Master of Dragons (30 page)

She glared at him,
her eyes awash.

“I’ve heard the
talk around the village about you. Strange rumors. And I know they’re true. I’ve
seen you use demonic powers. When I’m finished, they’ll be tying you to the
stake and stacking the wood around your feet!”

Marcus turned his
back on her and started to walk for the door.

Evelina leapt from
the bed and went running after him. She flung her arms around him, pressing her
naked body against his. “My love, my love, forgive me! I didn’t know what I was
saying. I would never, never do anything to harm you. It’s just . . .” She
paused. “Just that we have a baby coming . . .”

Marcus managed to
disentangle himself from her grasp. “Get dressed! Please! I . . . have to think
about this.”

“Yes, Marcus,”
said Evelina meekly. “I don’t blame you. It was partly my fault, too. I just
wanted to make you happy . . . I’ll go get dressed now. I’ll do whatever you
say.”

She padded off,
still sniffing, sobbing an occasional sob that she couldn’t quite control.

What she said
is true. People do talk about me. They have talked about me since I was old
enough to hear the whispers. They whisper that I am my father’s bastard, and
all know that bastard children have a propensity/or evil, are easily ensnared
by the devil.

And now my
kingdom is about to come under attack by forces that will be considered
demonic. And I will be one to warn of their coming. Evelina’s timing, though
accidental, is perfect.

“What do you want?”
Marcus asked her harshly. “Money?”

“I want your love,
Your Highness,” Evelina replied, sniveling. “And a father for my child. If
there is a child. And, somehow, I’m sure there will be. Last night was so
wonderful. . .”

“I’ll do what is
right.” Marcus drew his shirt over his head. “Ami not because of your threats.”

“I know you will,
Marcus,” said Evelina contritely. “I’m sorry I said those things. I didn’t mean
them. I was afraid of losing you. I do truly love you. And I know you love me.
You said so many times last night.”

Marcus sighed
deeply and walked out the door, carefully shutting it behind him.

Two knights of the
Prince’s Own arrived in the village that afternoon Marcus’s personal escort had
been leading the search for him,and they were overjoyed to find their charge
safe and sound. The knights were introduced to “Mistress Evelina,” and they
treated her with grave courtesy, at least while Prince Marcus was present, for
he said she was coming back to the palace with them. When he left to go bid
farewell to his host, the two men exchanged rolling-eyed glances.

“Like father, like
son,” muttered Sir Ranulf.

“At least the king
had brains enough not to bring his trollop home to meet mommy!” grumbled Sir
Troeven. “Look at the strumpet. Preening herself like she is a fine lady.”

“She’s proof that
the lad has something between his legs,” said his friend. “There were those of
us who were starting to wonder. The question is—what do we do with her?”

“Bring her along,”
said Troeven, the commander of the Prince’s Own. “Nothing else we can do. His
Highness’s orders.”

“Speaking of His
Highness, I don’t think the lad looks well. He’s pale and too thin, by half. He
won’t say where he’s been or what happened to him. He claims he’s not hurt, but
. . .” The knight shook his head.

“He was always a
strange lad,” his companion reflected. “Or so I’ve heard for it has been years
since I have seen him.” A veteran soldier, Sir Troeven had been abroad for
fifteen years, fighting wars for other kings, since his own kingdom was at
peace. “We’ll get him home and let his parents deal with him.”

Prince Marcus
graciously thanked his host and his wife. At his request, Sir Troeven gave them
a bag full of silver coins, more than the village earned in a year’s fishing.
The prince rode off, accompanied by cheers and blessings. There being no spare
horse for Evelina, she rode pillion with one of the knight’s servants.

Evelina would have
liked to have ridden pillion with the prince—her arms clasped tightly about
Marcus’s waist, her body snuggled against his—but when she suggested it, Marcus
refused, adding that he would be riding hard and he did not want her to get
hurt. And, indeed, when he left the village, he put his spurs to his horse and
galloped off down the road, taking his escort by surprise, so that the knights
had to spur their own horses to catch up with him. Sir Troeven ordered one of
his squires to remain behind to guard Evelina.

