Honeyed Words (3 page)

“Okay, let me get this straight.” Stuart stood to stare at the great map. “The dragons have been in charge of things since before man figured out how to write, and you’re saying not only did they miss Gram when they were collecting all the trinkets from the elder gods, but they missed Odin being reborn?”

“I believe that is a valid assumption,” Jimmy agreed.

“You realize,” Stuart added, “if they missed Odin, then our Sarah could well be one of the elder gods, reborn.”

They considered it for a moment, contemplating.

Gunther shrugged, turning to face Jimmy. “Either way, then maybe it’s time to poke our heads out of this turtle shell and see who of your parents’ secret society have survived in the intervening years.”

Jimmy nodded slowly. “I’ll look into it.”

“Good,” Gunther said. “Would be nice to get some experienced help.”

Stuart reached out and poked Gram in the sheath, setting it to swinging in short, reducing arcs. “They are scholars and scribes,” he said. “They watch. What we need is someone who isn’t afraid to take action. Why else collect all this?” He turned to encompass the room. “There are a lot of weapons in here.”

Weapons hadn’t stopped the dragon from snatching Katie—hadn’t kept Deidre whole, or even kept his parents from disappearing. But his father wielded a blade. He’d seen it once. Perhaps there was a place for more than waiting.

“Our weapons held up well against the giants,” Jimmy said.

“Dwarven made,” Stuart added. “For the cost, they should have.”

Jimmy took down his sword, a long thin blade that had tasted the blood of giants and trolls. “The axe needs to be repaired,” he said, pointing to the great double-bladed weapon Stuart had used in the battle months earlier.

“My blade is barely scathed,” Gunther grumbled.

“Aye, no nicks on the blade, but more than enough on the warrior.” Stuart smiled up at his large friend. “I’m just happy you live to whine about it.”

Gunther growled. “A few more weeks of physical therapy and I’ll be good as new. Hip is doing much better.”

“We cannot fight them openly,” Jimmy warned. “The witch, Qindra, and therefore her dragon mistress, Nidhogg, knows about Black Briar.”

The other two men frowned, losing the jovial banter.

“We need to proceed cautiously. Find my father’s contact and see who of the old crew is alive.”

“And in the meantime?” Stuart asked.

“In the meantime,” Gunther said, “we keep a close eye on our little berserker blacksmith and try and keep her out of trouble.”

For a moment, they stared at one another, and then they burst out laughing.

Two

I followed Katie into the Generalissimo on Granville. The sign over the marquee read S
OLD
O
UT
, and the fire marshall’s sign said the place held 1,500 people. Great, I thought. Fifteen hundred screaming filking fans. Maybe this was hell after all.

Katie tugged my hand as the line snaked between velvet ropes. Katie skipped with every other step, totally loving this. Ari Sveinsson. Who knew the little pisher would be a huge singing sensation? Hell, the last time I’d seen him, he’d been trying to schtup one of the tavern wenches at the same ren faire where I’d met Katie. Now the waif had grown up to be a hunk, with a voice that made girls’ panties fall off.

I squeezed Katie’s hand when the line slowed, and she leaned in to kiss me. “This is so great,” she said.

I shrugged, embarrassed. The public displays of affection were getting more commonplace, but I still had moments of total freakitude. Don’t get me wrong, I was coming to grips with the relationship, and we had been building it back slowly, after the events of the spring. While she still hadn’t gone into details about what happened to her and Julie after Jean-Paul kidnapped them, I know she cried when she thought I wasn’t looking. She was hurting more than she wanted me to see, but I loved her. How could I not see?

“I just hope I don’t want to kill myself when he starts singing.”

Katie laughed, flashing a smile that sent my heart fluttering. “He sings divinely,” she said. “And he’s hella cute, too.”

Two college girls in front of us squealed and began ranting about how hot Ari was. It was pretty annoying.

We followed a group of older women once the line split into two: one line for fast entry, the other to check IDs and wrap glowing plastic bracelets around the wrists of anyone who wanted to buy alcohol. Most of the patrons were underage, so they didn’t bother to try but rushed into the club.

