Mistress of Dragons (10 page)

“Second,
I do not like his arrogance. He does not show you the proper respect.”

“You
know, Gunderson, that’s the one reason I tend to trust him. He has made it
clear that I must take him as is. If he were up to some nefarious scheme,
wouldn’t he be slavering and fawning all over me, like those toadies sent by my
father-in-law?”

“Unless
he thinks that is what you would think—”

“Oh,
come now, Gunderson, this is getting a bit thick!” Edward smiled. “I’m rather
considering going with him.”

“Your
Majesty can’t be serious!”

“You
were the one who recommended I meet with him—”

“Meet
with him, yes. Hear what he had to say. Not go off alone with him.”

“I
have an idea,” said Edward. “You spoke of the magic. Let us make a little test.”
He raised his voice. “Master Draconas, you say I must be ‘armed with magic.’
What sort of magic? Who is to arm me?”

“I
will, Your Majesty.”

“I
trust you do not think it untoward of me to ask for a demonstration?” Edward
cast a sidelong glance at Gunderson, as much as to say, “We have him now.”

Draconas
shrugged. He drew the leather pouch from the end of his staff, thrust in his
hand, and brought out a yellow topaz. As large as a hen’s egg, the topaz had
been cut so that it was smooth upon the top, beveled about the edges, and flat
on the bottom. Draconas walked over to the table the king had been using for
his work and laid the jewel flat upon a sheet of vellum.

“A
lovely gem,” remarked Edward, coming to inspect it. “Are we going to see it
levitate? Go floating out the window?”

Draconas
made no answer. He held his hand over the jewel, spoke a soft word. The topaz
began to gleam with an eerie yellow light. The king and Gunderson stood staring
with some amusement at the glowing jewel, neither approaching it.

“Remarkable,”
Edward said. “What is it supposed to be doing?”

“You
mentioned the window,” said Draconas. “This jewel is a window. A magical
casement that I alone have the power to open. Come forward and look through it.”

Edward
glanced at Gunderson, whose expression was very dark. “It’s some sort of trick.”

“If
so, it is a very good one,” Edward remarked. He looked up at Draconas. “Come,
sir. How do you cause it to glow like that? Ah, I know. Is this one of those
prisms that has the power to store up sunlight?”

“It
does more than glow,” said Draconas. “Look into it.”

With
a laugh and a shrug, Edward bent down, gazed into the jewel.

His
eyes widened. He gave a soft gasp, moved closer, staring intently. The eerie
yellow light cast a radiant glow upon his face.

“There’s
. . . there’s someone in there!” He lifted his head, awed and incredulous. “Who
is she?”

“I
do not know her name,” said Draconas. “All I know is that she is a priestess
who serves the Mistress of Dragons. She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

“I
have truly never seen the like,” murmured Edward, drawn to the jewel. “Her lips
move. She’s starting to say something ...”

Draconas
swiftly clasped his hand over the topaz, and broke the spell. The light
vanished and with it the image of the priestess who had looked into the magical
stone bowl and seen the dragon Braun, and had spoken to him. Draconas had no
intention of permitting the king to hear that conversation. Although the
kingdoms of Seth and Idlyswylde had been separated for hundreds of years—so
many years that each had forgotten about the other—once there had been traffic
between the two. They shared a common language.

“I
want to hear what she says!” Edward stated.

“Now
is not the time.”

“It
was a trick, Your Majesty,” Gunderson said gruffly. “Here. Let me see that
thing.”

Draconas
handed the topaz to the steward. Gunderson shook it, peered at it. Fetching a
jeweler’s glass, he inspected the gem from every angle. “It is an ordinary
topaz,” he said at last. “Not even very valuable. The gem is flawed.”

He
offered it to Edward, who shook his head. Gunderson handed the gem back to
Draconas, who dropped it into the leather pouch.

“How
did you do that, sir?” Gunderson asked again.

“As
I said, magic.” Draconas shrugged. “My magic. The magic that will carry you
inside the enchanted kingdom.”

Edward
sucked in a breath, let it out slowly. “What is your plan?”

“All
in good time. There is first the matter of my payment. One hundred gold pieces.
Fifty now and fifty on completion of the dragon’s removal.”

