A Novella: Curse of the Night Dragon, #1

by S. K. Alden

  "We'll begin a new class this spring," he said to the likely fellow. "We can use more hefty lads like you. Be sure to answer the call when the recruitment begins."

  The lad looked stunned and his proud father beamed.

  Quite some time later Kirin turned from a formal toast with masters from the stonesmith's guild to find himself face to face with a startled trainee, very nearly knocking her over. It stopped him in his tracks.

  It was the cneasaí lass from Grauvale, her green eyes wide, her expression suddenly blank.

  She bowed her head. "My lord, I apologize." Her cheeks flushed.

  "For what?" He'd had enough ale by now to feel blissfully chatty with anyone. For some unexplained reason, he had the sudden urge to pull her close and kiss her ear. Just there. After all, it was a party and her ear looked so pretty without the over-done decorations of the older ladies. Just a little dash of star-white crystals...it was perfect.

  Then he looked away, his brain whirling. There was nothing appropriate or honorable about that impulse. The ale is getting to you, he chided himself, and Skirfir was suddenly nowhere in sight and unlikely to rescue him.

  When he looked back, Cneasaí Hrae had stepped to the trainee's side, saving them both from further awkwardness.

  Behind him, he heard a familiar voice: his sister-by-marriage, the Lady Maeg, Queen of Snowmount.

  "Well, little brother, I hear you brokered a successful peace accord in the nursery," Maeg’s voice was light and carried good humor.

  "He did indeed, My Lady," Hrae smiled.

  Next to her, the poor Cneasaí trainee sunk to a full court curtsey before her Queen.

  "Ah, my Ladies, now look what you've done." Kirin smiled at his brother's wife.

  Maeg handed the poor girl up.

  "The nursery was indeed a challenge," Kirin said, providing a distraction while the lass gathered herself. "But our good Cneasaí Hrae provided aid to the wounded after the cease fire." He inclined his head to the elder healer, hand over his heart.

  Hrae graced him with a tilted head. "Allow me to introduce you to one of our own, recently returned." She had an arm around the shocked girl's shoulders, older Cneasaí to younger.

  "May I introduce Nÿr, a lass of River Bend who trained in Snowmount.”

  Kirin instantly recognized what the vagueness of that introduction really meant—the absence of her parents’ names meant the lass had no surviving family. No wonder she's working on a night when everyone else is with kin, Kirin realized.

  “Nÿr is one of the volunteers who went on that support mission we sent to Grauvale five years back," Hrae added, excusing herself to follow a beckoning page.

  Lady Maeg looked at him with expectation in her eyes.

  “Welcome home," Kirin remarked to the lass.

  “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered. She bobbed a quick curtsy, looking half paralyzed.

  Kirin chided himself and recalled his manners. He gently put his hand over his heart and inclined his head. "All honors to you for your service."

  She repeated the hand-on-heart gesture with a bob of her head. What he really noticed were her long fingers. It made him smile.

  “Honors to you." She made the formal response, and he liked her voice. Warm and soft.

  "His name is Kirin," Lady Maeg said, laughing gently. "Just Kirin." With a certain nod and a wink, she patted her husband's brother on the arm before she let someone pull her away.

  Kirin gave Lady Maeg a nod of respect and when he looked back, the cneasaí apprentice had gone—now ten feet away on the arm of a grandmotherly lady who fanned florid cheeks.

  He turned to find old Garbhan watching him and covered his unsettled feelings by raising his flagon and joining his senior cousin, electing to distract the wily oldtimer by soliciting advice about the increasing rockfalls on the western terrace.

  Chapter Four

  At noon the next day Kirin stood in the cold wind on the western terrace with the Stonesmiths, listening to their theories and arguments regarding the instability of the slope around the rockfall. To his dismay, several merchants and other visitors had arrived to look at the damage and add their worry.

  Even old Garbhan had hobbled his way to the perimeter, leaning heavily on his staff.

  "It would be better if we could get up there and really poke around," said the chief Stonesmith.

  Another shook his head. "It's too unstable. From here, I'd say the problem is contraction of the stone in the cold weather."

