There Be Dragons (4 page)

Her stepfather dismissed Radifini as a crazy old hermit; Radifini himself insisted he was a wizard, and that he had been a man of great esteem in days of old that were still not so long ago—and he could not believe so many had forgotten his powers!

Marina wasn’t certain where he actually lived, except that it had to be here, somewhere in the cliffs. He told her that, indeed, his home—where he still looked hard to foresee the future and gaze over all that was left of Lendo and the house of d’Or—was within the cliffs. But he never asked her there, for it was dangerous sometimes to foresee the future.

As dangerous as it could be to scoff at a belief in dragons.

“So, my lady, you are here again,” he said sternly. “Dreaming. What—they have no pots and pans for you to scrub today? The servants are all in attendance, and the Countess of Baristo has not warned your stepfather that you must make the beds or polish the silver, since you are in truth but an orphan now, and must be prepared to offer more than blue eyes and a pretty smile if you are to make a good match?”

“I’m here again,” she said, “because apparently, they are all delighted, thinking they have found the finest match in the world for me.”

“Oh?” Radifini joined her on the bench. “And who would this illustrious suitor be?”

“Carlo, Count of Baristo. It will be a Christmas wedding. Daphne will be married as well, to Michelo, son of the great Duke Fiorelli.”

“Ah,” Radifini said gravely. He patted her knee. “Well, then.”

Marina sighed, leaning her elbows upon her knees. “Well, then,” she repeated.

“Merry Christmas?” he offered weakly. She rewarded him with an angry glare.

“Ah, well. You’re less than pleased,” Radifini noted. “He’s rich, powerful, handsome, some would say.”

“I think that he’s really a reptile,” Marina told him.

“And you’re running away—in bare feet, cloak, and nightgown?”

“I’m not running away,” she said.

“So you’ve agreed to the marriage?”

“I’ve not said a word.”

“And why not?”

“I can’t leave Lendo. I must stay—it’s bad enough that my stepfather rules, with the wretched Countess of Baristo always at his side! I think she has designs upon him. Her husband is gone, as is my mother. But d’Artois is not really so cruel, and when I insist upon the old traditions and holidays, he listens. So … I must stay. And make sure that I am in a position of power, as well.”

“What if Baristo is a reptile, and makes you miserable?”

She laughed. “I’m probably quite capable of making him very miserable, as well.”

“But that’s no real life,” Radifini said. He stroked his long white beard. “And not as it should be … Why, I remember when your parents were married; indeed, I remember when you were born! I was there, with all my power, and my white magic … and still, we lost them far too soon.”

Marina placed a hand affectionately over his. “I am sure that you loved my parents, and that you were always there for them.”

“Mock me if you will, young lady. The belief in magic is lost, so none of you young people seem to know what is out there, what glory, what danger. I did more than love your parents. I countered a great deal of evil, but … some are blind to what they can’t see, touch, or feel, and they don’t believe when they should. And always, if one looks, there’s so much in the heart. But your father … perhaps he was too good a man. Still, you know. I serve the house of d’Or, and the day will come when I am able to make a difference!”

She squeezed his hand gently. “Radifini, you make a difference every time I see you! I love to listen to you. You bring back the real splendor of Lendo, and you give me back the laughter and spirit of my parents. You’re a really wondrous white wizard, I do believe it!”

She thought that he was about to shake his head sadly, and insist she didn’t really believe what couldn’t
be felt, seen, or touched, and their downfall might well be in that lack of vision. But just as they sat together, there was a disturbance in the brush. Jumping up, Marina first thought she saw an animal—a very large wolf? A horse?—coming low through the brush. But there was nothing. The sun made a sudden shift in the sky then, and a ray of light, almost dazzling, touched down upon the old pillars and seats of the small cove.

She blinked, certain she saw a woman slipping behind one of the pillars and into the ruins beyond. But the light had blinded her; she didn’t know exactly what she had seen.

“Radifini, did you—”

“Sh!” he warned softly.

Then she heard the sound, as well. Horses coming, riding hard upon the plateau.

She wrapped her cloak around her and stood very still. In seconds, Carlo, Count of Baristo, came into the small clearing area, his huge mount pawing the earth and working its bit. He was joined by one of his huntsmen.

“Ah, Marina! Imagine … you’ve fulfilled your vow—and so quickly. No matter, you must leave. There’s danger here. We’ve been hunting a wolf. It’s wounded now … running. Have you seen the creature?”

“A wolf … wounded,” she said. She turned and pointed far across the plateau, in a far distant direction. “Perhaps … I saw something. Low to the ground, running.”

Carlo narrowed his eyes, then stared sharply at Radifini. “You—hermit! What did you see?”

“As my lady says, there was something, yes, low to the ground, running.”

Carlo nodded, stared at Marina, then spoke to his companion. “Flush out the ruins. If Marina says one way, the beast has gone the other.”

Both men turned their horses. On instinct, Marina ran after them. “Wait, no … !”

In a moment, she would hear their cries of pleasure as they went in for the kill … if what she had seen had been a wounded wolf, and the sun had teased her eyes and shown her a human form instead. She might hear the mournful cry of a creature, cornered … baying out its last gasp of breath … then meeting the steel death doled out by such a man as Carlo.

She caught up with Carlo, grabbed him by the leg, and stopped him as he sat on the saddle. “Don’t be daft. I’d tell you if there was a maddened wolf nearby!”

