Master of Dragons (14 page)

“Piss yellow!”
shouted the nine-year-old after him.

Emboldened by this
show of cowardice and caught up in the daring of their actions, the others
forged ahead, picking their way through streets littered with debris. The rows
of buildings came to an abrupt end at the edge of a deep ravine. The street
continued on, leading to a bridge that spanned the ravine.

“Stop here!”
ordered the leader and he raised his hand. The others clustered behind him,
careful to keep to the shadows.

“There it is,” he
said, awed.

The bridge was
crude, built out of piles of boulders that had been dumped into the ravine and
then fire-blasted smooth on top. On the other side, at least two miles distant,
stood the Palace of the Dragon.

The palace was far
different from the crudely constructed buildings of Dragonkeep. Smooth marble
pillars decorated an elaborate marble portico. Marble steps flowed outward in
graceful curves from immense double bronze doors adorned with the heads of
dragons. Marble walls were topped by countless marble spires and battlements
and turrets. The palace was very beautiful, and it was all very false.

The palace was an
illusion, and not a very good one.

The illusion of
the forest that surrounded the city of Dragonkeep, hiding it from the eyes of
both humans and dragons was a supreme illusion and close to perfect. Draconas
had not been able to penetrate it until Grald had lifted the spell, and he
still had trouble seeing through it, though he knew it was there. Perhaps Grald
had worn himself out casting that illusion, which, even after it was cast,
required a certain amount of energy to keep in place. The palace was an
ordinary dragon-illusion, meant to fool human eyes alone and it was doing a
good job of that, judging by the gape-jawed wonder of the youngsters. Draconas
glanced at the boy with the dragon-magic and saw that he was as wide-eyed as
the rest.

Draconas saw no
pillars or spires or marble stairs. What he saw, when he looked across that
bridge, was the side of the mountain pierced by the dark opening at its base.
Draconas crept nearer.

“Don’t let them
see you!” said the leader, and he reached out and dragged Draca back into the
shadows.

A cadre of monks
guarded the bridge on the city side of the ravine. Draconas noted, as a point
of interest, that there were no guards posted on the palace side of the bridge.
Apparently the dragon was concerned about people from the city entering the
palace, not about those in the palace leaving to enter the city.

The Blessed did
not make very good guards. They wandered about in a desultory manner, gazing
with their mad, unfocused eyes at the sky or the clouds, or staring blankly
into the empty city streets, or peering over the edge of the bridge into the
ravine.

“Why? What would
happen if they did see me?” Draconas asked. “Would the dragon really eat me?”

“No. At least, I
don’t think so. But the Blessed wouldn’t like it. They don’t like anyone
getting too curious about the palace.”

“I wonder what’s
inside,” said Draconas.

“A whole ‘nother
city, replied the leader. “So my father says.”

“Truly?” Draca
regarded him with admiration. “Tell me about it.”

“No one knows,”
the leader admitted. “But the people who live there send letters that say how
beautiful everything is.”

“Someone must have
gone in there and come back out again. Don’t the Blessed go inside?”

“They go in,” said
the boy with the dragon-magic. He stood staring at the illusion with a wistful
hunger in his eyes. He was biting his fingernails. “The Blessed go in and they
come back out, too. Some of them. But they don’t talk about it.”

One of the boys
pointed at the lengthening shadows. “Hey, fellows, it’s almost suppertime. We
better be getting back. My mistress will be hopping mad.”

Having found what
he sought, Draconas was more than willing to leave. He and the others started
to retrace their steps, when he suddenly realized that one of them was missing.

“Hey, where’s that
kid?” he asked. “The runaway?”

“Don’t worry about
him.” The others shrugged. “The Blessed’ll find him and take him home.”

“Either that or he’ll
throw himself off the cliff,” said the leader, and the rest snickered.

Draconas looked
back and saw the boy still standing in the shadows, leaning up against the
building. Draconas wondered how many of the “blessed” children had flung
themselves off that cliff onto the sharp rocks far below.

“C’mon,” said the
leader. “Race you home!”