She could have
argued and probably got her own way, but, remembering that she might be
pregnant, she didn’t want the seed jounced out of her, and so she chose to
accept the prince’s decision. She would follow along with the rest of the
baggage, as one of the knights remarked. Evelina heard him, but she didn’t
mind. So long as the baggage was carried into the prince’s castle, that was
fine with her.

She rode behind
the servant—a young lad of fourteen who smelled of garlic and had pock-marked
skin. Her escort set a leisurely pace. As they sauntered along, they came upon
Jorge, sitting on a piece of driftwood, mending his net.

This time, he
carefully kept his eyes on his work.

Evelina held her
head high, pretending not to notice him. But when they had ridden past, she
glanced over her shoulder.

He was a
fine-looking man. He would give her a fine-looking son. Evelina sighed a little
sigh and then set her face forward. She was pleased. She had Marcus bound by
chains of iron that, if he chose, could be chains of silk. Evelina meant what
she had said about loving Marcus. She did love him in her own way. Her love was
a selfish love, founded on her own self-interest, but, in her experience, that
was how love made the world go round. As for Marcus, he would get over his
snit. He was a man, and she had never met the man she couldn’t lure into her
bed. She could still feel Marcus’s kisses from last night, and she’d seen
desire prick him this morning. He’d get over being upset and—once he’d married
her—(she was aiming for marriage now, after what he’d put her through last
night) she would make him glad he did.

And her son would
be a fisherman’s son. Not the son of a monster!

MARCUS MET WITH NO
FURTHER UNTOWARD INCIDENTS ON HIS journey home. He and his escort arrived back
at Idylswylde in the early hours of the morning. Upon sighting the walls of the
castle—black and grim against the gray light of dawn—he could not contain his
impatience and outdistanced his escort. His clattering arrival at the gatehouse
startled the sleepy guards. Hearing the pounding of a horse’s hooves, they
thought that some dire event had occurred. They were on their feet, with
weapons at the ready, when Marcus came galloping up. Apprehension turned to
relief and pleasure, and they welcomed the prince home, and sped him on his way
through the outer walls.

As he rode beneath
the battlements, he looked at the cannons, lined up in a row on the wall,
etched starkly against the light of the morning, black against pearl. The
cannons crouched on the walls like some cold, unfeeling beast, ready to breathe
fire and death on their foe. The sight was an arresting one and struck him
forcibly, so that he slowed his horse. He’d seen the cannons often enough. He
couldn’t think why the sight of the guns should so disturb him now.

And then he
understood. He was seeing them with the eyes of dragons. He was seeing them now
as he’d seen them in his wild dance through dragon dreams.

The cannons.
Soulless monstrosities. Able to carelessly take what is given only once and,
when lost, is lost forever.

“Man cannot
breathe fire and you can,” Marcus said to the dragons aloud. “We have made all
things equal.”

He rode on.

Word of Marcus’s
recovery had traveled faster. His parents had been up all night, watching for
him. When he stood before his mother, safe and whole, Ermintrude flung her arms
around him and clung to him, crying, and he could not help but shed a few tears
himself. Edward received his son with few words and a firm embrace. The old
seneschal, Gunderson, stood by, watching the reunion with heartfelt pleasure.

Ermintrude was
shocked at her son’s gaunt appearance and wanted to carry him off to be fed and
pampered and put to bed. Marcus agreed to food, but said firmly that he needed
to talk to his parents immediately on a matter of the utmost urgency.

His father,
looking grim, and his mother, looking apprehensive, accompanied their son to
the king’s study.

Marcus had been
thinking all the way home on how to convince his father of the terrible threat
facing them, a threat coming from an enemy kingdom that had bordered theirs for
centuries, yet one no one had seen or heard of. Even now, if the king went
hunting for his enemy, he would not find them. And this was an enemy whose
capacity for destruction made the armies of the King of Weinmauer look like
little boys playing at war with wooden swords.

At least,
Marcus thought,
Draconas has been here before me, to prepare the way. This
won’t come as a huge surprise.

Eating cold meat
and bread, Marcus told his tale from the beginning, mixing lies with the truth
where it was apparent that not even his loving parents would believe his story.

