Following Fate’s Kiss

By: Rebecca Anne “Sinead” Fahey-Leigh

Chapter Four:

Training for the Passage

            “I don’t feel all that well . . .”

            Mother and I watched as Qyriian lurched towards the side of the boat and proceeded to review his lunch once again. It was the third time he’d eaten, but thus decided not to digest it. One of the ship’s officers walked over to us, completely used to the sea after a life of living upon it, and asked, “Is he going to be all right?”

            I shrugged. “He can fly it off if he really wants to.”

            “Thanks for your concern, darlin’,” Qyriian grumbled, spitting again to try to clear the taste from his mouth.

            Laughing, I walked up to him, completely used to the sway of the boat, and then wrapped my arms around him, wincing slightly as I moved my left arm. He sighed and rested his arms around me as well, then said, “You’re part Kalith . . .”

            “Yes, and I planned ahead just in case you were going to be as sick as you are now. But I honestly didn’t think that you’d be this bad, love,” I replied to his unspoken question. He loosened me slightly and I pulled out a small wad consisting of a digestible sap and the finely-ground-up leaves of a plant. “Eat it.”

            His face went green. I got out of the way just as he threw up again. I leaned against the railing and sniffed at the small wad long and full, then popped it into my mouth and chewed it. “You big baby. It’s only mint. It’ll help calm your stomach.”

            “But that involves swallowing something with taste!”

            “Qyriian, any remedy for seasickness involves swallowing.”

            “Riian, I don’t think that I can swallow anything other than my own bland spit without gagging it back up.”

            “It’ll get that taste out of your mouth.”

            “Hand it to me.”

            “That’s what I thought. If you can’t hold the mint taste down, I have a stronger remedy with me.”

            The first small mint-disk came back up as quickly as it went down.

            I sighed, and Qyriian groaned. I gathered his head towards my good shoulder and let him rest it there for a few moments as he recovered slightly. I tapped his shoulder and said, “Hold your nose, and open up.”

            “But . . .”

            “I’m covering your mouth, so the only way you’ll be sick is through your ears if you keep your nose pinched shut,” I explained.

            He nodded and did as I said, quickly swallowing the stronger remedy I had brought with me as  I held my hand over his mouth. He clamped his own over mine, and squeezed his tearing eyes shut until he had to breathe. He pulled my hand away for a moment, took a sharp breath in, then replaced my hand over his mouth. After a few minutes the green pallor left his cheeks and soon he was able to breathe normally without running to the side of the boat. He opened his eyes and looked at me wearily. I smiled, then said, “You’ll feel drowsy, so let’s get you to a bed.”

            He nodded, and Mother helped me bring him to the bed that the Gyr-skin was hidden under. She closed the door and I reached under the bed for the tied-up skin to spread fur-side-down over my betrothed. He sighed and rested his hand upon my own as I tucked it around him. I smiled at him, then asked, “Did you want me to stay with you?”

            “Please?”

            Mother laughed and reached over to strap a small throwing knife to her forearm. She pulled her sleeve back down, and said, “I get the point. I’ll leave.”

            There was a heavy knock upon the door before it was opened by Varthin. He saw his grandson, smiled, and said, “So you got him to stop puking. Wonderful.”

            Qyriian groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. I laughed kindly. “After he decided that he didn’t like the mint-disks.”

            Varthin chuckled. “We shall arrive in a day. Aren’t we lucky that this is only a two-day voyage?”

            I nodded and replied, “But the trip to the other island we planned to visit is about five days.”

            He grinned. “Not when you’re on a Dragon-kin’s back.”

            Blinking, I shrugged. “I’ll drill Qyriian about it later, once he’s feeling better.”

            “Aah, a wonderful idea. Ice Eyes knows that you never learned anything from me!”

            “I learned!” I replied, indignant. “I learned enough that I didn’t flip out on Qyriian when we first met!”

            “Point, grandfather,” Qyriian’s muffled voice said from beneath the pillow.

            Varthin blinked, then replied in a gruff tone, “You two behave properly. Lady Kismet and I are wanted to speak with the captain. If I hear that anything at all has happened in here while we were gone . . .”

            I sighed, looking up at the ceiling to try to regain lost patience. “You’ve heard us point out all the times that we could have gone past what we have vowed not to do three times over, Grandfather. What makes you think that we’ll do anything now?”

