Master of Dragons (38 page)

Anna was amazed. “Sister
kingdom? Mistress, forgive my ignorance, but I never knew—”

“None in Seth know
of it. And none would know of it now, if events in the harsh world beyond our
mountains had not forced me to seek help.”

The High Priestess
was helping the Mistress pack for her journey, carefully folding the ceremonial
robe, which she would not wear during her journey, for fear of spoiling it.
Anna remembered the feel of the rich, soft woollen cloth beneath her hands as
she pressed the garment into the leather scrip the Mistress would carry with
her on horseback. The Mistress was preoccupied and little interested in the
packing. She paced the room, beating the heels of her palms together in an
absent manner, lost in thought. Occasionally she cast a sharp glance at Anna,
as if taking her measure, but she did not speak.

When Anna finished,
she turned to see the Mistress staring out the window. Anna received the
impression that in spirit, the Mistress was already far away.

“The packing is
complete, Mistress,” Anna said to her. “By your leave, I will go make certain
that your escort is in readiness—”

“There will be no
escort,” the Mistress said sharply. “I travel alone.”

Anna had never
before questioned any of the Mistress’s decisions, but now she could not help
it. “Mistress, do you think that is wise?”

“Are you implying
I act foolishly?” the Mistress responded. She did not turn, but continued to
gaze out the window.

“Forgive me,
Mistress, I meant no disrespect,” Anna replied. “If, as you say, there is
danger beyond our valley, then you should have an escort that is armed and
prepared to defend you. Please, let me inform the guard—”

The Mistress’s
tone softened. “It is I who should ask your forgiveness, Daughter. I did not
mean to snap at you. I am worried, that is all. Worried and afraid. Not for
myself,” she was quick to add. “But for my people. I must travel swiftly and in
secret, so as not to alert the enemy to the fact that I have left Seth. An
escort would only slow me down and draw unwanted attention. Besides, the fewer
who know I have left, the better. Tell no one that I have gone. Keep up the
pretense that I am here “

“I understand,
Mistress,” Anna said, though she was troubled. She was not very good at keeping
secrets, and she wondered how she would manage.

Her next question
had been innocent enough, or so she had thought, but it had brought a startling
response, one that had kept this conversation going round and round in Anna’s
mind since that day.

“Don’t you think
you should at least remove the golden locket you wear, Mistress?”

The Mistress’s
hand went to her throat to where the locket rested in the hollow of her neck.
She grasped hold of it possessively, almost covetously, and turned to face Anna
with a suddenness that startled her.

“What do you mean
by that remark?” the Mistress demanded, advancing a step toward her. “Why do you
tell me to take off the locket?”

“I meant nothing,
Mistress!” Anna gasped, alarmed by the woman’s intensity. “Only that thieves
might see the glint of gold and be tempted—”

The Mistress
stared at her for a moment more. Then, with a sigh, the Mistress waved her hand
in what seemed weary dismissal.

“Go back to your
duties, Daughter. Remain alert. Keep careful watch. I fear the dragons may
choose this time to attack us. The fate of our kingdom rests with you. You have
trained all your life for this moment, High Priestess,” the Mistress added,
seeing Anna’s expression of dismay. “You and the sisters will keep the dragons
at bay. I have full confidence in you.”

The Mistress must
have departed shortly after that, for when Anna had occasion to return to the
Mistress’s quarters, the Mistress was not there, and the scrip containing her
clothes was gone.

Anna had gone
about her duties as she had been ordered. The strain of protecting her people
and keeping up the lie that the Mistress was still among them was starting to
tell on her, though. She lay awake half the night, and when at last, exhausted,
she fell asleep, she woke in terror, trembling, dreaming of dragons. Her lack
of appetite caused such comment among the other sisters that she was afraid
they would suspect something. She began to force herself to choke down her
food, though it made little difference. She was almost always sick to her
stomach afterward.

