Chapter One
“Dragon Slayer!" A repetitive and pounding knock on the door spoke with a frantic voice.
"Dragon Slayer! Edinburgh needs you!" Another round of knocking, and another tongue spoke.
The pounding on the heavy oak door continued, what started as a knock with courtesy turned to a heavy clamor of fists wailing on the solid wood. The sound echoed loudly into the entry hall, through the kitchen and dining hall, into every room on the main floor. It only carried a dim glimpse to the upper floor, where it sounded like a muffled wolves cry.
The worried men continued another set of attacks on the door, each calling out and hoping for an answer, fearing it would go without notice: until the heavy pair of doors with brass fittings flew open.
A pair of red eyes greeted the two Nordic men dressed in Edinburgh guard’s uniforms. The eerie set of eyes glared at the men, followed by a deep scowl on the male dark elves face. His silver hair was pulled back from his masculine aged face into a thick braid that trailed down his spine. The guards stiffened upright as they were staring face-to-face with the ‘Dragon Slayers’ right-hand-man in battle, their retainer, and friend. The man was notoriously in a foul mood, and this morning was not any exception.
He stood in a pair of brown dyed cotton slacks with a rough wool towel in his hand, remnants of beard trickled in the fibers and his face was dripping with water. The fit drow was annoyed, very annoyed at the interruption, and his visitors were not welcome.
He eyed the men up and down from his tall posture, noticing that they were breathing heavy and their uniforms were wet with sweat and river water. Their helmets removed, settled in the crook of their arms. They glanced at one another, then back at the retainer, their expressions grim.
"What is it?" Gaalin snapped, tossing his towel over his bare shoulder.
The taller of the two men looked him square in the eyes and then stuttered, "W-we came f-fr-from Edinburgh, my lord."
Gaalin raised a sarcastic eyebrow at the man and with his hand gestured him to continue speaking, "And?"
"A-a-a Dragon, my lord. It-its attacking the city!" He continued.
His eyes were wide in what Gaalin now figured was fear, not because of him, but because of the cursed beast down the mountain side.
The second guard continued, "It came at dawn, right as the sun gave light over the mountains! It is a massive beast, we rode here as fast as our horses could carry us! Gods help us, I pray it’s not too late!"
Gaalin frowned at the men, "Edinburgh is equipped with many guards. Enough to handle a mere dragon. Summon the Dragon Slayer on more important matters.'' He began to shut the door.
"Wait!" Shouted the tall guard, protesting the action by placing his palm against the aged wood. "Please my lord. Edinburgh is in grave danger, we were not prepared for such a beast! It’s huge, bigger than any I’ve ever laid my eyes upon. Our arrows are nothing but something to scratch an itch on its backside, our blades naught but a pick it can pick its teeth with. We must have the Slayer's aid."
Gaalin looked at the man, his was displeased with the guards: he was displeased with all of Edinburgh. The war with the dragons was nearing an end, and the dragon slayer was no longer needed to slay every mediocre dragon. The residents of the land had learned to take up arms against the dragons, learned how to defend themselves and their homeland.
The beastly species was getting smaller by the week. Small villages with only farmers had successfully defended their crops and livestock against the fiery breath of the dragons. So how had such a grand city such as Edinburgh failed to defend themselves from but one dragon?
Gaalin felt his brow crease into a frown again. The war with the Dragons has once again been raging on for the last five years, and his lordship, the dragon slayer, had slain many of the fire breathing lizard-beasts. Far too many to count now, his lordship had finally been able to settle into a home on the mountain side away from the busy crowds of any cities. It was time for this land and her residents to stop depending on the slayers.
“The slayer cannot be summoned for a single dragon, Edinburgh is on its own. You all must learn to live without the slayer, what happens when there is not one? What then? Who will you ninnies go running to then? Up your king’s skirt I suppose." Gaalin snorted, then chuckled to himself. Once again attempting to close the door.
This time two pairs of hands landed on the doors, once again: stopping him. They both spoke, "Please my lord, please."
"Edinburgh will be done for without the slayer's aid. It will be nothing but a scorch mark on the landscape. A hole in the maps, it will be nothing but a graveyard. We beg you, please, summon the dragon slayer to aid us." The tallest guard pleaded again, he looked like he was on the verge of tears through the dirt that stained his face.
Gaalin analyzed the men through a piercing gaze, before speaking once again. "I will see if they are able. Stay here, and do not continue that blasted pounding on my door again."
The men smiled, thanking him over and over again as the door was shut in their faces. Gaalin sighed, running his hands down his face. He disliked the citizens of Edinburgh before this, and now he disliked them more.
