Master of Dragons (19 page)

Ven’s thoughts
went to his mother, Melisande, and to Bellona, the woman who had raised him.
His mother had dragon-blood in her; that was why she’d given birth to the
monstrosity that was himself. Bellona had not, at least so he guessed. Yet, she’d
been raised with those like his mother who could work the dragon-magic.

“There is one
human army who would not be afraid,” Ven found himself saying. He was
immediately sorry he brought it up, but, oddly, he felt as if he needed to
defend his race.

“What army is
that? Not the army of Idylswylde?”

“No. The army of a
place called Seth.”

“Ah, yes. True. We
will not have to fight them, however. They are ruled by a dragon and so will be
our allies in the upcoming war of conquest.”

“They don’t know
they are ruled by a dragon,” said Ven.

“Of course they
do,” Sorrow returned, amused.

“No, they don’t.
My mother came from there, as did the woman who raised me after my mother’s
death. Bellona told me that the people of Seth think that dragons are their
enemies. They have been taught to hate and fear them.”

“But every month,
the people of Seth send us their strongest male children to be raised here—”

“The babies are
smuggled out in the dead of night. No one in Seth knows the truth, except for
one—the Mistress of Dragons. And that’s because she
is
the dragon. Like
Grald, she has stolen the body of a human and uses that body to keep the humans
in ignorance.”

“Stolen a human
body! What are you talking about?”

“Grald, our
father, the dragon, stole a human body—that hulking piece of excrement known as
Grald. The dragon uses that body when he walks among humans. He used that body
to rape my mother and bring me into the world.”

“I don’t believe
you!” Sorrow cried angrily. “Our father would never inhabit a human body. Our
father is above such things. Grald is a human who serves the dragon. A
human,
” she said, laying emphasis on the word.

Ven shrugged. He
couldn’t prove what he’d said. He thought it interesting that Grald hadn’t told
his children the truth.
Difficult to proclaim yourself human when you’ve
taught your children to despise and look down on that race.

Ven wondered what
the people of Seth would do when they found out the truth. He’d once asked
Bellona why she didn’t return to Seth and tell the people what she knew.

“I will never go
back there,” Bellona had told him harshly. “I would see your mother everywhere.”
And then she had looked at him—something she rarely did, for she couldn’t stand
the sight of him—and she had brushed back the hair from his forehead. “That
will be your task, Ven.”

Ven. Vengeance. He
had forgotten her words about “his task” until now. Even dead, she added to his
burden.

Brother and sister
walked through the “palace” in silence. He could tell by the flush on her face
and the tight line of her lips that Sorrow was still angry with him. The high
color on her cheeks faded, after time—when he didn’t say anything more—and she
smiled at him.

“Are you teasing
me?” she asked. “About Grald? I’ve heard it’s something humans do to each
other. Teasing.”

Ven might have
been accused of many failings in his life, but teasing people was not one of
them. He didn’t know how to answer, and so he kept silent. Sorrow took his
silence for acquiescence. “Just don’t say anything to the little ones, will
you? I don’t want them confused.”

“I won’t,” Ven
agreed. He had no intention of getting that well acquainted with the “little
ones” anyway.

All this time, he
and his sister had been walking through the “palace,” traveling up and down
corridors and tunnels that crossed and crisscrossed, sometimes opening into
chambers that were small and cozy and sometimes opening into vast, cavernous
halls. They saw many of the human soldiers, as these men and women traversed
the lair. When they passed these soldiers, the humans would bow to Sorrow, as
ordinary humans might bow to Prince Marcus, treating her with marked respect
and reverence. She received their obeisance and murmured greetings with
careless dignity, making it clear that this was her due and she expected
nothing less. The same respect and reverence extended to Ven, but he was as
uncomfortable with it down here as he was in the world outside.

He saw, too, that
the children of the dragon did not mingle with their distant cousins—the humans
who had the dragon-blood in their veins, but no scales on their bodies. The
children of the dragon had their own living quarters that were set apart from
those of the human soldiers. If the two met, the Children held themselves
aloof. Once on their tour, Sorrow came upon one of the dragon-children playing
with a human. She grabbed hold of the arm of the dragon-child and hauled him
off to a dark corner and scolded him roundly, then sent him off to play with
his own kind.