            He growled slightly in the back of his throat, then replied, “See to it that it stays that way.”

            Mother kissed my forehead then ruffled the slight bit of Qyriian’s hair that was showing, softening the rebuke slightly and making it easier to bear. As soon as she was gone, I stood and limped over to the other side of the good-sized cabin, going behind the curtain that was hanging in front of a corner, thus shielding me from view. Sighing, I reached out and grabbed a tube of ointment, and then pulled the large outer tunic over my head so that I could rub the salve into my scar to soften it. I did the same to the scar on my thigh, then dressed again and walked out to sit beside Qyriian, grabbing a book as I did so.

            His voice was drowsy. “Harmony . . .”

            “Yes?”

            “How much of a sedative was in there?”

            “Enough to knock a full-grown man out in three minutes.”

            “Lovely.”

            “Well, you have more mass than most human men. And that’s not even including your wings.”

            “You’re calling me fat,” he teased sleepily.

            “Not really,” I replied, tickling his side gently. “Besides, muscle weighs more than fat.”

            He chuckled and tried to bat my hand away, but only succeeded in turning onto his back from where he had been resting on his left side. I rested my hand upon his. “Is there anything that you’d like to know?”

            “What’s your father’s name? Your real father, not that idiot you assassinated.”

            I smiled. “He’s called Trustworth and he’s a blacksmith on the outskirts of the village, from what Mira told me from her last visit.”

            “Do you love him?” he asked, his eyes closed and his voice soft.

            “He helped give me life, Qyriian. I love him because of that.”

            “Do you . . . think he’ll approve of me?”

            I kissed his forehead and whispered, “I hope so.”

            “For the sake of all that is good, will you get up?!”

            Jumping awake, I blinked up at my mother, who sighed and shook her head an how deeply I slept. “We’re about to enter the harbor. Get up, and get changed. You’re harder to wake up than your father was.”

            “What time is it?” I asked, getting out of the bed that she and I shared upon the voyage.

            “About a candlemark before dawn.”

            I nodded and rubbed at my left shoulder once before applying the salve once again to both scars. I changed into breeches, a short-sleeved tunic, and a loose-fitting open tunic. I looked at Mother and she indicated the two Gyrkin asleep in their section of the cabin. I grinned to her then launched myself onto them, causing a flurry of snarling curses from Varthin and a drowsy chuckle from Qyriian. The elder Gyrkin snorted at me as I sat between the two of them. He then laid back down, resting his head by my knees and growling, “You’re too energetic, you bloody human.”

            I smiled, rubbed at the top of his head, then settled down between him and Qyriian, who was quick to curl up closer to me. I blinked over my shoulder at the Higher-Form Gyrkin, then asked, “Are you feeling all right?”

            “I might be,” he replied. “I don’t know just yet.”

            “Get outside and decide quickly.”

            He nodded and I busied myself in annoying Varthin. Qyriian changed and walked outside, going to see if he would be as bad off as he was the day before. I grabbed an apple for breakfast, then bit into it as I walked outside into the dim pre-dawn air. One of the crew members smirked in good humor, then pointed to the other side of the boat where Qyriian was holding onto the rail fiercely. Thanking him, I walked over to my fiancé, and leaned back against the rail, biting into the apple. “Feeling better, or no?”

            He saw me bite into the fruit again, and then leaned over as far as he dared to blow chunks. I sighed and threw the apple overboard. “I think I’ll eat when we’re on dry land. But you have to get something into you, Qyriian.”

            He looked at me, his face showing how absolutely miserable he was. I sighed again and smiled as reassuringly as I could. He looked down, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

            Unable to take anymore, I moved his wing back, wrapped my arms around his waist, and sighed into his chest. He let one arm rest around my shoulders as he said, “Is there any more of that stuff you gave me last night?”

            “I don’t want to give that to you again. It knocked you out, and that was its intended purpose. I can give you the mint-disks, and that you can have a decent portion of, but the other remedy is only to be used as an end result. But . . . I think you’ll be doing much better today,” I replied.

            He rested his cheek against the side of my head and whispered, “Then I’ll take the mint. I can tell you’re uncomfortable about the other remedy.”

            I handed him a small, flat disk and he winced, swallowed in anticipation, then popped it into his mouth, chewing it well. Spitting it out over the railing, he looked at me, and asked, “Can I have a larger one?”

