Mistress of Dragons Page 25
“I thought you were going to sleep the day away,” he added, grinning at Draconas. “Now that I caught the fish, you can cook them. That’s your punishment for not waking me for my turn at watch.”
Draconas glanced at the water skin, saw that it had been moved. The sand beneath the stopper was damp.
“Where is Melisande?” he asked, looking around and not finding her.
“She wanted to bathe. I rigged her up a screen.” Edward gestured to a blanket, draped over a tree limb. “She’s in the water downstream.”
Draconas heard the sounds of humming from behind it. He seemed to vaguely recognize the tune, then remembered it as one of Edward’s songs.
But winter’s gone and spring is going And by thine own fireside I’ve been, And told thee dear, with garments flowing I met thee when the spring was green . . .
Her voice was low and sweet. Draconas went to the shore, plunged his hands into the river, vigorously scrubbed his face and laved cold water on the back of his neck. He found Edward standing idle, a wriggling fish in his hands. He was staring at the blanket, listening breathlessly to the song.
“So, what are the plans for today?” Edward asked, starting guiltily. He added the fish to his catch. “Are we going to continue to hunt for baby smugglers?”
“I plan to go have a look at that sunken cave we passed.”
“Good,” said Edward. “I’ll come with you.”
“You’re a pretty sort of knight-errant,” said Draconas. “Who’s going to guard Melisande with both of us gone?”
A slow flush mounted in Edward’s cheeks. He threw down one fish, picked up another, then dropped it back to the sand.
“Then you stay with her, Draconas. Let me go investigate the cave.”
“Out of the question. I know what I’m looking for. You’re not yet recovered from your wounds. You both could use the rest. I found a shelter in the woods yesterday, while I was out hunting. A sort of natural lean-to made by a fallen oak tree. You can sleep, cook your fish . . .”
“It’s just that I don’t think I should be alone ... I don’t trust...” He paused, changed the subject. “How far do you think we are from home?”
Home. Wife.
Draconas liked Ermintrude, liked her cheerful practicality, liked her concern for her husband. He remembered her tears, and how close a single tear had come to falling on him, revealing him for what he was. He glanced again at the water skin, wondered if she’d drunk from it. He guessed, by the song, that they were both under the potion’s influence.
Melisande came out from behind the screen, her hair sleek and shining from the river water. Lacking a comb, she dragged her fingers through it and it fell in lazy, wet curls around her shoulders and down her back. Edward gazed at her dumbly, with such naked love and longing in his eyes that he did not have to speak it. She looked at him, only at him, and smiled.
“We’re a long way from home,” said Draconas. He waved his hand. “The shelter’s in there among the trees. I marked the trail. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding it.”
Turning, he began walking up the beach, in the direction of the sunken cave.
“But don’t you want breakfast?” Edward asked, startled at this sudden departure.
“You can have my share,” said Draconas. “Don’t look for me before nightfall.”
“Draconas,” Edward called to his back. “What’s going on? What’s the matter with you?”
Draconas kept walking.
“Draconas?” That was Melisande. “Be careful.”
He didn’t turn around. He kept walking, and soon they were both out of earshot. He entered into the forest and they were out of sight.
Resolutely, he put them out of mind.
“Where is he going?” Melisande asked.
“Off to investigate that cave,” said Edward.
Melisande was troubled. “He shouldn’t have gone alone. That is a terrible place. I feel it.” She rested her hand on Edward’s arm. “You should go after him. Stop him.”
Edward looked down at her hand, which was slender, with narrow, tapering fingers and short, rounded, pink-tinged nails. He felt her touch through the fabric of his wet shirt, felt it warm against his cold skin. His desire was a physical pain, and he wrenched his arm away. Turning abruptly, he scooped up the fish, began tossing them in the water.
“It wouldn’t do any good,” he said, his voice muffled. “I already offered to go. He said I should stay here with you. He’s right, of course.”
