Master at Arms (Dragon Knights #2.5)

by Bianca D'Arc

  “Nor I, my dear. It makes me wonder…” Rath trailed off, thinking.

  “What do you wonder, Flightmaster?” It was Lars who would not let the subject drop.

  “For one thing…” Rath turned his head to look at Lars. “I wonder if he can hear me. I spoke to him today and I cannot be certain, but I think perhaps he heard and understood.”

  “Really?” Lars sat on the edge of the bathtub full of drinking water and folded his arms. “And if he did, would you consider choosing him as your knight?”

  “Now there’s a question.” Rath nodded his head, unsure of his own thoughts. “I will have to observe and examine him more closely while I am here. If he has honor and a pure heart, then I will have to think carefully about doing so. We could use his skills in the Lair. He would be an asset in teaching the less-skilled swordsmen. The Border Lair does not have an expert swordsman of his caliber and I have noticed the lack.”

  “That’s because you’re obsessed with preparing us all to fight,” Lars said in a calm voice.

  “My obsession—as you call it—is born of bitter experience, as you should know, young Sir.” Rath knew his mental voice took on a chiding tone. He was the grandfather here, imparting his wisdom to the younger generation, even if they didn’t want to hear it, or thought he was obsessed.

  “What happened to Faedric wasn’t your fault, you know. It was just bad luck and bad timing. Everyone agrees,” Lars added quietly.

  “I see the gossip mill still runs strong, even in a newly made Lair,” was all Rath would reply. “Leave me be for a bit, children. I want to close my eyes for a few minutes before the princess arrives.”

  Dismissed, Lars mercifully closed the curtain and went outside to join his partner. The lad had hit a nerve, talking about poor Faedric so openly. The wound of losing him had not fully healed, even now. Rath knew it never would. He closed his eyes and let the weariness of the day take him.

  A short while later it seemed, Rath woke to a feeling of magical warmth being applied to his wing joints. A light touch told him Princess Belora had come and was already treating him.

  “Don’t let me disturb you, Sir Golgorath,” she said softly as she moved around near his back. “You know as well as I that rest is what you need most right now. I’ll do what I can, but burns take time to heal.”

  “I know, Princess. Thank you for your help. It feels much better already.”

  “Good. I will leave a supply of burn jelly salve for someone from the keep to apply overnight, but I will stay here if you want me to,” she was quick to add.

  “No, Princess. You need not inconvenience yourself on my account. I have been stung by skith venom before. I know what to expect. As long as one of the people here will help with the salve, I’ll be fine.”

  “And from what Lars and Rohtina tell me, you have reconnaissance of your own to carry out,” she added slyly. “Shall I ask the Master at Arms to check on you?”

  Rath had to laugh, sending smoke toward the ceiling. “I see I shouldn’t have confided in my granddaughter or her quiet knight.”

  “Is it so wrong for your family to want to help you? We’ve all been concerned for you, grandfather. We want to help you be happy.”

  Rath was touched by the princess’s heartfelt words. He craned his neck around to look into her eyes. “That means a great deal to me, Princess. More than I can adequately express. But you of all should know that the Mother of All will let things unfold in Her time.”

  “I will pray that She brings you a new knight worthy of your partnership,” she answered solemnly.

  Princess Belora left him after a few more minutes of her healing magic. She and her mates went into the keep to share a meal with the lady and her retainers while raw meat was provided for the dragons who waited in the courtyard. Both Rohtina and Kelvan seated themselves in front of the open curtain of Rath’s enclosure and the three dragons shared a lovely feast of fresh meat provided by the keep’s butcher.

  It was much later that night, after dinner was over and the children had left to fly back to the Border Lair, that Rath had his first visitor. Much to his surprise, it was indeed the Master at Arms, come to check on his comfort. Rath was glad he’d left the curtain up, indicating he was receptive to visitors and desirous of the night air.

