tall doors to the byre and turned to climb onto the front seat of the cart. There he found Morgen had already settled in the back of the cart with her filled satchel on her lap. Her eyes were focused on the sparkling lake when he climbed up and took hold of the reins.
They traveled in silence. A few weeks ago he would have relished the quiet ride. Now it bothered him.
She’d said so little, asked so few questions in the kitchen. It was clear he disgusted her. She thought his magical kind vile, just as anyone else would think of them if they knew of their existence. He wondered if she would share his secrets once they rode into the village.
He decided he didn’t care anymore. If they pulled him from his cart and flogged him to death, the world would have one less demon to worry about. Then he might be comforted in rejoining his family in death.
Not a word was said between them as the horses pulled the cart between the trees and down the mountainside. He stole glances over his shoulder at her, unable to find the courage to say anything more. It seemed clear enough she was through with him. And he couldn’t blame her.
All of it was hard to believe, and she might have thought it a frightening story used to scare children had she not seen the dragon turn into Rubrecht—a flesh-and-blood man.
While she sat on the cart, her mind was busy turning over everything he had said and everything she had witnessed since meeting him, trying to find a reason to trust him. She couldn’t fault him for wanting to keep what he was a secret. Although the church and monarchy might find issue with his family keeping their mine a secret, it was nothing to her.
She was uncertain whether his origins were evil or not. The more time she’d spent with him, the more she’d found him kindhearted and generous. He simply didn’t seem malignant or villainous. But maybe that was the sign of a true demon.
Everything he’d said answered nearly every question she’d had since they’d met, back when she thought him a slovenly brute. What would her father think of all of this? He was the most optimistic person she knew. She wondered if even he could think the best of Emich under these circumstances.
The sound of the horses’ hooves on the rocky ground tapped and echoed off the nearby slopes. She looked up and recognized her surroundings. The trees to their left were the very ones her father had trekked through to make camp beside the small field in the place they were robbed.
When Emich’s path had crossed theirs, she could not have imagined all that would transpire. Of course the first blacksmith to accept her for her hard work and passion was also no common man. He’d given them a roof over their heads and food and had even sent Tybalt off with a horse. At no point had Emich forced himself on her or made her uncomfortable. How could such a man also change into a frightful beast like the one she saw last night? The memory sent chills down her spine.
Morgen rubbed her temple and brows. All of this frowning made her head hurt. Before she knew it, the sound of civilization met her ears. The sounds of voices, horses and even hammering rose above the trees as they descended into the valley. Her time was up. She could now be rid of Emich and his problems.
Despite her eagerness to be free of him, she wished she could slow the horses’ steady gait so she could have more time to think. She knew what any priest would say about Emich, but she had never been one to accept what others thought she should think or how she should behave. Morgen would be the one to decide if he was a demon from hell sent to wreak havoc on earth.
They passed the tavern, the butcher and the other merchants and craftsmen. Eyes were turned upon her as people noticed Emich Schmidt travelling past with a maiden curled up in the back of his cart. She watched the villagers whisper and comment to each other.
On the outskirts, where the trees grew close together and the homes were few and far between, they rode up to a smoky clearing. The clanging of a hammer pounding iron filled the air, and Morgen couldn’t suppress a melancholy smile. She spotted the open-air workshop and forge
beside a wood-framed home. A middle-aged, balding man was hunched over his work. He straightened up when he saw them and put his hand up in greeting.
Emich stopped the horses, gripping the reins tight in his hands. He waved back and said under his breath, “You are the only person I have ever told my secrets to. I did it not because I had to, but because I trust you. Tell them all if you want—I leave my fate in your hands.”
Without looking at her or acknowledging he’d even said a word, he got down from the cart and started off toward the smith. “Hallo, Henkel. Hard at work, I see.”
Morgen swallowed and stared at his back before slipping her feet to the ground. She grabbed her sack of belongings and pressed it to her stomach. Like it or not, the time had come for her to leave Emich’s side.
“Oh, you know how it is.” The balding smith cast a curious glance her way. “Have you married since I last saw you? You should have told me.”
Emich turned around to watch Morgen walk over to them, and he shook his head. “I am afraid not. She has been helping me in my workshop, learning a thing or two. Told her father I would look after her, but my home is not fit for a woman. I wondered if you had a place for her until her father returns in a month—two at the most? I can pay for her board. You might find her useful to have around like I have.”
Henkel’s sweaty forehead wrinkled as he looked her up and down. He scratched his head and glanced toward his house. “Ah, I may have to check with the missus. She looks a bit spindly to be helping ’round the forge.”
“She is stronger than she looks. Trust me,” Emich said.
Henkel frowned. “Oh, I do.”
Morgen remained mute, listening to their conversation. She resented being discussed like a commodity. She was tired of having all of her decisions made for her.
After sitting silent long enough, it was time for her to find her voice again. “I think your house is just fine.”
The village smith didn’t appear to hear her, but Emich did. He did a double take, and his brows knitted together. “What?”
She took a deep breath and spoke with as much conviction as she could muster. “You think you can get rid of me so easy, do you? I wish to remain with you.”
Emich seemed to forget about Henkel standing beside him wearing a confused expression. “I do not think you understand what you are asking.”
“Do you think me slow?” she asked, crossing her arms.
Henkel’s eyebrows lifted, and he stepped away from the two. “I will leave you to figure things out…”
Morgen observed the smith return to his forge to drive his iron into the glowing embers within. Then she turned her focus to Emich, who was staring at her in puzzlement. She leaned in to whisper through gritted teeth, “I know my own mind, and you will need help forging the armor in time.”
His face pinched up as if he tasted something bitter. “But what of your safety? I cannot promise you will remain unharmed. Plus, I thought you wanted to get away from me. Doesn’t it frighten you, knowing what I am?”
