dragon archives 05 - forever a dragon (27 page)

“Go ahead,” Lleland muttered. “It’s all yours.”

Despite his revulsion at his actions, he could not resist licking the dried blood from his fingers. Strength and power coursed through his body, and the gnawing hunger and burning thirst that had tormented him had disappeared. He collected his belongings and started along the road, walking late into the following night before pausing for a rest.

Another two weeks had passed when Lleland stood at the top of a hill and looked down at the city below. The pall of smoke had hung over the horizon the whole of the previous day, along with the smell of foul air. All around him people crowded along the road, dragging carts with their merchandise or lugging huge bundles as they headed into or out of the city. He wended his way through the throng and crossed the bridge. The city pulsed with life, and his senses were overwhelmed by the sights, sounds and smells that assaulted him on all sides. He still knew the streets and alleys, and recognized the hawkers and flower sellers who had been there before, but Civitas was a foreign place. He longed to return to the mountains, and felt their call pulsing through his blood. He turned towards the university.

The grounds of Kings College were quiet – there were still two more weeks before the start of the autumn term. The only sign of life was the groundsman tending bushes in a far corner. Lleland walked up the path and pushed open the wooden door. A few of the Masters, like himself, lived at the college all year around, and the building was not completely empty.

His boots echoed over the flagstones as he headed down the passage. He had just reached the stairs when a door opened and he saw the Dean emerge from his office. “Ah, Seaton, you’re back from your travels. I look forward to hearing your report.”

Lleland nodded. “Yes, Master.” He mounted the stairs and made his way to his chamber. It was cool and smelled a little moldy, and he flung open the window, letting in the late summer air. The room seemed very small after the chambers at Storbrook, but as he glanced around, his eyes fell on his books which had been carefully stacked on the desk, and he smiled to himself. No matter what changed around him, it was reassuring to know that some things remained the same.

Chapter 30

Lleland sat in his chamber, his daybook before him on his desk. The window was open and the smells of the city wafted through. He rubbed his bare back over the hard wood of his chair as he read, in an effort ease to the pressure that would not go away. There was nothing he could do to relieve his back, or the ache in his belly, which craved raw flesh and blood. The thought of feeding his animal nature repulsed him, and he denied these cravings: perhaps if he starved the monster within, he could kill it. The memory of his last kill brought conflicting emotions. His stomach tightened as he thought of the hot blood spilling into his mouth and the steaming flesh reaching his belly, but he was revolted by his wild, beastly instincts which had him tearing the carcass with his teeth. He had stopped all hunting so he wouldn’t become an animal again.

The constant, gnawing hunger was one thing, but it was the dreams that troubled Lleland most. He dreamed of himself, huge, black and monstrous. As monstrous as Jack. He dreamed of blood spilling into his mouth, and the taste of human flesh as he ripped it apart with his talons. The screams of frightened people filled him with power, and he took delight in their fear. Sometimes Lydia joined him as he feasted, killing dozens in a single night, while other times he hunted alone. His appetite was insatiable, and he reveled in it, until he awoke, aghast. He took to sleeping on the floor after he woke up with his quilt ripped and mattress shredded. Sometimes when he opened his eyes his wings were unfurled, trailing over his back and across the floor, and he lifted them languorously, marveling at their power, until he remembered what they represented. As much as the dreams appalled him, it was the cravings which lingered long after he awoke that most shocked and revolted him. He could not allow himself to become that monster.

Lleland glanced at the book before him. It was open to the account of his first encounter with the Storbrook dragons, and Lydia’s sketches stared at him from the page. He traced his fingers over the drawing of the smaller dragon, then slammed the book shut in annoyance. He did not want to think about dragons, and especially not Lydia. But even so, the memory of her soft lips could not be forgotten, and he groaned. It was a woman he wanted, not a dragon.

His mind wandered back to his visit to his mother a few days before. It was the first time he had seen her since his return to Civitas. He knew that his reluctance to visit had been caused by his dread that somehow she would know he was changed – that he had become the creature she most feared. She’d stared at him when he first arrived at the door, and for a moment he was sure that she knew, but then she smiled and took his hands.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, son,” she said, “I just had to remind myself what you look like!”