  The Master at Arms walked very silently for a human, approaching without making much sound at all. Rath saw him before he heard him, turning his head to regard the naturally stealthy human as he approached.

  “Greetings, Flightmaster,” said the Master at Arms. “I’m sorry. I do not know your name, Sir. I am called Tristan Dalen and I have served as Master at Arms for this keep for only a few months now.”

  “I am aware of your newness to the position,” Rath thought hard at the man, hoping he could hear. “My name is Golgorath, but my friends call me Rath.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Sir Golgorath.”

  There it was. Confirmation. The man could hear him. Rath felt a thrill of excitement race down his spine. Perhaps the Mother of All was about to answer Belora’s prayers much sooner than she could have expected.

  “Pardon my shock, but it is a rare thing that humans can hear my kind when we speak. It marks you as a very special being.”

  “Really?” Tristan asked conversationally, seeming unimpressed. “It is a skill somewhat common in my family. In my homeland, there are small creatures we call virkin that are able to communicate simple thoughts in this manner. They are not as intelligent or articulate as your kind, but their speech method is similar.”

  “I have never heard of this creature, but I would be interested to know more about it and your land. Where do you hail from, Master Tristan?”

  “Please, just call me Tristan, if you don’t mind the informality. I am only recently become the Master at Arms. I am not one to stand on titles. But to answer your question, I was born in Elderland, far to the east. The curved blades I carry into battle are more common there, though I admit few have the patience to learn my chosen style of fighting.”

  “I will call you Tristan and you must call me Rath. I too get tired of formality at times. I have heard tales of your land, but have never met anyone from there in all my years,” Rath admitted. “Will you tell me of it…and what brought you to Draconia?”

  Tristan leaned against the edge of the filled bathtub, much as Lars had done, his shoulders drooping with fatigue. Tired as he appeared, the fact that he had come to check on Rath before seeking his own bed meant that he put other beings’ welfare before his own. That was a good sign.

  “It was a woman that sent me out to find my fortune in other lands. My sister, to be precise. She is an oracle of sorts. The family situation being what it is, it was pretty clear for a long time that if I stayed in my homeland, I would cause…” he seemed to grope for the right words, “…inconvenience to the rest of my family. You see, I am a twin. My brother holds a hereditary position of power. I was for the army.

  “It caused some confusion because we are identical in looks, but not in temperament. If the army rallied to me, as they were beginning to do, I could easily cause a coup, which I did not want. I love my brother. He is a deep thinker and the wiser of we two, even though he is hard to get to know. Being the heir was always a heavy burden on his shoulders as we grew. I was allowed to follow more dangerous and fun pursuits while he was protected and schooled in all he would need to know to run the empire.”

  The empire? Rath thought carefully to himself. Was this man brother to the Emperor of Elderland? It was just possible that fatigue had loosened his tongue even more than the subtle magic Rath was using on him. Rath had done this a few times in his life—when choosing a new knight he had to be careful to choose wisely. Only then was it permitted for a dragon to use his magic in such a way.

  As if he had only just realized what he’d said, Tristan straightened from his slouch. His eyes grew wide, then narrowed in suspicion as he gazed at Rath.

  “I have heard dragons are both crafty and int
ensely magical. Are you subjecting me to your magic, Sir Rath?”

  Rath ducked his head. “I admit I am curious to know what drives you, young Tristan. You are a mystery to me and a stranger to my land. Yet you have proven yourself in battle and saved me even graver injury, perhaps death. I owe you a debt of gratitude and I would like to call you friend, if possible.”

  “Well spoken, Sir,” Tristan continued to eye him with both suspicion and humor. “But I beg you keep what I have said private between we two. My birth means nothing here or in any other land. My brother reigns. I am but an inconvenient spare. I am a warrior only. A newly made Master at Arms. I am nothing.”

