Dragon Maid (2 page)

“Aye.” Gwydion, master enchanter and warrior magician, blew out a tired sounding sigh. Blond hair wafted about him, dampening quickly from the rain. He jabbed a richly carved wooden staff into the ground for emphasis. “’Tisn’t as if ye havena asked afore.”

Lachlan focused his gaze on Arawn, god of the dead. Today his midnight-dark hair was unbound and his dark eyes solemn. “Ye must figure this problem out on your own,” the god of the underworld said.

Ceridwen shook her head. Lightning flashed next to her, so Lachlan understood she was furious. “We almost dinna come.”

“Aye,” Arawn said, “the reason ye waited for hours is because we argued about it.”

“’Twas only my fondness for you that prevailed,” Gwydion muttered. “Doona push me, dragon shifter. I wouldna like to think ye’d take advantage of my good nature.”

“But I havena even opened my mouth as yet,” Lachlan protested.

“Ye doona have to,” Ceridwen snapped. “We see what is within your mind.”

Kheladin got to his feet and turned to face the gods. “The Morrigan is one of you,” he said flatly. “When a dragon misbehaves, we address it amongst ourselves. We doona foist the task off onto another race.”

Lachlan winced. Kheladin’s words were true, but he was afraid they’d make things worse.

“Hmph.” Gwydion pounded his staff into the ground again. “’Tisn’t as if the Morrigan has done anything worse than her usual.”

Arawn nodded agreement. “If anything, she may have been a wee bit better here of late.”

“Only because there are no wars to feed her blood lust,” Ceridwen growled. “Not big ones, anyway.” She walked to Lachlan and thumped him in the chest with an index finger. “Rhukon and Connor are dragon shifter mages—just like you. Malik and Preki are dragons—just like Kheladin. We,” she spread her arms to encompass Arawn and Gwydion, “have discussed this thoroughly. We see them as
your
problem.”

Lachlan opened his mouth to protest, to tell them the Morrigan made Rhukon, Connor, and their dragons a much bigger problem than they’d be without her magic powering theirs. Kheladin spoke deep within his mind.
“Doona argue.”

Ceridwen waited. She glanced from Lachlan to Kheladin and back. “Much better,” she said and shoved sodden hair behind her shoulders. “Now, we’ll hear no more of this.”

Gwydion trotted to Lachlan’s side and clapped him on the back. “There’s a good lad. Come visit when ye doona want something.” His broad-shouldered form took on an insubstantial air. Moments later, the Celtic gods were gone.

“
There’s a good lad
?” Lachlan snarled. He pounded a fist into the nearest stone and yelped.

Kheladin blasted fire toward the skies, a sure sign he was seriously displeased. “The only way this could have gone worse,” he growled, “would have been if they’d challenged us to a battle.”

Lachlan knew better. He walked to the dragon’s side. “Nay,” he said. “Had they been truly bent on harming us, they’d have dissolved our bond.”

A few hours later

Kheladin sat back on his haunches, his multi-chambered dragon heart bursting with delight. He breathed a gout of steam; it drifted lazily upward. Crossing his forelegs over the copper scales cascading down his chest, he opened his jaws in a toothy grin.

The dragon gazed about his cave located deep beneath Inverness. It teemed with witches. This was the first time he’d entertained anyone except Lachlan or the Celtic gods, and his human bond mate scarcely counted because, until very recently, they’d been stuck shuttling between Lachlan’s human body and his dragon one.

Kheladin’s grin broadened. It had been a stroke of fortune when he’d stumbled onto an arcane spell that allowed them to separate. Though he and Lachlan were still magically linked, they were no longer jammed into a single body. The freedom of his thoughts, without constant commentary from Lachlan, felt like a gift from the gods.

One of the witches, Mauvreen, pushed her wild mop of red curls out of her face. Hair hung around her like a gown, falling to her waist. She was dressed in dark-colored breeks, much like a man would wear, and a fuzzy-looking green top with a black vest over it. Eyes the color of aged whiskey beamed at him. She swept her arms wide. “Thanks for inviting us. Everyone’s fascinated, simply fascinated, with you and your gold and gems, and well, just everything. Your storytelling’s been great too.” She walked a few steps from him and sank onto the floor of his cave amongst a group of witches. “Oh yes.” She looked back over a shoulder. “We’re all here. You wanted me to let you know.”

