If the horseback journey to the estate of the Dragon Lord Breccan Windmaster, Second Marshal to the Jade Empress of Claen Gael and Guardian of the Ironreaches, took longer than Sir Aldebrand had expected that fine spring morning, it was well: for it seemed his new 'wife' had much to tell him about what he ought to say in front of the great Drakeri and, more importantly and quite adamantly, what not to say.
Even as they approached the great gates of his home in these parts, she reminded him "And whatever you do, don't mention the war! His beloved wife was killed by one of your accursed felldrake contraptions. I mean, he is not as full of hate for you Salinites as My Lord Marshal Grayfury: he'd have the lot of you burnt to a crisp as soon as look at you. And the Elder Gods alone know what he will do to me when he finds out about we two being married and about me somehow signing and sealing that document inviting you and your ship to Duskhallow." she said, almost to remind herself that this nightmarish situation was actually true and happening right now: not just one of those strange, strange dreams she had been experiencing lately.
That said, last night she had slept well... a deep dreamless sleep in his strong arms.
She found herself smiling at him. He looked handsome and proud in his armour. And whatever became of the two of them now, she was glad that it was he who had fulfilled her as a woman. A couple of times, actually.
The guards at the gate and at the great door recognised her both by her insignia of rank and her face, for she was a visitor here often enough, both as an inferior officer of the Second Marshal's command and as his distant, if lowly, cousin, many times removed. So they were let in, and once dismounted, their horses led away, but no more than that. An officer approached, with a frown.
"Raglaw-Adain, ni ddisgwylir i chi. Os ydych chi eisiau cynulleidfa gyda'r marsial bydd yn rhaid i chi aros." They babbled together in the tongue of their people and the man, who was apparently her senior, went off looking somewhat annoyed.
"Don't worry, he'll see us." Wynn tried to reassure Aldebrand. After boasting of her close relationship with the Drakeri leader who had, after all, been her benefactor, it would be somewhat embarrassing now if she were sent away with a flea in her ear.
The bad tempered officer returned, looking no less choleric and, after more barbaric babble, led them through corridors and passages until they were let into a room and stood before the Second Marshal himself. Well, Wynn didn't stay standing long, as she immediately threw herself to one knee, eyes downcast to the finely mosaiced marble flooring and placed her right fist on her left breast: this looked more than some mere military salute.
She spoke to him in the old tongue. Her words were more or less this:
"Punish me, Oh Lord and Benefactor: for I have betrayed the Empress, I have betrayed you, and I have betrayed the innocent Human you see before you, who is heir to the March of Salain and to whom I am now married without his knowledge of my low and unworthy estate!"
Well, that got the worst bits over with, in a nutshell: now she could relax and just wait to be beheaded or something.
Of the sea, the land and the sky...
To reach the estate of Clan Windmaster, one rode north and east from Duskhallow, following the road that laid alongside a fast-flowing tributary of the mighty Luaith an Tàirneanaich or Thunder’s Rush river. The main river originated in the high mountains of the Beaconcarres Reach, one of the many soaring volcanic mountain ranges of Claen Gael. Over thousands of years the river has cut deeply into the rock but continues winding its way toward the Burning Sea via a series of raging rapids and mighty waterfalls. Eventually, the river curves and the road continues across it via a high, arched dragonstone bridge known as A Passage of Clouds. It earned its name from the mighty waterfall that cascades beneath it and results in an eternal cloak of mist. The howling winds threaten to blow horses and riders off the bridge.
The road continues, once again following the raging torrent of Thunder’s Rush until rounding another curve reveals the site of a massive dragonstone castle that sits on a river island, known as a holm. At one time, the holm was a volcanic peak, but is now long inactive and worn down by the Rush’s persistent waters. An underground river bursts from the deeps and spills from beneath the fused stone of the edifice that seems to have grown up out of the basalt and granite rocks of the holm itself. The road runs on, crossing another dragonstone bridge to eventually bring visitors to the gates of Windmaster’s Bane.