“What are you doing with the fish?”
“Throwing them back. I can’t stand to see them flopping about. If you’re hungry, I’ll try to find something else—”
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
Edward washed the fish slime off his hands, watched the fish swim away.
“I’m not either,” he said.
He felt her close behind him, not touching, but close. He couldn’t stay here, rooted to the spot. He had to turn around. He had to face her. He had to face his pain and deal with it.
He steeled himself.
“We should go find that shelter,” he said briskly, turning.
He looked into her eyes, bluer than the river or the sky. A wave of desire surged out of him. He saw, in her eyes, the wave catch her up and carry her back to him, carry her into his arms.
They did not kiss. They stood there on the beach, in the morning sunlight, clasped in each other’s arms, feeling warmth and softness and the beating of their two hearts.
“Loving you breaks every vow I ever took,” Edward told her silently. “It breaks the laws of my land and the laws of my church. Yet loving you seems to me the only truth in a life of falsehoods.”
“I don’t love you,” Melisande told him silently. Her head bent, eyes lowered, she crowded close to him. “But I need you. I need your hands to tell me that my flesh is warm. I need your lips to assure me that I am not shut up in that dark tomb. Love me. Bring me back to life.”
“We should go find this shelter,” said Edward aloud, his voice husky with his passion.
He said they should go, but he did not move. He smoothed back a wet, dangling curl and looked into her face which was so beautiful and into her eyes, where he saw himself.
“Yes,” she said. “We should find the shelter.”
Arms linked, holding fast to each other, they started to walk up the beach toward the woods, where Draconas had told them they could find the trail. Halfway there, Melisande stopped.
“We should take the water skin,” she said. “If we’re going to be there all day.”
Edward agreed and, parting from her reluctantly, hastened back to retrieve it. He lifted it, slung it over his shoulder.
“I noticed,” she said, slipping into his arms again as he returned, “that the water tasted different this morning. There was a sweetness to it.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “It tasted sweet.”
24
DRACONAS HAD HOPED THAT HE COULD APPROACH the cave by land, but discovered that he could not get close to it. The red rock cliff was sheer, with nary a hand- or foothold in sight. The only way to access the cave was by water. He stripped down to his breeches, took off his boots, and dove into the river. The water was cold and he gasped reflexively at the shock. Dragons are clumsy swimmers, having no liking for it, avoiding water when they can. What he lacked in skill, he made up for in strength. Kicking and blowing, he doggedly thrashed upriver to the cavern’s entrance.
The cold wasn’t so bad, once he got used to it. Treading water, he peered inside the cave. The feel, the scent, the taste of dragon magic was all-pervasive, touched all his senses. Draconas was perplexed. He’d never experienced anything similar.
But then, he reminded himself, he’d never experienced insane monks before, either.
He swam inside, paddling with his arms and legs, taking care not to break the surface, so as not to make any sound. Gentle ripples marking his passing washed up on the rock walls on either side of him.
Draconas soon left daylight behind. The passageway was not completely dark, however, for it opened into a much larger chamber, illuminated by an eerie, soft, orange-brown glow, reminiscent of twilight. He halted before swimming into the twilit grotto. Moving his legs to keep himself afloat, he found a rock that jutted out into the dark water and latched onto it, intending to take a good look around.
The grotto was larger than the passageway. A tall man could stand to his full height here. A hole bored though the rock wall permitted a glimpse of blue sky and accounted for the diffused light. The hole was smooth. He doubted if it was a natural formation.
The river flowed through the grotto, and he guessed that this wasn’t a cavern so much as a large tunnel. That was why he had found no sign of the baby smugglers. They had entered this passageway. The river carried them through the tunnel and out the other side. Follow this branch of the river and it might eventually lead him to Maristara’s human baby farm.
As Edward had said, the grotto was an ideal hideout for smugglers. The river’s flow had worn smooth the rock on either side of the waterway to form a natural landing site. Draconas could see evidence that people had camped here—charred spots on the rock ledge where they’d lit fires, a few gnawed bones, a length of discarded rope with a frayed end.
