A Time For Dragons

Chapter Two--Madara

"Damnit all to the hells woman!" The shirtless bandit growled, the lean muscles of his chest tensing and rippling as he bared his teeth and slammed his closed fist against the table hard enough to make the platter near him leap. Madara paid him no heed as she continued sewing, he might bare his teeth, but he'd never hurt her. He needed her.

"I warned you," she retorted, paying more attention to the gash than the red-haired man who glared at her. "When I sewed you up a week ago, I said go easy with it. But no, the great Gerath the red knows all."

Warm golden light from the fire and near by candle filled the room, casting strange, faint double shadows from the feather bed, table, chairs and small upholstered sofa. A spread of food was set out on the table and a thin pipe smoldered in Gerath's hand. His armor sat in the corner complete with the painted black shield. Madara could see the crest under the paint if she squinted. Gerath was another casualty of the new King's war. Unlike the Three-Day-King, Gerath was nothing if not a survivor. He colored his hair with garnia to turn his white golden locks red, and painted black over his father's sigil shield.

"Fighting was stupid, what if someone recognized you?"

"No one cares anymore." Gerath's voice held a surprising softness. He chewed at his bottom lip a bit before continuing, "I've dragon's blood, but I'm no dragon." He took a deep inhale from his pipe, holding the smoke for a moment before exhaling through his nose. "You've seen the scars."

Madara smirked down at the wound. "Your burn is from acid, not fire."

He was quiet for a time, staring down at her like he used to. "Padrig says you want the Three-Day-King in payment."

"Yes," she replied without looking up, but as she tilted her head, the light caught her scar, and he frowned.

"Wouldn't you rather your once-betrothed minus an appendage or three."

"My revenge is finished." She pulled the thread taut and tied a knot in it. "You helped me with that."

"Are you certain?" He lofted a brow. "Because freeing my cousin doesn't sound like you're finished with your revenge."

She wet her lips. "I don't want him to die. He's—"

"The last of an age that's come to a close. See, I remember how to speak like a lord." Gerath grinned. "If they find out the Black Dragon has flown, they might look a little too hard for the Red Dragon. Maybe someone will notice that the cutthroat and bandit Gerath the Red looks an awful lot like Garythix Andexian. Unlike my dear cousin, I don't have a dragon to protect me like in some hero's ballad. No, Rexxas ate Kaethygar long before either of us were born. So I'd end up with my head on a spike before the winter snows melted."

"Remember when we met?"

He nodded. "Aye, hard to forget a look like the one you gave me after taking my arm, no matter how hard I try."

"This morning I went to market and when passing the square, it was like I was lured into a trap of fate. Before I knew what I was doing, or why, I stood before the cage. My fingers brushed his and I saw what I saw that first time I met you." She swallowed and raised her eyes to his. The Three-day-King might have had eyes like the heart of flame, but Gerath's eyes had golden amber nearest his pupil and blue at the edges. Like his cousin he was a pale creature of fire.

"A pox on omens," he grumbled.

"So you'd let him die?"

"Aye." Gerath swallowed and leaned back in his chair, his eyes staring far away and focusing on nothing as Madara dabbed ointment over the gash. "I've heard stories, you know. That there are people who secretly pray for my cousin's rescue and the reemergence of dragons. I don't think those people remember what we're really like." He took another long pull from his pipe. "My cousin killed almost a thousand men with Rexxas, and he was practically a boy. Our ancestors burned the last capitol to cinders. Fuck, what's that keep at Orwen called? Ruby...fort?"

"No, that's at Red Harbor." She smirked. "You would have made a terrible lord if you don't know your own lands."

He winked at her. "Aye, I would have."

Rolling her eyes, she sighed exasperated. "The old capitol was Oaths Pledge."

"Stupid name for a city if there ever was one. My ancestors laid waste to that city the Red, Black, Gold and Green dragons burned it and all who lived there to so much ash. Now Oaths Pledge is a scarred black pit in the land even some thousand odd years later. The King of Orwen captured the wife of Dread Ghaeryth, he burned her at a pyre on the wall. She wasn't from Vaeln she was, like you, from Irehn so flame could and did kill her. Our family story is she was a sorceress and whispered to him to burn them all. Everyone else merely hears that he snapped and burned every inch of the city without mercy. But it's not as though the others stayed back and twiddled their thumbs."

Madara smirked and smoothed her fingers over the bandage. "You talk a lot when you smoke."

"Aye, I do." He smiled lazily and traced his soft fingers over her jaw. "Stay with me tonight. Like you used to."

She closed her eyes and for the briefest of moments allowed herself to enjoy his touch before moving away from him and clearing her throat. "Any other wounds?"

With a stern look from her he folded his hand in his lap. "No, that was the worst of it. The bruises will heal."

Nodding she took a sachet of herbs and a pot of ointment from her basket. "Here's a tea and some ointment for the bruises. You know what to do." After setting the ointment to the side she stood.

"You should stay."

"Gerath."

The corners of his lips quirked up in a playful grin. "It'll be the last time you'll get a good nights rest for a while. Being on the run you won't have very many restful nights. Trust me, I speak from ten years of experience." He raised the pipe again and paused. "Take the feather bed, eat your fill, have a bath if you wish. Come morning you'll be back in your cottage packing and making bombs for me again."

"Where are we going once he's freed?"

"Red Harbor, from there..." He smirked one corner of his lips rising higher than the other like he had some little secret. "Lyndaen."

"Why there?"

He lulled his head back, stretching his neck. "It's a secret that's not mine to tell."