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Chapter 39

Fionn feathered his wings to allow him to stall and drop just short of the ridge. Burning buildings, and a mob chasing her . . . It would seem that his Scrap was doing her usual best to raise chaos! And trust the dvergar to make his life complicated. He carefully scratched a set of symbols on the edge of the ridge. It would take a while for the spell to work, but such forces were intertwined. He'd laid the foundation for this spell on Morrisey Island years before.

He changed and trotted down through the coppiced woodland to the path that they had been running down. It would take the citizens of Vorlian's demesne some time to recover from having their hair frizzled by a breath of dragon-fire above them. Vorlian was, by dragon standards, a very enlightened overlord, who generally confined himself to consuming their taxes, occasional livestock and miscreants. A strange dragon was going to have the locals in fits and squalling for their protector—who was conveniently absent. If Fionn was any judge, he wouldn't be flying back for at least three or four days, by which time Fionn had every intention of being elsewhere.

He could hear them panting along so he sat down to wait.

Then there was excited flurry of barking and the black and white sheepdog pup ran up to him and danced gleefully around him. Fionn was rather surprised at the joyous reception he was getting.

* * *

Díleas suddenly barked and ran ahead. Meb was barely staggering by now. But she looked up to see what form of trouble had found them this time. The relief at seeing Finn standing there with Díleas up on hind legs yipping excitedly was almost too much. "Oh master! I thought you'd gone off without us," she panted out, dropping his pack, and doing her best not to join Díleas.

"Now, Scrap. As if I'd do that," he said, cheerfully. "Anyway, it seems that you have found help." He looked at the innkeeper's daughter and her lover, who had panted to a halt. "And one who has taken some blows for you, by the looks of it," he said, looking at the young man.

"Huh," said Meb. "She caused all this trouble telling her father that first you . . . and then when you were away, that I was her lover. And I had to hit him," Meb pointed, "because he tried to hit Díleas."

Finn laughed. "Serves him right. And the fire?"

"I had nothing to do with it. Her father said he'd have me locked up if I didn't marry his daughter. So when the kitchen caught fire, I ran away."

Finn laughed some more, this time until tears ran down his face. "I see the bride followed you, Scrap. She'd be well served, and so would you, if I took you back and let them marry the two of you off."

"I'd like to go back and explain," said Meb. "We still owe them for the lodging. But I don't see why I should marry her." She couldn't exactly point out that it would be a very disappointing wedding night for both of them.

Finn shook his head. "No, we were well-enough overcharged yesterday, and seeing as you brought my pack, I've no need to go back. And explanations are so tedious. We have a ship to catch, Scrap."

"Erm." The big fellow that had hit her cleared his throat. "Masters," he said apologetically. "Um. Keri has just told me what really happened. I must apologize, young master. I . . . I thought . . . Anyway, is there any chance that you would need a clerk? I can scribe and do numbers and . . . and if I go back there old man Branna—the innkeeper, uh, Keri's father, will have me locked up at best or gelded for rape at worst. I . . . we . . . want to get away."

"The highway is all yours," said Finn.

"But, please, we have no money," said the girl, smiling at him in a way that would have had Meb's stepmother call her a trollop.

"A common problem . . ." Finn stopped. Sniffed. Looked at the young man, "I'll pay your passage to Lapithidia. A scribe should find work there."

Meb did not like that at all.

"But," said Finn, "I think we need to get off this track and walk across the fields for a while. They're going to be looking for you soon and we want to be in time to catch the tide."

"Not to mention the dragon," said Meb, shuddering.

Finn nodded. "I wouldn't mention that," he said with a foxy grin. "I don't want to catch it."

So they made their way across two sets of fields, and down to the track which led to the coast. After their rather unfortunate start the two newcomers were doing their best to ingratiate themselves with Finn and even Meb. Meb didn't really understand it too well. But she did know that it made her feel uncomfortable. If this Justin was a scribe—a man with a valuable profession—why then had Keri's father been happy to marry her off to an apprentice jewel-trader (or possibly a smuggler)? Why was Justin so happy to leave his home and all his possessions behind? Yes, there had been a mob—but surely he could have simply taken the innkeeper's daughter back and been the hero of the hour? Maybe even been accepted by the innkeeper?

It smelled like old fish. Meb set out to ferret it out of him. And just what had made Finn suddenly decide to help them? Thinking of smells, it was almost as if he'd scented something.

For a small price they got a fishing boat to give them a ride up the coast to a larger port. Meb found that with a little flattery Justin the scribe expanded like a flower in the sun. The poor man had been the victim of such jealous abuse, merely because he was handsome and skilled, she found out. Which was why he just at present was not working. They were complete falsehoods of course, merely because his employer had thought that he was being successful with a landlady that he'd fancied himself. "Meanwhile I was having it off with his wife and his daughter." As he was boasting to another, younger male, he felt no need to be shy about his conquests. "Girls can't resist me," Meb was informed. "And they can't get enough." He gestured.

Meb, who had grown up around fishermen, but under Mother Hallgerd's eye, in an odd combination of coarse terminology, but actual prudery, found it hard to deal with.

"So, youngster . . . I bet even a pretty boy like you has had some good sluts in your travels," said Justin, now convinced that Meb was his best friend.

"Er." Meb was left literally wordless and blushing.

Justin grinned. Slapped him on the back. "You get some silver out of that old master of yours's strongbox. He must be rolling in it. Keri brought me some she'd prigged last night. He won't miss a bit. I'll lose Keri and we'll go for a night's whoring that you won't forget in a hurry."

Meb retreated in confusion. This was a long way from her romantic ideals. And as if she'd ever take Finn's silver! She had to talk to Finn. Soon.

 

Fionn had caught the scent of Lyr on the young bravo's clothing. Well, if matters came out as he planned he would need to get a message to the sprites. They were difficult to deal with, unpredictable, and entirely too prone to kill anything that wasn't Lyr. Humans, being humans, found them attractive. So did the alvar, but then the alvar were obsessed with beauty. And even Fionn had to admit that the Lyr were graceful and perfectly symmetrical. If that was what attracted them like moths to a flame, they deserved the Lyr. And splinters, which they'd get from loving plant-women. He looked at the Scrap, deep in conversation with the fellow while the other young woman sat on a coil of rope, combed her long blond hair and stuck her chest out. Fionn hoped that the Scrap wasn't taken with the young man's good looks. He knew the type. Still, they had about five days sailing to Port Lapith, and then they'd be rid of him, and the girl who was making calf-eyes at Fionn, and her lover, alternately. She'd be well served if Fionn took her along on his next little journey.

 

The magic Fionn had set at work on the ridge spread slowly, aligning particles of iron in the rock. Lines of force spread out from there, the sudden sharp magnetism affecting a sequence of other things. Deep within the earth a number of huge columnar structures—crystals of enormous size—gave out a low note that had dvergar across a thousand islands swearing. The crystals moved fractionally. A deep artesian spring stopped flowing.

Up on the high plains of Lapithidae the waters of the dark pool were still. The watchers watched, reading probable futures.

And then to their horror, the level of the water—constant for millennia—started to drop.

Nothing could have terrified them more.

 

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