Once we were ensconced in alcohol-friendly shackles, we grabbed a side table and flagged down a waitress. In the middle of the club, the dance floor was clear of tables and chairs, allowing a standing-room-only crowd. I would’ve considered it a mosh pit, but that didn’t jibe with the phrase—
filk concert.

“Dear Odin, or whomever is listening,” I whispered as the waitress walked toward the long bar in the back. “Please, no Simon and Garfunkel.”

The drinks arrived before the opening act started. I demolished my Long Island iced tea just as the mandolin and Autoharp began the opening strains of Zeppelin’s “The Battle of Evermore.”

Katie squealed and grabbed my arm, shaking me. I could barely make out what she said over the screaming crowd, but my guess is, “Told you so.”

So, in general, The Harpers did not suck. Reminded me of a cross between Flogging Molly, Jethro Tull, and the Hammer of the Gods—Led Zeppelin.

The alcohol even loosened my shoulders. By the time I’d finished my second Long Island iced tea, The Harpers had polished off a great set—ending with the lead string player rocking a seven-minute version of “Going to California” with a twin-neck lute.

“Did you see that?” Katie asked as the house lights came up enough for everyone to find the restrooms and the bar. “Did you see what he was playing?”

“Lute of some kind,” I said as I stood and stretched.

“Chitarrone,” she said, practically bouncing. “That is the coolest.”

I smiled. Double-necked lute. Never knew what would make Katie excited.

Katie went to the bar to refresh our drinks, and I excused myself to go to the LGR—little girls’ room—as my mother always said. Once Katie was in the crowd at the bar I diverted to my real goal and went to find Wenceslas. I’d bought the tickets from him, and he’d promised to get me passes for the after-party. It was the icing on the cake for Katie’s birthday.

I veered away from the stupidly long line to the women’s restroom and walked up to a muscular man who was striking out with a young coed.

What a schmuck. Let the girl go pee first, geez. Figures I’d find him trolling the bathroom line. “Jesus, Wenceslas. Little early to be hitting on the teenagers, ain’t it?”

He turned around and squinted at me. We went way back, ren faires and jousting tourneys. Guy was good on a horse. Good enough with women when he wasn’t wasted. Unfortunately, he didn’t look like he was feeling any pain at this point.

“Beauhall,” he shouted, holding his thick arms out as if I’d hug him. “My favorite blacksmith.”

I stood my ground and let him stumble forward.
This is for Katie,
I reminded myself as he grabbed me in a sloppy bear hug. When he lifted me off my feet I seriously considered kneecapping him.

Of course his hug went on too long, so I pushed him back to arms’ length and put on my best smile. “You said I could find you easy enough,” I said. “But I didn’t expect you to be waiting for me in the bathroom line.”

He laughed, too loud and forced. “Can’t stay away from my fans.”

Several of the women looked around, giving me a pitying look, shaking their heads.

“Thought Ari was the family superstar,” I said loud enough for the women to hear.

“Aye, my kid brother is doing okay,” he said, flexing his biceps at the slowly churning bathroom line. “But I’m twice the man he is.”

I tried really hard not to roll my eyes, but some of the women seemed to look at him a second time. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, but was a little off the obnoxious scale. Good to see he hadn’t changed in the last few years.

“You got my passes?” I asked as he started to move toward the line again, forgetting me in his drunken state.

“Passes?” he asked, looking my way. “Beauhall?”

I glanced around, looking for anyone with the hanging badges of the staff or roadies. “Yeah, big guy,” I said, pulling him to the side, away from the women, and lowering my voice. “You promised me passes to the after-party to go along with the concert tickets.”

“Oh, did I?” he said, swinging around to look past me to the coeds who seemed to keep his attention. “I’d thought to use them to score tonight.”

Several of the women and one guy were watching us, giving Wenceslas the once-over. “Oh, I think a big strong hunk like yourself wouldn’t need those to score with this crowd.”

He chuckled, giving me a one-armed hug. “You always had a thing for me, didn’t you, Beauhall?”

