The Winds of Ysgard - Part One

[Legendary Sidekick]

"Works for me," Addison agreed, assuming out-of-the-way meant at-a-table-waiting-to-be-served.

She picked a table and leaned her axe carefully, so it won't topple. For some reason, she was reminded of Rikhard.

She gestured politely towards a seat meant for Troia, then with a mischievous grin she confessed, "I was out flying birds on me run. Seven at once, but I lost focus. Birds o' different feathers they were. Li'l ones ended up after the one crow." Addison scoffed at the word crow. "Snake with wings had it coming if ye ask me."

 

[Tom]

"Aye, I don't like crows," Troia said, taking a seat. She scowled. "Einan's always saying that they're helpful, that they eat the insects that would ruin the crops, but something about them doesn't sit right with me. Maybe it's the rakish look the little devils always have in their eyes."

As the cook bustled about the kitchen, still shooting the occasional glare their way, Troia tapped her fingers against the table. The rhythm reminded her of one of the drum-songs that the Dun people of Firin played on feast days, and she tried to imitate the sound, tapping the fingers of one hand and alternating knocking with her knuckles and slapping with the heel of the other hand. She had fancied to add the chanted lines sung in a high, ululating wail along to the rhythm, but judging from the cook's full-on glare, she might not have gotten her food if she had.

With an effort she stopped, and clasped her hands together to keep them from moving. "So what do you mean by 'flying birds'? You mean like falconry? Einan's friend Terr does that with his tamed goshawk--or at least, she's 'tamed' compared to what her kind is like in the wild."

 

[Nimue]

Farrun woke with the impression that he had been bludgeoned sometime in the night. The grey stone wall at the foot of his bed was splashed with sunlight--morning was on its way out. He swore and staggered out of bed, over to the chamberpot in the corner. As he emptied his abused bladder, he rested his forehead against the cool rock. A muffled groan escaped him.

He used the next few moments of grogginess to draw on his magic and let a little of it spill from his fingertips to his temples; it might tire him in the long run, but it was worth it right now to get rid of the headache. As soon as the pounding faded he began to pull off last night’s clothes and dress in a clean linen shirt and riding breeches, then over that went gambeson, his freshly-scoured mail hauberk, and stiff red surcoat. He was an old hand at packing quickly for travel, and it took him no more than a few moments to toss a change of inner layers, and the sturdiest of the tunics his mother had sewn for him, into a knapsack. His cloak slung around his shoulders, he shuffled out into the cavern, buckling on his high boots as he went. His battle equipment was still resting where he had left it, the head of his greataxe wrapped in oiled leather.

Thoros was still asleep, but since his snores were more rushing-wind and not tree-rattling gale, Farrun knew he was waking up. “Hey!” he shouted aloud, and chucked a loose boot at him. It clinked off his scales like a fly landing on a bull. “We’re going back to the wilds, Thoros!”

Thoros’s great green eye popped open, and his pupil slowly narrowed to a keen slit. A wriggle went down his massive length, and he rumbled up and began to shake himself out. Farrun dodged the sweep of his wing as he stretched; the cavern was vast enough that Thoros could still do so. He lashed on his swordbelt and, with the weight of his mail on his shoulders and his greatsword on his hip, felt properly whole again.

It took a while longer to get the saddle harness strapped onto Thoros, and pack, armor, and weapons strapped onto the saddle, but as soon as everything was buckled, Farrun threw himself into the saddle by way of the crook of Thoros’s forearm, and settled into the hollow between his muscular shoulders and the root of his huge bronze neck. Meant to be at Sheepgate hours ago, he told him. Fine start we’re making.

We? Thoros asked. I was waiting on you to get up… He opened his toothy maw in a huge yawn, his piebald tongue curling upwards.

Aye, sure you were. Farrun reached up and tugged on one of his spikes. Get going, you great lump.

