Glossary/Pronunciation

Dùn Ceò - Doon Cyaw

Ceann-feachd - cyown fechk (General of the Riders and Soldiers of Dùn Ceò)

Coimheadaichean - caw-yi-deech-an (watchers/rangers that guard the Keep)

Teachdairean - chachk-er-an (guild of messengers)

Chapter 3: The Way Things Are

The stone hall of Penn Draig was the biggest in all of Dùn Ceò. Flickering sconces and hundreds of candles cast the room in a warm glow with dancing black shadows streaking across the rocky walls. Tapestries depicting wars and battles long past - fought with dragon, fire, steel and long lost magics - hung intermittently to show the history of the riders; centuries of history woven in deep forest green, foxtail red, and glittering gold.

The roof of the cavern was so high above that I always wondered how the builders had managed to scale their way up to drill in the rustic black chandeliers that hung from thick linked chains. The candles up there weren't often lit because of the ladders and long tapers needed to light them, and changing the candles was a whole other endeavour entirely.

On the ground, the great hall sprawled out in an egg shape as if even the mountain understood the creatures it homed. Many voices fought to be heard over the clack of mugs and plates, telling crude jokes or exaggerated stories of a days work, or news that had come in with traders, that the noise was like the humming of a thousand insects swarming all around.

Three long braziers cut an aisle down the rows of benches and tables, and at the far end was the table for the two Commanders and those they deigned worthy overlooking us all. All men with their finely combed hair tied back at the nape in the style of The South. The Ceann-feachd, the General, used to live and eat here too until he moved to the city with his wife and children, something the older riders disapproved of, because how could you lead the riders if you weren't with them?

General Athel's absence was the reason Garrett sat in the middle of the head table enjoying the best cuts of meat and sweetest wine.

The Captains at the tables down from the Commanders were enjoying steaming tatties and fresh ale. And the riders were vocally boasting about how good the boar they were gorging on was. The rest of the occupants crowding the tables were servants and guards making the best of what was left. And so in lay the pecking order; the only one that mattered most of the time anyway, for even the Ceann-feachd answered to the Lairds of the land.

No better than a stable hand despite having been brought up here, I had little chance of rising above my station. Contempt for that poisoned my mood a little more every year. Jareth could, if he chose, try and work his way up, and maybe even be taken in by the riders to be trained as one of them if he was lucky. Not that he would. Jareth didn't like getting closer to dragons than he had to. I imagined if he could get a job in the city, he'd leave here in a heartbeat.

The more I looked around, and the more I thought about the way the worked, the more I understood my chances of making anything more of my life than a servant in the Keep were. . .well. . . non-existent.

Stabbing glumly at the scraps of fatty meat on the wooden plate before me, I eyed it suspiciously. It definitely wasn't boar. Nor chicken or deer. Rabbit maybe?

"Are you going to eat that?" Jareth mumbled through a mouthful of bread, his dark gaze intent on my half-full plate.

With a noncommittal grunt, I pushed it across the table for him and watched in bemusement as he scarfed the rest down with little problem. Once finished, he grabbed his cup of water to wash it all down and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his grimy tunic. We were both a mess after cleaning up the courtyard well into the evening. I'd had to run up and down the mountain to find a mason capable of fixing the broken roof over the hay.

I was in dire need of a wash.

But even though I was bone achingly exhausted, I couldn't bring myself to eat. Tonight's offerings for the likes of Jareth and I were as abysmal as when the Tìrdeas navy began sinking our ships in the strait of water separating our kingdoms, blocking all our trade. When negotiations had broken down, the Council of Lairds had called the Riders to battle in what became known as the Burning of the Strait. I'd barely been five, but I remembered having to eat only bread and what we could hunt or forage for weeks, because most of the harvest went to feed the southern cities where land was less fertile for farming.

Tonight's offerings in times of peace were even more meagre. The rabbit, if that was what it was, had little meat worth chewing on, and the flour for the bread hadn't been ground well. Grit from it still crunched beneath my teeth as I worked my jaw.

"They're eating venison over there," I said.

Jareth shrugged and refilled his cup, this time with some of the watered down ale. "The vegetables were fresh tonight. I've eaten so many carrots, I might be able to see in the dark."

"Only because I grabbed some for us while everyone was fighting over whatever the Commanders left of the boar."

"What's your point, Lèan?"

I huffed, irritated at my friend's continued wilful ignorance. "We always get leftovers from the night before, but lately they've been worse. Even Coimheadaichean and Keep Soldiers have been eating this shitty bread."

"Maybe the mills are broken."

I hummed, turning over that possibility.

"We're lucky to have what we have here," Jareth insisted, leaning in so we wouldn't be overheard. "Down South have had bad harvests the past three years, and I heard the farmers struggled up here this past harvest too. Be grateful." He sat back attempted to lighten the mood with a grin. "I saw King's soldiers marching North-East towards the mills a few days ago, maybe they're taking the good bread."

