Mistress of Dragons (6 page)

“We
all remember what happened then, Braun,” said Anora. “I do not believe you need
go into it.”

The
other dragons looked round. Red eyes glinted. Horrific images of blood and pain
filled Draconas’s mind. He firmly shut them out.

“It
is because we refuse to face unpleasant facts that we are in this situation,”
Braun stated. “I relate this for the sake of Draconas, who perhaps has not
heard it before.”

Anora
looked at Draconas, who lifted one eyebrow. She sighed and said, “Very well,
Braun. Continue.”

“Twenty
years ago Parliament sent a troop of dragons to the kingdom to try to free the
humans and bring Maristara to justice. They combined their magicks and managed
to penetrate the barrier or thought they did. It was a trap. They were
attacked. Not by a dragon. By humans. The result,” Braun stated, his mental
colors green, poisonous, “was disastrous. The law forbade them to fight back.
Several of our brethren were slain and many more injured. We were soundly
defeated. It was the worst massacre of dragons by humans in our history. But it
did accomplish one thing. It proved that Maristara had done something even more
heinous than seizing control of a kingdom. It proved that she had taught humans
dragon magic.”

“That
was never established,” said an elder member, one Malfiesto, sternly.

“Of
course it was established,” returned Braun, thoughts flickering with
impatience. “How else do you account for the fact that we were so utterly
repulsed? That many of our kind were slain? Show me the humans who could do
that without magic. Isn’t that true, Draconas?”

He
had his own ideas, but he was not going to be dragged into taking sides.
Fortunately, the elder dragon spoke again, and Draconas was forgotten.

“Even
if she has done this, I can’t see what you expect us to do, Braun.”

Anora
brought this to a halt. “Do you request the wand, Malfiesto?”

“No,
Minister,” Malfiesto replied. “I have said all I wanted to say. All that is
needful, I believe. Except this is a fool’s errand, for us and Draconas. What’s
he going to do that we haven’t tried already?”

Anora
frowned and Malfiesto subsided, his thoughts taking on a green-gray shade that
among humans would have denoted grumbling.

“Please
continue, Braun,” she said.

“Thank
you, Minister,” said the young dragon. He cast a defiant glance at the other
members. “I will tell you why I have brought you here and why I requested the
presence of Draconas. As all of you know, I am here today, a member of this
august body, because of the unexpected death of my father.”

Braun
cut short the soft, muted colors of sympathy by adding, “My father was
murdered.”

The
dragons exchanged uneasy glances. They did not know what to say. Rumor had it
that the family’s terrible shame had driven Braun’s father—Maristara’s son—mad.
No one knew precisely what had happened. The dragon’s broken and twisted body
had been found at the base of a cliff. It was assumed that he had gone crazy
and ended his life by flying headlong into the mountain.

Braun
knew what they were thinking. He could see into every mind and he said
defiantly, “He was not murdered by his mother, Maristara. She never leaves her
realm. Yet he was murdered by a dragon. Someone who is in league with
Maristara, protecting her and shielding her.”

“This
is a most serious accusation, Braun,” said Anora. The images in her mind
flickered orange. “Not since the Dragon Wars has one of our kind shed the blood
of another. I find it very hard to believe. What possible motive—?”

“A
taste for human flesh,” Braun answered. The dragons shifted, restless,
uncomfortable. They didn’t want to hear this, the dirty secret of Dragonkind.
All dragons have a taste for human flesh. Once in the long ago, humans had been
hunted nearly to extinction. One reason for the Parliament, one reason for
laws, one reason for Draconas.

“What
proof do you have, Braun?” said Anora, clearly skeptical.

“My
father had long been trying to find some means to bring about Maristara’s
downfall. He said that it was plain to him that Parliament was incapable of
dealing with her—” Rumblings at this, but no one spoke outright. “—and so, as
her family, the responsibility fell to us. He began to investigate, to find out
everything he could about her, about this unfortunate kingdom, about the
ill-fated attack. He studied the attack, spoke to survivors, and he reached two
conclusions: The first, that the humans had used our own magic against us. The
second, that Maristara had been warned of our coming. The only being who could
have warned her was one of us, another dragon.”