            “I knew that’s what you were going to do,” I said, laughing, and handing him a more appropriately-sized one for soothing the stomach.

            Thankfully, that one and the four others that followed it stayed down.

            I payed the captain a good-sized tip for dealing with us. He laughed, saying that it was nothing short of a miracle that we all survived the trip. Then, it was time for a good, hearty lunch, which Qyriian tucked into with a will as well as a completely-empty stomach.

            Varthin was sitting in the shadows behind the table, watching for anything out of the unusual in the crowd around us. Qyriian glanced up at me sharply and I whipped around, grabbing the thin wrist of a child who had tried to pick my pocket. He wriggled, and I simply tugged him closer to me, drawing my dagger.

            He looked up at me in shock, but I held the pommel of the weapon up for him to see. “I take it that you are of the Harutha, or are a descendant of one of the Harutha. You should notice your clan’s marking anywhere, boy.”

            The young child seemed to shrink into himself, and he shook his head. “No’m, I ain’t nevuh seen no markin’s f’r me clan!”

            I pulled him closer, then sat him upon the bench next to me, replacing my dagger back in its sheath. “Do you know what clan you are from?”

            “Th’ one you’m said.”

            “Say its name.”

            “Har’tha.”

            I noticed the way he said it, then nodded. When said by one who belonged to it by blood, all clan names had an other-worldly sound to it, almost a chiming. I recognized it immediately and then released his wrist. He stayed where he was, glancing up at Qyriian, who was blinking at him curiously. I caught his attention again, and asked, “Why are you stealing?”

            He looked down at his ragged clothing, and said, “Me Mum’s ’n orful c’ndition, an’ she ain’t been able t’ get dec’n’t food ’n stuff f’r a m’nth now.”

            I nodded. “And what of your siblings?”

            “They’s all grown’d, an’ flew off. ’M th’ only ’un left.”

            Qyriian caught my glance and he looked to Mother, who smiled and nodded once, barely perceptible. Leaning over, I tugged upon an attendant’s apron and asked, “Do you know this boy?”

            “Oh, nay, milady. Can’t say I know that sewer-rat.”

            “Then you will. He is in need of foodstuffs to sustain him and his mother.”

            The attendant blinked, then said, “I’ll be back.”

            Mother snickered. “My, aren’t we commanding today, milady.”

            “Mum, please. You approved of what I was thinking of. You told me through your smile.” I looked down at the boy, and asked, “What’s your name?”

            “Bolt.”

            “Right, then, Bolt. How old are you?”

            “’Leven.”

            “Eleven? Old enough to be working, and not out on the streets, stealing. Did you want a job?”

            “Will ’t s’pport me Mum?”

            I nodded. “It should.”

            The innkeeper walked up to us, red in the face, and demanded, “What are you doing, ordering my servers to help out this little rat?!”

            Qyriian stood, banging his hand upon the table. “Harmony, Kismet, come on. I can’t take any more of this rudeness.”

            Varthin came out of the shadows and snorted at the innkeeper, whose jaw had dropped the moment the dark tan head pulled out of the darker alley. I pulled out a silver bent, barely enough to cover the charges and threw it to his feet. “C’mon kid, we’ll find you somewhere to work. Grandfather, don’t you even think about wreaking this place.”

            Varthin snorted again, and growled, “Ye’d better be treatin’ yeh’r customers better, otherwise ye’ll have t’ face an early retirement as well as an early grave! An’ ’twon’t be a bloody Gyrkin comin’ after yeh, ye hear?! It’ll be a bleedin’ cheated patron! Bwah!”

            We walked off and I sighed. I knew that Varthin was angrier than words could express, simply by the fact that he had slipped into his old pattern of speech. I reached up to rest my free hand upon his shoulder, then looked into his burning red eyes. He growled something that sounded like an apology, which I smiled to. I looked at the boy. “Now, what do you think of my fiancé’s grandfather?”

            “He’s a Gyrkin?”

            “Mm-hmm.”

            Varthin scooped the boy up to sit upon his shoulders as we walked through the marketplace. I took Qyriian’s hand in my own and listened to the conversation that Varthin was starting up with the boy, cooling his emotions off. “Tell me the names of the four clans, young ’un.”

            “Har’tha, T’tha, Kal’tha, and Xa . . . Xaqtha.”