  "Looks more to me like it's a weak rock face loosened by the munitions used in the last battle," said another one of the construction experts.

  "As a general matter of concern," one of the richly dressed merchants complained. "Does anyone know just how much of the mountain is equally unsound?" He looked around importantly as if to imply that Snowmount's ruler was as unstable as its rock.

  Kirin bit back an angry comment, recognizing the insult as politically motivated. His sympathy swelled for his brother, cooped up in negotiations with these fools...

  "To the nàmhid’s hell with that damn bloody idiot," Old Garbhan muttered low enough that only Kirin could hear. "He can caguruk..." He used an old ceilte insult and narrowed his eyes.

  "Garbhan, stop it," Kirin said quietly, suppressing a laugh. "You're channeling Grandfather Aubin again. They'll hear you." Kirin fought to keep from smiling.

  The grumpy old warrior just growled.

  "I'll send out extra patrols," Kirin soothed. "Just don't..."

  "Lord Kirin!" Someone called in a high-pitched, panicked voice.

  Kirin was instantly on alert.

  "Ambush. Úkenn outside River Bend." It was one of the pages, out of breath.

  The merchants predictably erupted in alarm. Kirin broke into a run, heading for the armory at the Main Gate. He met Gilleath, already there, passing out weapons. The King thrust a bow into Kirin's hand and glared—not only at the mention of úkenn, Kirin knew, but at the timing. It was not what they wanted while hosting such a crowd of visiting dignitaries.

  And then someone among the troops beyond caught his eye. The short form of an underage prince disguised beneath an oversized helm. Kirin shouted for a halt, stopping the line of soldiers streaming out in defense. He pulled Fjall out of the ranks, thrusting him toward his father before signaling that the troops should continue.

  "Skies above!" Gilleath swore at his under-aged son, gripping the lad's arm.

  "Both of you," Kirin glared. "Up to the Watchtower. We need someone there who can speak with ravens." He jerked his head toward the battlements.

  Trusting that his brother would behave and stay put as long as he had his young son to protect, Kirin grabbed an extra quiver of arrows and sped to the gates. Skirfir met him there with saddled mounts, and within minutes they were riding out on light-armored horses, the speedy fighting breed recently bought from Skyrange.

  Kirin led a group of twenty mounted warriors and came upon the ambush quickly, finding an overturned carriage beside a group of panicked ladies.

  “See to the wounded,” he pointed, nodding to five of his soldiers, and with the rest, fanned out around the wreckage, ready for a fight.

  But not finding one.

  After three circuits of the immediate area, Kirin slowed the horse and dismounted, sword drawn and eyes scanning the ground for signs of action. "What did they take?" he shouted. "What was their purpose?"

  But he did not find what he expected—no spent arrows, no thrown knives...no dead or wounded úkenn.

  He looked back at the frightened ladies huddled outside the overturned carriage, one was gasping in a breathless panic that didn't quite ring true, three were in tears. Their hair might have been a bit mussed, but there were no torn dresses, no defensive wounds, not even a scraped hand or knee. Nothing supported the idea that they had been thrown from a racing carriage trying to outrun pursuit by bandits.

  Then he looked at their horses. Unhitched, not lathered, with no sign of broken tackle or injury. They s
tood calmly with two very young grooms who stood with heads down.

  Skirfir circled his horse and caught Kirin's eye. The lad clearly had a hundred questions in his mind.

  "Speak," Kirin commanded.

  "My lord, there's nothing. The carriage is overturned, but no sign of úkenn." The junior archer looked confused, eyes wide.

  "Very good. We're meant to believe there was an attack, but you're correct. There's no evidence of any kind of fight at all." Kirin raised a hand and looked at the scattered flock circling above. A moment later a glossy raven landed on his fist and bobbed, voicing a drawn-out, deep quork.

  "What do the ravens say, my friend?" He asked quietly. "Are there úkenn about?"

  The raven cocked its head and pinned Kirin with one shiny black eye. "No úkenn. Treachery. Treachery by your kind." The raven flapped his wings in anger.

  "All right, yes," Kirin said, trying to calm it a moment. "My thanks. I am ever grateful." The raven settled but still fluffed in anger at such a development. “Hen-hen,” it muttered. “Hen-hen.”

