Master of Dragons (28 page)

“You have lost
both the Walker and the Dragon’s Son. Draconas discovered our plans for the
war,” the Mistress said, glowering. “And Grald let him live! Yet another
mistake!”

Leopold was
defensive. “Grald was going to slay the Walker, Mistress, as soon as he took
over Ven’s body. That way, the other dragons would blame Ven and not Grald—”

“Yes, yes.” The
Mistress scowled at the dead dragon, her thoughts baleful.
You wretched
worm. You have come close to our undoing. All our carefully laid plans and now
this! It is well you are dead, or I would murder you myself!

“Pardon me,
Mistress,” said Leopold, “but if you are going to deal with the dragon’s
children, you should do so now, while they are asleep.”

“I think you get
above yourself, human,” returned the Mistress, drawing herself up. “I know what
I am about. I do not need the likes of you to advise me.”

“No, Mistress, of
course not,” said Leopold, chagrined. “I beg your forgiveness.”

The dragon made up
her mind.

“You and your
soldiers destroy the dragon’s children. I will take care of disposing of this
mess.” She cast a scathing glance at the carcass.

Leopold frowned. “But,
Mistress, would it not be better if you killed them?”

“No, it would not,”
Mistress snapped. “Tell me, Commander, can you haul away this carcass, this
monstrous lump of flesh and bone? Half the population of this city would be
required to even lift the tail, much less dispose of it in such a way that no
one will find out the truth of what happened.”

“I understand,
Mistress,” said Leopold, though he did not look happy.

“Kill the children
while they are sleeping. When they are dead, search for the Dragon’s Son.”

“Yes, Mistress,”
replied Leopold. “What are my orders regarding him?”

“Kill him. Oh,”
the Mistress added, as an afterthought, “and kill any of the human women who
are pregnant.”

“Yes, Mistress.”
Leopold bowed. “After that, I would like your leave to return to my
shield-mate. I assume that war is imminent.”

“You assume right.”

Sorrow crept away
from her pillar. She did not dare turn around. She did not dare to take her
eyes off the Mistress, fearful that suddenly those eyes would shift to her.
Sorrow backed her way along the corridor, her hands outstretched behind her,
feeling for the wall. She touched it, solid and cold.

The Mistress was
eyeing Grald’s body, her thoughts a blur of fire and smoke and death. “I will
tell the populace that there was a pitched battle between the Walker and Grald,”
Maristara murmured. “Grald fought valiantly. He used his magic to blast the
other dragon, and that magic blew asunder the walls of the Abbey. Grald killed
the Walker, but, sadly, he himself died in the explosion. The massive stone
building fell on top of him, burying his carcass beneath the rubble. This will
be his final resting place.”

Other images
appeared in Sorrow’s mind. The dragon children slumbering in their lair, the little
ones in a single bed, crowded together for warmth and comfort, their arms and
legs and dreams so entwined that it was hard to tell where one left off and
another began. And then the dragon warriors come, led by Leopold, bringing
fire, immolating the dreams and the small dreaming bodies.

Sorrow could run
swiftly, but her claws would make noise on the stone floor, and the dragon
would hear her.

Sorrow flexed her
wings nervously. She had never had much chance to practice flying. The dragon
would not permit the children to go out into the sunshine, for fear they might
be seen by the humans of Dragonkeep. Grald had promised that, in due time, he
would teach her to fly, but that day had not come to pass, and now it never
would.

A childhood
accident with regard to flying—involving leaping off an upper level—had left
Sorrow with a terrifying memory of panicked flapping, a terrifying fall, a
slashing white scar across her forehead, and a deep-seated fear. Flying back to
her lair would be the fastest way to reach the children, however, and flight
would be silent.

Sorrow leaned
forward onto the balls of her feet, trying to keep her claws off the floor, and
she began to run. As she ran, she spread her wings and felt them catch the air
currents. Her wings lifted her up, carried her feet off the ground. The
sensation was startling and frightening, so that she gave a little gasp and
froze. Her stomach was fluttering, not her wings.