Edward
blinked, amazed. “That is an immense sum, sir.”

“One
might almost say, ‘A king’s ransom,’ “ said Draconas. “Or in this case, a
kingdom’s ransom. The dragon is costing you much more than that in lost
revenues every day.”

“Very
well,” said Edward, wincing. “And now that we are agreed, I ask you to tell me
how this magic of yours works.”

“Magic
is not a waterwheel, Your Majesty. I cannot draw you a diagram or show you the
mechanism. It is what it is. If you could send someone for the gold ...”

“Gunderson,
go and fetch it from the strongbox.”

“Your
Majesty, I beg you to consider what you are about. Your kingdom is threatened
from without
and
from within. The barons on the border are preparing for
war. The merchants cry that their businesses are failing. They have no money to
pay the taxes, which means we have no money to pay our soldiers, much less
money to pay this man. As for his so-called magic, I don’t know how the trick
was done, but there must be some rational explanation!”

Gunderson
talked on, and Draconas sat down in a chair and let him.

Watching
the king closely, Draconas saw the hazel eyes darken until they became
unreadable. The expressive face, previously open to all, slammed shut its
doors, quenched the inner lights. The king listened politely to the older man,
but his gaze strayed to the leather pouch hanging on the staff.

“A
young man,” Draconas mused, “beset early in life by the burdens of
kingship—burdens that grow heavier every day. He was married young to a woman
he barely knew with the object of reducing him to a nonentity. Now he must be
husband and father, not only to his family, but to his people. He stands
knee-deep in their muck, bent double beneath the load. Here am I, offering him
an adventure spun of moondust and topaz and a mysterious beauty. Like the
chivalrous knights of old, he goes forth with a noble cause, to save his
kingdom. I offer him the chance to cast off the burdens, forget for a brief
time that he is king, husband, father. He would be more than human if he
refused.”

“My
mind is made up,” said Edward, cutting Gunderson off in midsentence. The voice
he used was the king’s voice, cold and impersonal. “I will go with Master
Draconas. I know I run a great risk, dear friend,” he added, relenting, “but it
seems to me that if there is the slightest chance that this might work, that I
can rid our kingdom forever of the dragon’s scourge, then the risk is one that
I must take.”

“Let
me accompany you, Your Majesty,” Gunderson pleaded earnestly. “Do not go off
alone with this stranger.”

“I
need you here, my friend,” said Edward, “to look after the kingdom. Ermintrude
is more than capable of dealing with her father, but she will need you at her
side if the worst should happen and he invades the realm.”

“Yes,
Your Majesty,” said Gunderson in heavy tones. He turned to Draconas. “See that
you take excellent care of King Edward, sir. Or I promise you, there will be
the devil to pay.”

Gunderson
tapped himself on the chest. “Me.”

That
night, the marauding dragon struck again.

Though
the hour was late, the knights were still sitting at table when the alarm was
raised. Everyone present grabbed shield and sword and raced outside, clambering
up the stone steps to the ramparts to see for themselves.

Off
in the distance, the dragon’s enormous green-scaled body gleamed in the light of
the flames of burning wheat fields. The knights cursed and struck their swords
against their shields, shouting challenges to the dragon to come and fight.
Braun, of course, disdained their challenge and flew away with a flip of his
tail, that looked for all the world as if he were deliberately insulting them.

His
face dark with fury, Edward pressed his lips together in a firm, straight line,
turned on his heel, and left the wall. A short time later, the king announced
in quiet, level tones that he was planning a pilgrimage. He was going to seek
divine help to find a solution to their problem.

Edward
had wanted to keep his journey secret, but, as Gunderson had quite reasonably
pointed out, “If you suddenly turned up missing, Sire, with no explanation, the
people would panic. They might think that you fled in terror. Your absence
would most certainly open the door to the king of Weinmauer.”

“But
if,” Edward had argued, “I announce that I am traveling to another kingdom on a
diplomatic mission to seek help about the dragon, I will be expected to take
along armed guards, servants, my ministers and advisers, my scribes, my hawks,
and my knights.”

“Go
on a pilgrimage,” Draconas had suggested. “Even a king may go upon a sacred
quest alone. In fact, it is almost expected.”

