The Dragon's Lover (14 page)

“That and so much more,” Idonea said, her own tone
slightly mocking with a tinge of bitterness. She nearly tripped
over Lorifal, who was sprawled sleeping. She sat down heavily in
front of the fire, haunted by a pair of violet eyes that saw only
her mother. Her expression grew distant as she thought about the
ramifications of what she had seen.

The fact that Raine was Arlanian brought more
questions than answers. True, it did explain why she was so
long-lived. Arlanians were rumored to live centuries, at least
those who were cared for and protected, and not violated to death.
It also explained her mother's fixation on the woman as Arlanians
were known to be extraordinary lovers, more desirable than any
other creature.

Idonea's eyes narrowed. And that was the problem.
Arlanians were not known to be good fighters. In fact, they lacked
any battlefield prowess whatsoever which led to the enslavement of
their people and ultimately their demise. It did not seem possible
that any Arlanian could possess the skills of a warrior, let alone
the near-supernatural skill that Raine possessed. Something was
just not right. She wondered if Weynild was augmenting Raine's
abilities with magic, but that did not seem probable, either, as
she sensed no magic about Raine whatsoever. And even that fact was
strange.

Feyden watched the conflicting emotions pass over
Idonea's face, taking a deep draw on his pipe. He was curious how
Idonea knew Raine. It was clear when Raine had joined their band
that Idonea knew little of the woman, and she had explained
off-handedly that Raine had come “recommended” to her. There was an
interesting tension between the two, or at least on Idonea's side.
Raine did not seem much bothered by anything and the barbs tossed
her way did not stick, or in fact even brush her skin.

Elyara approached him with a poultice. He had an ugly
wound on his arm where the blood hound had knocked his sword from
him before taking him to the ground. It was not deep, but all
wounds from the Hyr'rok'kin quickly grew infected and could kill as
surely as a death blow on the battle field. Elyara's skill with
herbal remedies was invaluable. She had mixed a potion and applied
it directly after the battle, and had changed the dressing every
few hours since. Feyden was grateful. He had been skeptical of
Elyara's worth to the band, but he was beginning to see the wisdom
of her inclusion.

“I think Dagna had a bit of a wound on her shoulder,”
Feyden said, nodding off to the small tent at the edge of the
plateau. “She would probably welcome your skill.”

Elyara blushed profusely. Upon realizing that Raine
was completely unobtainable, her interest had shifted to the buxom
bard. She nodded to Feyden, appreciative of his subtle
encouragement. Even Idonea's derisive snort did not affect her as
she made her way to the shadows. Lorifal chose that moment to let
loose a great wind from his backside, nearly waking himself, and
Feyden laughed quietly to himself.

Raine reappeared at first light, looking remarkably
refreshed for someone who had not slept at all. She gave Idonea a
single look from beneath lowered brows, a look as knowing as
Weynild's. It told Idonea that she knew she had been watched, that
she knew that Idonea was now aware of her Arlanian ancestry, and
that she cared nothing about either. She set off jauntily,
whistling a little tune.

The band was approaching flatter lands, more forest
than mountains. Lorifal was happy because it meant he would soon be
on horseback and not trying to keep up with his long-legged
companions. They would only be walking for another day or so.

Gunnar and Bristol led the band, as usual. Dagna,
Lorifal, and Elyara generally walked in the middle, and Raine
brought up the rear. She was content with this arrangement because
she could protect their rear flank and her lycan scouts were
actually far ahead of the two knights. Idonea moved about depending
on her mood, and today her mood was testy. She brought herself
abreast of Dagna, well within ear-shot of Raine.

“So, bard, since you are a historian of sorts, who do
you think were the most beautiful creatures in all of history?”

Dagna was surprised that Idonea addressed her. They
talked little, especially of such frivolous matters. And it seemed
there was something beneath the surface of Idonea's question. But
it also happened to be one of her favorite subjects, being such a
romantic at heart, so she seriously pondered her response.

“Well, the Alfar of course. They are known for their
beauty and grace. And there are the sprites, those lovely little
fairies that hover about the ponds in the forest. Oh,” Dagna
exclaimed, “and don’t forget the Ha’kan.”

