A Ballad of the Sun and the Moon

Chapter 1

Chasen Manor
Darkfrith, England
August 14, 1778


Kimber Langford couldn't sleep. He flopped over onto his side kicking the sheet off his legs and wiped the black hair from his sweating face. Now sprawled atop the duvet of his ebony bed, he followed the faint moonlight peaking through the Tudor windows creeping over the floor onto his bare chest.

It was hot and humid, a right balmy summer in the shire of Darkfrith. The summer solstice had passed a few weeks ago and Kimber was thankful for that: it would soon become cooler and the days progressively shorter.

The heir to the marquisate and future Alpha of the tribe stood up from his bed and went to the open french doors leading out to a balcony hoping for the slightest of breeze. He stretched his arms wide, gripping the iron window panes and stood before the night, neither glass nor shade between them. He contemplated the view from here, the shadow-casting hills and rich black trees and the beckoning skies above them both.

The air was oppressive, as thick and sour as curdled milk, the threat of rain a mere suggestion dancing in the stratosphere.

He'd already been out that evening, with his brother and sisters, with his tribesmen and had only returned just a few hours prior. His father hadn't joined him, nor his mother, because Christoph Langford, Marquess of Darkfrith and Alpha of the tribe was away in London conducting the necessary standard business; trade deals, land acquisitions and such actions befitting a man of nobility. He'd taken with him his wife and Kimber's noble mother, Rue.

The night was dark and the cloud cover low, dropping spirals of fog into the forest. Why not? thought Kimber, what's another few hours in flight before sun up if sleep won't come?

There would be few of his kin in the skies now apart from the occasional patrol. It was well past midnight and although their kind took to the skies whenever possible, they still had fields to tend, silver to mine, metal to smith. By day and by law the shire appeared as any other community in the rural Northern hills of England.

Kimber curled his toes against the warm maple floor, a final grounding before Turning to smoke. His briefs dropped to the floor as he surged out the window up and away from the balcony. The feeling of weightless was none like any other, rendering gravity a mere illusion that held lesser beings to the earth. He gained a bit of distance from the slate roof, oozing through the thick air before taking form.

The first breath was always marvelous, sending light and energy through his entire being. He stole his second delicious breath as his wings beat the vapors vigorously, slicing through the thickness daring the atmosphere to deny him. He looked back down upon his large chamber, just a small fraction of what was the entirety of Chasen Manor. He adjusted his eyes gaining a wider view of the manor. In truth from above - apart from its size - it wasn't all that impressive apart from a great, glass Adam dome. Because from above it wasn't intended to be admired. A grand home for a marquisate, outfitted with every facet of grace and luxury in mind, it turned even the most difficult to impress to true aesthetes, for it was meant to draw wandering glances away from the sky.

Kimber was climbing now, searching for thinner air, his need for cooler temperatures dire. Anything to escape the sludge. He caught a mild current, a pocket of hot gas trying to escape and rode it up.

He inhaled twice catching a hint of something peculiar riding the back of an errant vapor. It lingered but a fleeting moment, beckoning Kimber to follow.

He loved the view from up high, looking over everything before he broke through the clouds. It all seemed so small though, so little for a man of ambition. He was meant for greatness, he knew.

He began to think of her again, his future mate. A surge of something primal fluttered through him. He started with faces of the young women he knew in the shire. The faces of all the women on the verge of the rebirth. There was Gheillis, fair with eyes like corn flowers. Elizabeth, tall and shapely, breasts begging to be cupped. Eleanor, slender and elegant. Charlotte, Hattie, Myrtle. Sara and Nora. Mildred and Mercy. And then there was Lydia. Beautiful Lydia. Fire red hair, with a heart to match. Clearly an Alpha amongst the females apart from his mother and sisters, she exuded beauty even for a drákon; her long, graceful limbs; her lithe gate full of confidence; her eyes that beckoned. They'd kissed many times, and once or twice even stole away into that spot in the wood were young sweethearts often went believing their elders didn't know.

