After gaining some distance they diverted to a copse of trees and Tristan activated his ring, taking the whole group back to the Fey Realm. Almost immediately, the fairy dragons swarmed them. Tristan waved them off, “Food, clearcool, and a hot bath, please. And if we have a doctor? Or if any of you can use rejuvenation spells? Come to my chamber.”

  A pair of fairy dragons went flying off, “We know just the fairy dragon!” they shouted in tandem as they went bolting into the canopy.

  Tristan winced as he moved up into the tree accompanied by his grandfather. The older man grimaced, “Crush injuries are never easy to heal from. Do not be surprised if you gain back only limited movement.”

  “Worst case scenario I take The Matriarch’s collar and somehow use that,” Tristan replied through gritted teeth. “Think we’ll face more ambushes on our way back to the capital?”

  “Doubtful. A large group like what we encountered? Twenty-five by my count who were settling down, and probably another twenty-five who were actually waiting along the road to ambush. A force of fifty men would most likely not be backed up.” Hurvun split off when they reached the depths of the tree.

  Tristan went to his chambers and Felicity swapped to her elfanoid form to help him get out of the armor – particularly when it came to the crushed, right shoulder pauldron. He winced and let out a hiss of pain as she got it unbuckled and slipped it off of his arm.

  “Poor Tristan, getting himself all beat up.” She helped him get the other bits of the armor off and put them onto the rack nearby.

  Tristan sat on the edge of the bed, “Yeah, I was a bit cocky with thinking the armor would protect me from everything thrown my way. Forgot that crushing weapons are effective against it.”

  Felicity sat on the bed next to him and kicked her legs idly, “Yeah, well, be more careful next time, okay? You don’t heal super fast like us fairy dragons.” She cocked her head sideways as she looked at his shoulder, “Damn, that looks messed up.”

  Tristan let out a pained chuckle. A group of fairy dragons came flying in with heated buckets of water to fill up the tub, and another, larger, large-dog-sized fairy dragon flew in. “Ah, Lord Tristan. You called for a healer?”

  Tristan nodded and was about to speak, but Felicity shouted over him. “How do you not see this, you old fart!”

  The fairy dragon before him shifted into an elfanoid form that was like the Elf version of his grandfather in age, “Now, little sister, that is no way to talk to your elder.” Felicity seemed to stew where she sat, and moved to the side as the older fairy dragon walked closer and inspected Tristan’s wound. “This injury is a serious one. Thankfully, I have rejuvenation at my disposal. Third Order should do the trick.”

  “What’s it called?” Tristan asked as curiosity helped to push aside the pulsating, grinding pain he felt.

  “Cure Wound. A simple name for a spell, but the effect is simple as well. A singular injury can be healed, including all underlying causes prevent it from becoming an issue.” He chuckled, “Well, unless you get…crushed once more. What caused this?”

  “Hammer,” Tristan said as he pointed to his crushed pauldron on the armor rack.

  “That would do it. Okay. Hold still. You will feel tension before the pain ceases. Ahem. Voima sis?ll?ni, k?sken sinua tulemaan esiin ja rauhoittamaan t?m?n uhrin haavan. Puhdista kaikki kipu ja palauta se oikeaan toimintaan ja muotoon.” (Power within me, I command you to come forth and soothe wound of this victim. Cleanse all pain and return it to a proper function and form). As he spoke, he placed both hands above Tristan’s shoulder; hooking his thumbs around each other, keeping the index and middle fingers together, but extending the ring and pinky fingers outward – almost like he was mimicking a pair of wings.

  Tristan felt an immense pressure – as if someone was pushing against his shoulder from all sides. But he felt no pain, instead, a soothing relief accompanied the pressure before the pain vanished completely. The fairy dragon before him sagged a bit and took in some ragged breaths as his form shifted back to that of his usual form. “That…whew. It has been a while since I’ve done that.”

  “Thank you,” Tristan said as he stood up and bowed slightly. “Would you check with my grandfather and see how he is doing? If he needs healing?”

  “My pleasure, Lord Tristan.” The fairy dragon dipped his head and left. Tristan went over to the armor rack and began hammering out the dent in the shoulder pauldron.

  Felicity walked over and tapped his once-injured shoulder, “Looks like he healed you up nice and good.”

  “Why’d you call him an old fart? Other than lobbing an insult.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Just for that reason,” She said with a mischievous grin. “It’s how we fairy dragons are. We may act childish and playful, but we are the age we are. I’m twenty, and he’s well over three-thousand. The insult was appropriate.”

  Tristan nodded as he finished hammering out the dents. Then, he went to take a bath. Felicity laid back on the bed, seemingly falling asleep as Tristan soaked and let the heat penetrate his bones. When he got out and got dried off, he saw that Felicity was indeed fully passed out atop the covers.

  He nudged her slightly, and she rolled over to the far side of the bed; half-dangling off of it. He slid under the covers and made sure to stay far towards the edge.

  Tristan woke up to someone hugging him from behind. He instantly bolted upright and scrabbled out of bed as Felicity blinked awake with a yawn. “Morning sleepy.”