“Thank you.” Kheladin secured his wards, grateful nothing wicked had tried to sneak in along with the group of witches.

He didn’t count well. It wasn’t a dragon gift, but at least thirty witches spread out on the sandy floor of his cave. Maybe even forty or fifty. They’d been dribbling in for the past couple of hours. Mage lights bobbed everywhere. What surprised him most was the number of male witches in the group. He’d always assumed most witches were women.

More steam, mingled with smoke, streamed from his open mouth. Kheladin assumed a lot of things, but many of them were no longer true. He shook himself from shoulders to tail tip. His scales rattled, filling the air with discordant chiming. What a shock it had been to waken in the early years of the twenty-first century after being ensorcelled with Lachlan for over three hundred years. The world had changed, and not for the better, while they’d slumbered. He thought about the crowded streets of the city above them and grimaced. Inverness had been a far more habitable place in the sixteen hundreds.

He crooked a talon at Mauvreen. She pushed up from her place on the floor and strode to him. “And what does my dragon desire?”

Fire joined smoke and steam, shooting high into the dark air above him. “I am not
your dragon.
”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t be so touchy. I know you’re bonded to Lachlan. It was just an endearment…sweetie. Speaking of Lachlan, will he be along soon?”

“I left him at your house in Fort William with Maggie and her grandmother. They will show up when they choose.”

“Could you pin it down a bit closer? I’m anxious to confer with Mary Elma.”

“I’m not your servant to be ordered about.” The dragon’s whirling eyes spun faster in annoyance. What in the nine hells had happened to respect for ancient creatures? It was one aspect of modern life he didn’t appreciate. He started to chastise her further, but swallowed the words. Not much point. Instead, he asked, “How many of your fellows are here?”

She narrowed her eyes in thought. “I think fifty-three. Nearly the entire coven, except for a handful who were out of town, else they’d be here too. How many other opportunities do you think we’ve gotten to lay eyes on a living, breathing dragon? It’s not something any witch worth their salt would want to miss.”

A male witch pressed forward, but stopped a respectful distance away.
Good! At least this human understands deference.
Kheladin studied him. The man was tall, about Lachlan’s height, with broad shoulders fading to slender hips. His coal-black braids wove together into an intricate pattern that reminded Kheladin of early Celtic warriors. The braids lay close to the man’s head and were gathered into a queue that spilled down his back. Arresting amber eyes radiated a sharp intelligence; at the moment, they were hooded in concentration. He clasped his hands behind his back, obviously waiting.

’Tis just like the old times. He is giving me an opportunity to acknowledge him afore speaking.
The small concession pleased Kheladin. He inclined his head. “Your name, human.”

Mauvreen whipped around. Apparently, she hadn’t heard the man take up a position behind her. “Go ahead, Johnny, speak up.” She motioned with both hands.

The man rolled his eyes. “Just because you’ve known me since I was a child,” he hissed at Mauvreen, “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” He took a few steps nearer Kheladin. “Thank you for giving me leave to address you, er, sir. My name is Jonathan James Shea.” The faintest touch of an Irish lilt lay beneath the words.

The dragon inclined his head. “I am Kheladin.”

The man’s mouth twitched. “I know.”

Curiosity burned. Dragons were long gone from this world. Unlike Lachlan, who’d been born in the early thirteen hundreds, the man standing before him was young, maybe only thirty or forty years. “I am not surprised ye know about dragons, but how do ye know about me?”

Jonathan squared his shoulders. A rosy hue brightened tanned skin, setting off the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw. “I grew up steeped on dragon legends. When other lads put the fairytale books away, I kept reading them and just didn’t tell anyone. Some of the more ancient scrolls my da kept noted many of your names.”

Kheladin snorted, bathing Jonathan and Mauvreen in steam. “Ye’re a man fully grown now. What do ye do other than keep fable books hidden beneath your bed?”

“I do not—” Jonathan broke off. He looked abashed; the color in his face deepened. “You’re teasing.”

“Aye, but I would like to know.”

“I’m a software engineer. And a closet witch.”

’Tis English, but it may as well be a foreign tongue. Best take them one at a time.
“Software engineer?”

Jonathan nodded. “That’s right. Probably didn’t make a bit of sense to you. I design programs that run in computers. Actually, I build gaming software for simulated war games. Kids love them. Grownups too.”

“This cell phone is like a miniature computer,” Mauvreen cut in helpfully. She drew a small, black oblong out of one of her pockets and waved it in the air.

