The Author's Blood (16 page)

Though he did not know it when he lived above the used-book store in the Highlands, Owen had waited for this moment all his life. He had prepared for it by reading great writers. The Dragon and those who had exiled him there had hoped he would lose himself in all those words. Their plan might have worked, had it not been for a man known as Mr. Page, who delivered the book that changed Owen's life forever.

Now, standing before the Dragon, he slowly removed the headdress and let it fall. All eyes were on him, but his were on the enemy.

The look on the face of the Dragon was worth everything Owen had been through, for what Owen saw emboldened him even more. In the Dragon's eyes was more than shock or disbelief or even anger—it was abject fear.

The Dragon's lips trembled as he edged back, glancing left, then right. “You,” he croaked.

Owen pulled his sword again and spoke so softly that only the Dragon could hear him. “You ask my name? I am the Wormling, commissioned by the King himself to find the Son. You murdered my friends. You sent the minions of time to the Highlands to kill my bride. But now your end has come.”

“You f-f-forget,” the Dragon said. “You have failed to produce the Son. He is cowering somewhere or dead like his father.”

“Oh no, foul one. Where the Son is, there the King is also. And I tell you this: he lives.”

The Dragon's eyes grew black. “You lie!”

“I speak the truth. Your days as sovereign are over.”

“Seize him!” the Dragon roared. “Release the tigren!”

Owen yelled to the tigren. They emerged and chased the vaxors from the arena.

The Dragon's throat rattled, and Owen gathered the prisoners behind him. They huddled as a blast from the Dragon's mouth hit the sword, making it glow white-hot, the flames deflected.

“Release the sand snakes!” the Dragon cried.

The people huddled even closer as the arena grounds began to move and hundreds of snakes slithered from their enclosures. Children whimpered, and men and women looked desperately for safety.

“Don't move,” Owen said. With his sword he drew a wide circle around the group, and when the snakes reached the line in the sand, they raised diamond-shaped heads and showed their tongues and fangs. Owen gestured with his sword, and they slithered away, up the walls and into the stands.

The crowd stampeded, screaming and flailing at the snakes.

The Dragon shot another blast of fire at the prisoners, but again, Owen fended off the flames.

“I have an offer for you,” Owen said, but the Dragon continued shooting fire.

One of the prisoners bolted and ran, and the flames engulfed the man.

“Stay behind me!” Owen told the rest.

The Dragon snarled as he moved for a better angle. “
You
have an offer for
me?
My demon flyers are here. I will see the rest of you dead.”

“Listen or regret it,” Owen said, dropping something onto the ground. “Your precious offspring will regret it as well. This is what is left of them. Drucilla is dead, the palace burned to the ground.” He kicked a shell toward the Dragon. “This is all that remains, except for one intact egg.”

The Dragon picked it up as if examining some ancient artifact. He sniffed and cradled it, then bellowed a painful cry of fire that pierced the sky.

Scythe flyers descended, and gusts of wind evidenced invisible demon flyers as well. The tigren ran for cover as all the forces of the Dragon were unleashed.

Owen knew his little ragtag army was not ready for the fight and had but one chance. “Let my friends leave and take me,” he said.

“You killed Drucilla—and all my children.”

“All but one.”

The Dragon's red eyes were misty with what appeared to be a mix of anger and hatred. “Let them go when my whole army is assembled against you? You can't hold up that sword forever, Wormling.”

Owen kicked off his shoe, revealing the scar on his heel. “I am more than the Wormling. My father is the King! I am the Son, heir to the throne and your mortal enemy. The one I sought, whom you meant to kill, and I are one and the same. My marriage will unite the worlds and everyone in them.”

The Dragon's lips moved, but no words came. He stared at Owen's heel. “You?” he said finally.

Owen nodded. “Now free these and any others in your charge. You can have my life.”

“No!” a child said. “You're the King's Son! You can't leave us!”

“Whom do you have but these?” Owen said.

The Dragon snapped his fingers. “Bring the queen of the west. And the others.”

RHM appeared over his shoulder. “
All
the others, sire?”

“Yes,” he said, calling off the air attack. “And now, Wormling, hand over your weapon.”

Murmurs swept throughout the hillside where the captives had fled to join Owen's other friends. Some couldn't believe the Wormling was the Son. Others thought him crazy for not fighting. Nearly all thought they should keep moving farther from Dragon City.

“We stay here because that is what the Wormling requested,” Batwing said.

“That was before he surrendered,” a man said. “He proved he cannot be trusted. How does he know the Dragon won't simply come and wipe us out?”

Several spoke at once until the king of the west hushed them. “We must stay together, of one mind.” His wife huddled close and wept.

“Don't you see?” a woman said. “The Wormling didn't care for his own life. He cared for us.”

