Heartless (23 page)

You are one of my kin.”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes tearless and sad.

“But not completely.” He smiled. “Come closer, and I shall finish the work for you. Come here, mouthful. Your heart belongs to me.”

The princess stepped toward him, her face upraised.

“Lean closer,” he said. “Let me kiss you.”

The blood rushed in her veins, throbbing in sudden panic, but the princess stood on her toes, reaching up to the Dragon. She felt the brand of his kiss on her forehead.

She fell back, crying out in agony, but the cry changed to a roar, hideous and deep, bursting from her breast and out her throat in flames and smoke. Her hands hit the ground, but instead of hands, terrible scales and claws scratched and tore the stone to pebbles. Ebony wings beat from her shoulders, and more flames burned her mouth, burned the ground, scorching everything around her black.

“What have you done to me?” she cried. Her voice was harsh with fire.

23

The Dragon watched the young dragon roll upon the ground, slapping her wings against the burning rubble. He said nothing, only watched while furnaces smoldered in his eyes.

At last Una lay exhausted, her sides heaving, her fire momentarily spent. The Dragon approached her, his fangs gleaming in a monstrous smile.

“My daughter,” he said, “what a fine fire you have inside! Five years now I’ve searched for you, and I might have passed you by, such a puny creature you are. But I pride myself on having recognized you at last.”

The dragon that had been a princess opened an eye. It glowed dully, though fear rimmed the edges and dilated the pupil. “What have you done to me?” Her voice was rough as gravel underfoot.

“What have I done?” The Dragon flared the black crest on his head in pride. “I’ve released you, my sister, my child! I’ve allowed you to become what you truly are, what you have been all this time. Now you may embrace the freedom of your spirit unbound!”

Una moaned, and her eyes rolled back in her head.

“You know it is true,” the Dragon said. “You’ve known all along, deep inside.”

“What am I to do?” the young dragon asked, pushing herself upright.

The Dragon opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment a horn sounded not far off, beyond the gate, across the fields, and over a hill. Its golden note broke clear through the heavy air, and both dragons turned to the sound, the elder with a snarl and a burst of flame, the younger with a new light in her eye.

“My father!” she rasped in her burning throat.

The Dragon hissed and raised himself to see over the high stone wall.

“The fool,” he growled. “I warned him, didn’t I?”

The young dragon, wings flailing, struggled to her feet and also peered over the wall. Through a haze of red, she saw the lines of King Fidel’s army advancing, armor and weapons gleaming dully in the light of torches, for the sun could not pierce the Dragon’s gloom.

“So be it,” the Dragon said. “Wait here, little sister, until I’ve dealt with these gnats.”

He drew himself together; his powerful haunches propelled him upward and his great wings struck the air until, catching a current of wind, he soared high into the smoke-filled sky. Down below, the Duke of Shippening’s army lined up just outside the city, while Fidel’s men marched stoutly forward. It was a pathetic sight, the ragtag troops of Parumvir in the weak advancing position against the larger and more securely stationed men of Shippening. There was no need for the Dragon to become involved. But the furnace was hot in him now.

He rose like a black sun, fire pouring from his gaping mouth, and the army halted. Screams filled the air, both from Parumvir’s men and those of Shippening. King Fidel’s horn sounded again, and the army moved forward once more, but the Dragon’s shadow fell upon their hearts.

The Dragon circled them, a vast vulture, as the fire grew inside him that his black scales glowed red and flames leapt from the corners of his eyes. He opened his mouth, aiming at the front line of soldiers.

But another fire struck him in the face, harmless yet startling. He turned, surprised, in time to see the young dragon hurtling toward him on frantic wings. She collided into him, her talons clawing into his side. His tail whipped around at the impact and lashed her closer to him, and the two fell, grappling together. The Dragon, too taken aback to fight, pushed her away before they hit the ground, and caught himself on an updraft. She, unskilled with her wings, struck the earth and lay dazed.

“Foolish sister!” the Dragon barked, flames shooting out the sides of his mouth and curling over his head as horns. “What insanity was that?”

Una lurched up, breathing heavily. “My father!” she gasped.

“Idiot!” The Dragon spat at her. “
I
am your Father!”

“No!”

“Yes, dragon!” he cried. “I am your Father. I am your brother, your mother, all your kinfolk now!”

“No!” She leapt into the air again and flew at him. He knocked her aside with a single stroke. The young dragon recovered herself in the air and charged again, spitting fire and sparks. The Dragon caught her in his strong forelegs and bit her neck fiercely. She roared and clawed at him, but he worried her, shaking his head back and forth, then flung her from him. She hit the ground, her wings beating the earth into clouds of dust.

