Mistress of Dragons (26 page)

“You
talk like a human,” said Braun disparagingly. “What are twenty years to us? An
eye-blink, nothing more.”

“It
goes against all our precepts. No, it’s wrong,” said Draconas shortly. “We can’t
consider it.”

“What
about those human babies you saw them stealing? What terrible torment do they
face at the hands of these monsters? What about the wretched human female kept
horribly alive in that tomb? How many humans have died because of Maristara?
How many more will die if humans and dragons go to war?” Braun demanded.

“I
know, damn it!” Draconas returned. “You don’t have to lecture me.”

“I
will tell your plan to Anora,” said Braun. “I think she will approve it. Even
if we decide to take other action in the meantime, this will be an excellent
fallback for us.”

“Remind
her that we are talking about human lives here,” said Draconas.

“I
will,” Braun returned gently. “Many thousands of them.”

That
hadn’t been what Draconas meant and he was about to say so, when Braun
interrupted.

“There’s
movement on the ground.”

“Troops?”
Draconas asked.

“Yes,
coming out of the pass.”

“Heading
in which direction?”

“Your
direction,” said Braun.

A
dragon’s lair to the dragon is like a cobweb to the spider. The spider feels
every quiver of each silken strand. The dragon knows what happens in every
tunnel. She would have felt the heat of her illusory fire, heard the death cry
of that wretched monk. Maristara knew where to go looking for them, if not
where to find them.

“How
many?”

“Thirty.”

“More
of those crazed monks?”

“Soldiers.
I see the gleam of their armor.”

“How
long before they get near here?”

“They
are on horseback and moving fast now, for they’re on a road. They’ll soon have
to leave it, enter a rocky defile. That will slow them considerably. I say you
have a couple of hours yet before they come anywhere near you. Can you deal
with them?”

“Yes,
they’re actually going to help me. One of my humans is not being very
cooperative.”

The
dragon lifted his wings, sprang into the air, and soared upward on the
thermals. “Then, if you do not require my help, I will go make my report to
Anora. I hope to be back soon.”

“Take
your time,” Draconas returned. “We have time, it seems. All the time in the
world.”

“An
eye-blink,” Braun said.

The
dragon flew away, heading south. Draconas watched him depart. He cast an
illusion on the shelter, making the depression blend into the mountainside.

“That
should keep them safe for a little while,” he remarked to himself. “An
eye-blink.”

He
went off to find the horses.

DRACONAS
STOOD OUTSIDE THE SHELTER, HIDDEN IN a stand of aspen trees. On the hillside
opposite him, across a deep ravine, helms and armor and spears gleamed with the
bright polish of the noon sun. Draconas watched the warriors wending their way
steadily in his direction. His dragon eyes picked out details. All the warriors
were female. No mad monks among them. Each was armed with bow and arrows, as
well as spears. They carried water, but no other supplies. They expected the
chase to be a short one, their quarry easily captured.

No,
not captured, Draconas amended. Killed.

He
hunkered down amidst the aspens. He was considering the oddity of an army of
all-female warriors. Very rarely had that happened in human history, but he
could see how it made sense for Maristara. He had just about decided that the
warriors were close enough that he should wake his humans, when he saw that one
of them was already awake.

Melisande
stood in the entrance to the cavern, poised to make her escape. She would not
rush out heedlessly. She would take a good look around her first, he decided,
and that’s what she did. Blinking in the bright sunshine, she shaded her eyes,
waited until she could see before proceeding. She ventured out another step or
two, then sent a piercing gaze around the area. She crept out several more
steps, looked to the mountain peaks, searched the sky, then her gaze again
swept her immediate surroundings. She nodded slightly, satisfied, and slipped stealthily
away from the cavern, heading back in the direction they’d taken to get here.

“I
wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” said Draconas calmly.

Melisande
gasped and started. She stood frozen for a moment, trying to calm her racing
heart, then turned slowly toward the sound of his voice. He rose up out of the
shadows, walked toward her.

Recovering
quickly from her shock, she had her story ready.

