The Princess's Dragon (21 page)

a possession not just of the body but also of the spirit.

Sondra roared in ecstasy, certain now that he wanted her as she wanted him, not just now but for all eternity. Tolmac threw part of himself through their linked minds; for the first time in his very long life willing to be possessed, unafraid of the consequences of belonging to someone else; the same sort of vulnerability he spent his entire life avoiding.

Sondra responded by casting her own spirit to him in return, and he held her, caressing her as no one else could, her spirit fluttering within his own vast and shadowy mind like a brilliantly colored butterfly. Consumed by their mating, Tolmac didn’t spare time to study the memories, emotions, and thoughts coming through her end of their link. Perhaps it would not have mattered if he did at that moment, because she belonged to him body and soul, and he didn’t hesitate to enslave himself to her, shouting his true name through their link, the power of it unspoken since his mother whispered it into his

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spirit at the moment of his hatching. Other dragons squandered their freedom, losing their true name to wizards and witches and serving them forever because of it. Tolmac had never acted so incautiously before, but he gave it to Sondra without hesitation and asked nothing in return. He forever belonged to her.

The mating was not gentle, physically or emotionally. The two dragons surged into flight together, winged high into the air and then spiraled down, tearing away from each other at the last moment before coming together again.

Their link never wavered, and through it they shared the rapture each felt during their fierce mating. Scales were torn away by grasping teeth and claws, wings were scraped during several near misses with the ground, and muscles were tested by the struggle between two dragons trying to outdo each other in providing pleasure.

Hours passed before both dragons collapsed on the ledge and dragged themselves into the lair to curl up, their bodies and spirits twined languorously around each other. Tolmac had mated many times in his life, but never had he mated like this, never had he given up a portion of himself to another. Dragons did possess the capacity to care for one another, but few ever found a mate they desired enough to risk themselves. Tolmac counted his age in eons and never before had he found another he would gladly follow into death. Now Tolmac understood that death would be far preferable to a life without his mate.

Sondra dreamed terrible nightmares that nearly shook her awake. In her dreams she witnessed men dying, screaming in agony as spears pierced their bodies or swords impaled their skulls. Other men battled for their lives against impossible odds. The men wore the armor of Ariva, and one man stood out among them as he hacked and slashed away at the strangely armored enemies.

His sword and shield an extension of his body, he twisted, swung, and kicked through the enemy, mowing them down with fierce abandon. He used his spiked shield nearly as often as his sword to batter his enemies, leaving bleeding gouges on their faces and great dents in their helmets as he slammed them away from him before he swung his other arm across and slashed through them with his sword.

He bore the standard of Ariva, holding a high rank in their army judging by his feathered helm, but Sondra nearly didn’t recognize his face because of the bloody grimace he wore. In shock, she realized that she dreamed of none other than Lord Derek, a man she once believed herself in love with. At first, she wondered if the gods punished her by showing her this nightmare of him 124

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in danger because she so callously forsook him and all those she once treasured, but then she realized that the dream felt too real and that the battle took place at Ulrick Pass, a place she knew about but never traveled to in her sheltered life. Alarm shot through her as she watched men die around Derek and the few other veterans who managed to hold the line. She jerked awake and her distress passed through her link to Tolmac, who woke immediately, alert for threats.

“I dreamt that a war raged in the valley between my—the humans. It seemed so real,” she said, shivering.

“This is good; you are learning to spread your awareness while you sleep.

You have spread it very far; the pass you speak of and the battle that goes on there is quite a distance away.” Tolmac seemed pleased, unaware that her distress wasn’t because of her strange experience but of the actual vision.

“There is a real battle going on in that pass?” Sondra demanded.

Tolmac yawned. “Yes, I sensed it yesterday when we returned, before …” He looked at her, heat lighting up his red gaze.

Sondra jumped to her feet, shaking loose the parts of him that still coiled around her. “What about the humans? They’re dying! We have to help them!”

“What? Why would we do that? They are only humans; they do this sort of thing all the time and they will eventually sort it out. They are not stupid enough to bring their petty wars to us.” Tolmac grew astonished at Sondra’s distress and she realized that he couldn’t possibly understand why she needed to act on behalf of the humans. After their intense intimacy it was now too late for confessions. He would hate her forever for tricking him. And worse, her people died in agony while she actually possessed the strength and ability to aid them. He would never accept her leaving him without an explanation.

She looked at him, feeling his concern and confusion through their link, and she carefully guarded her own agitated emotions. She resolved that she would find a way to help her people and still not reveal the truth to him. She would just sneak out, blast the enemy army, and then return with some equinos and tell him that she wanted to surprise him. It had to work. Just like her time within the Dragon City, circumstances forced Sondra to make a choice and take a horrible risk just to do the right thing. And just as before, the choice wasn’t really a choice at all. She could never live with herself, even safely at Tolmac’s side, if she sat back and did nothing to save her people.

“Of course, you’re right. I have never seen humans up close and it startled

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me to discover myself in the midst of their battle. For a moment I almost felt human.” Sondra nearly stuttered mentally from the lie. Tolmac relaxed, though his gaze still remained wary.

“Stay away from humans; trust me, you will be much happier if you do.

They are annoyances who spend their entire short life span dreaming up ways to kill each other,” Tolmac grumped.

Sondra grasped at a flicker of memory that passed through their link of a young man with black eyes and long, wild hair and an even younger girl, beautiful and pale in a gentle delicate sort of way, but she lost it before Tolmac turned away and curled up again. She joined him, curled up next to him, but careful not to touch him. He fell asleep within moments and she carefully uncoiled and moved to the entrance, cringing at every sound, shrinking their link to a mere wisp of thought along which she sent all her love and happiness to him. Once through the tunnels and out on the ledge, she took flight, wending her way south to join the fray, hopefully to save her people, without losing her love.

