Dragon Knight's Axe

by Mary Morgan

  Alastair rolled his eyes as he jumped off the ship. “Gunnar, check in with the harbor master.” Tossing him a small bag of coins, he added, “Inquire about the recent trading and any further information we seek.”

  Gunnar nodded once.

  “And Gunnar…find out what the Norman is actually trading.”

  He gave Alastair a smirk, understanding his meaning.

  Alastair would avoid the man, but first, he required the knowledge of why he had returned so soon. He long suspected he was a spy, trading with you one moment, and then placing a knife in your back the next. Was it for his king? Alastair wished no conflict with any king. He despised them all, save one—King William.

  His thoughts drifted back to those of his homeland.

  Scotland. Urquhart. His brothers.

  For a brief moment, he let himself reflect before he shook his head, shutting out those memories and burying them behind a steel door within his mind and heart.

  He blew out a soft curse and turned to help his men off load some of their goods. Several barrels of mead were set aside to barter with the local innkeeper who always delivered a promise of good food and a warm bed—preferably one with a woman in it.

  Yet, first, business needed to be conducted. Pleasure for him would have to wait until tomorrow.

  “Hand me my bag, Steiner. Those who are not on the first watch may take their leave.”

  “Where can we find you?” asked Ivar.

  “Where else…the house of the Kelly. We have a chess game to finish.”

  All the men let out a groan.

  Ivar slapped him hard across the back as he passed by. “Stay away from the mead, MacKay.”

  “Drink only ale,” shouted another.

  “Piss off,” Alastair growled, “or I will be forced to teach ye another lesson.”

  He continued to walk down the plank, hesitating briefly before he stepped onto land. Clenching his jaw, he quickly made his way through the crowds. A group was gathered on the right, bartering for slaves. He hissed out a curse as he passed. People scattered as he stormed down the pathway. With his height and scar, they feared him. As it should be, he thought. Once, someone had called him a demon. Alastair had thanked the man and then broke his nose.

  The pathway narrowed, bending upward and away from the main part of the town. Those who remained on the island built small cottages nestled among trees over the hill. One side of the island was used for trade, the other to live, which boasted a view of the mainland away from the sea.

  When Alastair finally made his way to the top, he halted. Sunlight and warm breezes cleared the stench of the harbor clinging to him. He welcomed it, although briefly. Scanning the area, he spotted Joseph Kelly standing at the entrance of his cottage. Word traveled fast of his arrival here on the island.

  Striding forward, he greeted Joseph. “So which of your spies declared our arrival?”

  Joseph smiled broadly, displaying a mouth with few teeth. “Och, I have nae spies.”

  “Might he be the young lad up on the hill?” Alastair jerked his head in the boy’s direction.

  Joseph gave a full belly laugh, smacking Alastair hard across the back. “Ye always did ken my spies, MacKay. That be the lad, Jamie.”

  “Humph!” grumbled Alastair.

  “Are ye ready to finish our game and lose?” His host turned to enter the cottage.

  “Ye are mighty sure of yourself, Kelly,” responded Alastair, stepping in behind him. Dropping his bag, he went to sit at the table where the chess game was set up exactly as it had been when he left several moons ago. He rubbed his jaw and peered closely at the table.

  “Ye wound me, MacKay. Do ye think I would cheat?”

  “Aye,” smirked Alastair.

  “And coming from the mouth of a smuggler.”

  “Now ye wound me. We are traders.”

  Joseph grumbled something under his breath and placed a mug in front of Alastair. “And here I am giving ye my best mead.”

  Remembering the words of his men, Alastair laughed. Taking a sip, he held the mug upwards. “’Tis a fine one, indeed.” Wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, he motioned for Joseph to take his place.

  “Anxious to lose, are ye?”

  “I will not go down without a fight, old man.”

  They sat in respective silence for the next few hours, each focused on the game. When only a few pieces remained on the board, Alastair spoke. “What have your spies told ye about the Norman?”

  Joseph rubbed at his chin. “Are ye trying to disturb my thoughts with mention of that scum?”

