Being newly born, the child seemed at first glance to be no more remarkable than others of her age. However, the fine aristocratic bone-structure of the noble Sidhe was already visible beneath her mottled red, too-soft skin. She did not cry as she was held aloft by her aged several-times-great-grandfather, but regarded her watching people with huge pearly-blue eyes. She was the Dragon-Caller, the one chosen to fulfill the prophecy of the sword; she would marry the warrior whom the sword chose and restore the lost power of the Clan Trevelyan.

"I now consecrate you to the power of the Dragonsword, the 27th daughter of the Dragon Clan, Opal of the Sidhe Trevelyan." The old patriarch of the family carefully placed the child on a raised pedestal facing the fabled sword on its crystal-and-gold stand and clasped her chubby little fingers about the haft of the sword.

The mother of the child burst abruptly into the room, legs still shaking from her recent delivery, held upright by the midwife. Everyone in the Great Hall turned to stare.

"Great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather! Wait!"

"Why?" The old man demanded, thoroughly puzzled. "The prophecy . . ."

The father emerged through the doorway, hard on the heels of his wife. "Grandsire!" he gasped. "The child is..."

Too late.

A clap of thunder echoed through the hall. The sword's pommel and hilt stones (save for the empty socket where a third purple stone had been) flared to life in a blinding flash of light. The consecration was complete.

The earth rumbled beneath everyone's feet as though welcoming the destined child. The patriarch lost his balance. As he tottered, he grabbed at the pedestal on which the baby perched.

The length of watery silk cloth concealing the baby's modesty slipped from her tiny hips and fell with a soft hiss to the floor.

The patriarch stared, then groped in his pocket for a pair of glasses. He was unfortunately quite myopic.

The people gathered in the Great Hall, who were not myopic in the least, fell silent. A wind rose in the Hall, an ominous wind that seemed to blow chill over every Elf there.

"The child is...male," the father finished lamely, which was now rather unnecessary considering the circumstances.

"THE BRIDE IS A BOY??!!" The patriarch roared. "How. . . ?"

Several members of the clan fainted in their seats.

"Let's just hope the warrior is female . . ." the father muttered fervently.

~

As it turned out . . .

The mercenary Onyx Nanika had always loved to travel. He'd always prided himself on being able to survive alone, never needing anybody but himself. He had always been a loner. He had been found alone in the woods by an old trapper, raised alone. He played alone growing up, shunned because of his strange looks: he had the tall, muscular stature and small curving horns of a troll, but the fine black hair and pale complexion of a sluagh. Neither was welcome in the mostly boggart community that lived in the tiny village. Then he had run away alone, when his father, despairing of what to do with his son, had attempted to marry him to a friend's daughter.

Sometimes he wondered if that wasn't what the crafty old man had intended in the first place. Both of them had known Onyx wasn't meant to grow up in that village. He realized it the moment he left. Open spaces and natural structures like caves and hollows just felt so much more like home to him, and he loved being outside, on his own.

But now he was extremely annoyed.

His bottom was sore from staying on the horse every day for nearly a month. It was raining rather hard, so the roads were slippery and camping was not an option. There was no shelter anywhere nearby, except for a castle, and Onyx hated begging for shelter. He was also very hungry. Actually, he was always hungry . . .

And unfortunately, his travel pack was empty.

He sighed, wringing out his long, silky black hair. This was not pleasant at all. There was nothing to hunt, since no sane animal would really come out in the storm.

No, wait--what was that? Something rustled in the bushes, followed by the shrill screeching of some distressed animal.

He stopped his horse and climbed off, withdrawing his bow and arrow from the waterproof saddlebags.

I hope it's food. I really do. Please let it be food...

He peered over the shrubs, the rain and his wet unbraided hair obscuring his vision. Wait. It wasn't a something, it was a someone.

He moved closer, stirring not a wet leaf, and also saw that that someone was in trouble. The rustling had been replaced by shouting, and still shot through with that infernally grating screech.

