SummerDanse (13 page)

“My fault?”

I gaped at him for a moment, then with no thought of the consequences, I flew at him. My attack caught him off guard, and I managed to strike him hard in the face before he realized what was happening. But my outburst of rage hadn’t accounted for him being a very powerful magician.

Before my second blow could land, he raised a hand, palm outward as if pushing me away, and I sailed through the air, crashing against the far wall and falling in a heap. The collision knocked the breath out of me, and for a few seconds I concentrated on trying to get it back.

But I couldn’t breathe. Zhantar, his eyes blazing, stood over me, hands on hips, just watching. It was as if someone had their hands around my throat, choking me. My lungs burned and my tongue seemed to swell. I tried to stand up, to do something that would break the casting of the spell, but the best I could do was rise to all fours.

I forced my lungs to expand, but nothing filled them. Tumbling over onto my side, I looked up at Zhantar in terror. He stood as immobile as stone staring at me.

When consciousness returned, I lay where I’d fallen. After a few moments of trying to get my bearings, I pushed myself to my feet and went to lie down on my bed.

What had gotten into me, to attack Zhantar like that? Yes, his mocking had enraged me, but what a stupid thing for me to do.

No food was sent to me that night, and I had to make do with just water. I went to bed before it got dark and fell into a heavy sleep.

In my dream, I fell upward. I sped through a purple sky, with lights of every color flashing around me. A voice, ancient and deeply rooted as the hills, spoke. “Why do you disturb my rest?” The words shook my very soul and arrested my flight. Now I floated, slowly spinning in place, trying to fight off dizziness and the tightening pain that coursed through my body. A voice of ancient power told me its story, infusing me with its own strength. A strange sensation passed through me. It started at my toes and worked its way upward, making me feel both warm and cold, weak and strong. I wanted to laugh and weep, sing and dance and stand quiet and still, all at the same time.

Then it all faded away, and I wept for what I’d lost.

I woke up with tears on my cheeks and damp spots on my pillow. Sitting up and stretching my arms, I thought about the dream. It was such a keen reminder of the strength Etos had given me—strength I’d lost.

Or had I?

Perhaps the dream had been sent to remind me not of what I’d lost, but of what I had. For I was strong. Strong enough to gather sufficient power to bring the red dragons back to Hedra. Strong enough that Zhantar wanted me to become a dragonmaster. Strong enough, surely, to find my way out of what I faced now. I would just need to be canny and careful.

It was well that I made this resolution.

Nilla brought my breakfast tray, her face looking grey and worried. She hustled me into eating quickly, and I wondered what could be up. When I finished, she took the tray away, but was back only minutes later carrying a large bundle of clothes. Black leggings and tunic, rich purple and blue sash, black boots that fit perfectly, though I hadn’t been measured for them. And, to go over it all, a floor-length black cloak. I resisted putting this on last, knowing full well that it would make me look like a dragonmaster, but Nilla kept looking toward the door and nearly wept with panic. I relented and let her put it on me.

She took a small metal compact from her pocket and opened it. It contained some pink powder, a bit of which she rubbed into my cheeks. She then ran a brush through my hair and pulled it back neatly into a queue.

The door opened, and Zhantar swept into the room, resplendent in his black clothes and cloak, his gold belt and torc, his jeweled fingers and handsome face. He looked every inch the DragonLord. The power radiated from him so that I could practically taste it.

“I see you are ready,” he said in a harsh voice that left me in no doubt of his continuing displeasure.

I felt myself cower away from him, then remembered my dream, remembered Etos. Straightening up and lifting my chin a little, I looked straight into his eyes. “Ready for what?”

The muscles in his jaw tightened, and it was several heartbeats before he replied. “Ready for your lesson. The one you earned yesterday.”

I swallowed and looked away, deeming it wise not to stand so firm that his only choice would be to break me. He took it as acquiescence.

“You will come with me. You will behave exactly as I expect you to. And if you are tempted to disobey me in any way, you will remember how very easy it is for a fire to start in the king’s sewing room and how unlikely it is that many of the slaves could be unshackled in time.”

My stomach churned at this reminder of what had happened to Mama. Was he taking me to see her? No, that couldn’t be it. He certainly wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble with the clothes just for that.

