The Fire Dragon Read Free

could muster. “But what's so wrong, Captain?”
    “Forgive me, Your Highness, but your husband is going to make him a lord as well.”
    “Of course.”
    “But the blazon—forgive me—you wouldn't understand, Your Highness.”
    “Oh ye gods!” Maddyn broke in. “He didn't give Branno the eagles back?”
    “He did.” Owaen could barely force the words out. “Just that.”
    Branoic tossed back his head and howled with laughter. With one smooth curve of his body Owaen turned and hit him so hard in the stomach that Branoic doubled over. Maddyn grabbed Owaen's arm, but he could hold him for only a brief moment—just long enough for Branoic to get his wind back.
    “You bastard!” Branoic snarled.
    Owaen shook Maddyn off and charged. Branoic met him with the slap of one huge hand, then swung on him with the other. Screaming curses, Owaen grabbed his shirt with both hands and shook him like a rat whilst Branoic pounded on his enemy's back. For a moment they swayed back and forth like drunken men; then Owaen tripped, andthey both fell. Clasped in each other's arms they rolled around on the cobbles while they swore and kicked and punched each other. All Maddyn could do was dance around them and try to make himself heard.
    “Stop it!” Maddyn was screaming. “Not in front of the princess! You cursed hounds, stop it!”
    “Here!” It was Nevyn, running with all the speed and grace of a young man. “What—by Lord of Hell!”
    Nevyn flung up one hand, then snapped it down with the gesture of a man throwing dice. Silvery-blue flames shot from his fingers and struck the cobbles with a crack like thunder and a burst of light. With a yelp the two wrestlers broke their holds and rolled a little way apart. Owaen sat up, rubbing his right eye, which was swelling shut. Maddyn darted forward and grabbed Branoic to keep him off his prey, but Branoic made no objection. He sat up, rested briefly, then got up and stood rubbing his bloody, bruised knuckles while he panted for breath. Owaen scrambled up after him. Dirt and muck smeared their white shirts and the rest of them as well.
    “There,” Nevyn said mildly. “That's better. Now what's all this?”
    “Prince Maryn gave Branoic his grant of land and letters patent today,” Maddyn said. “He gave Branoic the right to use eagles for his blazon.”
    “And?” Nevyn said. “Oh wait. The feud. Ye gods, lads! When did it start? Over ten years ago at least!”
    Branoic nodded, staring at the ground. Owaen started to speak, then suddenly turned to Bellyra and knelt. Blood ran down his cheeks. His face was so pale that it reminded her of a fish's belly.
    “My apologies, Your Highness,” Owaen stammered. “For losing my temper like this in front of you. I meant no insult. Ye gods, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
    If she didn't, Bellyra realized, Prince Maryn would have him flogged.
    “Of course I forgive you,” she said hastily. “Do get up, Owaen! Branoic, I forgive you, too. But I'd much prefer never to see such again.”
    “My lady is too generous.” Branoic ducked his head inher direction. “I'll do my best not to shame myself in front of her again.”
    “Good. Don't. And now you owe me an explanation. What eagles?”
    “It was my father's blazon, Your Highness,” Branoic said. “Not that I was ever a legitimate son of his. But when I joined the silver daggers, Owaen had me take it off my gear. It looked like his mark, says he—that falcon he puts on everything he owns.”
    Owaen crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at the cobbles.
    “And now my husband's given you an eagle blazon?” Bellyra thought for a moment. “Well, make them a different color. That's what the heralds did with the wyvern device, isn't it? The usurper's clan used green for theirs, and so we took the same wyvern but made it red.”
    “My lady is as clever as she is beautiful,” Nevyn said. “Branoic?”
    “A wise thought, Your Highness, and do it I will. Here.