Master of Dragons (12 page)

“Thank you, sir,”
said Marcus gratefully. “I know my parents must be worried sick. If someone
could carry a message—”

“No one in the
village owns a horse,” the patriarch replied, and seeing the prince’s downcast
expression, he added, “I will send our swiftest lad to find the king’s men
tomorrow morning.”

Since that
appeared to be the best Marcus could hope for, he accepted the offer with good
grace. He was too exhausted and hungry to do much else.

The patriarch’s
wife served up a hastily prepared meal of fish stew, left over from their own
dinner. Marcus won the good woman’s heart by eating two helpings and swearing
that he’d never tasted any food so delicious from the royal kitchen. The women
of the village clucked over his injured hands and made up a poultice for him as
he ate, then wrapped his hands in bandages.

Marcus, well-fed,
safe, and warm, felt sleep creeping over him. He must have dozed off in his
chair, for the next thing he knew, the patriarch was assisting him to a
mattress on a floor in the corner—the patriarch’s own bed. He fell onto the mattress
and closed his eyes.

“Thank you, kind
sir, but I will stay with him,” Evelina said shyly. “My place is by his side.”

“No,” said Marcus,
opening his eyes. “I cannot allow that. You are as tired as I am. Sir, I would
be grateful to you if you could find a place for Mistress Evelina to stay this
night.”

He meant this
kindly, and he was startled to see Evelina cast him an irate glance. He couldn’t
imagine what he’d done to upset her. She flounced out without a word,
accompanying the patriarch and his wife.

He was drifting
into unconsciousness when the red eyes of the dragon bore down on him, jolting
him to heart-pounding wakefulness. Marcus found himself drenched in sweat. His
hands stung and burned.

He was a long time
going back to sleep.

Evelina, on the other
hand, slept quite soundly and woke early the next morning, still burning with
anger over the insulting manner in which Marcus had treated her last night. A
perfectly good chance for him to get her alone and seduce her, and he’d thrown
it away! True, he had been exhausted and his hands were bandaged, but any other
man would have managed to overcome such minor inconveniences.

She was staying
with the patriarch’s married daughter, and the young woman and her fisherman
husband were up with the dawn. Being in awe of their guest, they both left the
house as quickly as they could in order to give Evelina some privacy. The wife
went to do her laundry on the river banks, the husband went to his boat.

Evelina lay on the
straw mattress, making plans and discarding them, mulling over what she needed
to do in order to catch her own particular fish. Time was running out. She
remembered, suddenly, that the patriarch had offered to send a message to the
king’s men. Already it might be too late. Evelina roused herself from her bed
and walked outdoors. She found the village astir and the patriarch just leaving
his house.

“Is His Highness
awake?” Evelina asked.

“No, Mistress,”
said the patriarch. “I went to ask if he needed anything, but he sleeps like a
babe. He never knew I was there. I doubt the trump of doom could awake him.”

“His Highness is
exhausted. We have been through a great deal together, both of us.” Evelina
laid emphasis on that. With trepidation, she asked the burning question, “Have
you sent the boy off to find the king’s men?”

“Yes, Mistress,”
the patriarch answered. “Young Thom left with first light.”

Evelina sighed
deeply. “And how long do you suppose the king’s men will be in coming?”

The patriarch
frowned, considering. “When they passed through the village, they said that if
we saw or heard anything of His Highness, we were to send word to Grafton,
where they were camped. Now, Grafton is a day’s journey on foot, longer if the
weather is bad, for the roads hereabouts are in a sorry state, and I don’t like
the looks of the sky this morning. I’m thinking we’ll have rain before noon.”

Evelina clenched
her fists to control the urge to slap the man. “How long, sir, before the king’s
men—”

“Oh,” he said,
pondering. “Tomorrow, but not before.”

Evelina smiled to
herself and prayed for torrential downpours and footpads and snakes and every
other mishap that could possibly happen to a traveler to happen to “young Thom.”

“I hope His
Highness won’t be too disappointed,” added the patriarch.

“His Highness can
use the rest,” said Evelina, and she smiled sweetly, for, at that moment, the
heavens opened up and poured rainy blessings down on her.

“DRACONAS . . .”

“Lysira.”

“Can you talk?”

