Master of Dragons (45 page)

“Cover it with a
sheet or something,” the king ordered, sickened.

“Poor girl,” the
Queen murmured softly, weeping. “Poor child.”

“At least she is
at peace now,” said Edward. He put his arm around his distraught wife. “Come
away.”

“I didn’t know she
was . . . was that. . . that evil
thing!
” Ermintrude cried, sobbing into
her husband’s breast.

“None of us knew,
Mother,” said Marcus, trying to comfort her. “Don’t blame yourself. Not even
another dragon could have seen through the facade. She allowed me to see the
truth, but only when she was certain she had a firm hold on me. Then she
tortured me with the knowledge of what she planned.”

A squire appeared
in the doorway, seeking the king. Edward looked about for someone else to help
his wife, who was shivering and sobbing.

“I’ll stay with
the Queen, Sire,” Evelina offered in meek tones.

No one had paid
any attention to her before this, and she’d taken care to keep well in the
background. Now she came hesitantly forward.

Edward glanced at
Marcus, who frowned and searched the room for anyone else. Her Majesty had sent
most of the servants away for their own safety, keeping only one woman, who had
been with her for years. That good woman crouched in a corner, laughing and
blubbering hysterically, completely useless to her mistress. Evelina was the
only woman remaining.

Though pale after
her frightening ordeal, and far more subdued than usual, she was composed and
in control. Marcus did not doubt her courage, no matter what he thought of her character.
He gave a reluctant nod.

Evelina assisted
the Queen to a chair by the fire and knelt down beside her, chafing the woman’s
hands, which were cold as what remained of the human hands of the corpse.

“Mistress Evelina,”
said Marcus.

“Yes, Your Highness?”
Evelina looked up at him, her blue eyes wide. She tried a tentative smile.

“Don’t bring my
mother any wine,” he said harshly.

Evelina’s cheeks
stained red. The smile shriveled. She lowered her eyes. “No, Your Highness,”
she mumbled, her response barely audible.

“Keep an eye on
that creature,” said Marcus to one of the knights as he and his father left the
great hall. “Don’t let her out of your sight. And don’t let her leave the
palace.”

Gunderson stood
atop the wall staring out eastward through a spyglass. Others were watching
that direction, as well, eyes squinting, trying to see.

“What is it?” the
king demanded.

“As strange a
sight as I’ve witnessed in all my years, Sire,” said Gunderson and he handed
over the glass. “What do you make of that?”

“You know I can’t
see through that damn thing,” Edward said, exasperated. “Marcus, you look.”

Marcus lifted the
glass to his eye and brought the amazing sight into focus.

Women on horseback
raced along the road that led from the north, riding for the castle gates. The
women were clad in leather armor of ornate and archaic design. They wore steel
helms and carried shields with the insignia of an Eye upon them. Their swords
bumped their legs as they rode. They had bows strung over their shoulders and
quivers of arrows tied to their saddles.

Flanked by the
warrior women, who rode protectively on either side, were twelve horse-drawn
chariots. Each chariot was driven by a female warrior, and riding in each were
women clad in white robes that streamed out behind them. The lead chariot was
accompanied by a young man, who was not riding, but was running alongside,
loping easily over the ground, keeping pace with the horses.

Marcus lowered the
glass and rubbed his eyes, which were starting to tear.

“Well?” his father
demanded impatiently.

“The warrior women
of Seth,” Marcus said.

“Do we fire?”
Gunderson asked.

“No!” said Edward,
and “No!” Marcus shouted at the same time.

“Sire, I don’t
like this—” Gunderson began.

“Neither do they!”
Marcus cried, pointing.

The dragon army had
spotted the riders and the chariots. A group of dragon warriors detached from
the main body that was marching on the palace and shifted direction, racing at
a run to cut off the women of Seth before they could reach the palace.

Those watching
from the castle walls had no idea where this strange army had come from or what
they were doing here, but, seeing that the enemy was trying to stop them,
Edward’s soldiers immediately took their side. They cried out warnings to the
riders and clashed their spears on their shields and pointed urgently to the
dragon warriors who were racing down upon them.

