Elizabeth Haydon - Rhapsody - Child of Blood

There could be no other, he knew. Emily’s place in his heart was a shrine.

So why was this woman there? Why couldn’t he drive her out of it?

I’ll be thinking about you every moment until I see you again.

As the days passed, Ashe became a fixture of sorts in Ylorc. Achmed had barred him, as he had Jo, from Gwylliam’s vaults and the ancient library; only Rhapsody, Grunthor, and the king himself were allowed within those chambers. Ashe, of course, knew where they were anyway, owing to his dragon sense. But for some reason their contents were unclear to him; he was unable to make out the details from the restricted area, which was a rare occurrence.

It didn’t matter. Rhapsody was generally more than willing to discuss the various artifacts they had discovered with him, and Achmed routinely read the manuscripts he found within the library in the evenings after supper, giving Ashe the opportunity to discern what they were then.

Once, as he was allowing his dragon sense to scan the documents in the Firbolg king’s hands, the scroll was abruptly re-rolled. He opened his eyes to see Achmed staring at him from across the room. It was almost as if the Warlord could tell what he was doing, even beneath the misty hood. Perhaps it was a sign of his dominion over the land; Achmed held the law and lore of kingship and knew, innately, the minutiae of his kingdom, just as if he were a dragon himself. These were his lands; Ashe had no power here.

All the insults and restrictions were worth it, as it allowed him access to Rhapsody. She was a joy, there was no doubt about it. Her personality held myriad facets and contradictions; she was at once gentle and ferocious, depending on the circumstance, though she possessed a rare ability to laugh at herself and to graciously endure the sometimes brutal teasing of her friends. She was devoted to Jo, and kept after her like a mother hen, defending her chick in all confrontational situations with talons more akin to a raptor. And her intelligence and sense of humor were without peer.

Ashe knew he should be moving on; the one who was waiting for him would doubtless be growing annoyed by now, but he seemed powerless to leave her. He had established a casual, disinterested demeanor that had set well toward making Rhapsody comfortable around him; her guard was down, and she was growing to like him, or at least she seemed to be. Just a few more days , he told himself each night as he lay in bed, alone, wondering what she was dreaming about. Achmed’s will had extended even into the stone walls, making it impossible to sense her when she was not in the same room. It was a disconcerting feeling.

Everything changed a few days later. Achmed and Grunthor had been gone for most of the day, exploring the caverns. Ashe had spent the morning teaching Jo to play mumblety-peg, a dexterity game he knew she would excel in, owing to her nimble fingers. She had mastered the technique quickly and was demonstrating it to Rhapsody when the two Bolg returned from the vaults, wrapped in an air of excitement.

“Wanna see what we found, Duchess?” said Grunthor, handing her a slim jeweled case. It was pristine, the outer box made from the dark, blue-toned wood of the hespera trees that grew deep within the Hidden Realm and from which much of the ancient furniture they had found had been crafted. The top was hinged with tiny golden braces, and the clasp had no lock.

“It was within many other layers of boxes and caskets, buried deep in the vault,” said Achmed, pouring himself a glass from the decanter.

Rhapsody opened it carefully. Within it lay a flawed, curved dagger, the length of a short sword, made from bone or another inconsistent material. It was the color of rose-gold, the metal alloy formed when copper was mixed into a golden base.

“How very strange.” She removed the dagger carefully from the box, turning it over in her hands. “Who would gild a weapon with red-gold? It’s too soft for any battle use. And the craftsmanship isn’t good; look how many defects there are in the surface.”

“Perhaps it’s ceremonial.”

Rhapsody closed her eyes and listened, there was an intense hum in the air around the dagger. Then her eyes opened wide in alarm. “Gods; I think I know what this is,” she said. Her face turned white and her voice dropped to a whisper.

“What?”

“It’s a dragon’s claw; look at it.” She held it up at a curved angle; she was right. There was no mistaking it, or the extrapolation that the dragon it had come from had been immense.

“It’ll make a great sword for the lit’le miss,” said Grunthor.

“You’re insane,” Rhapsody snapped. Then regret flooded her face as Grunthor looked hurt. “I’m sorry, Grunthor,” she said. “I just remember a little dragon lore from the old land. Dragons are particularly selfish creatures, and very jealous of their possessions. If the owner of this claw is still alive, it will know who has it, and may scour the countryside looking to get it back. I don’t want Jo anywhere near this thing; in fact, I’m not so sure we want it anywhere within the mountain. We may have to take it back to her.”

“Her?”

“Elynsynos, Anwyn’s mother, remember? Llauron’s grandmother. She’s the only dragon I’ve ever heard of in this land.”

“It’s been fine here for centuries,” said Achmed, annoyed. “Why do you think she will suddenly want it back?”

“Perhaps when it was in the sealed vault she didn’t know where it was, but now that the air has reached it, its smell will be on the wind. I’m not kidding, Achmed; one of the first types of lore they teach you as a Singer is tales of dragons and others of the five firstborn races. Most of those stories have to do with the rampages the wyrms go on when a thief steals something from their hoard, or when it is taken inadvertently. We have to decide carefully what to do with this; it would be awful to wake up one night with fire raining from the sky.”

Grunthor sighed. “Oi’m not showin’ you nothin’ from now on,” he said.

“Perhaps she’s right,” Achmed said; the others looked up at him in surprise. He knew the tales as well, and darker ones. “But I’m not sure returning it is the answer. Perhaps we should just take it to the tallest of the Teeth and hurl it onto the plateau. If the dragon is still alive, she’ll find it.”

“Or someone else will,” said Rhapsody indignantly. “Anyone could come across that box and open it; you’d be sentencing an innocent stranger to a horrible death. Besides, I don’t think a dragon that would journey to Ylorc to retrieve something she thought was valuable would appreciate it being tossed from a mountain like so much garbage.”

Jo had organized the Bolg children into crews that had cleaned up the centuries of filth and litter from the steppes. “Nobody better be throwing trash from the mountain,” she said, then went back to her game.

“And how do you propose to return this to her?” Achmed asked.

“I’ll go,” Rhapsody said. “It will be interesting; perhaps I can learn some dragon lore firsthand.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Rhapsody’s eyes narrowed; it was the first sign of anger brewing.

“I said no,” Achmed repeated. “If I recall correctly, wasn’t Elynsynos the dragon that rampaged when she found out that Merithyn didn’t come back, and deserted her children as infants?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“And you want to seek her out and say, ‘Here, we found this; I’ll be on my way now?’ I don’t think so. Besides, you have no idea where to find her, do you?”

“I do,” said Ashe quietly. He had been sitting by silently, observing the proceedings with interest and a touch of amusement. The women jumped when he spoke, having been lulled into forgetting he was there. “I could guide you there.”