Beyond the campsite, a blank stone wall curved up to meet the ceiling. The chamber was empty. If the baby smugglers had been here, they’d left days before.
Draconas shoved himself off from the rock, entering the grotto, the twilight. He pushed himself through the water, not swimming so much as shoving the river impatiently aside. The shadows deepened as he neared the bank, so that he found it hard to see. He blamed the murky water and he blinked repeatedly to clear the water from his eyes. Reaching the ledge, he placed his hands on it, intending to use it to leverage himself up out of the water.
Strong hands grabbed hold of his wrists.
Draconas gasped in shock, reacted instinctively. Grabbing the hands that had grabbed him, Draconas tried to pull the person who had ahold of him into the water.
Draconas might as well have tried to pull down the mountain. The person didn’t budge. His grip on Draconas tightened.
Looking up, Draconas saw Grald standing over him.
Much as Edward had flung the fish out of the water onto the bank, Grald lifted Draconas out of the water and flung him, hard, onto the stone floor.
Draconas groaned and gasped, arched his back, grimacing, feigning pain, feigning shock, all the while watching Grald.
The big man came closer. Draconas tensed, figuring to aim a powerful kick at Grald’s kneecap, hoping to break it.
Grald foiled him by kneeling down beside him. Taking hold of his chin in a hand that could have engulfed his head, Grald turned Draconas’s face to the light.
“I’m disappointed. They told me you were smart. Yet you swam right into my trap. Haven’t you figured things out yet, Draconas?”
Grald tightened his grip. His fingers dug into Draconas’s jaw, wrenching it, nearly dislocating it. The pain was excruciating. Grald jerked Draconas’s head.
“Now do you see?” Grald asked, and he looked directly into Draconas’s eyes.
Burning white light shot through Draconas’s brain, illuminating every part of it. He tried to hide. His ideas, his plans, his thoughts skittered about like frightened mice, diving into every crevice and cranny. The probing, seeking, relentless light burrowed and probed, caught and dragged each one out, devoured them all.
One poor thought remained, shriveled, hiding from the blazing light.
Grald was a dragon. An elder dragon, powerful, ruthless, cunning.
Held fast in the dragon’s powerful grip, Draconas could not move his head or tear away his gaze. His arms were free, however, and he felt surreptitiously about, seeking a weapon. His fingers brushed against a rock, closed over it.
Draconas slammed the rock into the side of Grald’s head.
The blow would have crushed a human’s skull. Grald grunted and tottered back on his heels. The blow stunned him enough that he loosened his grip on Draconas, who managed to wrench free. He staggered to his feet, still clutching the rock.
Blood trailed down the side of Grald’s face. He gave his head a shake, as a dog shakes off water, and then rose ponderously.
Draconas had been lured into this trap for one purpose—to penetrate his mind, find out what he knew and, more importantly, what he planned to do with his knowledge. Grald had accomplished his purpose and there was nothing Draconas could do about it. Grald saw everything, knew everything. He knew about Braun, knew about the plan, knew about Anora and the potion she had sent, knew about Edward and Melisande.
Grald could put an end to the threat with the simple expediency of killing everyone involved—Draconas, Edward, Melisande, Braun, and possibly even Anora, if the dragon could arrange it so that the other members of Parliament did not suspect.
Yet Grald had not escaped from this encounter unscathed. Much like emptying the contents of a cask of wine into a jug, Grald had been forced to open a part of his mind in order to receive the mind of Draconas.
And Draconas had seen something fascinating. Unlike Draconas, whose dragon form was human and his human mind dragon, Grald had two minds—the mind of a human and the mind of the dragon. The two were not compatible.
The dragon’s mind was the stronger, more powerful of the two. It had, in fact, completely consumed the human’s, so that very little of the true Grald still remained. Still, the human mind remained, covering the dragon’s like cheesecloth. The dragon’s thoughts had to be strained through it. Which meant that Grald would be slow to react.