Draconas proved
remarkably fast, for a girl.

WHEN ANTON AND
ROSA RETURNED FROM WORK, THEY FOUND Draca puttering about the small house,
doing chores. The widow dropped by to tell them that when she had checked on
the child, Draca had been fast asleep. Rosa was pleased with Draca’s
unlooked-for help around the house and invited her to assist with their supper.
As the two chatted and laughed while preparing the simple meal, Anton sat at
the table, waiting to eat, and thought about their daughter, who had been gone
so many years. It was good to see Rosa with a child again, good to hear her
laugh. He sighed deeply. Rosa seemed to have put all thought of sending Draca
back to the Blessed out of her mind.

After supper,
Anton rose and headed for the door.

“Husband, where
are you going?” Rosa asked in astonishment.

“There will be
moonlight tonight,” Anton returned. “Between that and the light of the forge, I
can work a little longer.” He paused, then said heavily, “The Blessed were not
pleased by my output. They expected more.”

“You are
exhausted!” Rosa protested. “You cannot work this night. Come, sit and rest.
You will go to work with the first light tomorrow.”

Anton smiled
ruefully. “I will be doing that, as well. Probably for the next few days.”

“Draca,” said Rosa
casually, catching her husband’s eye. “We need more water. Would you run to the
well for me?”

Draca obediently
picked up the bucket and went out the door. She ran to the well, which was
close by, and then ran back. She did not enter, but leaned near the open
window, looking and listening.

“This war is being
undertaken for our own good, Wife. Our own defense.”

“Do the Blessed
think we are going to be attacked?” Rosa asked, alarmed.

“They hint as much,
though they don’t say outright.”

“But . . . who
would attack us? And why? We’ve done nothing to anyone!”

“I don’t know.”
Anton shook his head. “There is no doubt that the Blessed are preparing for
war.”

“And who will
fight? Will they? Will you? Our people? We know nothing about such things.”
Rosa’s cheeks reddened, her eyes flashed. “Two hundred years, this city has
been in existence, and all those years we’ve lived in peace. Why now? What has
changed? We’ve seen no sign of any enemy—”

“I can’t say, Wife.”
Anton raised his hands defensively, retreating from the barrage.

“I don’t like
this. First there’s an explosion and people die and no one will say what blew
up. Then people start disappearing. Dimitri has not returned to his home and
his family has had no word of him. I tell you, Husband, I don’t like it!”

“Don’t be angry at
me, Wife. I am not the one responsible. You must ask the Blessed if you want
answers. Or the dragon. Where is Draca?” he asked suddenly. “She’s been gone
long enough to fetch five buckets of water.”

“Sorry!” said
Draca, bursting through the door. She was dripping wet. “I spilled the first
bucket all over me.”

“Sit by the fire
and dry out,” Rosa said, fussing over her. “I’m going to the forge with Anton.
I won’t be gone long.”

Draca dragged her
stool close to the fire, gave them both a grin, and waved.

“I don’t want to
scare her with talk of war,” Rosa said, shutting the door.

Anton realized
there was something more here. He thought he knew what it was and he braced
himself.

“Husband—” began
Rosa,

“Rosa,” he said
gently, “we must take her back.”

“Why?” Rosa
demanded. “She is a help to me around the house. She brings a light to your
eyes that I have not seen in years—”

Just what Anton
had been thinking to himself about his wife.

She laid her hand
on his arm. “What if there is a war? The girl will need a safe home. Please,
Husband. No one has been asking around for her. I made inquiries when I was at
the market. There are no reports of a child missing. The Blessed are not making
the rounds, searching for her. Maybe you were wrong about her. Maybe she does
not have the blood bane.”

“I saw what I saw,
Wife. Her magic saved her life,” said Anton. “That’s the only explanation.”

“No, it’s not,”
Rosa returned briskly. Her husband was weakening and she was quick to see it. “There
are quirks of fate. Happy accidents. Coincidences.”