They probably were, to take back down South. Perhaps that was why Lann was on edge. I knew he had family that lived close to the northern border though he rarely spoke of them. Maybe they'd been hit by whatever disease was affecting the crops, or were having to argue with King's Soldiers about how much they could take to make sure the Princeling and Council of Lairds in the 'Sunlands' weren't missing a hearty meal.

"You'd think the soldiers could stop by here on the way up to give us some better morsels, seeing as we make sure the most powerful contingent of the King's Army - despite there not even being a king- have fed dragons, clean clothes and empty chamber pots." I winked, and Jareth laughed. "In all seriousness though, at this rate, I'll have to go hunting for us to have something decent to eat."

Jareth scoffed. "You're being overdramatic. We have it good here even if you don't see it. Where else would take in those with nowhere else to go, children and adults alike? The Riders feed us, clothe us-"

"Beat us. Mock us," I finished for him, ignoring his scowl and the way his eyes darted around to see if anyone had caught my remark.

When he was sure no one had, he gave me a sharp look, continuing as if I hadn't interrupted. "We are free to wander the city when we have our own time, and we can take what other jobs we like for extra coin. We may get leftovers, but it's more than those working the mills eat, or the poorest in the city just down the hill. We have security within these walls, and rank above most working with Riders who protect us in turn."

"They protect us the way a greedy man protects his hoard of coin. Lann and the old Riders are different, but these new ones, sons of nobles who might as well have bought their way into Dùn Ceò, we work side by side with them every day, muck out stalls, throw food to dragons when the weather is so bad they dare not leave the hall in fear of getting their fine cloaks wet, and yet they look down on us as if we are inferior?"

"That's enough," he hissed. "You've been warned before about your tongue running away with you. It's our job to do those things, and I'm happy to do it. I'm proud to be counted amongst the workers of the last dragon nest. You've been in a foul mood ever since you went to speak to, Lann. I told you that was a bad idea."

My lips pursed, but I knew when I'd tested Jareth's patience enough. Besides, I didn't need to say a word, my only friend could read the defiance in my expression.

Shaking his head, he sat back and lifted the leather saddle next to him on the bench, and a ragged cloth from by his plate. I rolled my eyes as he started vigorously polishing. He was making it clear he desired no further conversation, not if the topic was to be how much better he and I deserved.

Guilt twisted in my stomach. I didn't mean to upset him, nor make him feel as if his life's work wasn't important, and he was right about a few things. Not many orphans could say they had a roof over their head, never mind food in their belly or a place of work.

Whisking a fresh jug of ale from the end of the table, I poured us both a cup and beseeched, "Tell me about what will happen at the solstice celebrations. I want to know what to expect."

That got a smile. Jareth's hands slowed from effortlessly refitting straps onto one of the rider's saddles so he could burst into great detail about what the city would have to offer: a parade of torches that danced like stars across cobbled streets, stalls with food and drink - from home brews to wine from countries in the South seas – silks, wool and linen brought from the furthest reaches of the kingdom in every colour imaginable. . .

It did sound like fun, and Jareth's excitement was contagious.

While he spoke of the events at the last solstice, I set about mending the tears in my breeches while wondering if I could save enough money to purchase material to make new clothes. I was tired of hand-me-downs from older servants.

Still, there was something comforting about the familiarity of sitting with my friend by the warmth of a flickering torch while we finished our chores. Unfortunately, we were sat so close to the great oaken doors embellished with black steel, that cold evening air breezed in to chill bare flesh. The wind gave an almighty gust that had murmurs of disapproval coming from the occupants of the hall. I was one of them. I shivered and looked up from my sewing, just in time to catch the blare a horn.

The Coimheadaichean; the watchers and rangers that kept our borders safe, had spotted someone approaching Dùn Ceò.

One short blast signalled a single arrival to the gates, and my curiosity piqued. Patrols always returned together unless one was sent back with news, and it wasn't often we got guests; especially lone guests, and servants knew better than to use one of the main gates if they were returning late from visiting the city or nearby family at this late hour.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, but it was Lann who rounded the corner, wiping a hand down his sleep drawn face. He paused on sighting me. I straightened up as he approached, kicking Jareth under the table to alert him, and at first, he glared at me before his head whipped round as a shadow fell over him. The table creaked as Lann rested his hands on the wood, the sleeves of his soft blue tunic pushed up to show of strong forearms.

"Captain. . ." Jareth ducked his head when he was ignored.

"Is the roof outside fixed?" Lann asked, grey eyes intent on me.

I nodded. "It is, as you asked. We cleaned everything else up too."

He grunted. "Good. Finish your sewing then go to bed. You must be tired after today's climb."

My lips parted in shock.

Lann's beard twitched as he smirked and dropped his gaze to the breeches on my lap.

"You only wear them when you decide to risk your life scaling that damn cliff." He leaned and took a dramatic whiff of my hair. Grey eyes narrowed as he straightened again and his voice dropped to a gruff whisper. "And I know better than most the smell of dragon breath. You're lucky to be sitting hear at all, Lèan."