Perhaps the ghosts
she saw along her path were due to lack of sleep and lack of sustenance. As she
walked, treading on the flagstones in the very footsteps of Melisande and all
the others who now surrounded her, Anna shivered in the predawn chill and
hugged her cloak more closely about her. She had once looked forward to the
morning ritual that marked her standing as High Priestess. Now, she dreaded it,
for each new day might be the day she would see the dragons coming to attack
her people. Perhaps that was why the ghost of Melisande and the others seemed
to cluster more closely around her this day than they had others. This was the
day the dragons would come.

Her stomach
clenched, and Anna feared she was going to be sick. She must not desecrate the
sacred stones of the path. The thought so alarmed her that she forced herself
to stop thinking of ghosts. Emerging from the shadows of the fir trees that
guarded the path, she realized that she was late. The stars were fading and
dawn was already pink and yellow on the horizon. She quickened her pace.
Rounding a coppice of pine, she could see the black marble columns of the
Chamber, which stood outside the monastery walls, on a promontory overlooking
the valley and the city below.

The columns were
guardians to the one object inside the small temple. Anna hurried up the marble
stairs and reverently approached the large, white marble bowl. Only when she
reached it did she remember, stricken, that she had forgotten to remove her
shoes. Swiftly she kicked off the sandals and, grabbing them up, flung them out
beyond the columns.

She knelt down
beside the bowl and took a moment to try to compose herself. That proved
impossible. Anna trembled more. She poured the holy water from the pitcher that
stood beside the bowl with a hand that shook so she splashed water onto her
gown. Yet another infraction.

Anna forced
herself to concentrate. She gazed steadily into the water, into the lapis
lazuli iris of the sacred Eye at the bottom of the bowl, into the jet pupil of
that all-seeing Eye, and waited for the water to cease sloshing about. Watching
the water calmed her and when the last ripple smoothed from the surface, Anna
spoke the ritual prayer that she said every morning, the same prayer that
Melisande had said every morning, that every High Priestess before her had said
every morning in a confident and even tone.

“Open wide, you
that guard our realm, and let my eye see what you see.”

The Eye showed her
what she always saw: the valley, the mountains, the city, the monastery of the
Order of the Sacred Eye. She took it all in and breathed out a sigh of relief,
only to snatch it back swiftly in a gasp that was as much bewilderment as it
was astonishment.

The High Priestess
of Seth did not see what she had feared and dreaded and expected to see. The
Eye did not show her dragons flying toward her kingdom, bent on attacking and
destroying them.

The Eye showed her
a young man.

Anna rubbed her
eyes and blinked and stared, wondering how the sacred Eye could have made such
a mistake. The young man came from the river. He climbed over the mountains. He
walked across the valley. He was a comely young man—about sixteen, perhaps,
with blond hair and blue eyes that looked straight into hers.

Anna was puzzled
and confused, and then she noticed something strange, grotesque. The young man
had the legs of a beast. The legs, more specifically, of a dragon.

Anna did not know
what to do. Was this half-man/half-dragon a threat? It must be so, or the Eye
would not have revealed him to her. Yet, how could one young man, beast-man
though he was, be a threat to an entire kingdom?

Then she saw that
there were more like him, coming up behind him, crossing the river and climbing
the mountain: a young woman with the body of a dragon and delicate wings
sprouting from her shoulders; a boy, strong and muscular, his human form
covered all over with scales; and little ones with claws for feet or hands, and
scaly arms and tails, yet all with human eyes that gazed, unblinking, into
hers.

The young man was
quite close now, and Anna realized, with a start, that he could see her as
clearly as she could see him. His face, especially the eyes, was familiar to
her. She had the feeling she’d known him a long time.

Anna gripped the
sides of the marble basin to keep herself from sinking down into a heap on the
marble floor.

“Who are you?” she
cried.

In his answer,
though she did not understand it and did not, at first, believe it, Anna heard
what would prove to be the destruction of the peaceful tranquillity of the
people of Seth.

“We are your
children.”

“OUR CASTLE AT
RAMSGATE IS THE TARGET, FATHER.” MARCUS SPOKE in gasps, keeping his sentences
short. He had broken ribs, which made the drawing of each breath an agonizing
experience. “More to the point, the cannons. We have to ride back there at
once.”