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CHAPTER 14

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Just cycles after the dragon attack on the youngest princess of the Ariva royal family, the cycle of the funeral dawned clear and bright. Th

e sun shined as though determined to remind the grieving people of Sondra’s bright smile. Everyone in the capital city of Ariva bore witness to the funeral procession, many wiping tears from their eyes while many more searched the sky, wondering whether the dragon would swoop down and snatch up another victim. If any person felt that the young princess had brought her death upon herself because of her beliefs, they weren’t foolish enough to speculate aloud.

The previous night, the priests of Morbidon had prepared the remains and erected a funeral pyre at Morbidon’s shrine beside the west-facing wall. Just as the sun died every night after its journey through the sky, so did Morbidon’s children return to him after their passage through life.

Sondra’s funeral procession began at Vivacel’s shrine in the eastern wall, the place where most women came to labor and birth their babies. Occasionally a prince or princess took their first breaths there as well when their mothers eschewed the castle shrine for the city shrine. The procession traveled across the city, simulating the passage of the deceased from Vivacel’s arms to Morbidon’s embrace as the sun itself followed the same path.

Four bearers carried the royal deceased through the streets, although during this funeral they pulled the filmy curtains, concealing what little remained of the princess within. Before the princess lying in state, marched a contingent of the palace guard wearing full ceremonial armor, their breastplates gleaming.

The king, queen, Sarai, and Sergen rode their horses behind the soldiers.

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They wore the best clothing they owned to honor their sister; the morning sun glinted and sparked off jewels, gold thread, and silken brocade. Behind Sondra’s remains rode the ladies-in-waiting, their normally giggling stupidity subdued for the occasion. Following them walked the servants that had grown close to Sondra during her life: the nanny, a woman of middle years, plump proportions, and a kind heart, and Liliana, who wept openly, struggling to walk through her mourning. Many palace servants and a final contingent of guards brought up the rear of the procession.

Behind them all, so far distant that he hardly appeared attached to the procession at all, rode a single man, his clothing dark and subdued, but not nearly as dour as the frozen despair and impotent rage twisting his expression.

Lord Derek watched as the procession bore the pitiful remains of his love through the city, and he harbored an intense hatred in his heart, a growth of darkness that he nurtured, surrounded, and protected.

When the procession arrived at the shrine, a Morbidion priest stood and recited his sermon as the bearers placed the remains on the funeral pyre.

“In the beginning, there was the goddess Vivacel, bringer of life and challenge and the god Morbidon, bringer of peace and rest. The god and goddess created a child, which they called man. When the gods split the world into two, the overworld and the underworld, Vivacel and Morbidon fought over their children. They finally decided that man should spend one part of his existence with Vivacel and so we live out our lives here in the overworld. Then man should spend the other part of his existence with Morbidon and so we join Morbidon in death in the underworld. And so follows the never-ending cycle of man, with each child of the gods spending time first with the Mother, Vivacel, goddess of Life and then with the Father, Morbidon, god of Death, before their rebirth to live a new cycle, just as the sun is forever reborn from one cycle to the next.”

The priest paused in his recitation of the birth of man, part of the origin story written in the Forbidden Scrolls, and the basis of all religious worship in Ariva and the majority of the civilized southern lands.

“And so, as the sun sets, the princess Casiondra is returned to Morbidon’s embrace to bask in her Father’s love and the glory of his kingdom before she is reborn anew. Let us not grieve, for this is not an ending for the princess but merely a time of rest before her new beginning. The princess lived a blameless and genteel life and so will rejoin Vivacel’s realm blessed in her next destiny.” 128

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Those gathered within the temple walls where the remains of the princess lay in state nodded along with the recitation, certain that the princess, despite her heretical ideas about magic, would indeed be reborn into a good life. At the back of the temple shrine, standing with the guards and armored bearers, but separated by an invisible wall of grief, Derek ground his teeth, angry and unmoved by the words of the priest, just as at the front of the temple, the king and queen buried their sorrow beneath rigid masks of polite neutrality.

Sarai sobbed behind her dark veil, and Sergen sat clenching and unclenching his fists, his mind shying away from the thought of never seeing his closest sister again. The images that haunted him at night, the terror and agony she no doubt suffered at the jaws of the dragon, chased him into the daylight hours.

The words of the priest washed over them, providing little solace and leaving their bereavement unchanged.

After the services the mourners each selected a torch proffered by Morbidon’s novitiates and cast it on the pyre, setting flame to the mortal remains of the princess whose spirit the priest assured them even now resided in Morbidon’s kingdom. The royal family returned to the castle trailed by the nobles and other mourners who joined them there for a feast in honor of the tragically short life of the princess. A bard sang tales about the princess, describing her beauty and unfailing kindness, her intelligence and grace and, most remembered, her brilliant and magical smile. The family struggled to bear up under the strain of their melancholy before their duties ended and they would be free to release their grief in the privacy of their own quarters.

Lord Derek had other plans. He spent the remainder of the funeral meeting with the royal engineers. The four learned men primarily focused on the planning and building of the kingdom’s infrastructure, bridges, waste disposal, roadways, and city layout. However, with the current uncertainty regarding the new resource of ginacite, the engineers spent the majority of their busy day designing and drafting plans for war engines. Fortunately, their training in the war-torn southern lands provided them plenty of inspiration for the task at hand. Still, they remained a bit confused at Lord Derek’s request for several large ballistae—massive, heavy crossbows the width of two men laid end to end that fired projectiles as long as a horse and as heavy as sapling trunks. This ballista would prove somewhat effective against enemy troops but wouldn’t possess the devastating area effect of damage from the catapults, despite the superior range of the ballista. Still, never ones to argue with their