  “As I can see, ye have only a few more moves before I take your king.”

  “Always so sure of yourself, MacKay.” Joseph stood and walked over to a table, bringing back a pitcher to refill their mugs. “I will take your queen now.”

  “She is no longer important to me.” Alastair chuckled. “I told ye I would win this one when I left moons ago.”

  “Ye have not won, yet,” snapped Joseph.

  Alastair made his move, and then reached for his mug. He realized he had to be patient for any knowledge he could glean from Joseph. It was always thus with the old man.

  Moments passed before Joseph made his move. He scowled when Alastair quickly maneuvered his rook into a killing position to capture Joseph’s king.

  Joseph tipped his king over in surrender. “Ye may have won this time, but I reckon it will be the last. Let me see the pieces ye are working on.”

  Alastair went to retrieve his sack. Removing a black velvet bag, he drew forth a few chess pieces.

  Joseph held them up to the light, running his gnarled fingers over the carvings. “And the queen?”

  “She still has work to be done,” he said, handing it to him.

  “Ahh…a dragon—a beauty, she is. Is this where ye will place the amber?”

  “Aye.” Alastair sat back and watched as Joseph inspected his work. There were only a few who knew of his carvings.

  He handed the piece back to Alastair. “The scum is a double spy. Some say he’s working with John de Courcy.”

  “Why would FitzGodebert be in league with de Courcy? He was banished and living on the Isle of Man.”

  “Ye are not thinking clearly, MacKay. John de Courcy is planning an invasion to oust Hugh de Lacy. He wants his land and castles back.”

  Alastair folded his arms across his chest. “And who would be brave enough to assist him?”

  “Norse soldiers from the Isle of Man. Ye forget he is married to the daughter of King Godred.”

  “Lugh’s balls! War…again.” He drained his mug and set it back down. “How soon?”

  Joseph shrugged. “Cannot say. The seas will be brutal, though.”

  “Again!” barked Alastair. He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. He and his men had managed to steer away from the violent attacks over disputed lands. Over time, the Normans conquered many of the kings of Ireland. With another attack coming from the Isle of Man, it would land them in the middle of a battle they wanted no part of.

  He hated the Normans almost as much as he hated the English.

  The mead soured in his gut.

  “Some turnip stew?” asked Joseph.

  Alastair snapped out of his thoughts. “Nae, more mead.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Beware the shimmer of the stones, for only those prepared will travel between the worlds.”

  He couldn’t do this! It wasn’t fair! All my hard work for nothing?

  “Idiots,” Fiona hissed. She was not prone to violence, but after the news from the professor, she wanted to rake someone’s eyes out.

  Josh, her supposed co-worker and friend—well somewhat friend, had taken her reports and claimed them as his own. He also stated she was not pulling her weight. His claim was her only contribution was the Gaelic, which anyone could have deciphered.

  She shoved a fist into the air toward the professor’s office. “I’ll show you. Just wait until I find more informat
ion on this Dragon Knight. And Josh Matthews, you can go straight to hell!”

  Storming down the walkway, Fiona collided with Rory as he turned the corner of the building. She literally bounced off the man as if he was made of stone.

  Rory grasped both of her arms to keep her from falling backwards. “In a hurry, Fiona?”

  She couldn’t even look at him. “Let me go.” Her voice came out in a strangled shriek.

  Instead of releasing her, he tipped her face up to meet his. “What’s wrong?”

  Her anger came out in a rush of words. “I’ve just been told I am no longer the lead on my project—one I started. It seems someone else has taken over my notes and claimed them as his! My work! My time! My translation!” She wrenched free, flinging her hands out. “Poof! Gone!”

  Rory folded his arms across his chest. “Who?”

  Fiona looked away, tapping her foot in anger.

  “I can always go ask the professor.”

  She snapped her head around and glared at him. “No, you won’t.”

  He arched a brow in response.

  “Josh Matthews,” she snapped.

  “Dung beetle!”

