I would just like to say

[maderr]

That Midnight is the weirdest thing I've ever written. No matter how I dress it up, he's still a zombie. It is by far the oddest request I've ever gotten, and I'm enjoying it, but it's still fsking weird.

Currently story stands at 53,000 words. Almost done ^__^

Three more parts, just for fun.

Rest of what's posted is here.

This also reminds me I should make a new icon for past! dwtd, so as not to cofuse it with present ^__^ Am still conflicted, I confess, on whether or not I ever want Christian to find out what his ancestors got up to. Hmmm.



I. VI Precious

Clouds had begun to fill the sky as night gave over to morning, the cold air taking on the feel of rain.

By the time they had returned to their lodgings, the rain had begun to fall. Only lightly at first, but not long after finding the safety of their rooms, it had begun to fall in earnest.

"Mad yourself right at home, I see," Devlin said dryly, observing the satchels piled at the foot of the bed.

Barra frowned in disapproval and promptly moved toward them, muttering to himself as he began to unpack the contents and stow them properly, setting aside various bits and pieces to be pressed or otherwise fussed over.

"Well, I couldn't know how long we would be here," Midnight said, unperturbed by the looks Devlin gave him. "Best to be prepared, is that not what you are always saying? Though, if you had seen fit to follow your own advice, you would have sent for me instead of stating I was to stay at home kicking my heels."

Devlin folded his arms across his chest. "I left you behind out of concern for your safety, Midnight."

Midnight ducked his head, immediately contrite. "Yes, heartbeat. I realize with draugr about, there is a concern I will revert fully to acting like a walking dead. Certainly if drastic measures must be taken in regards to my person…"

"You should have stayed at home," Devlin said, crossing to him and grasping Midnight's chin. "You should go back, for it would seem the danger only grows and grows. Someone who is able to use siren songs to control the draugr? That someone is controlling them at all? What if they get hold of you, Midnight?"

Reaching up, Midnight slid his arms around Devlin's neck. "I am sorry to have upset you, heartbeat. I do not like to be the cause of your worry. If home I must go, then I will do – but you must take more care here, because it causes me pain to feel you and know you are in danger, and need me, and I am too far away to help."

Devlin sighed and tugged away the arms around his neck. "Then stay, you spoiled brat, but take extra care in all you do. If ever I tell you that you must go, do it without question."

"Yes, heartbeat," Midnight said, smiling. He braced his hands on Devlin's chest, then reached up and kissed his cheek.

"Brat," Devlin said.

Midnight merely smiled again, then spun away to stride across the room to where Barra had brought in a pitcher and bowl, along with rags and soap.

Devlin turned away as he began to strip, moving to the fireplace and the books still stacked there. "Has anyone tried to get nosy, Barra?"

"Aye, your grace," Barra said. "That woman what owns the place. I scared her good and proper, though."

"Mm," Devlin murmured, and set down the book he'd just picked up. "With Midnight here, it is time to take additional precaution, I think. Have you seen my chalk anywhere?"

Barra finished helping Midnight into a night robe, then moved to the wardrobe and after a moment pulled out a small leather case. "Here, your grace."

Devlin smiled. "Thank you, Barra."

Nodding, Barra went back to helping Midnight.

Moving to the door, Devlin removed a piece of chalk and began to draw on the back of it. He went slowly, working with extra care. More than one he wiped away a mark and redrew it, frowning in concentration all the while.

Spell circles were not his specialty – he was a rune master. He worked better trusting the magic to do as it saw best. Spell circles were the realm of those witches like his sister, more precise and less trusting in nature.

It was also the realm of sorcerers, who had long required a way to lay out their complicated, intricate workings. Hundreds of spell books around the world explain the art of spell circles, and taught how to do them. Still others showed how to lay out spell circles for spells that were better off never cast.

Devlin tended to trust magic over people, in all things. However, some things were best laid out and made clear. Runes were good, but in matters of wards and protections such as these, the spell circle would better serve.

Stepping back, he examined his work critically. "What say you, Midnight?"

"Yes," Midnight said. "You are much better at those things than you credit yourself."

Devlin scoffed and motioned the words away with one hand. Examining the spell circle thoroughly one last time, he nodded to himself and then placed his hand in the middle, then spoke the words that activated it.

The circle vanished as the spell took, spreading out to ward the whole of the room from any and all manner of intrusions.

Moving to the window, he repeated the work, continuing until all three windows in the suite were warded, as well as the fireplace. The windows he also warded against sunlight, to be extra certain Midnight could rest without fear of harm.

He stared out the last of the windows he had spelled. "Dawn approaches," he said softly.

Midnight yawned from where he lay in the enormous bed. Dark runes shimmered with magic on his bare chest, his wrists and throat, and the blankets were settled low enough that Devlin could just see the cluster of runes on his abdomen.

Silently cursing, he turned back to the window, trying hard not to think about the way the long, dark blue hair tumbled about all over, rich and fine against the perfect white of Midnight's skin.

"You should rest, heartbeat," Midnight said. "There will be much to do during the daylight, and when dark comes again we shall have to go hunting. Come and rest awhile."

