A Novella: Curse of the Night Dragon, #1

by S. K. Alden

  "Me, apparently." Kirin looked over his shoulder at Master Yngvi's daughter, still play-acting her distress. This ruse to gain his attention was not only blatant, it was insulting. "I'm starting to worry about a claim against family honor, in fact." He tried to make a joke of it, but the thoughtful expression on his friend's face told him he wasn't successful.

  "Be wary," Darraugh said in all seriousness. "In River Bend, we have an old saying: A lass scorned is a fury unleashed." He looked pointedly at the fussing maid.

  Kirin nodded sagely. "Wise words, wise words."

  "What are you going to do?"

  Kirin kept his expression very still. "Tread carefully."

  The man snorted, then sat up when someone else caught his eye. "Is that Nÿr?"

  "Is that...?" Kirin followed the man’s gaze to the group of cneasaí tending to the warrior soldier lad with the cut hand. He recognized her then, the healer trainee in blue.

  "She worked for my father’s old cneasaí in River Bend at one time," Darraugh said. "Before the war."

  "Ex...excuse me?" Kirin asked, turning back to his friend, eyes wide.

  "Mountain lass, but someone's foster-daughter in town. Everyone's sweetheart when she was a child. There's a rumor, you know, about some Hillhomer who tried to make off with her. She was not of age and he was not her Choice. Swords were involved...the man was killed. She was shunned.” He was quiet a moment. “Old Boru took her in."

  Kirin stared at his friend. Taking a lady’s Right of Choice from her was sacrilege, and a suitor killed was a stain on everyone’s honor.

  Darraugh didn't seem to notice. "I was just a youngster," he shrugged. "I'm sure I never heard the whole story. The matter was hushed up."

  Kirin blinked. "Not surprising."

  Darraugh kept chattering. "In any case, the war years changed everything. For myself, I’m glad to see her again."

  Kirin raised an eyebrow. "Yes. She was with a group of trainees, just back from Grauvale."

  Darraugh raised a hand to his troops and winked at Kirin. "Do me a favor? Give her my best," he said. Placing his hand over his heart, he inclined his head. "All honors, my friend." He smiled.

  Kirin returned the gesture. "And to you," he replied, hoping he successfully hid the unaccountable surprise he was feeling.

  As the soldiers from River Bend turned and cantered back toward home, Kirin motioned for the riders with him to return to the accident. He put the senior Captain in charge of mopping up and rode a little apart from the action, hoping he appeared watchful rather than unsettled. He slipped his right foot from the stirrup as he sat, absently stretching the muscles and rubbing the scar of the old injury on his hip. He tried to ignore the discomfort, but the excitement had aggravated it.

  He watched as the carriage was deemed sound enough for use, having, as Kirin suspected, sustained little damage in the staged rollover.

  He heard Yngvi's daughter complaining long and loud once again, but he stayed well away, trusting the Captain and Skirfir to handle her. In truth, she was getting a far larger escort than she'd asked for and he felt little reason to encourage her with personal attention.

  But on the ride back his thoughts were despairing. The cneasaí maiden and a troubled past. And then this worthless highborn lady...

  Had she really sent a petition to his brother?

  Part of him howled in denial, but another part of him felt deflated. Gutted, his thoughts swirled illogically. What did it matter who Chose him in marriage? Despite Gilleath's efforts to place him off-limits, he'd always felt this day would come...that someday they would all be backed into a corner and he would be expected to step up and make a loveless political marriage, curse included.

  But he didn't want to.

  He closed his eyes. Skies above, he didn't want to.

  He was not surprised, then, when back at Snowmount the highborn lady’s father met the incoming carriage in a fit of rage, demanding Lord Kirin's accountability.

  Sighing, he dismounted and handed his horse's reins to a waiting groom. He walked slowly toward Yngvi, knowing full well how the next hour of his time would play out.

  Chapter Six

  Kirin finally returned to his own quarters well into the evening. He didn't notice that he was limping, but he did feel the sharp pain in his hip, and in fact, he wasn't feeling well at all.

