Blood and Royalty

by M. R. Mathias

  “You are she.” He pushed back his hood, revealing a shiny, but well sunned, bald head. His eyes were those of a man who bore ill news. “I have a message for you. The esteemed wizard Balin Zekker asked me to beg of you a deed of kindness. He took into care a pair of orphans who were bitten by some venomous thing that got into their crib. He says your wyrm’s magic is the only thing that can save them from a terrible death.” The man sat heavily. He sighed as if he was as relieved to be rid of the message as he was to be off his feet. “He says you must fly like the wind if you care to save them.”

  “Where are they?” Clover asked as she downed the remaining contents of her tankard. She had been somewhat orphaned when she was a girl. Her mother died birthing what would have been her little brother. Her father, who was at one time an apparently revered man, ended up being good for nothing save for finding the bottom of cups.

  Under the table Clover’s hand slid its way into her belt pouch and wrapped around her dragon tear. Before its great power had a chance to overwhelm her, she channeled the rush of the Dour magic into locating Crimzon. Her dragon was in the nearby mountains hunting, but he could be there by the turn of a glass. There would be time to finish the riding rig later. If there was a chance she and Crimzon could help the orphans, she felt they had no choice but to try.

  ***

  Clover never ceased to marvel at the dragon beneath her. He was an excited child, full of curiosity and glee. His warm scales felt like the finest silk against her thighs. He was sinuous and graceful. He was awesome.

  Crimzon had wide leathery wings, and claws that could snatch a small cow right out of a field. He was full of odd wisdoms, and as proud as any creature had ever been. He was fierce, strong, and at the moment Clover knew her companion was hungry. They had been flying for two whole days.

  “I sssee the ones I swants,” the young dragon hissed into Clover’s mind.

  They were soaring high over a wide, brushy plain where an unsuspecting herd of antelope was grazing. Crimzon had passed over them twice now. Clover didn’t like seeing the gory meals being consumed, but she knew she needed to let her dragon feed and rest. “Set me down, then,” she sighed. “Over there, where those trees grow dense along the stream.”

  The eager dragon swooped slowly around and glided into a stall over a flower-filled glade along the stream. Clover sensed something strange, but couldn’t finger it. She slid from the dragon’s back and decided she didn’t feel threatened. She was glad, because the hungry young wyrm was already leaping back into the sky. Her only weapon other than the magic of the dragon tear she carried was a small crossbow. It was deadly, but hard to load quickly.

  After a moment, she realized what was bothering her. Her surroundings were unnaturally quiet. The gurgle of the stream continued in the distance, but there was no buzz of an insect, or even a single bird’s call.

  It was because of Crimzon, she decided. His presence could still nearly every living thing.

  She took a slow turn, taking in her surroundings. Piney sentinels, furs maybe, hoarded the spaces that the tall elm trees didn’t fill. She was in a horseshoe shaped open area of shin high grass. The opening of the shoe faced the stream and was lined with flowering shrubbery. There was a small pebble strewn flood wash that opened onto a wider pool. The fresh scent of the flowers reminded her that she hadn’t bathed in half a week. She welcomed the idea of a long soak. She tried not to think about anything at all as she started trudging through the lush toward the water.

  The water was icy cold and crystal clear, but she disrobed and slid into the sizable pool anyway. The middle was deep enough that her feet no longer touched the bottom. After a few moments, she grew used to the temperature and laid back for a soak. Her long hair splayed out on the surface like a scarlet fan. After a moment, one bird, then another braved flight on its way back to the clearing. She wished she wasn’t wondering how and why the wizard’s messenger traveled so far to find her.

  Only Clover’s face was above the water now, and her thoughts slowly wondered away. Her back was arched and her body floated just under the surface, held buoyant by her well-rounded breasts.

  A time of calm pleasance passed, but a breeze picked up and chilled the exposed parts of her so badly that she rolled herself over in the water and started back toward the bank.

