Strachana, Judy Colella [top 10 novels to read .TXT] 📗

as possible, her eyes only on him. “We missed you and mother and are so glad you’re back this soon.”

He smiled, gathering her into a warm embrace. “We missed you, too,” he whispered, then took her by the shoulders and put distance between them, turning her toward the young man as he did. “Vorel, this is I’gra-Nah. He has come back with us to meet you.”

She put her head to one side, eyes narrowed, and gave a discreet sniff. “You…you are not dragonkin.”

“No, full-blooded like your father.”

Vorel was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. “I – I am honored to meet you.” And then she did something that she couldn’t have explained had she tried with all her might. She went down on one knee before him, head bowed, and raised one hand toward him, palm upward, the other over her heart.

I’gra-Nah stared in shock. He’d only seen this kind of respect and submission from female full-blood dragons, never any human or dragonkin. It was clear that her behavior wasn’t practiced, either, but had come to her instinctively. He swallowed hard, his own heart beating faster. Sliding one of his hands under her raised one, he held it lightly in place as he bent and kissed her palm. “Rise, sweet Vorel,” he heard his voice say, a voice that was much softer than he’d ever heard it before. “Your respect is welcome, your heart worthy.”

She got to her feet, still not looking at him directly and not knowing why.

“You may look at me.”

She nodded and raised her glance.

“Y-your eyes are…silver,” he managed, shocked and delighted. “How exquisite you are! Please – will you walk with me?”

She nodded, unable yet to speak, as taken with his aquamarine eyes as he was with her silver ones. Totally overwhelmed she was, by the unmistakable power his entire being exuded, the lingering scent of rain that was somehow separate from the precipitation sheeting down outside. She wanted nothing more right then than to be with this dragon, to be by his side and serve him, to be his companion, his lover.

Neri had walked away and joined his wife by this time – he knew exactly how I’gra-Nah felt, and suspected Zela would be able to explain his daughter’s behavior.

J’nah, having observed all of this in silence, grinned. He might be younger than Vorel, but he knew he’d given her some very wise advice. Perhaps it was about time he perfected his ability to shape-change, too…

ACHTOCH

 

The blacksmith’s forge was a place of hot, violent sounds – the hammer clanging forcefully against glowing metal, the roar of the furnace when its flames were force-fed by bellows whooshing air into its maw, the crackle of imperfections as ore was reduced to deadly, molten liquid. And the carpenter’s shop – loud with the grating of saws against long-dead trees that had been chopped into manageable chunks, the crash of the mallet driving wooden pegs into some object being constructed from planks. Even the potter’s workroom assaulted the ears with the non-stop whir of the wheel, its treadle clacking out its rhythm beneath the foot of the claymaker. These were the sounds of everyday life, all of them understandable, taken for granted, and in the end, meaningless by reason of repetition.

Yet somehow the smallest of work-sounds, that of a quill scratching diligently across a page, became ever more irritating as the day wore on. Kavin, teeth on edge, thought he was going to lose his mind if the young scribe across from him didn’t take a break. Didn’t the pimply-faced youth need to stretch, or perhaps stop for some water at least?

The room in which they were working was in the castle. Their employer worked in a room adjacent to this one, under the auspices of Lord Gravnel. Being the youngest of seven boys, Kavin had found himself with little to do when he was growing up, so he’d spent his time with the local monk learning to read and write. His two oldest brothers had no need of this skill, engaged as they were in learning to be soldiers. Their hope was to distinguish themselves on the field of battle some day, and thereby earn titles. The three brothers next in line were fairly well-educated, but mostly in the merchant trades. The one brother between them and Kavin had taken over the duties of the family’s steward; he had a natural understanding of numbers, was practical to a fault, and on his twenty-first birthday had announced that he was going to save the family finances by taking control of them. Kavin thought he was a little insane – this job would keep him at home for the rest of his life, for goodness’ sake!

When Kavin had turned twenty-one himself a year later, his father had suggested he put his literary skills to work as he sought to make a living somewhere. This made sense, and he had been on his way to the towns on the other side of his country’s borders for this very purpose when he’d encountered J’nah and Vorel. After a good night’s sleep, he’d thanked the siblings for their hospitality and promised he’d see them again. He really liked both of them, but while he found Vorel breathtaking in her beauty, he also found her too frightening a creature to consider as anything more than a friend. J’nah, too, intimidated him, but seemed less terrifying somehow than Vorel. Perhaps it was the boy’s extreme youth, or simply his pleasant personality. Either way, Kavan felt he’d found two good friends, and since he knew where they were and how to get there, he planned to visit them again once he’d gotten established in a job.

Well, he had, but Lord Gravnel was impossible. True, Kavin didn’t report to him directly, but he’d overheard the nobleman tell Kavin’s employer that he expected his new hire to prove himself by working long days and accomplishing twice as much as the other youth. Which meant no time to go wandering back into the mountains, or not very soon.