Thoros paced over to the lip of the cave, unfurling his wings, and then launched himself in a lazy gliding drop. Farrun held to the saddle, a grin stretching across his face despite the sudden rush to his head. The bright spring sky, pale blue and gold-grey like the inside of a seashell, wheeled around them. The peaked roofs and nested walls of the Hintercrown huddled below, thatch shining in the sun. He drank in the crisp air, sweat cooling on his hairline. Thoros banked and dove down towards the Sheepgate courtyard on the western side of the castle, and then made a completely unnecessary series of tight loops over the stables. Farrun shut his eyes for a moment; normally Thoros’s acrobatics didn’t affect him, but his gut wasn’t happy with him today. Bastard, he grumbled, and received silent laughter back. Now that Thoros was awake, Farrun could sense his frisky mood--and, beneath the hangover, he felt just as eager to be on the road.

With a thunderous rush, Thoros landed in the courtyard. The cart-horses nearby pulled at their reins--as castle horses they were inured enough to Thoros’s presence, but that didn’t mean they had to like him so close. Boar, saddled and bridled already, merely regarded the big dragon with a flick of his ear. Thoros curled in his tail and gave another indolent yawn as Farrun slung himself down from the saddle.

“Sorry I’m late,” he called out. “We’ll leave soon enough. Morning Jormyr, Caspar, Leram!” He flung up a big, gauntleted hand in greeting--the soldiers returned the gesture with casual salutes. “By the gods, I’m starving. You’ve all eaten?” he asked those assembled, already striding for the kitchens.

The two missing from the party he found in the big, whitewashed kitchens, sitting at a table together. “Good morn to you!” he said, cheerful at the smell of a hearty breakfast cooking. He pulled back his thick, dark hair into a horsetail, popping the leather tie between his teeth before strapping it around his hair. As soon as his hands were free he grabbed a trencher and, without any mind to whether or not breakfast was served or the glares of any cooks, he began to pile it with eggs and roasted ham, and stuffed a thick slice of bread into his mouth.

 

[Gryphos]

The relief Bendalitz felt at Farrun's arrival almost instantly vanished as the dragonrider vanished off to the kitchens. He hadn't even eaten yet?! Some times, that being most of them, Bendalitz found himself wondering how much more efficiently things would run if everyone was like him. He slid out of his saddle and followed after Farrun.

When he arrived in the kitchen Farrun was already stuffing his face, and who else should he see there but Troia and Addison. Rather convenient, he supposed.

He opened his mouth to raise some kind of objection, but stopped himself. He saw no reason not to let them have their breakfast. Better to delay the journey now than later. So instead he just stood there quietly, eyeing them all, even the cook, who looked at rather a loss of what to do.

 

[Ireth]

The thunderous beating of wings alerted Rikhard to Farrun and Thoros' arrival. As Caspar looked up to see the dragon and his rider, Rikhard seized the opportunity to sweep the soldier's feet from under him with the length of his spear. Caspar yelped as he fell, and grunted when he hit the ground.

Smiling, Rikhard tickled Caspar's throat with the spearpoint. "Dead."

Caspar blinked at him, then burst into breathless laughter. He accepted Rikhard's hand to get up, and dusted himself off. "Well done! Never be afraid to be pragmatic in battle. More than likely your enemies will fight dirty, and that will give them an advantage if you insist on playing fair."

Caspar returned Farrun's salute, and Rikhard answered the question. "I ate before I got here, thank you."

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

"Top o' the morning," Addison replied to Farrun. "I was just about to tell Troia about flying…" Farrun didn't seem to hear Addison's reply. "…birds." He just started filling his plate and his face.

Addison turned to Troia. "So… flying birds." She giggled. "Oh, you were right about me magic. I mean, everyone knows that now—even the Wolf Queen—but it's you who figured lightning's connected to it. I was just watching the birds as I was running for me health, and as I saw 'em I just started thinking about 'em flying in front o' me—and they did. I know the trick now, so it ain't all that hard. I got seven of 'em to fly and I sent 'em up, down, all o'er and in circles. And then—"

She pounded on the table. "—crack!"

Cooks glared.

Addison grinned sheepishly.

But without skipping a second beat, she went on, "Lightning jumped right out o' me hair! And that's when all the birds went their own way and did their own thing. I maybe could've got control of 'em back, but I liked 'em chasing that fool crow."

 

[Tom]

Troia found herself grinning along with Addison as she filled a trencher. "Serves those accursed crows right."