"I'm fine," Devlin muttered, but even as he said it, Barra had appeared at his elbow to drag him away to prepare for bed. He continued to fight and protest, but when it became obvious he was losing the battle, he swore loudly and finally conceded defeat.

When he was finally shoved into bed, he could not summon the energy to continue protesting. Barra called a good night to them both, and Devlin returned it, before settling more comfortably in bed and attempting to glare at Midnight.

Midnight simply smiled at him, eyes bright with mirth, from where he lay comfortably burrowed into a pillow. "Good night, heartbeat, or perhaps I should say good morning."

"Simply say sleep well," Devlin said, and folded his arms beneath his head before he gave in to the temptation to reach out and pull Midnight to him. He closed his eyes.

"Sweet dreams," Midnight said softly, and then he was asleep, as easy as that.

Devlin had always envied him that ability.

He opened his eyes again, and drank in the sight of beautiful Midnight.

For the first couple of years or so, Midnight had slept in his bed every night – in his arms, even. He'd been so small and delicate, then. Devlin had feared for him. He feared for him now. Even amongst the nightwalkers, Midnight was strange.

Of those who had seen him, understood what he was, too many had been frightened and rejected Midnight. It cut him deep, and Midnight deeper still, for even before the spells laid upon him, Midnight had lacked a real desire to cause harm.

He had never hated. Even in death, Midnight had sought only for affection.

And sustenance, Devlin thought with a smile. He reached out to stroke Midnight's cheek in a feathery caress, capturing a strand of hair between his fingers and rubbing it absently for a moment, before finally forcing himself to withdraw.

All Midnight had ever wanted, alive and dead, was food and affection.

He watched Midnight until sleep finally took him.

It was the homeless boy, Devlin realized.

He stared in shock, anger and something dangerously close to hate boiling up inside him.

They had ordered the townspeople to find shelter, to lock themselves indoors. The draugr were great in strength and number, and too many of them were coming from a location they had not yet been able to find.

No one had taken in the homeless boy?

Devlin pushed away from the corner into which he'd been tucked, moving out of his hiding place, breaking the ward he had thrown up, and strode out into the street.

The little homeless boy looked more fragile than ever. He could not be more than six, Devlin thought, anger stirring anew. He was defenseless, and so very tiny. As delicate as a bird, and one with broken wings besides.

Broken, he thought bitterly, by the people begging Devlin to protect them.

If not for his father's orders that he come, Devlin would have left them all to their own devices. But the Whites had always helped protect the nightwalkers, and the normal people from the nightwalkers, and he would not shame his family name now.

He knelt and held out a hand, a lump in his throat as he took in how dirty and small the poor little thing was. Homeless people were not an unusual sight, nor were homeless children. They always caused a pang, but this one…this one struck something deeper, something he did not fully understand, if he understood it at all.

The poor thing had been curled up by the stable when Devlin had clambered from the carriage. He would not have noticed the boy, save for the sharp gasp that had struck his ears. When he'd looked for the source of the sound, he had seen pale brown eyes staring back at him as though enchanted.

Then the boy had realized he'd been seen, and the stable master had bellowed, causing the boy to bolt.

Devlin had seen him here and there in the days since, and always the little thing was staring at him. The one time Devlin had smiled back, and given him a bit of coin, the boy had turned red faced and started to cry. Then he'd bolted, and Devlin had not seen him again.

Until now.

He knelt and held out a hand. "Come here, little one. I will not hurt you. It's not safe—"

"Devlin!"

Crochton's sharp warning came too late, as the boy surged forward and grasped his hand, and bit down hard.

Devlin swore, but did not tear his hand away, for fear of causing injury.

Now he noticed what he had not before, too angry at the townspeople and too concerned for the boy.

He was dead.

Devlin had never been the sort given to tears. If he had the energy to cry, he had the energy to do something more productive. Still, the sight of the sad, little boy turned to a walking dead made his eyes sting.

Beneath the filth and grime, his skin had gone white. Snow white; some would say bone white. Except his hair had gone deep blue, as had his fingernails, which meant his bones were blue as well now.

His eyes too, were that deep, rich, beautiful blue. It should not be beautiful, yet to Devlin it was.

The boy stared at him, unmoving, lips coated with blood from where he had bit deeply into Devlin's hand.

"Shh," Devlin said, and reached out to stroke the filthy hair.

He paused when the boy seemed to lean into the touch, but after a moment resumed it.

Sure enough, the boy was pushing against it, like a cat looking for more petting.

Anger coiled in Devlin's gut, threatening to consume him, tempting him to show the bloody bastards who had let this happen why a witch was far worse an enemy than a draugr.

He had never known a child to turn into a draugr before. How had he died? There were no visible wounds; the little thing was perfectly preserved.

"Devlin, destroy it and let us get back to work."

"No," Devlin snarled, looking up at Crochton, who had come out of hiding and stood nearby. "A child, god damn it. He was only a child, and they let him die. They probably killed him."

Crochton looked at him sternly, but not unkindly. "He's dead now, Devlin. Probably best for the poor thing, given he was about on the streets. If you cannot do the deed, lad, then step away and let me. We've more important things to be doing, this night. I can feel the draugr, and we need to find them before more harm is done."