That other youth, the one with the scratchy pen, was named Fleck, a bizarre nickname to be sure – his given name was Arflec, which wasn’t much better, but he preferred the shorter version for some reason.

Scratch-scratch, skritch…skritchityskritchskrich…

“Fleck!”

“Huh?”

“Sorry to bother, you, but how, er, how does one get something to drink around here?” Kavin knew his question was idiotic, but it was either say the first thing that came to mind, or throw the first thing that came to hand. At Fleck. Hard.

“Do you mean like ale, or some such?” The younger boy looked outraged.

“Of course not! Heh! No, like water. I’m really thirsty.” He put his own pen down and stood. “We’ve been here for hours without a break, and I need some water, is all.”

“Ah. Well…no. No idea. Sorry.” Scratch, scratch, scratchety-scratch…

“Fleck!”

“What?”

“Does…does my pen sound like that, too?”

“Like what?”

“Yours.”

“Hadn’t noticed, to tell you the truth.”

Kavin’s handwriting was even, smooth, light. He never dug his nib into the paper – or whatever surface he happened to be writing on – so he knew his efforts weren’t noisy like Fleck’s. If they had been, he probably would have stopped writing forever. “I just wondered, because, ha!” He shook his head, avoiding Fleck’s gaze. “The sound of yours is incredibly, it’s maddening. There. I’ve said it.”

“We’re working as apprentice scribes, Kavin. It’s impossible to write without making some kind of sound, you know.”

“Of course, but – but must you dig so hard into the page? Try a lighter touch. The ink lasts longer that way, too.” He wasn’t sure this was the truth, but it sounded reasonable.

Fleck shrugged and started writing again. This, time, though, he went a bit slower, and the friction of the nib was less abrasive. “Is this better?” he asked without looking up.

“Much.” Kavin smiled and sat down again. He could still hear it, but he no longer felt like murdering Fleck. “Thank you.”

Twenty minutes later the door opened; an older man with reddish hair that had begun to gray at the sides entered, carrying an armful of scrolls. “How are you boys doing?” he asked, depositing his crackling, beribboned burden on a low table beneath the room’s one window.

“Very well, Master Welan,” said the younger boy.

“Good, good. And you, Kavin? Have you been able to read His Lordship’s handwriting?”

“I have, Master Welan.” He glanced at the inventory list he’d been charged with copying into the official ledger, not bothering to point out that he’d been doing copy work nearly his whole life and had learned to read almost every version of bad writing there was.

“Excellent. I have a new project for tomorrow morning.” He nodded at the pile of scrolls beside him. “Try and finish up what you’ve been given today by the time the sunlight fails, will you? I’ll not have you going blind from working by candlelight.” He gave them a big smile. “And when you’re done, I’ll take you to the inn for supper. My treat.”

“Thank you, sir!” Kavin, already ravenous, was more than pleased. He and Fleck, as the man’s apprentices, were sharing a room in Welan’s house, a relevant fact because Fleck, in addition to being a loud writer, was also a loud sleeper.

Fleck’s snores were fierce, and only after Kavin had rolled him onto his side several times did the symphony stop long enough for the Marclorian to catch a few hours’ rest. Having gotten plenty himself, Fleck had risen first and eaten most of the breakfast. Still, it was only their first day in their new positions, so Kavin wasn’t that upset about the situation. Not yet. If it continued, however, he’d have to do something drastic. Like maybe stay up all night and hide the food before his room-mate arose in the morning…

“Master Welan?”

The three turned toward the doorway in which stood one of the castle pages, a boy of about twelve dressed in the Gravnel family colors of light blue, gold and green.

“Yes, Hals?” Welan raised an eyebrow.

“You have a visitor, sir. He insists on seeing you immediately – you and the one named Kavin.”

“Does he, indeed! And did this visitor mention his name?”

Hals nodded. “He did, sir. It’s Opsola.” If the page considered this name somewhat strange, he was too well-trained to show it.

Welan looked away, eyes narrowed. A moment later, a slow smile spread across his face, and he started for the door. “Come along, Kavin. I’m not sure why my friend wants to meet you, but he never does anything without good reason. And Fleck, you’re doing well, boy. Keep it up – we’ll be back soon, I expect.”

Kavin, meanwhile, had stood again, stretched a little, then followed his mentor out into the corridor.

 

*****

 

As had been pointed out, a dragon’s senses were far better than a human’s. Neri, in his extreme delight with the way his daughter had reacted to I’gra-Nah, had been pushing away a scent that had assaulted his nostrils the moment he’d entered the cave. But now, unable to ignore it any longer, he gave it a name and called his son to him. “Tell me, J’nah – did anything unusual happen while we were gone?”

The boy shrugged. “A few things.”

“Would one of them involve a human?”

“One