In a modern-day Britain where the Roman Empire never left, Dai and Julia solve murder mysteries, whilst still having to manage family, friendship and domestic crises…

They left the house as one party – with the addition of Cariad’s two children, who Julia was pleased to find were both quite delightful, taking after their mother in looks, but seeming to have their father’s easy-going disposition. They had an escort: servants carefully sanding the paving in front of them and a ceremonial guard clearing a path through the seething crowd. Julia craned her neck to look at the three Llewellyn boys, who walked hand in hand with Baer behind them like an anxious mother hen. She smiled at the girl and gave her a thumbs up. Then they were in the great open atrium of the temple of the Divine Diocletian where the brazen gongs were just sounding. Caudinus excused himself to join the group of officials at the steps of the sanctuary.
The service droned on and on. Julia was very glad of woollen stockings and fleece-lined boots as the marble floor struck like ice underfoot. As the priests reached the loudest part of the invocation, she slipped one hand into the pocket of her cloak and came out with chewy caramel sweets, which she passed quietly to the children. Enya looked a question.
“About now,” Julia whispered, “my grandmother always gave me a sweetie, otherwise I started to flag and fidget. So I thought…”
Enya smiled radiantly. “Genius.”
Eventually, the long religious ritual was over, punctuated by chants and hymns everyone knew. Traditional shouts of ‘Salve Diocletian!’ and ‘Diocletian Invictus!’ and from the less religious: ‘Saturnalia Optima!’ rang around the crowd.
Julia was relieved when Caudinus’ soldiers escorted them to a reserved table at the edge of the atrium, where they could sit and sip mulled wine sheltered by a colonnade and wait for the Magistratus to join them once the final formalities were completed. An outside heater warmed the air enough to take the chill, but not enough to actually warm anyone. Julia thought the children looked cold and tired, even Baer.
“We may have to stay,” she said decisively, “but the children should be indoors.” She deputised a group of soldiers to take the little ones back to the Magistratus house, where the family was due to dine, asking that they be given a hot drink when they got there. The children left under escort, Baer gripping the hands of the youngest Llewellyn boys. Julia wished she could go with them. She cupped her hands around her mug of mulled wine and sighed.
“Domina?” Julia looked up to see one of Caudinus’ guard of honour standing with a respectful expression on his face. “Domina, the Magistratus asks if you would be willing to deputise for your husband in the gift-giving ceremony.”
So it was that Julia found herself a reluctant participant in the ceremonial at the temple, joining the select group of Romans who were presenting the official gifts from the City of Viriconium to the Divine Diocletian on his dies natalis to show their love and appreciation for his beneficence and to bribe him into keeping it going for another year. She tried to suppress such impious thoughts as she stood in line, breath frosting the air in front of her. She had been asked to present a small silver boar, symbolic of a prophecy made to Diocletian by a druidess about how he would come to power. Julia wondered if that was why the Druids were largely left alone by the Roman authorities even today. Not acknowledged, but not actively persecuted unless they openly declaimed anti-Roman theology. It was the only religion she knew of in all the Empire that did not bend knee to the divinity of Diocletian and yet it was permitted to practice its rites unhindered. Then it was her turn to step up and place the statuette on the table of offerings, bow her head in respect and walk carefully backwards to her place as the rest of the gifts were given and long speeches of thanks were made by lesser city luminaries.
Even Caudinus had to put a hand up to his mouth to smother a yawn. But then Julia knew he had been attending endless civic functions, ceremonies and receptions over the last four days of Saturnalia. Far from being a holiday in the sense people usually thought of one, like most other feriae stativae, Saturnalia was a five-day round of official appearances for the Magistratus. Dai had deputised at two such, uncomfortably toga clad with Julia in jewels and stola. After a final blessing, the doors of the sanctuary were closed behind the shivering priests, who scuttled inside bearing with them the expensive offerings of a grateful city.
“Thank you so much for doing that, Julia, especially with it being so cold. I do have to think the Divine Diocletian didn’t have in mind that we should stand freezing in his honour when these festivities were first added to Saturnalia,” Caudinus observed as they made their way back across the atrium. “But then I don’t suppose it gets quite so cold in Spalatum in December as it does here in Cornovii so it was prob-”
