Rhiana. Michele Hauf

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      A spring mist fell upon the bailey, beating down the loose dust stirred up by hooves and feet, and wetting the limestone castle walls to a dark sludge color. Narcisse waited inside the main doorway beneath the grand arches that bore the Guiscard family crest in gold medallions fixed to the stone. Champrey had sent a squire to retrieve his rain duster. One thing he could not abide was rainy weather. It made him sniffle and gave him the shivers.

      The duster rushed to his side, the squire bowed and then helped slide it up Narcisse’s arms and flipped the heavy velvet hood upon his head. The generous hood completely shielded Narcisse’s face. He favored the foreboding menace look. Anne said it granted him power. But he already had power.

      “Let’s be to it, then.”

      He strode outside, followed by his entourage. At least six knights at all times to protect him from any who thought to protest their lord and master. Rarely were they called to arms, but the security could not be overlooked.

      Narcisse had heard the whispers: the son was nowhere near so valiant as the father. Never make a benevolent lord.

      And why should he? Everyone had exactly as they wished. There was no need for him to step beyond and show great mercies or benevolence. They had it all!

      Oh, what a miserable life to be so satisfied. One must desire. One must…crave. And Narcisse did crave, which set him apart from all others.

      “The beast was dragged from the bailey,” Champrey explained. He winced at the increasing rain and hunched his shoulders where water ran in rivulets over his brushed leather gambeson. “Took eight destriers to do the task!”

      A massive beast lay at the bottom of the castle steps. Narcisse skipped down them. “Mon Dieu! What has been done?”

      Ignoring his fallen hood, he bent over the carcass of scale, horn and talon. That someone had felled so magnificent a beast. Narcisse understood the threat to innocent lives, but no one could know what a boon the dragon served him.

      “My…life,” he murmured. “What have they done?”

      Oh, but there! There, between the eyes, yet leaked thick, dark blood from a horizontal cut in the transverse of the cross, a mark put there by God himself.

      ’Twas the first time he’d been so close to a dragon. And yet, he embraced the idea every evening. To look it over and marvel, yes, marvel, must be done. Indeed, they were deadly; a bane to a man’s well-being, why, his very mortality.

      Narcisse scrambled over the meaty hind legs—thick as a log hewn for housing. Groping his way around the outstretched wing, he swung down to kneel before the belly. A small dragon, about six horses combined, yet to stretch out the tail would surely add twice the length. The belly scales were pale, like burnished gold, and they glittered even under the assault of the rain.

      Pressing his palm to the slick scales, Narcisse slid his hand along them, moving toward the hind quarters of the beast, as the scales overlapped, so as not to cut his flesh on the sharpened edges. Minute warmth yet remained; he could feel it.

      About him, his men strode around the massive beast, commenting on its lack of fierceness now it was dead.

      “Not so ferocious now, is she?”

      “Look here at the tail,” Gerard Coupe-Gorge said. “I could make myself an ax with this odd dagged scale. That would bash nicely through enemy skull.”

      Why the man remained in St. Rénan, when he lusted so mightily for blood, was beyond Narcisse’s reckoning. But he would endeavor to keep Gerard in his lists, and not make an enemy of him.

      Tracing his spread fingers over the belly, Narcisse turned his back to keep his motions covert. He drew away his hand and studied it beneath a hunched tent of his duster. Upon his palm glittered a thick coating of the finest substance. Dragon dust. A rare treasure in this village that thrived so magnificently. None were aware of its value.

      Smearing his palm over cheek and nose, Narcisse inhaled deeply of the God-forsaken dust. He could not determine potency, did not feel anything. It had no taste whatsoever. He tested now. No, just a bit of saltiness he evidenced from his own flesh.

      “A great loss.” He knelt back on his haunches and scanned the beast’s body. If it sat at the bottom of the steps for more than a day it would begin to rot and stink. The flesh could be eaten. The scales could be used in some manner. The tusks and talons could be fashioned into cups and dagger sheaths and be drenched in gold.

      “Was it the wench who thinks herself a slayer?” Thinks—hell, she had slain. Narcisse knew of no knight in the garrison so bold. Save, Gerard.

      “Indeed, my lord,” Champrey answered. “The demoiselle Tassot. Two dragons attacked the city this afternoon while you feasted. They swooped from the sky and right into the courtyard. The first dragon snapped one of our court musicians up. This one…well, you see.”

      “I do see.” Narcisse tapped the belly, wincing at the loss this would cause him. His quest had been detoured. He muttered lowly, “And the wench took it down.”

      “Many witnesses recall, with great theatrics, watching her run up the beast’s skull to plunge her sword into its brain as if St. George himself.”

      Witnesses declaring her triumph? Narcisse smirked. So she had developed a following. “Impressive. The people revere her now?”

      “In a manner. They are not sure what to think of a woman so bold. But we have always known she is different.”

      “Yes, different.”

      “And powerful.”

      “Powerful?” Narcisse must suppose she was strong to have accomplished something like this. He had watched her grow from a dirty-faced child ever in trouble and being teased, to an independent young woman who would rather go off on her own then do as normal females did. She was…untamed.

      A bit like Anne. Beguiling.

      And she had slain two dragons in a single day. The woman must think herself quite the swagger.

      “But there are more?” Narcisse stood and thinking to wipe off the dust, could only hold his hand by the wrist. The precious commodity must be preserved.

      “The Tassot woman insisted she had slain one earlier by the sea, but my scouts report no evidence. The runner tells there is but the one that got away with the musician, my lord.”

      Champrey would never speak the runner’s name, they both knew he was able, swift, and devoted to Narcisse. If gold could not buy one’s allies then promises to portions of land could.

      “Just the one then?”

      “He claims it. It is quite extraordinary, for that means—” Champrey tallied on his fingers “—there were three.”

      “Many more than we’ve seen at one time.” If he had known sooner the riches that nested so close, Narcisse would have sent out half the garrison to the caves. As it was, he could still take advantage of the situation.

      One remaining? That was all he needed.

      “We cannot allow this woman to persist with her delusions,” Narcisse stated firmly. СКАЧАТЬ