Devlin moved without thought, scooping the frail little body up and holding it close. "No," he said.

"It's dead," Crochton said sharply. "Just a bloody corpse. If you are too weak to destroy it, then bloody let me!"

"I said no!" Devlin snapped.

Crochton looked angrily at him. "What do you intend to do then? Keep it? It's a fucking corpse."

"I don't know," Devlin said. He started to say something more, but the boy in his arms made a whimpering sound.

He looked down, to see the boy licking blood from his lips.

"Hungry?" Devlin asked softly. Ignoring Crochton, who continued to lecture and glare, he moved to a crate pushed against the side of a shop, in a narrow alleyway. Setting the boy down atop it, he bent to pull a knife from his boot.

Crochton was right, he knew. The boy was dead, had been turned into a draugr. It would be better simply to destroy him and be done with it.

Devlin could not bring himself to do it. All he could see were the sad brown eyes watching him with wonder, the way the boy had cried over a simple bit of kindness, the redness to his cheeks as he realized Devlin had caught him staring.

Staring into the dark blue eyes calmly watching him, wondering what , if anything, went through a draugr mind, Devlin lifted his hand and slit the palm open.

He grimaced at the pain, but did not linger over it. Instead, he held his hand out, close to the child's mouth, and nodded that he should drink.

The child watched him, not moving.

Devlin lifted his hand higher still, cupping his palm so the blood filled it, and pushed the child's head into it.

He drank, small tongue flashing occasionally as he lapped at the blood, pausing every now and then to stare fearfully at Devlin, resuming only when Devlin smiled gently at him.

"Amazing," Crochton muttered. "He actually retained some sort of comprehension. I wonder why."

Devlin did not reply, having no reply to give, simply reached out with his free hand to stroke the matted hair.

A chill lanced up his spine suddenly, and he knew by the colorful swearing that Crochton had felt the same.

He turned his head to see the draugr shuffling toward them, blue eyes glowing, surrounding by a mist that was swiftly taking over the whole of the village.

"Damn it to hell," Crochton said. "We missed our chance to see where they go when they are finished with the village."

Devlin started to speak, but was distracted as the boy shoved his hand away and hopped down from the crate, taking remarkably sure steps as he moved to stand in front of them.

No, Devlin realized.

The boy was standing in front of him. He had thrown his arms out, and was making angry, growling noises at the approaching draugr.

"Oh my god," Crochton said in wonder. "It cannot be."

"What?" Devlin snapped, too busy drawing his runes and focusing on defeating the draugr as well as protecting himself, Crochton, and the boy.

"Draugr only want three things when they rise – food, to protect those things precious to them, and to see their loved ones again," Crochton said. "I think the boy was coming for you all along. He is trying to protect you, Devlin. You are what he sought in death, and is trying to protect."

Devlin froze, runes forgotten as he stared at the boy who stood before him, arms spread out as he tried to warn off the other draugr.

"I wish I had protected him," Devlin said softly after a moment. "I was going to take him home."

Crochton looked at him with a sympathy Devlin could not remember him ever showing anyone. "The kindest thing you can do now, Devlin, is to destroy him completely."

"No," Devlin said, suddenly determined. "I'll find another way."

"There is no other way," Crochton said sharply, even as he braced himself to face the draugr that were now far too close. "He's dead. There is nothing else you can do."

Devlin threw his runes at the draugr, watching as three burst into flame. "If no other way exists, I'll make it. The boy is mine, now. I will do as I see fit."

"What would your father say?" Crochton demanded. "He would not stand for this."

At that, Devlin only grinned. "He would say I'm old enough to make my own decisions, no matter how bloody stupid a decision it might be."

Crochton grunted in defeat. "As you will it, then, you bloody fool."

Devlin looked at the frail, broken bird trying so hard to protect him from the monsters drawing ever closer. Even in death, the boy had only wanted Devlin. It was humbling, and heartbreaking, and he would do whatever was necessary to see the boy was happier in death than he had ever been in life.





I. VII Dragon

"We should go home after we are finished here, heartbeat," Midnight said into the silence that had fallen as they all dressed to go hunting.

Devlin stood patiently as Barra fussed over his jacket, a beautiful piece the exact shade of midnight's hair, with quartz for buttons and a fat sapphire nestled in the folds of his neck cloth. He often felt like Barra's doll, but the man turned him out so well, it was hardly a chore to be so. "Pray tell, where else would we go?" he asked, being purposely obtuse.

Midnight rolled his eyes and finished tying his own neck cloth, fastening a silver snowflake in the folds. His cufflinks matched, offsetting the deep burgundy of his coat. "Well, if you insist, we can return to the city."

"No," Devlin said, pausing to murmur a thanks to Barra, "it would be nice to return to the country for a time. After this, there will be nothing keeping me in the city. I could use a bit of countryside not infested with draugr."

Twitching the lace of his cuffs so it fell properly, he picked up his gloves. "I am hoping to solve this sooner rather than later, though the elusiveness of our prey is proving more than a little vexing."