But Kimber was no longer a boy and no longer interested in a sweetheart offering doting kisses and heavy petting. He was a man grown, next-in-line for Alpha and the prospect of his future wife was unrelenting. He wanted a woman that was truly drákon and he needed a mate who could Turn. And all those women were just pretty faces with a whisper of dragon inside them.

The strati were well beneath him now, and the guards underneath them. They would be patrolling in patterns, flying in close formation maintaining visibility over the shire and not taking their pleasure in the higher altitudes. Not a single one had even seen him in his ascent. It was irrelevant really, but still a source of pride that he'd bypassed them undetected.

Kimber did a swirling loop cleaving a small cloud in two. He was rising now climbing higher beating his wings enjoying that animal ache of pulsing muscle. The moon was brightly visible up here casting an eerie ring as if ensnared by the light of the sun.

He caught the scent again, this time stronger with hints of sunlight and fresh, spring grass sending sweet anticipation along his sleek lines. He stretched his neck out seeking it, keeping it near, following it back down through the atmosphere.

The clouds were receding, taking their threat of rain with them as if something had scarred them into retreat. He looked back North as he crossed the boundary seeing most of the shire. Past this point it was forbidden to take shape as dragon. A deviant smile escaped from his lips -or at least something resembling a smile. Sharp fangs hardly made for an inviting face.

The scent was alluring, addictive even. Closer now to the ground it mingled pleasantly with the neutral flavors of moist earth and forest duff. His talons reflexively contracted grazing his own pads sending the impulse to go on. It pulled him forward, beckoning curiosity. He was certain there was almost something lyrical to it, never constant. Sometimes notes of sun-dried apricots, or a crescendo of melons ripening in the sun.

The sound of hooves striking ground pulled him from his daze. It was a single horse, one whose rhythm Kimber knew; a dapple gelding his father had acquired this past winter sold for its overly calm nature. The horse certainly didn't sound calm, snorting and gasping for air.

That the animal was terrified was no surprise. Lesser beasts instinctively shied away from those with dragon blood. In Darkfrith there were wild birds in the trees, and mice tucked away in barns, but that was nearly all. There were no wild pigs, no foxes, no hedgehogs or rabbits. Sometimes the occasional stag braved his way into the untouched green, gorging himself on abundant acorns and hickory nuts, and then fleeing as quickly as he had come. The tribe kept a single flock of sheep in the hills to keep up appearances – but the sheep had to be herded by the children. They panicked too easily when adults wandered near. And horses were unfortunately a necessity – a beast which by nature spooked easily, a dragon atop its back notwithstanding.

What concerned Kimber was the fact that there was a single rider spurring his mount on. The drákon rarely travelled outside the shire and - excluding the Alpha - never without permission from the council. When they did then always in twos or threes or more. Something had happened and no doubt it was Kimber who the guard would be seeking.

The rider passed him and Kimber was close enough to catch that frisson of energy that all their kind emitted. It was Quinten, one of his father's oldest guards who wasn't due back for a few more days and with Rufus and George with him.

Kimber forced himself to release that last sliver of pleasing fragrance, despite the dragon whispering otherwise. He banked hard and stayed as low to the tree line knowing that Quinten would likely Turn upon crossing the border. He didn't permit him knowledge of his presence though, preferring to avoid a lecture later about why Turning outside their territory was not permitted. Besides, Kimber was the epitome of stealth. If his own kind couldn't detect him, humans didn't have a chance. Excursions outside the shire remained a secret for him and him alone.

With tipped wings he slowed his pursuit giving the guard time to cover adequate ground. As predicted he felt the energy rise from the man's Turn to smoke and saw as he breached the tree line rising up high enough to take form. The guard was dragon now, flying with intent towards Chasen manor.