She dug into her food, savoring the salty-sweet flavor of the ham and the sharp cheese that she'd found to accompany it. This food was good. Better than the food at home, and more plentiful. The bread was plain, though, and she found herself missing the herb loaf her mother always baked.

"So lightning jumps from your hair when you do your...beast-speech thing?" She frowned as she sliced the cheese and laid it on a hunk of bread. "Is that normal for druids? One of my mum's ancestors was a druid, and I think I got some of her magic. Not enough for proper beast-speech, mind you. Just enough that creatures listen to me, and I can listen to them better than most."

 

[Nimue]

Farrun ambled over to the two young women. "Don't mind if I join you, do you?" he asked, making sure to take the bread from his mouth, chew, and swallow before attempting speech. He glanced back at the red-faced man tending the main hearth, and called out, "Master Nierbrech, could we get whatever's ready? Unlike the nobles, we don't care about getting all the dishes at once, and it'd be a shame for these ladies to miss the miracle of your buttered eggs."

That seemed to mollify the cook, for a few moments later a boy came by with a platter of eggs and meat, a bowl of spring berries, and a bowl of clotted cream to go with the bread. The sincerity in Farrun's flattery was evident by the way he attacked his meal, piling the eggs on bread and sopping up the remainder. He paused, in his famished state, to remark, "So you're a lightning druid, Addison! Mind you don't mix that up with speaking to the birds." He speared a sausage with his eating knife, and continued, "How went your meeting with the queen last night? She was in fine fettle when I talked to her." He shook his head a little at that.

--

In the courtyard, Thoros gleamed in the sun, his eyes contented slits as he watched the humans and horses about his knees. When he moved again it was like part of the castle had come to life, a sudden sinuous shift of his neck. He arched his head down, suddenly, very close to Einan.

Elf, he said in Einan's head, his voice like a tolling bell, echoing in some way inhuman, yet warm and immediately comprehensible.

He turned, his ear flicking forward, and focused on Loke.

Axe.

Last he tilted his head to regard Rikhard and the tiny glint of his spear, and said to him,

Runaway.

Thoros drew himself up, the broad scales of his chest shining. So that is where your minds are, he said to all of them at once, and made a noise like a contented cat, but much lower and deeper. The courtyard shivered with it.

 

[DMThaane]

Snorri took the arrival of the dragon in remarkable stride but Loke still needed to calm the gelding. As he fed the horse a quick treat he turned and saw Rikhard actually get the better of the distracted guard. That was good. Opportunism was a difficult skill to teach to those who had no knack for it.

"I have eaten," he said, in response to Farrun's question. He didn't add his chastising thought, though. No reason to undermine their commander over a small delay.

Farrun headed off to eat and he shook his head. Delay was rarely the sign of an organised mind and there was something to his movements that suggested drunkenness the night before. Perhaps he had struggled with goodbyes. That was a pain Loke knew well, although he hadn't turned to excessive drink to lessen it.

 

[Ireth]

As Farrun headed toward the kitchens, Caspar handed Rikhard back his walking staff and clapped him on the shoulder. "You've done well for your first day of fighting, lad. I think that's enough for the moment. Don't want to leave you too bruised and aching just before you ride."

Rikhard laughed and nodded. "True. Thank you for the lessons." He moved to where Dushan was grazing contentedly, and double-checked his baggage held everything he would need. He attached his walking staff and spear to the saddle as well; he wouldn't need the former while riding, and he hoped he wouldn't need the latter right away, either.

Coming back to where Caspar stood, Rikhard regarded him curiously. "How long have you been a soldier, sir?"

Caspar smiled at him. "Nearly thirty years now, longer than I've been married. I courted my Heidi mainly by letters, but luckily I've seen much of our children's lives."

"How many children?" Rikhard asked.

"Two daughters, one son. Helen, Aridane and Jossan. He's about your age now."

Rikhard couldn't describe the feeling that gripped him at the sound of the name Jossan. It had been his father's name as well. Rikhard tried to picture his face, but couldn't see it clearly, except for the eyes -- pale green like his own, as his mother had always told him. His mother had kept ink drawings, but they'd all been burned, like everything else the day she'd been killed.