Draconas brought his magic to hand. No use hiding his skills now. Grald had seen everything. He knew how Draconas fought, knew all his stratagems, knew his secret ploys and talents. Draconas readied a powerful magical spell, the spell he would customarily cast in these instances—a concussive blast of magical energy intended to knock the victim senseless, quickly incapacitate him.
Grald could see the colors of the spell forming in Draconas’s mind and Grald raised his hands, making ready a counterspell to block the blow. He would have another spell—a lethal spell—to follow.
Dropping his spell at the last second, Draconas turned and ran like a rabbit.
Caught flat-footed, Grald tried to halt his own magic. The dragon mind could have swiftly reversed the spell, but the human mind was slow to react and the spell proceeded to its conclusion. An enormous shield of energy, designed to deflect Draconas’s attack, appeared in front of Grald. So long as the shield was raised, the dragon could not use his own magic. The shield acted to block all spells—his own and the enemy’s.
Grald would have to take time to lower the shield. He would have to rethink the spell he was intending to cast, come up with another, and all that would have to be strained through the cheesecloth of the human’s mind. The process would take seconds only, but those few seconds were precious to Draconas. Head down, legs pumping, he raced for the dark water. Grald chose to abandon all magic, fling down shield and spear, and go after his victim with his bare hands, utilize the strength of the human body he had chosen.
Draconas heard heavy feet pounding behind him and he cursed the dragon’s cunning.
Grald’s long legs ate up the space that separated them. Draconas reached the bank, but before he could jump, Grald lunged, caught him in the midriff, and carried him into the river.
Dark water closed over Draconas. Grald shifted his hold on him. His huge hands held Draconas underwater, trying to drown him. Grald was not able to get a good grip on wet and slippery human flesh, and Draconas managed to wriggle free. He swam desperately for the exit.
If he could have stayed beneath the water, he might have escaped, but after o
nly moments, his lungs began to burn. He fought on, until he was desperate for air. Pulling himself upward with powerful strokes of his arms, he broke through the surface with a gasp.
Strong hands caught hold of him beneath his armpits and lifted him out of the water. Grald hurled Draconas up against the rock wall.
White, jagged pain lanced through Draconas. Bones cracked. Blood mingled with the water in his eyes, in his mouth. He fought and struggled to escape the man’s grip, but the man’s hands were like iron bands. Desperate, Draconas latched onto Grald’s head, thrust his thumbs into Grald’s eyes.
Grald gave a bellow and flung Draconas away from him.
Draconas sank beneath the dark water. Drawing breath was agony. Movement of any kind was agony.
Draconas could feel Grald thrashing about in the water, searching with those huge hands, trying to find him. Grald’s dragon brain reached out, as well, searching for the colors of Draconas’s mind.
Draconas let those colors fade, grow dim and dusky: How blissful to sink beneath the dark and still water, let it close over my head, seep into my lungs, ease the burning, ease the pain, ease the guilt. . . easeful, easy death . . .
He let Grald see those thoughts. Let Grald think he was dying. Draconas just had to make certain the thought didn’t become reality.
Grald floundered about in the water for long moments. Thinking each time he’d caught sight of his foe, Grald lunged here and he lunged there, waggling his hands and kicking out with his feet.
“You’ve lost him,” said Maristara, appearing suddenly in Grald’s mind. “Let him go.”
The two communed mind to mind, as dragons are accustomed to doing, but with the problem that their two human minds continually intruded. Grald hauled his massive human body out of the river, shook himself.
“He’s gone, mind and body both,” said Grald sullenly. “I think he drowned.”
“That was easy,” returned Maristara. “Too easy.”
“You didn’t have to fight him,” Grald muttered, wincing as he put his hand to the bruised and bloody gash on his temple. “You think he’s still alive?”