Master of Dragons (20 page)

“I don’t know why
you should,” said Evelina. She had plans for this night. She turned to go.

“My house is close
by” he told her, as she departed. “It will be the one with the candle in the
window. If you feel the need of company, come knock on my door. My name is
Jorge.”

Evelina did not
reply. She walked away, her head held high, yet she was pleased to know that
she could still charm a man. What with the way Marcus had been acting around
her, she’d been starting to have her doubts.

She found the
trail through the wilderness and soon came upon the house of the herbalist.
Evelina was expecting the usual half-mad crone, toothless and gray-haired,
crouched over a bubbling cauldron, and she was considerably disconcerted to
find a woman of no more than thirty years, clad in man’s breeches and a man’s
shirt, down on her hands and knees grubbing among the plants in a large garden.

Evelina approached
quietly, wanting to see before she was seen. The woman was instantly aware of
the unfamiliar presence in her woods. She turned her head and rose to her feet
all in one fluid motion.

“Keep to the
trail,” the woman said, her voice husky, as if not much used. “I don’t want my
plants trampled.”

Evelina glanced
about. She saw no signs of the woman’s house and guessed that it was hidden
deeper in the wilderness. The woman wiped dirt from her hands and crossed over
to where Evelina stood waiting.

“I’m looking for
the Widow Huspeth,” said Evelina.

“You’re a
stranger,” said the woman. “Not from the village.”

“I am—” Evelina
began.

“It doesn’t
matter,” said the woman coldly. “I just want to be clear where we stand. What
do you want?”

“I want the widow,”
said Evelina, starting to grow annoyed. The woman’s eyes were hard and bright
and went through Evelina like a skewer.

“They call me
Widow Huspeth hereabouts. Though my name is just Huspeth. What do you want?”
she repeated.

Evelina found it
difficult to talk to those shrewd eyes. She gazed at some red flowers as she
spoke. “I want a fertility potion. And the liquor they call absinthe.”

Huspeth smiled. “Your
man won’t marry you, is that it? So you’re going to force the issue.”

Evelina’s cheeks
flushed, though not with maidenly confusion. “I am already married. We want a
child, that is all.”

The woman brushed
her indignation aside and came back to the practical. “I have what you want.
But it works only at certain times of the month. When did you last bleed?”

Evelina was
startled and suspicious. She’d had no mother to explain such things, and
basically all she knew about child-bearing was that when the monthly bleeding
and cramps stopped, you had a baby nine months later. She was not all that
clear on why this should be, however, or what one had to do with the other.

“Why does that
matter?” she demanded, thinking this was becoming a bit too personal.

“There is a
scientific explanation, but you wouldn’t understand and I don’t care to try to
explain it,” said Huspeth dryly “Let us leave it at this—a woman who wants to
conceive has a better chance of doing so in the middle of her cycle.”

Evelina thought
back. “A fortnight. Maybe a little longer.”

The woman grunted
and shook her head. “The potion still has a chance of working, but you must lie
with him this night. Already it may be too late. As for the other you ask
for—what did you call it?”

Evelina was
accustomed to doing her business with city apothecaries. “Absinthe. It’s also
known as wormwood. You distill—”

“I know it. Never
heard it by that other name. What have you brought in payment? I don’t do this
for charity.”

“I have no money—”

“I have no use for
money,” Huspeth said, her lip curling.

Evelina unwrapped
a bundle to reveal some fish she’d stolen from the rack where they’d been left
to dry in the sun.

The woman eyed the
fish, then gave a curt nod. “Wait here. And don’t go trampling my plants!”

Huspeth took the
fish and stalked off, disappearing into the forest.

“Mad as a hornet,”
Evelina muttered.

She stood on the
trail, looking about her in bored fashion. Bees and butterflies clustered among
bright red flowers in one part of the garden. The air was warm and still, and
she could smell more rain coming. She fidgeted, wishing the woman would hurry.
She’d passed a stream on the way, and she wanted time to bathe and scrub those
telltale stains from her clothes.

Just when she
thought that the widow had abandoned her, Huspeth appeared, walking down the
trail. She handed Evelina two small containers made of baked clay, stoppered
with cheesecloth tied neatly around the top.