  Kirin ignored this as nonsense. "One more thing, my good friend," he said. "A message to the Watchtower, if you would. Report to the King: Overturn accident. No ambush. All clear."

  The raven launched itself into the sky and made straight for the Gate and its tower.

  "I don't understand," Skirfir said, not being able to hear ravens.

  Kirin clenched his jaw. "The raven names this treachery." He glared in the direction of the ladies, still fussing at the soldiers who were trying to offer assistance. "And despite all the goodwill at last night's feast," he said. "Gill says the negotiations are contentious. My guess is this incident is meant to create fear where there is no reason for it and make for disruptions in the talks."

  Skirfir stared as if he couldn’t make sense of that.

  "Politics," Kirin said, sheathing his sword with more force than needed. "Good thing Gill's the diplomat. I would find who's behind this and run them through."

  "And I would help you do it," Skirfir said. The lad glowered.

  Kirin grinned, then became serious again. "The question to ask is: whose idea was this?"

  Skirfir inclined his head toward the crying ladies near the overturned carriage. "I say we start with them."

  "Good lad," Kirin said. He issued a quick order for two of the mounted guard to intercept the approaching reinforcements and have them stand down. When he turned back to Skirfir, his tone was quiet. "I’ll work on the ladies—you try the grooms."

  But questioning resulted in little usable information. What Skirfir got were terse, short, unwilling responses. Kirin got nothing more than tears, claims of injury, and complaints about lax security—which challenged Kirin to hold his tongue and keep his temper. They had no idea the extent of Snowmount's security and claims that it was lacking turned his heart cold. Warriors died to protect this mountain. Warriors he knew.

  And then one of them changed her tune. "But now you've rescued us, Lord Kirin." She clung to his sleeve like a cloying scent. "So gallant. Do you know," she leaned close as if to share an intimate secret. "I have sent family envoys to your brother." She lowered her eyelashes for a long moment, then looked him in the eye.

  Kirin stared. The lass...hinting that she would make a choice of him?

  It was impossibility, Kirin thought. His brother had declared a moratorium on outside marriage negotiations years ago.

  "I've not heard," he deadpanned. The lady was not dissuaded.

  "By your honor," she said in a raised voice, loud enough for others to hear. "I insist that you escort me back. I wouldn't feel safe," she emphasized, "with anyone else." With that, the lady went limp, forcing Kirin to catch her. It created, he realized, the impression of an intimacy that did not truly exist.

  "Oldfather’s axe," he swore. Feuds were started over less. "Cneasaí!" he called, trying hard for his compromising position to look like nothing more than a simple act of aid to the stricken.

  Skirfir had the good taste to look affronted and Kirin clearly felt that had their positions been reversed, Skirf would have let the lady fall flat in the dirt.

  "On the way!" someone reported as a dozen armed soldiers on horses rode up. Three had cneasaí riding pillion. Kirin was all too eager to transfer his fainted lass into the hands of an older warrior with a healer’s band on his sleeve.

  "What did you find out?" he prompted Skirfir to report as they stepped back.

  "The grooms say these are ladies in waiting with the delegation from the Albankeep," Skirfir said quietly. "The two over there," he gestured to a pair of weeping lasses, "Confirm it. This one," he indicated the fainted lady being tended to by the physician. "Is someone's daughter—one of the official observers. A Master Yngvi."

  Kirin glowered, not liking that association at all.

  "In my opinion, everything else about this so-called attack is a lie." Skirfir's face was set.

  Kirin nodded. "I believe your assessment is correct," he said in a tight voice. Contention in the negotiations, unexplained rockfalls, and an unexpected bid for the hand of a prince... Albankeep was after far more than disrupting an alliance with Sea Cliff. They were trying to start a blood feud.

  They want Snowmount, Kirin realized, nearly laughing at the hubris of it but knowing better than to underestimate an enemy. Gill’s right to Eathom’s Throne had been a sideways path...he was King Aubin’s grandson through his daughter...not through Aubin’s son or grandson—both years dead. Indirect inheritance invited challenges, and Snowmount’s mineral wealth emboldened such things.