  And there was yet another celebration in the King’s Halls...the Eve of Eve party...children excluded and known for drinking, revelry, and, well, opportunities for love in the shadows.

  He poured a glass of plain water from the bedside table, drinking it dry. He did not feel like participating in any of it. What did he expect? No one would feel well after even ten minutes with that ass Yngvi. But for the sake of his brother's negotiations, he was expected to bear up, and he would.

  He had met with Gilleath and Maeg only briefly—getting a quick summary of the day's Court events as Gill prepared for an afternoon audience with trade representatives from Hillhome. Despite the day's disruption, Gill reported that the negotiations were complete except the Albankeep contingent asked for more time to consider their vote. Without all realms ready to do so, King Niall's treaty would remain unratified. They'd adjourned with agreement to schedule the vote again tomorrow.

  But it was clear that the Albankeep warriors were holding out for approval of Yngvi's daughter's petition—a document that Snowmount's King hadn't even seen yet—and wouldn't touch if he did.

  Gill's frustration had been palpable, and even Lady Maeg’s nerves were on edge as she saw to her Lord Husband's afternoon dress.

  "The lass can petition all she wants," Gilleath had fumed at Kirin while Maeg checked the cut of the King's newest cloak. "I have told them all—we will consider nothing until the real business of our Wintermeet is done."

  "I agree," Maeg looked grim as she stepped back.

  Kirin knew exactly who the lass in question must be and Lady Maeg had glanced at him as if thinking to say more.

  "Get this button, love?" Gill asked her, holding out his arm and heading off what they all knew she was about to say: for Oldfather’s sake...find a lass you can live with and put an end to the fussing. But Maeg fixed the loose cuff in silence and made a quick, final adjustment of Gill’s left sleeve.

  "Have the ravens been acting funny to you?" Gill asked, changing the subject.

  "Funnier than usual?" Kirin made a face. The birds were essential allies but they were also known for being greedy pests.

  "Hen-hen. Had three or four of them muttering that to me today."

  "Hen-hen?" Kirin stared. "I’ve heard it once or twice. Might make sense if it were springtime," he arched an eyebrow.

  Gill just pinned him with a steady eye and huffed. "Do me a favor and keep an ear for it—see if you can draw them out."

  Kirin nodded. "Sure. I'll let you know." He and Gill looked at each other soberly for a moment, and then Gill was done with wardrobe nonsense and with a quick kiss on his Lady Wife's cheek, was out the door.

  As Kirin stood now in his own quarters, he rubbed his forehead. Springtime...mating season... The whole situation was making his head ache.

  Then again, maybe it was just the weather, he told himself. A storm was brewing outside the mountain this evening. Heavy snow most likely.

  And yet the revelries in the King's Hall awaited—strained though they might be. There would be songs, there would be stories...there would be liaisons in the alcoves...

  Old Garbhan, Allon, and Dugfus would be guests of honor, regaling all with re-tellings of that day 18-odd years ago when the newly widowed Lady Princess had perished and young as they were, her two sons had helped kill a dragon and somehow brought a flock of talking ravens to the service of their grandfather, the King. Eathom’s sons to the very bone, everyone would say.

  It had never felt heroic to Kirin. He didn't even clearly recall all of the events.

  And we lost our Mother. He remembered that. She fought so hard...she was the one who dealt the mor
tal wound...we just led it over the cliff after...

  He was quiet a moment. After it had been clear she was gone.

  And the aftermath. He stared at his little fire, so benign...so unlike the conflagration that had spread and destroyed half the mountainside.

  Yes, he would join the party, raise his glass with his friends, honor their Grandfather...and privately, Kirin would also mourn his mother, the King’s daughter who fought hard to save her sons and bring them to her father’s realm.

  But maybe after a rest. His limbs felt like lead and the bed was more inviting than any party. Layers of soft blankets. Pillows stuffed with fine goose down. And here was his little fire, burning gently.

  He had nearly decided on a nap when a soft noise near the passage to the family quarters caught his ear. A very small face surrounded by soft, copper curls peered around the door, eyes wide.

  "My Keer?"