"It has only been a few days, heartbeat," Midnight said, standing still as Barra pulled his hair back and neatly tied it off with a ribbon to match the burgundy coat. "The siren song plays faintly, and where there is a song there is a singer. We will find him."

Devlin hadn't needed the reminder that Midnight could hear the siren song. He scowled. "Midnight—"

"Yes, heartbeat," Midnight said with exaggerated patience. "At your command, I will flee to safety. However, I think you underestimate me. I keep telling you, no voice but yours compels me."

Ignoring him, Devlin shrugged into his greatcoat and pulled on his gloves. "Come then, Midnight, Barra, let us go pick a fight with the walking dead."

Smiling, Midnight followed after him, Barra closely on their heels.

Outside, his horse stood ready. Devlin mounted, and motioned to the other two. "Do as you see fit, but remember to take care. I will meet the both of you outside the village, by the pond. I believe we will explore those mounds we discovered when we encountered the knight and dragon."

Barra's face shuttered. "Aye, your grace. Though, if you hope to be gaining his help, perhaps I should stay well away."

"If that bigoted knight decides to speak rudely about the company I keep again, I shall let Midnight take him to task for it. Dragons do not frighten me. Now, let us be off. There is much to do, and the moonlight will not last forever."

Without another word, he gave the signal to his horse, and raced off through the village as quickly as was wise, headed for the pond.

Shortly after arriving, he was joined by a wolf and a long, sinuous, dark cat. "Splendid. No trouble shifting or getting out of the village unnoticed?"

A chuff and a mewl were his replies, and Devlin nodded. "Let us go, then."

The two animals raced off ahead of him, and while it looked as though they simple darted across the landscape, he knew they both were alert for any clue, any scent, any oddity.

He chased after them, going more slowly, not wanting harm to come to his horse.

They reached the old burial mounds in record time.

Dismounting, Devil secured his horse to a tree and then joined Barra and Midnight amongst the mounds.

As he had expected, the wards he had placed had proven insufficient. They had, to the last, been broken. He knelt by the nearest mound and held his hand over it, fingers spread, palm down. Closing his eyes, Devlin felt the broken magic, the greater magic of the draugr or their puppet master. "Midnight," he said, not opening his eyes, still trying to feel, "what do you hear?"

"It's muted," Midnight replied. "Faint…almost as though the magician is distracted, or putting his energies elsewhere. Perhaps we trouble him?"

Devlin slowly opened his eyes. "I doubt we are so fortunate as to be that intimidating. My fear is that he is trying something new. You tore off their heads like they were made of paper, Midnight, and that somehow took away his control and allowed me to burn them. I would imagine he is angry, at the very least."

He stood up and brushed off his hands. "The wards were broken by an outside force, which means our puppet master is not strong enough to break them from a distance, nor able to tell the draugr to do it themselves. He must have come here to do the breaking – which begs the question why he would go to such trouble to break these wards, when there are countless corpses in the village graveyard that would be far more useful."

Midnight's eyes glowed and flashed. "I smell old draugr here," he said. "Either the bodies recently bespelled were draugr before, or this place was used in the past and the bodies of those days were turned to draugr."

"Places like this are steeped in blood and corpses," Barra said. "You cannot have history without them, and this place has more than its fair share of history, eh? Not to mention the dragons." His face darkened briefly at the word 'dragon'. "Must have been all manner of battles here, with them about, eh?"

Devlin nodded. "Quite so. So this is hardly the first time the village has been plagued by draugr. Then again, most remote villages such of this are troubled by such things at least once, oft times more. It would explain why the problem was brought to us so quickly. They recognized it straight off."

"It may also explain why they are here again," Midnight said. "Where the dead walked once, they can walk twice."

"Yes," Devlin said. "Much easier to do it a second time, now that the path has been laid, so to speak. Are you certain there is no way to hear from where the siren song originates?"

Midnight shook his head. "No, heartbeat, I am sorry."

"No need to apologize," Devlin said. "Obviously our singer knows his game."

"I suppose it's too much to hope for that only a very small number of persons in the world are capable of a siren song which only the dead can hear," Barra said with a sigh.

Devlin snorted. "You can bet that if such a list existed, the writer and his efforts would have been dealt with straight away in decisive fashion. I certainly do not fancy my name being jotted down somewhere for all and sundry to see, especially if it lists my talents right alongside it."

"Even if everyone knows what you do and are good at anyway," Midnight inserted dryly.

"That is neither here nor there," Devlin said primly.

"Of course not," Midnight retorted. "Whatever was I thinking?"

"I'm certain I could not say."

Midnight laughed, moving closer, tossing his head to flick the long tail of his hair over his shoulder. "Heartbeat, I—"

As one they all stopped, and turned sharply toward the sudden feeling that raked across all their senses.

"The song," Midnight said, holding his head and whimpering softly. "It's increased, the volume is near deafening, but it does not call me. It does not call any of the ordinary draugr. It's calling to something else…no…it's taunting something." He looked up, toward the hills.

Devlin followed his gaze, and saw the barest hint of movement. A flicker of something, almost like moonlight on water.

He did not waste time trying to solve the puzzle from a distance, but bolted toward, running up the small hill as quickly as he was able, Midnight and Barra close on his heels.

