Master of Dragons (47 page)

“You hate them
all, don’t you?” Marcus said. “You’d just as soon see them all die.”

Ven flicked him a
glance. “Do you blame me?”

“No,” said Marcus.
“I don’t suppose I do.”

Lysira breathed a
gout of flame at Mantas, who evaded it. Before she could breathe again, he
turned tail and flew off. Lysira’s roar of triumph was cut short by a gasp of
fear and astonishment as the shadow of her foe fell dark upon her.

Lysira rolled
away, twisting her body, and the move saved her life, for Maristara had been
about to seize hold of the smaller dragon’s neck in her powerful jaws and snap
it in two. As it was, Maristara managed to sink her teeth into only a portion
of Lysira’s neck, the sharp fangs piercing the scales and into flesh. It was
not the hold she had wanted, not a lethal hold, but it would do. Maristara
tightened her grip and began shaking Lysira like a dog shakes a rat with the
same intent—to break her back.

Screaming in pain
and outrage, Lysira writhed and struggled in the other’s grip, trying
desperately to break the powerful dragon’s hold on her. A dark shape streaked
toward her. Not knowing whether this was death or life, Lysira involuntarily
shut her eyes.

Draconas had been
fighting a defensive battle, hoping to prevent dragons from killing each other.
Thus far, though the dragons had done a lot of damage, none had died nor was
even critically injured. He had begun to hope that Maristara might be engaged
in this battle merely for show and that she would soon be willing to give up
and call it a draw.

Maristara might
have done so, but she had suddenly seen an inviting target in the young female.
Maristara owed Lysira, who had led the dragon’s children into Seth. In
addition, the death of the female he loved would suitably pay back Draconas for
all the harm he had done Maristara and her allies. Maristara attacked Lysira,
and Draconas saw that the elder dragon meant this attack to end in death.

He flew straight
at Maristara, striking her with his claws extended, hitting her on the flank
with all the force he could manage.

Maristara gave a
grunt as Draconas barreled into her, knocking the wind out of her. Her jaws
opened. She was forced to let go her hold on Lysira so that she could breathe.

Lysira was badly
hurt, however, and barely conscious. She started falling toward the ground,
unable to help herself. The young male, Mantas, swooped in, thinking to finish
her off.

With a howl, the
old dragon Malfiesto dove at the youngster and, with a flurry of claws,
buffeting wings, and lashing tail, drove Mantas away. The irrascible old dragon
snagged the half-conscious Lysira gently in his claws and carried her away.
Draconas, seeing til is, inwardly apologized to Malfiesto for every bad thought
he’d ever had about him.

Draconas turned
his attention back to Maristara. She was breathing painfully, and he thought he
had probably broken some of her ribs. Blood dribbled from his claw marks on her
flanks. Her head drooped. Smoke, not flame, came from her nostrils. She seemed
about finished. The fire in her belly was doused.

“Give up,
Maristara,” Draconas sent his colors to her. “I don’t want to kill you or any
dragon. Let this be an end of it.”

Nodding, her
breath coming in heaving gasps, Maristara turned and started to fly away.
Draconas gave a deep sigh and was looking about to see what had become of
Lysira when Malfiesto’s colors boomed blazing red.

“You idiot! Behind
you!”

Draconas whipped
about to see Maristara lunging straight at him.

“This is not an
end. It is only the beginning.” She crashed into him.

The two grappled,
slashing and snapping, kicking and snarling, hitting each other with wings and
tail. Magic sparked and crackled around them. Locked in a deadly embrace, the
two began to spiral toward the ground.

“They’re both
dead,” said Ven, and even he had a note of tension in his voice.

“God, no!” cried
Marcus.

The sons of Melisande
watched in pity and horror the battling dragons plummet to the earth—falling on
top of the dragon army.

Shadow and blood
covered the dragon warriors, who, staring upward, saw their danger. They fled,
panic-stricken, running for their lives, some of them seeking cover beneath the
very castle walls they had, only moments before, been attacking. The soldiers
manning the walls, mesmerized by the terrible sight, let their foes come and
did nothing.