“Magistratus!”
Their escort had move smartly to come between Caudinus and the two men who suddenly appeared from the dispersing crowd, shepherding a smaller cloak-wrapped figure between them.
Caudinus frowned and made a frustrated tutting sound as they came to a halt in the middle of the atrium.
“I am Mot Fionn, dominus. This is my father Kalgo and my only child Megan.”
Julia realised with a slight shock of surprise that she recognised the name. Dai had told her how this time last year, well before he had even met Julia, Hywel had tried to match-make Megan and Dai on a blind date. The Fionns were neighbours to the Llewellyn lands, such close neighbours that their land wrapped around a strip of Hywel’s. Megan was the heiress to the Fionn lands and it had seemed a good idea to both families if an alliance could be arranged. But, it had not gone well, by Dai’s account and had finished with him returning an unhappy and rather drunk Megan home whilst not being exactly sober himself. Dai had told her Megan was a young woman but had not said how young. Julia could see she was still really a child, maybe seventeen and beneath the hood of her cloak her face looked pinched and miserable.
“Please, Magistratus, I demand justice for my child,” Mot called out. “She has been treated badly and left in a sorry state.”
Caudinus gestured to his guards to let the trio approach.
“This is not the time or place, Fionn, but tell me the thrust of it quickly and then put the details in an email. When we get back to business after the festival I will see you have your justice.”
The two men were glaring at him with cold antipathy. Julia glanced at Megan, but she had her head lowered as if protecting something she was holding under the cloak.
“So? What is this? Speak up. I am willing to hear you, but not to freeze whilst you take your time thinking of what to say.”
“My apologies, dominus,” Kalgo said, bobbing his head respectfully. “It is just – I – well, we – are afraid to speak.”
Caudinus was frowning now.
“Unless you need to admit to some crime, you have no need to be afraid to speak. Just tell me what this is about.”
“With the greatest respect, dominus,” Mot said, his tone obsequious, “there is always peril is speaking truth to power. You are known to be a just and fair man, but when matters touch one’s own family – justice can be lost.”
“Oh for -” Caudinus snapped his mouth shut and drew a breath. “Part of being ‘just and fair’ is not favouring any. Now, please state your problem so we can all get into the warm.”
“Then I state here before witnesses that Dai Llewellyn fathered a child on my daughter and abandoned them both to marry another.” As he spoke he pulled open Megan’s cloak to show the dark-haired infant she held. Julia found the air she was breathing had no oxygen. An odd, detached and lightheaded sensation pulsed behind her eyes. For a moment she even thought she might faint.
Caudinus raised a hand to silence the sudden low buzz of speculation.
“You can’t just walk up to someone and make accusations like that, Fionn. This is not the time or the place – this is a temple on a sacred holiday, not a family court session.”
But Mot was pushing Megan forward, so much that she staggered a couple of paces, clutching the infant to her. Julia put out an instinctive hand to stop the girl stumbling and her face looked up in abject misery.
“Tell them, girl,” Mot demanded, “tell them who is the father of your child. Swear it before the gods and the people.”
“Dai Llewellyn is the father of my child,” she said the words in little more than a whisper.
“And?” Kalgo growled as if prompting her in a lesson.
“And I do swear it before the gods and the people.”
That was enough, more than enough, to set flame to the tinder of crowd gossip and Caudinus had to shout this time to get attention. Julia fought down the impulse to scream and run. With her head pounding and her heart lead in her breast, she drew on her years of military training to stand erect and proud.
“That is enough, Fionn!” Caudinus was saying. “Get your daughter and her baby into the warm and make a proper presentation of your claim in due legal manner. And if I find this is an accusation without proof -”
“We have proof, dominus,” Kalgo told him, face twisting in a grimace. “We have DNA test results. And don’t worry we’ll put it all in legal writing and send it to you like you ask.” He jerked his head and Mot almost pulled Megan over, as he seized her arm and strode off. In Megan’s arms, the baby started crying and the wails seemed to transfix the people in the temple precincts until the Fionn family had walked back out through the gate.

From Dying as a Druid by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook.

