The Dragon's Son (14 page)

In an instinctive effort to protect himself, Marcus raised his hands and, to
his astonishment, he caught the glob. He stared at it a moment, at the blue and
yellow flame that burned in his palms, yet did not burn his flesh. Awe blazed
inside him, the fire of wonder shining brighter than the sun. In wild delight
and excitement, Marcus threw the fiery ball back at Draconas.

He did not catch it. He coolly stepped aside.

The magical flame struck a sapling. The tree caught fire and blazed up,
burned fiercely. Sap oozed from the burning wood, sizzled in the heat, and then
the tree was gone, reduced in an instant to a pile of hot, smoldering ashes.

But that was not what Marcus saw. He saw what Draconas meant him to see—the
horror that Ven had seen: a living person burning to death. Blood oozing from
charred and blackened flesh. The screams of the dying in his ears and the smell
of burning hair and sizzling flesh.

Marcus stood paralyzed with shock, his face gone livid. He was so pale that
Draconas feared the boy -would pass out or, worse, that he would retreat back
into himself and never come back.

“It’s not real,” Draconas cried, grabbing the boy by the shoulders. “It’s
not real. You’re seeing what I made you see. Come back to me, Marcus. It was a
tree. Only a tree.”

Marcus gasped and shuddered and blinked and then he was back, standing on
the riverbank. He stared at the ashes. “I did that,” he said, watching the
smoke rise. “Yes,” said Draconas. “You did that.”

Marcus licked his lips. “I didn’t mean to. I thought it was a ... a game.”

“Do you think it’s a game now?”

Marcus shook his head. Tears slid from beneath his lashes. He flung his arms
around Draconas.

The walker reached down, lifted the boy’s face, looked into the tear-drowned
hazel eyes. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I didn’t mean to hurt you. But I had to make
you understand your own power. I had to make you understand the danger that
comes with the power. You’ve grown used to wandering about the streets of
dragon minds, eavesdropping, listening in on thoughts that are not your own.
The dragons haven’t noticed you, because you are small and insignificant and
they aren’t looking for you. But I found you easily enough and if I can, others
will, too. Especially now that they know you’re out there.”

“Will they catch me?” Marcus asked, his voice quavering. “Not if you’re
careful. Anytime you use the magic, you open the door to your little room a
tiny crack. If a dragon sees the light shining through that chink, he’ll try to
barge inside. You must be ready to shut the door and bolt it behind you.”

“I don’t understand. I’m frightened.” Marcus shook his head. “I don’t want
to use the magic ever again.”

“You have to learn how to use it in order to defend yourself.”

“I don’t want to! I didn’t know the magic could kill.”

“A sword can kill, can’t it?”

“I guess,” said Marcus, not about to commit to anything.

“Your father knows how to use a sword. Does that mean he goes around all day
killing people with it?”

Marcus refused to answer. He watched the smoke rise from the tree.

“Your father wields a sword in order to defend himself and others. And that’s
why you have to learn to wield the magic.”

Marcus looked back at him, his face strained. “It’s not always about death,
is it?”

Draconas relaxed. “No, Marcus. In truth, the magic is about life. I’ll prove
it. Reach your hands up to heaven and catch hold of a star or a bird or a
cloud. Whatever you want. They are all yours.”

Marcus stared at him, stared beyond him. Tears dried on his lashes. Slowly,
glory and triumph lit his eyes from within and the hazel shone golden. His
hands took hold of airy nothing and began to mold it and shape it as they had
molded the clay, and then his flesh-and-blood hands fell, forgotten, as he
shaped wonder with the hands of his soul.

Draconas sat down, settled his back against a tree trunk. He should have
been pleased with himself, but he felt only emptiness.

“I know what lies ahead of you,” Draconas told the boy silently. “I know the
path that you will walk, because I’m the one who is going make you walk it.” He
sighed deeply. “Where will the bright, shining joy be then?

“Like that tree, burnt to ashes.”

Three months passed. During those months, Marcus made rapid progress in the
handling of the magic, so much so that at the end of that time, Draconas deemed
the boy ready to return home.