  Fiona eyes went wide, and then she burst out laughing.

  Rory stood silent as her wave of hysteria passed.

  Wiping a lone tear, which had escaped, she leaned against the wall. “That was a good one. Thanks, Rory.”

  He shrugged. “It’s the truth. What are your plans now?”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “Don’t really know. Part of me wants to finish it on my own. I still have my original notes. All I wanted to do was research this Dragon Knight.”

  “What about the rest of the week at the dig?”

  Fiona blinked in surprise. “Can I…do you mean?” she stammered.

  “Of course, Fiona. That has not changed. Besides, I am in charge, remember?”

  “Thanks, Rory. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem. If you agree to stay on, I might share one of the stories about the Dragon Knights.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Knights? The tablet only mentions one.”

  Rory picked up her backpack from the ground, handing it to her. “It’s just one of several tales, and the one I know best.”

  Fiona watched as he walked away, completely forgetting about her recent meeting with the professor. Hadn’t she already asked him about the Dragon Knight? Yes! So, what other secrets are you keeping, Rory MacGregor?

  “Ummm…wait up, Rory,” she called out, running after him.

  ****

  The heat from the summer sun blazed down on Fiona’s back. She swatted at a fly, brushing away dirt and weeds from a protruding piece of metal. Having no idea if it was ancient or just present day scrap, she treated it with respect. Laying down her tools, Fiona tried to budge it gently to see if she could pry it loose. Getting no results, she resumed her task.

  Rory promised her a story after she worked on her site. At first, she grumbled, calling him names in Latin she didn’t think he would understand. She should have known better, for he translated their meaning, causing her to immediately clamp her mouth shut and heat to rush to her face.

  Sitting in the dirt digging gave Fiona time to think. Why did she care so much about this tablet? It was no different from the rest of her work. Or was it?

  Monsters, dragons, and a knight. What did it mean? A story told by a bard? “My ancestors were famous for their storytelling,” she chuckled, wiping away bits of rock.

  A shadow loomed over her, and she quickly looked up. Rory had a frown across his face. “What?” Glancing back down at her hands, she thought perhaps she had done something wrong. “Did I use the wrong tool?”

  “You’ve been mumbling for the better part of an hour, which indicates to me you seriously need a break.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Nothing a little food, drink, and a good story won’t cure.” He stepped away, heading for the table.

  “Story?” Fiona asked, tossing off her gloves and following him.

  He pointed to a sandwich and a bottle of water. “Eat, and I’ll tell you a tale about the Dragon Knights.”

  Fiona hastily wiped her hands and face with cleansing wipes and then proceeded to sit down, taking a bite of her vegetable sandwich. “I’m waiting,” she said between mouthfuls.

  Rory laughed. “All right, Fiona. There did exist an order of Dragon Knights. Their order was established thousands of years ago in Ireland. You’ve heard about the five invasions of Ireland from mythology?”

  She swallowed some water before answering. “Yes. Cessair, Partholon, Nemed, Fir Bolg, and the Tuatha de Danann.”

  Rory smiled. “Correct. The Dragon Knights were assembled under the Tuatha de Danann. Only people chosen by the Fae married into these clans. When Christianity wiped out many of the dragons, the knights were charged with protecting the last remaining one. The knights fled from Ireland to Scotland.”

  Fiona held up her hand to halt his words. “So, what you’re saying is these knights are part…human and Fae?”

  “Quick thinker.”

  “This is sounding more like a faerytale, Rory.”

  “Legend,” he corrected.

  “Well, if they went to Scotland, then how does it explain the tablet?”

  “If you let me finish, I think I can answer that,” he drawled.

  Fiona waved a hand outward. “Please, continue.”

  “As I was saying, the knights went to Scotland and settled peacefully for many centuries in the Great Glen near Urquhart. Until one rival clan became enemies of the knights. They followed hundreds of years after the original family fled Ireland, believing they were the rightful ones to guard the dragon and its relics. It wasn’t until the thirteenth century that Margaret MacKay and Adam MacFhearguis attempted to heal the fighting by marrying each other. They had fallen intensely in love.” Rory sighed deeply. “However, it did not end well.”