He turned on his heels and walked down the entry hall, his lord’s home was most magnificent yet quaint at the same time. The home was large with plenty of space and storage. The lower level consisted of the entry hall, dining hall, kitchen, a large library, and his living quarters.
Upstairs lay several barren rooms and his lords living quarters. The dragon slayer had spent months to design and construct the masterpiece, its walls constructed with brick and stone, artistically accented with sawn lumber. The concept was open, each room connected to one another minus a few hidden passageways.
He entered the dining hall that was connected to the adjacent kitchen, stocked with fresh produce and meat, both salted and frozen. He paused to consider bringing a fresh meal with him, yet he chose to continue his lazy pace through the house. The wall scones were not lit for the day yet, so the rooms remained dark; however his eyes were accustomed to such a sight. Even through the dim light, he could make out the two large staircases that would lead him up to the next floor where his lord should still be sleeping.
He stepped up the stairs, one by one to make as little noise he could. The slayer was the savior of the people, but may the old gods help you if you wake this one. Gaalin rounded two dark corners before he came up to a set of double doors. The aged oak was engraved with detailed Nordic artwork depicting a magnificent battle between a slayer and dragon. A king from a distant city sent this as a gift of thanks for saving them from such a beast, a mediocre gift he thought.
Gaalin breathed in deep, closed his eyes and pushed down on the iron knob. The door groaned slightly, its weight arguing with him as he pushed it open. He left the door open and slipped inside the dark room, the heavy drapes had been pulled over the windows, candles were either burnt out or had never been lit the night before, leaving the room in complete darkness. So he walked into a room with nothing to guide him besides the smell of ale.
He approached the bedside where he heard a faint snore, feeling around he felt the edge of the nightstand and then found what he assumed had to be a candle. He chuckled silently as he heard a sudden and loud snort. Snapping his fingers, a small flame spouted from his finger tips and he held the flame to the blackened wick. The candle came to life and he returned to the side of the bed where his lord lay sprawled out across the goose feathered mattress in nothing but a sheer nightgown. Blankets and pelts were kicked to the foot of the four poster bed or to the floor. Bottles of ale, some empty, others not, lay out across the table across the room. He stared down at the limp body, one he'd assume was a corpse because of the stench; if it were not for the apparent breathing, and he’d be calling for a graveyard attendee.
He sat on the edge of the bed near the slayer’s head, resting the candle on his knee while he lightly shook their shoulder.
"My lord," He said softly. "You must wake, my lord."
The slayer stirred, grumbling incoherent curses at the manservant. "Why the bloody hell are you waking me up in the middle of the night Gaalin? This best be important!"
Gaalin frowned. "My lord, it is not the middle of the night. It is past dawn, nearing midday." He stood, and walked away before a bottle could be smashed across his temple, moving to the most eastern facing window and ripping the curtains open. Scaring away any devil in the room, disintegrating any shadowy creature, and blinding his incredibly hung-over dragon slayer.
He heard a distasteful groan.
“God's curse you Gaalin!"
"My lord, I refuse to offer you any apologies for merely pointing out the obvious." Gaalin opened the curtains on the last two windows in the room, welcoming the warmth the sunlight offered. He turned around to face his liege who now sat up on the bed, the sheer nightgown revealing every feminine part of her body.
She sat with her legs tucked beneath her buttocks, one hand rubbing her eyes, the other stretching and reaching to the ceiling. Her flaxen colored hair was a disheveled mess around her long face and down her middle back, her lips plump in a pout as she glared icy blue daggers at him.
Gaalin approached her and handed her the only pair of cotton pants without holes in them. “You need to get dressed my lord."
She continued to glare at him, and he noticed how blood shot her eyes were. She must have drunken a lot and slept very little.
“Why must you drink that foul ale? It is not good for you, your liver will rot out of your gut.” “You know why it is I drink Gaalin.” She grumbled again, shifting her weight on the mattress.
“Yes, I know why it is you drink. But why must you drink this slop?” Gaalin picked up a bottle and felt his stomach churn at the stench of the ale. She just grumbled in response to him.
"Edinburgh calls for you."
She clumsily stood up off the bed, tripping over her own toes towards him where he caught her with one arm.
“What for?" She mumbled.
"A dragon is attacking the city." He said calmly.
Gaalin tried to hand her the pants but instead she pushed herself away from him and began to walk away, pulling the lacings from the gown at her neck.
“I suppose I should attend to that problem then, yes?”
“Yes.”
“I’m safe to assume then, that there is some exhausted guard waiting for me at my door?”
“Yes, there’s two guards. They rode here on horseback, right at the beginning of the attack.”