Marcus was excited at the prospect, but also trepidatious.

“I haven’t really been home in a long time,” he said to Draconas. “My
parents don’t know me and I don’t know them. It will be like going to live with
strangers.”

He looked at Draconas and the hazel eyes glinted. “Why don’t I come live
with you?”

“Because you have much to learn that I have neither the time nor the
patience to teach you,” Draconas answered. “Your reading is a disgrace and a
common crow can cipher better than you can. You must learn swordsmanship and
chivalry, falconry, music, dancing, and much more before you are ready to take
your place in this world as a king’s son.”

Marcus frowned, but he did not argue. The mention of chivalry recalled the
young knights who came to visit his father’s castle. He remembered watching
them with longing and envy, dreaming of the day when he had the skill and the
right to take his place among them. He remembered, too, as something long
forgotten, that his father had promised him a pony of his own for his birthday.
That birthday had come and gone. Perhaps the pony was waiting for him.

“I guess I am ready to go home,” Marcus stated.

Still, when the day came that Draconas drove the wagon within sight of the
shining white walls of Idlyswylde, and Marcus saw the turrets and spires of the
castle glisten on the hilltop, his heart beat so that the rushing blood made
him dizzy. He put his hand on Draconas’s arm.

“Stop, please,” he said in a smothered voice.

Draconas pulled back on the reins and looked at the child, flushed and
trembling.

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

Marcus shook his head, gulped.

“Draconas,” he said, his breath squeezed, “the woman’s face I saw in the
magic. Who was that?”

“Just a face,” said Draconas.

“And the hand?”

“Just a hand.”

“The dragon told me she was my mother,” he said softly. “My
real
mother.”

“Believe what you will,” Draconas returned. “But keep the notion that you
saw this face to yourself. You know what I told you—”

Marcus began kicking his boots against the side of the wagon. He repeated in
a singsong the mantra he’d heard every day since the two had been studying
together. “ ‘The magic is secret, between you and me. The magic is secret,
between you and me.’ We can go on now.”

Draconas held the reins still, did not move.

“The magic
is
secret, Marcus. Between you and me. Look at me when I’m
talking to you.”

Marcus lifted his head.

“The secret is a dangerous one. For you, Marcus, because you’ve seen the
dragon who is out there searching for you, trying to find you. If the dragon
does find you, he will take you away from your family and your home, take you
so far away that you would never be able to find your way back.”

Draconas wanted the boy to be afraid, wanted him to remember his fear for
years to come, when it all would grow so much harder.

“And not only the dragon,” Draconas continued, relentless. “There are people
in this world who do not understand the magic. They will claim that you are
possessed by demons or worse. They would bring harm to you
and
your
family. Your father and mother, your brothers. We’ve talked about this before,
but I need to make certain you understand.”

“I do, Draconas,” said Marcus earnestly. “I will keep the magic secret.”

“You must not use it, not even to communicate with me. Not unless the
situation is dire. It’s too dangerous.”

“I know,” said Marcus, his gaze level. “I promise.”

Draconas looked deep into the child’s eyes, into his mind, and beyond. He
sighed inwardly. Marcus meant what he said. He would try to keep his promise,
but he was human. So very human. And so very young.

Draconas slapped the reins against the horse’s back and the animal started
moving.

“You live in a world of secrets, don’t you?” Draconas said, after a moment,
glancing at the child at his side.

Marcus said nothing. His hand made a quick swipe at his eyes.

“I would tell you about your real mother—”

Marcus lifted his head hopefully.

“—but the secret isn’t mine to tell,” Draconas finished. “The secret belongs
to your father and he must be the one to reveal it.”

“He won’t,” said Marcus, again kicking the side of the wagon. “One day I
asked my father what being a bastard meant. He got really angry and told me
that I mustn’t pay attention to vicious gossip, that Ermintrude is my mother,
and I wasn’t to say anything about it ever again, because it would hurt her. I
know that isn’t true, because when I asked her, she wasn’t hurt. She hugged me
and said I was her boy and that they would explain when I was older.”

“I’m sure they will,” said Draconas. “When they think you’ll understand.”

