Dragon Knight's Axe (3 page)

He bent his head low to her face. “Trust me, I fear
naught
.”

Her eyes went wide, and he moved around her, walking into the hall.

Striding toward Thomas, he took a seat to the left of his host. Reaching for a mug, he poured a hefty amount of mead. After downing the entire contents, he poured another, but placed it down on the table.

“Alastair MacKay, this is Niall O’Quinlan, and the druid, Kevan.” Thomas introduced his guests.

He gave a curt nod. “O’Quinlan.” His eyes shifted briefly toward the druid before someone passed him a trencher filled with grilled salmon, and he took a helping.

“Alastair MacKay of Urquhart?” asked Kevan.

“Aye,” interjected Thomas between bites of meat.

Alastair continued to shove food onto his plate, ignoring the druid. It was no secret where he was from. As always, druids were a curious sort.

“Ye are the
Dragon Knight
,
” Kevan uttered quietly, glancing at Niall.

Clutching his knife, Alastair gradually raised his eyes to look directly at the druid. “Nae longer.”

The man’s brow furrowed and before he could say another word, Alastair added, “I think it would be wise,
druid
, if ye do not mention that name again.” Giving him a lethal look, he speared his salmon and popped a piece into his mouth.

Niall finally spoke. “Then it is true. The Dragon Knights are dead.”

A slight tremor went down Alastair’s spine. From what, he could not say, but the O’Quinlan’s words unsettled him. Taking his mug, he drank deeply. Setting it back down, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He did not like the way the O’Quinlan looked at him, as if in pity. And he didn’t need anyone’s sympathy.

Refilling his mug, he lifted it up in a toast. “Dead
and
buried.”

“Enough of this talk,” barked Thomas. Spearing a quail off one of the trenchers, he pointed to Niall. “Tell us of your journey. What news of the south?”

Niall went into great detail recounting all that had happened. For the next few hours, Alastair listened intently, nodding every now and then. He had no reason to engage in a conversation with the man. His business was with Thomas.

Finally, Kevan stood. Bowing slightly toward his host, he said, “I will bid ye a good-night.”

Good, thought Alastair. He had felt the eyes of the man on him most of the evening. Squelching the bitterness down, he reached for his mug.

“Safe journey, Alastair MacKay. All is not lost, nor dead.” Turning, Kevan walked quietly away.

The mead left a foul taste in his mouth after hearing the druid’s words. They all pretended to look into your soul with their riddles. This one was no better. The whole lot could burn for all he cared.

Niall rose slowly. “I shall take my leave. We will depart early on the morn.”

“Come see me before ye leave,” said Thomas.

Niall gave a curt nod. “MacKay.”

“O’Quinlan,” he growled.

Rubbing the back of his neck, his host shook his head. “Your manners need improving, MacKay.”

Alastair speared another piece of food. “
My manners
?”

“Niall is a good man. I ken how ye are with others, but this one is on our side.”

He kept silent. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the O’Quinlan. Nae, the man traveled with the druid, and that made him uneasy.

As if reading his thoughts, Thomas spoke. “Or is it the druid?”

“What do ye think?” Alastair glared at him.

Some of the other men had moved away, but Thomas leaned in close, his voice low. “Are ye concerned he will spread the news that ye are a Dragon Knight?”

His fist clenched at Thomas’s words. “As I stated, the Dragon Knights are dead. The druid can spout whatever he wishes.”

“Hmmm…” Thomas sat back in his chair.

“What ye see before ye is the Dubh—Black Dragon. The
Dragon Knight
cut out from me many moons ago.”

Seeing the look of doubt cross the man’s face with a raised brow, Alastair reached for his mug. “It is dead, buried, and long forgotten. We are nae longer.” Drinking the rest of the mead, he slammed the cup down on the table. “Now, MacGuinnes, would ye care to talk about our business?”

Smiling slowly, Thomas lifted his mug in a toast. “Aye, and to more business.”

“Most certainly, MacGuinnes.”

