by Greg Curtis
“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Another woman’s voice, another voice he knew, and somehow he managed to tear his eyes away from Verial to see Ashiel standing there, hands on hips and looking extremely annoyed. The strange thing was that she was wearing new clothes too, a priestess’ robe if he was any judge, with the neckline somehow cut away to reveal far more than was decent, and the fit far tighter than was normal as he could once more see her womanly curves.
“I came to help Alan in the garden.” And from somewhere Verial actually managed to pull out a hoe and a pair of thick gardening gloves. Where in the nine hells they’d been hiding before, he had no clue.
“Oh really? In that shameless excuse for a dress?” Ashiel wasn’t convinced and neither was Alan, not that he was complaining.
“And isn’t that somewhat two-faced from a priestess wearing that brazen robe?” She had a point Alan knew, not that he would complain about her dress either. What was happening? He rubbed at his eyes wondering if he was going crazy.
“The man needs feeding. At least I brought him something to eat.” And with that she managed to pull out a wicker picnic basket loaded down with food, smiling as if she’d just won a contest. Until Verial did much the same, at which point the smiles vanished and the claws looked to come out. For a moment Alan wondered if the two of them were actually about to start fighting, over him. Or maybe he was just going crazy.
“Hussy!”
“Tramp!”
“Oh sweet lords!” Alan tried not to groan as he saw his peaceful day’s work in the garden about to descend into bloodshed, but wasn’t completely successful. “Ladies, stop this!”
“Yes stop this.” He turned, they all turned as another woman’s voice came out of nowhere, and then his mouth dropped as he saw Rosalie standing just behind him, dressed in neatly tailored and surprisingly fetching leathers and carrying a longbow with a quiver full of spelled arrows. He had to admit she made quite a spectacular sight even if he was having trouble understanding what he was seeing. “Have you no shame?”
Then as if to deny everything she said, she stepped quickly into his arms and kissed him firmly on the mouth while he wondered if there was no end to his madness. But he enjoyed the kiss and the feel of her arms around his waist, the yielding warmth of her body pressed against him as always.
“You’re a ranger now?” It was the only explanation that made any sense, and it made no sense at all. Rangers didn’t wear tailored leather outfits, and for the most part they were elves of pure birth. But Rosalie he had to admit, would never have been happy with rough forest leathers, and her skill with the bow was remarkable.
“And you’re a wizard, of noble birth, and a member of the House of Sera. How could you not have told me?” She swatted him on the cheek for his impertinence, but kissed him again before he could even think of an answer.
He was briefly saved from having to find one as the ground began to shake, and he looked over to see Han’gre, both his golden eyes open wide, laughing at him, and clearly enjoying the show.
“Obviously he didn’t want you to know. I wonder why?” She didn’t really wonder though, Ashiel was just being mean. “Could it be because you’re just a simple village lass of no great birth unable to understand him?”
“Hold on there, Ashiel, I never -.” At least he tried to stop things going downhill, but there was no hope by then. Rosalie screamed with fury and let him go as she drew her bow, and he had to make a desperate lunge to stop her notching an arrow.
“And what would a ten thousand year old harlot know of a druid of the First Kingdom?” Verial wasn’t finished either as she struck at Ashiel, scoring what she thought was a direct hit. Ashiel though clearly didn’t feel the same, as she screamed her incoherent fury and then charged the unfortunate woman with her arms outstretched.
“Harlot!” After that things got worse.
Ashiel despite her small size, knocked Verial flat to the ground and started scratching at her, while picnic hampers and tools went flying in all directions, before Verial, thanks to her longer reach, managed to roll her over and started fighting back. Meanwhile Rosalie, still screaming incoherently in his arms, somehow managed to trip him over as he tried to hold her, and then rushed them both in a frenzied attack. At least he had her bow he figured as he lay on the grass, and all he could do was pray that no one had a knife.
“Ladies! Stop! Please!” He yelled it as loudly as he could but no one was listening to him as they rolled around on the ground pulling at each other’s hair and slapping away furiously. Meanwhile the ground was shaking more and more as the dragon gave into laughter as only a dragon could. Deep belly laughs that shook the ground like thunder and made it difficult to find his feet again, while little snorts of fire threatened his fruit trees.
“Woman troubles?” Alan knew those dry tones only too well and he turned to see Ant standing there with several wagon loads of people from the lair and Silver Falls all sitting in their seats, staring. Most of them looked to be about to laugh as well, except for the immediate families of the three woman. They were looking scandalised, and he didn’t even have to ask to know that one and all, they were blaming him.
“Perhaps this would be a good time to practice some of that diplomacy you were learning.” He spoke so innocently that Alan knew it had to be a trap, but still he had to try before someone got hurt. Except that they weren’t listening to him, and he didn’t fancy getting in the middle of the chaotic scrum of angry woman. So in a fit of insanity he tried the next best thing and summoned another water elemental.
It was a mistake. He knew that even as he sent in the whirling column of water, and then let it soak them all. He knew it more when he heard the outraged screams and squawks and saw the woman finally stop fighting, to stare at him. They knew what he’d done, and from the three pairs of furious eyes staring daggers at him from under their soaking wet hair, they weren’t happy about it. In fact he suspected they wanted him dead.
“Oh, that was clever!” Suddenly even Ant was laughing, tears streaming down his cheeks as he gave in to the merriment, and he was normally the soul of tact. “You have a rare talent! From three women fighting over you to all three women wanting to kill you in the blink of an eye. Very rare!”
“You bastard!” It was all three of them screeching at him with one voice, and as they lay there on the soaking wet grass, dripping wet, clothes torn, hair messed up, trying to get to their feet on the long slippery grass, and somewhere beyond furious, Alan knew he was in trouble. So did everyone else as they burst into uncontrolled laughter. But Alan didn’t care about that as he saw them all scrambling to their feet as fast as they could, and knew that none of them had his well-being at heart. It was his blood they wanted. He quickly started looking around for somewhere to hide.
“It might be time to run now.” Ant was right too, and Alan knew then as he turned tail and looked for a place to run, wondering where exactly safety might lie, for there would be no safety for him anywhere near the three women. Not for a long time to come. Still, he decided as the screeching grew more shrill behind him and he could hear the women calling for their weapons, the tree line looked surprisingly good. No mere necromancer could be half as dangerous.
“Oh scat!” He took to his feet like a frightened cat wondering just how his life could have become so ruinous so quickly.
And whether the dragon would ever stop laughing.