He grinned in relief. “It hasn’t been that long,” he said.

“Long enough! And I wasn’t even sure you’d ever return!” A shadow passed over her face, then was gone. “But here you are! Come, sit down, and tell me about the places you’ve seen!”

The clock in the church tower tolled three, reminding Lleland of the time. Durwin Scott, one of the members of the League, had sent him a note the previous day. He had heard that Lleland was back in town and suggested they meet over a pint. Lleland straightened his tunic and headed outside. The heat of summer had given way to cooler temperatures, but the days were still clear and fine. He turned in the direction of the tavern near the Guildhall, passing the busy market where hawkers and vendors shouted out their wares. His senses were assailed by a multitude of smells – spices, leather, flowers and fabrics, while all around him he heard the loud and not-so-loud conversations of buyers and sellers. He passed the table of fabric that Lydia had admired so much, and turned away.

“Master Seaton!”

Lleland spun around to see a carriage slowing to a halt a few feet away. He recognized John the coachman, and waved his hand in greeting.

“You’re back in town,” he said.

“We arrived last week. Mistress was eager to get back to the city after her mother passed. I’m glad to see you made it back alive, and didn’t die in the mountains!”

The door of the carriage opened, and Lleland saw Muriel lean forward in the dim interior. “Master Seaton! I was hoping we would see you sometime.” She blushed and bit her lip as her eyes dropped to her lap. An elderly gentleman sat on the bench across from her.

“This is my uncle, Ambassador Syngen Gail,” she said.

The man leaned forward, and Lleland met his gray eyes with a nod. “Master Seaton? I understand from my niece that we owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“I did as much as any other gentleman would’ve done.”

“Perhaps. But I’m still in your debt. We’re having a small party next week. Why don’t you join us?”

“Well …” Muriel peered at him from beneath her eyelashes.

“You would honor us if you accept,” Syngen said.

“Thank you, Master. I look forward to it.”

“Good.” Syngen closed the door and the carriage pulled away. Lleland swallowed a sigh as he watched it go, before continuing on his way.

He reached the tavern a short while later, and immediately saw Scott seated at a table in the center of the room. He was talking to the barmaid, who was laughing at something he said. Lleland made his way to the table and sat down. Scott was a tanner by trade, and even as a human, Lleland could smell the odor of untanned leather that clung to him. Now, however, it almost overwhelmed his senses, and he turned away to take in a deep breath.

“You’re a married man now,” he said as Scott patted the barmaid while she walked away. “You shouldn’t be flirting with pretty women.”

Scott turned to Lleland with a sigh. “Don’t remind me,” he said.

“That bad, eh? It’s only been, what, ten months?”

“Eleven,” he said morosely. “Who would’ve thought my pretty young girl would turn into her mother so soon?”

“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” Lleland said with a laugh.

“It wasn’t so bad at first, but now with the baby coming in a few months, she nags me from morning to night.” Scott drained his ale in one gulp. “How was your trip?”

“Good.”

“Did you see Drake?”

“I did. He told me nothing new.”

“Grant didn’t think he would. What was he like? He must be pretty old.”

“He, er, hardly looks his age. I don’t think he’d have any trouble slaying another dragon, if he wanted.”

“But he must be at least fifty! Probably even older! Is it true there are dragons in the mountains?”

“Yes.”

“And did you kill any?”

“No.”

“So you’re taking a hunting party?”

The barmaid retuned with two tankards, which she placed on the table with a smile in Scott’s direction. Curly brown locks fell around his face, and he pushed them aside as he smiled back.

“The Northern Mountains are Drake’s territory,” Lleland said. “If there’s a problem, he’ll deal with it.”

“But the dragons are still alive. And I still have to kill my first beast!”

“Well, it won’t be one of those. Those dragons aren’t a threat.”

“From what I’ve heard, all dragons are a threat.”

Lleland shrugged. “Not these. They’ve lived peacefully in the mountains for years.”

“Then why do we hunt them?”