Advice on growing old disgracefully from an elderly delinquent with many years of expertise in the art – plus free optional snark…

If you’re old get a new high back chair
And stair lifts to get up your stair
You shouldn’t be seen
Clad bright neon green
Glued to railings to protest that you care!

Eleanor Swift-Hook

A tale of angels, demons and dragons…

Thor cleared his throat. “I wondered where all the berserkers went,” he said mildly, “so I went looking for Loki. Found him trying to release a certain wingless demon. I may have lost it a bit down there.”
Lucifer looked to Aeva to be torn between laughter and annoyance, in the end Thor looked so much like a schoolboy caught out in mischief that laughter won.
“Any fatalities?”
“Not that I remember. But there’s a few demons in an iron cage and that wingless bastard has more chains and something has stolen his voice.”
Lucifer pushed out his lip and nodded. “Seems entirely proportionate to me. But your child called.”
“So she did.” Thor looked at Gudrun. “Yes?”
“Seems to me that Draca here betrayed my brother, her husband, and anybody else that got in her way. I want to fight her.”
“No.” It wasn’t Thor who answered, it was Lord Draco. “I’m sorry demoiselle, but you would kill her in ten seconds. That is really nowhere near to the reparation she needs to make. When she has answered our questions and given up her wings I propose to take and chain her. There is a dog kennel outside my house…”
The full horror of what the guardian of half-breeds proposed hit Aeva like a battering ram and she staggered. Adamo braced her.
“Don’t think about it,” he advised, “that creature surely wouldn’t think about you.”
Gudrun stood for one moment with her head bowed. “Very well. A bargain. You can have the lizard woman in exchange for my brother.”
“I wish I could do that. But he was given to the draca by my…”
“Your bed creature,” Draca was awake but forbore struggling against her bonds. “You passed me by for that daughter of a toad and expected me to wait until it bored you. And not for the first time. Only this time I plotted my revenge on you and all the rest of the petty godlings.” She laughed, but it was a sound like the tearing apart of some animal’s vitals and it hurt to hear.
“Condemned out of your own mouth,” Athena shook her head. “These physical passions are not to be so indulged.” She pointed two fingers at Lord Draco, who gave vent to a strangled sob. “You’ll soon get used to it,” she said briskly, “and you’ll function much better without that small flap of skin.”
“Did she do what I just thought she did?” Adamo sounded as if his throat was suddenly dry.
“Yup,” Gudrun grinned at the shocked giant. “She has a bit of a thing about sex.”
“More accurately, not sex.” Aeva and Gudrun shared a purely female smile.
Thor was the first immortal to get himself together, and he shook his head like a dog coming out of a cold river. “Well. I suppose that’s one way out of a recurring dilemma, but aren’t you supposed to seek permission before you do stuff like that?”
Athena shrugged. “Nominally, yes. But who is going to argue?”
Lucifer shrugged. “Not my northern friend obviously. But I will do more than argue if you start waving that particular power about.”
“Me too,” Gabriel moved to stand beside his dark brother.
Athena looked at the pair of them and then shrugged. “Very well. But to business.” She turned her cold blue eyes to Aeva. “Are you sure about this Invigilator?”
Aeva shrugged. “We are taught that there is no such thing as a certainty, but I see no alternative. The berserkers want their princeling back and the draca won’t give him up without a fight…”
“Truly spoken. Lucifer, shall we?”
The Dark Guardian snapped his teeth together and strode to her side. They spoke quietly for a moment, before the sands became a hive of activity. Two hefty demons appeared with a bang and a very nasty smell, they dragged a third between them and its beak marked a deep groove in the ground. While the demons marked out the arena Athena raised one white arm and a red leather case materialised in her hand. She brought it to Aeva and opened it.
“Choose.”
Aeva took a short sword and an obsidian dagger.
The Guardian moved to where the struggling, sweating draca still strove to make the change to dragon form.
“Be still stupid creature and choose your weapons.”
“I will fight with my own claws.”
Lord Draco exerted himself. “Not permitted. You will not use poisoned claws in this arena. Unless, of course, your opponent’s blades are permitted to be as lethal as your claws.”
The draca seemed to shrink into herself. Athena tutted and there came a metallic sound as the draca’s venom-tipped claws dropped to the ground. A grinning imp with a dustpan and brush swept them up and disappeared.
The draca took a short stabbing spear and a jagged-edged sword. She held them as if unaccustomed to their weight, but Aeva wasn’t fooled. Those were not the choices of a novice fighter.
Adamo studied the draca for a moment. “Favours her left hand,” he murmured, “doesn’t seem to be a pose like the ineptitude. You be careful amata.”
“I shall. You and I have unfinished business.”
His smile sent a spark of heat to her belly that warmed her through.
The demons finished marking the ground and Athena called the combatants forward.
Aeva moved quietly to the indicated corner, feeling a presence behind her she turned to see Gudrun take station the regulation ten paces back.
“Your second at your service.”
Wondering who would second the draca, Aeva looked across to the opposite corner. The demoness, who held a towel and bucket, looked bored.
“Why don’t you have a bucket and a rag?”
Gudrun laughed. “I don’t figure it’s going to take you long enough to need a time out…”
Athena now sat on a tall chair with Lucifer and Gabriel on her left, while Lord Draco and Thor stood at her right hand.
The goddess spoke with profound formality. “This duel is sanctioned to the death. Winner to take custody of the mortal known as Ove Gunnarssen.”
A small silver gong appeared in the air in front of her and she struck it with one fingernail. It chimed pure and sweet and the draca leapt slashing with her sword as she landed. It was a prodigious jump and things would have gone ill for Aeva had she not moved with all the speed of the demon half of her ancestry. Coming from behind the enraged draca, she precisely nicked the tendons that kept the creature’s left wing pulled tight to her back. Unbalanced by the change in weight and angered by the sting of the cut the draca lowered her head to study Aeva.
“I was going to make this quick, but now you ssshall sssuffer.”
Aeva laughed and danced closer, flicking her sword at the reptilian face. The draca flinched backwards and all but lost her footing. She stabbed out with her spear, but Aeva was no longer there.
“Cowardly demon seed. Stand and fight.” But even in her anger the draca was obviously a seasoned battler and she began to use her superior size and strength to bully Aeva towards one of the neutral corners where she would be trapped by the magical barriers and at the mercy of draconic fury.