            I looked to Varthin, who blinked back at me, then said, “Say that again, boy.”

            Bolt did, causing me to laugh and say, “Well! What do you know, eh? Mum, what do you think of this?”

            She chuckled, and said, “You have a knack of finding others of all four clans, Harmony.”

            Bolt looked at me. “Wazzat she talkin’ ’bout?”

            I smiled, but didn’t answer his question. “Where do you live, Bolt?”

            He pointed to a street, then said, “There.”

            Qyriian took the boy from his grandfather’s shoulders, and let him hold onto his back as he walked down the street with me behind him. When we reached the young boy’s small apartment, he jumped off of Qyriian’s back, opened the door, and called in, “Ma! There’s people wantin’ t’ talk wi’ ya!”

            A woman barely older than my mother walked stiffly out of another room. She saw who her son had brought in, and blushed furiously, stammering, “F-f-forgive me, fo-for not preparin’ a meal or summat for ye, miladies an’ milord–”

            Smiling, I shook my head. “We already ate, thank you, but I have to ask you something concerning your son.” She nodded hesitantly, and I continued to ask, “What heritage does he carry on from you? What clans?”

            She blinked, then said, “Kalitha.”

            “And the other three heritages from his father?”

            “Rest ’is soul, yes.”

            I looked around Qyriian’s wing to Varthin, who said, “He could train as a field-healer, for expeditions and for search parties.”

            The woman looked at me, then whispered, “Ye’re a scout f’r th’ academy, aren’t ye? Or f’r th’ Riders?”

            I chuckled and shook my head. “No. I’m a graduate, but I’m constantly running into eligible candidates for getting into there. And I know a few Rider recruiters, but I’ve never been able to tell who would be a good Rider.”

            She smiled broadly, but it faded and she was about to say something else before Varthin called in, “Don’t you worry about the costs of anything, Missus. The treasurers have been saving up for centuries for cases like yours. Currently, we have, what is it now, Riian . . . nine?”

            Chuckling, I nodded, and said, “We have nine full-scholarship cases, and have room for maybe seven, eight more, if we’re lucky.”

            Bolt tugged upon my hand, and he asked, “Can me Ma come wi’ me?”

            My mother looked at Bolt’s mother, who shook her head slightly. She didn’t want to be somewhere too busy, and the Academy always had a high energy-level, and lots of children and teenager running around rampant. My mother smiled, and asked, “Are you in need of a line of work?”

            “Aye. How did ye know?”

            “Just wondering, actually. I was going to offer you a place at my manor even if you were working somewhere else.”

            Bolt’s mother’s eyes widened. “M-manor, milady?”

            “Yes. I’m the leader of the mainland Western Harutha, and I’ll be needing more people to help me now since I am getting older, and I’ll soon be attending to grandchildren.”

            I felt my face heat up as Qyriian smirked down at me. “Well? Once we’re married I don’t see why not.”

            The woman laughed and nodded. “Ye have yeself a worker, milady.”

            “What is your trade?” Mum asked, smiling.

            “Laun’rin’ clothin’ an’ such.”

            “Wonderful! Have you ever seen a laundry of a manor?”

            “Aye! Magical places, them are. . . . Everythin’ ye’ll ever need’s at ye fingertips, an’ ye don’ need t’ work that ’ard at scrubbin’ th’ delicate thin’s tha’ th’ ladies wear!”

            Varthin cleared his throat and said, “Kismet, your daughter and my grandson should be getting moving.”

            She nodded, and said, “I’ll stay here with Bolt and his mother. She will have questions about both places, no doubt.”

            “Oh, you’re just as difficult as your daughter is . . . Fine, I’ll stay and listen to you women-folk.”

            I laughed. “Mother, I’ll meet you back at our rooms no later than midnight.”

            “Be careful, you two.”

            I patted my sword, smirked, and replied, “Always am.”

            We left and immediately set out for the blacksmiths’ section of the harbor-city. I entered the first smithy I saw with Qyriian right behind me. All movement stopped as customers and blacksmith alike turned to look at me and my fiancé. I glared at the man. He was big, burly, and making a small, delicate, silver trinket, possibly for a daughter or a niece. “Hoi, you. I’m looking for a blacksmith named Trustworth. Where can I find him?”