The windows of The Windmaster’s solar looked out over the river gorge. As was usual, they had been slid open to allow access to the terrace and let the fresh mountain air flow through the room. Large moonglobes, strategically placed, added more light to the large, comfortably furnished room. Breccan Windmaster, current Laird and 2nd Marshal of the Morrighan, stood near the windows staring out over the waters of the Rush. Far below, the sound of the holm’s waterfalls were an ever-present background noise. Icey silver-flecked cobalt blue eyes narrowed to watch the flight of distant dragons, no doubt on their daily hunt or coming and going to search the Burning Sea for juvenile kraken, a favorite delicacy. Adjacent to the solar’s wide terrace was another flat-topped tower that matched the height of the terrace. On its stone surface, curled up in a comfortable position and drowsing in the sun was Rhagarth, the Ddraig that Breccan’s wingbond.
Rhagarth raised her head and the sunlight flashed on her iridescent coppery-gold scales. She lazily blinked her large, opalescent emerald colored eyes, ‘You have a visitor’, she spoke via mindspeech to Breccan.
The Windmaster turned just as one of his aides entered, bowed his head briefly and then looked up with a dour look on his face, "It is the girl, Wynn Rhew Gaeaf and a companion," he stated.
Breccan took a breath trying to decide if he were annoyed over the interruption or not. Glancing over at the stacks of scrolls and ledgers on his huge desk, the Windmaster decided the interruption was most welcome. However, had he known a stranger would be visiting, he’d have clad himself in something more suitable than his comfortable, worn hunting leathers. "Show them in, Tanus," Breccan said in his slightly gruff voice that carried the faint burr and accent of the Reaches of Claen Gael.
He turned, preparing to step down from landing that led out to the terrace when a young woman in the uniform of the Morrighan entered along with a man, also in uniform, that he did not know. Breccan’s eyes narrowed a bit as he recognized the sigil of House Salain on the stranger’s clothing. He bowed his head briefly in the formal greeting of the Drakeri and started to welcome them to his home. "Fàilte gu mo chridhe," Breccan said in the Old Tongue of the Drakeri and then repeated it in the Trader’s Tongue for the benefit of the stranger, "Welcome to my hearth. I hope your journey was…."
Before he could complete his sentence…
Well, Wynn didn't stay standing long, as she immediately threw herself to one knee, eyes downcast to the finely mosaiced marble flooring and placed her right fist on her left breast: this looked more than some mere military salute.
She spoke to him in the old tongue. Her words were more or less this:
"Punish me, Oh Lord and Benefactor: for I have betrayed the Empress, I have betrayed you, and I have betrayed the innocent Human you see before you, who is heir to the March of Salain and to whom I am now married without his knowledge of my low and unworthy estate!"
A dazed look briefly flashed in Breccan’s eyes at the girl’s rush of words, "Rise child," he spoke again in the common trader’s language, "I will send for refreshment so that we may break bread and salt and you can explain to me what is going on…."
Breccan gave a quiet order to Tanus and motioned to a group of comfortable seats around a low table near another bank of the floor-to-ceiling window-doors. Crystal decanters of various beverages and goblets of green obsidian sat on a silver tray, "Please, join me." Breccan motioned toward the sitting area.
A Flawed Plan Executed Quickly and with Confidence is Better than a Perfect Plan Enacted Too Late.
Aldebrand had bristled silently, impassively, over the course of hours as Wynn explained to him how much he and his House was despised by her family and the people of authority in the realm.
The war and death brought down upon House Salain might have no equal in the history of all houses of the realm. Yet somehow these people felt aggrieved? A person could perhaps be forgiven for lamenting the loss of a loved one. But how could they be blind to the massive pain they'd rendered in return? It had been a horrific loss for Salain, with many tens of thousands slain, and all for the sake of eggs stolen by someone else.
Whatever the Gaelic peoples had suffered, it was only the result of brief heroic action in the midst of the shattering defeat of their enemies.
Many more of your people's wives deserved to die, he thought. But he softened his heart, silenced his lips, and remembered the unexpected font of affection he now held for a Gaelic woman.
The places fate takes us, not even the wisest can tell.
The delivery from his ship had been six suits of armor, and weapons besides. Two sets of armor and a whole other set of weapons remained aboard ship. Those were his most workmanlike suits and gear.