Aeva’s Challenge by Jane Jago will conclude next week.

Pearls of wisdom from an octogenarian who’s seen it all…

I’m as fond of food as anyone, and I cook some pretty mean stuff. But the day I plate it and stick it on a carefully dressed table in order to post a picture (or effin video!) of it on Facebland or Instayawn or Tricktoke you have my full permission to slap me about the head with a wet fish and have me committed. 

Worse still?

Being in a restaurant and perfectly willing to let food go cold so one can be a pretentious poser.

Just. Stop. It.

You are paying through the nose for your food. Eat it while it’s hot and stop effing about!

A darkling drabble offers a shiver of horror in a hundred words…

The vigilantes had been hunting her for three generations, though they no longer had any idea why. 

In a street of tamped earth next to a stockyard full of bawling beeves, they finally found her. Tiny, she was and as wizened as a season-dead black beetle, but the twin sixguns were rock steady in her hands.

The shooting commenced, and she pretty soon took four loads of buckshot which all but blew her in half.

Only she wouldn’t die. Just kept on shooting.

When they were all gone, she grinned toothlessly and turned back to her interrupted poker game.

Jane Jago

Poems of puppy Fozzie Jago as he is exploring and experiencing the world!

There is a walking place
Where I goes wiv humum
Where ugly fings wif fevvers
Swears at me and my chum
Me would like to bite they
But mum says firmly no
So I does do my angry bark
And in the wet they go

Jane Jago

In a modern-day Britain where the Roman Empire never left, Dai and Julia solve murder mysteries, whilst still having to manage family, friendship and domestic crises…