            He let the trinket into a pail of water, then said, “Ye’ll be on the wrong side of the section, miss. Trustworth’s on th’ north side. Mind he doesn’t throw somethin’ at yer pretty head.”

            “Keep your eyes off,” Qyriian growled as I walked past him and out of the smithy. He unfurled his wings slightly, blocking me from view from behind as we walked down the street and to the northern side. There were four smithies here, and all were in use. I sighed and walked up to the second one from the left. I had a feeling about this one.

            Before I could knock upon the door I heard a dull “thock,” and found myself staring at the point of a dagger which had made it fairly through. “Well, I’d usually run, but I’m in need of some information. That, and if you think that throwing a simple knife at me is going to stop me, I’d have to laugh at you. I’ve faced Gyrkin with prettier features than the tip of this old thing.”

            The door flew open as the man whispered, “Kismet?”

            I blinked up at the man, who was a bit taller than me, and said, “No. I’m called Harmony Riian.”

            His eyes were sad, as he turned. “I don’t have any information that you would need, kid. Go away.”

            “If you’re Trustworth, I have a question, and one question only for you.”

            He stopped, his face clearly saying that he was Trustworth. “Fine, but I’ll be having something in return.”

            “I’ll ask my question first.”

            “Have it as you will.”

            “My mother said that you, Trustworth of the Harutha and the Kalitha, are my father. Is that true?”

            He turned to glare at me, pulling the dagger from the door as he did so. “I’ve only been with one woman my entire life.”

            “And I believe that. My mother is the Duchess Kismet, formerly the second-in-line inheritor of the Central Tietha, but is now the sole leader of the Western Harutha.”

            He dropped the dagger then took a step forward, but stopped short and looked away, then up again at me. “Where is she?”

            “On the island.”

            “What of Jest. He had been born into the role of leader for the Harutha.”

            “Assassinated for attempting to unearth something sacred to the Dragons. Killed by mine hand.”

            He wobbled upon his feet and Qyriian and I caught him, then helped him to a bench. He leaned his elbows upon his knees, shaking quite a bit, and then whispered, “She said that she would carry my child . . . no matter who she was married to . . .”

            I smiled and knelt before him to look up into his face. “And that child was me, Trustworth. I am your daughter. I know that I am. I can see that I get my height and eyes from you.”

            He looked me square in the eye, then came off of the bench to embrace me roughly, awkwardly. I relaxed into the embrace and rested my head upon his shoulder. He pulled away and then looked up at Qyriian. “Harmony . . . who is this?”

            I smiled, and helped him stand again. “This is Qyriian Hrutan of the Gyrkin, my fiancé. We’re to be wed in the spring.”

            He looked at me, then up at Qyriian. “But you can’t be more than sixteen, Harmony!”

            I smiled, and said, “I’m turning eighteen this week, Father.”

            Qyriian looked at me. “Euah! You never told me that!”

            I shrugged. “I was going to surprise you the day before.”

            “Which is when?”

            “Tomorrow.”

            “So your birthday is the day after tomorrow?”

            I nodded, and he glared at me in a dull fashion. “Riian, you are annoying.”

            My father laughed then said, “Come inside, both of you. Watch your wings, boy, lest the catch fire.”

            “They shouldn’t,” Qyriian replied, “But I thank you for the warning, sir.”

            “Nay! Not ‘sir.’ I’m not old enough for that yet!”

            I chuckled, and asked, “Did you ever return to see Mum?”

            Trustworth . . . Father smiled sadly at me, then whispered, “Once, and we could only watch each other from a distance. You were seven at the time.”

            Qyriian blinked down at me. “Weren’t you seven when you helped defend the Tietha village you were visiting from the Gyrkin, Riian?”

            I nodded, and then looked up at him, and whispered, “You’re the one Mum said to hand a note of thanks to!”

            “Yes, that was me. I’m thankful that Jest wasn’t there at the time.” He winked broadly, causing me to snicker and shake my head. Father smiled in return. “Now. Say your betrothed’s name again, so I can see if I can say it correctly.”

            “Qyriian.”

            “Krean?”

            “Qy-rii-an.”

            “Kaie-ree-in.”

            “Yeah, that’s close enough,” the Higher-Form Gyrkin said, chuckling.

            My father laughed and brought us into his hut where a fire was merrily burning away. He sat us down and served us a warm cup of tea along with questions of home, of the mainland, and of Mother. I felt at home, and I think that my Qyriian did as well. It was a good feeling.