“Aye.” The dragon nodded his understanding. “I’ve seen them. ’Twould be hard not to since every person in Inverness seems to have one.” Kheladin returned his attention to Jonathan. “What’s inside the wee black box?”

“Um, I don’t work on cell phones, but there are lots of different electronic parts and a miniature circuit board…” His voice trailed off. “It’s not important, not really.”

“I would like to understand.”

Jonathan looked appraisingly at the dragon. “What I thought I heard, when you were talking to the group of us earlier, was that you and Lachlan can still share a body.”

“Aye, we can, but we’re no longer forced to.” Kheladin watched Jonathan, wondering why he’d highlighted that particular point.

“The best thing, then, would be for you to be in Lachlan’s body, and I could bring you to my office—which is also my home—and show you.” Jonathan grinned crookedly. “There’s a saying: a picture is worth a thousand words.”

“Even I know that one. Now, what did ye mean by
closet witch
? Is there a particular variety of witch? Do ye meet in closets?”

Mauvreen threw her head back and laughed. After a moment, Jonathan joined her. Anger surged; fire roared from Kheladin’s mouth. How dare these puny humans laugh at him?

Mauvreen got herself under control quickly. She bowed and then straightened. “We mean no offense. I’m certain if we got dumped in the fifteen or sixteen hundreds, there’d be many a turn of phrase we wouldn’t understand. Johnny,” she motioned with a fluttery hand, “tell him what you had in mind.”

His arched, black brows drew together like raven’s wings. “Our coven is a bit unusual because we have nearly as many men as women. Male witches are still not particularly well-accepted. Now if I were a Druid, it would be an entirely different affair since they’re mostly men. At least now they are. In earlier times, the Celts were the only ones to give women close to equal rights.”

“Ye doona have to tell me, laddie. I was there. I still doona understand the term
closet.
”

“Sorry.” Jonathan smiled; his teeth were very white against his bronzed skin. “It just means I don’t tell anyone outside the coven about my mystic side—or my magic.”

Something about Jonathan’s power puzzled Kheladin; the witch was muting it, but it was hard to tell how much. “Stand verra still,” Kheladin instructed.

“Why?”

“I wish to test your power.”

“H-how?”

“Afore ye are finished interrogating me, we could have been done. ’Tis a courtesy I asked instead of simply looking for myself.” Kheladin reminded the witch of the enormous power differential between them.

“All right.” Jonathan shut his eyes. It looked as if he were bracing for an onslaught.

Kheladin bit back a snort. “It willna hurt.” He pushed his mind into the man before him, bypassing his wards easily, and drew back, amazed. Jonathan was still frozen in place. “Ye can move now.”

“That’s it?” Jonathan shook his head. “I didn’t feel a thing.”

The dragon did snort then. “And why would ye?” he inquired from behind a curtain of steam. “If I canna seek information without alerting humans to my presence within them, what good would my magic be?”

“Sorry. There’s a lot I don’t know.”

“Good ye realize it, witch.” Kheladin looked from Jonathan to Mauvreen. It was obvious the man had no idea how much power he held. Compared with Mauvreen, he could move worlds. The dragon’s gaze swept the assembled witches chatting in small groups. Did any of the others hold Jonathan’s level of ability? If they did, he and Lachlan could train them to help in the battles that were sure to come.

The black and red wyverns—Malik and Preki—and their mage bond mates—Rhukon and Connor—were still loose in the world, as was the Morrigan. From the looks of things, they were likely to remain so. He and Lachlan had had several narrow escapes, and Kheladin was certain the Morrigan wasn’t anywhere close to backing down. He shut his scaled lids for a moment. Lachlan’s mate, Maggie, wasn’t immortal, which complicated matters greatly because they needed to keep her safe.

Mauvreen turned to face the assemblage. She used magic to project her voice. “Kheladin has been a great host. Let’s help him set his cave to rights. It’s the least we can do to thank him for inviting us.”

“I’ll help,” a woman cried.

“Me too,” another said.

“Yes, just tell us what to do,” a third witch called out.

Kheladin considered her offer. Moving amongst them as they worked might be a good way to ascertain who had the most power.
Mayhap this is also a perfect opportunity to tell them about what we face, just to get them used to the idea.
“Excellent. Before you begin, would you like to know how my cave came to be littered with boulders?”