In truth, he could not forget the past any more than the blood that flowed through his body. Each day was a reminder and the longer he stayed on land, the more it seeped into his being. Nae, he would no longer claim his full powers. He relinquished all the night his sister died. There would be no peace for the Black Dragon.

He could only stay another day or two on land, before the chains of the sea would call to him.

Chapter Three

“The Ancients believed one could travel through time within their dreams.”

Dublin, Ireland—Present Day

Screams filled the night as chaos swarmed everywhere. Smoke from the fires burned her eyes and throat. She watched in horror as those she knew were slain in front of her. Their blood pooled around her feet keeping her locked in a prison of fear.

A woman tried to run past, but was lifted off her feet and carried away, her voice strangled with the others.

There was nowhere to run.

No place to hide.

Maybe if she closed her eyes, they would not see her. Try as she might, they remained open, fixed on the monster stalking toward her with his sword covered in blood. His eyes reminded her of a demon. Her body trembled.

She did not want to die.

Another man lunged at the monster, taking a swing at his arm. The monster struck back and thrust his sword into the man’s chest. Removing his sword, he then proceeded to slice through the man’s neck, severing his head from his body.

She watched in horror as the head fell to the ground, rolling toward her and bumping into her legs. His eyes were open, and his mouth twisted in a grotesque angle.

The monster roared with laughter as a scream tore through her throat.

Fiona awoke still screaming.

Gasping for breath, she stumbled into the bathroom and promptly threw up into the toilet. Sinking to the floor, she hugged her arms around her knees, and felt the hot steam of tears stream down her face. When the last of the tremors subsided, she gradually stood and turned on all the lights in her apartment. With shaking hands, she took down a bottle of Jameson whiskey and poured a hefty amount into a glass. Downing it quickly, she let the warmth of the liquid calm her nerves. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she held the glass against her chest.

It had been years since she’d had one of those nightmares. She thought them long gone. Now, the same one had returned with vengeance.

Pouring another drink, she downed it just as quickly.

“
Why
?” she choked out.

Someone shouted below her window, and she jumped in fear. God, how she hated living so close to the street. Glancing at the clock, she cringed. “It’s five in the morning, and I’m already drinking.”

Sinking down into the chair, she curled her feet beneath her. She would never be able to go back to sleep. When the nightmares haunted her constantly as a child, her Nana would come and sit with her, telling her they were only bad dreams and held no power over her. She would light a candle and tell Fiona the light of love would keep the monster away. And it did, if only for a few days. Over the years, the nightmares slowly diminished. By the time she turned twelve, they had ceased.

“Oh, Nana, they’ve come back.”

As if sensing her Nana, Fiona got up and lit a candle. Gazing into the flame, she said a silent prayer the nightmare would never return.

To vanquish any lingering fragments, she went over to the corner where her Nana’s harp stood. She traced her fingers over the Celtic patterns carved into the red cedar, swallowing the pain. Though her Nana was no longer here to play for her, she knew the songs by heart.

She couldn’t remember the last time her fingers glided over the strings. Weeks? Months?

Fiona could almost hear her voice.
Sit down, child. You’ve been away too long.

Slowly sitting down in the chair, she tilted the harp back toward her body, letting her fingers move effortlessly through the strings. Soon, the melody took over her body, soothing away the tension and fear.

****

Breathing deeply, Fiona walked into the long room of the library at Trinity College and came to a halt. The musty smells of so many books overtook her senses. Peace weaved its way through her body as she stood in the massive space.

Blissful silence.

Until people would descend, crowding all around. She could already see them trying to push their way in to get just the right photo, or trying to touch one of the books. Disgusting, annoying, and positively irritating.

These books were her friends.

The people were not.

She once told her boss that perhaps they should close off this section of the library from
all
visitors and only let those who worked at the college into the place.

Her boss didn’t care for her suggestion.

For the moment, she would treasure the silence. Moving quietly down the room, she kept her gaze on the books and avoided the stares that peered back at her. There was something odd about the marble busts and their uncanny ability to follow her as she passed by. They may be mute, but they were no better than the living. Even the bust of Jonathan Swift eyed her with suspicion.