“I don’t know,” Lleland snapped. “Perhaps some are more dangerous than others.”

Scott leaned back in his seat and stared at Lleland with eyebrows raised. “What’s wrong?”

Lleland sighed and took a long draught. “Nothing. It’s just … I don’t think all dragons should be hunted.”

“You? Don’t think all dragons should be hunted?” Scott laughed. “I never thought to hear such words from your lips.” Lleland glanced away in irritation. “Was it something Drake said that made you change your mind?”

“You could say that.”

“So it’s true that he isn’t interested in hunting dragons?”

“He’s definitely not interested! In fact, he has quite a fondness for the creatures.”

“Fondness? That’s rich! Who could ever love such hideous monsters?”

Lleland watched as a fly landed on the table and walked across the scratched surface. “Who indeed?” he said.

Lleland received an official invitation to Syngen Gail’s party two days later, written in fine script on thick vellum and stamped with the official seal. He carried it in the pocket of his doublet the following Friday as he made his way across the city to the Ambassador’s residence. The house was built on the river, downstream from the royal palace. Hundreds of lanterns lit the walkway, and a pair of footmen waited at the door to usher the visitors into the towering hall beyond. As Lleland stepped through the door, his heart sank. What Ambassador Gail had described as a little party included a hundred people or more, filling the huge hall. The room glittered with hundreds of candles, tapestries covered the walls depicting various battles, and a huge fire roared in the center.

“Ah, Master Seaton, I’m glad you could make it.” Lleland turned to see Syngen Gail making his way towards him. He was dressed in a gold silk doublet embroidered with red, which matched his bright red breeches. He had no need for padding on the shoulders, Lleland noticed, and his stomach was still flat and firm beneath the clothing. “Let me introduce you to some of the other guests.” He led Lleland around the room, finally leaving him alone with a man named Wilson. Lleland nodded politely as Wilson talked about the weather, elucidated his views on the grip of power the city merchants exercised over the king, and then launched into a diatribe on the evils of taxes.

The dinner bell rang, and Lleland turned away in relief. He had only taken a few steps when a footman appeared at his elbow. “This way, Master,” he said, indicating the main table on the dais.

“Are you sure?” Lleland said, surprised.

“Yes. Ambassador Gail pointed you out himself.” He led Lleland to a chair, covered in silk, near the center of the table, and Lleland waited as the other guests assembled. Muriel mounted the dais a moment later on her uncle’s arm, and she darted a quick smile at Lleland as she took the seat next to him. She was dressed in a dark red gown trimmed with white lace which reached her throat, while her golden hair had been braided and twisted around her head and covered with a net decorated with pearls. The shade of the gown reminded Lleland of Lydia, who had once worn a similar color. But her hair always hung down her back, like a shimmering, silky curtain. He swallowed and pushed the memory away.

“I asked Uncle Syngen to seat you beside me,” Muriel said as Lleland took his place beside her. “Was that wrong of me?”

“Not at all, Mistress,” he said with a smile.

She leaned back in her seat and carefully placed a napkin over her knees. “Uncle Syngen has arranged a minstrel to entertain us tonight,” she said. “He can sing, dance, juggle and tumble!”

A platter of food was placed on the table before them, and Muriel helped herself to a small portion of roasted quail. “Uncle Syngen says you teach at Kings College,” she said as Lleland loaded his plate. “What do you teach?”

“Philosophy,” Lleland replied.

“You’ve studied the great masters,” she said. “I only know a very little, and can speak Latin but poorly.” Lleland smiled, remembering his surprise when Lydia conversed in the ancient language, and her annoyance at his astonishment. Muriel looked away. “You’re laughing at me,” she said. The color was rising in her cheeks.

“Forgive me, Mistress, you reminded me of someone. Please don’t think I’m laughing at you.”

“It’s just that many people think I cannot be interested in philosophy and other such subjects.”

“And are you?”

“Oh, yes! I wish I could attend university and read Aristotle and Plato.”

“There’s no reason why you can’t study them on your own, Mistress. I’d be happy to lend you my books and direct you on where to begin.”