Pure, unadulterated shock nearly had him tumbling right back down the incline. "Bloody hell."

"Indeed," Midnight said grimly, as the long, sinuous neck of the dark blue dragon swiveled around so that two glowing blue eyes could focus upon them.

Then it breathed black fire.

Devlin shoved Barra as he moved, hitting the ground hard and rolling, barely keeping from tumbling right back down the hill they had just climbed.

Barra twisted away, shifting as he went, and threw back his head to howl. Normally such a cry would bring pack to help – no werewolf, however, would ever answer the cry of a mongrel lone wolf. He wondered what Barra hoped to accomplish, but could not spare the attention or breath to ask as he once more was forced to flee from the black fire breath of the draugr dragon.

"Who the hell would be crazy enough to wake a bloody dragon," Devlin demanded. "How did anyone wake it? Dragons only obey their liege lords."

Midnight tried to get in close, but jumped and turned into a raven at the last, unable to get past the teeth and tail and fire. He landed on the ground near Devlin, and shifted back. "The song was not waking it, not the way it has all the others. It was taunting it, rather than controlling it. I think the dragon woke on its own, and the singer must have its lord. The dragon is attempting to reclaim its master."

"Damn it," Devlin said. He reached into his jacket for his runes, attempting to focus his thoughts – but the dragon was simply too fast, striking seemingly without warning, not giving him a chance to form a spell and cast his runes.

Barra was on the opposite side. "Let me and Midnight distract it," he called. "Maybe that will give you a chance."

Devlin nodded, not liking the plan – such as it was – but not seeing any other way.

Shifting back, Barra threw himself toward the dragon, dodging out of the way just in time. As he withdrew, Midnight surged forward, a sleek and elegant shadow, mewling loudly to draw the dragon's attention.

But the dragon, it seemed, was no fool. Though he drove both back, he never quite took his attention from Devlin.

Until something flashed, as brilliant as the moonlight, and a deafening roar echoed across the landscape.

Then the flash of silver became a blur, and Devlin barely stumbled out of the way as the figure met the dead dragon head on.

He had seen hundreds of fights in his lifetime, far too many of them fatal. None of them even compared to the dark and deadly beauty of the fight before him now. The steel-colored dragon fought the dark blue one with ease, black fire meeting silver, tail clashing with tail, and then the steel dragon's teeth sank into the neck of the dead, and a horrific screech filled the air.

Devlin clapped his hands over his ears, recoiling from the sound. He reached for his runes to put the affair to an end once and for all, when the dead dragon suddenly broke free and attacked the silver with renewed fervor.

It swung around wildly as the silver dragon dodged its teeth, massive tail arching out—and headed straight for Barra, who did not see it until too late.

A blur of movement, a startled cry, and suddenly Barra was no longer on the hill.

The living dragon moved, once more sinking his teeth into the dead one, this time holding on for dear life.

Devlin formed the spell in his mind, and cast three runes.

Dark witchfire erupted, consuming the dead dragon.

The living dragon did not let go, but held fast to the dragon's throat.

"Will it be all right?" Midnight asked. "It needs to let go or it will be burned."

If the living dragon was bothered by the flames, however, it gave no indication. Instead, it remained there and held fast, until the flames shifted in color, then it simply dropped the dead dragon and slinked from the fire.

Its eyes shimmered rich amber as it stalked toward Midnight, growling deep and low.

Devlin stepped in front of Midnight. "Back off, dragon."

The dragon gave a series of sharp, chittering barks, and simply moved to circle around.

"Enough, dragon!"

The voice was faint, but audible.

Immediately the dragon stopped moving, and sat back on its haunches, making several more of those odd, barking sounds. Its tail smacked the ground hard once, twice, and then the dragon went still.

Devlin eyed it suspiciously, but when it only yawned and lay down upon the ground, he moved away from Midnight and toward the sound of the voice.

He stood at the edge of the incline and looked down.

At the bottom of the hill, he could just see Barra and another figure tangled together in the shrubbery. To judge from the curses now reaching his ears, it would seem the two were losing a battle to get free of the shrubbery.

They managed it a moment later, after a great deal more profanity, and both began slowly to climb back up the hill.

It was the knight. Obviously, Devlin thought in annoyance. "I confess I am shocked, sir knight. I had not thought we mongrels and misfits worthy of your time."

Neirin looked at him coolly as he reached the top of the hill. "You should be grateful I did lend my assistance, rune master, else your mongrel here would be lying at the foot of the hill with a broken back – at the very least."

"Yes," Barra said, flinching at the word 'mongrel'. "I thank you for saving my life." He looked at the slowly dying orange flames. "Indeed, I think you saved us all."

"Quite," Neirin said. "Why has a dragon become a walking dead?" He looked around the clearing, and his eyes landed on Midnight. "What is that abomination?"

Devlin moved before he thought, grabbing Neirin by the neck of his shirt. "I tire of you, knight," he snarled. "Their names are Barra and Midnight, not mongrel and abomination. You saved our lives, I concede that point, but it is the very least you owe us when it is one of your own which attempted to kill us this night. If you damnable knights—"

He let go at the sound of a deep, angry growl, turning even as he pulled out runes.

