Master of Dragons (29 page)

“Yes,” she said,
thinking she knew where he was going. “But only if they suspect that what they
are seeing is an illusion. If they think it is real, then it will be real to
them.”

“Good,” he said
and he smiled at her. “Then put all the children back into their beds.”

Sorrow understood
what he meant and she began casting the magic.

Ven and Lucien led
the children down the tunnel.

Quickly and
quietly, the dragon’s children walked the corridors of the mountain palace.
Sorrow and Ven led the way, with Lucien bringing up the rear. The corridors
were those that Draconas had walked before them, those he’d told Ven the dragon
did not use.

There was one
dangerous point, however. Ven recalled that somewhere up ahead, the corridor
they walked intersected a corridor used by the humans. As they drew near, Ven
sent his thoughts to Sorrow. He found it odd, entering another’s mind and
allowing her into his. Odd, but not as bad as he’d once imagined.

“Warn the children
to be very, very quiet.”

Sorrow nodded.

“Stay here. I’m
going to go take a look.” Ven left her, walking forward as quietly as he could
over the rough stone floor.

Sorrow sent her
thoughts to the children. The older ones whispered it to the younger, who might
not be able to fully understand the pretty colors they saw in their minds.

Draga, clinging to
Sorrow, had gone back to sleep with the motion of her walking. Sorrow hoped he
would continue sleeping, but he woke the moment she stopped moving. He was
confused, irritated at being hauled away from his bed, and fretful.

“Put down,” he
demanded. “Draga walk.”

His voice was deep
for a child and sounded unbelievably loud.

“No, Draga,” said
Sorrow softly, jiggling him on her back, trying to keep him quiet. “Sorrow will
carry you. Isn’t this fun?”

“Draga walk!” said
the child willfully. He was the baby, and he was used to having his own way. He
pinched Sorrow’s arm and pulled her hair. “Draga walk!”

Ven came running
back down the corridor.

“Warriors!” he
called softly. “Everyone crouch down! Put your backs against the wall! Hurry!”

He turned angrily
to Sorrow. “Keep that kid quiet!”

“I’m trying!”
Sorrow gasped. She shifted Draga to her hip and knelt down, rocking him,
stroking his head, making soft, clucking sounds.

Draga was having
none of it. He squirmed in her arms and kicked his feet, trying to escape her
grasp. He was a hefty child, and slippery. Sorrow could hear the warriors
moving at a swift pace along the corridor, coming their direction. The other
children crouched down, huddled against the wall. Their eyes were wide with
fear. One of the smaller ones started to whimper. The boy carrying her clapped
his hand over the little girl’s mouth. The warriors were coming nearer. Draga
struck at Sorrow with a small fist and sucked in a deep breath, preparatory to
letting it out in a howl.

Ven thrust his
face next to Draga’s and said in a harsh whisper, “Shut up!”

Draga swallowed
his howl in astonishment and shrank away from Ven. His shock was only momentary.
Tears shimmered in the child’s eyes and his lower hp began to tremble. His
little body quivered. Draga drew in his breath again, and Sorrow knew from
experience that he was all set to pitch a head-banging, feet-kicking,
lung-bursting tantrum.

“Do something!”
Ven hissed.

Sorrow reached
into Draga’s mind and seized hold of the colors that were bright and new. She
mixed them together to form a brilliant, gaudy pinwheel, and started them
spinning. The colors spun, faster and faster. Draga forgot his fear, forgot his
anger, forgot wanting to crawl out of Sorrow’s arms. He stared, fascinated, at
the whirling, dazzling colors. After a moment, his body went limp. His mouth
hung open. His arms slipped from around her neck. His eyes did not blink. Drool
slid from the corner of his mouth.

Sorrow pressed
against the wall. Intent on their mission, the warriors hastened past the
corridor in which the children were hiding. She counted eight of them—four
women and four men, including Commander Leopold.

“It’s about time we
put an end to this,” the commander was saying. “I’m sorry about Grald’s death,
but I think all of us knew he was obsessed with his monstrous offspring. He was
losing sight of the true vision.”

“Personally, I
found the whole business disgusting,” said one of the women. “The very sight of
those scaley beasts made my skin crawl. I look forward to putting an end to
them. The hardest part will be killing the mothers. Poor girls. It wasn’t their
fault.”