One should not go to Tourney with less, and attending tourney had been his ultimate goal. Losing at tourney meant that the weapons, armor, and horse that you'd used were forfeited to the opponent. You could buy them back, but such negotiations could take days. Meanwhile, there might be further contests and competitions over many days of celebration and sport.
Plus, one suit of armor could not serve all purposes. Not if you were from a wealthy House. You needed dress armor for some courtly functions. Multiple medium and heavy armors tailored to particular contests, with spares in case one or another was damaged beyond quick repair. Attending tourney properly required a year's earnings for a landed Knight, and a year's preparation besides to forge the weapons and armor that would be expended over the course of weeks. It's why the tourneys were every two years, and even well-to-do Houses like Salain could not afford to attend them all. Part of the problem was that it was considered gauche to wear the same armor in consecutive tourneys. A sign that your House was not capable of doing better.
Perhaps that would be his ultimate fate, to be a poverty-stricken Knight who could only afford one set of armor and one set of weapons, mocked at court for wearing years-old gear time and again.
But not today.
Not yet.
It wasn't that Aldebrand cared for such frippery. He would have gladly worn well-beaten armor, holding pride in the battles it had survived. But the wider world did care, and he had to uphold the honor and reputation of his House while he acted as their representative in the world. So a ton of harvested salt- a fortune worthy of a petty King- was expended to equip him for each and every tourney.
Today he wore his courtly armor, embossed and decorated and shined to a gleam. It was a worthy piece of practical engineering, and it would protect him in a fight, but it was delicately made with details intended to be appreciated by wealthy snobs in wealthy halls.
When they stood upon the intricately tiled mosaic floor, Wynn went into some ritual kneeling practice which must be tradition to these people. He did not understand what was said, for his Gaelic was slim and his understanding of the older tongues and their forms was nonexistent.
He stood awkwardly for a moment before bowing at the waist, and then standing erect and proud once more.
The high lord apparently bade Wynn to rise, and then said in more familiar speech: "I will send for refreshment so that we may break bread and salt and you can explain to me what is going on…."
Wynn had instructed him in the methods of the Gaelic court, but he also carried the heritage and traditions of his own people, along with his own sense of the correct way to approach this situation. He stepped forward and spoke.
"I am Sir Aldebrand Salain of House Salain, Captain and Commander of the Sea Shark which now sits in your harbor. Heir to the March of Salain. I have arrived on your shores as part of some orchestrated misunderstanding. A misunderstanding which I believe to have been intended to bring renewed hostilities between our peoples.
But in her good wisdom and strength of character, the Captain-Lieutenant-Lady Wynn has tempered tumultuous emotion and brought me to parlay. In that parlay, she conquered my heart. I have taken her to wife, both in genuine love and in the additional hope that this union can help bring understanding and peace between us.
I now come before you to greet and honor her blood and kin- now my kin as well- and seek some repair to the situation we all find ourselves in."
He debated as to whether he should add more, not realizing he'd already said too much.
The great Lord of the Gaels motioned, "Please, join me," and bade them to sit with him in a comfy-looking and elegant circle. A good sign?
Truth to tell, Wynn would rather have stood to attention than be seated in the presence of one of the Morrighan's most legendary warriors and her immediate regional commander, and she took to the seat offered rather awkwardly, sort of 'sitting to attention' like a stiff mannequin or armour stand.
As for her husband's little speech... it filled her heart with gladness. Maybe he was not cut out to be a diplomat, but his plain and, for him, short retelling of the plain truth of the matter was what was required right now, rather than her own somewhat self-pitying breast beating.
"Sir Aldebrand speaks true" she added, not yet used enough to the fact they were married, by Bryddic Law, to call him 'My Husband'. She dared turn her gaze to the Second Marshal: there were other facts which may have seemed fanciful to her human swain, but would be taken seriously and understood by Lord Breccan Windmaster.
"Sir: I must also add that I believe myself to have been ensorcelled: for I signed and sealed the documents which brought Sir Aldebrand hither without any memory of doing the same. Had I not been present upon the ship that intercepted this knight's war-galley, our forces would have engaged it and I believe that our Empire would now be at war with the humans to the south."