“This”—the woman
pointed to one of the clay vials—”is the liquor for him. I’m thinking you know
how it works?”

Evelina smiled.
She had never made use of absinthe herself— she was accustomed to fending
lovers off, not working to seduce them. Her father had been known to resort to
the use of the green aphrodisiac on occasion, either drinking it himself to
heighten his own pleasure or slipping it into the drink of some unsuspecting
girl.

“And this is for
you,” Huspeth continued. “To help with the baby. Drink it now, so that it has a
chance to work.”

Evelina sniffed at
it. She didn’t detect anything wrong about it, and so she lifted it to her lips
and drank. The taste was sweet; it had been laced with honey. She felt it slide
down her, warm and soothing.

“You must lie with
him tonight,” Huspeth emphasized. “And no guarantees.”

Evelina
understood. She took the clay vial containing the aphrodisiac and tucked it
into her bosom.

Turning on her
heel, the woman walked back through the garden. “Mind you don’t trample my
plants,” Huspeth added, tossing the warning over her shoulder.

Smiling to herself
in anticipation of the evening’s pleasures, Evelina went off to a secluded spot
on the river bank to take her bath. She did not know that Jorge was discreetly
following her and was watching her from the trees, and that was a pity, for the
knowledge would have heightened her enjoyment of her bath immensely.

GRALD ROAMED ABOUT
THE CAVERNOUS HALL OF THE ABBEY, WAITING for news, his scowling face and
clenched fists a terror to the Blessed, who—when they were forced to speak to
him—cringed and blanched at the spark of fury in his eyes.

The monks had lost
Ven, and Grald had made it plain that unless the Dragon’s Son was found, some
of them would pay for their folly with their lives.

At last one monk
came striding across the grassy field that surrounded the Abbey, walking with
the long and purposeful gait of one who bears important news. By the expression
on his face, when he threw back his cowl, the news was rather good than
otherwise.

Seeing who it was,
Grald immediately dismissed the other monks to speak to this one in private.

He was the monk of
the bridge, the monk Draconas had encountered, whose eyes were not as mad as
the eyes of most. He was, in fact, not a monk at all, but a high-ranking
officer in the Army of the Dragons and one of Grald’s most trusted agents.

“Commander
Leopold!” Grald exclaimed in satisfaction. “You have news, I see.” His hulking
body hunched over that of the soldier, who—though he was tall for a human—was
head and shoulders shorter than Grald. “Have you found him?”

“I have, Lord,”
the soldier replied. “He is in the palace.” Leopold paused to let this information
sink in, then added, “He is with the Children.”

Grald sucked in a
breath through his teeth and let it hiss out in a name.
“
Draconas.
The Walker found a way inside.”

“Despite our best
efforts, Lord, I am afraid he did. As I told you, I am certain it was Draconas
who tried to talk his way past me on the bridge that night. Although then he
was disguised as a monk. My shield-mate was the one who saw Ven inside the
palace, and she told me that he was accompanied by a child—a little girl.”

“Of course. How
very clever,” Grald muttered. “What idiots we have been! Searching for the man,
Draconas, when, naturally, he would take on another form. What is Ven doing? Is
he still there? What did he tell the Children?”

“I do not know,
Lord,” Leopold was forced to admit. “My shield-mate feared to come too near the
Children. They do not react well to humans spying on them. You recall what they
did the last time.”

Grald smiled,
proud of his children’s ferocity. They had not actually slain the man, who had
mistakenly wandered into their part of the cave. Their attack had, however,
left him a gibbering idiot, and a one-armed idiot at that.

Thinking of the
children brought to mind the yearly ritual when he would invite another group
of young women, chosen because they were strong in the magic, into his “palace.”
Grald rubbed his hands in anticipation! This year would be momentous. He
planned to impregnate the women using Ven’s body. He hoped that the seed of
that half-dragon body, mingled with the magic of himself, the dragon, would
produce far better children—more dragon and less human.

