Mistress of Dragons Page 24

  “I’m having second thoughts about this,” Draconas told him.

  “I know you are,” said Braun. “And I’m here to dispel them.”

  22

  DRACONAS MADE CAMP IN THE LATE AFTERNOON AT the location the dragon had suggested. As he helped Edward drag the boat onto the shore, Draconas felt a sudden strong temptation to urge the king to take Melisande and the boat and travel far downriver, to keep going and never stop until they reached the sea.

  Draconas did not give way to the temptation, of course. The hard practicality of his nature kept him from doing anything so wildly foolish and romantic. For one, he knew that no matter how many rivers she sailed or how many oceans she crossed, the woman with the dragon magic, burning like a sickness in her blood, could never escape the reach of Maristara. For two, he knew that even if he rid himself of the humans, he could not rid himself of the problem.

  He helped pull the boat onto the shore and covered it over with bracken and tree limbs, to hide it from sight. They were downstream from the red rock cliffs, an extravagance taken by the river at just that one point and then abandoned, seemingly, for the shore on which they stood and the shore that lay opposite were tree-lined, mundane, and ordinary. The river that had rushed frantically through the cliffs slowed its pace, went back to drifting and murmuring.

  The setting sun shone glittering yellow through the leaves on the trees of the far shore. The water and the sky were the same gray-blue. Melisande had not spoken since they’d come across that dragon-tainted cavern. She sat on the roots of a willow tree, gazing unseeing into the water, twining the leaves absently in her hands.

  Edward, restless and antsy, paced up and down the beach. Taking pity on him, Draconas reminded the king that their supplies were running low, suggested he might do some fishing. After one long, yearning look at Melisande, who didn’t notice, Edward muttered something and plunged into the forest.

  When he had gone, Melisande gave a deep sigh. “The dragon told them something awful about me, didn’t she?” she asked. One by one, she plucked the leaves off the bough, tossed them into the water.

  “What was that, Priestess?” Draconas asked. He hadn’t been listening. He’d been thinking of fresh meat, his one weakness. He could not go long without craving it.

  “The dragon must have told Bell— . . . told the warriors that I did something terrible, to make them want to kill me. I was just wondering what she said to Bell—to them.”

  “Probably that you ran off with your lover,” Draconas replied off-handedly, his mind on a roasted haunch.

  He glanced at her and was immediately sorry he’d said that. Her face had drained off all color, so that her skin was waxen white. She said nothing, but sat staring out across the sluggishly rolling river, her hands fallen limp and lifeless.

  “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 c
ertainty 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 resolu
tely 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.

  So many, he thought, gazing down the long, long row. So many and where have they gone? All he had were memories: a face, the sound of laughter, the lifting of a hand in farewell. All of them, bidding farewell and turning away, to vanish in the dust. To become the dust.

  Two more. Two more to join that long line. Six hundred years from now, he would look back and he might see a face, the flash of a smile, the lifted hand.

  Or he might see only the dust.

  He poured the potion into the water skin, replaced the stopper. He cast a circle of enchantment over the camp, so that they could sleep undisturbed, then spread his blanket and laid down in its center.

  In his dreams, he was always a dragon. He never dreamed of himself in his human body. As he was drifting into sleep, he extended his wings over them, his dragon soul keeping watch, while his human heart slept.

  23

  DRACONAS WOKE TO BRIGHT SUNLIGHT SHINING FULL in his eyes, and the sound of splashing. He propped himself up on one elbow, watched Edward scoop a fish out of the water with his bare hands and fling it up onto the bank. Several fish lay there already, flopping about, gasping.

  “I’m impressed,” said Draconas.

  “It’s a trick I learned as a boy,” Edward said. “My father taught me.”

  He made a dart, a dive, and another fish flew through the air, scales gleaming.

  “I think that should be enough for breakfast,” he commented, wading out of the water.

  Shaking his arms, shivering in the cool morning air, he toweled himself with his blanket, pulled his shirt on over his head.