  He smiled at his niece's version of "Uncle Kirin" as she tiptoed into the room, trailing the ties on her dressing gown.

  "Hey, sweetheart," he murmured. "Mama and Da off to the party?"

  She nodded.

  He limped away from his fireplace and eased himself into his favorite chair, opening a hand to her in invitation to climb into his lap. It was a familiar uncle-niece tradition.

  But Iri stood still as she considered the way he'd favored his right side. "Are you hurt?" she asked, eyes wide in concern.

  "Nah," he said, shrugging off his discomfort. "Just an old injury. Acts up every now and then."

  Iri frowned at him, then turned and ran back to her family's rooms. Kirin watched her go, smiling in puzzlement, absently rubbing his leg and hoping the warmth of the small fire would ease the muscles.

  She was back moments later, carrying something carefully in one hand. This time she did scramble into her uncle's lap and he caught her up, pulling her past the aching leg and settling her on the cushioned arm of the chair.

  In her hand lay a folded, damp cloth, and suppressing a smile, he watched her very seriously pat it several times before reaching up to press it against his forehead.

  "Do you think I hit my head?" he asked, amused by her focus on the task.

  She nodded. "And you have a fever."

  "Do I?"

  She nodded again, switching hands. "You have shiny eyes. Mama says that's a gibba-way."

  "A giveaway?"

  "I will call my nanny. She will make it better." Iri started to slide off of the chair, but Kirin grabbed her hand, holding her in place.

  "No," he said, too quickly.

  Iri stared.

  "No, sweetheart," he softened his voice. "I thought you were the nanny. I don't really need another one." He smiled as if this were nothing more than one of their pretending games, like having cakes and tea.

  "Tomorrow," she announced, "you can teach me more arrows." She pressed the cloth to his head again.

  Kirin smiled. She was fascinated with archery and quite good at it for a child. Better than her brothers, actually.

  "I would love to," he said. "But it's an Honor Day. You and I will both have other things we have to do."

  She removed the damp cloth again, looked at it in her hand as if contemplating something serious, then looked at him with a smile as if she'd decided he should now be completely cured.

  "Thank you," he said. "I feel better."

  From deep within the family chambers Kirin could hear the nannies calling for their young charge.

  He looked at his little niece and made a grimace as if he were scared of the nannies. "You better go," he whispered. "Before we're both in trouble."

  She giggled, then scrambled from the chair and dashed back to the nursery, shouting "Here I am!" to announce her presence.

  Kirin laughed to himself and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He loved the little rascal and wondered what it would be like, years from now, when he supported his brother in a petition for some lad's hand. Forget that, he dashed the thought. There's not a Warrior out there who will be good enough.

  And then he snorted. As if what the lads wanted really meant anything. It was all bluster, really. The actual power in a marriage petition lay with the Lady. Tradition held that a marriage was only sanctioned by the Lady's Choice. His job, he knew, would be to support Iri's Choice, when she made it, whether he liked the lad or no.

  And refusing a lass was a serious matter—serious enough to lead to knives, swords, and duels.

  That reminder made him open his eyes. Yngvi's daughter, stalled negotiations...prospect of a blood feud.

  Yet he could not force his brain to think any further on it, try as he might. He sat glowering at the fire, absently rubbing one finger across an old scar on his jaw—until a sudden knock on the door startled him out of the vast void in his head.

  "Yes," he called impatiently. The door opened and Gill’s page, who had followed him at every turn the day before, stuck his head through the crack. There was no need for the lad to say anything. Kirin was completely still a moment, then he nodded. "All right," he said softly. "I'll come." He struggled to get out of the chair, took a moment to wash up and then forced his aching hip into action.

  When he arrived at the King’s Hall, he stood at the top of the stairs beside two silent royal guards on duty and watched the milling crowd of revelers below. Abundant chatter and loud cheers filled the air, heavy from woodsmoke. Kirin's head ached and his thoughts inevitably wandered back to his comfortable bed. I'll make a short round through the crowd, he told himself, chat with a few people, join Gill and Garbhán for a moment. Then go lie down and rest. After all, the most important, ceremonial part of the celebrations had been yesterday and the day before.

