A Novella: Curse of the Night Dragon, #1

by S. K. Alden

  "Your petition," he went on, spelling it out for her, "Is a revoked right and privilege included in the category of all." He glared at her, unabashed that his response labelled her an idiot, being in no mood to suffer a fool.

  With that he gestured to Kirin and stalked out through the King's Door. He trusted the Royal Guard to enact the decree and send the group packing. He knew they would tail them, reporting back on their movements. He even knew that Allon would ensure Yngvi handed over the five thousand unsi in gold before departing.

  But he stopped, just inside the private passage, sheathing his knife and waiting for his brother to catch up.

  His glare was stern enough to warn the guard escorts back, and it even frightened his pages, who took off at a run.

  Kirin limped up beside him and Gill put his arm around his brother to help him along.

  "I'm all right," Kirin insisted quietly.

  "You were swaying where you sat," Gill groused. "I could see it from the corner of my eye. Damn distracting."

  And together they walked the distance back to the King's quarters in silence.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nÿr found herself sitting at a neat round table as the lone guest at tea with the Queen, considered by all to be a paragon of beauty with a wealth of luxurious red-brown curls. Sitting with her was dizzying, really, but it included a look at some very enlightening genealogy charts which revealed the presence of the one name Nÿr's foster mother had known and shared: that of her maternal grandmother Nallÿri.

  "Rivah never said much about my mother," Nÿr said, carefully sitting very straight and proper. "Only that she was wounded and dying...and asked Rivah to take me. She said that my name was Nÿr, and that she had named me for her mother Nallÿri."

  The Queen's brows drew together in thought. "It's an un-common name," she pointed to Nallÿri's place on the chart before them and traced her finger back two generations, then sideways to a man named Sten.

  “He,” Maeg said, tapping the name, “Was a third son of the Queen of Skyrange. But his mother the Queen,” her finger traced up that line of foremothers until she stopped at the younger daughter of Eathom Firstfather himself. “Descended from Eathom’s line. That’s also our Lord Garbhan’s mother’s great-aunt.” Maeg smiled, happy to have found something.

  Nÿr could only stare, an odd buzzing in her ears. “But I am an orphan,” she managed to whisper. She could only think how improbable this all was—and how much trouble.

  Lady Maeg was shaking her head. “Come now, we all descended from the same First Ones.”

  And there was Kirin’s deep voice in her memory: every Green Isle woman is a daughter of Queens...

  Lady Maeg just nodded. “And now you’re an orphan with a somewhat distant living cousin. The important thing is,” she went on, “You’re removed enough from Kirin to be solas.”

  Solas. It was why the genealogies were so carefully detailed. Solas meant they could have a future together, not just a midwinter Eve of Eve fling.

  Nÿr thought the room might be tilting and the tea would spill. No. Lady Maeg was suggesting that she could...that Kirin was...

  “You, my dear cneasaí,” Lady Maeg said, smiling over her teacup. “Are quite an acceptable match for Snowmount’s Prince. If you wished to make a Choice, that is.”

  Choice? It was of course Green Isle tradition that lassies chose their husbands. But Lady Maeg was making quite a leap ahead and assuming things about her and a man she’d only just met. Nÿr could hardly take it in.

  Maeg touched her arm. "And sweetheart—you can hear his mother’s ravens. That alone is all the proof anyone needs that you belong here.”

  Nÿr sipped of tea, as much to give herself time to calm her racing thoughts as anything else.

  “The ravens...they belonged to his mother?”

  Maeg put down her teacup with care, as if taking a moment to find the right words. “Not exactly. Gill believes her strength...her magic, if you will...resides in the ravens—not in any specific bird, mind you...but the flock in general. At first he thought they would only speak to those with Eathom’s blood in their veins. But we know they have spoken to Niall and to a few others...”

  “Niall,” Nÿr said, repeating what everyone knew about Snowmount’s ravens defending Niall in that last battle against the nàmhid.

  “Yes. Gill believes the ravens speak to those that Lady Breitte’s spirit wishes to support.”

  Nÿr sat very still. Her first thought was why would Lady Breitte want to support me?

  But it was quickly followed by an answer as solid as Snowmount stone. Kirin, her son, who she died defending...is still unhealed.