  The cold on her skin reminded her of the long winter she spent in the bed of a man that she didn’t really love. It was an odd memory that gave way to others. She had loved a different man when she was younger. He was a swordsman. Her girlish hopes for children, and a life with him, ended abruptly when she saw his well hacked body lying limp on a cart with the other men who had died that day. But all of that was before she found the four leaf clover and her incredible run of luck begun. And even that had happened years before she and Crimzon found each other.

  Two strokes and her feet found the pebbly bottom of the pool. Her luck held true. When she looked up, the fleeting glint of reflection from something metal at the edge of the tree line came to her eyes.

  Someone was spying on her from a perch in the trees.

  Clover was naked, but didn’t react as some women would. Instead of rushing to cover herself, she went on casually, taking her time with her garments, letting the sun dry her skin.

  The breeze picked up again and a sweet lemony smell came to her nose. Then a gasp sounded, from another section of forest. Clover realized there were more than two people out there. To her bewilderment, she soon learned that she was not the reason for their presence or their wonder.

  Another gust of wind came, this one rattling limbs as it rushed through the trees. The sky filled with little bright blue fluffs of pollen. The lemony scent grew stronger, and the motes the wind displaced began to sparkle like sapphires in the sun.

  It reminded Clover of snow; fat, billowy blue flakes of it. Only it was like floating jewels, and the stuff was so light that only a very few bits of it ever made it all the way to the ground.

  “Go,” an excited voice commanded from across the clearing. “Go now, she won’t bother you.”

  A boyish voice responded. “But her firewurm! It might return!”

  “Come on, I’ll show you,” the first voice urged, if hesitantly.

  A thin boy with long, silvery hair and a stick net eased out of the trees. He was followed by a smaller boy. Across the clearing at another point in the tree line, more young men were emerging, each of them carrying a hoop net mounted on a stick. Cautiously, they began sweeping the nets around, capturing the glittery pollen in them. Clover was amazed.

  ***

  From the rocky place he laid to let his meal digest, Crimzon sensed Clover’s uneasy awe and mistook the feelings for fear. He rushed to the clearing, arriving with a rather large roar of warning. He came flapping down hard. Blue sparkles went whooshing away from his wing strokes as he held in a dominant hovering position over the clearing. The boys with the nets went screaming and falling over themselves trying to get back into the forest.

  “No Crimzariathon!” Clover screamed, both aloud, and in her mind. “They are no threat!”

  “I see thisss,” the dragon hissed a response, but didn’t change his posture. He was enjoying the moment. He started to say more, but hiccupped and twitched instead. He hiccupped again, then sneezed out a leaping gout of flame. The floating sparkles that were caught in the fiery blast brightened into a stark white sizzle, then popped away for good.

  “Mustsss leave this... thisss... this... thaw chew!” Crimzon sneezed again. The pollen was making the built up char in his nostrils tingle. “Musst leaves... Thaw CHEW!”

  Clover didn’t hear his warning. She took two steps toward her dragon, clutching the fist sized dragon’s tear that was in her belt pouch as if it were the only thing for her to hold onto. Its magic filled her, but not before she went falling forward into a dreamy, lightheaded tumble.

  ***

  A bed of soft carillon flowers caught her. She rolled in the petals, tossing them like a g
leeful maiden. You’re not really on a bed of lemony smelling fauna, a voice in the back of her mind screamed at her, you’re drifting away. A loud roar echoed into a chorus of shrill terrified screams. A blast of heat wafted across her skin and brought tiny droplets of sweat to her brow. Then a wavering shimmer of coolness consumed her and she could hear chaotic reflections from several, young, murmuring voices.

  “The wizard is trying to trap you so he can steal your firewurm,” a child warned. “He wants to take it away, like he took my brother.”

  “There are no bitten orphans,” added another child. “But you must go and play the fool.”

  “He is evil,” said a third voice.

  “That he is, and his eyes are set on your wurm,” agreed the first speaker. “You must put an end to him, before he puts an end to you.”

  “Please, put an end to him.”