Dai carefully unfolded the hanging and held it up for Aelwen to inspect. She put her head on one side and her brow drew into tight lines, as if she were a critic appraising the latest offering from an acclaimed artist.
The thing was lovely. From the carefully beaded knotwork pattern that bordered the edge to the gloriously vivid designs. It glittered in the light as the brilliant colours of the glass beads were both muted and set off by the softer metallic looking ones in silver and gold effect.
Satisfied, Aelwen then felt the hem where the carefully placed weights were sewn in disguised by quilting and the braided fringe.
“What are they made of, the weights?”
“In the past we’d have used lead,” Marta told her, but today we use stainless steel.” She reached over to a box and pulled some of the contents out so Aelwen could see. “Here take one.”
Warmed by the spiced tea (a local blend of fourteen fruits, herbs and spices, half-price Saturnalia special and an extra discount for the dominus if he’ll take two packs—so he did), they paid for their purchases. The hanging was wrapped in tissue paper and popped into one of the paper bags that the workshop had printed with their own name and logo (probably onsite, Dai decided), the Llewllyns took their leave.
As Dai was guiding the all-wheel out of the gate, he caught sight of Marta, in the rear view, back in the doorway of the workshop and waving enthusiastically. She looked red faced and took a few steps out into the yard. Dai lifted a hand in farewell and a moment later they were around the corner and beginning the precarious descent.
They were about halfway down when Aelwen said, decisively, “I liked that shop and the spiced tea. But not the dogs. And do you think mam will like that hanging?”
“I think she will love it.”
Aelwen smiled then her face fell.
“I wanted some pictures to show where we went to get it.”
Dai heard the tone and knew what the outcome would be, but tried anyway.
“If we go back we’ll be very late, cath fach. And your nain is cooking for you, remember.”
The silence and the drooping head were more than he could bear. Then he saw a pull in a short way ahead, which offered a stunning vista from the zig-zag road. He was already decelerating as he said, “Why don’t we get some pictures of the view here? That would be much more spectacular?”
It was touch and go if the alternative would wash with Aelwen, but maybe the thought of her grandmother’s baking fresh from the oven was enough to sway the balance, because she nodded as Dai parked up.
The wind was cold, but not bitter. Not yet carrying the smell and taste of snow. Instead it brought hints of coal smoke from the hearths of the cottages below, looking like dolls’ houses with toy goats and chickens in the garden. Aelwen fussed around for a couple of minutes like a professional portrait photographer, positioning Dai and getting him to help her with the settings so she could zoom in to show the more distant mountains, capped by cloud.
But they were eventually back in the all-wheel and driving back along the narrow mountain road.
Dai didn’t think anything of it when he saw a rugged and long-lived all-wheel barrelling up the slope towards them. There were a few isolated farmsteads along potholed tracks which turned off the decently surfaced road. But when it showed no sign of slowing, he silently cursed the arrogance of the locals and their assumption of right of way and aimed his vehicle for the passing place between them.
Incredibly, the all-wheel coming up accelerated, almost as if it wanted to cut him off from reaching the wider bit of road. Suddenly aware that he had no other choice to avoid the mad driver, he speeded up too, and for a moment it was as if they were playing a game of chicken. He just pulled out of the way as the other vehicle reached them, but at the last moment it slid and there was a shriek of tortured metal and a scream from Aelwen as the two vehicles graunched together.
Aelwen screamed again and Dai swore, fighting to turn the all-wheel back onto the road as the cliff edge approached at a frightening speed.
The sheer momentum of the heavy vehicle made Dai’s task impossible. He could see no way to force the turn and even as he fought the inevitable, his thoughts seemed to lift away from his body with images of Julia and the children. Then it hit him in the stomach. This was not just his life, Aelwen was with him. There was no way he was going to let her end up at the bottom of the cliff being picked over by scene of crime officers.
No.
Way.

From the The Dai and Julia Mysteries, Dying for a Present, a novella by E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.

Advice on growing old disgracefully from an elderly delinquent with many years of expertise in the art – plus free optional snark…

If your’re old then you should keep to this
And not be caught having a kiss
With a handsom young buck
Who just had a luck-
Key escape from a much younger miss!

Eleanor Swift-Hook

Battleship of red plasteel from Alpha Centauri
Making warp speed easily above a dead star
With a cargo of human slaves
Rarest furs, jewellery
Golden lace, silver shoes and racing cars

Supersonic cruiser coming from a black hole
Slipping through the galaxy without time to stay
With a cargo of statuary
Painted whores, exotic goods
Platinum, sapphire rings, and velvet grey

Grungy earthling trader with a pockmarked dark hull
Crashing through the atmosphere and killing trees
With a cargo of tractors
Isotopes, scrap lead
Diesel, uranium and prosthetic knees.