The Dragon settled nearby, slithered up to her, and cuffed her across her face. She rolled away, and he cuffed her a second and a third time.

“There, little sister!” he roared, his fire reddening her scales. “Test my authority, eh? Test it again!”

He lunged at her and tore into her already bleeding neck. The young dragon screamed, blue flames spewing from between her teeth. With strength she did not know she possessed, she broke away and took to the air. This time she fled as fast as her wings could carry her, higher and farther into the sky.

The Dragon raised his head and bellowed a roar that shook the earth for miles. Then he lowered himself on all fours and looked around. The king’s army was in retreat, leaving the land behind calm, black, and deserted.

The Dragon looked over his shoulder and watched the young dragon disappear south into the haze of his smoke. He smiled and licked his lips. “Perfect.”

“To the king! To the king!” Argus cried.

Few listened to him; most of the men fell back in the ranks, running over each other in their haste to flee what they’d already known to be a hopeless battle. The sight of the Dragon had been enough to destroy what courage remained in them, but two dragons were beyond reason. They fled in terror while King Fidel sat on his horse as though frozen in the middle of a sea of running men.

Cursing, Argus spurred his horse forward, cutting through the flood of screaming soldiers until he reached the king’s side. “Sire!” he cried.

Fidel did not answer. Argus grabbed the bridle of the king’s mount and dragged the champing horse over the hill after the routed army. Fidel sagged in his saddle, his face expressionless. They had no sooner passed out of sight of the Duke of Shippening’s army than the king toppled from his saddle and landed heavily in the dirt. Argus reined in his horse, leapt down, and ran back to catch up his king.

“Una,” Fidel moaned as Argus wrapped his arm over his shoulders.

“She’s lost.”

“But you’re not lost yet, sire!” Argus growled through gritted teeth. He barked to a passing lieutenant, “Are there no loyal men left in Parumvir?”

The lieutenant stopped in his flight and called some of his own men back to him. Together, they bore the king from the deserted field.

24

Una burned inside. She wished she would burn to death, but she did not die. She only burned.

Higher and higher she flew, above the black smoke and still higher. At last she burst out above the gray clouds into blinding white sunlight that struck her eyes like daggers. She screamed in pain, sinking back below the clouds, and continued flying south.

Her wings carried her far, over landscapes she did not recognize, hills and valleys of Parumvir dotted with flocks of sheep that, if her shadow fell across them, stampeded in panic. Their sheepdog guards fled as well, abandoning their flocks to run, tails tucked, for the nearest shelter.

Una flew on. The sensation of flight was lost on her, for her mind was consumed with her burning: the throbbing burn at her bleeding neck and the boiling burn in her breast.

It might have been days, years, centuries later, for all she knew, when she began to regain some of herself. The fire inside her died even as the sun set on the horizon, and she found it more and more difficult to catch the updrafts with her hideous wings. When at last she could go no farther, she descended like a falling stone. An empty farmer’s field presented itself to her view, and she tumbled into it. Her legs, unable to support her weight, collapsed beneath her.

At first she lay still, not thinking, hardly breathing. Then slowly, painfully, thoughts crept in. What was she? What had become of her? Where could she go? Who could help her? The questions rang loudly in her head, and panic stirred up the fire in her breast.

No! No fire!
She whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut.

A child’s scream filled the air.

Una’s eyes opened, and she scrambled to pull her ungainly limbs under her. Pushing herself to her feet, she watched a little girl, screeching like an angry kitten, flee the field up a hill. Answering deep-throated shouts rose moments later. Una sat up on her hind legs and saw peasants running from barns and cottages – women carrying children away, men with pitchforks and scythes charging toward her, shouting and menacing.

Terrified, she tried to scream, but a monstrous flame billowed from her throat instead. Smoke spilled out and covered the ground at her feet. The peasants stopped. Some flung themselves down on the ground while others turned and fled. Three sturdy men, one bald and white bearded, brandished their flimsy weapons higher and continued charging, screaming like barbarians.

She took to the air even as the nearest peasant, armed with an ax, stepped into the field. Her shadow swept over him and his two companions as she left them and the field far behind.

The flame roared in her head.
They believe I’m a monster,
Una thought, snarling even in flight.
That’s what they think of me. Idiots!
Flames licked between her lips.
Mindless creatures. I should burn them all!