Edward
was struck by the notion, one that touched his romantic and adventurous nature.
The age of chivalry had passed from this part of the world.
Ramsgate-upon-the-Aston was starting to think more about commerce and trade
than “worshipfully winning worship” which had been everything to the chivalrous
knight. Those days were in the recent past and were now much celebrated.
Minstrels sang of them, poets wrote of them, women sighed over them, and men
spoke with regret that the chance to do gallant deeds and undertake heroic
actions was gone forever.

Not
even Ermintrude could say a word against it when Edward announced his intention
of leaving upon a holy pilgrimage to a distant realm, though she obviously had
her doubts and fears. Edward’s knights begged to accompany him, some of them
going so far as to prostrate themselves before him and plead with him. Edward
was steadfast in his refusal. He had to undertake this alone. He asked only for
their prayers and their blessing. The knights gave him this and a rousing
cheer.

Having
no fear now that the king would change his mind—or have it changed for
him—Draconas went to bed. Edward and his wife left the hall early that night,
as well. He was probably with Ermintrude right now, doing his best to reassure
her that he would return to her safe and sound.

“I
wonder,” said Draconas to himself, with some amusement, as he stretched out on
the straw-stuffed mattress, “if Edward will tell his wife about the beautiful
face in the topaz? I’ll wager he keeps that to himself.”

THE
KING MANAGED TO ESCAPE THE PALACE AND THE city with a minimum of fanfare, much
less than Draconas had expected.

Dawn
had yet to break when Edward mounted his horse for the journey. A priest was
present to bless and anoint the king. His family was there, Ermintrude with a
brave, supportive smile and anxious, troubled eyes; Prince Wilhelm bitterly
disappointed that he couldn’t go. The knights gathered, and so did many
townsfolk, for the rumor of the king’s departure had spread like dragon fire, as
one wag said. No one cheered, for this was a sacred pilgrimage. Many murmured
blessings as their king rode past. Draconas was not present. He had arranged to
meet the king on the road outside the walls. The less notice he brought to
himself, the better.

Gunderson
rode with His Majesty as far as the city walls, where he turned his king over
to Draconas with a baleful look, a final clasp of hands. Edward had with him
three horses—a pack horse, a horse that was to be a gift for the Mistress of
Dragons, and a horse for Draconas.

“Gunderson
told me that you arrived in the kingdom on foot,” said Edward, handing over the
reins to a less-than-enthusiastic Draconas. “Accept this with my gratitude for
all you have done.”

“I
haven’t done anything yet,” Draconas pointed out, eyeing the horse, who eyed
him back.

Draconas
did not like to ride. With his dragon-gifted strength and endurance (far beyond
that of normal humans), he had no need. He could run long stretches at a time,
covering as many miles in a day as a horse, without stopping to rest. That was
one reason.

There
was yet another.

Animals
and Draconas did not get along. Some beasts took fright and fled. Others
attacked him on sight. Most animals appeared perplexed. They didn’t know what
he was, but they knew what he wasn’t. He wasn’t human. Village dogs would
follow him for miles, sniffing at his heels and whining. There had once been a
cat, a small tortoiseshell, who sat in front of him for hours, her head cocked
to one side, her golden eyes staring and staring.

He
had to be especially careful with horses, who would flatten back their ears,
snort, stamp, and roll their eyes at his approach. Once he was near, however,
he could usually soothe them with his voice and firm touch, so that they would
permit him to mount, as he did with the king’s horse. The filly was restless
and edgy, however, constantly swiveling her head to regard him with deep
suspicion.

“I’ve
never seen Falderal act like this,” Edward said. “Perhaps there’s a burr under
her saddle.”

Draconas
could have told the king that it was not the burr under the saddle that was
bothering the horse, just the dragon atop it. Since he could not very well say
that, he dismounted and was starting to remove the saddle to check, when he
heard hoofbeats.

The
day was incredibly quiet. Animals had gone to ground for fear of the dragon;
the birds hid fearfully in the trees, their songs silenced. Even thieves and
brigands had fled the kingdom, or so Edward said. Draconas’s acute hearing
picked up rhythmic pounding behind them, pounding that continued on for a bit,
then suddenly ceased.