“The only humans
allowed in our part of the palace are the mothers. Those who bear us.”

“I want to see
them,” said Ven, the first words he’d spoken almost since they started.

“Why ever for?”
Sorrow was astonished. “They are humans who are strong in the dragon-magic,
but, apart from that, they are like any other humans, except that they have
been honored by our father.”

“I just do,” said
Ven. He could not tell his sister. She would not understand. He wasn’t sure he
understood himself.

Sorrow shrugged
and led him to where the women who were due to give birth to the half-dragon
children were kept in isolation.

There were about
ten of them. Sometimes there were more, Sorrow said, sometimes less. All of
them were near the end of their time, their bellies distended and swollen,
their faces haggard and pale, their bodies thin and wasted, for the
dragon-child inside each was literally sucking the life out of its mother.

Ven looked at them
and he saw his own mother, Melisande. She had also been “honored” by Grald.

“Do any survive
the birth?” he asked.

“Not many,” said
Sorrow in matter-of-fact tones. “Those who do are sickly and die soon after.
Why do you look at them like that? They are to be envied, not pitied! The women
of Dragonkeep vie for this honor! Only the very best are chosen, and they
consider themselves extremely fortunate.”

“Do these women
look like they consider themselves ‘fortunate’?” Ven demanded.

“They are human,”
said Sorrow disparagingly. “I don’t look at them at all if I can help it.”

“The dragon lies
to them, Sorrow,” Ven said, repeating what Draconas had told him. “The dragon
tells the girls they are coming to live in luxury in this palace. Instead, he
brings them here and impregnates them and, in essence, murders them.”

Sorrow was silent
a moment, the flush of anger creeping back to her face. Then she said, quite
calmly, “You think I should be shocked to hear that the dragon lies to them. I
am not. Humans have no capacity to understand the dragon mind. You have lived
among them. Do they understand you?”

Sorrow’s eyes
softened. “I know your story, Ven. The human, Grald, told us. He said that they
put you in a cage. That they mocked you and ridiculed you. He said that even
your own foster mother told you that you are the devil’s spawn. And that you
believe her.”

Ven regarded her
in grim silence.

“I am sorry,
Brother. I did not mean to bring up these hurtful things. Grald told us that it
might make you sad.” Sorrow’s fingers touched his arm lightly. Her flesh was
warm, the long talons cool by contrast. “Is he wrong in what he says of you?”

“No,” Ven
answered, after a moment. “He is not wrong.”

Grald was not
right, either, but Ven couldn’t explain that. His feelings were a jumble, his
world turned topsy-turvy, so that black was white and white was black, good was
evil and evil had been made good. Or maybe it was all just a muddy shade of
gray. He envied his sister, envied her pride in herself. He envied her clear,
sharply delineated view of life. He envied Sorrow her ideas about the dragon,
far different from his. She had been raised to honor her father and disparage
her mother. He’d been taught just the opposite. Which was right? Both? Neither?

It was all such a
tangled, twisted mess. He couldn’t sort it out. Life would be much easier,
simpler, if he took his sister’s view of it. Yet, something about her life wasn’t
quite right. Just as something about his own life wasn’t right. Fumbling for
the answer, he spoke his thoughts aloud.

“If we are taught
to believe that we are better than humans because we are half dragon, then
doesn’t it follow that we are viewed by dragons as being less worthy than one
of their own kind? Who knows but that, among themselves, they mock us and
ridicule us the same as humans? We are neither, you see. And despised by both.”

“No, of course
not,” Sorrow retorted. “Our father is proud of us! We are his greatest
achievement.”

Ven shook his
head. Sorrow seemed about to add more, but she clamped her lips and even
managed a wry smile. “It seems we
are
brother and sister. We have been
together only a few hours and already we are quarreling.”

“I’m sorry,” said
Ven, and he meant it. “I’m trying to understand. That’s all. I’m just trying to
understand.”