"Are you alright, lad?"

Rikhard blinked as Caspar's voice broke into his thoughts. "Oh -- yes, I'm fine. Thank you. Sorry." He had to stop doing that, letting every little thought drag him away from the here and now.

Another voice chimed in his head: Runaway. The voice was unfamiliar, but warm and without scorn. So that is where your minds are.

Rikhard turned to look up at the dragon, who was making a noise like a cat's purr, but a hundred times louder. He lowered his gaze, staring at the grass in malcontent. Was that all people saw him as? A runaway? He wanted to be more. Maybe he would be, if he survived this quest.

 

[DMThaane]

Loke heard the words reverberating around his mind. Snorri let out a whinny and he quickly moved to comfort the gelding. Could the horse sense the dragon's speech or was he responding to Loke's discomfort?

"Yes, I hear you, dragon. Although if it's beast speaking you're searching for, you'd do better with the huntress inside."

He saw the looks of the guards and wondered if they thought him mad.

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Lightning druid. Addison liked the sound of that. I'll have to do more experiments.

"Oh, I don't think anything's normal about me magic," Addison told Troia. "I suspected beast-speaking, but storm-calling? It's not 'til as o' late I'm seeing little sparks. I don't think that happened in the days I beast-spoke without knowing it. Hard to miss lighting coming out o' your hair."

Addison recalled Hala's words. A true Huntress.

"The Wolf Queen's lovely! Ain't what I expected her to be—she's so much more than that. A true warrior, she is, and with a kind heart to boot. Oh, and the maids know it—or at least the one I talked to had nothing but kind words for her."

The Huntress dug into her eggs. With a mouthful she added, "Oh, and thanks." She decided it best to swallow before continuing. "Queen Hala said I should be thanking ye more than her. Thoros, too. Where is the big guy, anyway? Think he'll let me touch him? He went for a sniff at me when I was close, but then he stopped. A gentle giant, isn't he?"

 

[Nimue]

Farrun grinned at the description of Hala as "lovely" and "kind"--not that it was incorrect, but he'd always remember her from the days of the first advance, when they were all dirty and sweating and snarling at each other and Hala resembled a vision of Rhunon in grimy steel and wild hair, with a look in her eyes that said she would sunder the heavens from the earth if someone balked at her orders. No one had really tested that.

He sat back for a moment to let everything settle and reached for a mug of small beer. "Oh, aye, Thoros is gentle, have no worries about that. To you lot, anyway. He's sitting just outside, making mischief..." He could hear a echo of the dragon's words even if they weren't meant for him, and a frown crossed his face.

Dragons weren't good with names--or at least, this one wasn't--which was part of the reason it had taken Thoros his first months of life to think of his own. Evidently they were harder to communicate in that strange, thought-borne way than plain words were. He knew Farrun's name, of course, but almost always he called to him with you, which felt like an anchor, solid and reassuring, at the end of the chain of adamant that was their bond. But not all nicknames were well-suited.

You're going to have to think of another name for Rikhard, he told Thoros sharply. It felt wrong to reproach him, since he knew the dragon had gotten that idea from his own thoughts. And what else could the young man be, with all his possessions in a knapsack, that thinness, painful scars, and that shock of fear when he was touched? Why he hadn't spoken of it when other spoke of slavery, Farrun didn't know, but it wasn't his place to interrogate Rikhard.

Thoros might not pick up on the nuance, but he could comprehend Farrun's thoughts. What about Kitten? drifted back to him.

What?! No! Farrun chewed furiously on a sausage link.

He has green eyes.

You have green eyes, you dolt, and if I called you 'Kitten' you'd dump me in the sea.

He could feel Thoros hunkering down and thinking.

Peregrine.

Fine. Better, at least.

He heard the dragon speaking to Rikhard, muffled like a man talking in another room. Peregrine. Wandering bird. Is that a better name? Solicitous and uncomprehending as a grandfather. He'd have to talk to him about calling Einan 'Elf', too, but he hoped that would be less disagreeable--at least disagreeable in a familiar way.