“My death is certain, be it next month or fifty years from now.” She shrugged and looked at him. If it had been Emich she’d seen changing from a dragon into a man, would she still wish to be near him? Morgen knew the answer before ever asking the question. “You do not frighten me, for I know your spirit. Loyalty is earned, and you have earned mine. Let us leave this place so we do not lose any more time.”
She pinched the sleeve of his shirt and tried pulling him toward the cart and horses. He held his ground, digging in his feet and capturing her wrist in his grasp. “But what if I am not willing to risk your safety?”
Morgen couldn’t restrain her laugh. “It is not yours to risk. It is my choice to remain by your side. You best not go against me—it will end badly for you.”
She called over to Henkel after wrenching herself free from Emich, “It was a pleasure meeting you, sir. Sorry for the confusion. I hope to visit your forge again.”
17
Confused didn’t cover it.
Emich didn’t understand what had just happened. Maybe it was his certainty that no one would ever wish to be near a man like him that left him so befuddled.
After getting to know Morgen over the last few weeks, he thought it best not to stir up a fight in the middle of the village. So, he said his goodbyes to Henkel and joined her on the cart.
On the main street of town, he bought three times more food than he was used to, figuring it was better having it spoil than not having enough when Rubrecht returned. He stocked up on charcoal, and although he didn’t have a design or plan in place for the armor, he suspected he would need leather and stopped by the tanner’s. While he waited for the merchant to roll up and tie off what he’d purchased, he heard a conversation between a man and woman out in the street.
“I saw it plain as day, flying east over the mountains.”
Emich glanced over his shoulder, his curiosity heightened. The man made a face and suggested, “Might it have been a falcon or kestrel, lamb?”
The woman nuzzled her cheek against the sable lining of her cloak. “I know what I saw. It was a dragon.”
“Quite irregular,” the man grumbled. “They do not usually fly about in broad daylight. Not unless someone has been poking around on the mountain.”
Another villager paused beside the couple, having overheard as well. He leaned in. “I bet it was that fellow who came through a few weeks back, asking about dragons. We warned him not to stir up trouble. So long as the winged devils leave us be, I do not mind.”
“Here you are—” The tanner tipped a thick roll of leather against Emich’s chest.
He stared at the man in surprise. It took him a moment to find his voice. “Many thanks.”
Emich carried the leather out past the gossiping villagers to the cart where Morgen was waiting for him on the front seat. She had declined to join him in the shops. Perhaps she thought he might try to leave her behind.
He slid the roll of leather into the back of the cart and carefully wedged it against the basket of eggs. Before climbing back up to the front beside Morgen, he made sure he’d resupplied everything he could possibly need over the next month, for he would have little time to spare to take a return trip to the village. Fairly confident he’d thought of everything, he joined her on the bench seat and gathered up the reins.
The horses’ clopping footfalls echoed off the buildings as they made their way slowly up the street. Emich hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her since they’d left Henkel’s place. He didn’t know what to say. He had questions, but he was afraid to ask them. He actually found himself hoping the return trip home wouldn’t be filled with uncomfortable silence.
Once they left the activity of the village behind, he cleared his throat, prepared to say something foolish about the weather being good to them, when Morgen beat him to it. He felt her eyes on him as she said, “If you are a demon, you do not act like one.”
He glanced at her.
She spoke up again, “I know you think me irrational, but it is my decision to make.”
“That is not what I think.” He stared at the rutted path ahead of them instead of looking at her. Birds chirped from the nearby pines.
“Oh,” she answered, almost disappointed. “But you must think me—”
“Stop,” he interrupted. “I have no idea what to think. I cannot imagine why you wish to return with me to my dragon’s lair.”
Emich dared to glance her way. She blinked back at him in such a way it appeared she was holding her breath. After a moment, she folded her hands in her lap and said, “Your father was like you—a smith and a…dragon man. Tell me of your mother.”
He couldn’t understand why their conversation had taken this unexpected turn, but after pushing aside his confusion, he sighed. “Very well. Her name was Maria, and she had hair the color of pine bark. She was near your height, with eyes as blue as a stormy sky. She was kind, spoke with an accent, and when I was young she would play w
ith me until father came in from the workshop for dinner.”
“She sounds like she was lovely,” Morgen murmured. “And how did your father meet her?”
He tried to recall what he’d been told. “When my father was a young man, he left my grandfather’s home to travel in search of a master smith who could teach him new techniques. It was in Genova where he laid eyes on her—though she always disagreed—she claimed it was she who saw him first. But however it began, he married her and brought her back to live here.”
“Did she know of your father’s secret?”
“Of course.” Emich shrugged. “Mother knew what my father was and did not fear him. She knew I was like him, but cherished me like no other.”
Again, he felt her eyes on him, and he dared to return her gaze. She said nothing, leaving him to his thoughts. He knew his mother had been brought into his father’s magical world and that she’d accepted him. But she’d loved him, deeply. The discussion left Emich confused. He still didn’t understand why Morgen would want to put her life in danger by remaining with him.
They traveled in silence for a time until Morgen began to hum a tune. Dark clouds blew in after midday as they approached home. The smell of rain perfumed the air before he felt the first drop. He led the horses through the thick of the trees, which helped keep them dry.
Morgen must have recognized the grove because she craned her neck and squinted ahead. “Is that the lake I see?”
“I believe it is,” he answered.
“What will we get started with?” she asked. “The weapon or armor?”
He chuckled at her eagerness to begin. “I started the tail blade yesterday. It will be no trouble to finish. I will leave that for the last. To fashion armor to cover the breast and underbelly of a dragon, I will need more steel.”
Sirens and Scales Page 152