It is fitting,
Grald thought,
that Ven should be the one to take over this task. He proved
that I was right in my theory that we could breed more like him. All I require
are women like his mother, who are strong in the magic.

“What else did Ven
see inside the palace?” Grald asked.

“The army,”
replied the commander.

Grald ground his
teeth in ire. “He will alert the humans, if he can. Warn his brother.”

“What does it
matter?” asked Leopold imperturbably. “I’ve seen human armies. There’s nothing
they can do against us. Whatever Ven tells them of us will only plant terror in
their hearts. Fear is a fast-growing tree that bears noxious fruit.”

“That may be true,
but I don’t trust the Walker. He must not leave Dragonkeep. I want him dead.”

The commander was
dubious. “Pardon me if I point out, Lord, that one of your own kind attempted
to kill the Walker and failed-—”

“Anora bungled it,”
said Grald bluntly. “She foolishly alerted Draconas instead of taking him by
surprise. Or perhaps her action was not so foolish. Perhaps it was deliberate.
The Walker and Anora have been friends for many centuries.” His eyes narrowed
so that they nearly disappeared in the shadows of his overhanging brow. “Draconas
is cunning, but I am more so. This time, we will catch the Walker off guard.
Ven
will kill Draconas.”

“Ven is hardly
strong enough—”

“Not the old Ven,”
Grald interrupted with a grin. “The new Ven. Once I have taken over my son’s
body, I will go to Draconas on some pretext or other and I will slay him. As
simple as that.”

“Ah,” said the
soldier in understanding.

“We must move
faster than we have anticipated, however. When my son leaves the palace,
apprehend him. Make no mention of the fact that you know where he has been. Let
him think he has fooled us. Bring him here to me tonight, at the hour past
slumber, when all is quiet.”

“And the Walker?”

Grald thought this
over. “He must not be allowed to interfere with my plans. Keep him occupied.”

Leopold bowed. “As
you command, Lord. I have one more question.”

“Ask it,” said
Grald.

“When may I return
to my company? My shield-mate and I do not want to miss out on the battle.”

“Do not worry,
Commander. You will march with your comrades. You are too valuable a warrior to
remain disguised as a monk forever.”

Leopold bowed at
the compliment and took his departure.

Ven left the
cavern by the way he’d entered. The sun was sinking into the west and the
shadows were long by the time he descended from the mountain and found his way
back to the city. That part wasn’t difficult. He simply followed the smell, the
stench of humanity. He’d never noticed it before. Now he knew he would never
get it out of his nostrils.

The Blessed
pounced on him almost immediately. They said nothing, but he knew they knew
where he’d been without a word being spoken. Their eyes flitted to him and
flitted away. Like Bellona, they never looked at him long, if they could help
it.

“I want to see
Grald,” Ven demanded, as they wound their way through the maze of streets.

“Grald wants to
see you, Dragon’s Son,” replied one of the monks, one who had a saner look than
the others. He actually met and held Ven’s gaze.

“Good,” said Ven,
rather nonplussed. “Then take me to him.”

“Not yet,” the
Blessed said. “Grald is busy with the plans for war. He says that you should
dine first and rest yourself after the exertions of the day. Grald bids you
come to him after the hour of slumber.”

“Very well.” Ven
did not like being “bid” to do anything, but he was ravenously hungry—he had
been too distracted by his inner turmoil to eat anything beneath the
mountain—and he was exhausted, not so much physically as mentally He had a lot
to think over before meeting with his father.

As for slaying
Grald, his death might not be necessary. That was one of the things Ven had to
think over. He was intrigued by the new way of viewing himself offered to him
by his siblings. He had seen himself reflected only in the eyes of humans, and
that was like looking into water stirred by the wind, so that his reflection
was always distorted and warped. He’d seen himself in the eyes of Bellona, who
had been ashamed of him and loathed him. He’d seen himself in the eyes of
Evelina, who’d seen a freak, a beast. His siblings had lifted up before him a
mirror of pure crystal, without flaw, touched by no emotion, and he’d seen
himself honored, revered, a miracle of creation that combined the best parts of
two separate entities to create a new kind of person, someone who was not
unnatural, but had his or her own place in the world.