Emerald

By Alex Gordon

Gordon follows these familiar cues with an obvious passion for the genre and a skill at setting vivid scenes. He invests Akron, Emerald and the rest of the characters with impressive amounts of life, and he describes battles with a fine-tuned attention to detail.

The book offers an interesting twist on the fantasy formula, and fans of the grittier takes on the genre are sure to find something to appreciate here.

Blue Ink Reviews

Three Stars (out of Five)

In a mythical kingdom, passionate love between a young man and a female dragon transcends the ordinary romantic fling. Enter an incredible fantasy that defies even magic in Alex Gordons Emerald, a story that takes place in a medieval-style realm teetering on the brink of disaster after an exhausting war.

His passionate characters reflect stamina and strength. Emerald will delight fans of mystical kingdoms where fantastical creatures take on distinctive personalities, lending a unique voice to the narrative.

Clarion Reviews

One thousand years ago, one million human and dragon are camped in what is known as the valley of tears. They woke one morning there loved turned to hate and left for battle with wife child and mother pleading from them to stop fighting and marching with sword axe in hand. One thousand years after a young man a vagabond is laying about in the world somewhere resting form a fruitless search. The young man is wounded where in the world he needs to travel to find his friend a dragon so his search can end and he can go home.

The young man carries the hopes and dreams of every human and dragon on his shoulders.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jan 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503500624

Alex Gordon

Alex Gordon is the former sports editor of the Sunday Mail and has run the sports agency 7 Day Press for the past 18 years. He has written many books on Scottish football including The Lisbon Lions: The 40th Anniversary and the autobiographies of Davie Hay, Bertie Auld and Chic Charnley.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

A gentle, cool breeze kicks up dust on a well-worn path. Resting near the path in the tall grass is a young man with tattered leather and splint armour. The rustling of the grass and the song of a pheasant creates tranquillity; this is the first time the young man has felt peace and relaxation in the longest while. He rests his head on his sack and looks to the cloud above and wonders where in the world he is. And what season it is. And where should he travel to next? All of this thinking makes him tired and he closes his eyes and places his hand on the hilt of his great sword of war and dozes off.

The sound of heavy boots, swashbuckling, and roars of laughter startle the pheasant. It flies away and soon wakes the young man; there are 3 men, lightly armed. He closes his eyes and waits for them to pass by.

‘Aye, she hadn’t bled yet, but we fuck her good. The marshal’s daughter, that will teach her for standing in the way.’

‘She won’t learn Oren, you fat barsted. You cut her throat.’

Then all of the others roar with laughter.

The young man scorns men who rape and take pleasure in such things. A lesson needs to be taught. The young man grips his sword; keeping low, he moves through the grass with stealth and speed. He hears boots stopping and the sound of men drinking. Like a snake, the young man gets on his belly and slithers to the edge of the grass. Through the thin blades of grass, he can see three men, two tall, thin-built, the third short, chubby, with a long black beard (dwarf). All the men are wearing red cloaks. The young man can see their tabards; there is no crest and they are only armed with single-handed swords and have packed light. This leads him to believe these men are on a retainer and had to move fast without looking out of place. The young man notes one of the thin men has a small chest in his arms. It must have great value to kill and go through all this trouble, thinks the young man.

‘The council will pay us a king’s ransom for this, but we had part of our reward,’ laughs the dwarf and tucks the water skin in his leather belt. All three men move on.

The young man has work to do and he has found somewhere to travel. He stalks the men for a good part of the morning. The two men and one dwarf stop under the shade of a large cypress tree.

‘I need to take a gypsy’s kiss,’ says the dwarf. He walks to the edge of the grass in the shade of the tree exactly where the young man is waiting with unsheathed sword. The dwarf puts his pride in his hand and carries out his business.

The young man thrusts his sword into his belly and places his hand over the dwarf’s mouth. The young man feels the body go limp; he removes his sword, flicks the blood, and runs to the tree and waits.

‘What are you doing, playing with your prick? Let the whores do that,’ says one of the men. No reply. One of them walks to the tree. The young man steps out; the man walks into his blade. The young man rips it out and tosses the body to one side. Blood splatters his face. The last man drops his cloak and puts the chest on the ground and says, ‘You’re a dead man’ and unsheathes his falchion (the young man didn’t note it), then charges the young man.