Jane Jago

A tale of angels, demons and dragons…

He lifted his handsome head and bellowed skywards. Almost at once the dragon audience found itself mirrored by a line of demons, while a portal opened somewhere behind Aeva and she could hear the sound of marching feet.
“Please tell me he didn’t do that,” Aeva moaned.
Adamo looked over his shoulder. “He did,” he said shortly. “But it seems that he has set some kind of a gaes on them because they are silent and lining up quietly.”
“Oh. I see. Holding them in reserve.” Aeva turned to look at rank upon rank of mortal berserkers armed to the teeth but silent and expressionless. “That,” she said, “is just plain creepy.”
Adamo wrapped his arms around her.
“I love you,” she said, allowing herself to burrow into his heat for a moment before straightening and drawing her pride about her like a cloak.
“And I you,” he whispered.
Gabriel said something to Draco who nodded. He waved negligent claw and two large, iron cages constructed themselves in front of him. The cringing draca scuttled into one of the cages and the door slammed behind her with an iron clang. The other cage was only empty for a matter of seconds then it’s door clanged shut too, imprisoning a blond mortal who was curled in a foetal position and keening piteously.
“Gudrun,” Aeva called, “is that your brother?”
“Sounds like him by the bloody awful noise.” But the warrior woman trotted out across the sands for a proper look. “Yup. That’s him. And if anybody gets killed trying to retrieve him I will beat him to death with my own hands.”