“I was thinking of a more tragic race,” Idonea said,
“one known for both beauty and a dangerous desirability.”

“Ah,” Dagna said sadly, “you are referring to the
Arlanians.”

“Yes,” Idonea said, glancing over her shoulder, “that
is who I was thinking of.”

“I don't know that the Arlanians ever actually
existed,” Dagna said, “although there is considerable historical
record to indicate they did. But theirs is a very sad tale.”

Lorifal was interested in all things historical,
seemingly at odds with his propensity towards all things bacchanal.
But like all dwarves, the past, especially that of his ancestors,
was greatly treasured. He had never heard of this particular
myth.

“Who were the Arlanians?” he asked.

Dagna was happy to share the tales of her craft. “The
Arlanians were the most beautiful creatures in all the world.
Mostly dark-haired, they had the most incredible violet eyes, a
color that would make the flowers envious. They were supposedly
renowned for their artistic and musical contributions. It is said
that they were neither male nor female until they came of age,
adding to the gentleness of both sexes.”

“And what happened to them?” Lorifal asked
curiously.

“Legend has it that the Arlanians lived joyfully and
peacefully while their society was self-contained and undiscovered.
But once found by others, they were destroyed.”

“That doesn't make sense. Why?” Lorifal asked.

Dagna's expression grew sad. “It is said they were so
desired that they were horribly exploited, forced into the most
awful and degrading sexual slavery. Their numbers quickly dwindled,
and when there were but a handful left, wars were fought to possess
them.”

A large “thwack” caused Feyden to turn his head.
Raine had hurled a stone so skillfully and with such force it
removed a branch from a tree. She seemed quite expressionless at
the moment. But he was interested in Dagna's tale and returned his
attention to the bard.

“Hmm,” Idonea said thoughtfully. “But have you ever
heard of them being skilled at warfare?”

Her head shook emphatically. “No,” Dagna said, “that
was the problem. They were helpless, totally unable to protect
themselves. It really was quite tragic.”

The band settled into silence, a silence that was
broken by Raine who seemed to playfully pose a hypothetical
question.

“So out of all of history, and all your knowledge of
the different races and creatures, who do you think would make the
best companion for an Arlanian?”

Dagna liked this question. “Well, another Arlanian,
of course. And after that, me.”

This brought chuckles all around and lightened the
mood.

“But beyond that,” Raine persisted, “out of all the
creatures that you are familiar with, what would be the most
extraordinary pairing?”

“Would the Arlanian have to survive?” Dagna asked
doubtfully.

“Say it is a particularly indestructible Arlanian who
could pair with anyone,” she said, stretching the hypothetical to
its limits. “Who would make the best mate?”

Dagna liked this version of the question even more.
“Well there are the various demi-gods, the high elves, and the
Vanir.” She paused, deep in thought. “No, wait! I have it!”

Idonea did not like the turn of this
conversation.

“A dragon!” Dagna exclaimed. “A dragon would be
perfect!”

“A dragon?” Raine asked innocently, “and why is
that?”

“By the Divine!” Dagna said, “Dragons are insatiable
and known for their sexual skill and seduction, not to mention
their ability to change form. Such a pairing, if the Arlanian could
survive, would be epic.”

“Epic,” Raine said thoughtfully, savoring the word,
“epic.”

This fairytale coupling occupied everyone's thoughts
with an intensity proportional to their imagination. With the
exception of Raine and Idonea, of course, who needed no imagination
whatsoever to envision the act.

CHAPTER 9

Lorifal was at last on his horse. His expression was
joyful as he sat at ease on the beast's back. When they reached the
edge of the forest and the rest dismounted, he allowed his horse to
pick its way through the thick undergrowth. Even with his short
stature, he had to duck here and there to avoid low-hanging
branches, but he didn't care. He wasn't walking any further.

Raine patted the flank of her steed. Where the others
led their beasts by the reins through the trees, she allowed hers
to trot along at her side. The beast was a fiery stallion and she
had gravitated towards him on sight, but he was content to amble
along next to her without restraint.