Down and down the
dragons fell, rolling over and over, and they were both within a heartbeat of
death, when one of the dragons suddenly broke free and, shaking loose the hold
of the other, began clawing and fighting and flapping upward.

“Which is it? I
can’t see!” Marcus cried, half-blinded by the sun, which made all colors black.

The other dragon
tried to recover, but one wing was in tatters. The dragon pitched over and
crashed headlong into the ground.

The impact shook
the foundations of the castle, knocking men off their feet, causing towers to
tremble and sending cracks snaking up the walls. An enormous dust cloud arose,
momentarily obscuring the body from sight. Men who ran to the walls to try to
see were soon choking and coughing as the cloud roiled over them.

“Which is it?”
Marcus cried again.

“Maristara,” Ven
returned. “She is dead.”

Marcus raised his
eyes to see the red dragon flying wearily overhead. Draconas circled the
carcass of the enormous dragon that lay sprawled out over several hills.
Maristara had fallen so fast and from such a height that the body had
half-buried itself in the ground.

“Go home,”
Draconas said, speaking to the other dragons. “The battle is finished.”

“For today,” said
Mantas, snarling, and, with a final glance at Maristara, he and his cohorts
flew off.

“For today,”
Draconas repeated, and his colors were so dark and sorrow-laden that Marcus
knew better than to intrude, and he silently withdrew, leaving the dragon to
his grief.

The fight was all
knocked out of the dragon warriors. The death of the dragon who had commanded
them finished them off. They picked up the bodies of their dead comrades and,
using what illusion magic remained, they disappeared from sight. They had no
more strength to return home. Sailors and fishermen, upon returning to the city
of Ramsgate-upon-the-Aston, were outraged to find that every sailing vessel in
the harbor had gone missing and so the army made its inglorious way back to
Dragonkeep.

The people of
Ramsgate tended their wounded and buried their dead with hymns of praise, and
celebrated their salvation in the church that evening. Their major concern was
what to do with the carcass of the dragon, which would soon start to rot. They
would have to cut down a forest of trees to find enough wood to burn it, and
the smoke created by such a conflagration would smother the populace if the
wind was in the right direction.

As it turned out,
they did not have to worry. The day after the battle, a dozen dragons appeared
in the skies, led by one dragon with flaring red scales. The dragons created a
magical web that sparkled like stars as it dropped down from their claws and
settled over the carcass. The dragons lifted up the body, cradled in the starry
web, and bore it away with them. All that remained was the enormous crater that
the body’s fall had gouged into the earth.

Ever after, the
site would be known as Dragon Downs.

In the days that
followed, Marcus and Ven spent much of their time together, and they were often
joined by Anna, the High Priestess of Seth. Ven and Anna between them told
Marcus about Sorrow and Lucien and the other children. Marcus listened in awe,
disturbed by what he heard, yet glad at least for Ven, that he had found
something good in his life.

The three had only
a few days together, for the warrior women of Seth were anxious to return to
their home. They feared that dragons might attack the kingdom in their absence.
Ven, too, was eager to return to his family.

The king gave the
women of Seth as many gifts as they would accept, and he and his knights paid
them every honor as they were about to depart.

“I thank you and
your people for all you have done for us,” said Edward to the High Priestess,
as she prepared to take her place in the chariot that would bear her home. “Without
your help, we would not have survived. And,” he added, with a smile that lit
the hazel eyes, “I look forward to the alliance of our two kingdoms.”

The High Priestess
of Seth and the Prince of Idylswylde smiled at each other. Sometimes rulers
do
have a say in who they marry.

“As do I, my
soon-to-be Daughter,” said Ermintrude, giving the young woman a tender embrace.
The dimples were back, undaunted.

King and Queen bid
a more reserved farewell to Ven. Neither of them could ever feel completely
comfortable around their son’s half-brother. Ermintrude, especially, had
trouble knowing what to do with her eyes, which kept going, despite her best
efforts, to the clawed, scale-covered feet.

“Whatever will we
do with him at the wedding?” she asked her husband in a low voice, as they
walked back to the palace. “My father will die of the shock.”

“All in all, not
such a bad thing, my dear,” Edward remarked.