He steps out of the way and brings down his sword on top of the man’s head. Killing him, the young man puts his foot on the man’s back and pulls out his sword and checks to see if the bone had chipped or blunted his sword. Happy none of those things have happened, he drags the body on top of the dwarf and cuts off his head. Then, the young man flicks the blood off his sword and fetches the chest. He is tempted to open it, but it’s not his place. He searches the bodies for a sack. He finds a canvas one in the tunic of the second man he killed and places the head inside. He heads to the grass and retrieves his sheath, placing the sword inside, and runs back to his sack. He throws it on his back and follows the path where the men had come from. The blood is seeping through the sack and leaves a bloody trail.

CHAPTER 2

I t’s late in the afternoon when the young man reaches the crest of a hill; he looks out to the vast farmland. There are men and dragons (wearing only hoes) working side by side, ploughing fields with oxen, and men on horseback (sporting heavy cloaks) mustering cows with four dragons swooping down, rounding up the strays.

A short distance down the path is a small stone brick village with thatched roofs. The young man is puzzled. Even from where he stands, most of the villages he has travelled to, he was overcome by the scent of open-air latrines, bodies, and unwashed residences. But there is none of that; the young man continues down the path.

When the young man enters the village, there is all manner of creatures living there: dragons, humans, and pixies (they stood only ankle high), but when the young man approaches any of them, they avoid him. Some even run; their eyes fear him. The young man is now fed up with trying to be polite. He spots a human boy run past; he drops his sack and grabs the human boy by the back of his tunic and says, ‘I will not harm you.’ He says in a calm tone, ‘Who is the elder, marshal, or lord of this village?’

The boy points to a white stable. ‘T-t-the the doo-o-r on the left,’ he says trembling in fear. The young man lets him go; the boy scurries away. The young man picks up his sack and moves along.

The young man stops at the closed door with too many things in his hands; he kicks the door open and steps in. The floor is roughly laid stone with leather cushions scattered about. There is a single desk and chair, above which hangs a well-worn execution sword (a warning to all of what happens when laws are broken and a reminder for the young man to be on his best behaviour).

A short heavy-built man in a brown tunic steps out from the door and sits at the desk.

‘I thought I heard someone knocking. You have broken my door. That is rude. I don’t come into your house and break your things, now, do I? Mmmm.’

The young man stands silent.

‘My name is Marshal Gibling. There had better be a good reason why you’re a scaring the good people and others that call this village home. Careful with your answer. I haven’t decided where to put you, in the stocks and flog you black and blue or have your head.’

‘I didn’t wish to frighten anyone. I wish to return what was stolen. And be on my way,’ says the young man, placing the chest on the desk and backing away.

The Marshal opens the chest and sighs in relief. ‘My boy, this was taken in the wee hours of this morning by two men and one dwarf. I still have dragons and men looking for it and them. This is the harvest stone. It was given to the village a thousand years ago. It was a gift from O’mother.’

The young man reaches inside the sack and takes a handful of hair and pulls the head out and places it on the desk. ‘This is proof I did not thieve this stone. It was this man and the others. I killed them all. I was on my own. Capturing them would have being out of the question.’

‘What is your reward? I’ll pay whatever you like,’ says the Marshal.

‘I do not collect gold or silver. If I may ask, I would like a bed to rest and a hot meal and food for the next part of my travels. I have no need for anything else,’ says the young man.

The marshal is taken aback by the young man. This boy has no idea what power this stone possesses, he thought. ‘There is a tavern just across the street. There you will find your reward. There are no whores. There’s peace here. Do not disturb it. Now I see that your armour is in need of repair. I’ll have it seen to by the cowan. It’s the least I can do for you. The cowan shop is at the end of the street that runs down to the tavern.’

‘Where am I and what season is it?’ says the young man.

‘It’s the first day of winter. This village is call Ely. It is bordered by four kingdoms and is by the Exeter Mountain Range. None of the villagers like strangers. A lot of secret meetings happen here between the kingdoms, and that keeps the balance of power and prevents wars. The village grows and supplies their own meat and some of their vegetables. That income all depend on. What is your name?’

‘If I tell you, it will be a lie,’ says the young man.

‘Then you are wanted by many. I can tell that by your ragged armour and smell. It’s to hide yourself. No one would dare come close to get a good look at ya. Very clever to travel around as a vagabond. But therein lies the danger. You are skilled with the long sword. It’s hard to hide that fact when your sword is forty-five inches long and weighs over four pounds. No squire or anyone else could wield a sword that big without years of training. Now I have a dilemma. Do I send word of this stranger or do I give you shelter and ignore you are here?’ says the marshal.