  He scanned the hall and suddenly realized that he was not looking for Gill or Garbhán anymore but the cneasaí lass with the single long, dark braid...and then he saw the group of highborns who had gathered around a person he would rather avoid seeing ever again. A figure hung with jewelry, velvet and silk, dressed in a shoulder-revealing robe, its cleavage on the brink of courtesy. The daughter of Yngvi, the merchant...no longer the vulnerable, weak victim of an alleged raid who had fainted in the excitement, she now presented a completely different posture. Confident, almost arrogant, she seemed to dominate the conversation with her companions.

  Kirin felt an inner coldness.

  She turned around slightly, raised her head...and spotted him across the crowd. The expression on her face changed to something challenging, victorious, almost mocking. She touched one of her friend’s elbows and whispered in her ear with a winning smile. That lady also turned to Kirin and looked as if she had just received some very pleasing news. She nodded to him with grace and placed her hand on the bare upper arm of Yngvi's daughter in an almost maternal gesture. The other bystanders in the little group obviously caught the news.

  Kirin did not need to hear what they all talked about. His stomach churned and an uncomfortable tingling ran down the back of his neck. Her Choice was clear to the bevy of gossips around her.

  Sky above, he thought. What if Gill can’t avoid this...?

  Maybe he could appeal to the druids—go live in a cave in the woods.

  He was graced with a triumphant look, accompanied by a subtle, quirk of eyebrow and quick wetting of lips.

  Kirin turned as if he didn’t see, taking the stairs and looking not to join her, but for the crowd of guests to shield him from further view. It was time to join his brother. But before he could find Gill or old Garbhán he ran into Drustan laughing loudly with a few high-ranking leaders from the mining guild, clearly stoked by a few ales. ''Kirin, laddie,” he called. "Come and join us!" He firmly slapped Kirin's back and handed him a frothy tankard. "Drink up," Drustan added with a wide grin. ''You look like you could need it. ''

  He smiled. "Quite true, my friend,” he replied and they bumped their mugs. The foam sloshed and then they both drank deeply.

  Wiping the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand, he scanned the crowd. In no
case did he want to face the merchant's daughter or anyone around her.

  But at the sound of a clamor in the lower vestibule, he turned to find a small squadron of Mountain Guard in the entry and a captain with a snow jacket coming straight for him.

  "Rockfall," the Captain said, leaning close to Kirin’s ear. "Western terrace. Your cadet Skirfir and a few others...injured. Cut off from the gate."

  Skirf...? Kirin swore luridly in ceilte and didn't think twice—just shoved his tankard at Drustan, grabbed the snow jacket the captain handed him and took off for the Western Terrace.

  Chapter Seven

  Kirin strode purposefully onto the western terrace, taking the heavy gloves that someone thrust at him. Outside it was close to midnight and the storm had rolled in heavier than expected.

  "Down there," the guard captain shouted, pointing to the left, toward the accident site. Kirin stepped to the edge and looked while pulling on the gloves. Watch lanterns pointed at a flat area about four rod-lengths below, and the switchback trail down had been obliterated by a slide full of both slag and boulders. Kirin motioned for one lantern to be pointed uphill, and he got a look at the likely origin of the rockfall. Something wasn't right. Just as before, this was not the kind of stone or outcropping that should have failed—especially not in that manner.

  "Five wounded." The captain gestured toward the small lifting crane set on solid rock that had already pulled up three of the injured. "Head wounds, three are unconscious," he added, then lowered his voice. "One very serious."

  Kirin looked at the triage area: three injured guards, cneasaí busy readying them for transport down to the infirmary. None of the wounded were Skirfir, though he did recognize their faces. Good warriors, all of them. Veterans. If this was intentional, as he suspected it was, the act was criminal. If even one of these warriors died of his wounds, Green Isle law said he would have every right to exact justice with his sword.

  Kirin's brows lowered and his jaw clenched. In fact, his hand clenched with the will to do it this very instant if the culprits appeared.