  “I beg to differ on that last point. Just from what I have observed in this single day, you are a warrior of skill the likes of which I have never seen. And let me tell you, I have seen many warriors over my centuries.” A small chuckle sent smoke wafting toward the ceiling. “The circumstances of your birth aside, you have already proven you have the courage of a lion. You took on a full-grown skith all on your own and won. That is a rare thing in any land.”

  Tristan’s head bowed and Rath could see high color on his sharp cheekbones. Was he embarrassed to be praised? Curiouser and curiouser.

  “How old are you, exactly?” Tristan changed the subject. Yes, he was definitely embarrassed and avoiding the topic.

  “Exactly? I’d have to get back to you on that. Suffice to say, I have buried three knight partners over my years. The first two lived long, full lives, but the most recent, poor Faedric, died much too young.”

  “I am sorry for your loss,” Tristan said solemnly. “I have lost comrades in my time. It is not an easy thing.”

  “Thank you, but you should know—a dragon’s knight is more than just a comrade in arms. My knights and I bonded on a soul-deep level. They were part of my family, as I was part of theirs.”

  “I do not pretend to understand. We have nothing like it in my homeland. My experience with dragons is limited to only the past few months.”

  “How long have you been in Draconia?”

  “Almost half a year. I came by sea, landing at Tipolir. I spent a few weeks there, getting my bearings before traveling north toward the border. I heard this was where the action is, so I decided to try to help.”

  “Sounds like a foolhardy pursuit. You came seeking danger? Or was it adventure that called you?”

  Tristan grew silent for a small time before answering. “I came first because my sister told me to seek out the battle among giants. If that doesn’t describe the conflict between dragonkind and the skiths, I don’t know what does. Second, I came here to be of service. I’d heard in Tipolir about the vulnerable points along the border—especially this keep—that needed protection. Even in Elderland, we have heard about skiths and their gruesome penchant for human heads. And when I got here and I met the people of this keep, I had my third—and perhaps most important—reason for being here.”

  “The Lady Cara,” Rath said, not unkindly.

  Tristan let out a huge sigh. In it was all his fatigue and frustration. All his pent-up desire for something he probably believed could never be.

  “The Lady Cara,” he finally agreed. “She is everything to me. Everything and nothing, for it can never be.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Rath replied, raising his head as soft footsteps came closer over the cobbled path in the courtyard. The lady herself was about to make an appearance, if he wasn’t much mistaken.

  “I should go.” Tristan stood, making as if to leave, but Rath lifted one clawed hand, barring his exit.

  “Stay,” he ordered in a gentle voice. “I would like to test a theory.”

  Tristan didn’t look happy but nodded and subsided back to his resting position on the rim of the bathtub.

  “Sir Golgorath?” came Lady Cara’s tentative voice from just outside the entrance.

  “Come in, Lady Cara. You are very welcome here,” Rath said to her, testing his so-called theory. Things were lining up and he’d be a fool not to recognize the Mother of All’s hand in these affairs.

  She entered the small enclosure and Rath’s heart sped up. She’d heard him! Hadn’t she?

  “Thank you, Sir Golgorath.”

  “Just Rath, please. My given name is a tongue-tripper for humans, I have found, milady.”

  “Sir Rath, then.” She confirmed his suspicions nicely. “And you must call me Cara.” She hesitated when she caught sight of Tristan, but to her credit, she recovered quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you already had company.”

  “The more the merrier, as they say.” Rath tried to sound casual, though his heart was racing. Things were coming together and his future looked brighter than it had in many years.

  “I don’t mean to intrude. I just wanted to check on you and ask if there was anything you needed. Princess Belora left the salve for your burns with me and gave instructions on how and when to apply it. She said you would need some applied before you settled down to sleep.”

  As she came closer, he could see Cara was holding a large crock in the crook of her arm. Tristan stood to take the heavy item from her and Rath noted the way she blushed when their fingers touched. The attraction wasn’t one-sided, Rath was glad to note. This was getting better and better. Now all they needed was one more element…

  And he could hear wingbeats on the night wind. Any minute now, the last part of this little tableau would arrive.