A short thin-framed woman steps out from behind the door with tears in her eyes and stands beside the marshal (she is wearing a long brown linen dress).

‘You will keep your lips shut, Husband. If he did wish to cause harm, he would have taken off with the stone. And sold it for a whore and ale.’ The woman glares at the decapitated head. ‘Is this the man that raped and murdered my daughter?’ she says.

‘Your daughter? … Two men and one dwarf,’ says the young man.

‘She was our only child. She had just turned twelve,’ says the woman.

The young man is enraged and his body shakes violently. He grips the desk to steady himself and the desk shakes as well. The marshal leaps up.

‘The hell is that?’ The marshal covers his nose with his hand and takes a close look at the young man. ‘Your eyes are piercing blue and your skin, it’s almost white. It looks to be thicker than normal,’ he says, backing away from the young man’s stench.

‘It has been happening from birth. When my emotions are too great, I shake uncontrollably. I cannot help it. I am human,’ says the young man.

Ignoring the overpowering smell, the woman helps him up. ‘I heard you talking to my husband. My name is Jill. The tavern owner is expecting you and so is the cowan. Be on your way with O’mother’s blessing.’

The young man walks out and props up the door the best he can and heads for the tavern, his body still trembling a little.

‘I’ll gather the heads of families for a meeting,’ says Jill.

‘Let them rest. There is no point talking to humans or dragons straight after a hard day’s work in the fields. They get irritable, argumentative, without a meal in their bellies,’ says the marshal.

CHAPTER 3

T he young man opens the tavern doors. There’s fresh hay on the floor and only a woman with a man sitting at the tables (both of them are wearing green tabards with the crest of a repentant lion encircled by flames). There is a raggedy man spilling his wine on the woman. The young man can see the anger building up in them both. But the crest on the man’s sword pommel is the same on his tabard; only knights have that. And a knight cannot harm anyone that is not armed or is not a threat. The young man walks up to the raggedy man, kick his legs out, and drags him by his ankles outside.

‘Thank you, Stranger,’ says the woman.

‘There is no need. I see you’re in the company of a knight. The code that governs him did not allow the knight to act,’ says the young man.

‘Well, for a smelly vagabond, you have knowledge of these things,’ she says.

‘Don’t encourage him. What we are searching for is not here. Let’s be on our way,’ says the knight.

‘Ignore him. That’s my husband. We must be on our way. Thank you and have a bath.’ She smiles and places a half sliver coin on the table and leaves with her knight.

The young man turns and sees a young woman dressed in a long white woollen dress, not much older than him, leaning on the edge of a door frame. ‘Well, you must be the stranger I’m to tend to. That man you threw out is the local drunk. Come with me,’ she says.

The young man follows her down a dark and damp hall. To the left, she opens a door and he steps through.

‘Now, take off all of your clothing, hand them over. I will have them washed and mended,’ she says.

The young man places his sack on the floor and fishes out all of his clothing and unties his cloak and hands them to the tavern keeper. The strong smell makes her turn her nose away and she breathes through the mouth. ‘My heavens, when was the last time these saw soap? … Don’t answer that. Now be back before the sun goes down for tea. The remainder of your things will be safe. You have my word.’ The young man smiles and takes his sword and heads out of the room.

The tavern keeper gags and heads to the washroom out back and gives the clothing to her dragon sister to wash. She too gags at the smell; immediately, she tosses them into the copper pot (filled with boiling water).

The young man walks down the road from the tavern. Dragons and humans are walking right by with soil and sweat on their tunics. That’s why the young man passes by unnoticed. They all smell the same.

The young man reaches the end of the street. There stands a timber and tiled roof building. He can hear the sound of a hammer meeting iron. He opens the large round wooden door. Standing at the forge is a large dragon in a leather tunic, hammering holes in an iron strap. The dragon places the iron strap into the fire and watches it go blue hot and dips it slowly in oil, then removes the strap and inspects it for any cracks and waves it in the iron.

The strong smell of an unclean body drifts into the dragon’s nose; he looks up, then he puts down the tools and picks a ladle from the pail beside the anvil and drinks, then splashes his face. ‘Well, you must be the stranger the marshal’s wife was talking about. My word, you smell like a crops,’ he chuckles.

