Master of Dragons (17 page)

Her comment about
the red-gold scales suddenly struck him, as did the long, black hair. Long ago,
Ven had seen a dragon take to the air. He had seen moonlight glitter on scales
that were red-gold. He’d seen the same last night . . .

“Draconas?” Ven
asked softly, staring at the child in astonishment.

“Start walking,”
the little girl ordered, tugging him along. “No, don’t look back. Keep moving.”

“Is that you, Draconas?”
Ven persisted.

“My name’s Draca,”
said the girl in a loud, shrill voice. “I know you. You’re Ven, the Dragon’s
Son. Act naturally They’re watching you.”

“The monks?” Ven
glanced over his shoulder. “No, they’re not. I sent them back to the Abbey—”

“Not those monks.
Others. Why do you think your guards gave way so easily? Look there, in the
alley. And there, in the doorway of the baker’s shop.”

Ven cast a glance
in the directions indicated. The monk in the alley blended into the shadows,
but not before Ven had spotted him. The monk in the doorway of the baker’s shop
did not even bother to try to hide himself.

“How do you know I
won’t hand you over to Grald?” asked Ven, trying unsuccessfully to free his
hand from the girl’s grasp. He still was not certain this was Draconas.

“Because you
helped Marcus escape,” the child replied calmly. “He did escape safely, by the
way. He and the young woman. They’re on their way back to his kingdom by now.”

The child cocked
her bright eye at him. “Aren’t yon pleased?”

Ven shrugged. To
his surprise, he was pleased. He didn’t plan on showing it, however.

“Good for them,”
was all he said.

“You don’t care
what happens to your brother? Or to Evelina?”

“Not particularly,”
Ven replied. “I treated her badly and I made amends. My brother took her safely
away from here. That’s all that matters.”

“So that is why
you lured him here.” Draconas nodded in understanding. “To rescue the young
woman. You never planned to betray Marcus to Grald, did you?”

“No,” said Ven
shortly. “He’s my brother.”

“A brother you
never knew you had.”

“I knew,” said
Ven, remembering the small hand that had reached out to him when he was a boy,
alone and crying in a cave.

Draconas was
silent. Ven could almost see him rearranging impressions in his mind.

“Why didn’t you
take the young woman away yourself?” Draconas asked. “Why don’t you leave now?
You can see through the illusion. You know where to find the gate in the wall.”

Ven continued
walking. The girl trotted along at his side. She was forced to take two and
half steps for his one, to match his long strides. They’d left the watchful
monks far behind. Ven could not see any others, though he had no doubt they
were there, keeping an eye on him. Now was the time to reveal his plan and ask
for aid. The words stuck in his craw.

Fortunately,
Draconas was able to answer his own question.

“Your name,” said
Draconas. “Vengeance. That’s the reason you stay. You’re here to kill Grald.
Avenge your mother. Or maybe, that’s not quite right.” The girl cast him a
bright, sharp glance. “Maybe you’re here to avenge yourself. Take out your
wrath on the father who made you what you are.”

“What do you want
with me, Draconas?” Ven demanded. “Are you going to lecture me on the folly of
trying to slay the dragon by myself? If so, don’t waste your breath. You’re not
telling me anything I don’t already know.”

“I’m here because
you
wanted to talk to me,” Draconas told him pertly.

“I never—”

“Oh, not in words
or even in colors,” Draconas assured him. “Good thing, too, for if Grald discovered
your plan, he would have your entrails for lunch. We don’t have much time and
there’s something you need to see.”

Ven drew in a deep
breath, let it out. “Look, Draconas—”

“Draca,” the girl
corrected. “Don’t say or even think my name if you can help it.”

“Look,
Dracon—Draca, I don’t want to see anything or hear anything except what you can
tell me that will help me kill the dragon.”

“To help you kill
the dragon? You need your brother.”

Ven snorted.

“I’m serious,”
said Draconas. “The sons of Melisande—
both
the sons of Melisande—should
come together to avenge their mother.”

“That’s not going
to happen,” Ven said, adding with a burst of impatience, “Just tell me what I
need to know, damn it, then you can leave. That’s why you’ve been hanging
around here, isn’t it? Nursemaiding me! Like those idiot monks! Well, you don’t
have to anymore. I can take care of myself.”

