Mistress of Dragons (32 page)

“Yes,”
she murmured, her tone low and sad. “That is probably what she told Bell—them.”

The
sky was now streaked with red and orange and purple, the last fling of the
dying sun. Her gaze went upriver, to the red rocks. She looked long and
searchingly, waiting. Not with hope. With the lack of it.

Waiting
for her lover, Draconas realized. Waiting for her to come. She won’t be
deterred, that lover. No matter what the dragon says. She’ll come after her and
Melisande knows it. She also knows that when the lover finds her, she’ll kill
her.

Her
gaze shifted abruptly to him and there was some of the sun’s flame in it.

“You
know so much about us, about our kingdom. You knew about the babies. Edward
says that you knew or at least suspected there was a dragon in the mountain
before you even entered.”

Draconas
noted that she had called him “Edward.” He shrugged. “I’m a dragon hunter.
People pay me to know about dragons.”

“Then
I have a question,” said Melisande. “Can all dragons turn into humans?” She
made a gesture with her hand. “Could Edward be a dragon? Or you?”

“I
haven’t ripped out anyone’s heart lately, if that’s what you’re asking,” said
Draconas.

She
looked away, back to the sky. The reds and pinks had deepened all to purple,
deepening to black. The evening star appeared, intent on hurrying away the day.

Melisande
rose suddenly, rubbing her arms. “I wish His Majesty would return,” she said,
unconscious that she had used his name before. “I have a feeling that dragon is
still about.”

“I’ll
go find him,” offered Draconas, and he walked away, shaking his head.

Dangerous,
these dragon-tainted humans. Very dangerous.

Draconas
found Edward fashioning a snare. They ate rabbit that night. Although Melisande
protested at first that she was not hungry, the smell of the rabbit, roasting
on a stick over the fire, proved irresistible.

Afterward,
they sat in silence. Edward watched the night deepen over the river. Melisande’s
gaze turned often upstream. She was still waiting.

Draconas
offered to keep watch. Edward argued politely, but eventually gave way, with
the understanding that Draconas was to wake him halfway through the night.
Draconas promised and it was a promise he meant to keep. He had not slept for
two nights running and he was starting to feel the need. His meeting with Braun
shouldn’t take all that long, since there would be very little conversation.
Mostly the dragon would do the talking with Draconas listening and replying “yes”
at the proper intervals.

I’ll
have my say, though, Draconas promised himself. I’ll make certain they knew how
I feel about this plan.

Which
led him to wonder, how did he feel about it?

He
couldn’t come up with an answer. He thought he’d been opposed to it, but after
his conversation about dragons with Melisande, he wasn’t sure anymore.

Edward
chose the best place for Melisande to make her bed, gave her the best horse
blanket. He selected a place for himself a decorous distance away. Draconas
almost asked Edward if he was going to place a sword between them, as did the
chivalric knights of old, but guessed from the expression on the king’s face
that he would not see the humor in that.

Once
the humans had wrapped themselves in their blankets and lain down, with their
backs turned conspicuously and uneasily toward each other, Draconas cast his
magic over them, like covering them with yet another blanket. Both of them
relaxed, rolled over, fell into a deep slumber. He then went off to meet Braun,
looking for someplace where they could talk undisturbed and Draconas could
still keep an eye on his charges.

The
lover was out there, and Melisande knew she would find her.

Just
one more damn thing to worry about.

Melisande
was right. Bellona was close to finding them. If Draconas had known how close,
he might not have left his humans at all that night.

The
boat she’d discovered was smaller than the others, had probably been used to
ferry supplies, for there was a fine sifting of ground corn meal all over the
bottom and a rope tied through a metal hook at the stern. Bellona traveled as
far as she could in the darkness of that first night, hoping to put as much
distance between herself and the warriors as possible. At length, after a
collision with a tree branch nearly staved in the side of the boat, she made
camp. She slept fitfully, often waking to think she heard Melisande’s voice,
calling her.