Prince Wilhelm’s
physicians would have doused Marcus with poppy syrup to ease the pain, but he
needed to be clear-headed, at least until he had convinced his father of the
danger. He had already lost a night, for he had passed out from the pain when
the physicians wrenched his dislocated shoulder into place. They’d given him
the poppy syrup when he regained consciousness and refused to let him speak to
anyone until he’d rested.

Even drugged, he’d
spent a restless night, slipping into and out of strange dreams. In one,
experienced just before waking, it seemed to him that a gigantic eye was
staring down at him. He might have thought it a dragon’s eye and been afraid,
but he felt the watcher’s awe and wonder, sorrow and dismay. When Marcus woke,
he insisted on talking to his father, refusing to take any more physics or even
let the leeches into his room until his command was obeyed.

“Those dragons
could destroy the cannons with ease,” Edward remarked. “Why don’t the beasts
attack the castle?”

Marcus heard the
note of respect in his father’s voice, and that warmed him more than the poppy syrup.
His only deep regret was that the lives of thirty good men had been sacrificed
in order to gain it. Marcus had taken a solemn vow, with his hand on the Holy
Scriptures, that if he survived this battle, he would build a chapel and
dedicate it in their honor, as well as form a new order of knights in their
memory, an order that would be known as the Lions of God.

“I don’t know the
answer, Father, and neither does Draconas. He believes, however, that this
attack was a feint, a ruse, to draw us away from Ramsgate,” Marcus said. “Draconas
thinks the dragons have something more devious in mind.” That long speech cost
him two pain-filled gasps.

Edward frowned at
the mention of Draconas, but he could hardly say anything disparaging, since
the dragon had been responsible for the fact that the king’s army had not been
utterly wiped out.

“Where is
Draconas?” he asked.

“Keeping watch
over the movements of the dragon army.”

Edward rose
abruptly to pace the room. “He could destroy them with a breath.”

“Father . . .”

“Oh, I know what
you told me about him. How he will not kill humans in cold blood,” Edward said
impatiently. “I suppose I must honor him for his stand, but it is damn hard on
us!”

Marcus tried to
raise himself off the pillows. “Father—”

Edward saw what he
was about to do and hastened to his side. “You must not move, Marcus. You’ll
undo all the work that the leeches did for you. Lie back and rest easy. I agree
with you and with Draconas. I will ride to Ramsgate with all haste. I’ll leave
this day.”

Marcus propped
himself up on his good elbow. “I’m coming with you,” he said through teeth
clenched against the pain.

Edward looked down
on him with affection and some amusement. “My son, you cannot even sit up in
bed, much less ride a horse.”

“Then fill a wagon
with straw and haul me back like a sack of wool,” said Marcus. “You need me,
Father! I may not be able to lift a sword, but I have another weapon—the magic.”

Edward said
nothing. He glanced away from his son and looked out the window. Marcus saw a
nerve twitch in his father’s jaw, saw his face go dark and closed, as it always
did whenever Marcus brought up his magic. In the past, Marcus would have let
this ugly subject drop, let it fall to the floor, then kick it into a corner,
so that both could pretend it wasn’t there. Now Marcus held fast to it, held it
up so that his father had to look.

“When I was a
child, you locked me away in that little room and hid me from sight and made up
a story that I was off visiting relatives. I know that was for my own good,” he
added, speaking in gasps and fits and starts, but never thinking of stopping. “But
it was for
your
own good, as well, Father, because you didn’t have to
face the truth about me. And when I came back with Draconas, with the magic so
bright and beautiful in my hands, you forbade me to use it. You made me feel
that it was something of which I should be ashamed. Even Mother, though she
loves me dearly, wishes it would all just go away . . .”

Marcus had to
pause. Sweat rolled down his face, and he bunched the sheets up in a great wad
beneath the blanket in order to keep the pain at bay as he plunged ahead.

“Father, if I can
use my gift openly, to save the kingdom, so that all the people can see it,
then you and mother will never have to be ashamed of me again.”