“Now, come, my novice. Follow me.”

His novice? How dare he be so presumptuous! But mindful of his threat, I bit back the sharp words that rose to my lips and followed him out of my room, down the stairs, and outside.

A splendid carriage stood ready in front of the house. Shiny and black, reflected sunlight sparkled off it. It was drawn by a perfectly matched pair of pure-black horses. A footman held the door open for us, and I climbed in and took a seat in the carriage’s luxurious interior. Another time, I would have enjoyed such a ride as this, but today, I would almost have preferred to be in Anazian’s cage.

We passed through beautiful, tree-lined streets. The horses’ hooves clipped merrily on the cobbles. Overhead, the sky was bright and cloudless.

Zhantar reached over and, taking my chin in his hand, forced me to look at him.

“You will behave as if you are my novice. Should you deviate in the smallest way ...” He didn’t finish the sentence, but instead snapped his fingers. A spark flew from them, glowed for a moment in the air, then went out. His meaning was clear. “And, Donavah, so that you know, my son argued long for me to let him teach you the consequences of daring to lay a hand on me. I was sorely tempted to let him have his way. But my heart tells me that subtlety will be more effective with you. It would behoove you to learn your lesson this time, for if there is a next time, Anazian might persuade me.”

I felt myself flush. Zhantar didn’t speak again until we arrived at our destination. Looking back out the window, I saw the brightly colored awnings of a marketplace.

The carriage stopped, and a moment later the footman opened the door. Zhantar stepped out, then turned and offered his hand to assist me. I would have preferred to spurn his offer, but his eyes, glittering green in the sunlight, reminded me of the part I must play. I composed my face into a pleasant smile, took his hand, and stepped out next to him.

Above me, high into the sky, rose the greenish stone walls of the king’s arena.

The weeks grow long, and despair grows ever greater in my soul. Surely if Donavah were alive, we would have heard something by now.

I sit in a blackening mood, watching Traz learn the danse with Lini, watching Breyard work on flight patterns with the dragons. But to what end is it all? What can be accomplished if Donavah be lost?

No, I must shake off these feelings of doom and dread. I must not imagine the worst has happened. And if, indeed, it turns out that Donavah’s sole purpose was to bring the red dragons back from Stychs, she has done a mightier thing than I shall ever do.

But no one can blame me for wanting a better reward for her than an early death.

My breath caught in my throat. My smile faltered. No, surely he wasn’t going to make me watch executions in the dragon fighting pits. Oh, subtlety indeed. How could I bear such a thing?

“Come, my dear,” he said, keeping hold of my hand with one of his and gesturing toward the grand entrance with the other.

All around us, rich, well-dressed men and women—lords and ladies all, no doubt—drifted toward the arena. Some greeted Zhantar, the men with a heartiness that I recognized to be a cover for their fear of his power, the women with shining eyes for the handsome figure he cut.

I felt many eyes on me as we went along our way. Zhantar tucked my hand into the crook of his arm, and I could feel excitement and tension in him. People moved aside for us, and I soon found how deeply I disliked being on the receiving end of this sort of deferential behavior. Zhantar didn’t seem to notice it, as if he were accustomed to it or, perhaps more likely, as if it were his due.

We had to go through a long tunnel that passed under the tiered rows of seats, but it was high and wide and well-lit with torches. When we came out the other side, I had to suppress a shudder. Last time I was here, I’d seen a dragon eat a man. That horror came full-blown back into my mind, as did the memories of Xyla rescuing Breyard and the dragonmasters attacking me. There would be no Xyla now to save me from their clutches, no Traz to use his staff to break the magic net that held the dragons captive. I was as trapped as the dragons beneath my feet in the stables. Their misery was so great that despite the collar that blocked my maejic, I could still feel it in the air.

We stepped out of the tunnel and onto the wide walkway that surrounded the actual fighting pit. For now, people milled around, hailing one another, chatting, and making wagers on the fights. The upper tiers had already started to fill.

Zhantar led me to the left. Folk continued to greet him, but all moved aside to let us pass through. We arrived at a box, the only place where there was cover from the sun, and went in. The seats here had armrests and were upholstered with fine leather. They would have been fitting had they been found in a rich family’s sitting room. One was especially ornate, with a high back and elaborate designs of intertwined dragons carved into the wood. I thought it must be Zhantar’s, for surely it was splendid enough for the DragonLord.