“And to think I enjoyed
Gulliver’s Travels
,” she whispered.

Shaking off the chill, Fiona kept moving. Turning the corner, she found the section she was looking for. Bending low, she narrowed her eyes, tilting her head to the side, instantly spying the tome she needed. “There you are.” She touched the spine briefly with her finger. “
Classical Latin in the Fifth Century
. You’d better be able to help.” She swiped a curl from her eyes and pulled out the book. Removing a cloth from her bag, she gently wrapped it and tucked it inside.

Taking one last look around, she stepped out of the library and through the side door.

Light from the first rays of dawn were spreading out in the sky. The morning waxed crisp for a summer day with no threat of rain on the horizon.

Walking past the college park, Fiona realized she would have to carve out some time with her favorite tree at lunch. Branches heavy with leaves blew gently at her in greeting. A bluebird hungry for its morning breakfast was oblivious to her passing.

Quiet, peaceful, devoid of anyone.
As it should be.

Fiona heard his steps before he drew even with her. There was only one other person who would brave the early morning to get things done.

“Morning, Josh,” she greeted, keeping her pace.

Striding alongside, he handed her a cup. “Good morning, beautiful. Thought you could use a strong cup of tea.”

She narrowed her gaze at him as she took the cup. “Thanks, but save your flirting for Becca.”

“You wound me, Fiona. I wasn’t flirting, just stating a fact.” He took a sip of his coffee as she gave him an incredulous look. “So, did you find what you were looking for?” he asked, pointing to her messenger bag.

“Yep. Since my Latin is rusty and yours and Becca’s are far worse, this will help with the translation.” She shifted the weight of her bag as she moved along the path.

Josh shrugged. “Sorry, my expertise is Gaelic and Manx.”

“Don’t forget a dash of Welsh, too.”

“True.” He moved slightly ahead, shoving open the huge door into their building.

They ascended the stairs, entering a large room where stone slabs rested on tables under glass. Moving directly to the largest, she removed her bag and pulled out the book and a notepad.

“Good luck,” called Josh as he walked to his workspace near the back wall.

She held her cup in both hands and stared at the carvings on the slab through the glass. It was a recent find from the archeological dig in Navan near the hill of Tara. The combination of Latin and Ogham writing made the stone unique. “Will you give up your secrets to me?” she murmured while sipping her tea.

When she finished, Fiona opened the book and started reading. Every so often, she would write down notes and glance at the tablet. Translating the Ogham was the easy part. However, the Latin was proving to be difficult as if someone had added it as an afterthought. Squinting at the writing toward the bottom, she drew back.

A chill crept down her spine. It wasn’t all in Latin. Two words were in Gaelic.

“Strange,” she whispered, her breath fogging the glass. “
Dragon Knight
?” Rubbing her eyes, she stood and stretched out the kinks in her back.

“Going that well, huh?”

She jumped at the sound of Becca’s voice. “For the love of…”

Becca giggled. “Sorry, Fiona.” She glanced over her shoulder to peer at the stone. “Any closer in the translation?”

Fiona pointed to the Gaelic. “Odd I’m just seeing this now.”

“Dragon man? In Gaelic?”

“Dragon
Knight
,” she corrected.

“And the rest?”

“Still working on it.”

Becca patted her arm. “If anyone can do it, I know it will be you.” She moved past her heading toward Josh. “Then the fun part will be in finding the
meaning
behind the words.”

She continued to write down notes, guessing at a word or two in the translation. Mumbling to herself, Fiona flipped back through her notes. Hours passed and its meaning stayed hidden. Why would someone take the time to write about a Knight?

In Ireland?

In Latin and
Ogham?

Her stomach growled.

Sighing, she dropped her notes and rubbed her eyes. The outdoors
and
food called to her.

Quickly leaving the building, she darted through the crowds and headed for her spot under the oak tree. Luckily for her, there was no one there. Leaning back against the trunk, she took solace in its warmth and closed her eyes. A light breeze touched her face making her relax even more.