The riders saw
their peril and increased their speed. They  galloped over the road, holding
formation, keeping themselves between the enemy and the chariots. The chariot
drivers plied the whip to their steeds. The chariots rumbled and bounded over
the paving stones. The passengers clung to the sides, holding on for dear life.

The troop of
dragon warriors separated, some racing to cut off the women, some moving to attack
them on the flank. The riders, gripping the saddle with their thighs, let go of
the reins and, grabbing their bows, fired arrows at the approaching dragon
warriors.

Those waiting on
the walls expected to see the arrows go up in smoke, as they’d seen happen in
the Battle of Aston. To their astonishment, the arrows of the warrior women of
Seth penetrated the dragon-scale armor. Many attackers fell, and those on the
wall cheered.

It was apparent,
though, that the army of Seth would not win the gates before the dragon
warriors cut them off.

Edward raced down
the stairs, shouting for his knights. The horses had already been saddled and
readied for battle, and now stable-boys and groomsmen led them into the bailey
near the gatehouse. The knights mounted, as did the king. Marcus ran down with
him and stood near the gates, holding his father’s bridle. Marcus longed to
join them, but he was not strong enough to sit on a horse, and he might imperil
the mission.

“If I fall, you
are in command, my son,” said Edward.

Marcus was in
command. Not Gunderson. Marcus, the bastard son, the son he had not wanted, the
son he’d never understood. Marcus saw pride and confidence in his father’s
eyes, and he saw something else: an apology. It would forever go unspoken
between them, but Edward was saying he was sorry.

“Look after your
mother,” Edward added, and he put on his helm and took up his shield and rode
to the gates, where men stood, ready to fling them open at his command. His
knights fell in behind him.

“Open the gates!”
the king commanded.

“Covering fire!”
Marcus shouted. “Keep them busy.”

He thought of
using the cannons, which were now perfectly safe, but no man would go near
them, and Marcus himself was reluctant to chance it. Catapults hurled stones at
the besiegers. Flights of arrows soared through the air, and though the dragon
warriors caused these to go up in smoke, the attack kept their attention on the
archers on the walls and away from the sortie at the front gate.

The king and his
knights rode out from the castle walls at a gallop. They raised their voices in
a mighty shout. Trumpets blared from the walls and drums rolled. The dragon
warriors rushing down on the chariots heard the commotion at their backs and
saw that they were about to be caught between the hammer of Seth and the anvil
of the king’s men.

The enemy did not
give up. They hurled wicked, deadly darts and blasted their foes with fire and
lightning. Here a knight fell and there a warrior woman tumbled from her horse
to lie bleeding on the ground. The commander of the Seth warriors urged her
horse forward, shouting something to the woman who rode in the lead chariot, a
woman whose robes were deep purple.

Clinging to the
driver with her arm around her waist, the woman raised her other hand and
pointed to the sword held by the commander of the Seth forces. Her sword burst
into white flame. The commander brought it down in a fiery slash at a dragon
warrior. The enchanted blade sliced through his armor and cleaved him almost in
half. The commander did not waste time looking back to see her foe, but
galloped on to the next.

The leader of the
dragon warriors saw that his small force was about to be separated from the
main body and surrounded. He had been trained to fight ordinary humans, not the
female warriors of Seth, who, though they might not have possessed the
dragon-magic, did possess the knowledge of how to use it and how to thwart it.

“Fall back!” he
shouted, and his forces began an orderly retreat.

Some of the
younger knights would have given chase, but the king ordered them sharply to
return to the safety of the castle walls. The chariots rolled through the
gates, their horses wet and foaming at the mouth. The knights and the women
warriors galloped in behind them. The gates slammed shut.

Marcus was on hand
to meet them. He searched frantically through the crowd, paying scant attention
to the women warriors or the women in the chariots until he found the one he
sought.

Ven was inspecting
a metal dart that had lodged in the scales of his leg. Grimacing, he grabbed
hold of the dart, yanked it out, and tossed it on the ground.