As he looked down at her, there was a sudden disturbance from the bush. Something large moved through the foliage.

“A wild pony!” Marina murmured. “Nothing more, I’m certain.” She looked at Carlo. “A harmless creature! If there is a wounded wolf, it has not come this way. Trust me on this, I beg of you—I’d not let others be harmed by a predator!”

“Go, ride after the dangerous beast, my lord!” Radifini said.

“Marina, you must come,” Carlo said. “Ride with me. There is danger here.”

“I will defend her,” Radifini said.

“You, old man!” Carlo mocked. “You could not defend her from a fly.”

“I’m quite capable of defending myself, thank you,” Marina said. “And Carlo, I do believe you underestimate our friend Radifini.”

“I tell you, young lord, there is no wolf here!” Radifini insisted.

“Marina, you should come.”

“I am still in meditation.”

“With the old man?”

“I remember her parents with deeper love than any,” Radifini said solemnly.

“Be back by supper,” Carlo said impatiently. “Or I shall fear for you, indeed, Marina, and come to insist that I keep my eye upon you, at all times.”

He rode off, his huntsman following quickly after.

“Reptile!” Marina said with a sigh.

“Snake, perhaps,” Radifini agreed. He wrinkled his nose. “Frog.”

“Too noble. He’s a toad!” she argued, managing to smile. But memory served her, and her smile faded. She kissed the old man’s cheek. “I must go. I don’t know what I saw, but brave Carlo was hunting down some poor wounded beast. I must see if I can find the creature. It might be injured. God knows—that
was
Carlo. He might truly have shot at a wild pony or horse, seeing a big, bad wolf in his mind’s eye! I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude to you, or leave you. I do enjoy our time together so much!”

“Good heavens, my girl! Go find the creature, and hurry now,” he told her.

The sun had become warm. Marina dropped her cloak upon the rocks to move more quickly over the rough terrain, through the long grasses, trees, and foliage. Scampering along carefully, she followed the strange tracks she could barely discern upon the ground, thanking God all the while that Carlo had
not
been hunting with hounds.

She crawled through boulders and brush, swore softly as she stepped on stones. At last she broke out near the edge of a cliff, and there, upon the smooth surface of a weatherworn rock, belly down, struggling for comfort, was the creature.

Not a pony, or a wolf, or any animal that ran upon all fours. It was a falcon. A magnificent falcon!

“Poor creature!” she said softly. Blood poured from the animal’s wing. A broken arrow shaft protruded from it and she cried out softly, hoping the arrow itself had not imbedded into any bone, breaking the wing.

“Easy!” she murmured, aware she could be severely injured by the beak of the bird should she frighten it. As gently as she could, she touched the creature, carefully feeling the point of the arrow tip. “Poor, poor thing!” she murmured. It seemed only the tip of the arrow had made it into the wing, and that the wound was not too deep. Placing her hand hard at the point of impact to staunch any flow of blood, she gripped the arrow tip. “It will hurt, I’m afraid,” she said softly. “I hope you can realize that I’m trying to help you! Be easy, now … it definitely is going to hurt a bit.”

Carefully, she grasped the bird, set pressure to the wound, and pulled out the arrow.

“A bit!” came a shout. “A bit! That hurt like blue blazes!”

Marina was so startled by the voice she nearly fell off the rocky plateau where she had found the creature. She had been seated; she leapt to her feet, looking around, searching out the surrounding foliage.

There was no one. No one near …

She looked back at the falcon.

“Yes, you silly girl, it’s me speaking!” came the voice again. “Me, here, the falcon.”

Incredulous, Marina walked back toward the injured animal.

“Me, here, yes!”

The beak was moving. The falcon definitely appeared to be …
speaking.

“I’m losing my mind,” Marina murmured. “Stress … has to be stress. Surely—and certainly, not surprising—the very idea of marrying the Count Baristo could cause madness.”

“Stress … overload … there’s every excuse in the world!” the falcon sighed.

“Falcons don’t talk!” Marina said.

“Have you ever actually addressed one and
expected
an answer from it?”

“Well, no …”

“Then how on earth would you know that we don’t talk? I would say that, apparently, sometimes we do!” the falcon said irritably. “Now, please, have you forgotten all about me? My injury? Have you something to use as a bandage? Come, come, girl! Catch your jaw before it hits the dirt. Get over here and help!”

W
ith a great, heavy blow that extended every ounce of his strength, Michelo, heir apparent to the great Duke Fiorelli, brought his battle sword down upon the shoulders of his opponent. He had done so already, time and time again, and each time, the mail- and armor-clad being had risen again, like some monster, able to turn on him once more with renewed strength.

He heard the great clash of steel against steel; he felt the reverberation sweep through his arm, and then the length of him.

And then … thank God! The man … the
thing
stayed down. Michelo drew in a deep breath, anxious to approach his fallen enemy and pull the visor and helmet from the face. The warriors of old insisted they had fought wartrolls, mercenary creatures brought in by their enemies, beings that had scales rather than flesh. He’d never seen one, and he’d wondered at times if the wartroll hadn’t been invented by strong men, unwilling to admit they could not face an enemy with an even greater strength. And yet, in the time of his father’s days of battle, they had beat back such an army, won a decisive victory. And over the many years since, there had been comparative peace … with just a few raids now and then.

But their enemies grew bolder, encroaching upon lands where the people lived in freedom from barbarous rules and overbearing tyrants. There is strength in alliance, his father had taught him, and so it had been true. But now …