Dragon's Keep (15 page)

"Come back!" shouted Father.

I had the corner of the tablecloth in my hand
and was about to pull it off the she-dragon's head when Sir Magnus marched down
the beach and gripped my arm, ordering, "Back to your table!" I
screamed and fought the mage but the cloth slipped from my grip and he forced
me up the beach.

The villagers broke out
in a merry brawl then, screaming and tossing their feast bones at one another
across the tables. But if a
war was to be
fought, it was not ours to wage.

Sure as the sudden warmth of air I felt
across my cheek and the red clouds unfurling in the night, another dragon came.

Thundering down like the riders of the
apocalypse, the
dragon tore from the sky,
roaring fire. It lit the town and trees be
hind us and encircled us with
towering flames on all three sides.

People screamed and leaped up, overturning
tables, platters and goblets crashing down. Some townsfolk ran toward the wall
of fire, others toward the sea, but all were pressed back by water or flames.

Sir Magnus left me on the beach, where I
stood rooted to the ground as a sapling until Kye took my arm, dragged me to an
overturned table, and pulled me down behind. There we hid, the air above us
churning with the mighty dragon's wings and the flames behind burning maple
trees and cottages.

"Stay down." Kye put a protective
arm around me.

I drew close to him and felt his strength.
"Tell your father to hide the claw," I whispered. "If the dragon
should smell it on him ..." Kye called to Lord Godrick, who pitched his
claw behind us. It landed in the wall of fire.

The great golden-breasted dragon swooped low.
Catching the tablecloth in his sharp talons, he pulled it from the she-dragon's
head and tossed it to the sand. Then landing beside the body, the dragon
brushed the seaweed from her face, and with his bright red tongue, kissed her.

"Her mate!" whispered Kye in awe.
"And here I thought there were no more dragons in the world."

The beast lifted his great head and let out a
cry to deafen
Heaven. "Charsha!"
he roared. I covered my ears, but the roar ratded
my skull and shook my
bones. Kye tightened his hold on me. I leaned in close
to
him as the
dragon howled his beloved's name.

Blue fire spilled from
the beast's jaws and rose in great silken sheets to the stars. Villagers joined
him in his screaming, the fear
of their
own impending deaths sharpening their voices to a painful pitch.

I felt the fire at my back and saw the color
of it reflected in
the sea. All was fire
and fury, till the dragon ceased his cry. Then raising his great foreclaw, he
gashed his lady's belly open.

My breath caught in my throat and Mother
screamed as five eggs tumbled to the sand. Each egg was large enough for a
child
to curl up in. And all were
blue-speckled as a robin's lay. My gut
twisted as the she-dragon's blood
pooled round the eggs.

It was half dark when I'd collided with the
shell in Demetra's cave, but I knew by the size and color that the eggs on the
sand were the very image of the egg Mother had sucked to spark her barren womb.
Behind the tables where we hid, our eyes met. The truth of what she'd done
showed in her stricken glance. How the world tumbled over inside me then.

While the dragon was
occupied with his eggs, some villagers
dared
stand and look about for an opening in the wall of fire. The beast roared,
"Be still!" His voice was loud and grinding as a millstone, and they
scurried behind the tables again.

Children about me whimpered, and the women
moaned as the dragon gathered his eggs and laid them on the tablecloth. With
clumsy claws he knotted the cloth about the eggs. I saw
how tenderly he covered them, like a father to his babe's bunting.

Grasping the knot, the dragon lifted his
brood, flew them to Sam Denkle's fishing boat, and laid them in the rocking
vessel.
Waves pounded on the shore, fire
blazed behind, but all else went
still as the dragon pulled the boat
away from the docks and dropped the anchor in the sea.

Back he flew to lift the she-dragon, and as
he did so, Kye brought his lips to my ear. "He came for her," he
whispered.
"As a man would for his lady."

I shivered.

One foreclaw round her throat and the other
on her forearm, the dragon pumped his wings to lift his lady's corpse. But his
mate was the size of him, and the work of his wings could not lift her.