“Wife, I am behind
enough as it is. I must go to work. We will speak of this in the morning-—”

“I will make a
bargain with you,” Rosa continued, pretending not to hear. “If the Blessed
announce publicly that they are looking for a lost girl, I will take her to
them myself. If not, we will give her a home.”

“We will speak in
the morning,” Anton repeated, but he knew by the set of his wife’s shoulders,
as she walked back into the house, that he had already lost the argument.

Draconas finished
the washing up, swept the floor, and laid the table ready for tomorrow’s
breakfast. He gave no sign that his dragon ears had overheard every word
between husband and wife. He stayed up to keep Rosa company until Anton
returned. The smith came home early; the moonlight he’d expected had not
materialized, for the sky clouded over and rain began to fall. All three went
to bed.

Draconas lay
awake, listening for Rosa and Anton to fall into slumber, which both did very
shortly, for the day had been long and hard for both of them. Creeping out of
his bed, he went to stand over the couple, who slept in each other’s arms.

The house was
dark, but his dragon eyes could see the lines of care and fatigue etched on
each face, and he thought how he—the little girl—helped ease those lines, at
least for a little while. Someday—maybe someday soon—he would sneak away and
not come back. And they would never know why.

He would leave
them as he had left other humans in his past. Others who had cared about him,
cared about him deeply. Others who had never known why he had walked into their
lives, only to walk right back out.

He tried to avoid
saying goodbye. That always called for explanations. Easier on all parties if
he just simply disappeared. As he cast the enchantment over Anton and Rosa that
would insure that they sleep throughout the night, he told himself that if he
could bring them news of their daughter, such news would help ease the pain of
his disappearance.

It was a nice
thought to carry with him.

The night was
dark, for the sky was cloud-covered and drizzling. The streets were empty. The
Blessed imposed a curfew on all citizens and the monks walked the streets at
night, their fell presence presumably warding off whatever temptation anyone
might feel to break the law.

The monks roamed
the streets wherever whim or madness took them. Draconas would sometimes travel
for blocks and never see one and then run into groups of them skulking about in
an alley. Avoiding them proved easy, for they carried lanterns and he could see
them coming long before they could see him. Sighting other shadows flitting
past in the night, he guessed that he wasn’t the only person in Dragonkeep out
on some furtive mission. Two such shadows stood in a doorway, locked in an
embrace.

Draconas had
dropped the image of Draca the minute he left the house and shifted his
illusory form to become one of the monks, borrowing the features of a monk who
had attacked Marcus when he first entered the city. If Draconas did run into
one of the Blessed, they would find his face familiar.

At the sight of
the cowled figure of Draconas, the two shadows in the doorway fled.

Draconas retraced
his steps of the morning. He walked past the Abbey, wondering which room
belonged to Ven. Perhaps the single room on the second floor where the light
burned bright. Draconas stared hard at the light, as if it could answer his
many questions concerning Ven, not the least of which was why he had lured
Marcus here to be given as a present to the dragon, then turned around and
helped his brother to escape?

The rain came down
harder. Draconas pulled his cowl over his head. The only way to answer that
question and others was to talk to Ven, either face to face or mind to mind.
Both those options were dangerous. The monks guarded Ven’s body. Grald guarded
Ven’s mind.

Draconas passed
other monks on the street. None spoke to him. Some gave him brief nods. Others
went by without even noticing him, walking with a shuffling gait, muttering to
themselves. Draconas tried to imagine an army made up of these wretched
creatures and failed. The dragons were smarter than that. They must have
something else planned. Which was why Draconas was on his way to the palace.

Reaching the bridge,
he halted in the shadows and settled down to watch. He wanted to see monks
cross the bridge, wanted to see if they were accosted by the guard and, if so,
what they said and did.

The number of the
Blessed on duty at the bridge was considerably reduced by night. Only three
were posted on the city side of the bridge, and there were still no guards on
the palace side. Draconas pondered what this might mean, but could arrive at no
satisfactory answer. The only obvious one was that there was no one in the
palace to guard—a grim thought, especially for the daughter of Anton and Rosa.