There was a girl in a hooded cape and a boy's tunic, breeches and boots facing three rather ragged large men. A fourth was yelling and beating at a small red dragon which was darting at him and snapping with fierce little jaws. Said jaws also opened once in a while to emit the shriek Onyx had heard earlier. He winced.

The girl was obviously a good fighter, judging from the wounds on the three and a fifth man whom Onyx spotted lying face down in the bracken a short distance away. She held a short, slightly curved light sword in her left hand, balanced in a style Onyx had not come across before. Her right arm dangled limply at her side, blood still coursing sluggishly down it. Another sword, a longer version of the first one, lay a few feet behind her. She edged cautiously toward it.

The men had also drawn their own rusty blades. They advanced toward her (ignoring the other man, whom the dragon was now voraciously tearing at with tiny teeth and claws; his screams of "GetitoffamegetitOOOOOOFF!!!" going unheard).

This was enough. There was no need for Onyx to wait for one of the men to demand money, or something typically worse. He stepped forward between the girl and the three men, drawing his own battle-scarred weapon. The sword, old as it was, hissed cleanly from the sheath.

Warily the three men tensed. "No need for this hero business, soor," one of them began placatingly. "Sure, a great an' noble warrior like yourself can have no need to step in little petty fights like this? We'll just take the girl and go, and no one be botherin' any--aiiiiiiiieeeee!!"

Onyx's sword whistled and the man shrieked, clapping a hand to his ear...or where his ear had been. Currently it was lying in a small bit of turf by his feet.

In typical foolish fashion the three men rushed the warrior.

He found himself suddenly backed up by the girl, who positioned herself on his left, her expression grim under her short, silver-blue hair. Together they faced the three and quickly disarmed them. The fourth had already fled, screaming about horrible little nightmares, and the others followed suit, leaving only the one on the ground. Who at any rate would be bothering no one.

The little dragon made a satisfied sort of trill as it swooped down to Onyx and the girl. She was definitely unsteady on her feet now, having had such a nasty shock, and her face was pale with pain. He saw a rock sheltered from the rain by a thickly branched pine, and helped her over to it. All the while the dragon fluttered and chittered anxiously about his head, nipping him every now and then. He batted at it angrily.

"Carnelian, stop that," she ordered the creature. "This man helped me. He helped me, Carnelian. I know you can understand me, you territorial little creature." The dragon reluctantly ceased its reprimands, but still regarded Onyx suspiciously as it settled on a nearby branch.

The rain faded as he set the girl carefully down on the rock. She pulled back her cloak and looked up at him with bright, thankful pearl-blue eyes.

Her face had the perfection of the Sidhe, a smooth oval face with high aristocratic cheekbones, a fine slender nose and lovely curving lips, although they were somewhat less than full. She was an amazingly beautiful creature, and there was something more about her...a kind of...pull that Onyx had not experienced before, drawing him in toward her.

Onyx felt his trollish heart stir.

"Thank you," she whispered to him as he tended her arm wound, her dragon hovering nervously about the both of them.

"Anything for you, milady," he said gallantly. Can't lay it on too thick...maybe she'll invite me to dinner.

The girl's eyes widened slightly and she broke into a laugh, blushing a little. "Actually, Sir knight, I'm not exactly a lady."

"No?" Maybe she was a peasant. But there was no such thing as a Sidhe peasant. Something was going on here. A runaway?

The girl stood and he realized she was a LOT shorter than he was. She looked up at him, amusement in her intense eyes. Then she unfastened the tiny clasp at her throat, and her cloak loosed and fell aside. She scooped it up and tucked it into her arm. Her tunic was slightly open, revealing...

A completely flat chest.

"I'm a lord."

I should say something, thought Onyx. It occurred to him that he was staring directly at the chest of the figure in front of him with apparently no intention of taking his gaze away. But it was better than having to look...him...in the eye.

"But you will still be handsomely rewarded." The boy said encouragingly. "My family will pay you if you wish, and if you come with me now, you can have dinner at our house. My name is Opal," the boy added, with total and unselfish trust written large in his big iridescent eyes.

