Mistress of Dragons (13 page)

“How
do you feel about it, Draconas?” Edward asked, jolting him out of his reverie.

“I’m
sorry, Sire. I was woolgathering. What were you saying?”

“That
I used to long for adventure,” Edward repeated. “I used to hope for a war to
break out. Not a big war, mind you. Just a small one. Anything to dispel the
monotony. Then, when the dragon came, I felt guilty. I said to myself, ‘God is
punishing me for those evil thoughts.’ Do you think God would do that?”

“I
think we should get some sleep,” Draconas said. “Dawn comes early. Will you
take first watch or will I?”

“I
will,” said Edward. “It’s good just to be able to sit quietly and think,
without being constantly interrupted.”

“Yes,
it is,” said Draconas pointedly, but he had the feeling Edward hadn’t heard
him.

Wrapping
himself in his blanket, Draconas laid down on the grass near the dwindling fire
and shut his eyes, hoping the king would heed his own counsel and remain
silent. Edward sat staring into the dying fire, silent and pensive, his
thoughts turned inward, for which Draconas was grateful. He was thinking he
should have another mental talk with Braun. They now had proof that Maristara
had given humans the forbidden gift— dragon magic. And that these humans were
no longer being kept cloistered in Seth. They were being sent out to hunt him.
What is Maristara up to? What is she after, she and her partner? Draconas was
trying to settle these questions in his mind, when Edward again broke in on his
thoughts.

“I
love Ermintrude, I truly do,” Edward said suddenly. “We’re lucky in our
relationship, I suppose, considering that neither of us had any say in the
matter of our marriage. We met each other, were wedded, and bedded all on the
very same day. Our love isn’t the love you hear about in the minstrel’s song,
love that aches and burns and drives a man to either do glorious deeds or drown
himself in the river.”

He
hummed a few bars of a minstrel’s lay, then sang part of it in a rich tenor.

Great
anguish locked in the weary heart fierce bitterness borne secretly, mournful
expression without joy, dread which silences all hope, are in me and never
leave me: and so I can neither be healed nor die.

“Still,”
he added lightly, when he was finished, “that type of love can’t be very
comfortable and I am quite comfortable with Ermintrude and the children.”

His
tone grew more serious, his voice softened. “I would give my life for the
children. They are my future. They are my immortality. That’s why I must do
everything in my power to drive away this dragon. If our children are our
future, I have to make certain that their future is secure. Isn’t that right,
Draconas?”

Draconas
said yes and went on following his own bleak trail of thought. Humans with
dragon magic. Humans were more than capable of destroying themselves without
dragon magic. He could not imagine what they would do to each other if they
possessed this powerful weapon.

“Or
what they might do to us,” Draconas said to himself.

For
that was, of course, why the dragons were nervous. A human with dragon magic
might not be a dragon’s equal when it came to battle, but he would certainly be
far more formidable than he was now. And an army of humans possessed of dragon
magic . . .

They
will be waiting for me at the pass. These strange monks, armed with dragon
magic . . . the enchanted barrier, keeping me from entering . . .

And
keeping anyone inside that kingdom from leaving.

Draconas
was so struck by this realization that he sat up and threw off his blanket.

“What
is it?” Edward asked, mildly alarmed.

“Anthill,”
Draconas answered, covering. Standing up, he shook imaginary ants out of his
blanket and changed places. Lying back down again, he added, “That was a
charming song you were singing. Perhaps you’d go on with it.”

“It
is not a charming song. It is a very doleful one, but anything to shut me up,
right?” Edward said easily. “Very well. I’ll sing and you think. I trust that
eventually you’ll tell me what it is you’re thinking about. Eventually,” he
added with a grin, “you’ll have to.”

The
king began to sing, his tenor rolling out into the darkness.

And
as her lute doth live or die, Led by her passion, so must I; For when of
pleasure she doth sing, My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring . . .

There
is going to come a time when Edward is going to dig in his heels and refuse to
budge until all his questions have been answered. Knowing humans, that time
will be a most unpropitious one, Draconas said to himself. He made a mental
note to be ready for it and then went back to examine his earlier premise.