She sighed, her head rolling back as she stretched once more. “Yes, of course they did.”
Shrugging her shoulders she let the material fall past her waist to the floor, leaving her to stand nude in front of her drow companion. She ignored his gaze, even though she felt his eyes begin to look her up and down.
Gaalin’s view started at the floor as he enjoyed a view he enjoyed almost every morning, his liege was perfection he thought to himself. She was nearly as tall as he, lean with well-toned muscles from her years of travel and battle. His gaze traveled up her long legs to pause momentarily at her plump buttocks, one he'd just love to reach out and grab.
Her waist, long and thin, her backside free of any blemish; even though he wanted to put some there, and elsewhere. Her navel to her breastbone, to her breasts. Gaalin felt his mouth water at the sight of them as she turned to catch the pants he tossed to her. He could ravish this elvish woman any day, all she’d have to do is ask.
She bent over to tug on her pants, and he felt a tug on the cotton of his own. He cleared his throat, turning slightly away from her to hide his erection from view; but enough to keep her body in site. Her breasts were magnificent, large with perfect pink perky nipples from the chilly air. He could imagine himself toying with those glorious mounds, oh he could imagine. For as tall as she was, her breasts and ass were big. Too big? No. Too much for an ordinary man to handle he assumed.
“Gaalin, a shirt please”
Gaalin’s eyes jerked up to meet her unaffectionate ones, the cold blue of her eyes could freeze a man. They were almost lifeless, without emotion, without the desire he felt boiling inside himself. This woman was a god to him, she was perfect in every way, in every detail, except the scar. He stepped quickly to a closet and began rummaging through her clothing as she sat on a chair and slipped her feet into leather boots, she began tying the lighter strips when he approached her again: this time a shirt in hand.
Yes, this woman was perfection to him he found himself thinking again. Yet he found himself tracing the blemish on her neck with only his gaze, his reach and touch would never find her. The jagged mark started at her left ear, split to cut across her cheek and follow her jawline to her chin before lining her throat to her collar bone. The injury was old, several years old, it has since healed but the scar was still hideous looking. It distracted him from looking at her symmetrical face, her large eyes, her straight nose, and her full lips.
He cleared his throat again when she pulled her shirt over her head, pushing her arms through the sleeves. Yes, he could touch this woman, his liege, all he wanted in his imagination: but never could he touch her in reality.
“Allow me to assist you with your armor my lord.” Gaalin said, lifting a heavy leather chest piece from a mannequin.
“Would you stop with the blasted ‘my lord’ shit?! I’ve told you, hundreds of times to not call me that. My name is Libelle, you know this. You’ve always known this. You call me that, or nothing at all.”
Gaalin chuckled, lifting the set of armor above her so she could lift her arms into the set. “My lord, forgive me will you? You’ve got guest downstairs, and I don’t wish to be thought poorly of by me calling you your given name.” He pulled the armor down around her, tightening the straps at her back. The plated leather was heavy, yet flexible enough for her to engage in battle in.
“So, just for today you shall allow me to call you lord.”
Libelle grumbled, adjusting the plated skirt about her waist. “No sense in arguing with you, huh?”
“Correct.”
“You will call me whatever you want to call me regardless.” She grumbled again, this time tightening her wrist cuffs. “When will my new armor be done with? Soon I hope? It has been about three months now.”
“I can't imagine it being much longer.” She stared at him once more with those icy eyes that still held no emotion, and he continued to wonder 'what is she thinking?'
She held a firm gaze with him.
“Send a letter to that black smith.”
“Yes, I’ll send one out in the morning.” Gaalin tugged her hair into a loose braid, ignoring the rat’s nest of knots. “Your helmet.”
Libelle took the masculine looking helmet and settled it into the crook of her arm. The helm gifted her with enough space for vision, but hid her face from the public: aiding in keeping her identity secret from peering eyes. Yes, townsfolk knew where she lived. But nay, folk hardly knew her true identity, if she so chose; she could walk among them as a commoner and no one would bat an eyelash.
She turned towards him, maintaining that cool gaze. She watched him watch her, watched his gaze travel up and down her now covered body. His lips twitched in a slight grin and she sighed.
"You look as if you’re needing to say something." She grumbled.
Gaalin straightened, "Why is it you say that?"
She crossed her arms across her chest, "You're eyeing me like a piece of delicate meat that you're ready to feast on."
Damn it all, Gaalin cursed to himself.
He stared at his lord all the time when an opportunity presented itself but not once had she ever confronted him about it. She had not once ever given any indication that his prying eyes bothered her. Those icy eyes of hers, since when had they begun to follow his?
