SummerDanse (14 page)

King Erno pounded the arms of his chair. “No! It can’t be over that fast!” He turned a petulant expression onto Zhantar. “You must make it more fun. I demand it.”

“My king, you know how it is with the mages. Always the same. Put it out of your mind. The next one is naught but a rapist, and he shall not have the means of convincing the dragon to be done with him quickly.”

Erno’s pout turned to a grin, and he licked his lips. “Yes,” he drawled. “Of course.”

I tried in vain to wipe the memory of the fight from my mind while those in the box chatted excitedly about the next criminal. At least in his case, from what I could gather, his crimes were real and proven. Not, I reminded myself, that anyone deserved to be executed in such a fashion as Erno had the taste for.

The tocsin rang out. The arena stilled, and the conversation around me died away.

The door opened, and out stumbled a naked man. He seemed hardly able to walk, and I was close enough to see the bloody pulp that was all that was left of the offending member.

The coppery-colored dragon that came out now was young, not yet full grown. Perhaps drawn by the scent of fresh blood, it crossed the pit in one bound and set to rending the man bit by bit. This was more to the crowd’s—and the king’s—liking, and great shouts and guffaws of delight punctuated the air.

The battle seemed to go on for hours, though it was probably only minutes. The young dragon seemed to know how much damage it could do without actually killing its victim—knowledge no doubt acquired from the dragonmasters. The man’s screams rent the air, drawing delighted squeals from King Erno. It took all my strength of will not to show my true feelings, while Zhantar looked on the fight with impassivity.

When it was finally over and the dragonmasters were forcing the dragon back to the stables, Erno rose to his feet, clapping his hands happily like a small child watching the antics of a puppy. I glanced around at the others, who followed the king’s lead in praise of such entertainment—all except Rycina whose look of revulsion mirrored my own feelings.

The princess rose to her feet and approached the king. “Papa, I have just remembered an urgent matter of business that I have left undone. I pray your pardon for leaving so early, but I really must go.”

Erno’s face fell. “Must you really, my pet? Surely you can send someone to take care of it.”

She bent down and kissed him on both cheeks. “No, Papa, I’m afraid it is such business as I must see to personally. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

He pouted as he stroked her face. “I will tell you everything you miss.”

Zhantar stepped out of the box and signaled someone. A few moments later, a group of Royal Guardsmen marched up, and Rycina left with them. I watched her go. She would be queen someday, and if what I’d observed today was any sign, she would be a very different sort of monarch from her father. I, for one, wasn’t fooled by the excuse she gave for leaving; I was sure she simply had no stomach for this. She’d probably come only because she had no choice and stayed only as long as necessary. Zhantar watched her departure, too, an inscrutable look on his face.

After the fourth fight, refreshments were brought to the box. My stomach was tied in knots from having to watch and, worse, having to pretend I was having a good time, and I couldn’t eat. Luckily, no one offered me anything.

Later, when the sun had long passed its zenith, I had grown numb to the executions. I forced myself to smile and applaud, all the while letting my mind range far from this horrible, horrible place. A change now came over the dragonmasters. I couldn’t tell precisely what it was, perhaps a droop to their shoulders or a slowing of their movements. Zhantar stood more erect than ever, and he stared at the pit with fierce eyes.

The door opened and out came a man dressed in armor and carrying a shield and sword. I didn’t understand. All of the other prisoners had worn a few rags or been completely naked, depending on the nature of their crime. A few, murderers primarily, had had weapons, though this seemed to be more for the purpose of prolonging their deaths and entertaining the crowd than for any real defense. This man, though, looked like a warrior.

Erno clapped his hands. “Oh! I forgot! Our pirate is today!”

Zhantar shot the king such a look of pure, freezing hatred that it chilled me to the core. When the large door opened on the other side of the arena and the dragon came out, I understood at last.

This dragon had once been white, but now its hide hung limp and grey from its frame. It moved slowly and stiffly, as if each step caused it pain. There was no light in its eyes, no heft to its wings.

This dragon had been sent to the pit to die.

My heart is torn in two. I can’t stop worrying about my family, and sometimes all I want to do is mount one of the dragons and tear off in search of them myself. How can everyone expect me to just stay here doing nothing? When I think about it, I want to scream.

Everyone—Yallick, Oleeda, all the dragons—counsel me to be patient. Do they know something they’re not telling me? Only Traz betrays any hint of rebellion. An occasional gleam in his eye gives it away. That boy has something up his sleeve.

But then there is the time I spend with the dragons. It’s a beautiful and wondrous thing, the way they respond to me. Practicing maneuvers, it’s as if they know my thoughts before I myself do. When I direct them in the dance of the sky, everything is right and my heart feels whole.