  Chapter Five

  “Yes, some salve would be welcome,” Rath answered. “Perhaps Tristan could assist? It is not easy for one as petite as you to reach the area that needs to be treated, milady. He could help you up and hold the heavy crock.” Rath seemed to be laying it on a bit thick, but it wasn’t Cara’s place to question a dragon, even if it would put her in uncomfortable proximity to the Master at Arms.

  Cara had loved the way Tristan had made her feel. But his rejection when he realized who she was still didn’t sit well. She didn’t give her favors easily. Usually, not at all. But there was something about the foreign warrior that called to her. Something that made her act out of character and climb into his bed when they had only just met.

  Things between them had been strained ever since and she almost regretted the night they spent together. Almost. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to regret such magnificent pleasure. Or the deep and abiding love she still held in her heart for the troubling man.

  Following the dragon’s instructions without any show of reluctance, Tristan helped her up behind Rath’s wing. The dragon didn’t make it easy for her to climb aboard, and she thought maybe it hurt for him to move. But Tristan put down the crock to slide his hands around her waist and boost her up. She balanced awkwardly over the dragon’s back while Tristan bent to retrieve the crock of salve. He was only gone a moment.

  Tristan was very close. Closer than he’d been in too long a time. As she worked on Rath’s injuries, she could feel Tristan pressing against her legs and backside with his chest as he held her in place. He supported her with one hand, hoisting the crock upward with the other so it was within her reach. It was very intimate and reminded her of other, more sensuous touches. Her breathing hitched in her chest and she realized she needed to get herself under better control. She had to concentrate on the dragon. Sir Rath needed her help now.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” A familiar male voice sounded from the entrance, making Cara jump.

  She lost her balance and fell backward into Tristan’s arms. He grunted but managed to catch her. She heard the thump of the heavy crock of salve as it fell to the ground. Luckily, it hit a spot covered by soft pine boughs and didn’t break. She saw it as they nearly overbalanced and she tipped a little too far forward and to the right.

  Then more arms came out of the darkness to support her and she felt the warmth of the newly arrived man in front, with Tristan still holding her from behind.

  Oh, boy.

  Everybody froze for a moment as balance was restored. Equilibrium
was another thing. Surrounded by two well-muscled warriors—both of whom she admired more than any other men she had ever met—Cara was more than a little breathless.

  “My apologies, Lady Cara, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The deep voice came from the newcomer standing so close, facing her, his big hands bracing her arms.

  His words seemed incredibly intimate, spoken in such a low, almost breathless tone. His grip went from bracingly supportive to gentle as she steadied, and his gaze held hers in a new and exciting way.

  “Sir Thorn,” she whispered. If Tristan had competition for her heart, this was the man. The only man besides the Master at Arms that she reacted to so strongly.

  Tristan’s arms relaxed, letting her slide a short distance down so that her backside rubbed along him until her feet settled on the floor. Only then did she realize how tall both men were compared to her. She looked upward to find that they were eyeing each other warily over her head.

  But neither of them moved. They both seemed engaged in some kind of dominance game with her as the prize. One part of her thrilled at the idea, while another part of her wanted to laugh at their posturing. Although…maybe she wasn’t giving either one of them enough credit. Maybe they were both trying to protect her from the other? That was very possible, given that both men were warriors who were in the business of protecting those more vulnerable than themselves.

  And she was definitely vulnerable. If either one of these men ever crooked a finger in her direction, she’d follow wherever they led and damn the consequences. She would have worried about her morality, but in her entire life, only these two men had ever inspired such a heathenish response. She’d only had one other lover, and that a long time ago, when she was just a youngster experimenting with her blossoming body. She would cut any other man down who tried anything she didn’t welcome—and had in the past.

  But she knew the truth of her own responses, and if either Sir Thorn or Master Tristan invited her to their bedchamber, she’d probably jump the man and never look back. Quite a realization for a woman who prided herself on her independence.