“Yes, only for a
moment, though. Is Marcus safe?”

“He is with his
own kind. He and the female who accompanies him—”

“Never mind her,”
said Draconas. “She is irrelevant.”

“I trust you don’t
consider all females irrelevant,” returned Lysira, her colors bright. She was a
young dragon and excited about her first venture into the world.

“No, Lysira. I
find females extremely relevant, especially those who risk their lives to help
me. This one human female, however, has nothing to do with our predicament.”

“I was teasing,”
said Lysira.

“I know you were,”
said Draconas. “And so Marcus is safe, at least for the moment.”

“He almost fell
victim to the dragon. I was watching him, as you told me, and he very nearly
let Grald into his mind. I warned him away. That is the first time I have ever
spoken to a human. It was strange. But I liked it. I didn’t think I would.”

Draconas’s colors
warmed. He wished beyond anything in the world that he’d met this vibrant young
female in a different time— a time when he could have spent years letting his
dreams twine with hers.

“What do you want
me to do now, Draconas?” Lysira asked, and he saw her colors shimmer and
tremble. She must have seen what he was thinking.

“There’s nothing
you can do, not without tipping off Grald and the other dragons that you’re
spying on them. You are careful to keep out of sight, aren’t you?”

“I am flying at
such a high altitude that I have to come down every once in a while to catch my
breath.”

“We’re about to be
interrupted. I must soon leave you, Lysira. Tell me quickly, have you heard
anything from Anora?”

“She has not
communicated with me or with Malfiesto or the other dragons with whom I’ve been
in contact. That is not surprising, though,” Lysira added, her colors
darkening, “since we are the ones who spoke out against her.”

“Do not trust
Anora,” Draconas warned. “If she tries to talk to you, do not let her into your
mind.”

“She is an elder
dragon, Draconas,” said Lysira gently. “And very powerful. If she wants to
speak to me, there is not much I can do to stop her. You know that.”

Draconas did know
He’d been holding Anora at bay thus far by keeping his colors to himself as
much as possible.

“Just ... be
careful, Lysira.”

“I will,” she
promised and her colors were lovely and lingered in his mind.

“Draca.” A gentle
hand touched his shoulder.

Stretching,
Draconas sighed and blinked up drowsily at the motherly woman bending over him.

“Draca,” said
Rosa, “I’m sorry to wake you, but it is noontime. You’ve slept the morning
through. Anton is home for his meal and I thought you might be hungry—”

The illusory body
of the girl that Draconas had assumed sat up in the bed and sniffed at the good
smells wafting through the small house. Draconas had used this illusion before,
and he was quite pleased with it. Being a human child, he’d discovered, gave
him a great deal of freedom.

Human adults take
a tolerant view of their offspring. As a child, Draconas could be as curious
and inquisitive as he liked, poke and pry and snoop, and adults would sigh and
shake their heads and the worst they might do would be to send him to bed without
his supper. He had learned that many humans, who might otherwise keep their
mouths shut tighter than a clam shell when in the presence of an adult, tended
to blab freely in the presence of a child.

“How are you
feeling?” asked Rosa anxiously.

“Much better,”
said Draconas in the girl’s high and piping voice. “I am hungry. What’ve you
got to eat?”

He threw off the
blankets and sat up in bed.

“Not too quickly,”
Rosa cautioned. “You’ll make yourself dizzy.”

“I’m fine, really,”
Draconas assured her. He reached out his little girl’s hand. “Thank you for
helping me, ma’am. And thank you for not telling . . .”

“I promised I
wouldn’t,” Rosa said gently. “But you
will
have to go back to the Abbey
someday soon, child.”

Draconas let his
face fall and his shoulders droop. He ducked his head and made a swipe at his
eyes with his hand. “I don’t want to,” he mumbled. “I want to stay with you.”

“There, there,
child,” said Rosa, soothing him. “Don’t cry. You can stay with us a little
while. Now come and eat something. You are much too thin. You need some meat on
those bones.”

Draconas
accompanied Rosa to the table. Anton was already eating, digging his spoon into
a bowl of mutton stew. He welcomed the little girl with a broad smile and
shoved a chair out with his foot.

Draconas picked up
the spoon and was about to eat, when colors exploded inside his head.