Instinct rescued
her, as instinct rescues young dragons forced out of their sweet darkness into
the blinding sun and fresh air. As they gasp and flail and eventually fly, so
did Sorrow flail and then fly, her wings lifting and falling in a smooth,
swooping motion that sent her—astonished and frightened and thrilled—soaring
through the darkness.

She was about
halfway down the corridor when she heard ponderous footfalls and the scraping
of the dragon’s belly and tail along the floor. Sorrow risked glancing behind
her, fearful that the dragon had heard her and was chasing after her.

There came a blast
of flame so fierce that it flared through the darkness, lighting it bright as
day. After that a roar and a wave of heat and a low rumbling sound that built
into a horrific crash, shaking the ground and walls of the underground passage
and sending clouds of dust rolling through the corridor and cascading down from
the ceiling.

Crouched in the
shelter of the mountain fastness, Maristara breathed devastating magic on the
Abbey. The magic blew apart the walls and brought the building down on top of
what was left of Grald. Sorrow kept flying, though flight was now perilous.
Dragon-sight could not pierce the clouds of dust, and she was having difficulty
seeing where she was going.

She forced herself
to slow down. It would take the human, Leopold, some time to make his way into
the palace. Once there, he would have to wake and arm his soldiers, and prepare
them for what they must do.

That part, Sorrow
thought bitterly, will not be difficult. They have been waiting for this
opportunity, it seems.

Waiting to kill
us—the monsters.

SORROW REACHED THE
PART OF THE CORRIDOR THAT BRANCHED off into the palace living quarters, and
here she had to end her flight and take to her feet. She felt a vast sense of
relief when she had solid ground beneath her claws, and also a tiny sliver of
regret. Although her stomach had remained clenched in terror the whole time she
was in flight, she had enjoyed the rush of air past her face and beneath her
wings. She looked forward to flying again. If she lived that long.

She burst into her
brother’s room and found him with Ven, who was lying on the bed, his eyes
closed.

Lucien looked up. “Oh,
Sorrow! I was worried! What was that blast—”

“Never mind that
now!” Sorrow gasped for breath. Terror and the exertion of flight had stolen
the air from her lungs. “The warriors are coming to kill us!”

“To kill
me,
”
Ven corrected.

“No,” said Sorrow.
“To kill us.”

Ven opened his
eyes and sat up.

Lucien stared at
her, confused and dismayed. “But . . . why?”

“Because Ven was
able to slay Grald, Maristara fears that we are a threat to all dragons. The
humans think we are a threat to them. It was Leopold, one of the human dragon
warriors, who talked the dragon into it.” Sorrow was bitter. “The dragon gave
orders that all Grald’s children must die. And the humans are eager to carry
out her command.”

“Kill us? But . .
. what do we do?” Lucien asked, dismayed.

“We fight them,”
said Sorrow viciously. “I was thinking we could barricade ourselves in here.
Keep the little ones safe—”

“For how long?”
Ven demanded. “How long can you hold out against these warriors and the dragon?
I’ve seen these warriors, Sorrow, and so have you. They are powerful in the
magic, and they’ve been taught to use it in battle. There are hundreds of them
and only you and Lucien. You two are the only children who are old enough to
fight.”

“And you,” said
Sorrow.

Ven shook his
head. “I can’t use the magic.”

“You used it to
kill our father!”

“I had help,” Ven
said grimly. He didn’t say who, but Sorrow recalled the human who had invaded
her mind, the human who had claimed to be Ven’s brother.

“Maybe we could
reason with the dragon,” Lucien suggested, his voice trembling.

“There’s no
reasoning with Maristara or with the humans. I know,” Ven said. “I’ve tried
both. We have to get out of here. All of us.”

“But there’s
nowhere to go!” Sorrow protested. “There are hiding places in the mountain,
but, eventually, they will find us—

“We have to leave
the mountain.”

Sorrow felt as if
all the air had been punched out of her. “But . . . this is our home.”

“If you stay, it
will be your tomb,” said Ven.

Sorrow shivered.
Death seemed easier to face than the terror of venturing out into the unknown.
Lucien moved near her. His hand sought hers, and she clasped it spasmodically.
They stood holding on to each other for comfort, staring at Ven, as though he
could make everything right again, make this all go away.

