Master of Dragons (7 page)

“The monk is
right. You should not be moving,” Grald said solicitously. “We must take care
of that body of yours.”

A strange way to
put it, Ven thought, but he let it go. He had more urgent matters to consider
than his dragon father’s odd choice of words. He could hear the dragon Grald
sniffing around outside the cavern of his son’s mind; trying, as always, to
find a way inside.

Ven stood in the
center, wrapped in the blazing whiteness that had no color.

Thwarted in his
efforts to pry apart Ven’s mind, Grald was forced to ask for information. “What
happened to you, Dragon’s Son? Who stabbed you? Was it your brother?”

Ven’s lip curled
slightly. “As if Marcus had the guts! The girl. Evelina. She stabbed me. When I
went to meet with my brother, she followed me—”

“If you had not
slain the monk who was given to you as guardian, that would not have happened,”
Grald interrupted. His heavy head lurched near, the hulking body crowded close,
trying to use his bulk to intimidate.

Ven did not flinch
away. He looked the dragon in its human eyes.

“Guardian!” He
started to laugh, then grimaced in pain. He shifted slightly. The monks had
wrapped cloth bandages around his ribs, and they constricted his breathing. “The
monk was a spy. Your spy on me.”

“If he was, what
did you have to hide that you needed to kill him?”

Ven was silent a
moment, then said quietly, “He was an annoyance. A nuisance. Mad as a rabid
skunk. I didn’t like him. That was why I killed him.”

Far from being put
out, Grald seemed to find this amusing. He gave a low chuckle and, dragging up
a chair, settled himself at Ven’s bedside.

“I don’t like any
of them,” Ven continued, casting a venomous glance at the monk hovering near
him. “If they want to live, they’ll stay away from me.”

Grald jerked his
thumb and the monk left gratefully, hastening from the room. Grald looked back
at Ven and his amusement evaporated.

“You sneaked off”
to meet your brother alone. That was stupid, as you found out. You should have
been patient. I would have arranged a meeting between the two of you.”

Ven stared out the
window. The sun was setting, pale yellow against pale blue, its colors muted as
though it were trying to slip way without anyone noticing. “Marcus is my twin
brother. A twin brother I never knew I had. I wanted to meet him alone. I had things
to say to him in private.”

“You wanted to
warn him, you mean,” said Grald. “Warn him that I was going to slay him. Help
him flee.”

“I told you where
to find him,” Ven retorted. “You could have come to claim him. It’s not my
fault you didn’t.”

“I was dealing
with other matters,” Grald muttered.

“Such as Draconas?”
Ven asked.

“What do you know
of Draconas?” Grald demanded, his eyes narrowing so that they almost
disappeared in the shadow of the heavy brow.

“I know that he
was here in the city. I know that he saved Marcus from your assassins. I know
that he was using Marcus as bait to catch you,” Ven remarked coolly. “All very
interesting, considering that you were using Marcus as bait to catch Draconas.
What happened, Grald? Did you all end up catching each other? Is that why you
blew up the city?”

The human Grald
regarded Ven in grim silence. The dragon Grald, lurking outside the cave of Ven’s
mind, struck at him in anger and frustration. Ven stood in the white center of
his mind, safe, unassailable.

“So why
did
you blow up the city, Grald?” Ven asked. “And where is my brother? Where is
Evelina? I wouldn’t mind seeing her again.” He pressed his hand over his wound.
“I owe her for this.”

“You can contact
your brother mind-to-mind,” Grald said suddenly. “You have that power, the same
as dragons. Ask him yourself where he is.”

“I don’t think my
dear brother will be eager to open his mind to me,” Ven said dryly. “Not after
what happened between us. What’s wrong, Grald? Have you lost the prince?”

“I’m asking the
questions,” Grald returned, somewhat belatedly. “And this time I want answers.
What happened when you met with your brother? What did he do? What did he say?”