He told about how
he’d run off with Bellona, which they already knew, and how he and Bellona had
met up with Draconas, who had helped them find and enter the kingdom known as
Dragonkeep, a kingdom hidden by illusion, a kingdom that was perhaps already
marching to the drums of war. He told them about Bellona and her brutal death,
and saw tears slide down his mother’s face. He mentioned Ven, and his father’s
face darkened.

Ermintrude caught
Marcus’s eye and shook her head, warning him away from that subject. Marcus
understood and went on.

He had to bring up
Evelina and he did so, though only briefly, speaking of her as a young woman
who had been a prisoner in Dragonkeep and telling how they had escaped
together. He gave Evelina credit for her courage and her resourcefulness, for
he had decided to make the best of the situation. He’d realized, on the ride
home, that the situation might resolve itself. She claimed she was pregnant,
but if he hadn’t slept with her, how could that be? If she did turn out to be
pregnant, then he must have done what she said, though he had no idea how. And
in that instance, he would not bring any child into the world to hear, as he
had heard, the whispered word “bastard.”

What he did not
tell his parents was how he’d been drunk and fought a dragon and danced through
dragons’ brains.

He thought he got
through his story about Evelina pretty well—until he saw his mother’s
expression. Marcus flushed and coughed and shifted back to the most urgent
matter.

“You already know
all this I’ve been telling you, Father,” said Marcus, after a pause to refresh
himself with a mug of ale. “Draconas said he told you.”

Edward, looking
grim, walked over to stand by the window. He stared out at the mountains.

“I saw the army
for myself, Father,” Marcus said, speaking to his father’s back. He didn’t
mention how he’d seen it, in a wine-soaked dream. “Only the River Aston
separates our nation from theirs. The river runs slow this time of year. They
can ferry an army across it in no time.

“And their army is
terrible,” he added. “An army unlike any that has been seen before on this
earth. One we can’t possibly fight. But one that we have to.”

Slowly, Edward
turned to face his son. The king’s expression was dark, but not with disbelief.
Marcus knew his father. Edward had dismissed Draconas because he neither liked
nor trusted the dragon-turned-man. The king had not dismissed the warning,
however. He’d been thinking about it ever since. Perhaps he and Gunderson were
already making plans. Marcus breathed an inward sigh of relief.

“The dragons mean
to conquer all of humankind, Father. Not all the dragons. Some, like Draconas,
are opposed to this. But there are others, many others, who are in favor.”

It was on the tip
of his tongue to add that he’d been inside their thoughts, he’d seen the
vibrant colors of fear and outrage in their minds. He swallowed the words with
his ale.

“We have one thing
in our favor—the cannons,” Marcus went on, when the king didn’t speak. “This is
the battle you’ve prepared for all your life, Father. Well, maybe not quite.
You envisioned fighting dragons themselves, not humans wielding the power of
dragons. No matter how strong their magic, a cannonball plowing into their
ranks will leave them a mass of bloody pulp—sorry, Mother.”

He turned to her,
afraid he’d upset her. Ermintrude shook her head and sighed.

“All this talk of
war,” she mourned. “Just when there’s the loveliest young woman I want you to
meet.”

Edward and Marcus
regarded her in mute astonishment.

“She has just
arrived,” Ermintrude continued calmly. “Her name is Izabelle. She is the
daughter of the Earl of Cantwell and a distant cousin. You played with her when
you were children, Marcus. I don’t suppose you remember, but she does.”

With another one
of her leaps, which were not so illogical as they appeared, Ermintrude added, “And
when do we meet Mistress Evelina?”

Marcus opened his
mouth, only to close it again as Edward broke in impatiently, “My dear! Now is
hardly the time!”

Ermintrude tapped
her reliquary. “There is a time for all things, Edward. ‘A time for love and a
time for war.’ So the Church teaches us.”

“So it does, my
dear,” said the king. “But most times, war takes precedence. And it must now. I
think you have a plan in mind, my son. I would be interested in hearing it.”

Marcus breathed an
inward sigh. He was spared for the moment.