I tried not to grimace. “How’s Pericles?” I asked, trying to divert his one-track mind. “Those new shoes holding up?”

Gotta give him some credit. Man loved his horse. “Aye,” he bellowed. “Pericles is a proud papa now. Virile like his master.”

I knew all that, having just shod the horse a couple of weeks earlier. Wenceslas had him out to stud at the moment. Starting his own herd of jousting horses. Smart guy, really. When he got enough blood to his brain that wasn’t soaked in alcohol.

“So, passes?” I asked, holding out my hand. “Then you can go back to scouting this evening’s conquest.”

“I like your thinking,” he said, fishing a couple of laminated passes from his back pocket. “My silly-ass brother wants me to pull in lots of groupies for the party, so pretend to like him, will ya?”

I slipped the passes into my back pocket and patted him on the arm. “Sure thing, big guy. Be careful out there.”

He leered at me and stumbled back toward the line. He was going to make someone very happy later, or pass out trying.

Of course there was no line to the men’s room.

I looked around, didn’t see any security guards, and slipped into the men’s room. One guy stood at the urinal but didn’t notice as I stepped into a stall. No sense letting all that plumbing go to waste.

By the time I finished, the men’s room was crowded with women. Guess I broke the ice. Made sense. I bet there were only a couple dozen guys in the whole club tonight, including the bands, roadies, and security guards.

When I got back to the table, Katie was talking with a couple at the next table. They were both con-folk—dressed for a pageant. Damn fine costume work; not an amateur stitch to be seen. Katie introduced Carol and Paul, who hailed from Surrey and were erotica writers. We exchanged pleasantries, and then settled down as the house lights flickered. Nearly time for the main act.

Katie sipped a glass of wine, and I took a quick gulp of my third Long Island. “Katie?” I asked, touching the side of her face. “I have a surprise for you.”

She set her drink on the table and scootched her chair around to face me. “I love surprises.”

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

I stared at her, studying the way her nose crinkled as she scrunched her eyes closed. God, she was beautiful. I so needed this moment, this chance to give her some joy. The last few months had been hard.

Katie kept her pain buried deep, side by side with her fear. She woke crying some nights but allowed me to hold her, and her nightmares had begun to go away. She kept her shields tighter these days, more brittle.

It killed me to see her spirit so fragile. Doubly so because it was partly my fault.

The last five months have been a struggle, that’s for sure. But Katie has been a trooper through the whole thing. Teaching me to knit alone should get her the Nobel Prize. But she kept her own stuff bottled up—always cheerful, but distant. I could see the haunt in her eyes, the pain and the fear—that more than anything kept the pain alive. I couldn’t fix her. Didn’t even know where to begin. While I rescued her from the dragon, I hadn’t found a way to free her soul. Not yet anyway, but I was working on it.

I could see Paul and Carol watching, so I pulled the passes out. “Hold your hands out,” I said. Katie leaned forward, groping my breasts and giggling. Carol laughed, and I swatted Katie’s hands. “Be nice.”

“This is the best birthday ever,” she said.

I placed the two plastic cards into her hands, and she opened her eyes.

I never saw her move. One second her eyes got as big as headlights: the next she was in my lap, arms around my neck, kissing me like a porn star.

Paul wolf-whistled as I wrapped my arms around Katie and kissed her back. After a moment, she broke the kiss, nuzzled my ear, and whispered, “You are so getting laid later.”

Maybe this filking thing wasn’t so bad after all.

Three

The concert didn’t suck. That’s all I kept repeating to myself as Ari performed. The boy had a voice like an angel, even if he dressed like Jack Sparrow’s gay hairdresser. Despite the paisley trousers and the wide-cuffed pirate shirt that was opened to his navel, or maybe because of them, the crowd was in lust with this boy. He did nothing for me, but hell, he could belt out tunes and give Robert Plant a run for his money. He did some covers—sure, Zeppelin, Grand Funk, some old blues stuff—but his filk stuff, the fantasy lyrics with known tunes, or the original stuff really had the crowd wowed.