He instructed me to sit in a chair in the front row, but he didn’t sit himself. Instead, he paced the box, back and forth, back and forth, reminding me of Marileesa, my best friend back at Roylinn Academy, who had a fit of nerves before any singing performance. Did Zhantar feel the same way before a public performance of his own?

I tried to ignore his pacing and instead took in my surroundings. We had a clear view of the fighting pit; indeed, these must be the very best seats in the arena. To the left was the opening through which the prisoners would enter the arena, one at a time, and on the right was the huge opening for the dragons.

Zhantar’s hands gripped my shoulders from behind. “You will watch,” he hissed in my ear, “and you will give every impression that you are enjoying yourself. Do you understand?” I nodded reluctantly. “Speak it. Say the words aloud.”

“I will do as you say.”

He snapped his fingers again as a reminder. Then a fearsome sight met my eyes. A tightly clustered group of Royal Guardsmen approached.

Has this all been some convoluted scheme to deliver me to the Royal Guard? Were they coming to cast me into the fighting pit? My heart beat faster, and my mouth went dry as they drew closer and closer. When, at the sharp bark from an officer, they stopped right in front of the box, it was all I could do to force myself to stay where I was and not leap to my feet and start running. As if that would do any good. No, if they were here to arrest me, I would behave with a dignity and pride that would make even Yallick proud. Not that he would ever hear of it.

But no one accosted me. The Guardsmen all stood at stiff attention, their eyes straight ahead. I might have been invisible for all the notice they took of me.

Then, at another command, they repositioned themselves, and a man dressed in the silliest, gaudiest clothes I’d ever seen stepped from the midst of them.

“Pay obeisance to your king, fool!” Zhantar hissed so that only I could hear.

Heart in my throat, I slid off the chair and went down on one knee, bowing my head as King Erno entered the box. I hardly noticed the footsteps as the Guardsmen marched away.

“Ah, Zhantar, you old rascal! How do you do this fine day?”

I watched the DragonLord from the corner of my eye, and when he straightened up, I did the same, though I tried as much as I could to melt into the background.

When the king spoke, I noticed that Zhantar’s shoulders stiffened. He smiled at Erno, but it was a brittle smile that conveyed nothing of friendliness. The king, however, seemed oblivious to this as he slapped the DragonLord heartily on the back.

“I am well, Your Highness, and I hope you are even better.” Zhantar’s words were icier by far than any he had ever used with me. My eyes slid to the king, and I marveled that he seemed not to take any notice of that which was so clear to me. If I were queen, I would take umbrage at any of my subjects who took that tone with me. Zhantar went on. “I have brought my new novice to observe the working of my dragonmasters.”

The king looked at me, and I needed no prompting to bow once more; I had no wish to meet those eyes. If this man suspected that I had maejic power, he would have the Guardsmen take me to the dungeons to await trial and execution. If he knew who I truly was, like as not he would have me thrown straight to the dragons without even bothering with a trial. Would Zhantar say my name? I died a thousand deaths in a few seconds as I wondered what would happen next.

“A novice, eh?” And the king, quite unexpectedly, giggled. “Soon to be one of your dancing puppets? Sit, girl. Enjoy the show.”

I slipped into my seat, hoping this was the right thing to do.

More people entered the box now. None were introduced to me, and I guessed they must be high-ranking noblemen and women and court officials.

No one paid any attention to me, for which I was glad, and I observed as much as I could. Erno didn’t seem inclined—or maybe even able—to concentrate on any one conversation for long. He laughed at odd times and sometimes broke off mid-sentence to stare at some distant point.

Zhantar held himself aloof, not participating in any of the conversations but simply watching everyone, his face flinty and his eyes hard and cold. I had no doubt whatsoever that he hated King Erno with his entire being.

The seats were beginning to fill in earnest now, and I concluded it must be nearly time for the day’s events to get under way.

Then another contingent of Royal Guardsmen approached. Fear leapt again in my heart, but as before, I needn’t have worried. This time, they accompanied a beautiful young woman.

“Ah, Rycina, my love,” bellowed King Erno. “Come, give your papa a kiss.”