“You have a
strange way of asking for help, Dragon’s Son,” Draconas said.

“Don’t call me
that,” said Ven.

“What? Dragon’s
Son? You are, you know.”

Ven was silent.

“You can’t keep
denying it forever,” Draconas said quietly. “You can kill your father, but you
can’t kill the truth.”

He paused, then
said, “I’ll make you a deal, Ven. I will give you what help I can, which isn’t
much. There’s no time to teach you how to use the magic, and that is what you
truly need to fight Grald. Nevertheless, I will do what I can to aid you. In
exchange for my help, you must agree to come with me.”

“Come with you
where?”

“To the palace of
Grald. It’s going to be a bit of a climb to reach the entrance. Are you strong
enough?”

“Palace? His lair,
you mean.” Ven was suddenly eager. “Yes, I’m well enough. Is Grald there?
Perhaps you and I together—”

The child shook
her head. “I would like very much to have it out with Grald, but I have to
forgo that particular pleasure. He is strong and powerful, and he might get
lucky and kill me. And though it may be egotistical of me to say this, I can’t
afford to die right now. Events have been set in motion that must be stopped,
and I’m the only one in a position to do that. Besides, Grald is not in his ‘palace.’
I made certain of that before I came looking for you.”

“Just tell me what’s
going on, will you?” Ven said, frustrated. He jerked his hand free of the child’s.
“I don’t like all this goose chase, run about.”

“I can’t simply
tell you,” Draca said with somber gravity. “You have to see for yourself, Ven.
Otherwise, you would not believe me.”

ON LEAVING THE
MOUNTAIN FASTNESS, DRACONAS HAD SEARCHED for an easier way into the dragon’s
lair than the one he’d used last night. Ven’s strong, scaled legs and clawed
feet made him an excellent climber, but the Dragon’s Son could not scale sheer
rock walls. Draconas had not remained in the palace long last night. He’d seen
what he’d come to see, plus much more, and there was no use risking discovery
by hanging about. He’d followed a different route out of the dragon’s lair, and
that led him to the discovery of a back door about a half-mile lower than the
one into which he’d flown. The climb was still arduous. Both Ven and the child,
Draca—with her lithe and agile body and her dragon’s strength—managed it
easily.

Ven actually
enjoyed the climb. The strenuous physical exertion took his mind off his
troubles. He had to concentrate on where to put his feet and hands; he had to
think about what he was doing. He had no fear of high places—his dragon-blood
took care of that. He reveled in the idea that he was rising far above the
world with its stink and its staring eyes and cruel laughter. When he and
Draconas entered the cave that was Grald’s back door, they entered the calm
darkness and silent emptiness of Ven’s childhood—those times he was able to
slip away from Bellona and his traplines and his chores and hide himself in his
own lair.

“This feels like
home,” he said without thinking.

“So it would to
one who has dragon-blood in him,” Draconas responded.

The blood burned
beneath the surface of Ven’s skin. He had not meant to share his inner thought
aloud. He’d spoken his heart, however, and he could not very well unsay it.

“Which way do we
go to see this sight of yours?” he demanded, regarding with a grim frown two
tunnels that led from the main chamber deeper into the dragon’s lair.

The child motioned
with her hand toward a tunnel that slanted off to the left. She put her finger
to her lips, cautioning silence, and walked into the shadows, her human feet
padding softly. Ven followed, his claws making scraping sounds on the rock.

They advanced
deeper into the massive cave, always rising. This tunnel wound round and round
in a broad spiral, sometimes leveling out for a short distance, then spiraling
around again, still slanting upward. The darkness was complete. Ven’s
dragon-sight could scarcely penetrate it. He had the dragon’s instinct for
moving in dark places beneath the earth, however, and he followed Draconas with
relative ease.

The darkness grew
lighter, as if sunlight had found its way below ground. He smelled fresh air
and other smells that were distinctly human, some good and some bad, and he was
reminded forcibly of the city they had just left. Sounds reached Ven’s ears—
sounds of a great many feet moving in unison, with rhythmic march and stamp;
sounds of shouted orders and unified responses.