“They will die
swiftly, at any rate. Not the long and painful death they faced bringing those
monsters into the world. For them, the horror will be mercifully over.”

“True,” the woman
agreed. Then she added, “Speaking of death, what happened to Grald, anyway? We
all heard a crash and boom that shook the ground. Someone said the Abbey had
been destroyed.”

“I heard something
about a dragon battle,” Leopold said evasively. “Maristara will tell us what we
need to know. No point in wasting our time speculating. We have work to do.”

Their voices
trailed off down the corridor.

For long moments,
no one moved.

Ven rose to a half
crouch and motioned. “Quiedy,” he cautioned.

But Sorrow was
having trouble lifting Draga. The child was dead weight, absorbed in watching
the spinning colors in his mind. Ordinarily her strong arms would have made
nothing of such a burden, but fear and horror had left her weak and trembling.
Seeing her difficulty, Ven took the little boy from her. The child hung, a limp
doll, in his hands.

“What did you do
to him?” Ven asked.

“A magic spell,”
said Sorrow. “The monks use it on those of their brethren who get out of
control.”

“Well, it worked,”
said Ven. He slung the child over one arm, like a sack of coal and started to
leave.

Sorrow didn’t
move.

“Sorrow, we have
to go—now!”

She reached out to
take hold of Draga’s limp hand.

“I’m not sure I’m
doing the right thing,” she answered. “This is our home ...”

Screams echoed
down the corridor. The screams of human women—the mothers. The screams ended
suddenly, abruptly. Cut off. Mercifully.

Then an explosion
shook the corridor. Sorrow smelled the acrid smell of brimstone and saw, in her
mind’s eye, the illusion of herself and the other children slumbering
peacefully in the chamber. The warriors stood in the corridor, the men
attacking, the women defending, hurling their magic at the monsters, killing
the horror.

Tears came and she
couldn’t stop them. Human tears, for dragons cannot cry.

“It’s useless. It
will be easier just to die here. We’re monsters, after all.”

“Are we monsters,
Sorrow?” Ven gestured to the little boy, gazing rapdy at the pinwheel of his
dreams. “Is he?”

Sorrow shook her
head. “I don’t believe that. But you do. And so will all the others out there.
The humans in their human world.”

Ven reached out.
His hand clasped hers. “I was wrong. You made me see that. Now, are you coming
with me?”

Out into the
world. A world that she had never seen.

Ven opened his
mind wide and showed it to her.

A world that
smelled of green things and blue sky and sharp, bright sunlight.

The sunlight would
blind them, the Children of the Dragon, until they grew accustomed to it.

Yet, in that
world, there would be room to fly. “I’m coming,” said Sorrow.

A DOOR SLAMMED,
CAUSING MARCUS TO WAKE SUDDENLY, WITH THE panicked feeling that the dragon was
chasing him. His heart racing, he stared, baffled, at his surroundings. He had
no idea where he was. Sunlight flooded in through an oilskin-covered hole in
the wall. Outside, birds twittered and chatted. He looked around at unfamiliar
walls and up at an unfamiliar ceiling. His racing heartbeat slowed, and he
closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

The dragon was
gone. All the dragons were gone. Memories remained. Terrifying and amazing,
they wound and curled and twined about him. He might have thought he’d dreamed
it all, but he could still see and feel everything with frightening clarity.
Ven lying on the floor, the dragon looming over him. The golden gleam of the
locket. The strangely beautiful dragon-woman, her silver scales shining in the
light of his mind.

“Your brother is
safe,” said Draconas. “At least, for the moment.”

The man stood
inside the little room as Marcus had seen him before, holding his staff, his
boots covered with the dust of the many roads he had he traveled.

“Where is Ven?”
Marcus asked.

“He walks his own
road and I have no idea where that will lead him,” Draconas replied. “But he is
not your concern, Marcus. Your road lies dead ahead, and I do mean ‘dead.’
Return home as swiftly as you can. Ride as though demons were pursuing you, for
they are. Grald may be destroyed, but his plans for the conquest of humans are
not. You’ve seen the legions of Dragonkeep. They are being readied for war as
we speak. Your kingdom will be the first to come under assault.

