As they travelled slowly, their horses traversing the landscape with
ease, they were mostly silent, minds chaotic, senses alert and prepped for
action.
"So," Quinn began quietly, keeping one eye on the sky, "how did you manage to escape the dragon then? If he's a big as you said he is, and anywhere as fast as the male I encountered, I should think you'd be dead by now." He turned his gaze on the other man, who thought silently for a moment.
Deacon didn't look to Quinn as he replied, "I just ran. Hid until the beast had passed me, and then bolted. He has a bit of trouble seeing out of one eye, his right. Didn't see me running until it was too late."
Quinn's brow furrowed, and he asked, "What do you mean?"
The younger man looked to the elder, and grinned at the side of his mouth. "Saw him get into a fight with a female. a big one at that. She slapped him around for a bit before he finished her off though. Scratched his eye almost completely out. That was the first time I saw him," he paused, diverting his steed around an impressively large rock, and then continuing, "it wasn't for ages that I saw him again. The eye had just about healed, but not enough to completely restore the bastard's sight perfectly."
Quinn cocked his head with intrigued curiousity. This could work in their favour, which Deacon obviously already knew, as he chuckled quietly.
"I know what you're thinking, Quinn," he stated proudly, as though he had been the one to wound the beast initially, "and you're right. This can work to our advantage. Catch the dumbass on his blind side, and he won't know what hit him."
Quinn laughed broadly, heartily. Finally, some good news. Not that a male in any way was good news at all.
"But first," Deacon said, holding a hand aloft, indicating a ridge on their left, about thirty metres away, wearing that same damn idiot smile of his, "we have to meet up with some friends of mine."
Quinn's eyes narrowed in puzzlement. Friends? Deacon hadn't mentioned anything about friends of any kind.
"What? You think I came here alone? Man, I'm not that stupid. or that brave."
Quinn nodded once, and spurred on his horse into a canter after Deacon when he took off suddenly.
They scaled the shallow ridge swiftly, and as they reached the top, Quinn's eyes went a little wide.
A small army of at least fifteen men and women were waiting for them, several hounds pacing around them. They all sat atop impressively muscular horses, variating in colours, from whites to roans of both kinds.
All eyes were trained on them, and as they recognised their companion, cheers rose up.
It was then, with a gasp of shock, that Quinn spotted the carcass of a freshly killed dragon. It was a reasonably large beast, female obviously, and one he recognised.
There were unmistakable tears in her wings, which now rustled in the breeze like a loose canopy, and scars marring her scaly form.
She had been nicknamed 'Malice'. She had been the one to destroy their crops, and he felt a slight sense of satisfaction slide over him as he gazed upon the body, dead eyes rolled back in its skull, toothed maw agape.
He kicked his horse on, bouncing slightly in the saddle as it trotted cautiously down the slope.
Deacon was already at the bottom, greeting his friends with a smile and shakes of the hand. The young man turned his head, and silenced his companions with a rising of his hand. Immediately, complete stillness -save for the shuffling of hooves, and the quiet padding of dog's paws- fell over the group.
"I'd like you all to meet Quinn."
The silence remained, and Quinn noticed one or two mouths drop open. What was going on?
Suddenly, one of the company spoke up, his voice loud enough for all to hear, "You mean. the Quinn?"
Deacon nodded, and looked up with brown eyes at Quinn, giving him a knowing smile.
Quinn completed his short journey on horseback down the slope, and moved up behind Deacon, saying in a hushed voice, "What's going on here? They know me?"
"Of course they do," Deacon blurted, and raised a single eyebrow in surprise that Quinn would ask such a ridiculous question.
All eyes were focused on Quinn now, and it unsettled him slightly. The only time he had had such an audience was when he and Creedy had performed Star Wars for the children.
He took a breath in, let it out, and stared at Deacon, waiting for an explanation.
"News travels fast, even over to the good old US of A."
Quinn's brow furrowed.
Deacon chose to clarify, "We heard about how you killed the male before. Why do you think I sought you out, Quinn? It wasn't an accident coming to that castle."
"You knew all about me? And you didn't tell me?"
Deacon held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong. there are still things about you that none of us know. I honestly didn't know you were married, or expecting a child." He paused, glancing to his friends, who were listening intently. "I had to lie to make sure I could trust you."
Quinn closed his eyes to try and understand what the hell was going on here, and failed miserably. This man had lied to him. deceived him. Could he trust him at all?