The humans to the south. Hmm. That sounded somewhat dismissive, but it was hard to suddenly change the anti-human cant that was the normal patois of the barrack room, the argot of the Morrighan, one might say.
"I mean, with the most Noble and Ancient Kingdom of Brydd." she corrected herself and risked a little consolatory smile at Aldebrand.
"Somehow Gruudux knew... it was he who bade me take ship with Commander Gruppa that morn..." her eyes became a little misty; she felt as if she was reaching back to some hazy childhood memory, rather than the events of yesterday's crisp morning. She didn't have to bother reminding Breccan that Gruudux was her dragon: the young black buck was notorious; both for his unruly behaviour and because he carried the taint in his veins of the ancient blood of Akulatraxa, she who in legendary times had fought with the Jade Empress and who now lay dead or sleeping beneath the Great Orm in neighbouring Sask.
She was no longer trying to impress either Breccan or Aldebrand, she was in a sort of dreamy state, her eyes staring fixedly at the wall of the chamber and her features in slack-mouthed dolour.
"I don't know where he is now.... he's flown away, he's sulking, he doesn't like Aldebrand..." she said softly. Breccan knew she was 'speaking' to her bonded mount, the closest soul to her own, until the coming of the human lord.
Of the sea, the land and the sky...
Breccan leaned forward to pick up a crystal decanter that contained a mix of chilled fruit juice and fine wine. Slices of fruit floated in the mixture as did ice-cubes that came from a room kept chilled by blocks of ice cut from the glaciers of Claen Gael’s mountains. He poured the beverage into three goblets and picked up one himself to take a sip from it. This was something of a diversionary tactic while he assimilated what Wynn and this Ser Aldebrand had told him. Fortunately, a young serving boy arrived with a tray of bread, cheese, and a small dish of salt. This afforded Breccan a bit more time to think as he performed the guesting ritual.
First, Breccan picked up the silver salt spoon from the dish of salt and ladled a small sprinkling of the contents in a circle around where they sat before throwing a pinch of his shoulder to keep the Shadow at bay, "As Laird of Windmaster’s Bane, I promise to defend those within the Salt Circle." His voice, as usual was steady and deep.
Next, Breccan took the bread up and tore it into three pieces, serving his two guests first, "By the breaking of bread, know that you are granted and guaranteed guest rights within my home and lands." It was a major breach of Drakeri honor to harm a guest once bread had been broken and salt shared. In the future, however, once they had left his domain, he could revoke the guesting right should suitable cause merit such action.
With the formalities done, Breccan took moment to take a bite of the bread and cheese and sip of his wine juice before setting his blue eyes back on Wynn and her…consort. He waved the hand holding the goblet toward the window-doors that showed the expanse of mountains and rivers beyond the keep’s room, "Rhagarth can look for Gruudux should he not return," he said, dealing with the last of Wynn’s concerns first.
Before Breccan could continue his thoughts, there was a shadow and a significant thump heard from the grand terrace overlooking the river. Rhagarth had left her tower perch to land on the balcony and thrust her massive head through one of the doors into the room - which was all that would fit. Her copper-gold scales gleamed and flashed in the sunlight while opalescent emerald eyes surveyed Breccan’s guests with curiosity. The great dragon lowered her head slightly in a nod of greeting to Wynn. Rhagarth dropped her lower jaw slightly, revealing her large white teeth.
"*Beannachtaí, Wynn Rhew Gaeaf," Rhagarth said, using her parrot-like syrinx in her throat to mimic human speech. Her voice was a bit deep, booming, but had a decided feminine aspect to it. The voice had been learned from her first impressed Morrighan and had been retained although she could mimic other human’s voices and speech patterns. Truthfully, most Ddraig loathed using the vocalizations of their companion bipeds. Rhagarth was an exception to the rule.
Breccan paused while Rhagarth greeted his guests. He was not surprised that she had intruded. As the only living First Daughter of the Jade Empress, the mighty Ddraig liked to stay apprised of the goings-on of the bipeds in her vicinity. For Ser Aldebrand’s sake, he translated, "Beannachtaí means greetings in the Old Tongue. This is Rhagarth of Ironreaches Siege, First Daughter of Menrath, the Jade Empress. And," Breccan said to the Ddraig, "this is Ser Aldebrand Salain of House Salain, Captain and Commander of the Sea Shark. I believe his origin is March Salain of the Dutchy of Kilane, Kingdom of Brydd."