  Though the sun was hot, chills ran down Fiona’s arms and back. “What happened?”

  “On the night they were fleeing to be handfasted, her brothers found her and Adam. A battle was fought, and Margaret flung herself in front of Adam to block her brother’s blade meant for her beloved. She died instantly, spilling blood on land sacred to the Fae.”

  Fiona gasped. “No.”

  Rory nodded solemnly. “They were cursed that night. The brothers scattered to various destinations across the lands.”

  Fiona jumped up. “One of them was here!”

  “Sadly, I have never found anything that mentions a Dragon Knight in Ireland in the thirteenth century.”

  Fiona tapped her finger against her mouth in concentration, and then pointed it at him. “What if he wasn’t called that? Maybe he went by another name.”

  “A possibility,” Rory said slowly.

  She sat back down, taking a long swig of her water. “I’m going to solve this puzzle of the tablet all on my own. I’ll show them.”

  Rory leaned forward, placing his arms on the table. “Why this fierce need to find the meaning, Fiona?”

  She looked away. How can I explain when I don’t understand myself? I’m drawn to this person without a name. A story with no beginning…no ending.

  Slowly meeting his gaze, she replied, “Because someone believed that behind the monster was a man worth saving, and I intend to help in his redemption.”

  Rory’s face betrayed no emotion. “Go take a walk, Fiona. It will help to clear your mind.”

  Her hands clenched as she stood and walked away. Passing her backpack, she grabbed her jean jacket with the fur collar. “Maybe I’ll just take a nap, too,” she hissed.

  Fiona walked with no set direction, so angry at herself for telling Rory what she felt in her heart. “I should never have said anything,” she said, stomping the ground.

  The air suddenly had a chill to it, and Fiona put on her coat. She kicked a rock along her path, not bothering to see where it landed while still mutterin
g to herself. With her focus on the ground, she nearly slammed into the large boulder in her path. Quickly maneuvering around it, she bent to retrieve a multi-colored rock.

  Glancing around, she groaned. She had walked into the grove of oaks Rory specifically told her to stay away from. “Oh no.” She’d turned to retrace her steps, when the trees blurred. Instantly, she felt dizzy, and colors danced before her eyes. Fiona slumped to the ground. Closing her eyes, she tried taking deep cleansing breaths. Her limbs were weak, and she could barely move.

  “Fiona?”

  Blinking her eyes open, she managed to see Rory standing at the edge of the trees.

  “I don’t feel so good, Rory.”

  “You will be fine, Fiona. Take your nap. When you wake, go find your monster. Only you can redeem him.”

  His words had a soothing effect on her. “Yes,” she mumbled. “Need to sleep…eyes so heavy.” Fiona rested her head on a soft patch of wildflowers, tucking her hand under her head. She didn’t even open her eyes when she asked, “Rory?”

  “Yes, Fiona?”

  “If I find the monster, he will kill me.”

  Chapter Nine

  “When you are lost, do not retrace your steps. You must continue on your journey to find your true place in time.”

  Groaning, Alastair heaved himself into a sitting position from the furs by the hearth. Another long night of chess with much mead contributed to the pounding in his head.

  Aye, I should have listened when someone mentioned drink only ale.

  Rubbing his hand across his face, he tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind. What he needed was a good dunking in the stream. At least that would remove the stench. Slowly standing, he grabbed hold of the mantel.

  Joseph entered the cottage, throwing open the door with a resounding crash. “’Tis good to see ye awake. The sun is high in the sky.”

  Alastair placed his head against the cool stone. The thought of speaking would probably inflict more pain.

  His host shoved a mug into his hand. “Drink this. ’Tis my own remedy.”

  He didn’t even look at its contents. Instead, he drank it in one gulp—reveling in the cool liquid. Handing back the mug, he opened his eyes. “Your mead packs a mighty punch.” His voice sounded raw even to himself.