“I have just left
your father. I tried to warn the King,” Draconas added. “But Edward does not
trust me, and he would not believe me. You must convince him, tell him what you
have seen, add the weight of your words to mine. You don’t have much time. In
fact, we may already be too late.”

“Where will you
be?”

“Where I need to
be,” Draconas replied curtly.

The little room
burst like a soap bubble and disappeared, along with Draconas.

Marcus sat up in
bed. He knew where he was now. The fishing village. He would have to ride hard
to reach his home, and he felt rotten—the after-effects of a night’s carousing.
His mouth tasted like the insides of a well-worn boot; his head was three times
the size it should be, and his stomach kept trying to climb up into his throat.

Marcus tossed
aside the blanket. He would feel better after a plunge in the cold river. As he
started to climb off the mattress, a voice murmured drowsily, “My darling ...”
A hand touched his arm. “You’re awake . . .”

Marcus gave a
violent start. He looked over his shoulder. Sleepy blue eyes gazed up at him
from out a mass of disheveled blond curls.

“Darling,” Evelina
repeated, and her hand ran up and down his arm. “Don’t get up yet. We have the
whole day before us.”

She was naked.
Marcus had a confused impression of heavy breasts and bare shoulders and a
smooth, flat stomach and dark shadows below that. . .

His blood burned,
his loins throbbed. He was aroused and, at the same time, repulsed—as by a
vague memory of something ugly and sordid. Marcus wrenched his gaze away from
her. Not knowing quite what he was doing, he jumped out of the bed and
hurriedly walked away from it.

“Please, cover
yourself, Mistress,” he said, and his voice was harsh. He fumbled for his
breeches that he found lying on the floor. He couldn’t remember undressing. God
help him! He couldn’t remember anything!

“Oh, my dear,”
said Evelina with a gurgling little laugh, “it’s late in the day for modesty.”
Her voice altered slightly. “After all those wonderful things you said to me
last night!”

What had he said?
Marcus recalled drinking wine and kissing Evelina and her kissing him back and
him breaking out in blotches and the dreadful itching . . . and that was as far
as memory took him, before his mind ran to the little room and Ven and the
battle with Grald. Yet, there seemed to be something else and it had to do with
her. If only he could think through the pounding in his skull!

He looked down at
his bare chest and arms and torso and saw no trace of the red blotches.

“Marcus . . . my
love,” Evelina said with a catch in her throat. “I should be horribly angry at
you, but how can I be angry at the man who may be the father of my child? Look
. . .”

Reluctantly, he
turned around.

Evelina wriggled
over to one side on the mattress and pointed to a patch of blood, the mark of
the end of a maiden’s virginity. Marcus looked at the mattress, and he looked
at her. He didn’t believe her. He knew in his heart and soul that he had never
made love to her. Yet he couldn’t prove it. He couldn’t even prove it to
himself, much less to anyone else.

He hadn’t made
love to the maiden fair, because he’d been fighting a dragon.

“Say you love me,
dearest, like you did last night. Promise you’ll always take care of me, like
you did last night.” Evelina purred. “And come back to bed.”

She held out her
hand to him and slid one leg over the other, slowly opening her white thighs.

Marcus averted his
head. For some reason, the sight of her like that sickened him beyond measure.

“Please, get
dressed!” he said coldly. He yanked on his breeches and began to search for his
shirt.

Evelina burst into
loud and noisy sobs.

“You did this to
me and now you hate me!” she cried, gulping. “But you won’t get away with it!
You’ll make me a princess! You’ll take care of me. Or else I’ll tell everyone
how you used me and then tossed me away like a bunch of stinking fish heads. I’ll
tell everyone in the village. I’ll tell everyone I meet! I’ll make sure
everyone in your damnable kingdom knows what a monster you are!”

Her face was red
with her fury, the ugly red spreading down to the hollow between her breasts,
which jiggled with the force of her sobs and her threats.

“For you
are
a monster! I’ll tell them lots of things about you, Your Highness,” she cried
in a frenzy, almost incoherent. “You summon up the fires of hell! You talk to
people who aren’t there! You wave imaginary swords and shout about killing
dragons!”