“Elyara,” Feyden asked, “is it your people that
inhabit this forest?”

“No,” Elyara replied, “my clan is westward, deeper
into the forest. I do not know the wood elves that live here.”

“That is unfortunate,” Feyden said with a sigh.

“Yes,” Raine replied, “that would have made things a
lot easier.”

Elyara glanced from one to the other. Feyden was of
the Alfar, a people that lived on the ledges of Mount Alfheim.
Although the high elves were known to disdain other races, they did
engage in barter and trade with humans and dwarves. This was in
stark contrast to the wood elves who were a secretive lot that kept
to themselves.

“Why would it have made things easier?” Elyara asked,
concerned.

“Because we are surrounded,” Raine responded.

Lorifal's horse snorted, then reared, tossing the
dwarf skyward. Raine watched his trajectory, trying to maneuver
beneath him, and timed it perfectly. She caught him, stifling a
groan as she broke his fall and stopped his full weight. A rare
smile appeared on Feyden's face; it looked as if Raine were
carrying Lorifal across the threshold.

“Really you two? This is so sudden.”

Raine grunted with the exertion. “I'm not sure I can
get 'my love' through the door. By the Divine you are heavy.”

Lorifal came to his senses and struggled to free
himself, and Raine set him down. The skin across his cheeks and
nose was a fiery red. “Thank you,” he said gruffly, brushing
himself off. It would have hurt less, at least in terms of pride,
to have fallen on his ass.

The clang of steel was loud as Gunnar slipped his
sword from its scabbard.

“Hold,” Raine commanded. “Let's not fight unless need
be.”

The first wood elf slipped from the forest. He was
dressed in forest green clothing that contrasted with his blond
hair and light gray eyes. Those eyes sized up the group.

“At least one of you has a degree of wisdom,” the elf
said as thirty more slipped from the shadows. “Because you are
indeed surrounded.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Bristol demanded.

The elf glanced at him disdainfully. “You have the
nerve to ask that? You, who are trespassing on our land?” The elf
looked to Feyden, dismissing him, then to Elyara. His eyes narrowed
as he assessed her. “I don't know you.”

“I am from the Halvor to the west,” Elyara said. “We
wish only to pass peacefully through your land.”

“Under normal circumstances, that would not be
allowed.” He gave another arrogant glance that encompassed the
group. “Under normal circumstances we probably would have already
killed you. But Y'arren has requested to see you, something that is
unusual under any circumstance.” His tone did not brook argument.
“You will follow us.”

Gunnar looked to Raine, and she simply shrugged. The
smaller group, surrounded by the much larger group, fell in behind
the elf. All appeared uneasy as their captors kept their weapons at
a ready position. Lorifal was a bit of a laggard and an elf poked
his sword into Lorifal's side, causing him to yelp in pain and
anger. Raine slowed her pace slightly, looking over to the young
elf warrior.

“I suggest you not do that,” she said mildly.

Her tone was calm, her expression tranquil, yet
somehow it was the most menacing thing the young elf had ever
heard. He slowed so that his sword tip no longer wavered near any
of them. Feyden smiled to himself.

It was not long before the sounds of a fair-sized
camp could be heard and soon the smoke from campfires drifted on
the slight breeze. They entered a large clearing at the base of a
hilly area, one that was filled with tents and make-shift
structures. Although the wood elves traveled lightly and camped
with the goal that they could disappear into the forest at a
moment's notice, this seemed a fairly permanent settlement. A
nearby blacksmith pounded steel on an anvil and several vendors had
large displays with fruits and meats available. Artwork was carved
into rock pillars and towering wooden totems dotted the clearing.
Their entrance drew a great deal of attention as activity slowed,
then halted as the community of wood elves stared.

“Your people aren't cannibals, are they?” Lorifal
whispered to Elyara.

Feyden snorted. “We will give you up first if they
are. Should satisfy the lot of them.”

There was a cave at the base of the mountain and the
number of totems increased as they approached. The artwork on the
rock was elaborate, intricate, and very, very old.