Rising
with the dawn, Bellona set out downstream. Her boat was lighter and she
traveled faster. She would have quickly caught up with them, but at the point
where the red rock cliff broke the river in two, she chose to take the southern
route, not the one to the west.

Bellona
considered both, but she did not like the feel of that western branch of the
river. Imperfect as her knowledge of the land outside of Seth was, she did
recall hearing old tales about others kingdoms that lay to the south. Melisande
was not that far ahead of her. Like her, the trio would not have been able to
travel at night. She was certain that she must catch them, and she kept sharp
watch along the banks.

Time
passed. The sun set in glory, in reds and purples. The trees cast long shadows
over her and over her heart. She had taken the wrong branch. She knew with
bitter certainty that they had gone westward.

She
had all that way to go back, upriver.

Bellona
slammed her hand into the seat with such force that she bruised her palm. She
considered going farther that night, but she was bone-tired. Her arms ached
with the unaccustomed exertion and she feared she might miss some sign of them
in the darkness. Reluctantly, she made camp.

She
got little sleep that night. Her heart, gnawed raw by jealousy, kept waking her
with its pain.

Braun
directed Draconas to a location farther down the beach, where the dragon had found
a large patch of open ground near the water. Draconas’s boots crunched in the
sand. To his eyes, the dragon shimmered in the darkness with the warmth of the
living against a backdrop of stone—the bare-bone skeleton of the world.

The
dragon was brisk, businesslike. He skipped all pleasantries, came right to the
matter at hand.

“Anora
approves of your plan. Indeed, she was immensely impressed and praised you
highly. She sends this, as you requested.”

He
handed over a small bottle encrusted with jewels. Dragons are fond of pretty
things. Draconas recognized the work as Middle Eastern. He thrust the bottle
inside the breast of his leather jacket.

“I
didn’t request it,” he said.

“Yes,
you did,” said Braun. “Oh, maybe not in so many words, but I could see it at
the back of your mind. The formula is an ancient one. According to Anora, it
was developed during the days of antiquity when we were assisting the humans in
their desperate struggle for survival. All those predators, you know, and they
are so fragile. Strong-willed, but fragile. At first our ancestors hoped that
the humans would grow scales, but— well, never mind all that. You don’t need
the full recital. Bad enough I had to sit through it. Suffice it to say that
this potion will do what is needful—make the male desirous, the female
receptive, and it will ensure that she will conceive, so that one coupling will
be all that is necessary.”

“Waste
not, want not,” muttered Draconas. “The female has a name, by the way. Her name
is Melisande.”

He
didn’t know why he’d said that, except that he felt out-of-sorts.

“She’ll
recognize the potion,” Draconas continued. “It’s undoubtedly the same one that
Maristara uses on her humans.”

“Then
we know it works,” said Braun. “We’ve seen the proof. Anora says that the child
born of this union will be very powerful in dragon magic. The mother is
immensely gifted. I felt her from a great distance.”

“And
if it is a boy, we’ll have added one more mad monk to the world.”

“On
the contrary, Draconas, for we will be there to see that the boy is properly
taught. Your orders are to bring the woman to Anora, who will care for her and
her son.”

“So
they’re to be prisoners,” said Draconas.

“They
will be given the best of everything,” Braun assured him. “Whatever they desire
shall be theirs for the asking.”

“Still
prisoners,” said Draconas. “Like the people of Seth. They have everything they
want.”

Braun
bit off an exasperated sigh. He was trying very hard to maintain his composure.
Draconas wasn’t making it easy.

“You
know as well as I do that this woman cannot be allowed to wander about the
world freely. Nor can her child. The boy must be properly trained.”

“So
he can grow up to fight dragons. How can you be so certain it will be a male?”

“This
king you chose has fathered two sons already. But if not a male, a female will
do, though it would not be as desirable.”

“And
since you have Melisande as a prisoner, you could always try your hand at
breeding more,” Draconas said acidly. “It works quite well for Maristara.”

Braun’s
mane rustled, his scales clicked, his tail twitched. He dug his claws into the
sand.