“I
seek some privacy, sir,” she said, raising her chin. “To make my morning
ablutions.”

Draconas
gave a nod back to the bushes where he’d been stationed. “Right in there. Safe
and secure.”

Melisande’s
clothes had dried a little during the night, but the heavy fabric was still
damp and she shivered in the shade. Her hair hung around her shoulders, the
curling strands matted and tangled. A few curls straggled over her face. She
brushed them back. She glanced at the bushes and a soft flush mantled her
cheeks.

“That
is much too close—”

“Sorry,
but I can’t let you go wandering off.”

Melisande’s
flush deepened. She straightened, regarded him with an imperious air. “Am I
your prisoner then?”

“That’s
not the way to talk to someone who has just saved your life, Melisande. I’ve
been keeping watch, all this time, while you slept. What did you think? That
the dragon would simply let you walk away? After what you saw?”

The
blood drained from her face. Pressing her lips together tightly, she clasped
her arms across her breast. She turned away from him.

“Where
were you planning to go?” he asked.

Melisande
turned her head. Her blue eyes were the only color in her pale face.

“Back
to my people,” she said. “To tell them the truth.” She turned again, came
walking toward him. “You have to let me go.” She reached out her hand to him,
as if her argument were something physical she could hold in her palm. “I have
to tell Bellona and the others. My god!” Her fingers curled in upon themselves.
“A dragon! Our Mistress—a dragon! And the poor woman. Buried alive in the
darkness, left to suffer horribly for years. The golden locket. . .”

She
faltered, paused to regain control, then continued in a steady voice, “So you
see, you have to let me return. The entrance to the cave must be near. I
remember that we didn’t walk very far.”

Draconas
caught hold of her by the wrists, jerked her toward him, forced her to look at
him, to take a good, long look.

She
gasped and struggled in his grasp. He saw fear in her eyes, and for a moment he
was worried. Did she see him for what he was? She had the dragon magic. Could
she see him in his true form?

“Let
go of me!” she said, dragging backward. “You’re hurting me.”

No,
Draconas realized. She is afraid of me because I am a man. He felt her body
quiver and tense and he guessed then that she was a virgin when it came to men.
If she knew love, it was from women. Female warriors. Warriors who guarded the
priestesses and kept them away from men because . . . ?

Because
the dragon must have some means of controlling the breeding of babies who
possessed the dragon magic. Maristara could not allow these gifted women to
marry and raise families. She had to keep them around in order to reap the
bountiful harvest.

“If
you went back, you would not live long enough to tell anyone,” said Draconas. “The
dragon would see to that.”

He
released her and she stumbled backward. Rubbing her wrists, Melisande moved out
of reach. She didn’t flee. She hadn’t given up her cause. Her voice hardened as
she talked, firmed with resolve.

“You
don’t frighten me, sir. Now that I know what the Mistress is, I can deal with
her. I have been raised all my life to battle dragons.”

Her
courage impressed him. He rewarded her by falling back a step, removing himself
as a threat. He cast a glance over his shoulder at the thin line of warriors,
trailing down the mountainside.

Melisande
drew in a deep breath. She clasped her hands together, her fingers twining.

“Why
did you come?” she demanded abruptly. “Are you assassins?”

Draconas
smiled, amused. “I admit that I’m not much to look at, Mistress, but does
Edward seem like an assassin to you? Or act like one?”

Melisande
glanced back into the cave. A band of sunlight had fallen across Edward’s face.
He was interestingly pale, with enough dried blood remaining from his wound to
remind her what he had suffered on her account. He slept with his hand on his
weapon, ready at a moment to wake to defend her. She recalled his bravery and
his gallantry, and she could not help but be remorseful, touched, intrigued.

“No,
he does not look like an assassin,” she admitted. “But then why did you come?”

“You
heard what he said last night. We came seeking the Mistress of Dragons. We
wanted an audience with her. His Majesty is in dire need. A marauding dragon
has been laying waste to his kingdom. He was hoping to persuade the Mistress to
come work her magic, drive it away.”