Ven shrugged and
lay back on the pillow. “I met with Marcus. He was repulsed by the very sight of
me. He loathed me from the start—a feeling that is mutual, by the way. He is
what you might expect—a spoiled, pampered, royal darling. I could tell that he
wanted to be rid of me, but he had to keep me around, of course, so that you
could walk into the trap he and Draconas had set for you. Then Evelina showed
up. She hid outside the door, eavesdropping on us, until she heard me refer to
Marcus as a prince, then the mercenary little bitch nearly knocked the door
down to throw herself into his arms.

“She told him what
a beast I was—how I killed her father and tried to rape her. My brother
believed her, of course. To give him credit, he didn’t intend for her to stab
me. Marcus is soft and weak. He doesn’t have the balls for that sort of thing.
Killing me was all Evelina’s idea. She flung herself on me like a wildcat. The
last thing I remember was her driving her knife into my chest.”

“A knife you gave
her,” Grald observed.

“That was my
mistake and I paid for it.”

“And what happened
then, Dragon’s Son?”

“You tell me,
Dragon Father. I heard an explosion. The next thing I knew, I woke up to find
myself lying in a pool of my own blood underneath a house. Marcus and Evelina
were gone. Outside, everything was in chaos, with people yelling and screaming
and digging bodies out of the rubble. No one was interested in me, so I crawled
out of the wreckage and came back here. I must have passed out again, because
the next I know, one of your lunatic monks is bending over me, babbling at me.

“I’ve answered
your questions, Father. Now you can answer mine. Where is my brother? Where is
Evelina? Were they killed in the explosion? And where is Draconas? I think I
have a right to know—considering that all three want me dead.”

Grald was silent.
Ven guessed the dragon was trying to decide how much to reveal, how much to
keep to himself.

“You have nothing
to fear from any of them, Dragon’s Son,” Grald said at last. “You are right
about your brother. The king’s son is soft and weak and gullible. He is running
back to the arms of his papa, and I will let him run. He has the girl with him.
Soon”— Grald’s lips twisted in what passed with him for a smile—”you will have
your revenge on both of them.”

“Good,” Ven said,
though he wondered what that meant. He waited, hoping Grald would fill in the
details.

“As for any harm
that might come to you,” Grald continued, “the monks will protect you—if you
let them.”

Ven scowled and
shook his head.

“Meanwhile, you
must rest, return to health. When you are stronger, I will tell you everything
you need to know.”

The dragon
departed. He sent the monk back in.

Ven ordered the
monk back out, telling him to shut the door and leave him alone. The monk did
as the dragon’s son commanded. He didn’t go far, however. Ven heard shuffling
feet outside his door—two monks taking up their positions. At least two.

Ven lay back down,
exhausted by the mental struggle; as drained as if he and the dragon had
battled physically—an unpleasant thought that gave him pause. Someday, if he
was to fulfill his oath and avenge his mother, he would have to battle the
dragon, a fight that would be both physical and mental.

Ven had no idea
how this was to be accomplished. He was not ready for such a battle. He knew
enough about the dragon-magic to defend himself against Grald, but that was
all. Ven thought back to the time when Draconas had offered to teach him about
the magic. The child, Ven, had refused. He didn’t want the dragon-magic that
was part of him, as he didn’t want the dragon legs, the dragon claws, the
dragon-blood.

He still didn’t
want it, any of it. The monks regarded him with supposed reverence, but he
could see the fear and loathing in their eyes. The same fear and loathing that
he’d seen, briefly, in Marcus’s eyes. The same that he saw, always, in Evelina’s
eyes.

Much as they
loathed him, they could not loathe him as much as he loathed the dragon part of
himself. He had to overcome that. The man, Ven, felt differently than the
child. He had to learn how to use the magic. He would need it to destroy Grald.

One thing Ven had
learned or at least guessed from his mental battle with Grald.

The dragon had no
idea what had become of Draconas.

THIS WAS ONLY THE
SECOND SESSION OF THE PARLIAMENT OF Dragons the young female, Lysira, had ever
attended. Anora’s urgent summons to convene Parliament had come unexpectedly.
Given the current crisis, the unexpected was only to be expected, or so Lysira
concluded.