“Must
I again remind you of the lives at stake?”

No,
said Draconas silently, you mustn’t. I know. Damn it, I know. He reached into
his jerkin, touched the potion bottle, felt the jewels, cold and hard and
sharp-edged.

“So
what is your plan for this boy?” Draconas asked, his mind’s colors
conciliatory. “I assume that once he’s grown, he’s meant to kill Maristara and
her cohort and deal with the mad monks and the baby smugglers and all the rest.
I just wondered how you planned to carry this off?”

“We
have some ideas,” said Braun, his own colors simmering, vague.

Draconas
stood staring out at the river sliding past him. The stars shone in the water,
but the river couldn’t catch them. “You don’t know, do you? And neither does
Anora.”

“We
have twenty years to discuss the matter,” said Braun.

Draconas
snorted. “You’re stalling. Just as you’ve done all along. What’s another twenty
years added onto three hundred? You’ve made the decision not to decide. You’re
doing nothing.”

“We
are doing something—” Braun began.

“Exactly
what Maristara is doing,” Draconas cut in. “Manipulating humans, using them to
our own ends, never mind that we may be destroying their lives.”

“A
few lives, to save many. And humans are so careless of their lives, Draconas.
They waste them as if they were of no more value than this sand beneath my
claws.”

The
colors of Braun’s mind were like jewels in Draconas’s hand—hard, jagged,
sharp-edged.

“You
have no choice, Draconas. Anora has commanded that you proceed. I will return
in a week or so to hear your report and to assist you in bringing the female to
Anora. I would come sooner, but a special session of the Parliament has been
convened to discuss the matter.”

“You
know that someone in Parliament is reporting back to Maristara—”

“Rest
assured, we will not reveal all we know. Anora thinks that it would seem
strange to Maristara if we did not call a special session and that she would
start to suspect something. Do not worry, Draconas. You know Anora. She is a
master at controlling her thoughts. They will see only what she wants them to
see.”

Braun
spread his wings, prepared to depart. “I am glad you agreed to go along with
this. I know you have doubts. ‘Draconas has a dragon’s soul,’ Anora says, ‘but
his heart is human.’ Rest assured, you are doing the right thing.”

Anora
was always saying that. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d heard it.
Still, she would always add that he was the best walker there had ever been.

“And
what do I tell this king whose kingdom is being ravaged by an evil dragon?”
Draconas asked, as Braun lifted up into the air, his wing tips brushing the
treetops.

“Tell
His Majesty that the coming of the Mistress of Dragons so terrified the great
beast that he fled at the prospect,” Braun returned, chuckling.

The
dragon soared into the sky. The light of the moon glanced off this scales, so
that for an instant he was all glittering silver, and then he wheeled, rising
ever upward, and he was an absence of stars, and he was gone.

Draconas
walked slowly back toward the campsite. He was suddenly so tired that he could
barely move. His body would accede to the demands he made on it only up to a
certain point, and then it would assert its own will, which he had best
consider, or be prepared to face the consequences.

He
still had to deal with two more matters before he could sleep. Leaving the
shoreline, he plunged into the woods, searching for a shelter for the humans.
He needed a place that was close to shore, but not too close. A place that was
secluded, yet easily found.

A
fallen oak tree proved ideal. The oak lay propped at an angle, forming a
natural lean-to. Wild grapevines had grown over it, covering the oak with broad
green leaves that formed a tarplike roof. A few blankets, spread beneath the
tree, and his humans would have a very cozy bower.

Draconas
marked a trail to the oak on his way back to camp.

On
his return, he found Melisande and Edward both deep in sleep. Melisande slept
on her back, her face to the moonlight, her arms widespread. Edward maintained
his discipline, even in his sleep, for he slept on his side, his back to her,
his face turned resolutely away.

Draconas
brought out the potion. He picked up the water skin, removed the stopper. He
used his teeth to pull out the cork of the potion bottle. Holding both objects
in his hands, he stared at them, irresolute.

The
faces of all the humans he had known looked back at him.