“Maybe,” said Marcus, but he didn’t sound convinced. He turned his head. “Will
you tell me, if they don’t?”

“We’ll see,” said Draconas, using the sop that has been thrown to children
throughout the ages and has been universally reviled by them down through those
same ages.

Marcus made a face. “I have a question.
If
it’s not a secret. Why is
the dragon looking for me?”

“Oddly enough—because he is afraid of you.”

Marcus’s eyes widened. “Truly? Is that the reason?”

“Yes, truly,” said Draconas. The boy needed to be afraid, but he needed
confidence, as well.

Marcus pondered this, glanced sidelong at Draconas.

“I have one more question.”

“This is the time to ask it,” said Draconas, striving for patience. He
wondered how human parents managed, day in, day out.

“You might not like it,” Marcus tempered. “It might make you angry.”

Draconas shrugged. “That’s a risk you’ll have to take.”

“All right.” Marcus drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, then said, “Why
is it that when I look at you I see a dragon? Oh, I don’t see fangs or a tail
on you or anything like that,” he added hastily, seeing that Draconas was
astonished and mistakenly thinking that was the reason. “I mean that when I
look at you, I see a dragon behind you, like it’s your shadow. And please don’t
say you’ll tell me when I’m older. I’d rather have you angry at me.”

Draconas was completely taken aback. Of course, Marcus had been able to
enter his mind. Perhaps that had given the boy the ability to see through the
illusion that was one of the strongest dragons could cast.

“That is because I am a dragon,” Draconas answered. “My human form is the
shadow.”

Marcus nodded.

“You don’t seem surprised,” said Draconas.

“I think I knew all along. But you’re different from that other dragon. The
horrible one who wants to find me. Why is that?”

“Just as humans are different, so are dragons.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the best you’re going to get,” Draconas returned.

Marcus sighed and then eyed him shrewdly. “One more question?”

“One more,” said Draconas.

Marcus hesitated, then asked, “Am 7 a dragon?”

Draconas shook his head. “No. You are human. But you do have dragon blood in
you.”

“I won’t grow scales and a tail, will I?” Marcus asked, alarmed. “I won’t
turn into a monster?”

“No,” Draconas answered, thinking of Ven. “You won’t turn into a monster.”

“Whew! That’s a relief. But how—”

“Look there,” said Draconas, pointing. “You can see the spires of your
father’s castle. You’re almost home.”

“Home!” Marcus repeated softly, and he had no more
questions.

During his time away, Marcus had put on weight, filled out, and grown at
least an inch. When Draconas drove the wagon to the castle’s front gates, the
guardsmen didn’t recognize the boy as the prince. They took him for some
peasant’s son, much to the boy’s enjoyment, and almost wouldn’t let them pass.

It was Gunderson who, with a gasp and an oath, recognized His Royal Highness
and that only after Marcus jumped from the wagon’s seat to fling his arms
around the older man and hug him.

The entire court was roused now. Never mind where the prince had been or
what had happened to him. The talk about that would start later and would be
squelched by explanations from the palace. For now, everyone expressed joy at
his return, safe and sound. Gunderson bore Marcus in state to the palace. Queen
Ermintrude ran with open arms to clasp him to her bosom. His father snatched
him away from her tearful embrace, but only to hold his son in his arms.

“You promised me a pony,” Marcus said.

“In the stables,” Edward answered, his voice choked. “Waiting for you.”

He carried his son inside the palace, to be kissed and fed and made much of.
Ermintrude was about to follow, when she realized that they had not thanked
Draconas. She turned to look for him, but he was gone.

Draconas was walking rapidly across the courtyard, heading toward the palace
gate, when he heard Gunderson call his name. Pretending to be deaf, Draconas
kept walking. Gunderson, huffing mightily, caught up with him.

“Their Majesties want to thank you for bringing their son back to them. They
invite you to stay in the palace—”

Draconas shook his head, kept walking. He didn’t want their thanks, for he
didn’t deserve it.

The soldiers were firing off the cannon again. First came the boom, then the
oohs and aahs of the crowd.

Edward—working to perfect a weapon that would kill dragons.