As the dragon struggled
to take her, a passel of villagers raced
for
the harbor boats to make a swift escape. The beast turned from his labors and
shot out flames, lighting the docks afire. The villagers screamed as the fire
spread to the fishing boats and to
the
larger vessels. Townsfolk scattered this way and that, while on
the sea
the flames hissed, sending up great clouds of steam as they touched the water.

Grunting with effort, the dragon tried again
to lift his lady. He beat his wings, straining against her weight. Then
dropping her, he raised his head and roared.

He set his lover's form
on fire. Her flames rose up yellow as
the
daffodils dancing in the wind. Kye's face glowed with the shining as his eyes
took in the sight.

Long did she burn, and long did her mate
watch as the wind swirled around, lifting the flames higher. Smoke tumbled in
waves above the dragon's head, blanketing the stars. The sharp
smell filled my nostrils. The dragon stood
completely still till her
very bones tumbled in upon themselves. Then
slow, he turned to us.

In his splendor he was
large as Lord Godrick's vessel fore to
aft,
which was now ablaze in the harbor. Standing on legs the broad of oak trees, he
stepped toward us. Caught between the fire and the shore, we were sure to be
the dragon's meat.

The great beast thrust out his foreclaw and
one by one knocked those still standing by the tables facedown onto the sand.
They fell like threshed wheat to the sickle.

He towered over us, snout twitching and
nostrils smoking; his blue-green scales glinted in the light of the bonfire.
Some villagers in complete despair raced down to the water, and plunged in.

The dragon let them go, knowing they would
drown. Leaning over, he swished his tail and growled, "Wretched crawling
things! Snoutless brood of beasts!
Flat-toothed limp-limbed
vermin.
Lacking talons, you sharpen swords to do your killing! Bereft
of your own fire, you stoop to use a tinderbox!" He

breathed
flames over our backs till I thought my gown would
catch fire. "Who saved your wretched race?" he roared. "And
what have you given us but war?" He flashed
out a claw and drew
Brock high above our heads. Tearing off his shirt as
Cook would pluck a
goose,
the dragon set him alight
and ate him.

Brock's wife
howled,
and I bit my wrist to keep from scream
ing. The dragon licked his
jowls, pacing back and forth as we lay
like
scattered leaves at his feet.

Across the shore a fierce wind blew,
stripping the cloth from the dragon eggs. Waves pounded the shore. One washed
over Sam Denkle's boat and swept an egg to sea.

"The
eggs!"
I screamed.

Spewing fire, the dragon flew to the little
fishing vessel. He plunged his legs in the black water and skimmed along the
surface, all the while screaming to the pitch of the storm. Then flying up,
he checked his dripping claws. Empty.

With a final roar he flew toward us again and
set the last of
our harbor ships alight.
Kye gripped me harder as we watched his
father's vessel burn.

Soaring over us one last time, the dragon's
great wings pumped a fierce hot wind across our backs. Then he sped out to sea,
and pulled up the boat's anchor. Lashing the rope about his
leg, he flew above the black water, towing his
eggs homeward to
Dragon's Keep.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

The Shell

Half of dentsmore
was destroyed and most all the boats in her harbor,
including Lord Godrick's ship. Four castle knights were dead, as was the
tanner, Brock. Seven more were drowned from seeking safety in the sea, so
twelve were dead in all. More surely would have died if the dragon hadn't left
to save his eggs from the storm.

Others were injured, with broken bones and
burns. The villagers buried the dead, then after a goodly time of mourning,
they began to rebuild their cottages and fishing boats.

None blamed Kye or his
father for the attack. For years we'd
thought
there was only one dragon flying hither and thither over Wilde Island, coming down to snatch the sheep or sup on villagers. It may be the knights who sailed
to Dragon's Keep had seen the both of them, but they died before they could
tell us there were two.

After the killing of the female and her
burning to a bony ash, there was but one dragon now to be sure, but he tended
four speckled eggs.