He didn't say anything, a large lump building up in his throat. She was always so cold, not just to him but to all potential suitors. As the dragon slayer and as a commoner, she was content with being alone.
“So, do you want me then?"
The question caught him off guard. He felt his grey skin flush with warmth over her question, his heart skipped a beat, and sweat quickly covered his palms.
How should he answer her question?
Truthfully?
No, he couldn't do that.
If he chose to answer truthfully she would most likely clobber him. She'd be furious at him, right? What if he did answer her truthfully? Would the seemingly emotionless women standing in front of him return his desire?
Gaalin steadied himself, squaring his broad shoulders and lifting his chin. "No my lord. That'd be far more inappropriate than either of us should be comfortable with. No, I do not want you like that."
She chuckled, the sound just above a whisper as she was adjusting two leather straps at her sides. He watched that already cold glare turn darker, too dark for a living being. He questioned himself if he had hurt her with her response, perhaps she had wanted the truth from him. He flexed his already taught muscles.
The light smile fled her lips and she returned to the dragon slayer behind the set of armor. Not many people were aware of her true identity, let alone that she was a woman. He was but only a few who knew her, the real her. Perhaps he could think he was special to her, because when he really thought about it: he was the only one allowed close to her. He stared at her from the corner of his eyes, her bulky armor hid her curves, and her height made others think her a man already. Her voice didn’t help any, she didn’t speak like a feminine female, and her voice was more hoarse and rough like a man’s.
Any common man could not handle her, all the kings could not handle her.
She looked over her shoulder at her expectant drow, “Go ready yourself. You're coming with me, I am not riding with these fools by myself.”
“Yes, go fetch your blades. I’ll be down in a moment.”
Gaalin walked away and out the room to head down the stairs. He passed through the dark halls with a disgruntled sigh, muscles in his arms bulging as he flexed and clenched his fists. He rounded a corner and slowly descended the short flight of stairs, looking into the dining hall as light began to shine onto the table.
The table was barren, hardly ever used and in prime condition. The hearth was barely breathing at the head of the room, near it sat several baskets of fresh produce. Retrieving a ripe red apple, he rounded to more corners at a steady pace until he was at his room. He entered his living quarters, shutting the double doors behind him and sitting on the edge of his bed. He stared down at his raging erection with a sigh, his blood was pumping and he felt hot all over.
“Yes my lady Libelle... Yes, I want you lass.” He murmured to himself before taking a bite of the sweet fruit.
Libelle stood in the entry hall listening through the front doors to the men outside her house. They were hurriedly talking about the catastrophe in Edinburgh, and their excitement to meet the dragon slayer for the first time. From what she had gathered listening to their banter, it sounded like an elder dragon had come out of the mountains to feast on the flocks. It was rare for these dragons to travel into the cities, they were obviously older and wiser. Stronger than the common fire lizard. Their scales were harder to pierce and their breath more deadly.
She had come across several in her travels and most were able to be spoken with if they were calm enough, and she had convinced more than one to leave the settlements be. Others she had risked her life to bring down, the battles always long and exhausting.
She shifted on her feet, the heavy armor rattling as it adjusted more comfortably over her body. She was hung over, her head was pounding and felt like a stone block had replaced her head on her shoulders. The beaming sunlight sneaking into the house through the windows threatened her with blindness.
Curses. How was she supposed to fight like this? Perhaps she should just send Gaalin. No... He couldn't handle an elder by himself.
"Damn beasty." She grumbled to herself in regards to the dragon.
"Ah, I'm now a beasty am I?" Gaalin chuckled as he entered the foyer, slinging a long, well-crafted bow over his shoulder.
“No, you've always been a beasty." Libelle stepped back as he crossed in front of her to the door. "Its days like today that you’re more a beasty than the ones that breathe fire."
He chuckled, "You wouldn't be saying that if you had not drank so much of that ale."
"Hush. Fetch my horse." She would not have any of his harassment. Not now anyways.
Her retainer only chuckled and grinned, he stepped closer to her and in an intentionally clumsy way put her helm over her head. She gave him a foul scowl and he smiled back at her, treating her piss-poor mood in a gentle and playful manner. Her icy eyes continued to glare at him through the narrow gaps in her helm.
"Are you ready for the excitement then?"
"Excitement you say?" She went to reach for the door when Gaalin stepped in front of her, and placed his hand on the knob. He smiled a smile for her, the only person he would ever do so for.
“Yes, excitement. Can't you hear that chitter chatter of theirs? They want to meet the dragon slayer, even a hung-over slayer."