Jareth joined in casting me an accusing glare for not telling him what had happened.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I dared to look up and say, "If she had wanted to cause me harm she would have. The rips in my clothes are from getting caught on a rock in the tunnel, not her. She didn't touch me."

Lann's anger wasn't sated, though he seemed preoccupied by something else as he rubbed at his face again, his exasperation with me palpable. "I have told you time and time again, you could fall, or get lost in those dark tunnels. We'll discuss your punishment tomorrow."

"I've not fallen yet. And I told you, there's a flame from a torch or something-"

"Wheesht!"

I flinched at the sharpness to his tone, but it was fear flickering across his expression, not anger.

"There are no torches that deep in the mountain, I've told you that. I don't want to hear you speak of it again."

"But-"

"Not another word!" He snapped, grey eyes sweeping around the hall before he leaned in to utter gruffly, "If find you climbing and going into the nests again, you won't have to worry about someone other than me catching you, because I'll drag you before the Commanders myself, and believe me Lèan, it'll be a belt taken to you, and it won't be held by my soft hand, I can guarantee you that. Maybe that's what it'll take to get it through your head the danger you put yourself in."

Even Jareth stared, wide eyed and frozen with fear. Lann had always been strict, had on occasion given my head a skelp, and had threatened me with worse, but never like this. Never so seriously. I didn't doubt for a second he'd do what he said, but I did doubt why. Why was he so adamant that the flicker of light that always guided me to the nests was a figment of my imagination?

Suitably scolded, I ducked my head, and suitable infuriated, I ignored his soft exhale of regret and the gentle, paternal pat to my shoulder.

"Get yourself washed before you go for breakfast in the morning so nobody else catches a whiff of you. Tonight, make sure you go straight from here to your bed."

"I'll make sure she does," Jareth promised, only to freeze again when grey eyes flicked to him.

Lann hummed, eyeing the saddle my friend held as if he spotted some mistake that confused him. While Jareth looked down at his work in horror, searching for where he'd went wrong, my guardian met my gaze with a wink and turned around.

Whatever was wrong with Lann, he looked as ill at ease with his men as he did when forced to talk with Garett, which wasn't like him at all.

Jareth muttered to himself across from me, loosening one of the buckles on the saddle to rethread it. Suppressing a laugh at his disgruntlement, I reached across the table. "He was teasing you. It looks fine. You let him get to you too easily."

"I let him get to me?" He scoffed. "You two would have had another fall out if it wasn't for me sitting here. Lann knows as well as I do that you won't stop climbing until you break a bone."

It would take more than a broken bone. . .

Sighing, I studied my new stitches, happy they were all but invisible, but I feared it was the last time I'd be able to mend the fabric so well before it became nothing but ragged threads that would fall apart at a touch. Folding the breeches up on my lap, I gulped down the last of the watery ale.

Did I really want to go straight to bed? Most of the Riders were in for the night and would soon would be, as would most of the servants, except those needed to work through the night. The Coimheadaichean took shifts on watch too, every other tier watched at all hours. It would make my plan a little difficult but I knew every nook and cranny, every tunnel and passageway, one of the perks of being brought up here.

"I'm going to bed." Pushing myself up from the table, I faked a yawn and rubbed my neck as if it ached. "I'll see you in the morning."

Jareth barely looked up from his furious polishing, mumbling a distracted 'goodnight' in return. It amazed me that it only took one look from Lann to put him in such a state. Hopefully he wouldn't be up too much later fretting over a non-existent mistake.

I sidestepped down the length of the bench, avoiding drunken men staggering to and froe. Things always got a little excitable around here when we were close to a solstice, but I had to leap out of the way of a tall slim figure darting past. I cried out in irritation but the arrival didn't seem to notice or care that he'd nearly bowled me over. Pausing, I turned back to get a better look of him. I recognised the oak green cloak flying out behind him, marking him as one of the Teachdairean, emissaries who passed messages and news across the Kingdom. Sometimes they brought orders from the Council of Lairds who hailed over us all until the Princeling came of age.

Rarely had I seen one alone, and rarer still with such haste. He hadn't even waited to be escorted in and announced as was protocol. Hovering by the door, I watched the rest of the hall fall quiet but for a few murmurs of curiosity. The Teachdaire panted hard and bowed clumsily before the table of watchful Commanders. With a trembling hand, he held aloft a scroll with a red seal standing out against the pale parchment. It was too far away for me to make out the crest, but whoever it had come from, it caused both Garett and Lann to stand at once.

As if he could sense me lingering, my guardian turned glare my way. At my pleading look, silently begging to stay and hear the news with hands pressed together, his expression hardened. His hand hovered over Eamonn's shoulder, and that was enough to have me huffing and stepping away from the door. If he sent Eamonn to walk me to my chambers, he'd stand outside the door until he was certain I was asleep.

I could always find out what news was brought from the south tomorrow. Secrets never stayed secrets long in a place like this. Servants could probably spread news faster than any professional messenger could. Besides, the flutter of suddenly activity would keep everyone occupied for a while, which gave me the perfect chance to check on our other new guest before bed.