"So what if he killed a bloody dragon?" shouted a voice, and a rather angry sounding one at that, and there came the great stamping of gigantic hooves, as a massive chestnut with a flaxen mane and tale stomped forward through the crowd. It snorted twice, pawing at the ground with a feathered hoof.
Quinn gazed at the equally bulky man riding the animal, and raised an eyebrow discreetly at the man's appearance. He wore a leather jacket, to his waist, covering a white shirt. Hanging down the shirt, glinting in the pale sun was a crucifix. The man wore leather trousers, and boots, which were no doubt reinforced with steel in the toes.
Quinn pitied the horse on the receiving end of those steel toecaps.
The man's head was shaved close to his scalp, stubble of dark hair visible. He had penetrating blue eyes, which bore right into Quinn. His face, like Deacon's, was bare of facial hair.
Trust the Americans and Australians to keep worrying about shaving every day, Quinn thought.
"I've killed dragons," the man boasted, sitting straight and tall on his mount. The accent was unmistakably of Australian origin, and was a contrast to Quinn's cockney, and Deacon's broad American.
"Makes no difference if that dragon was well equipped or not, if you know what I mean," he continued, and Quinn realised how much this man must love the sound of his own voice. He clearly had no intention of ceasing in his rant.
"See that back there? Just as deadly as a male," he snapped.
"Really?" Quinn interjected, and he heard a quiet surprised gasp from one of the company. Clearly, no one interrupted one of this man's rants. "Ever come across a male?"
The man remained silent.
Quinn glanced sideways to Deacon, who subtlely shook his head from side to side once, confirming the Englishman's suspicions.
"They're cruel, and brutal, even more so than the females," Quinn continued, resting comfortably in his saddle, hands rested loosely on the seat, feet dangling in the metal stirrups. His horse chomped contently on the bit in its mouth.
"They're at least three times the size of the females too, and they don't have any problems with hunting their own kind. Seen one snatch another right out of the sky. She wasn't fast enough for him. and he's just as fast on the ground. have you in the blink of an eye." He leaned forward in his saddle, closer to the man, who saw himself as intimidating. "You wouldn't know what hit you."
There was a long silence, and the man pulled an angry irritated expression, and turned his horse vigorously, kicking it into a trot away from Quinn.
With a sigh, Quinn listened as Deacon said; "You should watch out for Kyle. he can be an asshole sometimes."
"Yeah," Quinn agreed, "I noticed."
"So," Quinn began quietly, keeping one eye on the sky, "how did you manage to escape the dragon then? If he's a big as you said he is, and anywhere as fast as the male I encountered, I should think you'd be dead by now." He turned his gaze on the other man, who thought silently for a moment.
Deacon didn't look to Quinn as he replied, "I just ran. Hid until the beast had passed me, and then bolted. He has a bit of trouble seeing out of one eye, his right. Didn't see me running until it was too late."
Quinn's brow furrowed, and he asked, "What do you mean?"
The younger man looked to the elder, and grinned at the side of his mouth. "Saw him get into a fight with a female. a big one at that. She slapped him around for a bit before he finished her off though. Scratched his eye almost completely out. That was the first time I saw him," he paused, diverting his steed around an impressively large rock, and then continuing, "it wasn't for ages that I saw him again. The eye had just about healed, but not enough to completely restore the bastard's sight perfectly."
Quinn cocked his head with intrigued curiousity. This could work in their favour, which Deacon obviously already knew, as he chuckled quietly.
"I know what you're thinking, Quinn," he stated proudly, as though he had been the one to wound the beast initially, "and you're right. This can work to our advantage. Catch the dumbass on his blind side, and he won't know what hit him."
Quinn laughed broadly, heartily. Finally, some good news. Not that a male in any way was good news at all.
"But first," Deacon said, holding a hand aloft, indicating a ridge on their left, about thirty metres away, wearing that same damn idiot smile of his, "we have to meet up with some friends of mine."
Quinn's eyes narrowed in puzzlement. Friends? Deacon hadn't mentioned anything about friends of any kind.
"What? You think I came here alone? Man, I'm not that stupid. or that brave."
Quinn nodded once, and spurred on his horse into a canter after Deacon when he took off suddenly.
They scaled the shallow ridge swiftly, and as they reached the top, Quinn's eyes went a little wide.
A small army of at least fifteen men and women were waiting for them, several hounds pacing around them. They all sat atop impressively muscular horses, variating in colours, from whites to roans of both kinds.
All eyes were trained on them, and as they recognised their companion, cheers rose up.
It was then, with a gasp of shock, that Quinn spotted the carcass of a freshly killed dragon. It was a reasonably large beast, female obviously, and one he recognised.