No
one is able to cross the enchanted barrier to enter Maristara’s kingdom, but
people are able to get out. Humans possessed of dragon magic are in the world
and Seth is the obvious source.

A
taste for human flesh, so Braun had claimed. Perhaps that was how it had
started. A dragon spies for Maristara. She pays him with humans intended for
his dinner table. But then this dragon discovers that the humans can be of more
use to him than to his stomach. If he has been on the receiving end of human
slaves for three hundred years, he might well have an army of men possessed of
dragon magic. He and Maristara could be plotting to take over cities,
countries, nations.

What
intrigued Draconas was the fact that these humans were being smuggled out of
the kingdom. There had to be some way to remove them so that they were not
missed. At some point in or around Seth the barrier must have a “gate” left
open. And Draconas had an idea where that might be.

Dragons
are cave dwellers. They are born in caves, the hatchlings breaking through the
leathery shells of eggs that have been deposited in the darkest recesses of the
deepest caverns. Here the younglings remain for a hundred years, living off
food brought to them by their parents, sleeping and eating and growing until
they are strong enough to leave the caves and catch their first painful glimpse
of sunlight. The sight of light is terrifying for most young dragons. Draconas
remembered it clearly, remembered hiding his head, longing to creep back into
the comfortable, safe darkness. He remembered the way being barred by his
mother. He had no choice but to suffer the light.

Over
time, he grew used to the sun and came to enjoy it. But when he dreamed, he
dreamed of cool, dark caverns.

Maristara
is no different. She is comfortable in underground rooms and tunnels and what
better place to hide that which she does not want others to see, for most
humans loathe and fear dark, confined spaces. Upon first arriving in Seth,
Maristara would have done what any dragon would do—she would take up residence
in a mountain cavern, tunnel it, build it, shape it to suit herself. Which
meant that there would be an entrance . . . and an exit.

“Braun,”
called Draconas, his thoughts tinged with sweet, warm colors of satisfaction, “the
dragon must have a back door to her lair. I’m guessing her lair is in the
Sentinel peak in the Ardvale mountains. The back door must be easily accessible
to humans. See if you can find it.”

The
sixth day dawned hot and sultry. No breeze stirred the limp leaves. The air was
humid. Sweat poured off their bodies. The horses’ heads drooped as they plodded
along. Edward fanned himself with his hat and said he smelled thunder.

They
were in the desolate foothills of Ardvales, picking their way among scrub pine,
fallen timber, and bits of the mountain that had broken off and tumbled down
the steep slope. The river Aston flowed in the valley beneath them, to their
east. The river circled eastward round the mountains from its source far to the
north. A part of the river stole into Seth, rising to the surface to form a
large lake in the western part of the valley, then diving underground again.
They had crossed the Aston several times on this journey, for it was a winding,
meandering river, with innumerable branches and tributaries.

“Once
commerce between our two kingdoms must have traveled up and down this river,”
Edward remarked. “Strange that all has been so long forgotten. Perhaps I can
change that.”

Draconas
answered, “Yes.” He ceaselessly scanned the mountains, searching for the “back
door,” though he didn’t really expect to find it. It would be concealed, at
least from those whose eyes were at ground level. Braun would have a better
chance at spotting it from the air.

The
day wore on. The sun blared, brazen and oppressive. Draconas, who generally
cared very little for his physical comfort, felt as if he were being
slow-roasted. Waves of shimmering heat rose off the rocks. The mountains
wavered in his view.

Edward
abruptly reined in his horse, jerking on the reins so that the animal whinnied
and shook its head in irritation.

“The
dragon,” he said in a tight voice. “It’s up there.”

Draconas
squinted into the cobalt sky to see Braun, massive wings outspread, soaring
upon the thermals, gliding across the face of the mountain, his neck curved,
his head bent. He was close to the borders of Seth. Maristara and her
priestess—the beautiful face in the topaz—must be on alert.