"Enough," Neirin said sharply. "Troyes, it is quite all right. I know you would never let real harm come to me. These fools could never match your strength." He knelt as the dragon drew close, and stroked his hands along the sleek scales.

His face softened as he pet his dragon, and Devlin thought for a moment he was seeing a man who was not the infuriating, arrogant bastard he would quite like to toss back down the hill.

"Barra," he asked, ignoring the knight and dragon for the moment. "Are you all right?"

"Quite, your grace. Nothing a good bit of rest won't fix right up. The knight saved me, sure as anything." His eyes flicked to the kneeling Neirin, something in them flashing, but then he looked at Devlin and smiled again. "Sorry I missed the fight; I hear that to see a dragon fight is a wondrous thing."

Devlin nodded. "It almost makes up for the fact they are quite unbearable otherwise."

"Enough," Midnight said, head tilted thoughtfully to one side. "The siren song has subsided. I think our enemy has once more retreated."

"No doubt all the angrier that we once more overcame his challenges," Devlin said grimly.

He turned as Neirin stood up, one hand still resting lightly upon his dragon. "By your leave," Neirin said stiffly, "I would like to hear whatever explanation you can offer. Whoever this person is of whom you speak, he is harming the clans now. That makes this dragon business."

"Why should I?" Devlin replied. "You have been nothing but rude since the occasion upon which we met."

"I saved your lives," Neirin snapped.

"Learn their names," Devlin retorted. "Treat them with the accord they are due, and perhaps I will see fit to tell you what you have until now deemed beneath your notice."

Neirin glared, his dragon growling. "You, rune master, have no business calling anyone insufferable."

Devlin started to snarl a nasty reply, but he was prevented by bright, rippling laughter. He turned to glare at Midnight.

Midnight only laughed again, and smiled at him. "Devlin, stop making friends and let us all adjourn to our lodgings. Barra, are you all right to walk?"

"Fine," Barra said.

"You," Devlin said, glaring at Midnight.

Midnight merely smiled, and led the way down the hill.



I. VIII Apple

"Barra, tea and whatever food you can steal from the kitchen," Devlin said as they reached their rooms once more.

"Of course, your grace," Barra replied, but lingered long enough to take their coats and see they were properly hung, his gaze slipping more than once to the figure who had taken up seats near the fire.

Devlin quirked a brow, but did not ask, relatively certain Barra did not want to be caught staring. He had not realized Barra was so fascinated by dragons – or maybe he was simply keeping watch over a possible enemy.

Midnight brought two more chairs close, making a loose circle of four, and sat down in the one opposite Neirin, leaving Devlin to take one of the chairs immediately next to him.

He studied their silent guest surreptitiously, not quite certain what to make of him.

Dark gold hair gleamed in the firelight, and though it was pulled severely back, Devlin could see a hint of curl to it. His eyes, a deep brown, were focused on the dragon. He sat rigidly in his seat, almost reminding Devlin of a schoolboy who knew he was about to receive a dressing down and possibly a thrashing. He idly stroked the dragon's head, which lay in his lap, the dragon making low, soft rumbling noises.

Then it struck him.

Despite his posturing and arrogance, the knight was nervous. About what?

It was, predictably, Midnight who broke the silence. "You do not often leave your lands, do you?"

Neirin looked up, hands resting heavily on the dragon, as though seeking comfort. "I have never left them, save for an hour or so at a time, and always in the company of older, wiser knights. This…" He motioned to them, the room, "I do without permission."

"Oh?" Devlin asked, surprised. He was prevented asking further questions, however, as Barra returned carefully balancing a heavy tray.

The dragon – Troyes, he probably should take better care to recall it had a name – gave a sudden growl. Not a threatening sound…more like one of interest. Sliding from Neirin's grasp, Troyes prowled over to Barra, who had set the tray down upon a large table and was busily pouring and arranging things.

He paused as Troyes drew near, and watched in puzzlement as the dragon pushed against his thigh, then sat back on its haunches and tilted its head up to look at Barra.

"What…" Barra trailed off.

Devlin looked at Troyes, suddenly reminded of a puppy begging for scraps.

They all turned in surprise at the sound of laughter, to see Neirin staring with fond amusement at his dragon. He stood up and crossed the room, joining Troyes and Barra at the table. "Aha," he said softly, and reached out to pluck up a bright red apple.

Troyes growled low, butting against Neirin's thigh.

"Apples are his favorite treat," Neirin explained, realizing suddenly that all eyes were upon him. He smiled hesitantly – Devlin would almost say shyly, except even hesitant there was an arrogance to Neirin – at Barra, and lifted the apple he held. "May I?"

Barra's cheeks flushed faintly, and he nodded, ducking his head to busy himself with the tea. "Of course." His fussing ceased as Neirin held out the apple, tea forgotten as he watched the dragon delicately pluck the apple from Neirin's hand, and crunch it down in a matter of seconds.

"Say thank you," Neirin said sharply, when the dragon would have wandered off.

Troyes growled and turned back to Barra – and suddenly was human, as easy as that. "Apple," he said. "Thank you, wolf-elf."