She shook her head violently as she recognized her thoughts.
No, that’s not who I am. This is a lie; this isn’t me. This is his work, but I am still inside.

Deep down inside herself she searched. Red ash covered everything, every thought, word, or deed. But as she rooted around in her soul, she thought she could still see traces of the princess.

It’s all a lie. Just a lie!

But the fires were stoked inside her once more, and she flew on. She flew over flat green lands she did not know, not the hills of her own country. Night came on, and a silver moon glimmered high above. She landed at last beside a quiet river and crawled into it. The river bubbled and steamed about her. Moaning, she turned on her side to bathe her neck wound. For a moment, cool water sent an icy thrill through her body. But that moment passed, and the burning returned threefold. She would have wept, but the fire had consumed all her tears. Instead, exhausted, she propped her chin on the shore, keeping her nose just out of the water, and lay still. The moon gleamed down on her, highlighting the rough contours of her unsightly frame.

When she woke, her fire was low, and Una found herself once more in the body of a girl.

–––––––

Fidel sat in the dark in his small room at the garrison in Dompstead, for he refused to let servants in to light his fire. Numb, he stared into shadows. Voices carried through the door from the hall, and Fidel recognized General Argus’s voice above the rest.

“I must see the king!”

“He will admit no one – ” Fidel’s attendant protested, but Argus interrupted with a roar.

“Let me pass. We must flee this place before the duke arrives. We haven’t much time. Let me speak to him.”

“Sir, we have our orders.”

“Hang your orders!”

There was a scuffling in the hall; then a new voice spoke. “Word for the king . . . concerning his son.”

“Tell me,” Argus demanded.

Low voices murmured, but Fidel did not wait for the attendants to decide whether the message was important enough to disobey his command and let the messenger through. He got up and, staggering in the dark, opened his door.

The attendants, the general, and the young soldier who brought word of his son all looked up as though caught in some sin.

“What news do you have of Felix?” Fidel demanded.

“Please, sire,” his senior attendant said, reaching out protectively to the king. “You must rest – ”

“What news?” Fidel roared, slapping the attendant’s hands aside and grabbing the young soldier viciously. “What news of my son?”

The soldier, white as a sheet, babbled, “I was with the company that rode north, Your Highness. We were attacked, set upon by Shippening soldiers – ”

“My son?”

“Lost, sire.”

Fidel’s grip slackened, and he sagged back, caught and supported by several of his attendants. “Dead?” he whispered.

“I do not know,” the soldier said. “I fear so. We were slaughtered, Your Majesty.”

Fidel, in a weak haze, noticed suddenly how haggard and weak the young soldier was, saw the wound crusted with blood on his shoulder.

“We were slaughtered,” the soldier repeated. “Captain Janus led the prince away, but we could not keep up, and they disappeared into Goldstone Wood. When we came to the Wood there was – ” He hung his head, and his voice choked suddenly. “A dragon,” he said. “Not large, but we were unprepared.”

The soldier, hardly more than a boy, shivered and swayed on his feet. General Argus put a supporting hand under his elbow. “I alone escaped,” he continued. “I was wounded and fell into a ditch. I believe I fainted.” His voice was low with shame. “When I woke, I searched the Wood but found only my . . . my comrades. Dead. All except Captain Janus.” He shuddered and whispered, “Burned.”

Another soldier who stood aside from the group spoke up, drawing the king’s attention. “We discovered Janus’s body,” he said, “just outside Dompstead. He was dead before the company left for the north. Whoever it was who rode with your son was not Captain Janus but an imposter.”

Fidel closed his eyes. Everything within him was still, the stillness of death. “Take me inside,” he murmured, and his attendants assisted him back to his room, beside the dark fireplace. One of them started to build a fire, but the king said, “Leave me,” in a tone that made no room for argument.

But Argus stood his ground in the doorway. “Your Majesty, the duke will come. Probably this very evening. We cannot protect you here. Dompstead is unprepared for defense.”

The king did not answer, and the attendants tried to force Argus from the room.

The general nearly shouted in frustration, “We must get you away from here!”

Fidel looked up, and murder flashed through his eyes. “Leave me, Argus. Now.”

The general cursed as a man should never curse before his sovereign but allowed himself to be pushed, still cursing, from the room. The door slammed.

Fidel sank into darkness and felt the dragon poison in his blood sucking him deeper. “My children,” he whispered.

The attendants stood in the hall, pale as ghosts, and listened helplessly to their king’s weeping.