He
halted, glanced around, but no one contradicted him.

“My
father theorized that whoever was spying on us for Maristara was being well
paid for the information. He asked himself, what does she have that any of us
could possibly want? Gold, jewels. Bah!”

He
paused as images of sweet flesh formed in their minds. “She has humans.”

The
silence was profound. Everyone kept his or her thoughts submerged.

“My
father began to ask questions, to pry and meddle. ‘He’s gone mad’—that’s what
you said. ‘Let them think me mad,’ he told me. ‘They’ll soon see true madness.’
He received information that pointed to a certain dragon.”

“What
is the name?” demanded Anora, sharp-edged. “I don’t know,” said Braun, and a
sigh of relief passed softly among the dragons. “He wouldn’t tell me, wouldn’t
blacken the name of a noble family until he was certain. The night he left to
question this dragon was the night he died, a death that came very conveniently
for someone.”

“He
should have come to the Parliament,” said Anora. “Would you have listened?”
Braun countered. “We are listening—”

“Now
that he is dead.”

Anora
looked around. No one met her eye. Tails twitched and wings stirred. Talons scratched
the floor, tails thumped, and scales rippled.

“We
need proof,” said Anora.

“And
that is why I am here, Minister. Members,” said Braun, lifting his head
proudly, “I did not come seeking your pity. I came because I have a plan.”

His
bright eyes fixed on Draconas, who stood calmly, resting easily on the balls of
his feet, waiting patiently for his part. “Well, what is this plan?” Anora
asked, when Braun did not immediately speak.

“I
would ask to tell it only to you, Minister,” said the young dragon. “You and
Draconas.”

Colors
of anger and outrage from the assembled dragons burst upon Draconas. He
instinctively raised his hand to shut them out, as he might raise his hand to
block out the searing rays of the sun.

“Are
you accusing one of us of being a spy?” Malfiesto demanded. “The elders of the
twelve houses!”

Braun
stood steadfast against the fury. “I do not accuse anyone here. But someone did
warn her before and the plan was discussed only among the members of
Parliament.”

“I’m
afraid that is not precisely true,” Anora interposed. “Some of us might have
told our mates or spoken of it to others.”

“Yet,
I think I am right in this,” said Braun stubbornly. “But I leave it to you to
decide, Minister. I will abide by your decision.”

“I
do not want to put us at odds with each other,’ said Anora, “as must surely
happen if I do as you request. We are the Parliament. Each member’s loyalty is
unquestioned. Tell us this plan.”

Braun
was not pleased. “So be it,” he said. “I traveled to the kingdom of Seth—”

“That
was foolish, young one,” stated Malfiesto with a snort.

“I
know that, but I was half-mad with grief over my father’s death. I wanted to
talk to Maristara, to ask her—” Braun broke off. “In any event, I nearly paid
for my folly with my life. Yet, while I was there, I did manage to accomplish
something. I managed to penetrate the magic long enough to view one of the
humans, a female, sent to repel me. I saw into her mind, only a glimpse, but
what I saw there intrigued me. Her mind was filled with an image of a woman she
knows as the ‘Mistress of Dragons,’ who is, I believe, the kingdom’s ruler.

“My
idea is this: If Draconas could capture this Mistress of Dragons, he could
bring her back here for study and questioning. We would know for certain that
Maristara has broken the law by teaching humans dragon magic. The Mistress
might know who among us is working with Maristara. We might be able to find out
where Maristara has her lair and we could bring her to justice.”

The
Minister liked the proposal, as did the others. They were all relieved, glad to
be able to hand their problem to someone else. There was just one small detail.

“Your
plan is good, Braun,” said Draconas. “But you have overlooked one important
factor—a factor that is easily overlooked, I admit, due to my appearance.
Maristara’s magic is just as effective at keeping me out of the kingdom of Seth
as any of the rest of you.”

The
dragon was baffled, confused. “I am afraid I do not understand, Draconas. You
are human—”

“He
looks human,” Anora corrected. “He is, in reality, a dragon. Surely you knew
this, Braun? He is the chosen.”

“I
am not a hatchling,” Braun returned, blue-white and chill. “I thought that
perhaps because he has was given human form, the dragon magic wouldn’t affect
him.”