Melisande’s
eyes widened. “If that is true, then you went about obtaining your audience in
a very strange way.”

“You
must admit that your people are not very hospitable to strangers,” Draconas
remarked. “We came in the back door, but we did mean to go around to the front.”

“And
what made you change your mind?”

“We
overheard a plot to kill the Mistress,” said Draconas. “We didn’t know it at
the time, but what we heard was the dragon talking.”

Melisande
caught her breath. She glanced back at Edward. “So he came to—”

“—rescue
your Mistress. Instead, he most inconveniently rescued the dragon.”

“Oh!”
Melisande gave a gurgling laugh. She clapped her hand to her mouth, choking
back her laughter. “It’s not funny. It’s horrible. I must be hysterical.”

She
was silent a moment, pondering. “You mentioned this kingdom—”

“He
is a king. King Edward of Idlyswylde. His realm is not far from here. Centuries
ago, there was trade between your two kingdoms.”

“Will
he be all right?” she asked at length, seeming ashamed of having thought ill of
him.

“He
will have a scar on his head, but I doubt if he’ll mind. It will remind him of
you.”

The
flush returned to her cheeks and with it a wan smile that didn’t last long. She
had been momentarily distracted, but she had not lost sight of her true goal.

“You
must thank His Majesty for me when he wakes. And now I must leave you. I must
return to my people, do what I can to remove this threat or at least tell them
so that we may all fight against the dragon. If you will show me the way back
into the cavern—”

Draconas
shook his head.

“So
I am your prisoner,” Melisande said angrily. “Just because you saved my life
does not mean that you own me! I am High Priestess. I have a duty—”

“Come
over here,” said Draconas, gesturing. Melisande remained unmoving, regarded him
warily, defiantly. She put her hands behind her back.

“Come
here,” he repeated. “I want to show you something. Don’t worry. I won’t touch
you again.”

Reluctantly,
unwilling, she walked over to stand near him, keeping herself at arm’s length.
He pointed. “Look there, along that narrow ridge.”

The
warriors were much closer now, moving faster than he’d anticipated. They must
have found an easier route down that defile. The mounted troop was almost
directly opposite where he and Melisande stood hidden in the aspen grove,
separated from them by the ravine.

Yesterday’s
rains had sent a torrent of water through the narrow cut, to judge by the high
water mark on the rocks and the smooth, wet grass, flattened by the current.
The flash flood had been brief. Most of the water had already receded, but the
ravine was muddy and filled with debris—boulders and tree limbs, an uprooted
tree, water-soaked logs.

The
warriors edged their way down into the ravine, moving rapidly but carefully,
the leader dividing her attention between guiding her horse’s footing and
scanning the area ahead, selecting the best route. She knew where she was
going, that much was certain. She never hesitated, but forged ahead with her
own determined resolve.

“They’re
closer than I thought,” Draconas remarked. “Though they’ll have some trouble
wading through that mess in the ravine. We need to think about escaping them.”

He
glanced at Melisande to see her reaction. Her lips parted, as though she had
been going to speak, but the words failed her. Her eyes were wide and shocked
and staring.

“Warriors
of Seth, if I’m not mistaken,” said Draconas. “They came down from the pass.
Probably for the first time in three hundred years they’ve set foot across the
border. They’ve been ordered to come after you, Melisande.”

“Ordered?”
Her lips shaped the words, but she could not speak them. She seemed stupefied,
struck dumb.

“Orders
given by the Mistress of Dragons. The new Mistress. Seth couldn’t go long
without a Mistress, you know. You escaped, Melisande, but another poor woman
wasn’t so lucky.”

Melisande
stared at the warriors, her eyes shimmering. She shivered and clasped her arms
around herself, but she never took her gaze from the women moving inexorably
closer.

“The
Mistress is dead,” Draconas continued, hoping to impress upon her the fact that
she was in danger. “Long live the Mistress. She’s ordered them to hunt you down
and kill you. She can’t take a chance on you coming back alive. She probably
told them—”

Melisande
sprang out of the shadows of the trees, waving her arms and shouting.