‘The life of a vagabond,’ says the young man, not insulted by his smell; in fact, it is a damn good deterrent for others not to come close and kill him in a fight.

‘My name is Robert. I have a human name because I descend from a long line of dragon cowan. My family fought in the last great war between men and dragons. After the unification treaty was signed, a human cowan taught my ancestors the craft, so the family legend states. I’m fourth generation. Now let’s look at your armour.’

The young man feels he can trust this dragon. He puts his sword on the bench. Robert helps the young man out of his armour. ‘Well, the leather needs to be rebuilt. This is very fine leather, tanned only in one land many leagues from here. It’s expensive to replace. I have just enough. Now the splint metal can be hammered out.’ Robert sees the state of his armour. ‘I have the blackened rings and rivets to mend those holes. A lance will pass straight through. How many arrows have you been shot with?’

The young man bends over and shakes off the armour and places it on the bench and says, ‘I have lost count. Some shot me with sharpened sticks. The only good archer is a dead one.’

‘That arming jacket smells of rotting blood and death. My, that’s the most foul-smelling thing that ever had the pleasure of drifting into my nose. Take it off. My human apprentice wife makes them for knights who can afford to pay. They are the best in the lands. Many knights owe their lives and bones to her. She will alter one to fit you.’

The young man takes off the arming jacket and tosses it to the ground. The dragon is surprised; it runs away and yelps like a dog about to be washed. ‘It will be ready by morning. I take it you have no desire to hang around?’

‘No, I don’t like to stay in one place for too long. Thank you, but I do not have the means to pay you,’ says the young man.

‘There is no need. The marshal will foot the bill.’ The dragon smiles. ‘Ooo yes, what a mighty bill it’s going to be!’ he laughs. The young man leaves the dragon to his work and heads back to the tavern as the sun is setting.

The wooden shutters of the tavern are closed. The young man walks in. It is filled with dragons and humans, as well as pixies, drinking and talking about how cold the winter is going to be. The young man slips into his room without being seen. He sits at the table with just a single chair and candlelight. The tavern keeper knocks and enters; she places a big wooden plate of roasted rabbit, beef, and veggies, then a tanker of ale and a small bottle of whisky. ‘The whisky is from the painted people of the north. It is hard to get, so enjoy. You, my friend, have made my sister swear as she washed your clothing. She said, I take the stocks for a week then before I do that again,’ she says, turns, and leaves.

‘Thank you. Where is your husband? I was expecting to see him. I’m not trying to be rude or have any issues with being severe with a woman. This village is remote and men and dragons can be hard to handle when they have had too much ale. You are quite thin,’ says the young man. He sees faded red rings around both wrists.

The tavern keeper removes a small knife from her breast. ‘You are right, but I can use a bit of magic. I can hold my own. As for my husband, I killed him. I caught him in my bed with a travelling whore,’ she says.

That does shock the young man. In all of the places he has been, the killing of the husband or wife by their spouse is a crime met by death. ‘How are you still alive?’

‘Well, the marshal knows this is the only tavern within a week’s ride of anywhere, and without it, the locals would become restless and cause mayhem. I explained my action to the heads of all of the families in the council. I used the dragon defence. In their laws, if a mate sleeps with another dragon, out of love and jealousy, the mate who has been faithful will kill the cheating mate. This village is ruled by man and dragon law. That’s how I got away with it. But on that day, a law was passed: No human whore or otherwise would be allowed in the village or surrounding lands. The punishment is death.’ She smiles and leaves the room.

The young man eats heartily. When he is done, he unties his boots and picks up the bottle of whisky and lies on the bed and waits for the fleas and other black irritants to feast. But there are none. He pulls back the linen sheet and sees there is fresh hay. I must be an honoured guest. The young man’s thoughts soon turn to where in the world he should travel to next.

The six heads of the ruling families (three dragon and three human) gather in the marshal’s office and sit on the cushions. The marshal notes a female dragon dressed in fine line tunic with golden knot trimming. ‘Triella, the council is for the male heads of family only. It’s the law,’ says the marshal.

The dragon stares at him. ‘My husband cut his paw on a plough blade and is at home resting. Now, for the last time, I’ll tell you I’m the majority land owner, not my husband, and I was the one that voted you in, support I can withdraw at any time. Know your place,’ she growls.