  ***

  “Cloversss?” the inflection of Crimzon’s hissing voice betrayed his concern. The world spun when she opened her eyes. Her heart went thundering through her chest when she saw there was nothing but space below her. She was clutched in her dragon’s claws and high enough from the ground that the trees looked like pinecones. She found she still had her hand wrapped around her belt pouch.

  It was a relief.

  “Set me down. Let me on your back,” she huffed. “What happened? You didn’t hurt them, did you?”

  “I left the fae alone. The aroma had hold of you,” the dragon answered as he curved his flight around and began banking lower so that he could set Clover down easy. “The sun has just left the sky. We’ve not come far.”

  “Are you’re in need of rest?”

  “Tomorrow, I will rest. This night is perfect for flying.”

  On the ground, Clover buckled her belt pouch and situated her studded leather armor-vest before climbing on the dragon’s back. She wished the riding rig had been completed before the messenger came, but it wasn’t. Still, Crimzon was right. The moon was a pale shade of yellow and mostly full, giving the few puffs of clouds in the sky a golden lining. The voices she’d heard echoed faintly in the back of her mind as Crimzon lurched them back into the air.

  “Please, put an end to him.”

  “Yes, please.”

  She didn’t discount the warning. She had already grown suspicious of the messenger’s story. Four days of dragon flight was about three weeks on horseback. The children would have been bitten near a month ago, and that’s only if the messenger found her immediately upon arriving in the Vell.

  Now with the cool, fresh air filling her lungs and clearing her mind of the haze, she was beginning to think maybe the strange warning wasn’t just a flower dream.

  As dawn breached the sky, they could see the wizard’s tower in the distance. It sat proudly, high on a rock strewn crest. She would let Crimzon rest before getting any closer. She wanted to tell her dragon of the voices that warned her, and of her own concerns. The few real wizards she’d come across in her day were formidable. If he was worth his salt, this one would know of their proximity even now.

  “Find yourself a place to curl up,” she said. “Preferably one where I can keep an eye out for trouble while you rest.”

  “There,” Crimzon indicated into her mind a flat shelf on a fist of rock ahead of them.

  “Yes,” she approved. “I can see any who might approach from below there.”

  They landed, and before Crimzon settled he retrieved a large mouthful of a dead tree’s limbs and set the pile to blazing. After he slithered into a tail to snout curl, she told him of her dream.

  “It matters not,” Crimzon reassured in a tired, halfhearted, manner. “A mere wizard is no match for us.”

  “We don’t know if he is a mere wizard, Crim. He might have help, too. We must be careful.”

  “Yesss,” the sound of the hiss faded softly. “Carefullss we willsss be.” Then he was asleep.

  ***

  Late the next evening, Crimzon brought them into a wing-thumping landing at the base of the dark, block-formed structure. It wasn’t as impressive up close as it appeared on their approach. Clover thought the colorful, well tended flower boxes on either side of the banded entry door looked out of place. It was a grim looking tower; three times as tall as Crimzon’s raised head. It wasn’t very big around, but the steep peaked metal work at its top lent it a bit of majesty. It overlooked a valley that was plagued by so much scattered rock it would have been hard to farm. The stream that flowed down its middle was more than a trickle, but not by much.

  Clover decided the wizard’s choice of locale spoke a lot about him, but the plump, kindly looking man who creaked open the door and greeted her wasn’t anything like she expected. Behind his thick, gray, beard, eyes as blue as the sky were ringed by red, irritated lids and cast in a way that betrayed a great deal of sadness. Clover suddenly felt ashamed.

  “You’re a few evenings late, I’m afraid,” said Balin Zekker with a forced smile. “The girl child died from her fever and the boy is clinging to life by a pixie’s whisker.”

  “Use the tear,” Crimzon’s voice sounded into Clover’s mind.

  “Can I see the boy?” Clover asked as she slid off of her dragon’s back.