  The nàmhid had done that evil deed through his Night Dragon.

  Something very like a mother’s anger welled in her heart that the nàmhid would send his magic-twisted Night Dragon to murder a brave warrior defending her children.

  Gill and Kirin.

  And that Lady wants me to help her son... The odd buzzing in her ears seemed to get louder. Of course, she quite liked Lady Breitte’s son...

  The Queen’s chatter brought her back to the here and now.

  “...Garbhan’s cousins are here in Snowmount as well. Allon and Dugfus. They are more distant from your grandmother, but these three may well be your only living relatives.”

  Kirin’s Uncle Garbhan. And two of his cousins?

  Lady Maeg looked at her. “And of course you must have some Skyrange kin somewhere as well...I will ask that Captain Bruilan whom to consult.”

  But Nÿr shook her head at the mention of Skyrange’s envoy. "My Lady...I'm just a cneasaí apprentice." She stopped, trying to find words.

  Maeg stopped talking and poured more tea, letting her have time to think.

  Nÿr set her jaw and banished the buzzing from her ears. "I mean to complete my studies," Nÿr said quietly. "I have a year left—and I want to be a full healing cneasaí physician...I don't want..." Nÿr found it suddenly hard to know what she did or didn't want, let alone whether she should say any of it to Snowmount’s Queen. "I don't want to be trouble. For anyone. I wouldn't want to be singled out from my classmates..."

  Maeg stayed quiet a moment. "There's good sense in that," she said, finally nodding. "My Lord Husband may have an opinion of his own, you realize.”

  Nÿr nodded and looked down, grateful that the Lady understood, though she was honestly astonished by the idea that the King would have even a single thought for her.

  "In the meantime, Allon may know something of Nallÿri," Maeg said, deep in thought. "Or even Garbhan..."

  But before Nÿr could make sense of those revered elders having anything to do with a lowly trainee like herself, one of the chamberlains arrived with news.

  And then their work ended abruptly when Gilleath's three pages dashed in, out of breath and reporting the events of the Court...including a death threat to the King's children, followed by news of the King spectacularly executing the offender.

  Lady Maeg paled, rose in alarm, and rushed to check on her youngsters.

  Nÿr followed in case there was need of a healer, but the royal nursery had been built generations ago to be one of the safest places deep within the royal quarters.

  The Queen's three youngest ran to crowd around their mother, and in a library alcove beyond, Nÿr saw Gill and Maeg’s oldest son stand from his chair at a study desk, his tutor looking on in concern.

  But all was well.

  Nÿr looked away, unaccountably envious of the easy affection between the Queen and her wealth of children as they chattered and clamored for her attention. Then the three younger ones were off to join the nannies, who'd taken a tip from their Lady to distract the children as best they could. Apparently, a secret box of special toys needed finding, and that was all it took to send three curious children off on the hunt.

  "What is it, mother?" The Queen's oldest son, Fjall, stayed next to her, giving Nÿr a quick nod of respect but meeting his mother's eyes with concern. The lad was a mix o
f his royal parents with his father's sunny coloring, and he'd filled out enough to be just past the awkwardness of early adolescence. Nÿr guessed he'd be as tall as his uncle in just a few more years.

  "Court trouble...keep watch, Fjall,” Maeg said in a quiet voice, touching her son's arm. The lad nodded in accord. Clearly he was used to being the protector of his siblings.

  And then noise in the outer rooms signaled the return of the King and his brother. Lady Maeg whirled to hurry back to meet them and Nÿr followed.

  Gill had blood on his shirt. Kirin was nearly grey in exhaustion. Together, Nÿr and Maeg divested them of their crowns and their finery, handing it all off to the chamberlains.

  Nÿr felt lucky—steering Kirin to his chamber was relatively easy. In the other room, their King fussed, his temper in need of an audience. She also got the feeling he would instantly draw steel again if anyone even hinted another threat aimed at his children.

  "Don't worry," Kirin grimaced as he sat exhausted on the edge of his bed. "Maeg knows how to calm him down." He eased himself gratefully to the pillows and closed his eyes as Nÿr set his boots and dress clothes aside.