The marshal is embarrassed for being told off like a child and in front of the council, and he was about to roar out, when Jill whispers into his ear. ‘If you say anything, you would have to go back to work in the fields. Your back, my love, will not stand up to hard labour any more. The only one that will employ you is that dragon. Do you wish to be under her paw instead of beside it?’

The marshal thought for a moment. ‘You are right, dear. Thank you.’ He opens the chest. ‘Now, if you haven’t heard already, the harvest stone has been returned to us by a stranger who will not give his name. I assume he is wanted by many. The council of magic and sorcery issued orders to all villages and kingdoms to report any strangers the come calling and send them a report of the stranger’s description and where they be travelling to. Also, the four kingdoms of this land had their orders to us as well to report any one or thing that is strange. What do we do? Hand the lad in?’

Triella stands up and folds her paws and stares at the marshal. ‘You called us here for that? The boy has no idea what power the stone has and he returned it to us. Let him be on his way, when he has rested. All of us owe him that much and our silence.’

The marshal is about to speak. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a little red dragon walking on the rafter. He leaps over the desk and runs underneath the little dragon just as it loses balance and falls. He catches the little dragon. It blinks at the marshal, grins, and leans in and gives him a kiss on the cheek. The marshal looks down on the little dragon. ‘Jackson, your daughter is not wearing a tunic. She is not a wild dragon.’ He places the little dragon by her father’s paws, while the others laugh.

‘She must have gotten away from her mother. I’ll tie a tunic to her. It will be pointless. She will find a way out of it,’ says Jackson, placing his paws over his daughter’s body. She does not like being restrained and lets out a cheep in a vain bid to vocalise her disgust. ‘Just be thankful she’s only four and hasn’t learnt to talk or fly yet,’ says Jackson.

The marshal takes his seat. ‘Yes, we are all dreading that day,’ he says.

‘Now, do you understand why I keep you as marshal? You have compassion for dragons and humans and don’t wish to see them harmed,’ says Triella.

Bruise, a medium-built human (wearing a plane white tunic) stands up. ‘No one will say a word about the kind stranger.’ He is interrupted by Jackson’s daughter fidgeting about. Bruise reaches into his leather belt. He takes out some dried beef and a knife and sits in front of Jackson and cuts off a piece and hands it to the little dragon. She looks at him and smiles. ‘Now I’ll give you this if you remain still. Otherwise, I’ll tie you up like last time.’ She gives him a foul look, and then gazes at her father sweetly, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

‘Ooo, not this time, and I may leave you tied up. Your mother and I can rest in peace.’ The little dragon snorts and takes the meat and gnaws it.

Bruise stands. One of the humans says, ‘She, like the red-haired human, cannot be tamed.’ All of the dragons and humans break out into laughter. Bruise’s face turns serious.

‘I’m surprised at all of you, including the dragons. I know they only live to 600. When the great war happened, the stone was stolen and used in that war. This village plunged into a famine that lasted one hundred and ten years. The famine stopped when the stone was returned to us by O’mother. A lot of dragons, pixies, and humans died in that time. Can you all look into the eyes of your children as they starve to death? I don’t think so. Be thankful that this kind-hearted stranger has returned the stone to us. The least we can do in return is let him drift off into the wind and say no more of this.

‘One more thing, it has not been a waste of time sowing the winter crop. How was the stone taken in the first place? Marshal, it’s your duty to care for the harvest stone and keep it safe,’ he says.

‘There have being many strangers wandering into the village, more than normal. The marshal and I have being overstretched dealing with them. It’s no excuse. I and my husband take full responsibility for what has happened and we paid the price. Forgive us,’ says Jill weeping.

The marshal takes her hand and says, ‘It’s well, dear. You did your best.’

‘Right, that’s enough!’ booms Triella. ‘The mother and father have lost a child. The pain is overwhelming. There have been many strangers. One of them must have known about the stone and where it is kept. A show of hands and paws that we move the stone between the heads of families on a weekly rotation and we let the stranger go and be grateful.’ All raise their hands and paws.

‘This meeting is over,’ says the marshal.

Jackson picks up his daughter and is just about to walk out.

‘How’s the cage I built for your daughter?’ says Bruise.

‘Works well, though she likes to gnaw on the bars for some reason when she sleeps, and her mother and I no longer worry about her sleep walking.’ Jackson smiles. The little dragon ignores them all; she is too busy with her treat.