There were unmistakable tears in her wings, which now rustled in the breeze like a loose canopy, and scars marring her scaly form.
She had been nicknamed 'Malice'. She had been the one to destroy their crops, and he felt a slight sense of satisfaction slide over him as he gazed upon the body, dead eyes rolled back in its skull, toothed maw agape.
He kicked his horse on, bouncing slightly in the saddle as it trotted cautiously down the slope.
Deacon was already at the bottom, greeting his friends with a smile and shakes of the hand. The young man turned his head, and silenced his companions with a rising of his hand. Immediately, complete stillness -save for the shuffling of hooves, and the quiet padding of dog's paws- fell over the group.
"I'd like you all to meet Quinn."
The silence remained, and Quinn noticed one or two mouths drop open. What was going on?
Suddenly, one of the company spoke up, his voice loud enough for all to hear, "You mean. the Quinn?"
Deacon nodded, and looked up with brown eyes at Quinn, giving him a knowing smile.
Quinn completed his short journey on horseback down the slope, and moved up behind Deacon, saying in a hushed voice, "What's going on here? They know me?"
"Of course they do," Deacon blurted, and raised a single eyebrow in surprise that Quinn would ask such a ridiculous question.
All eyes were focused on Quinn now, and it unsettled him slightly. The only time he had had such an audience was when he and Creedy had performed Star Wars for the children.
He took a breath in, let it out, and stared at Deacon, waiting for an explanation.
"News travels fast, even over to the good old US of A."
Quinn's brow furrowed.
Deacon chose to clarify, "We heard about how you killed the male before. Why do you think I sought you out, Quinn? It wasn't an accident coming to that castle."
"You knew all about me? And you didn't tell me?"
Deacon held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong. there are still things about you that none of us know. I honestly didn't know you were married, or expecting a child." He paused, glancing to his friends, who were listening intently. "I had to lie to make sure I could trust you."
Quinn closed his eyes to try and understand what the hell was going on here, and failed miserably. This man had lied to him. deceived him. Could he trust him at all?
"So what if he killed a bloody dragon?" shouted a voice, and a rather angry sounding one at that, and there came the great stamping of gigantic hooves, as a massive chestnut with a flaxen mane and tale stomped forward through the crowd. It snorted twice, pawing at the ground with a feathered hoof.
Quinn gazed at the equally bulky man riding the animal, and raised an eyebrow discreetly at the man's appearance. He wore a leather jacket, to his waist, covering a white shirt. Hanging down the shirt, glinting in the pale sun was a crucifix. The man wore leather trousers, and boots, which were no doubt reinforced with steel in the toes.
Quinn pitied the horse on the receiving end of those steel toecaps.
The man's head was shaved close to his scalp, stubble of dark hair visible. He had penetrating blue eyes, which bore right into Quinn. His face, like Deacon's, was bare of facial hair.
Trust the Americans and Australians to keep worrying about shaving every day, Quinn thought.
"I've killed dragons," the man boasted, sitting straight and tall on his mount. The accent was unmistakably of Australian origin, and was a contrast to Quinn's cockney, and Deacon's broad American.
"Makes no difference if that dragon was well equipped or not, if you know what I mean," he continued, and Quinn realised how much this man must love the sound of his own voice. He clearly had no intention of ceasing in his rant.
"See that back there? Just as deadly as a male," he snapped.
"Really?" Quinn interjected, and he heard a quiet surprised gasp from one of the company. Clearly, no one interrupted one of this man's rants. "Ever come across a male?"
The man remained silent.
Quinn glanced sideways to Deacon, who subtlely shook his head from side to side once, confirming the Englishman's suspicions.
"They're cruel, and brutal, even more so than the females," Quinn continued, resting comfortably in his saddle, hands rested loosely on the seat, feet dangling in the metal stirrups. His horse chomped contently on the bit in its mouth.
"They're at least three times the size of the females too, and they don't have any problems with hunting their own kind. Seen one snatch another right out of the sky. She wasn't fast enough for him. and he's just as fast on the ground. have you in the blink of an eye." He leaned forward in his saddle, closer to the man, who saw himself as intimidating. "You wouldn't know what hit you."
There was a long silence, and the man pulled an angry irritated expression, and turned his horse vigorously, kicking it into a trot away from Quinn.
With a sigh, Quinn listened as Deacon said; "You should watch out for Kyle. he can be an asshole sometimes."
"Yeah," Quinn agreed, "I noticed."