“Draconas!”
Malfiesto barked. “What’s this nonsense Anora has been spreading about her army
preparing to attack a human kingdom? Is this true?”

Draconas dropped
his spoon and put his hands to his temples.

“Child, what’s the
matter?” Anton asked, alarmed. “Look at her, Wife. She’s gone white as sheep’s
wool.”

“Army,” Draconas
repeated inwardly. “What are you talking about? What’s this about an army?”

“That’s what I’m
asking you!” Malfiesto raged in ear-splitting colors.

“Look, Malfiesto,
this is not a good time. I can’t talk now. I’ll contact you later.”

“If you don’t, I
will,” the dragon threatened. “Keep me informed! I’m taking charge, now that
Anora has lost her senses. You are the Walker. You report to me.”

Draconas sighed.
He’d been pleased at first to find that Malfiesto was on his side. Now, he wasn’t
so certain. The irascible old dragon was likely to prove more hindrance than
help.

“What’s the
matter, Draca?” Rosa hovered over him.

“Nothing, ma’am.
Just a pain in the . . . head,” said Draconas. “I’m fine now. This stew is
really good.”

He shoveled food
into his mouth, and Rosa sat back, reassured.

Adults, be they
human or dragon, are always pleased to see children eat.

“This was my
daughter’s favorite meal,” said Rosa, and she gave a little sigh.

“Where is your
daughter? I’d like to meet her,” mumbled Draconas.

“Don’t talk with
your mouth full, dear. Our daughter is one of the Dragon’s Chosen.”

“She lives in the
palace,” Anton added proudly.

“What does she do
there?”

“She serves the
dragon, of course.”

Draconas looked at
them, puzzled. “Huh?”

Rosa and Anton
exchanged glances.

“The holy sisters
must have told you about the Dragon’s Chosen, Draca,” Anton said.

Draconas shook his
head. “No, sir, not a word.”

“Don’t lie, child,”
said Rosa. “Lying is a sin. The dragon won’t like it.”

“The dragon’s not
here,” said Draconas impudently.

Anton choked on a
mouthful of ale. Rising swiftly to his feet, he went to look out the window.
Rose put her hand over Dra-conas’s, squeezed it tightly.

“You should not
speak of the dragon that way,” she said loudly. “It is disrespectful.”

She looked at
Anton, and Draconas saw fear in her eyes.

Anton sat back down.
“No one’s about. Perhaps it’s not so surprising,” he said to his wife. “The
girl is young yet, after all. Maybe they don’t tell them until they are old
enough to be considered.”

“Old enough to be
considered to do what?” Draconas asked. His child’s wide-eyed, innocent gaze
went from one to the other.

“Oh, dear, maybe I
shouldn’t have said anything.” Rosa’s hands plucked at her dress, twisting the
fabric.

“I won’t tell,”
Draconas promised. “Is it a secret? I’m good at keeping secrets!”

“No, it’s not a secret,”
Anton said slowly, after a moment’s pause. “Everyone in Dragonkeep knows about
the Palace of the Dragon. Being selected as one of the Dragon’s Chosen is an
honor, after all.”

“When a girl is
eighteen, she becomes eligible to be one of the Chosen. Our girl was selected
almost immediately,” Rosa said, flushing with pride. “The dragon picks only
those who can demonstrate that they are strong in the magic. The Chosen leave
their homes and move into the palace with the dragon. They serve him and, in
return, they are given everything they want.”

“What’s it like
inside the palace?” Draconas asked eagerly.

“My goodness,
child, we don’t know,” Rosa said, smiling. “We’ve never been inside.”

“But you’ve seen
your daughter since she moved in,” Draconas persisted.

“No, not in many
years,” Anton replied, and his face was shadowed. “Once a woman enters the
palace, she’s not allowed to leave. That’s one of the rules. And not a very
good one, if you ask me.”

“But we get
letters from her,” Rosa said hastily, with a worried glance at her husband. “Twice
a year she writes to us about how happy she is and how much she enjoys serving
the dragon. As strong as you are in the blood bane, Draca, I’m sure you’ll be
chosen to serve the dragon.”

“Maybe . . .”
Draconas was cautious. “Where is the palace?”

“Now, Draca, don’t
be a tease,” said Rosa. “Everyone knows where the palace is.”