  Kirin nodded to Skirf and turned away to think...they were not more than two years from the defeat of the nàmhid and the seven families were at each other already. Sometimes, he growled to himself, Green Islers were simply too hard-headed for their own good.

  He surveyed the accident scene as he mulled this over. One of the captains had organized the work of righting the overturned carriage and called out the command to hoist.

  And then several things happened at once: the carriage was righted, one soldier cried out from a nasty cut with an impressive spray of blood before the injury was staunched. Three of the Albankeep ladies set to screeching in a chorus of indignation at one of the cneasaí, the loudest being Kirin's fainting friend, apparently not as unconscious as thought.

  And a contingent from River Bend appeared on the road ahead, riding well-armed, fast, and directly for them.

  Chapter Five

  Kirin gave the command to remount and ride forward, motioning for Skirfir to remain on guard with the Cneasaí and ladies. The highborn daughter of Yngvi seemed unaware of the possible danger, loudly insisting that the archer lad be banned from her presence. Her father might be a merchant, she shouted, but her mother was Albankeep royalty.

  "Royalty, I tell you!" Her screech nearly echoed around them.

  Kirin turned his horse for the road as a full squad formed up behind him. He felt a moment of sympathy for Skirfir, but only a moment. Bigger concerns were upon them.

  "Arms at rest," he shouted to the soldiers who were with him, leading them ahead. "Unless you see an actual úkenn!"

  They stopped in two columns at the top of a rise, waiting for the River Bend men to approach.

  To his relief, the oncoming men were slowing their horses to a walk and their weapons remained pointed at the sky. They halted several lengths away.

  Kirin unbuckled the flap on his fighting leathers, revealing his royal sigil in a show of faith with their ally.

  A lone man dressed in battle gear rode forward, his bow on his back.

  "Well met, Lord Kirin, Prince of Snowmount." The man held up one hand in a gesture of neutrality.

  "Well met, young Darraugh, Lord of River Bend." Kirin returned the gesture. He couldn't quite get used to the lad, ten years his junior, who had recently come to rule when his father Murto perished in the Last Battle, but he liked the fellow. His forefathers had managed River Bend nearly as long as Eathom’s people had been at
Snowmount. But even though River Bend sat at the foot of the Mountain, its people were not ruled by the sons of Eathom. River Bend was the southern-most trading outpost of Ryland, and over the years, it had become nearly independent, being about as far from Redstone Castle as it could be. Grandfather Aubin had always handled their nearest ally with respect and care.

  Kirin and Gill continued that tradition. Besides, they relied on River Bend to ship their goods on the rivers and fjords.

  "We heard rumors on the wind," Darraugh stated. "Of úkenn and ambush."

  "As did we. Yet I arrive to find only a single carriage, overturned." Kirin rode forward until their horses stood nose-to-tail so they could talk in private. "And a raven tells me there are no úkenn for miles, dead or alive," he said. "Which could not be true if there had been an actual ambush. Yet someone would have us believe this staged accident is the result of úkenn attacking innocent highborn ladies."

  Darraugh kept his expression blank.

  "Your opponent is an amateur," he said. "Anyone who ever fought beside you on the field of war would never underestimate your battle sense."

  "I thank you for your vote of confidence."

  Darraugh's posture relaxed. "Would this have anything to do with the ongoing negotiations your brother is hosting?"

  Kirin suppressed a wry smile. "We are meant to miss that point, I believe. Are the visitors causing problems in River Bend? Some of the Wintermeet contingents brought merchants along. I apologize if they overstep..."

  Lord Darraugh held up a hand, smiling wryly. "No need to apologize. We are making out like bandits, as my grandfather would have said. If we have to cat-foot around a few fusspots..." He shrugged. "No real harm comes of it."

  Kirin nodded. Though he could imagine...visitors with gold burning holes in their pockets, all too eager to seek bargains in the legendary marketplaces of River Bend, and all too prone to imagined insults and cheats.

  "What's the sticking point in the negotiations?" Darraugh asked, obviously aware that the scene before them meant things couldn't be going well.