Fate's Edge

lady.”
    “I can think of a couple that weren’t.”
    A hint of his wicked grin touched his lips. “You are surely mistaken, my lady. I’m never wrong. Once I thought that I might have been . . .” His voice trailed off. He stared at the field below them, where several wyverns rested, each with a tent by it.
    “Kaldar?”
    “I know that wyvern.” He spun to her. “I need you to go back into the cabin. There is a large wicker trunk near the back wall. It has a tulip on the clasp. There is a green gown in there. Put it on and style your hair.”
    “Why?”
    “Audrey, if you don’t do what I ask, I will kiss you until you do.”
    Oh, really? “I will slap you until you turn purple.”
    “I’m prepared for the consequences of our kissing,” he said. “Are you?”
    Good point. “Jackass.”
    She got up off the chair and climbed back into the cabin.
    “Have George fix your hair!” he called.
    “Shut up!”
     
    THE cabin shook as the wyvern touched down. Kaldar surveyed his crew. The boys looked the picture of aristocratic finery. Gaston oozed menace.
    “We’ll do fine. Just be yourselves, and we’ll have this in the bag. Morell de Braose will likely test you; don’t be eager, but don’t avoid it, either. It’s to be expected. Now is the time to pull out all of those etiquette lessons you complained about. Treat me as you would a trusted teacher. If you’re not sure how to handle something, come and get me. It will be expected of you to seek my guidance. Yes?”
    “Yes, Mother.” Jack rolled his eyes.
    Kaldar reached over and thumped him on the back of his head. “Yes, who?”
    “Yes, Olivier.” Jack grinned.
    “We have company,” Gaston growled.
    Kaldar turned to the windshield. Three riders approached. Two hulking men wearing bonded chain mail, lighter than steel but just as good at stopping a sword slash: veekings. Each carried an axe on his back and wore a solid, heavy sword at his waist.
    The third man hung back, riding with natural ease, as if he were sitting on a couch in his living room. He wore leather and a rete—an odd hybrid of a jungle hat and a standard traveler’s hat, one side bent up and boasting a merlin feather. The dark barrel of a long-range rifle protruded over his shoulder. He rode with one leg up on the saddle, and another rifle with a shorter, wider barrel rested on his knee.
    “Who’s the musketeer?” Audrey murmured from behind him.
    “That’s a Texas sharpshooter. See that short barrel? When he primes it, it splits on the sides and spits out a ball filled with shrapnel and charged with magic. It’s like lashing three or four grenades together and tossing them into a crowd.”
    “And the Vikings?”
    “They aren’t Vikings. They are the veekings. They’re pagan, they own Canada, and they live to kill. You’re looking at thirteen hundred years of martial tradition, forged by a religion that tells you if you die in battle, your afterlife will be glorious. Their blades are magically augmented. They’re a problem in a fight, especially if there is more than one.”
    Kaldar turned and lost his train of thought.
    He had forgotten about the green dress. A beautiful moss green, the gown hugged Audrey, sliding over her curves like water. Elegant, pleated at the bottom, the dress was cinched by a length of pleated fabric that wrapped around Audrey’s waist, sliding diagonally from right to left, supporting her breasts, twisting at the neckline, and flaring up to clasp her left shoulder. She’d curled her hair and lifted the golden red mass up and away from her face, leaving her neck bare. She looked . . .
    She looked . . .
    “Earth to Kaldar,” Audrey hissed.
    A knock sounded throughout the cabin.
    “Hide in the tulip trunk, love,” he whispered.
    She moved toward the back of the cabin, melting into the shadows. A moment later, the latch on the trunk’s lid closed.
    Kaldar nodded. Gaston swung the door open and leveled a short-range repeating crossbow at the closest veeking. The seven-and-a-half-foot-tall man sized Gaston up. Gaston bared his teeth.
    “Invitation,” the giant man said.
    Kaldar passed the rolled-up scroll over. The veeking looked at it for a moment. “Who should we announce?”
    “You shouldn’t,” Kaldar said. “But when your master asks, you should quietly tell him that George and Jack Camarine are here, requesting a short respite from their journey. They’re accompanied by Master Olivier Brossard, their tutor, and a