“Have you talked
to our father about your feelings?” Sorrow asked him.

Ven wondered what
she would say if he told her he was determined to kill the father she so
revered.

Sorrow clasped his
hand, squeezed it tightly. “Do so. Our father wants the chance to try to
explain. He says that the humans have mistreated you so that you are all
twisted up inside.”

Maybe that’s
true,
Ven said to himself.
Maybe I should hear my father’s side of the
story.

“I will,” he said
suddenly. “I will talk to him this night. Thank you . . . Sister.” He spoke the
word awkwardly, but found it felt good. It warmed a place inside him that had
been cold almost forever.

He basked in the warmth,
until one of the mothers gave a cry of agony, her back arching with the pain.
The skirts of her dress were suddenly stained red with blood.

“It is her time,”
said Sorrow, pleased. “Another brother or sister will soon be with us.”

The woman was moaning
and writhing with the birth pangs. Her face had gone deathly pale, her eyes
wide and staring. Women dressed as holy sisters came swiftly to her aid and,
lifting her gently, they bore her away. The other mothers-to-be looked after
her, their faces strained, and they placed their hands on their own monstrously
swollen wombs. One looked at Sorrow and at Ven. Tears began to stream down her
cheeks. Her crying was soundless and it was all the more terrible for being
silent.

Ven turned and
walked away, his clawed feet scraping against the stone. The sound was loud in
his ears. Even Sorrow, who joined him, seemed subdued.

“Even human babies
are born in pain,” she said as much to herself as to him. “And sometimes they
kill the mother who bears them.”

“I need to get
back,” Ven said. He did not add that he wasn’t supposed to be here; Sorrow so
clearly thought that her revered father had sent him.

“I would urge you
to stay with us,” she said. “But you need to talk with our father. Tomorrow,
you will return to us and be one of us, always.”

“I would like
that,” Ven said, and part of him meant it. Another part of him said it only
because he didn’t want to hurt his sister.

ON THE MORNING OF
THE DAY VEN ENTERED THE MOUNTAIN, Evelina was taking a stroll over to the beach
area where the boats were moored. Most of the fishermen were already at their
work; she could see the shadowy forms of their boats slipping in and out of the
mists rising from the river. One man remained on shore, however, doing
something with a net, mending it, perhaps. He wasn’t looking at the work in his
hands. He had his eyes fixed on her. He’d had his eyes on her ever since she’d
walked into view.

Evelina remembered
him immediately. He had carried her from the boat, lifting her up in his strong
arms and ferrying her to shore, so that her feet didn’t get wet. He desired
her. That was obvious. He took no trouble to hide his lust. Rather, he flaunted
it. Evelina guessed that he had stayed away from his fishing on the off chance
that he might run into her.

Evelina was glad
to make use of any man who offered himself, especially a man so strong and
good-looking, with his dark hair and eyes and sun-browned skin. Feigning not to
notice him, she walked closer, looking at the sky, the river, and the crudely built,
but snug, little dwellings.

“Good morning,
Mistress,” he said.

Evelina gave an
affected start. “Oh, you startled me, sir. I didn’t see you. Good morning,” she
returned, adopting a tone that was frost-rimed with just a hint that she might
possibly thaw if the sun were warm enough.

His hands were
busy with the net, feeling their way over the rope, his eyes busy with her,
feeling their way over her body.

“What brings you
out so early on this fine morning, Mistress?” he asked.

“I need a potion
for His Highness’s wounds that he took on our journey. Perhaps you have a wise
woman here who brews up such healing liquors.”

“Aye, Mistress, we
do,” the man answered. “The Widow Huspeth lives in the woods. Strange woman,
but she knows what she’s about, I guess. You’ll find a trail leads to her
dwelling, though I would be glad to show you the way myself.”

“No thank you, my
good man,” said Evelina with a grateful glance from beneath her lashes. “I will
find the way. I bid you good day.”

“Perhaps I’ll see
you tonight,” said the fisherman, with a smile. His teeth were white against
his black beard that was cut short, so that it outlined his firm jaw.