  Crimzon caught the sparkle of malicious intent in the Wizard’s eye when the mage glanced back at him and spoke the word that released a spell. It was too late to do anything about it, because Zekker was already closing the door behind him and Clover. When it banged shut, a ripple of powerful spell magic radiated outward. It caused Crimzon to roar out in protest. A magical field had been cast into existence, an unseen aura around the tower that dug into his senses and repelled him. His instinctual reaction was to leap away into flight, to get away from it. Only after he was at a distance did he regain control of himself. He was panicked and confused. Nothing like this had ever happened before. The only thing he could think was that the wizard wasn’t after him. The flower dreamers told Clover wrong. The tricky wizard was after Clover... or more likely, his mother’s teardrop.

  ***

  Zekker had been hearing of the lucky girl who’d befriended a dragon for months, but not until he cast a spell to detect magic did he learn of her teardrop’s massive power. He asked the herb witches who bought his potions to spy on her. Through them he learned that the farmers were thankful for Clover’s wyrm. Its presence kept the wolves and other would be predators from pilfering the herds. The young red didn’t bother them or their pastures. It hunted in the mountains away from the stock.

  Clover was as notorious as her scale covered friend, but for very different reasons. She wasn’t allowed in the gambling houses because she never lost at dice or cards, but all of the other folk in the Vell treated her with respect. The spies said that Clover worked hard every day, with the leather-man, and that she had a soft spot for the orphans that ran the Vell.

  Balin Zekker wanted the teardrop. He wanted its power badly. He considered all that he learned and then devised a plan. It hadn’t been easy to bribe a reputable mage to carry his message to her, but he’d managed the price. He was glad she had come. The teardrop was about to be his.

  ***

  Clover knew the moment she stepped in and laid eyes on the thing in the crib that it wasn’t a boy. It wasn’t even human. Then the door boomed shut, cutting off her dragon’s roar of warning. She knew she was in trouble. Luckily, she was already reaching for the teardrop.

  The thing in the crib leapt out at her, revealing its grotesque, gray-skinned form. Child sized with a maw full of needle-sharp fangs, it was some twisted version of the fae children that had visited her dreams. It hugged onto her upper body with unnatural strength. She barely had time to turn her face away from those teeth as they tried to tear her face away. It caught a mouthful of hair instead, and didn’t let go, even when the wizard began barking out orders for it to do so.

  Clover’s right arm was pinned against her, but her hand was near her belt pouch. When she saw the wizard reaching toward her waist, she realized
what he was after. She whirled around and ran the creature’s back into the corner of the hearth. It cost her a ferocious bite on the shoulder, but the wiry little beast let go and fell into a screaming heap of pain.

  The wizard began calling out the makings of a spell. Clover’s hand wrapped around the teardrop just a heartbeat too late. She crumpled to her knees when the mage’s blast of debilitating energy hit her. The mutant fae hop-crawled on all fours across the floor like some malformed tree-monkey and sank its teeth into the bloody wound it had already caused.

  “Don’t eat her,” the wizard yelled. “Get the teardrop out of her hand, you half-dense fumblegoon.”

  Looking up from his prize meal of human flesh he let out a blood covered snarl. He growled out his displeasure, and began using his long fingers to pry the jewel out of Clover’s hand.

  Clover wanted to fight back, but there was no strength left in her. Zekker’s spell left her feeling like her bones were made of water. She tried to resist the creature’s strong hands, but it was no use. Blood slicked, the teardrop was soon held up before the mutant’s curious eye as he inspected its sparkling nature.

  The rush of the Dour magic filled the thing so suddenly that it shocked the beast into a wide eyed shriek of terror. Clover watched as the chubby wizard tried to take the prize from his familiar. The power struck little beasty had no intention of turning it over, and the two began to struggle around the room for it.

  During all of this, Clover was regaining control of herself. She could smell burnt hair and she felt as if she had been roasted in the sun. Rising to her knees, she ignored the terrible pain in her shoulder and found the dagger she kept in her boot. It was a small one used mainly for skinning and carving, but it was a weapon. She reached out for Crimzon with her mind and was surprised to feel him there, fighting his revulsion to come to her aid. She didn’t doubt he would overcome the powerful sensation. It wasn’t in his nature to let her down. He would have to hurry, though; the wizard was choking the mutant now, and it had no idea how to focus the Dour that was flowing through it into a defense.