His stern
expression softened. “I know what it is to leave the safety of the darkness and
venture into the sunlight. You can do it. I did it. And I will be with you.”

Sorrow saw the
little ones in their bed, waking in bewilderment when they felt the heat of the
fire lick their bodies, and then the bewilderment turning to terror and pain as
the flames began to consume them.

Slowly, shaking,
she nodded.

“Sorrow, wake the
others. Don’t frighten them. Tell them we’re going on an adventure, an outing.
The older children must carry those who can’t walk or can’t keep up. Lucien, we’ll
need food for the journey. And rope.”

“Water?” asked
Lucien, starting out the door.

Ven shook his
head. “We won’t need it. We’ll be traveling by way of the river.”

Lucien left. As
long as someone was in charge, telling Lucien what to do, he was content.
Sorrow envied him.

“Where are you
going to take us?” she asked.

“To the last place
Maristara would expect us to go—her own kingdom.”

The two of them
entered the children’s room. The little ones were still slumbering. If they had
heard the noise of the blast at all, they must have thought it was thunder and
rolled over and gone to sleep again.

“Seth is a land of
humans,” Sorrow said, her mouth dry, her throat tightening.

“Yes,” Ven
replied. “But they might understand.”

As he stood gazing
down at the sleeping children, he left his mind open to her, and Sorrow saw a
little boy crouched in a cave. His legs were covered in ill-fitting woollen
trousers, his feet hidden by over-large leather boots. He sat in the middle of
the cave, in the darkness, his arms hugging his small body. In the distance, a
woman’s voice called out his name. The little boy did not answer.

“You should hurry,”
Ven said. “It won’t take the warriors long to organize and come after us.”

Sorrow hesitated
one more moment, wanting, wishing this not to be. All her magic could not make
that wish come true, however. She placed her hand on the youngest child’s
forehead, smoothed it, and said in a voice that shook, “Draga, time to wake up.”

The child opened
his eyes. He was about two years old, with a human head and torso, dragon arms
and legs, and a small tail. He blinked his eyes and stared at Sorrow in sleepy
unrecognition. His face puckered and he seemed about to wail, but Sorrow hushed
him.

“It’s all right,
Draga. Everything’s all right. Sit here quietly while I wake the others.”

She went from
child to child, waking them, and coaxing them out of their warm beds. She tried
to discipline her thoughts, to keep them cool and tranquil blues and greens,
but red fear bubbled up from beneath the surface, with the result that her
colors were an ugly sludge of purple and brown. The children’s thoughts blended
with hers, and they were frightened, but they also sensed the danger and the
urgency, and were quiet, for the most part, and did what they were told. By the
time all the children were roused, Lucien had returned with several large bags
containing what food he had been able to scrounge.

Ven stood back,
keeping his distance. He was obviously uncomfortable around the children.
Sorrow and Lucien moved among the group and soon, without fuss or clamor, the
dragon’s children had formed a line, the older children carrying the younger on
their backs.

Sorrow lifted up
Draga. The child clasped his hands tightly around her neck. Lucien hefted the
last of the children. Ven carried the food.

“Move quickly now,
children,” Sorrow said, guiding them out the door and into the dark corridor. “Follow
Ven. He knows the way.”

Instead of
obeying, the children came to a halt. They looked at her, their eyes wide and
solemn. Humans can he to their children. Dragons cannot. Sorrow’s frightened,
confused colors swirled through their minds.

“Sorrow,” said a
little girl with dragon legs like Ven’s, “where are we going?”

Sorrow tried to
think of an answer that wouldn’t frighten them. Before she could respond, Ven
crouched down in front of the girl, his eyes on a level with hers.

“There are those
who think that because we are not like them, we have no right to live,” he said
quietly. “These people want to hurt us. We’re going someplace far away, where
they can’t find us.”

The children
understood. Sorrow had tried to shelter them from the cruel remarks and hurtful
comments made by humans when they thought the children couldn’t hear, and she’d
assumed she’d succeeded. Apparently, she hadn’t.

Ven glanced back
into the room where the children had been sleeping. “Sorrow, can these dragon
warriors see through illusion magic?”