  She pulled the blankets up and felt his forehead. He was hot again. Too hot. She used the last of the steeped seos to bathe his face and she lifted the covers back from his hip to get a look at the old scarring—it definitely had her attention and she made mental notes about the coloration and swelling—maybe there were cases in some of the archive tomes about such wounds.

  And that was why she never noticed another person in the chamber until Kirin's royal brother was standing there, stripping off his shirt.

  She looked up to realize it was her King in nothing but his trousers, his very worried attention wholly on the exhausted warrior tucked into the bed.

  "How is he?"

  She simply stood in shock, not knowing whether to bow or cover her eyes. The King was quite obviously as fit as any younger warrior—and his muscles sported bold blue tattoos showing the sigils of a master swordsmith. It was a very intimate thing to see and she suddenly didn't have any idea what protocol should be followed.

  "Right now I'm no one but his brother," he said softly, his temper apparently exhausted. He glanced at her. "Just tell me how he is."

  She bit her lip but latched onto duty to cover her confusion. "He is much worse. The seos helped, but the fever's back. I think it's higher. The scars are discolored again as well, and the swelling has more than doubled. It's almost looks as if there’s infection..."

  Gilleath nodded, his face serious. He reached out to feel his brother's forehead. "The fever always spikes after sunset on the night before Midwinter's Day,” he murmured.

  Nÿr looked up. That had to be right about now.

  "And nothing we've ever tried will stop it."

  "Not even the archdruid’s seos?"

  Kirin's eyes opened a little, his watery, fevered gaze riveted on his brother.

  "Not really," Gill said. "He almost died all those years ago." He turned and looked at Nÿr, then sighed. "We'll have a rather horrible night," he said. "And then the fever will vanish before sunrise."

  She considered the course of the fever, then understood. "Because it's a curse, not an infection."

  Gill nodded. "Because it's a curse."

  Nÿr saw his expression change into something complex: concern, guilt, worry...a King must have a hundred worries, she realized. And for eighteen years, Gill had been living with the curse as much as his brother had.

  She watched him adjust the covers, then sit on the edge of the bed and lean down to touch foreheads with his brother. Kirin moved his hand from beneath the blanket, and Gill gripped it.

  A gentle touch on Nÿr's shoulder made her turn to see Lady Maeg beckoning her away. She silently followed the older lady, who led her into the family quarters and turned to close the door behind her, but not before Nÿr saw that the King had gathered his brother in his arms and held him close. Just two warriors, both in pain.

  "They were raised side-by-side to duty and honor," Maeg said unapologetically. "Together they are the heart and soul of this Lén." Their eyes met, and Nÿr saw fierce protectiveness in her Queen's eyes.

  Then Maeg raised an ironic eyebrow. "They are also its temper and its obstinacy." She smiled as if this were a jest and took Nÿr's arm, leading her into the family's great room.

  "But are they not also themselves?" Nÿr spoke up. "Two brothers, who seem really...quite vulnerable."

  Maeg nodded. "Yes, they are. But I think that knowledge is for you and I alone. And maybe Iri, someday. And perhaps your own daughter, when you have her."

  Nÿr stared, a bit shocked at the Queen's presumption.

  Maeg led her back to the formal rooms. "They are rough and ready in the halls, Eathom's Sons through and through. But here, in these rooms, we are only each others' loved ones. It is the family sanctuary." She turned to face Nÿr, taking both her hands. "And frankly, I could use some help. If you Choose him, you will belong here, too."

  Nÿr kept staring. "My Lady..." She felt she needed to re-explain just how unacceptable she was...

  Maeg raised a hand. "No more fussing. I'm ordering up a fresh pot of tea so we can finish going through everything I have. And—I am recalling something old Connal shared with me just before my oldest was born...in case he was a lass." She said. "I think it may serve you well..."

  —-

  Gill, King of Snowmount, had spent Midwinter’s longest night doing the same thing for the last eighteen years. He minded his mother’s last words: take care of your brother...and kept the secret of Kirin’s curse in close confidence. Now, in the cold hours after midnight, Kirin writhed in his pain, his face flushed with fever. He finally cried out, unable to hold back. He was shaking, his breathing too fast and too shallow, and he was barely conscious.