            My father smirked at me as I knocked upon the door to the room my mother and I shared. “Hey! Come look what I found!”

            She snapped back through the door, “Harmony, must you always demand my attention while I am changing?!”

            “Well, it’s amusing to annoy you. And I am your daughter, after all.”

            She opened the door. “Harmony, I’m going to make your married life–”

            Trustworth smiled gently, whispering, “Our daughter has said nothing of praise for you, and of how you raised her. I’d hate to see that you’ve changed over the years, Kismet.”

            “Trustworth . . .”

            She flew into his arms and clung to him. After a moment she reached over to me, embracing me as well. “Harmony, thank you.”

            I smiled, and said, “You don’t have to, Mum. Just let me get a change, and I’ll stay with the two Gyrkin tonight.”

            Her face reddened and I laughed. I dashed quickly past her and into our room, then grabbed my bag along with the Gyr-skin. I was about to leave the chamber when I saw my mother and my father, still embracing each other, watching each other’s eyes. They were completely unaware that I was there, or that a maid was squeezing past them and smiling at the cute scene. I let them stay like that for a moment, then said, “If you want to kiss, I don’t care, as long as you just let me out first, and that I don’t have to witness it.”

            They both looked at me incredulously. I laughed then said, “You two should see your faces. Honestly. But I’m serious. Did you even notice that a maid was smiling at you two as if you were newlyweds? It was so adorable!”

            “Daughter of mine or no, if you don’t get out of the way from between me and the bed, you’ll be plastered against a wall,” Father said, smirking.

            I made a face of disgust and left the room. “No more. Please. I don’t need to know these things.”

            Their door shut quickly after me, and I knocked upon the Gyrkin’s room door. It was opened by Varthin, who blinked and said, “You aren’t thinking of coming in here . . . are you?”

            I blinked at him. “Well, it’s either me in with my parents, or me in with you two. I’d prefer not to be sharing a room with them tonight. Sharing a wall will be more than enough, thank you.”

            Varthin blinked at me, the moved out of the way. “Why the Gyr-skin?”

            I shrugged. “I feel safer with it with me. I don’t trust it to be anywhere else.”

            Qyriian shifted in the bed, then sighed, still asleep. He had gone up to the room before me so that I could privately reintroduce Father to Mother. Apparently he had fallen asleep instantly. I smiled, and Varthin sighed. “All right, fine. Sleep between him and me. I saw a few people watching you intensely as you entered. And this innkeeper isn’t the most truthful of men.”

            I nodded and tossed the Gyr-skin fur-side-down upon Qyriian, who jumped awake at the contact. I pushed him back lightly, and then walked behind a changing-curtain to get into my night-shift and cotton breeches. When I walked back out, Varthin was on the other side of the large bed and Qyriian was drifting off again. I gently got between the two and curled up to Qyriian. He smiled at me, then moved his wings so that he could sleep upon his left side and embrace me. I rested my head upon his arm and sighed, feeling myself start to fall asleep.

            Something threw the door open. I heard a crossbow being snapped into place. Qyriian snapped awake and into action, covering me with a wing just as the man fired. I leapt over his wing before the man could reload and drew three daggers, throwing them at him and pinning his clothing to the wall upon the other side of the hallway. I grabbed my sword and drew it as Varthin rushed out to hold the man still, and as Qyriian stood behind me. Father ran out of his and Mother’s room, clothed in breeches, while holding a long dagger in his left hand and a sword in his right. Mother had a loaded hunting bow in her hands. Others were running into the hall, weapons drawn.

            The Innkeeper’s wife ran up, holding a formidable pikestaff. She leveled it at the man’s throat, barely the width of a child’s finger away from the skin. “Ye will answer to me, an’ me only at the moment! What business have ye here?!”

            He swallowed, then hissed out, “Your husband ordered that I wound the girl and bring her to him . . .”

            “For what reason?”

            “I . . . I dunno . . .” His eyes widened so that I could see white completely around his iris, and his tone changed to that of a whining child caught with his hand in the pastry basket. “P-Please don’t kill me . . .”

            The Innkeeper’s wife snorted, and said, “Ye have no worries about that. Hoi, Toady!”

            It was obviously a term of affection as a largely-built man walked forward. His neck was the size of my thigh, and he grinned, popping his knuckles. “Did ye want me to get the truth outta him?”