In its own way, watching the dragon die was even worse than watching the men and women. How long has this poor beast provided entertainment to the people? They had rooted for its success many, many times, yet now they turned on it, cheering anew with each gash from the pirate’s sword.

It was not easy work to slay a dragon single-handedly. Even one as old and infirm as this one would not meekly lie there and let its throat be slit. The pirate slashed at it over and over while it struggled to get away, until it bled from a hundred places. When finally it crashed to the ground for the last time and the pirate thrust his sword into its heart, the crowd went wild.

I wept, and no threat from Zhantar could’ve stopped me. But he didn’t notice me wiping my eyes with the edge of my cloak; he stood still as a stone, staring at the carcass of the once-majestic creature. A new thought occurred to me: did he actually care about the dragons?

People began making their way down the arena stairs and out. Two rows of Royal Guardsmen stood shoulder to shoulder across the front of the box, while those inside indulged in more refreshment. I managed to get my emotions under control, and the one time someone offered me food, I declined politely. Zhantar remained aloof from the group, too.

Finally, the arena had emptied and the king left with his entourage of Guardsmen. The others left, too, until soon only Zhantar and I remained, and he hadn’t moved a muscle. Eventually, though, he stirred.

“Let us go,” was all he said, and his voice was soft and bitter.

The walk to the carriage and the ride back to the house went by in a haze as my mind kept replaying scenes I’d witnessed that day. I wished there was a way to purge them forever from my memory.

Zhantar said nothing the whole time, not even when he delivered me to my room. Once the bolt had slid into place, I stripped off the repulsive dragonmaster clothes and put on my simple nightshift, then threw myself onto the bed and let my emotions have free rein.

It had all been hateful, from seeing a fellow mage meet her death so bravely, through the various and sundry criminals who had actually done something wrong even if they didn’t deserve this, to the disgusting murder of the poor dragon whose only crime had been to grow too old to kill helpless people anymore.

Did Zhantar think he could ever convince me to join the dragonmasters? Why did he want me to? What did I have that he desired so much?

And King Erno. What of him? He had surprised me, for never did I expect that Alloway’s monarch could be such a fool. Fearsome, regal, powerful: these were things I expected a king to be. But petulant, childish, and weak?

I had believed, too, that the dragonmasters were in league with the king, that they did his bidding and served him. But I’d never have thought that the DragonLord would despise his king so deeply.

Not that it was hard to imagine a man like Zhantar despising one like Erno. But for what reason did Zhantar subject himself to such petty usage? On second thought, that was easy to guess. This life as DragonLord was far more glamorous than being a village magician or, worse, a traveling one. Yes, for a life of ease such as this, some people would put up with much.

Not me, however. Nothing would induce me to become a dragonmaster. And thus my thought came full circle, then spun around again and yet again.

Next morning, Nilla wouldn’t meet my eyes when she brought my breakfast tray. At least I was hungry now and ate enough to please her on that score. She took care of my hands, too.

The rest of the morning was spent in Zhantar’s company. He brought his crystal and the
Cursed Book of Knowledge
. First, he showed me Mama again. It crushed my heart to see her looking so dejected, ankles chained to her chair. But she was still alive, and I swore to myself that somehow, I would find a way to free her.

Zhantar wrapped the crystal in the black velvet and placed it on the bed before handing me the book and instructing me to read. Which I did until lunchtime. Occasionally he would stop me and sit quietly, pondering what he’d heard. And as before, I remembered none of it. When he finally took his things and left, I felt strange, as if several hours of my life had been blotted from my memory.

A routine developed that went on for days and days. In the mornings, Zhantar began instructing me in magic, while afternoon were reserved for reading that horrid book—hours that dragged on and on.

“We will begin by reviewing the basics,” he said.

“I can’t do magic,” I replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

He scowled. “What do you mean, you can’t do magic? Of course you can. You said so yourself.”

I touched the wood collar. “Remember this? Anazian said it keeps me from using my power.”

“Ah, yes. The black wood. But you misunderstood. It only prevents you from using your maejic power.”

And I discovered he was right. I could do anything he asked, almost always on the first attempt. It took little power and less attention. Now that I had knowledge and experience of using maejic, I found magic, by comparison, to be like the difference between a farmer whistling a country tune and a trained soloist performing at Summer Solstice.

Then, finally, something broke our routine. One morning, Zhantar was in the middle of explaining how to light candles with only magic—a handy spell I actually wanted to learn—when we were both startled by someone pounding on my door.

“Father!” Anazian shouted. “Come right away! There is an ... incident up at the palace. Hurry!”