Barra blinked, eyes wide as he stared at the tall, broad dragon. "Um. You're quite welcome."

Making a sound remarkably similar to the growls of his dragon form, Troyes reached out and abruptly ruffled Barra's hair.

Yelping in surprise, Barra stumbled back, foot catching on a table leg – but he was snatched back from falling over completely by Troyes, who frowned at him. "Not hurt. No fear. Troyes good."

"Yes," Neirin cut in before anyone else could speak. "Troyes good. Now get over here before you give the poor thing an apoplexy."

"Good," Troyes repeated, then awkwardly patted Barra's shoulder, before turning and slinking back to Neirin, where he dropped to sit on the ground with his head against Neirin's thigh.

Devlin started to say something about the miraculous display of manners, but a warning look from Midnight made him reluctantly keep his mouth shut. Instead, he accepted the tea Barra gave him with a murmured thanks, and watched their guest do the same.

"So why do you never leave the clan?" Midnight asked.

"I thought we were here to discuss the draugr," Neirin replied stiffly.

Midnight shrugged. "I meant no offense; certainly we can move on to the draugr, if you prefer."

Neirin looked at him, then back at his tea. "The dragons," he said softly. "Everything we do is for the dragons." He dropped one hand to comb through Troyes thick hair. "They can look human, and act human, but to mistake them for human is a fatal mistake. They are living weapons, and should always be treated thus. They act human only in the barest sense of the word." He hesitated. "There are…other reasons the dragons must be guarded, secrets I cannot discuss." He shot a brief glare at Devlin. "I know the popular belief if that we do not care, but it is not true – it is simply that we must put our dragons first, in all things."

"Hmm," Devlin murmured noncommittally. "So if you must put them first, and should not be here, why did you help us and then ask to learn more of the draugr."

"I heard the wolf," Neirin said, flicking a glance at Barra, who stared in surprise, then dropped his own gaze to his tea. "We were on night patrol, and heard him howl for help. I did not think he would do such a thing idly, knowing full well he was in clan territory." He frowned. "I did not expect to see a draugr dragon."

Midnight nodded. "Someone is using a siren song to wake and control the dead around here. We cannot find the source; the song seems to come from nowhere and everywhere."

"A siren song to control the dead?" Neirin repeated. "Then, unless I am mistaken, should it not be controlling you?"

"It should, yes," Midnight said with a smile, "but I was always an odd draugr, and am now only odder still. No voice controls me but that of my heartbeat." He touched the space over his heart. "Devlin."

Refusing to look at Midnight, knowing he'd just get caught staring and smiling like a halfwit, he focused on Neirin. "So the dragons will help us, now? It is quite possible, after all, that the magician we seek is hiding on dragon lands."

Neirin frowned and shoo his head. "I doubt it," he said. "If a magic user was hiding on our lands, we would know it. Dragons are sensitive to magic."

"It is still possible," Devlin replied stiffly.

"It is not impossible," Neirin replied, just as stiff. "However, he would have to be supremely clever to avoid the greater part of two clans, since most of my own Clan du Lac resides with the Holy Pendragon right now."

Devlin snorted. "Of course no mage could fool that many. Whatever was I thinking?"

Anger flashed in Neirin's eyes. "You asked for my help, rune master, and I am giving it. I say only what I know – that it would be incredibly difficult to hide such powerful magic from so many knights and dragons. Surely the energy it would take to hide from so many would not be worth expending for a mage who is already casting a siren song."

Devlin scowled as he realized Neirin had a point.

Midnight snickered.

"It concerns me he managed to stir a dragon," Neirin continued, though the glint in his eye said he knew he had scored a point. "That means he stole the dragon's lord, and if he managed this with one dragon…"

"He will take others, or has already," Devlin finished. "I do not want to think about what manner of harm could be inflicted should several of those things attack at once."

Troyes growled low in agreement, and Neirin looked quite as though he would like to growl.

"If you like," Neirin said slowly, "tomorrow I can show you where our dead are buried. Perhaps we might find some clue there?"

Devlin quirked a brow at him. "Forgive me my suspicious nature, knight, but only a day or so ago you all but threw us off your lands. You insulted Barra then, and only an hour ago your manners had not shown much in the way of improvement. Now you are offering to show us a dragon graveyard? That sounds to me like a serious breach of clan protocol."

"It is," Neirin said levelly, but his temper was in his eyes. "I do not break rules lightly, rune master. My decisions are not easy ones, and I did not make them lightly or hastily. You cannot possibly begin to understand the full consequences of my actions, so do not condescend to me." He hesitated, and looked down at Troyes.

Who, Devlin noted with interest, was watching Barra, who did not notice the dragon's staring because he was himself watching Neirin.

Devlin looked back at Neirin. "Yes?" he said, when Neirin continued to hesitate.

Neirin sighed softly. "Sometimes life does not go according to the plans we make, or those made for us. When faced with the unexpected, a man can choose to bemoan his fate and do nothing, or accept it and forge the new path offered. I am offering my aid, rune master. Do you accept it or not?"

"We accept, of course," Midnight said before Devlin could speak.

Troyes growled low, nuzzling against Neirin's leg.