Cook said, "Ye'd best pray the boat was
tipped over and all
lour eggs spilt in the
sea." She worried her apron with her hands.
"It's our only
hope for a bit of peace in future," she said.

I tried to pray for such a wind as would tip
Sam Denkle's boat but could not make myself. Stranger still, alone in my
chamber, I dreamed of the dragon's eggs. Four of
them, blue as a
robin's lay. When I drew my knees against my chest I
thought of blue-green dragons curled up sleeping in their shells.

In the days that followed Lord Godrick rode
to the castle
when he could spare an hour.
Busy rebuilding his ship, he'd come
after sunset to confer with Mother
and Father. It had been the man's intent to stay but a short time on Wilde Island, to
apprise
my worth as a princess, and to garner knights
to return with him to France. Empress Matilda was mounting another campaign to
overthrow King Stephen, and she had hopes of recruiting all our knights.

Mother and Father were pleased to have the
empress's inter
est at last. Father
whistled as he walked about the castle, and was
measured for a new suit
of armor. And Mother set the maids to
work
sewing me new gowns.
So every one was a-scuttle: the vil
lagers building new cottages, Lord Godrick and his men restor
ing their ship, and Father's journeymen fitting
his vessel for war.
Soon
after the men's departure I was to sail on Mother's ship to
France
. Her
vessel was also receiving much attention, for Mother
liked to sail in
luxury.

When I could get free from tending those
broken and bruised by the dragon, I galloped to the cliffs where I could see
the workmen repair the ships in the harbor below. I could tell

Lord Godrick and Kye from
the others as they milled about on shore.
Each wore the red of lordly men, whilst the sailors and journeymen
worked in plainer cloth. There on my cliff edge I watched Kye, ax in hand,
chipping bark.

As night came on, I stood at my window and
looked through the bars at God's starry script. Merlin saw my life written in
the
heavens six hundred years ago. He'd
seen a redeemer who would
end bloodshed and restore Wilde Island. But I wondered as I looked up at the stars if Merlin saw a woman who would know a
man's love.

Early one morning, a fortnight after the
dragon's fire had
scorched our shore, I was
kneeling in the garden gathering winter-
green and boneset when Kye
stepped up beside me. I knew him by his stance, though I did not look up. I'd
longed to speak with him these many days, but now that he had come I was vexed.

"Why wear gold
gloves to pluck the greens?" asked Kye, lean
ing over me.

"A princess never bares her hand to any
but—" The words
her husband
caught in my mouth-

"To any
but.
.
. ? To whom would you show your pretty hands?"

"Not you," I said.

"Don't you like the feel of
daffodils?"

I squinted up at him. His velvet hat was
askew, his eyes playful.

I cut the boneset an inch above the stem. The
small blue flowers bobbed in the breeze.

"Flowers
for the table?"

"Boneset
for the villagers."

He tipped his head. "Who taught you the
healing arts?" My heart dropped. "My
nursemaid," I said, crossing myself.

"Why cross yourself?" said Kye.
"Is she a holy person?"

"Dead.
Drowned.
And she was a saint
or close to it," I admitted. Kye must have seen the fervor on my face when
I said
this. He stepped back a little. A
soft wind blew his tunic. I bit my
lip and went on plucking.

"My mother was
skilled with herbs," said Kye. "A Muslim by
birth, she secretly read from the Koran and kept her
faith until she died. I learned much from her. I wish now she'd taught me more
about her herbs."

We shared the silence in my garden.
Mine for old Marn and Kye for his mother.

"If one of my
father's men should suddenly take sick?" asked
Kye.

"Mother would send
a healer or Sir Magnus, but if they could
not
come I would. Marn taught me how to cure right well."

"And who is the boneset for?"

"Sheb Kottle."

Kye put his hands on his hips.
"The man who cursed the dragon."

"He was drunk."

Kye laughed, his shadow overpowering the
patch of winter-berry where I knelt.

"You're in my
sun."