Farrun turned his attention back to the table, picking up his mug again. "Sorry, speaking to the big guy. You're welcome to pet him if you like, though he doesn't really feel much unless you scratch him with pitchfork. Gotta be rough to get through that hide." He looked over at Troia, curious. "So you've got a little druidry in you too? Is that why Ari is so well-behaved?"

 

[Tom]

"Aye," she said doubtfully, resting a hand on Ari's head. "But I would hope it's mostly skill and only a little magic."

She ducked her head, still unable to look the famed dragonrider in the eye. A small smile of both embarrassment and wonder crept across her face. Here she was, a farmer’s daughter from the backcountry, speaking to one of the most famous men in the kingdom.

“Thank you for choosing us,” she ventured, finally daring to look up. “I mean…you could have chosen great men—soldiers and scholars, wizards and druids. But you chose us.”

--

The dragon's voice reverberated through Einan's head, his colossal presence echoing in the single word.

Elf.

He frowned, taking no pains to hide his annoyance from the dragon. I would prefer to be known by who I am, not what.

As that thought appeared in his mind he winced. First it had been Benalitz. Now it was Thoros. He would have to learn to curb his tongue, before it landed him in more trouble he could handle. Unless, of course, it already had.

 

[Gryphos]

After a bit Bendalitz realised that his presence was unable to speed up Farrun's eating, and so he left, in the quiet way he'd mastered so well, and returned to the courtyard.

When he stepped out into the courtyard he stopped, taking in the spectacle of the dragon. He'd seen Thoros many times before, of course, but the magnificent beast never ceased to amaze him. He could only imagine what it would be like to have his own.

Something about the way he looked at Rikhard, Einan and Loke made Bendalitz suspect that he had spoken with them.

"I do hope you're not frightening our comrades, Thoros," called Bendalitz, mounting Od.

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Upon hearing Farrun's words, Addison made short work of her food, eating as she did in the wilderness. That earned another glare from the cook. Addison explained her actions with, "'So tasty I couldn't control meself."

She put a hand on Troia's arm. "I'll see ye out there, Princess." She offered Farrun a hammed-up curtsy, addressing him, "Sir​ Ramshorn."

Making little effort to conceal her giddiness, Addison bolted out the door. She hardly slowed her pace until she was close to the dragon. She leaned her axe against a post, and while at it, removed the bow from her shoulder. She knew her weapons wold be nothing to Thoros, but for decorum, she preferred to approach him without arms displayed.

She walked calmly to him. There was no fear to hide. Though twice the length of the wyvern whose hide she now wore—if not thrice—the wyvern was a raging killer. Thoros was a magnificent, benevolent being.

She looked up. Way, way up. "Ye tried to take a sniff at me, but ye held back. I've a had bath since, though I also was out running. Don't know if me scent's better or worse now, but ye can come close. I don't mind it."

I wanna get a feel o' them scales. Ye don't mind me putting me hands on ye, do ye?

Addison wasn't sure if Thoros would understand her thoughts or words. Maybe both, she'd hoped.

 

[Nimue]

Farrun smiled broadly at the look on Troia's face, though he hid it with a drink from his mug, lest anyone think he was laughing at Addison's table manners, which were mostly just...efficient. Her mock curtsy made him chuckle, though.

"Eamon did the choosing," he reminded Troia. "But aye, when the first meeting was held about the wizards' discovery that a living dragons might wake dormant eggs, and those rumors in the west, there was a lot of talk about who would make the finest dragonrider, that we should send warriors and mages. I had a few words about that, but it was Thoros who insisted that we look to someone other than a military commander to choose who would go. Of anyone, he has his unborn brethren's best interests at heart."

"And part of that is you and Einan coming along. Don't doubt your worthiness," he said firmly, though he knew they still would--how many times had he asked Thoros about the circumstances of his choosing?

He heard the dragon speak to Bendalitz, with rather more ease than he did Einan or Loke. I do not smell fear on them, Queen's Dagger. They only startle. And if I do not startle them now, when should I do it?

Farrun had a feeling he should join the conversation before things got more out of hand. He finished his small beer and stifled a mighty belch. "Pardon," he said hastily, and rose slowly from the table. He was feeling much more substantial now, and his head barely twinged at the change in elevation. "Looks like everyone else is good to go." He strode back out through the archway and into the courtyard.