"Tomorrow, then," Devlin said, not quite able to dismiss all the stiffness in his voice. "Where shall we meet you?"

Neirin smiled, all charm, and spoke with exaggerated cordiality in his voice. "At the location of our first meeting, shall we say? For the sake of fond memories."

"Fond indeed," Devlin replied with equal politeness, though his smile was all teeth.

Midnight rolled his eyes. "It's like watching two cocks strut around the yard, except there are no hens to impress."

Barra choked on his tea, setting it hastily aside, but did not pull a handkerchief out quickly enough to entirely muffle his laughter.

Devlin shot Midnight a withering look. "Why could you not remain at home like I told you?"

Midnight smiled sweetly. "If not for my presence, people might be impressed by your posturing, and we certainly can not have that, heartbeat."

Devlin frowned. Midnight never called him 'heartbeat' unless they were alone or amongst trusted friends. Otherwise it was only 'Devlin.' If he was saying it front of Neirin and Troyes, that meant he considered them…

Not trusting himself to speak, Devlin expressed his feelings by giving Midnight another glare, then setting aside his tea in favor of fetching the brandy.

Troyes rumbled something indistinct, and was immediately soothed by Neirin, who looked up after a moment. He turned to Barra. "I do not suppose you might tell me how to find the kitchens? We are out far later than ordinarily we would be, and by now Troyes usually is fed."

"What does he eat?" Barra asked, setting aside the tea he had only just picked up again.

"Meat," Neirin said. "Raw is preferable, but I’m certain whatever I might find would more than suffice."

Barra was at the door before he had even finished speaking. "Back in a moment, then," he said, and did not wait for a reply.

"I did not—" Neirin frowned. "He need not have done that, I was perfectly capable of fetching the food myself."

Devlin sipped his brandy. "Barra likes to help." Not strictly true – Barra liked to help him, and Midnight. Beyond that, he did not much care. It was more than a little peculiar that he had leaped so quickly to help Neirin feed Troyes. Devlin didn't like it, but he had no intention of saying so. "Stopping him is quite impossible. I think he is also anxious to prove he is more than a lowly mongrel."

Neirin's mouth tightened. "I apologized to him for that, rune master. You need not—"

"Enough," Midnight said, rolling his eyes again. "It is past. If I and Barra are not still upset, heartbeat, you have no right to be either."

"I'm a Duke," Devlin said, knowing he sounded petulant but not particularly caring. "I have the right to be as upset as I please about anything and everything."

"You are quite intolerable tonight," Midnight said, shaking his head back and forth, looking more amused than put out.

Devlin said nothing, merely sipped his brandy.

Neirin looked as though he would like to express his own thoughts on Devlin being intolerable, but was choosing to keep the thoughts to himself.

Instead, they simply glared surreptitiously at one another, until the opening of the door finally forced a stalemate.

Troyes immediately stirred, shifting to his dragon form as he padded over to Barra, who held a platter piled with chunks of roasted meat. "This was the best I could find," he said anxiously, looking at Neirin. "Will it suffice?"

"Quite," Neirin said. "If you set it by the fire, he will see to the rest."

Smiling faintly, Barra moved to obey, hesitating a moment after setting the platter down, before finally backing away.

"You may not want to watch," Neirin said, smiling faintly. "He never could be bothered to learn table manners."

Troyes growled at him, amber eyes glinting, but was too busy decimating the meat to argue further.

Barra laughed, and picked up his teacup, sipping at tea that likely had gone tepid. If it bothered him, though, he gave no show of it.

Devlin amused himself by thinking of all the lovely ways he would kill the bastard if he brought any manner of harm to Barra, who clearly had more than a passing interest in the obnoxious knight.

A soft laugh drew his attention, and he turned his head just enough to see Midnight regarding him fondly and far too knowingly.

He was prevented from speaking by the chiming of the hallway clock, which rang only twice before falling silent.

Neirin frowned and set down his own tea. "We had best go. If I am gone much longer, they will come looking for me, and that will not end well. I thank you for your time. Unless something goes wrong, I will see you tomorrow to visit the graveyard. Three thirty, shall we say?"

"Three thirty, then," Devlin said.

"Then I bid you all a good night, and peaceful dreams," Neirin said, standing and shaking out the folds of his coat, smoothing it out. He motioned to Troyes, who licked himself clean and then padded over to push against Barra.

Midnight spoke up. "Barra, escort them to the pond, how about? If dragons do come searching, perhaps you can offer some alibi? We must do all we can to assist our new ally."

Barra nodded, and set his tea aside again, moving to fetch his cloak.

Neirin looked as though he were going to argue, but in the end simply gave a nearly inaudible sigh. Troyes moved back toward him, and he pet his dragon slowly, a frown on his face, looking rather more troubled than Devlin though the situation warranted.

He started to speak, only partly because he was coming to find baiting Neirin would make for an agreeable hobby, but he saw Midnight give a minute shake of his head.

A few moments later, Barra was ready, and Troyes shifted to his human form. Together the three left the room, a silent, pensive group.

Devlin sipped his brandy, and tried not to think about the fact he was completely alone with Midnight.