She was pleased at
the prospect of the meeting—not so much because of the meeting itself, although
she found those fascinating. She was pleased because this meant she would have
another chance to see the Walker, Draconas. If Lysira had been a human female,
her heart would have fluttered at the thought. Being dragon, Lysira’s heart
thudded calmly. Her dreams trembled.

Dragons prefer to
live their lives in isolation, free to dream their dreams alone and
undisturbed. They come together to mate and raise their young, and that only
grudgingly, for neither much enjoys the physical process of mating, and both
are glad to have it done and over with as swiftly as possible. For dragons,
love is the mating of two minds, not two bodies; the blending of two wondrous
dreams, the merging of fantastic colors and delightful images. The true mating
ritual takes place in the minds of the pair and may go on for years, as they
work together to build the nest that will house their young and create the
elaborate labyrinthine illusions that baffle intruders and keep the young safe
from harm until they are old enough to dream their own dreams.

Lysira had been
enchanted by the images she saw in Draconas’s mind—so different from those of
other dragons. His view of the world was different, for he saw it at ground
level. He saw the world walking. He walked with those strange creatures—humans.
He spoke to them, touched them, had even learned to think like them. The minds
of other dragons were like her own, filled with colors that were lovely,
tranquil, serene. Draconas’s colors—his human colors—were garish, jagged,
jarring, ugly, and beautiful, achingly beautiful.

She’d had a
glimpse into his mind during the last session of Parliament, and she had been
shocked and disturbed and intrigued, so much so that she conjured up the images
again and again as she lay dreaming in her cave. Lysira was the first dragon to
arrive in the immense cavern in which the Parliament of Dragons was held. Anora
arrived shortly thereafter.

Embarrassed by her
eagerness and abashed at being alone in the presence of this august and revered
elder, Lysira kept her thoughts carefully neutral in tone. She paid her
respects to the Minister, dipping her head and raising her wings, then wondered
uneasily what she was supposed to do now. Was she expected to make conversation
until the others arrived? Lysira could think of a great many things she wanted
to discuss, but all of them involved Draconas, and she was shy about bringing
him up.

Lysira made one or
two half-hearted attempts to speak to the elder dragon. Lysira’s colors were
all pastel and muted, however, and Anora, preoccupied by her own raging thoughts,
never noticed the wisps of spring green and rose pink that trailed from Lysira’s
mind.

Anora settled
herself at the front of the cavern. She glanced only once in the direction of
the young female, and that glance was filled with sorrow, as though she foresaw
some terrible fate about to befall the young dragon. The strange look from
Anora made Lysira even more uncomfortable, and she was thankful when the elder
dragon wrapped her tail around her feet and shut her eyes, a sign that she was
not to be disturbed. Lysira retreated into the darkest part of the cavern and
tried to blend it with the stalagmites.

Finally the other
dragons began arriving and Lysira was forced to leave her shadows and greet
them. The dragons were ill at ease and nervous, their colors shifting and
blurring. Of late, they had come to dread these meetings of Parliament, for the
news they were given just got progressively worse. All of them looked to Anora
as they spiraled down through the fathomless darkness on barely moving wings. The
sight of her, clenched tightly around herself, did nothing to reassure them.
Alarm flew between the assembled dragons with such rapidity that Lysira swore
she could almost hear the thoughts whir through the darkness like bat wings.

Lysira dipped her
head and raised her wings to each dragon in turn. She did not join in their
mental conversations, however. Young dragons are, for the most part, to be seen
and not heard, unless specifically invited to share their colors. Lysira might
possibly have received an invitation from some of the young males; she had an
impression of thoughts drifting her direction. She was distracted, however,
listening for the arrival of one dragon; listening for the sound of human
footfalls.

Once the last
dragon had arrived, Anora came out of her dark musings and called the
Parliament to order, and still Draconas did not come.

Lysira took her
place among the assembled heads of the houses of Dragonkind and opened her mind
to Anora’s thoughts.

“I am sorry to
have brought you here on such short notice,” said Anora, her colors vibrant and
trembling, as from some long-suppressed emotion. “But I have urgent news to
impart to you, as well as a warning and ... a confession.”

“We cannot
proceed. We are missing a member. Where is Draconas?” snapped Malfiesto.