Thoros was staring intently at Addison's approach, his eyes bright green in the glancing sunlight. Farrun saw the look of concentration on Addison's face and thought this was a good time to remark, "If you want to tell him something, you'll have to say it out loud--and loudly, sometimes. He can't read your mind as he does with me, it's more as though he's pushing his voice into your head. Requires much more magic, and it can tire him out sometimes." Thoros switched back one stubby, scale-encrusted ear and blew hot air at him. Farrun brushed the dust from his tunic, paying him no mind. Five years ago you couldn't do this at all, he reminded him.

I will call you Wildcat, Thoros said to Addison, with dignity. As an afterthought, he added, You smell like a human woman. Yesterday you wore the skin of a pest. A wyvern. There was curiosity in his voice--he had encountered human trophy-taking before, but it still seemed strange to him.

 

[Legendary Sidekick]

Addison shrieked with joy (loudly). "I love that name!" She gazed into the enormous green eyes. Perhaps it was the nose that noticed the wyvern hide yesterday—same armor she was wearing today. Perhaps her full gear run made her sweaty woman smell drown out the wyvern smell.

Woman smell? Been a couple o' weeks since… so he can tell I'm at me most fertile time o' the month? Like I'm a cat in heat, am I?

Addison took no offense, but simply stepped back to give the dragon a better look. "I still wear the skins o' that wyvern. As a Huntress, I waste no part o' me kills. It's respect for the animal. But yes, that wyvern was a pest. Killed many hunters including a man big as Loke and young as Rikhard. Damn wyvern near pissed on the rest of us when we started to get the better o' him, and tried to fly off, but I'd a rope on him and didn't let go. Upped and stabbed his head in flight, I did, figuring on ending both him and meself in one go." She pounded a fist on her breastplate. "This armor's strong, but more than that, it's a reminder o' the time I failed to protect one o' me own—or maybe I'm alive 'cause Wally died protecting me."

Addison was talking to the dragon, but she was sure the men behind her heard her blathering on about killing and dying. It wasn't what she wanted from this moment, and she certainly didn't want to start crying in front of everyone. She focused on the path ahead—Ciardha's twisted path, which led to a dragon—a dragon who called her Wildcat!

Thinking on that brought a catlike grin to Addison's face. "This Wildcat would like to jump up and hug ye right in the nose," she told Thoros, then asked him, "Would ye kindly lean closer, assuming ye don't mind me womanny smell?"

 

[DMThaane]

Loke chuckled to himself. It would almost be worth being captured just to watch them try and interrogate Addison. Well, at least until the torture and the magic started. Until then, though, it would be terribly amusing.

He gave Snorri's nose a scratch. "You don't want to hug the dragon, do you?" Snorri was still eyeing Thoros; not panicking but not at ease, either. "You should enjoy the novelty. Hroarr would not have even noticed the giant fire-breathing lizard."

Hroarr, Snorri's sire, had been a special kind of beast. He could trot through a battlefield and never so much as turn an ear, although he'd held a deep hatred of birds. It was a shame he'd not survived the intervening years. It would have been good to have such as sturdy creature beneath him for this journey.

"Not like you," he mocked. "Such a panicky thing."

Snorri finally turned from the dragon to start rubbing against the wall.

"Yes, yes," Loke said, moving up to scratch him. "I suppose we should just enjoy ourselves, before the work begins."

 

[Nimue]

Thoros looked over at Farrun, drawing back his head in the picture of uncertainty. This is your own doing, Farrun told him, arms crossed as he watched, barely able to suppress a smile. You could've played the fearsome beastie a while longer, but instead you started giving them pet names.

Thoros replied with a waft of derisiveness. Slowly, he lowered his scaly head to Addison's level, his eyes half-closed and his membranous inner eyelid creeping upwards as though he anticipated being smacked in the eye with a flailing arm. Why should I mind the smell of women? They are everywhere, he told Addison in a rumble, completely matter-of-fact.

Amused, but reminded of what they were there to do, Farrun came over and pulled his gear from Thoros's saddle, carrying it over and setting it in the cart. "Everyone ready to head out?" he called, in a carrying voice.