The sounds were
loudest and the smells strongest at a four-way intersection of tunnels that
formed a crossroads. Here Draconas halted and raised his hand.

“Wait,” he
whispered and he peered down the tunnel that smelled strongly of men. “Good,”
he added, after a moment. “No one’s around. We can cross.”

The child darted
across the intersection and into the other tunnel. Ven did the same, then he
looked back, puzzled.

“It sounds like
there’s an army down here.” No need for silence. The noise of the stamping and
shouting echoed throughout the corridors.

“There is,” said
Draconas.

“Impossible.” Ven
was scoffing, dismissive. “This is another dragon illusion.”

“I wish it were,”
said Draconas. “Unfortunately, it’s all too real. Take a look.”

They had reached
the same tunnel Draconas had walked the night before, coming upon it from a
different angle. Motioning Ven to accompany him, Draconas led him to the ledge
that overlooked the vast chamber. Ven gazed down in astonishment.

Far below, drawn
up in row upon shining row, was an army of humans. Except that this army was
like no human army Ven had ever seen. Sunlight, filtering down through shafts
carved into the cavern walls, gleamed on armor that had a strange and beautiful
iridescent quality. At first, Ven took the armor for some sort of chain mail.
The soldiers moved in the armor with far more ease than soldiers could move in
chain mail, however, no matter how expensive or finely made. The mail coats
that covered them from head to toe seemed to weigh almost nothing, for the
soldiers wheeled and shifted and lunged with as much ease as if they were
wearing homespun wool cloth. Ven looked from the armor down at his own
scale-covered legs, and he thought he understood.

“You have judged
right,” Draconas said, seeing the direction of his gaze. “The armor these
soldiers wear is made of dragon scales. It is lightweight and strong—so strong
that I doubt if any weapon forged by human hands can penetrate it. Such armor
will turn the sharpest sword.”

Ven watched the
soldiers drill, watched them wheel and turn in unison, and he was puzzled.

“What sort of
weapons are they using? And why do they fight in pairs?”

“That is the
genius of it. Think of what you know of the dragon-magic—”

“Not much,” Ven
muttered.

“They fight in
pairs because each pair is made up of one male, one female. Fully half the army
is composed of female warriors. Not like Bellona. These women do not fight with
weapons. They fight with magic. Like the holy sisters of Seth, these women use
the magic to defend themselves and their partners. The men use the magic to fight.
In other words, the women are the shield, the men are the sword. The weapons
they are using are darts. They do not look very lethal, but they can be thrown
by the hand with the force of the magic behind it. One of those darts killed
Bellona.

“The man throws
the dart from behind the cover of the defensive magic cast by the woman beside
him. Both of them remain invulnerable to attack. And the dart is not their only
weapon, I’ll wager.”

“But the magic
drives males insane—like the mad monks. Those men don’t look mad,” Ven
remarked.

“No, they’re quite
sane,” said Draconas. “Like your brother, Marcus. I thought I had done
something special with him. Apparently I was wrong. Over the years, Grald
culled out the lunatics and placed them in the brotherhood of the Blessed. Not
a bad plan. The Blessed keep watch over the population of Dragonkeep, and if
the ordinary people know that they are crazed and unpredictable, they fear them
all the more. Grald put the sane males into his army. He’s had hundreds of
years of selective breeding, and he was able to pick and choose and train only
the best. This may be the second or third generation of soldiers we’re looking
at.”

Draconas paused,
then said quietly, “No human army has a chance against them.”

Ven glanced at the
girl sharply. “Human army. What human army do you mean?”

“These soldiers
are preparing to march to war. The dragons are going to use them to launch an
attack against Idylswylde.”

Below them, the
male warriors threw darts, while the woman chanted and sang, making circular
motions with their hands, as though smoothing out the empty space in front of
them. The magic of the women shaped the air into concentric circles, so the
bodies behind it became shapeless blurs of purple and blue radiance, dazzling
and ghastly.

Other soldiers,
ranged at intervals around the pairs, played at being the enemy. They fired
arrows—real arrows, not illusion— into their ranks. Other soldiers drew swords
and ran in to attack on foot.