Triella remains behind and closes the door (more like props it up). The marshal is embracing his wife; both are shedding many tears. ‘I know your pain all too well. Many years before the both of you were born, I had another child. My son tried to break up two knights fighting, but one of the knights did not see him and swung his sword. The other knight tried to protect my son with the flat of his blade. However, the tip of it sliced into my son’s neck. And the knight kept on swinging. The other knight was forced to kick away my son. At the same time, the knight thrust his sword in the human eye and then he got behind the man, removed his helmet, and slashed his throat, killing the knight.

‘The human knight ran to my son, did his best to save my son, but he could not and brought his body home and told me and my husband what had happened. The knight was crying and he gave me his sword and said, I failed in my duty to protect the innocent. Now, the law of my land states you must kill me. With my son still in his arms and my husband by my side weeping uncontrollably, I took the swords and brought them above my head. The knight placed the body of my son by the paws of my husband and knelt down. I was enraged and shedding many tears, but I could not bring the sword down on this knight. It was not his fault. I tossed the swords away. What happened next is something that will stay with me for the rest of my days. The knight took off his helm and picked up my son and placed him in my paws. All my husband could do was weep. The knight took a shovel and dug a grave. Then he filled a pail of water. As I held my son, the knight washed my son and shed tears. The knight removed his arming jacket and armour, then dressed my son in it, then lay him in the ground. My husband I are still grieving. The knight finds a pieces of wood and takes out his dagger and ask me is name. I says I gave my son the human name of Alexander, meaning the protector of man and dragon. The knight said that it was a fitting name for a fine young man. And inscribed it on the wood.

‘The knight picked up his sword and sat by the grave for the night with us. When my husband and I went to work the next morning, the knight was gone. He left a leather pouch filled with gold. I swore I wasn’t going to have another child, but O’mother blessed me with a daughter and I love her. You, Jill, and I were heavily pregnant when your husband was voted marshal. I was voting for a dragon. She was the best candidate. It took a lot of convincing from other dragons and humans for me to see the good and hard-working side of your husband. Admittedly, I didn’t know about his back. After he was voted in, I was still having second thoughts. That was until you invited me to your daughter’s christening and you named me as the godmother. I was speechless. The marshal put his draughter in my paws and walked away. She was so small and frail I thought I was going to harm her. All you said, Jill, is just be a mother. I gently rocked her to sleep, and that’s where you both left her in my paws. I loved a human child. When I gave birth five days later, you, Jill, were there helping me. I too placed my daughter in your arms, and she too fell asleep and you said you loved a dragon child. Both of the girls grew up and had their lessons together and got into mischief. She is crying at home as well. She can’t talk about the pain she feels inside. She is still years away from learning to talk and that breaks my heart,’ says Triella, shedding tears.

The marshal stands up and walks to the side of Triella and takes her paw. ‘My duty is making the hard choice for all and to keep them safe. It did take me away from my daughter. That pained me. I was and still am grateful to you for taking good care of her when her mother and I were away. She is your draughter as well. That I understand. If it be good with you and your husband, my wife and I would like to stay the night. The home feels empty without both children running through the house making O’mother knows what kind of noise and playing silently together in their own world. The memories are still too raw.’

Jill places her hand on the marshal’s shoulder. Triella caresses his face and says, ‘You are both always welcome. I was once marshal. I know the stress of the duty. My daughter would like company as she grieves. It will help her and give me and my husband time to grieve as well. We lay her to rest tomorrow. With honour. It’s funny. I saw the stranger. In a way, he looks like the knight that tried to save my son.’ They soon leave the office and walk to Triella’s home in the quiet cold night.

CHAPTER 4

T he tavern keeper opens the young man’s doors and wheels in a trolley containing his clothing, supplies, and things needed for a bath. She stops at the table and places a jug of warm water and a bowl on it. The tavern keeper is fishing for soap nuts. The young man wakes up and points a dagger at her. Unfazed, she finds the nuts and cloth and puts them on the table.

The young man lowers the dagger. ‘What time it be?’ He rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

‘It’s past dawn,’ she replies.

‘I have overslept. I was meant to be gone before sun-up. The bed is free of fleas, and it’s the first time in a long while I have rested without one eye open,’ says the young man, getting up and stripping off his braces and washes up.

The tavern keeper looks away and says, ‘You could have waited till I’m out of the room. Leave your dirty clothing here. I’ll wash them and hang on to them should you pass through here again,’ she says and packs his sack.