With the introductions finished, Breccan leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs and sighed slightly, "Truthfully, Wynn, I am more concerned about hearing the words ensorcelled and orchestrated misunderstanding than I am about your marriage to this *sassenach."
*sassenach: outlander, foreigner, alien.
A Flawed Plan Executed Quickly and with Confidence is Better than a Perfect Plan Enacted Too Late.
Aldebrand looked with concern towards Wynn, who trailed off as someone might while wistfully recalling some melancholic thing. Except that she seemed to rather be wistfully forgetting some important thing.
Magic? Was magic at the heart of this matter? It seemed an incredible leap to take. And yet, when massaging two nations into conflict, surely no expense could be spared and no talent unsought. If magic strengthened some wicked machinations, it would be brought. Just as surely as poison and other intrigues.
Though... surely a marriage had not been part of the bargain, in such a case. Had some weird wizard or mercenary magician had their sorcery waylaid by another kind of magic, more ancient and more unpredictable than any within the scope of their craft?
Aldebrand's mind wrestled with itself over such a notion. Falling for Wynn had suddenly made him more of a poetic thinker than he'd been previously.
Breccan began to formally offer them bread, salt, wine, and protection. The people of Brydd had some similar traditions. The custom was not always formally intoned, but it might be for an outsider. Aldebrand licked his finger and dipped it in the salt, thinking to press it to Wynn's lips in a gesture of affection his own parents sometimes shared. He did it reflexively, out of an upwelling of unfamiliar emotion. But he did not have the opportunity to complete the move.
A dragon descended- large as life and as resplendent as the dawn over a rippling sea. Aldebrand had by now seen dragons up close on a couple of occasions, but it would be a good long while before he got used to the sight. The massive head of the reptilian beast thrust itself into the room like a living copper-mine.
And then it spoke.
Aldebrand had not even known that such creatures could speak. They were said to be intelligent, but he had never heard of one speaking to a human. He was taken aback by it, his jaw somewhat slackened. These were not mere beasts. They were... people.
Wynn made a move to personally greet the giant coppery murder-head while Aldebrand tried to find his speech.
"I, ah, thank you for your hospitality, Lord Breccan. And for your greeting, Lord? Ray-garth?" He did not have the knack for either the language or the structure of nobility here.
Aldebrand might have bristled at a word he understood to mean 'Barbarian' if he hadn't felt so Barbaric among these advanced peoples. The more he saw of them, the more suicidal the prospect of a renewed war felt. Perhaps the Church of Ceros had Templars who could compete with such majestic power as was on display. But all the people of Brydd could do, without mercenary dragon support, would be to nip painfully at their ankles.
The lack of a native power to deal with the threat of Gael was enough to make Aldebrand quite anxious. Felldrakes would not be enough. Not even in their hundreds. He was sure of that now.
But his mind and eye turned fully to Wynn as he agreed with the High Lord. "That this misunderstanding is orchestrated seems plain. But I had no knowledge of sorcery. It is easy to point at magic to explain any strange phenomenon. But in this case, it would explain much."
"As Laird of Windmaster’s Bane, I promise to defend those within the Salt Circle."
"The guest of the circle thanks thee, host." intoned Wynn reverently, although some of the younger Drakeri were starting to let these archaic traditions fall by the wayside, you had to keep the 'olds' happy.
"By the breaking of bread, know that you are granted and guaranteed guest rights within my home and lands."
"The guest in eating the bread recognises this pledge." responded Wynn. Even her old Dad in the Fens hadn't bothered with all of this: she could hear his voice even now, when her mother had suggested offering the traditional greeting to distinguished guests, "Bread and salt? Bread and salt?! They can get their own bloody bread and salt! That's your fancy cousin Aisling's influence, rest her bones, Bread and salt my arse!!"
Her late distant cousin Aisling Skywatcher was always held up as 'fancy' because she had married a great Lord, though she was also always remembered with reverence as she and her ddraig had fallen in battle against the accursed humans of the South many, many years before Wynn's birth.