The scarlet dragon snorted and rolled its own rainbow-colored eyes. Onyx shot the dragon a strange look. "Onyx Nanika, traveling knight and sometime mercenary."

"You're a troll, aren't you?" Opal asked, studying the small black horns peeking out of Onyx's hair. "You're really big. No wonder they were afraid of you. They didn't seem at all afraid of me."

The wandering knight refrained from pointing out Opal's ambiguous gender, and instead said diffidently, "They were rather more wary of you after you proved you could fight. Where did you learn your style, anyway? It's like nothing I've ever seen in all my years of experience."

"Oh, my clan have always fought this way. We were taught it by a great warrior from the Daoine, who was the founder of the Clan." He paused to shake out his wet hair. "Oh dear, here I am chattering about fighting styles when we're both likely to catch a cold! If you've a horse and other things, sir, they must be mouldering in your saddlebags. Do come to the manor with me and get dry and warm."

That did sound tempting. The reference to his things "mouldering" was a little insulting, but the sting was sweetened by the mention of manor...and..."Er--I don't mean to impose, but you mentioned dinner--?"

"Of course! Would you like to eat with me and mine, sir Onyx?"

And since Onyx could NEVER pass up a free meal, he consented.

Since the manor apparently wasn't very far from where Onyx had met the boy, Opal had brought no horse. The young lord rode in front of the knight on Onyx's own large iron-gray gelding. Onyx focused on Opal's lively talk and tried not to think about the boy's too-beautiful rear pressed slightly against him. This is a boy-child, he chided himself.

Yet that strange pull had not gone away with the boy's revelation, and Onyx was still uncomfortably aware of it. The sooner he was full and away from that strange gravity, the better.

The manor was of course as large as a Sidhe manor should be. Onyx's mind, however, was more on food than grandeur as he and Opal were let in at the gate, his horse stabled by grooms who stared wide-eyed at their lord's wounded arm.

"Mother, Father, I'm back!" called Opal as he came striding through the door to the corridor connecting to the receiving hall. Onyx followed rather uneasily in his wake.

Opal's mother, who was in a large armchair embroidering, looked up and smiled at her dripping son. Then her sky-blue eyes widened as she took in his arm, and the sling which Onyx had fashioned to hold it.

"Mother, I'd like you to meet someone. This is Onyx. Onyx, this is my mother, the lady Turquoise."

Onyx bowed to the lady.

She smiled tremulously, still unnerved by her son's injury.

"He saved my life, mother, so I invited him to dinner." Rather a blithe explanation, but it seemed to do.

"Ah, well then, welcome." Her voice warmed considerably. "And Opal, come with me. We must get you dry, warm, and patched up before dinner. Master Onyx, would you also like a change of clothes?"

Onyx was suddenly uncomfortably aware that he was dripping onto the carpet. Opal was also dripping, but at least it was his carpet.

"I would be extremely grateful."

He was subsequently kidnapped by a number of servants and taken to a small adjoining room. The servants created a kind of silent little whirlwind at the end of which Onyx found himself dry and dressed in rather richer clothes than he had ever owned in his life.

He was met at the sitting hall by Opal and his mother, who were both dressed in strange but graceful robes with wide belts. Opal smiled and said, "These are our house clothes." Onyx would have liked to say that he wished everyone could have house clothes of silk, but he smiled and kept his mouth shut.

~

Opal's father was already at the long table, and his eyes widened as the Dragonsword, set horizontally in a crystal stand over the immense fireplace, flared with the same light it had produced on Opal's birth.

"The wielder of the Dragonsword is...in the manor?" he asked himself in disbelief.

His son came in, accompanied by Lady Turquoise and a tall man with dark hair and troll horns.

"Father," said Opal, "this is Onyx Nanika, and he saved my life."

Lord Jade buried his face in his hands. "Oh no. It's male."

END CHAPTER 1