The young man looks at how she is packing it: clothing at the bottom, food in the middle, and spare knives and dagger on top. The tavern keeper ties up the sack, then she ties his cloak to it.

‘You came in last night and had a look around, didn’t you?’

‘You don’t sound surprised. All good intelligence starts with the tavern or inn keeper. I found nothing in your sack to tell me who you are. You are a mystery,’ she says, handing him clean shoes and a tunic.

‘When I was lying on the bed, enjoying the whisky, I must have had too much and fallen asleep. I didn’t hear you sneak in. The last thing I remember is hearing the dragons and humans drinking and laughing together. The more ale, the taller the tales had grown. In most of the villages I have travelled to, dragons and humans tolerate one another. They worked and lived separately and rarely did they drink together and relish telling tall tales. This is the first village I have stayed at where humans and dragons enjoy each other’s company,’ says the young man.

‘The fact is we need one another to survive and harvest the crops. We haven’t forgotten the great war and the young men and dragons that lost their lives. This village lost many generations in that war. The villagers you speak of are rare.

‘We are bordered by many kingdoms. War could break out at any time. If we need to take shelter in the mountain, then everyone will need to work together to stay alive. If crops fail, we die. If the king wants war, we get caught in the middle and we all will be killed if we don’t make it to the mountains. That’s how life is here.

‘The village laws are the same for all. But there are laws for dragons only, as there are laws for humans only. Humans and dragons live in harmony here,’ says the tavern keeper, finishing packing the sack.

The young man heads to the bed and ties on his sword belt and picks up the dagger off the bed and slides it in his boot. Then he picks up a parchment with interlocking knots sealing it. He hands it to the tavern keeper and says, ‘If things are dark and the village is in need of aid, break the seal. It will tell you how to find me and I will come. There are many dragons that will lend me their backs and fly me to wherever I need to go and just as many humans their swords.’

‘You are kind. Only in time when the need is great will I summon you. Why will you do this for strangers?’ she says, handing the sack to the young man.

He ties it around his back. ‘The last time I saw my father, he made me swear an oath. If I find those who have honoured the treaty that ended the great war, then I’m to serve them all,’ says the young man, walking out of the room.

‘If you go down the hall, there is a door that will lead you to the street,’ she says and looks up, but the young man is gone. She places the parchment on the trolley and hides it under the dirty clothing and packs up the room, heading off to open for the day.

CHAPTER 5

T he young man is standing at the corner of the tavern looking out into the street. Most of the men and dragons will be in the field, but it is quiet. None of the stalls or market have opened, odd , he thinks. Something is tugging on the young man’s boots; he gazes down. It’s a male pixie (in a tiny clock); it points to the store across the street.

‘Would you like me to go there?’ says the young man.

The pixie nods.

The young man crosses the road and opens the doors. The pixie shoots right past the young man and scrambles up a ladder that leads to a copper cone. The pixie speaks into it, ‘Aye, top of the morning to ya.’

‘And to you,’ says the young man, looking around the shop. It’s filled with all sorts of different stones. ‘You’re a stone dealer?’

‘The only one within 500 leads,’ says the pixie with pride. ‘I sell all different types, including rare stones from deep within O’mother. They are very powerful. The council buys them in large numbers. I have a list of others that buy the illegal black stone used for illegal magic. The council demanded I hand them over, but I gave them the small ones. I must make profit.’ The pixie steps down and runs under piles of crystals. A few moments later, he emerges dragging an amber stone that’s the size of the young man’s palms. The pixie dashes back to the copper cone. ‘This is a rare sharping stone, sought after by knights. One pass on the edge of your sword and dagger, the edge will be keen and true. It’s a gift for returning the harvest stone to its rightful place,’ says the pixie. Before the young man can say anything, the pixie is gone. The young man picks up the stone and places it in his leather pouch and leaves for the cowan shop.

The young man opens the door; the forge isn’t lit and shutters are not open. There is sunlight shining through the gaps in the walls. The young man sees the body of the dragon stretching out from behind the forge. He wanders up to see if the cowan is well.

The dragon cowan has his head in a pail of water. The young man strokes his tail to let him know he is there (no one in their right mind would dare surprise a dragon; they have talons to tear you a new one). The dragon lifts his head and turns it to the young man. With bloodshot eyes, he says, ‘Be with you …’ The sunlight is too bright and the dragon’s head feels like a hammer is landing blows inside his skull. The cowan puts his head back into the pail; it didn’t stop his headache, but it took the raw edge off the pain.