Zhantar leapt to his feet, frowning, and left my room. I dashed to the window, but I couldn’t see anything. I sighed. When I turned back to the room, I sucked in my breath. Zhantar had left his crystal!

I crept to the door, walking as carefully as I could so as not to make any noise, and pressed my ear against it. Nothing. I moved to the bed.

Would the magic work for me? Only one way to find out. I unwrapped the crystal and held it up, looking into its murky depths.

At first, nothing happened. I thought about Yallick, Traz, Xyla. The haze turned a little pinkish. I bit my lip and let out a breath. Wait. Be patient. Maybe it was working. Xyla was red, and the haze was darkening to red. Perhaps I just needed to concentrate harder.

The red dragons. I imagined what they’d looked like, dozens and dozens of them filling the air when we returned from Hedra. An indistinct image began to form. I gripped the crystal harder. It grew warm. Then, deep within it, I saw the dragons. I almost whooped aloud, and the image began to fade.

Xyla. I concentrated on her. The focus shifted, and there she was! My heart swelled and tears sprang to my eyes. It was really her! But how could I make her hear me? I couldn’t use my maejic.

Yallick. Perhaps I would have better luck with him. I closed my eyes and pictured him in my imagination—his jutting jaw, his long white-blond hair swept back from his forehead, and his icy, blue-green eyes. I blew on the crystal, as Zhantar had done, and when I looked again, there was my old teacher.

“Look at me,” I whispered to the image. “Look at me. Hear my voice.” His head jerked a little, and he began to look around. “Here,” I urged, “look here. I need you. I need the dragons.”

His gaze finally fell onto me. I wondered what exactly he saw, but it didn’t matter. Somehow, we’d connected.

“Can you hear me?” I asked, still in a whisper.

“Donavah? Is it really you, my child?” His voice sounded far away and dim.

“Yes. I’m in Penwick. At the DragonLord’s house.”

“Oh, my dear. We are coming.”

“Hurry. Zhantar—” But before I could say more, I heard the clatter of booted feet running down the corridor. “Please, come quickly!”

I dropped the crystal back onto the bed and flicked the velvet over it. I’d barely got to the window when my door crashed open. Heart in my throat and trying not to look guilty, I turned to face Zhantar.

His eyes blazed as he looked from me to the crystal and back. He didn’t even ask if I’d used it. He just snatched it up without a word and withdrew. The bolt slammed into place.

I didn’t have long to worry about what would happen next. Nilla appeared within the hour, bringing me the black clothes I’d worn to the dragon fights. My stomach turned.

When I had on the leggings and tunic, Nilla tied the sash.

The door opened. In strode Zhantar and two others, all in their dragonmaster attire. Their power filled the room and made my skin tingle. With a gesture from Zhantar, Nilla left. At the door, she turned back to give me a pleading look that I didn’t understand.

Zhantar spoke with a solemn voice. “The time has come for you to take your vows.”

I stood tall and straightened my shoulders, though my knees shook. “Vows for what?”

“Why, to be a dragonmaster, naturally.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” I exclaimed. “Never—”

He slapped me across the face. Not hard, but enough to get his message across. “I said the time has come. Once done, you will be truly one of mine.” He snapped the fingers of both hands, and the air seemed to hum. “Prepare her for the ceremony.” The other two men approached me. Zhantar’s voice softened as he spoke his next words. “Fear not. When all is done, you will agree it is for the best.”

Now one dragonmaster stood behind me and the other in front. I could feel the magic pouring off them. All three began to chant, and my heart beat in rhythm with the words, even though I didn’t understand the language.

With no warning, the man behind me covered my eyes with a strip of heavy fabric.

“To symbolize the novice’s acknowledgement that she lacks knowledge,” he said as he secured the blindfold in place.

Another strip of fabric gagged me.

“To symbolize the novice’s acknowledgement that she lacks wisdom.”

The one in front of me took my hands and bound my wrists together.

“To symbolize the novice’s acknowledgement of her submission to our master.”

A sack was placed over my head and its drawstring tightened, not too much, but enough to keep it in place.

“To symbolize the novice’s suppression of her identity until she is born anew in her power and place.”

I felt the two move away from me and Zhantar—as I guessed—come near. He placed his hands on my shoulders.

“I accept these symbols of your vows.” He kissed the fabric covering my forehead. “Come now to the ceremonial place.”

There was a moment of complete disorientation as the three men moved all about me, the air filled with the sound of their boots on the floor and with the magic that swirled around them and me. Then hands took my upper arms and forced me to go with them, guiding my steps and making sure I neither stumbled nor fell.