She growled at him, he laughed and opened the door wide. A sudden swarm of light blinding them both before their eyes adjusted and there stood the two Edinburgh guards, not panting as hard as they were when Gaalin left them the first time. They stood frozen in place as Libelle walked out the door past them, without even acknowledging their presence.
Gaalin was quick on her heels, silently signaling the guards to follow as they walked to the stable. Gaalin rushed past her and opened one of the stall doors to one of the several horses they kept. Out stepped a fine boned creature, one with dusty black legs and an amber-brown coat covered by a grey wool blanket. It stepped high, its shoed hooves clicking on the ground as Gaalin pulled the blanket from its back. One of the guards approached the horse, attempting to secure the delicate creature by its halter.
The horse screeched and reared up at the man, pinning its ears and opening its mouth to snap at his hands. Gaalin scowled at the guard, "It's not recommended to touch this nasty creature. He merely tolerates me."
He lightly but quickly brushed down its coat as Libelle approached her imported stallion. Brought over from a warmer country, her steed was bred for speed and stamina. Not built like the work horses this land was so proud of. The horse was just as tall, not as strong, but could cover more ground in a shorter time.
She handed her horse an apple that he happily snatched from her hand, then pinned its ears back and kicked a hind leg at Gaalin when he approached with a saddle.
"Tend to that chestnut mare over there." Gaalin snapped at the guards as he avoided the horses hard foot.
The two guards rushed to the second stall and swung open the gate. Gaalin's large and sturdy mare nickered as she walked out and the two guards were at its side where they rapidly brushed the horse down and began to tack it. The horse was well tamed, taking the bit swiftly and hardly flinching as the girth was tightened around its waste. Unlike other people’s horses.
Gaalin handed his lord the horse's reins and she merely looked down at the fine leather. "You said the dragon was attacking Edinburgh?"
The tallest guard again spoke, standing at attention. "Yes sir, it came from the south. Attacked the farms and started killing livestock. It was focusing its breath at the main gates when we rode here."
Gaalin looked back at his lord who was still inspecting the tack seemingly without a care. He gestured towards the guards horses who ran towards their already exhausted steeds. They mounted the steeds who each grunted under the new weight of their riders. Gaalin leaped onto the back of the mare, and once again looked to his lord.
"My lord, we should take the eastern roads. We can reach Edinburgh faster."
"We should take the mountain pass." She responded.
“My lord, the horses may not make that trip. That path is nothing but steep slopes and currently time is of the essence."
"It's all right, you take the eastern roads. I'll take the mountain pass and assess the damage."
Both guards appeared puzzled, they looked between themselves, their exhausted mounts, the manservant and a seemingly mad dragon slayer.
"Pardon my rudeness slayer, but unless you can fly you will not reach Edinburgh in time if you take the mountain pass."
The other guard piped in, "Yes, how will you reach it in time? If there is time… we may be too late now..."
Libelle chuckled and looked at the men from behind her helm. "I have my ways." She held the reins tighter in her hand before stepping up into the stirrup and swinging herself into the saddle.
"Go now, meet me there when you can."
The guards didn't budge even as Gaalin urged his horse away from her side. His mount slowly walking towards the clearing in the yard that would lead him to the closest road.
"But, but slayer.... You cannot fly can you?"
"No, but he can."
Her stallion snorted, pawing at the frozen ground. Its breath fogged with each breath and she felt him tensing beneath her. His muscles were quivering with anticipation and his legs danced about.
"I don't mean to argue slayer, but that horse of yours looks like it will break over that pass. It is not sturdy like the drafts." One guard said timidly, lowering his eyes when Gaalin gave him a chilling glare.
Libelle ignored him, loosening her grip on the reins, the horse moved into a long stride trot. Its feet extending far out in front of the other as she turned it into a circle, warming up its muscles. "Gaalin, get your ass moving.”
Gaalin chuckled. "Yes my lord."
He continued walking down the steep hill beside the house. The guards took only one more moment to stare before urging their horses into a trot to keep pace with Gaalin. They stared wide eyed as her horse let out another shrill whinny, rearing up high on its hind legs and bolting like an arrow let loose from the string of a bow.
The duo rushed past them down the sloped hill next to the house, and past the stone paved path. Yes, the paved path would be for smoother traveling. However it would take her far out of the way from her destination. She flew through the tree line before her horse leapt from a ledge, the grassy soil ending and turning to a sharp sloped ledge filled with rocks and gravel. The stallion’s feet stayed tucked under it for an eternity before it finally extended its hooves, catching its weight and launching itself further down the incline. Swiftly and gracefully gliding down the hillside.
"We best hurry up now. Unless we wish to miss the fight." Gaalin stated coldly as his lord moved further from his sight.