Kimber beat his wings thrice and very hard, accelerating after him. He passed over the tethered and riderless horse on the single road leading into Darkfirth, the desperation for air a roar in Kimber's ears. The man must have had it dire, racing as if the dawn lapped at his tail. Kimber made his presence known, causing the guard to loop back around to. He waited for Kimber's Turn like waiting for his command, then trailed him down through the trees where they could speak. As dragons, unfortunately, they couldn't. Not even the slightest gutteral utterance was possible for them in their pure form; for nature, ever keeping balance, always demanded a price be paid for Gifts. And one paymeny was the affliction of silence.

"My Lord!" exclaimed the guard.

"What news, Quinten?" asked Kimber nearly simultaneously.

"We've got a runner."

****

It was a serious threat that Kimber had not been expecting, but one he nonetheless felt prepared to handle.

With his father away, Kimber was obligated to care for the tribe's safety - a task he'd been raised and molded for. And the tribe's safety, as he had learned that very early morning, was in jeopardy.

For countless years the tribe had lived in near perfect silence, echoes of an older time, of ancient spells and hybrid magic. No one knew the *drákon's* true origins. Some claim the serpent came first learning to exist in disguise, to fight the Turn and walk among the humans, to live as they did. Others said they were powerful sorcerers, using spells and runes to change their human form to beast, giving them and their children the innate ability to Turn to smoke, to dragon and back again. But what was certain and unanimously agreed upon, was that humans, fearful by nature, preferred to destroy anything they didn't understand. It seemed an instinct that they snuff out the beauty of the world and was simply best that they never found out about the drákon and their hidden slice of heaven tucked away in the green hills of northern England, where the mists still stroked the earth, where smoke and clouds could mingle as one.

There was nothing they would win by meeting before dawn so Kimber waited to rouse the council until after sun up. Despite the early hour, the sun was already preparing another hot day.

Council meetings were formal affairs. So it certainly was a sight to behold when all the members showed up leaking sweat from under their powdered wigs and sporting pit stains encircling the sleeves of the finest of frock coats.

As presiding Alpha, only Kimber had the gall to attire himself in something more suited for the sweltering heat and that certainly did not involve a coat.

The windows were usually kept sealed in the council's quarters maintaining the image of authority. The council, after all, made laws and governed the tribe. And the Alpha ruled above them.

Kimber filed in last after all eleven members were already seated, tucked in at their tables. Instead of taking a seat in his sequestered chair looking out onto the men, he waltzed behind them throwing open every casement abandoning the tradition of secrecy. The collective relief from unstifled air was audible.

"Please Quinten, repeat your discovery so that we may all hear," commanded the Earl, who remained standing by an open window.

Quinten was not on the council, but rather one of the marquess' most trusted guards. He had preceded Lord Langford's return from London, who wasn't due for another fortnight. As was custom he wasn't granted a seat and stood in the open before the council.

The few who sat with their backs to him twisted their necks to listen.

"We were passing through Bradford by coach. Thought we would stop there before sun down so as not to risk an accident with the horses. We sat down for dinner and caught word that the Wakesfield manor just outside of town was robbed. I didn't think much of it until I felt a presence as the sun went down. Just me."

"Are you sure it wasn't the men you were traveling with?" asked Adam Richards, sitting towards the back.

"Yes," he replied with irritation, "I can tell the difference between my own men and another."

A grizzled, older gentleman, Quinten was a skilled hunter. There was no doubt he had felt the essence of drákon that all their kind emitted.

"It wasn't in the tavern so I went outside. It became stronger and was certainly moving. We couldn't risk following it further. But he seemed to be headed North. I took one of the horses here as soon as I could. Rufus and George are still in Bradford with the carriage."

"Anything else?" asked Devon Rickman.

Quinten shook his head.

"Thank you Quinten," said Kimber.

Quinten gave a bow and left.

The council waited until the chamber doors had been shut before resuming their meeting.

"Well?" began Kimber with a sweeping gesture of the hand. "Anyone have any theories how a runner has gone so long without notice?"

A species that was bound by the strictest of secrecy was also bound by the strictest of rules. And at the forefront of all the rules upon rules, the unflinching law from which all other laws stemmed, was loyalty to the tribe. Silence.