“But we would have fought for him,” another said. “We would have helped him defeat the Dragon and bring in his kingdom. Even if it meant our lives.”

Some said they could never defeat the Dragon and his forces. Others said they should raise up a new leader. “Send an assassin to kill the Dragon, and his forces will scatter.”

Someone emerged from the heavy fog that enshrouded the mountain and spoke as if he'd been listening all along. “You cannot kill the Dragon by conventional means. He can exist in the Highlands, the Lowlands, and in the heavenly realm.”

“What does that mean?”

“How do you know this?”

“My name is Tusin.” He sat, his cape folding over his body. “I have spent time with the Wormling—the Son. We helped him and his friend Watcher. We knew the King.”

“What about the Dragon?” a man said. “How do we kill him?”

“
The Book of the King
speaks of it. The Wormling told us much about his plan but not all. One thing we know is that the Dragon has layers of scales on his chest and back that make it impossible for even the Sword of the Wormling to pierce all the way to his stony heart.”

“If it's impossible to kill him, what are we—?”

“It's not impossible. I'm simply saying it will take more than a sword. The Wormling says the plan was laid out by the King in his book. We are to have faith, no matter what.”

“He will be killed,” someone said. “The Dragon will kill him and then come after us.”

“We are not alone in this fight,” Tusin said. “We have allies, even inside the Dragon's trusted circle. And reinforcements.”

“From where?” the queen said.

“I don't know, but the Son promised, and I believe him.”

“What of our daughter?” the king said.

Tusin pursed his lips. “The Son has a deep love for all of us but an even deeper love for her. He knew the Dragon would not release her. It's all in the book.”

“What are we to do?” the queen said.

A flutter of wings passed overhead. Tusin rose and moved up the hill. “We stay here. And we prepare for battle.”

As murmuring rose in the crowd again, a young girl sat crying, grieving the loss of her family.

Rogers sat beside her, and beside him was a mud-covered Starbuck, cradling the book.

The Dragon marched into the council room of the coliseum, and all the members applauded. These most fierce and terrible beings in the Lowlands sensed victory. The newest member, Machree, spread his wings and smiled in welcome of the Dragon.

“Where have you imprisoned the Son? We should kill him now!”

“He's your sworn enemy! Flood his cell!”

“Extinguish him with fire!”

The Dragon lifted a hand. “Guards watch every door between him and freedom. There is no escape.”

“Sire, let me be the one to end his life,” Slugspike said. “I will bring his body so you can burn it before the crowd at tomorrow's ceremony.”

“Generous of you, Slugspike, but you see, he has not given up the whereabouts of the one offspring that still exists.”

“Allow me to gain this information from him,” another said. “I can do it while keeping him alive at the same time.”

“In due time,” the Dragon said, rising to ceremoniously hang the Sword of the Wormling on the wall. He gazed at it lovingly and scratched himself, his confidence at an all-time high. He turned. “What about you, Machree? As our newest member, what do you think we should do with our prisoner?”

Machree dipped his head. “I defer to your knowledge and wisdom, Excellency.”

“I appreciate that, but I really want to hear your thoughts. We've become so ingrown. It is useful to get an outsider's perspective. Please.”

“Very well. I think it best to use this situation as the ultimate proof that you are sovereign. You were going to execute the girl in front of her mother—”

“And I will yet,” the Dragon said.

“Of course, sire. But her mother is gone. How much better to do this in front of the Son and see the look on the his face. . . . Would that not be priceless? He will certainly give you the location of the egg at that point.”

RHM said, “We only wish we could have met the mother of your child.”

The Dragon scowled. “She was useful for this task, but that is all. I do not grieve her, just the destruction of the other children.”

“How can we be sure this egg exists?” Slugspike said. “Could it not be a trick?”

The Dragon rolled his eyes. “You don't understand the enemy. He is imprisoned by honesty. He swears by himself and keeps his promises to the letter, and we can exploit that. Knowing that he cannot lie, we can push him to the brink with his bride—how is she, by the way?”

“The trip took its toll,” RHM said, “but she is lucid, talking only to the one brought with her.”

“The Son does not know we have both his bride and his sister in custody,” the Dragon said. “We truly have the upper hand now.”

Velvel raised a hand. “Do we know how the Son got into the arena? Or why?”

RHM said, “Why? He believed he could kill our leader, of course. As for how, he posed as a dung carrier and slipped past
your
detail.”

The vaxor flinched. “I-I'll have them punished immediately.”

“Already executed,” the Dragon said. “But it all worked out. Their slip dropped him into our hands.”

“A thousand pardons, sire,” Velvel said. “I only hope you will rely on me again.”

“Perhaps you'd like to prove yourself right now.”