He
hoped they were. Keep the pressure on. Humans under pressure often acted
carelessly or foolishly and, in this regard, dragons were no different.

“You’re
mistaken,” said Draconas coolly. “That is a heron.”

“A
heron!” Edward scoffed. “Don’t you think I know a dragon when I—” He stared,
blinked his eyes, stared again. “You’re right, by Our Lady. It
is
a
heron. But I could have sworn ...”

“It’s
the heat,” said Draconas. “It plays tricks on a man’s eyes. I have seen what I
thought was a blue lake in the middle of a desert, only to find nothing but
sand. Look,” he added, changing the subject, “to the west. There is your
thunder.”

Blue-gray
clouds, shimmering with white lightning, bubbled and boiled and roiled rapidly
over the tail end of the mountain’s spine. The storm moved so fast that with a
crack of lightning and a crashing boom it was on them, soaking them with rain
in an instant.

Edward
laughed for the sheer pleasure of the cool water on his hot skin and from the
exhilaration that comes from witnessing one of nature’s spectacular furies.
Taking
off
his hat, he tilted his face to the sky, enjoying the feel of
the water rolling down his sweat-soaked body. Draconas cast half a glance
skyward, saw Braun riding the storm winds.

The
dragon spoke to him, glee-tinged images appearing in Draconas’s mind.

“I
think I have found what we seek. I’ll show you where to look. Watch for my
sign.”

Draconas
wondered how he was supposed to see anything in the lead-gray murk. He lost
sight of Braun in the trailing clouds, but kept an eye on the area where he’d
last seen the dragon. The rain pelted down harder. Draconas cursed beneath his
breath.

A
sudden blaze of light flared on the mountainside, drawing his eye. Draconas
stared hard, marked the spot where the pine tree had caught fire, presumably
struck by lightning. Draconas gauged the distance, searched for other
landmarks, although a burnt and smoldering pine should not be that difficult to
locate.

Braun
veered off, steering clear of the mountain so that the strange eddies of the
storm winds did not catch him and slam him into the rock face. The dragon took
to the air, climbing through the rain, seeking calmer skies.

“Be
wary,” Braun warned, as he flew away. “I knew to look in this location because
last night I spotted torch lights wending their way up the mountain. Maristara
is entertaining visitors.”

“I
was right,” said Draconas.

“So
it would seem,” Braun replied.

The
leading edge of the storm passed quickly, taking with it the black clouds, the
blinding lightning, the booming thunder and torrential rains. Gray clouds and
gentle, steady rain settled in. Draconas watched the darker gray smoke rise from
the burning tree, mentally calculating the distance and the time it would take
to travel to that place.

When
he found a route he liked, he turned his horse’s head and started off to the
northeast. Edward put his sodden hat back on his head, thought better of it and
removed it, draped it over the pommel of his saddle to dry.

“I
thought you said the pass was over there.” He pointed to the west, the
direction they had been traveling.

“It
is,” said Draconas. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Just
as you changed a dragon into a heron?” said Edward.

“You
know that such a feat is impossible, Your Majesty.”

“I
know that you call me ‘Sire’ or ‘Your Majesty’ only when you want to lull me
into good behavior. I have seen you do the impossible—in a flawed jewel you
showed me a flawless woman. I am not a child, Draconas. Nor am I a fool.”

You
are neither child nor fool, Edward. You are a pawn. A small and insignificant
piece in a very large game. You see only the square on which you stand. You are
not capable of seeing the entire board and thus you must move as I direct. And
if I must sacrifice you to the greater cause, I will not hesitate to do so.
Humans wielding dragon magic have the power to destroy us all.

Lifting
his head, Draconas looked into the gray mass of clouds, beyond which Braun had
flown. The dragon flew in blue skies and calm winds, leaving Draconas on the
ground, in the rain.

“On
thinking the matter over, I have decided to see if I can find another route
into the kingdom,” he said, continuing to ride, not looking back. “An
underground passage—one that might be free of enchantment.”

“And
free of crazed holy men?” suggested Edward.

Draconas
smiled, but he kept his smile to himself, his back to Edward.