The warrior women
mounted their horses. The drivers took their places in the chariots, along with
the priestesses of Seth. Anna and Marcus and Ven lingered together, reluctant
to say goodbye.

“What will you do,
Ven? Where will you and the children go?” Marcus asked, for if ever there were
destined to be outcasts in this world, it was these half-human, half-dragon
children of Grald.

“For the time
being, we will remain in Seth,” Ven said. “The sisters have invited us to live
among them until we feel more at ease. This time has not been easy on Sorrow
and the others. They are learning how cruel and hurtful you humans can be.”

“And how kind,”
Marcus reminded him with a glance at Anna. “And compassionate.” He reached out
to take her hand, loath to let her go.

The High Priestess
flushed in pleasure. Her fingers twined around Marcus’s.

“True,” Ven
admitted. “But no human community will ever fully accept us. Someday, when the
younger children are stronger, we will leave Seth and find a homeland of our
own.”

The commander of
the warrior women was restless. She did not dare say anything to the High
Priestess, but Marcus could see by the restive way her horse cantered about on
the stones that she was eager to be on her way. It was time to say farewell.

The brothers
embraced. Marcus helped Anna into the chariot. He kissed her hand and pressed
it to his heart. She bent down and kissed him on the lips, and a cheer went up
from the knights and the soldiers on the walls.

The gates opened,
and with a flourish of trumpets, the women of Seth left Idylswylde and headed
back for their homeland.

Ven, running
alongside the chariots, turned to wave at Marcus, who lifted his hand. His
heart went with two he’d come to love. Sadly, Marcus turned around and nearly
fell over Draconas.

“My God, you
startled me! Where have you been?” Marcus greeted the Walker with warmth. “I
haven’t seen you since that day you knocked me out.”

“Good thing I did,
too, or Maristara would have made mincemeat of your brain. As it is, it seems
that the lovely young priestess has done just that.”

Marcus laughed. “Anna
is beautiful, isn’t she? We’re going to be married in a month’s time.”

“I am glad for
you,” said Draconas. “Though your lives will not be easy. You both have
dragon-blood in your veins. You know what your children will face.”

“We know,” said
Marcus somberly. “We have talked of it. Still,” he added, cheering up, “if we
have a boy, I will ask you to come take him to the riverbank to teach him the
magic.”

He had hoped to
make the dragon smile at the memory of another small boy who had learned the
magic by the side of the river. Draconas shook his head.

“You will have to
teach your son yourself, Marcus. My days as a walker are nearly at an end. I
came to tell you goodbye. My people are at war and my place is with them. I am
working to bring about peace, but I am not hopeful.”

“We may soon be at
war ourselves,” said Marcus. “When Anna and I are married, our first task will
be to try to enter Dragonkeep to open negotiations. But I am not hopeful,
either. They have been taught to hate us.”

“They aren’t the
only ones who have been taught hate,” Draconas remarked.

“True,” said
Marcus, thinking of Ven. “The blame lies with us, as well.”

Draconas held out
his hand. “Farewell, Your Highness. A last word of advice—stay out of that
little room. You’re needed in this world. You should not be trespassing in
ours.”

“Yet, I would like
to go there sometimes,” said Marcus quietly. “To dream the dreams of dragons.”

And perhaps, he
thought as he watched Draconas walk away, his boots dust-covered and worn down
at the heels, that was all it had been.

A dream of
dragons.

He watched
Draconas until the dragon was lost to sight, walking down the road, and the
gates of the palace had shut upon him.

A FORTNIGHT AFTER
THE ASSAULT ON IDYLSWYLDE, WHEN LIFE IN the city had almost returned to normal,
a secret trial was held inside the castle of the king.

Long after
darkness had fallen, the prisoner was removed from her room, where she’d been
held under strict guard, and taken to King Edward’s private study. Four guards
escorted the prisoner, and her hands were bound, for she was being tried on the
charge of murder.

Evelina came
before the king with her head held high, her jaw firm, though her dreams hung
about her in shreds and tatters. She had awakened one morning a week ago to
find her mattress soaked in blood—proof that she was not pregnant. She had
tried to hide the evidence from Axe-Face, who had returned, much to Evelina’s
ire. That, however, had been impossible.