The dragon raises his head and looks at the young man. ‘Sorry ’bout that, lad. The apprentices and I finished work on your armour early. The day before, the pixies gave us some honey mead as payment for work I did on their home.’ (Pixies live in community homes.)

‘Aye, it’s sweet and goes down the throat like ice water. But the next morning, you pay for it.’ The cowan puts his head back in the pail and lifts it out. The young man steps out of the way. The cowan backs out and walks to a bench, with the young man close behind. The dragon pulls back the cloth. The young man is astonished; all of the leather has been replaced and the split doesn’t have a scratch on it.

‘This is fine work in such a short time,’ says the young man, packing the armour in his sack.

The dragon unties the young man’s sword belt and helps him to a new gambeson. ‘How does it feel, lad?’ says the cowan.

‘It’s heavier than my last one. The pattern of the cells that are stuffed with wool are all criss-crossed and not running up and down,’ says the young man.

‘If a sword punches through the plate and mail and the tip makes it to the gambeson, this pattern will insure that the whole gambeson isn’t damaged. Like I said, there are many knights that have survived due to the design,’ says the cowan, rolling up the mail and draping it over the young man. ‘All of the holes have been mended and the loose rivets hammered down.’ The dragon wraps the sword belt around the young man and ties it on.

‘Thank you. This is too much. Why have you gone to all of this trouble for a stranger?’ says the young man.

‘I have my reasons. Now behind the forge is a loose plank of wood. If you slip through there, you will find a forest. Follow the path the children have cut that will lead to the path out of the village. Best head off there, young man,’ says the dragon.

‘Thank you,’ says the young man, slipping behind the forge and out of the shop.

The dragon’s head is still throbbing, though the light did not sting as bad. He wanders back to the pail and dunks his head in; the cool water is soothing. He wonders if his apprentice is feeling the same.

CHAPTER 6

S ir Akir flies into Ely (a large black-and-white-scaled dragon); mounted on his back is Sir Balloch (human). By Sir Akir’s left flank is Sir Innes (a young grey-white-scaled dragon not yet fully grown) with Sir Erskine (human) mounted on his back (all wearing black hoses and blue tunics with a light blue tabard). They land in the middle of the village.

The humans dismount. A horse-drawn cart rolls by with a body of a young female encircled with and yellow white flowers. A procession of humans and dragons walk behind with tears in their eyes. The human knights unsheathe their swords and lower their heads. Sir Akir lowers his head in a mark of respect. Sir Innes says, ‘What the fuck happened to her?’

Sir Akir controls his rage and puts his paw over Sir Innes’s head, slamming it to the ground and quietly says, ‘If you step out of line again, I will drag you to both queens and you can explain yourself to them. What punishment is dealt is for Sir Erskine as well. Keep your head low and pay respect to the dead. The girl is no older than twelve.’ Sir Akir removes his paw. Sir Innes keeps his head low until all have passed.

Sir Erskine sheathes his sword and grabs Sir Innes by the ear and twists. He yelps in pain. ‘You are only thirty years old. I have charge of you for the rest of my life. I’m thirty-five, not that much older than you. Do you see me carrying on like that? No. Do not embarrass me again. When we return home, I’m going to put my boot up your ass for your action. Our orders are to provide ascents. You and I don’t have mates. If we are needed to stay behind, we can. But I can see you are not ready for that yet,’ snaps Sir Erskine. He lets go of Sir Innes’s ear, who rubs it and sobs quietly.

Sir Balloch reaches under Sir Akir’s left wing and unbuckles his sword. Sir Akir stands and makes sure the sword is within reach. ‘Sir Innes and Erskine, have a poke around and see if the strangers wearing black have passed through here. Sir Innes, keep your mouth shut and let Sir Erskine do the talking. Watch how he communicates with the people. You may learn something. Sir Innes, you have been with us for a fortnight. This village isn’t like the other. Iff any from the kingdom find out who we are, all of us are dead. And the people of the village will be rounded up and interrogated. Let’s find this man. If not, then we leave fast. I don’t wish to hang around.’

‘Right, lad, follow me,’ says Sir Erskine. The dragon keeps his head low and tails him. Sir Innes feels ashamed about what he said. His thought