Containment.

Containment meant that no Other would chance upon man dissolving into smoke moving about with clear purpose. It meant on the clearest of nights, no well-respected, sober member of human society would look up and report having seen scales and talons streaking across a violet sky. It meant the drakon could exercise their Gifts (within reason) in the safety of Darkfrith. It meant that the Alpha, and a select few chosen by the council would go out when necessary and represent the shire for the mirage it needed to be; a place with farms and orchards, mills and smiths and schools, and black-deep mines laden with silver; a place filled with simple country folk living simple, country lives.

Every now and then one was born who could not stand the life. Who could not bear the rules of the shire, its iron-clad laws, the secrets, the stringency of the council. And sometimes, such a person would run and the tribe had to act quickly to bring him back.

John Chapman, a stout man in his sixties, was the first to speak. "I've gone through all the records. Birth certificates, deaths. I've pulled out the names of youths who met untimely ends. Perhaps we should start there?"

Kimber swallowed the sour taste in his mouth. It wasn't unknown that member's of the tribe faked their own death to escape. There were two individuals that came strongly to mind having been coincidentaly linked.

The first was his own mother before his birth. Long thought dead, Clarissa Rue Hawthorne had lived as the infamous Smoke Thief of London stealing gems for a living. Once her illustrious career became too illustrious, Kimber's father, the marquess Christoph Langford, was forced to take notice and after much trouble took her as his bride.

The second was a man named Tamlane Williams. He had cut off his own hand to stage a drowning. He'd been unfortunately intertwined in the Langford's tumultuous courtship and after a nine year stint in London was discovered, hunted down, and captured. He now lived in a small cottage outside the village, never having attempted escape again.

Kimber nodded his head granting Chapman permission to continue.

"There is Nathaniel Dover, drowned in the river during the spring thaw 3 years back."

"His body was found," informed Kimber. He had pulled the blue corpse from the river himself, the mere memory sending a chill down his spine despite the heat.

"Alright," answered John Chapman, pulling out a string of papers and placing them face down in a separate pile. "Moving on. Then there is Dick Willoughby. Six months ago got a blood infection after lodging an axe in his foot. Turned to mist. Never rematerialized."

"Interesting. Worth keeping in our peripheral. But this thief has been at it for a year now," said the Earl. "Anyone else?"

"Zacharias Plimkin. Died of the pox at 2 years-"

"Good god man don't waste our time!" snapped Kimber's brother, Rhys, as he ripped the sweltering wig off his head. He was two years younger than Kim's twenty-six, handsome, poetic in the way only a second son could be; brash and crude when it pleased him; a prince's heart beating beneath white lawn and a waistcoat of Italian silk. Born to his position on the council, Kimber was certainly glad to have him there with his father away. Disguised in a nonchalant veneer, Rhys was an astute, practical man who could say the reckless sort of things that an Alpha could not.

"Who else?" prompted Kimber.

"That's it. Every other possible runner has been captured in the past eighty years."

The chamber was silent as Kimber looked from face to face of the men who were out of ideas. He moved to one of the tables, reaching across its expanse pulling out various news clippings.

Bath: Vaggard Robs Visitors, No Suspects

Guest's Jewelry Taken at Perrot's Brook Ball

The Lodger Thief Strikes Again - Teddington

Duke Offers Reward for Lodger Thief

Coventry Spared Lodger Thief's Attentions

The Lodger Thief was mentioned again and again and again. Kimber hadn't paid much attention until now as there was nothing suspicious about the bloke or his methods.

"Will someone fetch a map." It was less of a request and more of a command directed at the sitting gentlemen. A large atlas of the British Isles was unrolled onto the table. Kimber proceeded to put large x's at every location mentioned by the press.

"He seems to hit country house parties and balls. Taking nothing of extravagance. He follows a pattern, moving from South to North," explained the Earl.