She marched back to the shadowy oasis and for a while there was no movement and no sound except sobbing from the caged Messenger. Aeva kept her eyes on the sky and when Adamo laid a hand on her shoulder she understood he had been watching too. The golden dragon appeared to be shepherding another dragon along with her, and to be doing so fairly brutally. They landed with a bit of a kerfuffle and the smaller dragon tried to take off again. Unfortunately for her, Lord Draco wanted words. He said something under his breath and the dragon was replaced by an unremarkable looking creature whose most outstanding feature was a pronounced overbite.
“Now then, female,” he said sternly, “what is this I hear about you and a borrowed Messenger?”
The draca looked at him slyly. “We had your permission, great one.”
He frowned and drew his cloak about him. “You did not.”
She met his stare. “We had the permission of one who speaks for you.”
“Are you sure it speaks for me?” He indicated the caged draca with a lift of his chin.”
“She may be your prisoner now. But when we borrowed the mortal she was your mouthpiece, Guardian.”
“Sophistry.”
“It could be. But it is also a truth.” The draca straightened her shoulders and placed her fist against her chest. “I claim the mortal as my own.”
“You may not do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are the pawn of one who would bring war to the worlds. Look about you, foolish child, and see what you would bring upon your sisters.”
The draca first looked at the shifting eyes of the waiting dragons, then at the demon horde facing them, and finally the rank upon rank of mortal berserkers. She swallowed noisily.
“What am I to do?”
Aeva stepped forward. “What would you say to a wager?”
“A wager?”
“Yes. A face-saving wager. I will fight you for the creature now sobbing in the cage next to your erstwhile goddess.”
The draca looked at Aeva’s slender form and sneered. “A wager, do you say? What will you bet me? Will you wager your demon guard? There’s good eating on a demon.”
Aeva snarled. “Oh no, little pretend dragon. The wager is simple. Your useless life for the snivelling thing in the cage. Make up your mind quickly lest I kill you and take your pet anyway.”
The draca howled like a creature deranged, and her skin bulged and writhed. She screamed.
“What is she doing?” Adamo breathed.
“She is trying to Change. But she cannot unless I allow it. I don’t think I’m going to do that.”
“No. I wouldn’t recommend such a course of action.”
Aeva smiled into his eyes, before turning her attention back to the draca who was all but turning herself inside out in her efforts to Change. “Naughty, naughty. You fight as yourself, or die where you stand. Choose!”
The draca screamed wordless abuse and the air suddenly filled with wings and hunting cries as a dozen or so green female dragons arrived towards where Aeva stood. Adamo unsheathed his blades, but had no need of them as the avenging ‘dragons’ fell from the sky like untidy bundles of rags. Each bundle resolved itself into a draca in her true form. And they scuttled to the corner where their sister was still fighting the spell that stopped her from changing.
“The rest of that one’s nest,” Aeva whispered, “but I don’t know why they lost their dragon form so suddenly.”
“Look at Lord Draco .”
Aeva looked, to see the Guardian in the centre of his shifting, swirling cloak, with his taloned fingers playing the air like a musical instrument. He actually winked at Aeva before returning his attention to his children.
“You have disappointed me, and I don’t like disappointment.”
The draca chittered and chattered like frightened mice, but they pushed one of their number forward. She bowed, until her forehead all but touched the sand.
“We are sorry, Master. We was led astray by that one.”
He snorted. “Led astray were you? I take leave to doubt that. I think you were motivated by your greedy lusts and ambitions. And I have no doubt you will misbehave again the moment I turn my back Unless I give you reason to remember.”
The chittering grew higher-pitched and more desperate and the draca huddled together.
“You will just stay here while I decide your future.”
Something pushed the draca into an untidy heap while the sand around them shifted to form a shallow ditch around them.
“How will a shallow ditch…” Adamo breathed.
“Watch.”
As soon as Lord Draco turned his back, one of his draca stuck a foot into the ditch. She dragged it back quickly with a shout of pain.
“It burns. It burns.”
She lifted her foot and even from a distance it was possible to see the blisters on her scaly skin.
Lord Draco rotated his head. “Did I not tell you to be still.” He frowned at the creatures, who subsided. Then it was as if sudden thought struck him. “Gabriel, did not someone say that my ‘lady wife’ suggested that this child of ours was dead?”
“So they did, perhaps we should have words with your lady.”
Lord Draco lifted his arms and made a strange gesture – it was something so complex that Aeva’s eyes could barely discern it as movement. But, as his hands moved the sky changed from the brassy gold of desert heat to a soft peachy pink dotted with wispy clouds. The dragon that spiralled down through the peachy sky was also pink, and her wings looked to have quite the delicacy of gossamer
Adamo bent to Aeva’s ear. “The Lady knows she is in deep trouble. See how she is pulling out all the stops to soften her spouse.”
“I do see. But I also see his face…”
“Me too.” Adamo moved one arm behind him and the sound of booted feet on the sand told Aeva his fighters were joining them. “Insurance,” he muttered.
Before Aeva could respond, Lady Draca landed. “You called, beloved?”
He smiled at her as if one besotted by her beauty. “I believe I did. Ah yes. I have a question.” Then he turned fully to face her and pointed the middle two fingers of his right hand at her face. She flinched as her draconic disguise fell from her, leaving a yellow biped with constantly twitching skin, and oversized leather wings, standing barefoot on the sand.
Draco pressed on, but now his voice was as cold and hard as the ice blocks that float in the northern ocean “I would very much like to know why you told your peers that a draca they wanted to speak with was dead?”
Draca blinked slowly, before gathering herself together. She shrugged. “I didn’t bother to check. Just assumed her dead.”
“Not good enough. Not nearly good enough. You need to remember that I raised you to your current status and I can return you to the gutter from whence you came. Now. The truth of your goodness.”
Draca screamed a scream of real rage and malice and beat her wings thrice so she was standing on the air two man heights above the burning sand. She arrowed downwards like a vengeful bird of prey. Surely, Aeva thought, the creature was not foolish enough to attack Lord Draco.
Of course she wasn’t, and Aeva truly didn’t see her own peril in time, but Adamo was ahead of her and he and his fighters formed a ring of muscle and steel about her. Draca’s outstretched talons were met, not by blood and bone but by slashing blades and pointed darts. As the fighters pushed home their advantage a familiar figure leapt from the group and grabbed the half-dragon from behind.
It was Gudrun, and she bore her prey to the ground, where a calculated tap with the side of a war axe ensured that Draca moved no more. Gudrun had the unconscious figure hogtied before anyone thought to comment. She stood back and called her own challenge to the sky.
Thor arrived from a suddenly black and purple sky, astride a bolt of lightning and accompanied by a chastened-loooking young Northman who wore an iron collar about his brown throat.

Aeva’s Challenge by Jane Jago will continue next week.