Her grandmother always told Wynn that she had 'something of fair Aisling's looks' about her when she was growing up; perhaps that was why the great Lord Breccan Windmaster seemed to favour her, just a little. She certainly respected him back, he was too awe-inspiring to 'love' exactly, unlike the next 'person' to make their appearance in the room.
Breccan had just finished offering to get his own dragon to look for Wynn's errant Gruudux, to which the girl had grunted a rather despondent "Don't worry, he'll come back to me, I'm the only one who'll have him!" when the aforementioned green beast of some sixty feet long, give or take, poked her head into the room.
"Oh, Rhagarth!" yelled Wynn and, forgetting all decorum and running towards the giant head, hit it with a 'clunk' as she embraced it.
"Oh! Silly me! I've got my armour on!" the girl giggled like a schoolgirl before giving the monster (in human eyes) a big sloppy kiss on her nose. "Oh, Rhagarth, you won't believe it, I've gone and married a human: that one there. Nice isn't he? I know you'll understand, you've been in love before." she said, referring to the dragon's life-mate, Kavoss, who had been slain by dragon-hunters. "He..." here she whispered something very low into one of Rhagarth's asymmetrical ears, the only word audible to the two men in the room being ".... twice!...."
Her poor old husband tried to greet the great ddraig and made a most dreadful blunder.
"I, ah, thank you for your hospitality, Lord Breccan. And for your greeting, Lord? Ray-garth?"
Wynn couldn't contain her laughter "Oh you silly billy, Aldebrand, can't you see that Rhagarth is a lady dragon? And a very beautiful and stately one at that!"
She suddenly remembered her manners and came and sat back down, but turned again to the dragon as she sat. "I'm just telling the Marshall that I've married a human, become ensorcelled and accidently betrayed you Mother, all in one day." she said in a normal voice, knowing the old girl's excellent hearing would pick it up.
But his mind and eye turned fully to Wynn as he agreed with the High Lord. "That this misunderstanding is orchestrated seems plain. But I had no knowledge of sorcery. It is easy to point at magic to explain any strange phenomenon. But in this case, it would explain much."
"It is the only possible explanation" Wynn gave her opinion with a shake of her head.
We are, we were, we will be...
"Oh, Rhagarth!" yelled Wynn and, forgetting all decorum and running towards the giant head, hit it with a 'clunk' as she embraced it.
"Oh! Silly me! I've got my armour on!" the girl giggled like a schoolgirl before giving the monster (in human eyes) a big sloppy kiss on her nose. "Oh, Rhagarth, you won't believe it, I've gone and married a human: that one there. Nice isn't he? I know you'll understand, you've been in love before." she said, referring to the dragon's life-mate, Kavoss, who had been slain by dragon-hunters. "He..." here she whispered something very low into one of Rhagarth's asymmetrical ears, the only word audible to the two men in the room being ".... twice!...."
Rhagarth lowered her massive head to accept Wynn's embrace and kiss on her nose. A deep purr rumbled from her chest and her scales rippled a lighter shade of gold and green denoting her pleasure. She was quite indulgent with most Drakeri younglings, but this one held a special place in the dragon's heart just as it did with her wingbond, Breccan. She had enough years to understand the Drakeri devotion to their own offspring and that of their extended clan-families. In a rather more remote way, Rhagarth also understood the concepts of marriage amongst the bipeds. She had learned long ago that they did not form the same types of psychic bonds with one another that the Ddraig did with their lifemates. It was odd, but something she accepted.
She suddenly remembered her manners and came and sat back down, but turned again to the dragon as she sat. "I'm just telling the Marshall that I've married a human, become ensorcelled and accidently betrayed you Mother, all in one day." she said in a normal voice, knowing the old girl's excellent hearing would pick it up.
There was a soft snort from the dragon as she turned her eyes toward Wynn and Aldebrand. Rhagarth whuffed out a second soft blast of air, then spoke, this time choosing to use mindspeech over verbal speech. Finding the human's mind was easy.