  “Sorry! I, urm, you were on top of the covers, and I didn’t want to wake you up to ask you to move.”

  Felicity yawned and shifted into her fairy dragon form, “Nope, it’s my bad for falling asleep while in elfanoid form. I tend to move around a lot when sleeping in that form. Versus this form, where I stay curled up.”

  Tristan walked over to his freshly laundered clothes and got equipped once more. Felicity helped him out with the armor, and then perched atop his head making little paw-claw biscuits against his skull as he left and joined his grandfather in the dirt circle with the horses.

  “Slept in, did you?”

  “I was gravely injured,” Tristan countered as he activated his ring and the two appeared in the copse of trees.

  “Come on, son. Mount up. We are going to push hard today.”

  At their faster pace the duo got back to the heartland of the kingdom within a few days. By Tristan’s reckoning based on the position of the sun as it began to set, and the way the five moons began to rise up, it was the eight of Building Season.

  They passed groups of Black Company mercenaries, but the duo were not accosted in their travel. “Seems like the single group was hired under the table,” Hurvun stated as they cantered along. “Probably without the knowledge of their superiors.”

  Who wants us dead? Tristan thought as they arrived at the manor house. They must not want us to report back about the demonic dragon. And I doubt that the Archon’s favor is something that is well-known, or that people have seen it on my family crest from a distance; especially since the king’s favor is far more prominent and draws the eye. “Grandfather, did the Archon give you his favor in secret?”

  “He did.”

  Then they are most likely preventing the report about the nature of the threat we slew. Which means that whoever this person is that paid for the Black Company to ambush us on our either doesn’t want us to report back about the nature of the thing we fought, or just wanted us dead for another reas- He sucked in a brief inhalation as a thought hit him. “Grandfather…how good of terms are you on with father?”

  “Fawkes? Not the best.”

  “When you all left on your dragon hunts a while back…who did you leave to guard the estate?”

  “Some of my old traveling friends. Why?”

  “They weren’t there when I arrived. It was Black Company. Waiting for me based on Felicity’s spying.”

  Hurvun went silent for several minutes. “I would not put it past Fawkes. He hates you because of what you are – yet another reason I don’t favor him as my child.”

  “Have you told him that?”

  “Of course. I’m not a liar. I hit him with cold, hard truths hoping it would snap him out of it.”

  Tristan scowled, “I would bet that father hired the Black Company to ambush us and kill us both. Think about it; he would become the family head and get rid of the son he detests.”

  Hurvun’s face also hardened into a scowl, “That seems like a distinct possibility. And, based upon this knowledge about the assassins and their clearing out of any Winterbloom bloodline carriers…he could have advertised the fact that his wife was one of such bloodline to get rid of her. He always hate me for forcing him to marry her when she became pregnant.”

  Tristan felt a hatred flare up in his chest as the manor came into sight. At the front gate were Black Company guards that he could clearly see thanks to his Elven eyes. “Grandfather, they are waiting for us.”

  “Shall we give them a trouncing?” the old man asked with a curt, scorn-filled tone.

  “If father hired them to kill us, we should sneak in. He might be in the capital for all we know. Come, I have a way over the walls – but we’ll have to leave the horses with Mr. Perry.”

  “Ah, the apple grower. How is the old guy?”

  “Cheery as ever,” Tristan said as he directed his horse to circumvent the manor and its stone walls marking the edge of the boundary. They went through the familiar-to-him orchards and arrived at Mr. Perry’s apple orchards. Riding up to the house, Tristan explained their need to stable the mounts, and the kindly older man was more than happy to let the animals stay in his stables.

  “Would you like to come in for a hot slice of apple pie? Freshly baked!”

  “No thanks,” Hurvun replied with the grimace still etched on his visage. “We have to get back to the manor and investigate.”

  “Oh, those black-armored men have been scaring off my field hands again. Keeping you out too, eh? I heard that Fawkes had taken the mantle of family head.”

  Hurvun’s face screwed up into one of rage, “We will see about that. Come, Tristan.” He wheeled about and Tristan followed him through the orchard before passing him up and showing him the part of the wall he used as a child to sneak out with his half-siblings. The two men clambered over with ease and dropped onto the now-well-kept grassy lawn. A group of goats bleated nearby in alarm, and Tristan dashed to the building and got to the cellar entrance.

  Hurvun flattened himself against the wall, “Tristan…if your father is the bastard who sent mercenaries after us, then I disown him. I name you as my heir.” He pulled his family crest out from around his neck and pulled a hidden emblem from the back, handing it to Tristan. It was a fingertip-sized, black star with seven points. “This goes on the back of your family crest. The king himself hands these out – no way your father is recognized as the heir without it. It cannot be replaced; that is how valuable it is.”

  Tristan took it with reverence and clicked it into the small socket on the back of his symbol, “Thank you,” he said softly. “I promise to make you proud.”

  “You already have, son. Come. Let’s go deal with your bastard of a father.”