  Gill, alarmed, pulled him into a tight embrace. “Stars above, Kirin. Hang on...just hang on for me..."

  "Nothing..." Kirin slurred, half pushing him away. "Here...for you..."

  Gill gripped him tighter, feeling his brother's heart thumping in distress.

  "It's not real, Kirin," he murmured, hoping to soothe him. It was a recurring thing in Kirin's fever over all the long years. Someone tormented him in his dreams. "Just a nightmare. Think about something else—think about the sun on the western slope in the spring..."

  He saw Kirin's fevered brows draw together and his breathing slowed and he squinted, as if trying to meet Gill's eyes. "He wants to know...wants inside the mountain..."

  Gill stared. He'd heard this before, even shared the basics with the archdruid, Owain.

  The reach of the nàmhid is vast, Gill, Owain had said. We should not under-estimate his ability to touch your brother in the depths of his fever.

  They'd always feared the nàmhid could learn things about Snowmount from Kirin—learn about its defenses.

  "Nàmhid's gone," Gill said aloud, as much as to himself as to his brother. "Niall destroyed him and his legions.”

  "...wants us dead," Kirin shook his head and mumbled, fevered eyes wide open, dark circles beneath them. "All of us..."

  Gill stayed firm. "No!" He clenched his jaw and pressed his forehead to Kirin's, as if he could be the shield that kept such thoughts from entering his brother’s mind. “Nàmhid Keep has fallen, Kirin. Do you understand this? He has no power," he emphasized with a grip on his brother's hand. "Never again."

  But Kirin was beyond hearing him.

  "Rocks and stones, Kirin..." Gill gritted his teeth. This was when it got worse...when Kirin could no longer resist the pain and the fever rose...

  Gill closed his eyes, held his brother tightly and resorted to the prayer he'd used for the last eighteen years. First Ones, receive my brother if he arrives at your halls...welcome him home with open arms...

  And his heart sank with an inner dread that was more than worry for his veli.

  The nàmhid’s gone, but something's still out there.

  All the hard years,
all the sacrifices, all those they'd lost... Their father Gunnvald, followed by their Lady Mother a year later. His cousin, Princess Kitrellan of Grauvale, who would never be Queen. Eoghan of River Bend. Seissyl of Hillhome. Eiler of Sea Cliff. Lalo of the Druids, old uncle Connal, Uncle Brynom, Grandfather Aubin himself.

  Gill had known most of them. Surviving himself was no gift and in fact, simply made him feel left behind and guilty for still being here when many worthier warriors were not.

  By the grace of the Oldfather, not Kirin of Snowmount. Never Kirin...

  "Nàmhid’s gone," he repeated aloud. "You're here with me, and you're safe..."

  One trembling hand reached up and Gill grabbed it, holding tight.

  In the last hours before dawn the fever intensified. Gill's comforting embrace became an essential restraint, wrapping his arms around his brother in desperation to keep him from hurting himself as he struggled and thrashed...and then Kirin just went limp and the tremors threatened to become convulsions.

  And Gill's feeling of dread grew. The Night Dragon was dead...its carcass deep underwater in the fjord. The nàmhid was dead. What was unresolved? What lingered? A few thousand úkenn?

  Why did the damnable curse still have its strength?

  Gill tried to sort through the problem. He would need to find the archdruid. Owain would know...

  But he couldn't truly make sense of things. Not while Kirin suffered in this madness. Later, he told himself. For now...First Ones, please just let the sun rise and my brother live...

  —-

  Kirin woke on the morning of Midwinter Day curled against his brother's back.

  It was just innocent, brotherly comfort.

  You'd think we'd grow out of it, Kirin mused. He listened to Gill's quiet snoring. No use waking him.

  He'd stayed here all night, after all. After two days of sheer insanity, he was sure Gill needed his sleep.

  Kirin tried to ban the memory of recent events. Guards caught in a rockfall. Young Skirf injured. The sight of Gill fighting a traitor. Blood in the King's Hall. It all merged with his fuzzy memory of the fever, the searing pain of burning cramps in his side...the grip on his brother's hand the only thing connecting him to something sane while he could see nothing but red haze.