“Ven,” said Marcus
warmly. “It is good to see you!”

The Dragon’s Son
lifted his head.

Marcus held out
his hand.

Ven straightened.
He eyed Marcus with no change of expression. He made no move to take his hand.

Marcus flushed. He
lowered his hand and started to turn away. Ven took a step forward, his clawed
feet scraping on the ground. “Brother,” said Ven gruffly, and he embraced
Marcus—gently, so as not to hurt his injured arm.

THERE WAS HEADY
CELEBRATION, BRIEF MOMENTS OF ELATION and triumph, and then the knights and
soldiers of Idylswylde took second looks at the proud and fierce-looking
warrior women of Seth and their pagan priestesses and began to wonder if they’d
opened the gates of the sheep fold to let in the wolf Those in the courtyard
gathered around the women, regarding them with baleful glances and muttered
comments. At about that moment, someone caught sight of Ven and saw that while
he was human above, the young man was beast below.

Shouts of “Devil-spawn,”
the clash of steel, and a rush of men put an end to the brothers’ reunion.
Marcus tried to reason with them, but he couldn’t make himself heard. He
knocked a man to the ground with a blow of his fist, as Ven lifted up another
with his bare hands and flung him back to his comrades, bowling them over like
ninepins.

Hearing the
uproar, the warrior women drew their weapons and started to go to the rescue.
The king’s men rushed to bar their way, and it seemed as though the enemy might
as well sit down and rest, for their work was being done for them.

A furious shout
sounded. Hooves clattered on cobblestone. King Edward rode into the fray, his
knights accompanying him, striking to the left and right with the flat of their
blades.

The king turned to
face the mob.

“Have you gone
mad?” Edward roared. He had no need to use his sword. The fury in his voice and
the rage in his face caused the soldiers to fall back and lower their weapons. “Last
I looked, the enemy was
outside
the walls!”

The soldiers
muttered and then one spoke up boldly, pointing at Ven, “What’s this then?”

“A miracle,”
Edward replied. “A miracle sent by God in our hour of need. Now return to your
posts! Or, by God, I will clap every single man among you in irons and charge
you with treason!”

The soldiers saw
the king, and they saw, out of the corners of their eyes, the knights on
horseback, who had them surrounded. The soldiers were riled, their blood was
up, and they made no move to disperse. The king’s face darkened. His knights
were starting as to edge their horses forward when a man shouldered his way
through the crowd and ran toward the king.

He was stopped at
spear point by one of the knights. The man said quickly, “Your Majesty, I bring
urgent news.”

Edward stared down
at the man in astonishment, for he recognized him. “Draconas!”

“Dragons are
flying to join in the assault, Your Majesty,” said Draconas. “Not just one.
Many.”

His voice carried.
A hush fell over the crowd, as they lifted their heads to stare fearfully into
the sky.

“Many?” Edward
repeated in dismay. “What can we do to fight them?”

“You spoke truly
when you said a miracle had come.”

Draconas held out
his hand and a woman strode forward. She walked with dignity and grace, and the
crowd parted as she came.

“This is Anna, the
High Priestess of Seth,” said Draconas.

“Your Majesty,”
said the High Priestess, and she made him a low bow. “My sisters and I can
defend you against the dragons. That is why we have come.”

Before the king
could reply, shouts went up from all parts of the castle, crying that the enemy
had regrouped and was launching the attack.

“Get back to your
posts!” Edward commanded.

Men returned to
their positions. The warrior women took their places alongside the soldiers,
who glanced at them askance, but were too busy preparing for the assault to
have much to say to them.

Marcus heard the
command, but he did not move. News of the dragons and the enemy attack made
little impact. He stared, entranced, at the High Priestess.

“She is lovely,”
he said softly, to himself, or so he thought.

“Yes, she is,”
said Ven.

Marcus looked from
his brother to the High Priestess and flushed. “I am sorry, Brother. I didn’t
mean—”

Ven smiled. His
smile was stiff, for it hadn’t been much used, and he wasn’t certain quite what
to do with it.