            “No. Go and bring the Guard here. Tell them that there’s been an attempt of abduction.”

            He nodded and left swiftly. Varthin was still growling, so I handed my sword to Qyriian and walked up to the older Gyrkin, climbing onto his back to sit upon a shoulder. “So. You gonna try to kill him?”

            “’E nearly killed ye, Riian. Iff’n yeh don’ mind gettin’ offa me arm, I’ll finish ’im off.”

            “Grandfather, let him live.”

            “Riian, dinnae I tell ye t’ do somthin’?”

            “Yes, and I’m ignoring it. Let. Him. Live. He’ll be answering to the Guard, and he’s the only evidence that we have against the Innkeeper.”

            “And,” the Innkeeper’s wife said, “he’s just the evidence that I’ve been looking for. My blasted husband prefers the company o’ young girls t’ me, an’ has been cheating on me. This one will help us root those helping him out, now won’t ye?”

            “If he wants to live,” a tall man in forest green thick linen and dark brown leather said. There were bronze and silver trimmings around the seams. So. The Captain of the Guard decided to see to this personally? Interesting.

            He looked at me, still sitting upon a Gyrkin shoulder, then blinked in shock. “Oh. Toady didn’t say that the Ladies Kismet and Harmony was here was well. You were the attempted abductee?”

            I nodded, slid off the Gyrkin, then took my sword back and scabbard it. “Yeah. So. What do you suggest we do?”

            “‘We,’ milady? Forgive me, but I’m thinkin’ no.” He turned to the other patrons of the inn. “Get back to your rooms! Disaster’s been averted, and there’s nothin’ else you can do for them.” He looked back at us. “You’re going back to your rooms as well. I’m taking him into custody with Toady’s help. If I need you, I’ll send for you. But sine nobody was hurt, I’d suggest that you leave the rest to me.”

            I nodded, and then walked past Toady to pull my three daggers from the wood easily. “Oh, and you’d better be glad that I didn’t let Grandfather kill you. Gyrkin kills are rather messy.”

            The man fainted dead away.

            Three days later we were ready to go. I was in traveling gear again and Qyriian was uneasy, edgy. “I’m not liking this feeling.”

            “You’re making my leg hurt just by watching you pace,” I grumbled.

            He looked at me, sighed, and stopped in front of me. He sat and rested his hands upon my knees. “I’ll be wearing a harness that will keep you from falling off.”

            “I know.”

            “And I love you.”

            “I know that too.”

            “I almost wish that we were taking a blasted boat to Dragon’s Island.”

            That made me pause. “Wait. What are you worried about?”

            “We’ll be pretty high up, darlin’.”

            Yeah, “pretty high up”? That was an understatement if ever I heard one. I kept my head buried in the fur upon his back, trying to calm my stomach. I’ve ingested enough mint to last me a lifetime, and I still couldn’t make myself look down at the ocean far below us. Hrutan looked over his shoulder at me. “Ye be all right, love?”

            “What. Does it. Look like,” I growled out through gritted teeth.

            “Euah . . . yeh’re paler than usual, Riian.”

            “I know.”

            “What ’bout that otheh remedy tha’ ye used upon me on th’ boat?”

            I glared at him. “When are we making landfall?”

            “One more candlemark, darlin’.”

            “And how far to Dragon’s Island after that?”

            “Six candlemarks.”

            “I’ll take it just as we’re taking off from the rest stop.”

            “Are ye sure?”

            “Yes, Qyriian, I’m sure.”

            After the Gyrkin rested their wings for three hours, and as I dozed, I felt a sort of premonition drift around me like a mist. I awoke with a start, then stamped the fire out in a hurry. I drew in a deep breath, and yelled, “Grandfather! Qyriian! We have to go! Now!”

            They came at a full run and stopped before me. I quickly strapped my and Qyriian’s bags to Varthin’s back, then nimbly leapt onto Qyriian’s back, strapping my legs into the harness. They didn’t question me at all. Somehow . . . they seemed to sense the urgency.

            Once we were rising higher into the air, and once I realized that my remedy was still in the bags upon Varthin’s back, I groaned. Qyriian glanced back at me, eyes worried. “What is it?”

            “I forgot to take the remedy. I don’t feel all that well . . .”

Click here for chapter 5