–––––––

Heavy drizzle hung in the air, dampening the streets of a small town and the spirits of those who walked in them. This time of year, all one could expect in Beauclair was rain, rain, and more rain, with the occasional sleet for added interest. It put everyone in such a sour mood that even friends refused to make eye contact with friends.

Into this town Una stepped on unsteady feet, uncertain anymore of her own limbs. If a wind blew, she felt a lightheaded whirr inside, as though her small frame would be lifted and blown away like dandelion fluff. Her dress was torn, hanging in loose tatters on her body, little protection from the cold and rain. She felt conspicuous, but no one took notice of one solitary girl, intent as they were upon getting to their various destinations and out of the wet.

At a signpost, Una recognized that she had been following the Wide Road, the primary highway that merchants and other travelers took between Parumvir and Beauclair. The town she entered was, from what she could tell, built in the Beauclair style, and she guessed that she must have crossed the border.

She had never in her life traveled so far from home, yet here she stood in the middle of a strange town, utterly alone. She wanted to crawl into a hole and cry for fear and loneliness. But there were no tears, not even now that her fire was low.

She stood in the middle of a cobbled street, looking this way and that. Surely there was somewhere she could go for shelter? Warm light poured through the one large window of an inn at the end of the street. The sign, creaking mournfully in the wet air, sported a crude sketch and read:
The Rampant Dragon
.

She grimaced.

But perhaps they would let her warm herself at the fire? For though Una could feel her own fire deep down inside, it was faint, and outside she was cold and desperate for comfort.

The door of the inn was firmly closed against the bitter night. She knocked smartly, then stepped back, tucking her hands under her arms, hunched over in the cold.

A thin, grizzled man looked out, around, and finally down at her. His face darkened.

“What d’yer want?”

“Please, sir,” she said, her voice raw and hoarse, “might I sit a spell by your fire?”

He eyed her. Rain, coming heavier now, dripped down her face and off her chin, plastering her long hair to her shoulders. But part of an ugly red scab on her neck still showed. Her skin was white as a ghost’s, her eyes wide and frightened. But as he looked into those eyes a moment longer, he drew back behind his door. “Eh, git ’long wit yer,” he growled. “Dars talk o’ dragons abroad, en I b’ain’t takin’ no risks. Git, yer hear? No dawdlin’.”

“Please, sir – ”

He slammed the door in her face, shutting out her glimpse of warmth.

Wet and miserable, she sank to her knees on the doorstep, leaning her forehead against the soggy wood. “Please!” She raised a fist and pounded. “Do I look like a dragon? Please, just for a moment!”

“Git, I said!” the innkeeper called from the other side and refused to answer her again.

She turned and pressed her back against the door, drew up her knees, and wrapped her arms around them. Maybe her fire would drown and she would just die?

How long she sat, she couldn’t say, but she was startled from a half sleep by the sound of hooves. Looking up, she saw a company of twenty-some horsemen squelch into town. Their bridles and gear were all blue and silver, and one of them wore a cloak with the royal insignia of Beauclair emblazoned on the back.

The company pulled up before the inn, and stableboys darted out to take the horses while the men dismounted. The sullen and soggy leader stumped to the inn door, nearly stepping on Una before he noticed her.

“Out of my way, girl,” he growled, nudging her none too gently aside with his boot, then pounded on the inn door. “Ho, innkeeper! Open for your prince!”

“Prince Gervais!” she cried, scrambling to her feet. “Gervais!”

The prince took no notice of her. The door swung open, and the grizzled innkeeper bowed until his head nearly touched his knees. “Yer Highness is most welcome,” he said, ushering the prince in by the fire. “Oh that yer would grace my ’umble ’stablishment! I b’ain’t able to ’spress the honor – ”

“Spiced cider. Now,” the prince said, flinging aside his wet cloak and holding out his hands to the flames. His company gathered around him. Unnoticed, Una slipped in with them, lingering in a shadowed corner of the room.

“And may I ’quire,” the innkeeper said as he and his servants carried in twenty-odd mugs of hot cider for the prince and his men, “what brings Yer Highness to these ’umble barts? May I venture dat ye is aimin’ for Parumvir to hunt deh dragon ’bout which we’ve heard tell?”

The prince took a long draft from his mug before answering, “You guess well, old man. Such indeed is my intent.” He leaned forward, closer to the fire, gazed into its depths, and muttered, “I intend to collect that bounty money; heaven help me if I don’t!”

One of Gervais’s men pulled his chair up beside the prince and spoke in a low voice. Standing near in the shadows, Una heard each word.