"All the more reason to bolster our boarders," interrupted Claude Grady. Grady, unwed and slightly older than Kimber, was a strictly traditional man, preferring adherence to the strict practice of isolation and approached issues without any imagination. Like his father before him, he was a constant thorn in the Alpha's side.

"Are we preventing an invasion?" Kimber asked snidely. "We want to catch him, not scare him off. It just so happens Hawkshead will be holding their annual hunt this coming weekend. I'm willing to bet my finest stallion that that's where he will hit next."

"I say we take to the skies if the night permits. A few of us fly over Hawkshead, prompt him to Turn, herd him back to Darkfrith and then take him down," suggested Calvin Acton.

There were a few mumbled agreements, though the idea of permitting the Turn outside the shire was hardly palpable to most of the council members. The safety of the tribe depended on their secret being kept. Besides, the weather had been too clear lately to depend on it.

Kimber closed his eyes, pondering the mind of the thief, the peculiar game he seemed to be playing with the tribe. What sort of person would he be?

Cunning, without a doubt. He had figured out a way of slipping out of Darkfrith undetected and unmissed.

Defiant. He'd allowed the press to spotlight him and still kept stealing.

Intelligent. Using his Gifts to steal without garnering those tell-tale names such as The Smoke Thief.

Brazen or stupid? Kimber couldn't decide if it was a death wish or a challenge. Why would a runner follow such a predictable pattern leading right to Darkfrith's doorstep?

"He is trying to draw us out. Probably means to goad us into exposing ourselves. We aren't going to let him."

"And if he escapes?" asked Calvin Acton.

"He won't escape."

"How can you be so-"

"Have I ever lost a runner?"

There was silence in the room, as it dawned on each councillor that he meant to hunt the runner alone.

"Even your father would never be so reckless," snapped Grady. "We cannot allow you to leave without a contingency of-"

"Need I remind you that I am acting Alpha while my father is away. You allow me nothing," Kimber said, placing his knuckles on the table and raising his shoulders towering over the seated men. It wasn't a threat of a haughty youth, but rather the quelling of insubordination by a powerful man having earned his right to be there. His voice sliced through the room sharp as hardened steal, resounding into silence.

He waited a pause for good measure, letting his authority sink in.

"Rhys and my sister Joan will accompany me."

The acrid murmurs began.

Permitting his brother to leave the shire was one thing, but allowing one of the women to leave on a potentially dangerous Hunt was unheard of.

"And you'll what? The three of you fly over to Hawkesmead and chase the runner down? Your sister is too valuable for us to allow such thing."

Grady again. Absolutely no imagination.

"The Langfords are invited to this hunting party annually. Who better to attend incognito than two bachelors and their unwed sister."

Kimber needed a female of his family at his side. He needed someone who could move around a country manor at ease, who was permitted to go where the men were not. He needed someone that felt at ease with Others and was familiar with their ways. He needed someone who would unsuspiciously be travelling with jewelry. And he needed someone who could, if need be, Turn.

Joan was one of the three women in existence that could. The other two being Kimber's mother who was away with the marquess, and his twin sister Audrey who was heavy with child.

"The thief is betting on a large number of *drákon*. He'll be expecting a retinue of our finest men and above all he'll be expecting my father," explained Kimber. "Are we in agreement then?"

"A vote, as you well know, must be issued first," snipped Grady.

By their own laws, an Alpha could quash a vote, but not call on one.

Sometimes Kimber wished Grady had the gall to openly challenge him and get it over with. This feudal political struggle that the man seemed to take pleasure in was tedious and it would have been easier settled in blood.

"All in favor of permitting myself and my sister Joan as escort to the Alpha?" Rhys didn't even need a prompt from his brother. He relished the idea of a short getaway from the shire and knew his sister would be delighted as well.

Grady sat there puffed up and red wishing he could change the laws so that sons of the Alpha were no longer given seats on the council. How he craved that kind of power.

Seven hands shot up in favor and Kimber allowed himself a fleeting smile.

"It's settled then."