She blushed at this command but did as asked. I couldn’t help but watch her with keen interest. Xyla had hatched from the egg that was supposed to be her betrothal gift from Prince Havden of Ultria.

I soon saw that Rycina was nothing at all like her father. Where his attire was ostentatious and showy, she wore a simple pale green gown that was pure elegance. Excessive jewelry contributed to his foppish appearance; her few pieces, though expensive and well-crafted, served to enhance her beauty. And while he spoke in a blustery manner about things of little import, her discourse was quiet, demure, and intelligent. The people in the box gravitated toward her.

With one very noticeable—to me—exception. Zhantar watched her with even more hatred than he had for the king.

Then a hush swept over the crowd, and stragglers began to hurry to their seats. Figures dressed in black—just as I was—poured out of the tunnels and into the arena. They marched in single file along the walkway, peeling off one at a time until a hundred or more of them were spread out evenly around the pit.

Zhantar watched the dragonmasters with a smile—a real one now. His eyes glowed not with hatred but with pride. I wondered if he was going to join in, but he stood in place, simply watching his magicians do their job.

The dragonmasters, as if at some silent signal I couldn’t detect, began to perform their routine. Their spells would create a magic net over the arena, preventing the dragons from flying away. Their movements reminded me a little of the danse—the powerful magic practiced on Stychs—but it seemed to be more martial in nature, more of precision and exactitude and less of motion and grace.

When they stopped, all with their hands raised above their heads, a tocsin rang out. This, I knew, was the warning bell. All must be still during a dragon fight, so everyone must be in their seats before it began.

Erno made an expansive gesture to those in the box. “And now, my friends, I thank you for joining me this fine day. Let us enjoy the entertainment before us!” His eyes shone in what could only be called blood-lust. What a coward! Then I immediately tried to suppress that idea. It wouldn’t do for treason to slip out of my lips. I must guard my thoughts, lest they be reflected on my face and get me into trouble.

The others in the box took their seats, the king taking the beautiful dragon chair, though the animated chatter continued. I expected Rycina to sit next to her father, but she chose a chair in a back corner. It seemed to me that she even turned it a bit, as if to obscure her view, even if just a little, of the pit. I found myself wanting—almost compelled—to watch her. Then Zhantar pinched my arm hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. I glanced upward at him and he jerked his head toward the pit. Focusing my attention there, I blinked back the tears. It wouldn’t do for the king to notice them and ask their cause.

The tocsin rang out again, and now my ordeal began in earnest.

The door to the left opened, and a woman was pushed through it. She was naked and her head was shaved, and she carried a small shield but no sword. Anger swelled in me. Why all this spectacle to execute someone? Surely a human with only a shield couldn’t hope to “fight” a dragon. My lip started to curl in disgust, but I caught myself and schooled my expression into one of neutrality.

King Erno giggled with glee. “One of those pesky mages,” he said. “I keep thinking I’ve rooted them all out, then my dragonmasters find more. Well done, Zhantar!”

The DragonLord bowed his head. “It is my honor to serve you, my king.” Was I really the only one who heard the spite and sarcasm in his voice?

With a loud clang that made me jump, the door on the right opened. Out came a silver dragon, swiveling its head left and right as it scented prey.

The woman—a fellow mage!—didn’t quail. She showed no signs of fear at all. Casting aside the shield, she strode to the center of the pit. Pride surged through me as I realized that she had chosen to embrace her fate and that she would supply as little sport to the crowd as possible.

Her movement caught the dragon’s attention. For a tense moment, it stared at her. She, in turn, watched it as she continued walking forward without changing direction or speed. In a lighting move that elicited a collective gasp from the crowd, the dragon leapt on the woman. The first and only time I’d watched a dragon fight, the dragon had toyed with the poor man like a cat with a mouse. That didn’t happen this time. This one snatched the woman up and a moment later swallowed her.

It took a second for everyone to realize the fight, such as it was, had ended. Then the crowd roared while the dragonmasters began to move, using their power to force the dragon back to the stables. Everyone in the box burst into cheers and applause. Swallowing back the gorge that rose to my throat at what I’d just witnessed, I clapped my hands, too. Or at least made a show of it, as they were sore and one was still bandaged. I could not, however, bring a smile to my face; fortunately, Zhantar didn’t notice.