'Betrayal? I sense no betrayal in you, child? Explain that and the nature of your ensorcellment,' Rhagarth requested. Her internal mindspeech voice was considerably more pleasant than the one generated in her syrinx. It held a melodious sing-song quality that the organ in her throat could not reproduce.
"My questions as well," Breccan added.
Javia and Cubanwriter
A Flawed Plan Executed Quickly and with Confidence is Better than a Perfect Plan Enacted Too Late.
"Apologies," Aldebrand said, somewhat embarrassed. "I have noticed that the most beautiful birds tend to be the males of the species. I assumed that the most beautiful dragons would be male, as well."
He eyed Ray-Garth. "Of course, sometimes bright and beautiful colors exist to warn about danger..."
He let that trail off into the wind as the object of discussion turned more fully towards Wynn's 'ensorcelment.'
"Not to tell you your own affairs, Lords and Ladies," Aldebrand suggested, "but in Brydd if a magic charm was suspected, we would arrest and interrogate everyone who had close contact with the affected person. Then, once candidates were whittled down to a few, or preferably just one, we would torture them until the full details were divulged."
He lifted the cup of wine he'd been given, "If you like, I would be willing to undertake that unhappy duty upon whatever fiend dared lay spell unto my wife. Once the suspects are identified."
Wynn could only supress a snort at Aldebrand's attempt to dig himself out of a hole, and then manage to bury himself back in it again.
"Apologies," Aldebrand said, somewhat embarrassed. "I have noticed that the most beautiful birds tend to be the males of the species. I assumed that the most beautiful dragons would be male, as well." He eyed Ray-Garth. "Of course, sometimes bright and beautiful colors exist to warn about danger..."
But then Rhagarth started to use her powerful mindspeak; forcing her internal voice into Aldebrand's mind as well as the naturally receptive inner ears of the two Drakeri in the room. But whereas Breccan looked unchanged by the experience, Wynn, younger and more sensitive, or at least, less well guarded than the much more mature and experienced Breccan, seemed to sag a little. Perhaps it was this combination of sensitivity and inexperience that had made her such easy pray to some creature possessing mesmerising abilities.
"Betrayal? I sense no betrayal in you, child? Explain that and the nature of your ensorcellment,' Rhagarth requested. Her internal mindspeech voice was considerably more pleasant than the one generated in her syrinx. It held a melodious sing-song quality that the organ in her throat could not reproduce.
"My questions as well," Breccan added.
Wynn suddenly looked a little 'out of it' and Aldebrand, his hasty nature abhorring a vacuum, was unable to resist filling the lacuna in the conversation.
"Not to tell you your own affairs, Lords and Ladies," Aldebrand suggested, "but in Brydd if a magic charm was suspected, we would arrest and interrogate everyone who had close contact with the affected person. Then, once candidates were whittled down to a few, or preferably just one, we would torture them until the full details were divulged."
Such unwarranted cruelty to potentially innocent souls was anathema to the folk of the Claen Gael, but Wynn said nothing, she could feel something happening inside her.
He lifted the cup of wine he'd been given, "If you like, I would be willing to undertake that unhappy duty upon whatever fiend dared lay spell unto my wife. Once the suspects are identified."
"I do not think that the suspects are here..." said Wynn, dreamily, rising. She looked curiously at Rhagarth and nodded that she understood the ancient and powerful creature's lazy blink : the Empress' daughter had helped open her mind's eye. Wynn now seemed half in a trance as she spoke in a hollow, staccato voice.
"I dreamed I was woken by the hand of a fair lady who led me down to the seashore. We walked into the waves and sank down, down below. Gruudux tried to follow me and stop me, but there were wards he could not pass. I was taken to a place... a sort of glistening cave, where filthy, crawly sea slugs and lug worms dwelt, and I saw that the fair lady was now as foul a creature as they. She bid me seal and sign some documents, and when that deed was done, those deep sea monsters..." here she swayed a little on her feet "... they made vile sport of me..." Her naturally pallid skin had blanched to a deathly snowy hue.
She almost fell back into her chair and without raising her head, asked in trembling tones, despite the company they were in: "Husband.... tell me truthfully... when first we coupled, did you find me a virgin?" The idea that the dream had been no dream was too horrible to contemplate, but she had to know.