Anora
shook her head. “The clay is the same, whether it is molded into the shape of a
human or a dragon. Draconas’s body is different, that is all. Thus he retains
his powers of magic, his strength, his ability to communicate with us, and so
forth.”

Braun’s
head slumped. His talons dug into the stone, his tail slashed. Dejected,
frustrated, he glared at Draconas, irrationally blaming him for not being what
the dragon wanted him to be. The other dragons unleashed their thoughts now,
offering suggestions, arguing, dithering, and debating. Anora, her images
vibrant and imposing, endeavored to restore order, but without much success.
The dragons were outwardly affronted and inwardly disturbed by the accusations
and the thought that one among them could be a killer of his own kind.

The
bombardment made Draconas’s head ache. This might go on for days or weeks and
he was frustrated. He’d long thought the Parliament had been lax in its
dealings with Maristara. He’d long advocated that they do something, take some
sort of action. Of course, they said, that was the human part of him talking.

He
stood in the midst of the maelstrom of thought, his gaze fixed on the dejected
Braun, mulling over in his mind what to do. There was a way, but it would mean
doing something he had carefully avoided doing for six hundred years. It would
mean bending the law, if not outright breaking it.

It
would mean meddling in the lives of humans.

“But
then, after all,” Draconas told himself with a wry grimace, “I
am
the
exception.”

He
stepped forward. “Minister,” he said, holding out his hand, his human hand, “I
request the wand . . .”

THE
ROAD LEADING TO THE GREAT WALLED CITY OF Ramsgate-upon-the-Aston was generally
well-traveled, for the city was the capital for the realm of Idlyswylde, one of
the most prosperous nations on the continent. Merchant caravans, their
mule-drawn wagons loaded with goods of every kind and variety, rolled
ponderously down the road, the fat merchants smiling broadly on all they
encountered, for every person they met was a potential customer. Knights with
hawks upon their wrists traveled in company, laughing and jesting as they rode
in search of glory. Tinkers, mendicants, gypsies, noble ladies peeping out from
behind the curtains of their sedan chairs, thieves, assassins and cutpurses,
minstrels, bards, and traveling actors all walked the old highway or rather,
all had walked it in the past.

This
day, though the midsummer’s morning was fine, with the hot sun beaming through
lazily drifting clouds, the lone traveler had the road all to himself. Not a
fat merchant in sight, nor yet a single mendicant, shaking his begging bowl.
Draconas might have thought himself alone in the universe, but that he came
upon three small, ragged boys sitting on a bridge that spanned the Aston river.
Draconas had a good view of the boys for quite a distance, as he walked toward
the bridge. Every so often, one or more would leave off swinging his bare feet
and throwing rocks in the water to lift his head, shade his eyes with his hand,
and peer up into the sky. Then, with a shake of his head, the boy would go back
to his heel-swinging and rock-tossing.

Knowing
that there is no more knowledgeable person in the universe than a
seven-year-old boy, Draconas stopped to speak to them.

“Do
those towers I see ahead mark the city of Ramsgate-upon-the-Aston?’’

One
of the boys looked up. Children have an innate sense about people. The boy cast
Draconas a shrewd glance, that took in everything from his knife, thrust into
his belt, to his leather jerkin and leather boots and his green breeches made
of the fine strong cotton known as moleskin, to his nondescript walking staff
from which hung a leather pouch. The clothes bespoke a huntsman, maybe even a
poacher. The man’s dark, hooded eyes bespoke something else. The boy jumped respectfully
to his feet.

“Yes,
master, that is the city,” said the urchin. “I can guide you there for a
copper.”

“I
am hardly in need of a guide, since I can see the towers for myself,” said
Draconas mildly. Seeing the child’s face fall, he added, “I would gladly pay a
copper for information, however.”

“Yes,
master,” said the boy.

There
was a minor scuffle, as the boy’s two friends, hearing the word “pay,” leaped
up to join him and an argument ensued. When the dust settled, the first boy
emerged as the winner. As the others rubbed their jaws and noses, he turned
triumphantly back to Draconas. “What do you want to know, master?”