Mistress of Dragons (2 page)

The
kingdom of Seth, in the valley of Seth, was nominally a monarchy, ruled by
either a king or queen, as determined by the sex of the eldest child born to
the ruling family. The monarch was nothing more than a figurehead, however,
someone for the crowds to cheer on festival days. The Mistress of Dragons was
the true ruler of Seth and had been for three hundred years. Everyone knew and
acknowledged this fact, including the monarch.

Three
hundred years ago, the kingdom of Seth had been held in thrall by a dragon, who
had taken up residence in the Sentinel Mountain. The dragon had repeatedly
attacked the kingdom, stealing livestock, setting crops ablaze, slaying or
carrying off to her lair any person unfortunate enough to be caught out in the
open. Hundreds fell victim to the marauder. Hundreds more fled the kingdom, traveling
to distant lands.

Seth
came perilously close to being wiped out of existence. Then came a savior.

One
of the festivals still celebrated in Seth commemorates that blessed event. The
townsfolk construct a dragon in effigy and carry the huge wooden monstrosity
through the streets, accompanied by players dressed in black wearing skull
masks, to represent the dead. At the end of the festival, a player clad in
white, with the golden mask of the sun, fights the dragon in a mock battle. The
figure in white is the Mistress. She destroys the dragon, using a golden sword.
The effigy is then burned in a huge bonfire in the middle of the fairgrounds to
great rejoicing.

This
was symbolic of the event. In reality, the Mistress fought the dragon in a less
dramatic but more effective manner, using magic to drive away her foe. The
dragon was vanquished, never seen again. The grateful citizens offered the
Mistress the wealth of the kingdom. They offered her the kingdom itself, but
she refused.

She
would not become their king. She would become their goddess. She built a temple
on the mountainside and placed inside it the stone bowl known as the Watchful
Eye. She asked for nine maidens, virgins all, to volunteer to serve in the
temple and learn the art of dragon magic, so that when the Mistress died, she
would leave another to keep the kingdom safe.

Down
through the centuries, many women assumed the mantle of Mistress, ascended to
godhood. The monastery grew in size and in power, so that now twenty-five
women, sixteen of whom were virgins, served in the temple. The most senior of
the Sisters of the Eye, as they were known, was the High Priestess, the woman
responsible for keeping watch for the ancient foe. When the Mistress died, the
High Priestess would assume that position.

Her
services were still needed. Several times, over the years, the kingdom of Seth
was attacked by dragons. The worst assault had been twenty years ago, when
eighteen enormous dragons had laid siege to the monastery itself. The battle
against them had been fierce. Many of the Sisterhood had died, as had many of
the valiant warriors. Dragon blood fell from the skies on that day and so it
was known in the annals of history as the Day of Black Rain.

In
the end, the dragons were repelled. Never again had the dragons attacked in
such numbers, but, every so often, one or two would appear.

“They
come to see if we maintain our vigilance,” said the Mistress.

The
vigilance of the sisters never faltered. The people of Seth lived in peace and
prosperity in their isolated valley, looking to the Sisterhood to guard them.

Ten
years ago, the Mistress of Dragons had chosen Melisande to be High Priestess.
At eighteen, Melisande was the youngest to be selected for the honor, but few
disputed the fact that she deserved it, for she was reputed to be the most
powerful in dragon magic of any woman yet born in the monastery. The current Mistress
was very old, nearly seventy, and in poor health. Melisande was aware that the
mantle of god-hood could fall upon her at any moment and she strove always to
be worthy of the honor.

This
day would see if the Mistress’s faith in her protege was justified.

The
monastery proper, consisting of four buildings, was built in a square around a
central courtyard. In the middle of the courtyard stood two gongs—one enormous
gong made of iron and another, smaller gong made of silver. If the iron gong
were sounded, the deep booming call would be heard in the city far below and in
the farms and forests beyond that, warning the people of Seth that they were
under attack, giving them time to flee for their lives into the caverns in the
mountains.

The
other gong was smaller and made of silver. This gong alerted the Sisterhood to
the coming of their foe.

Melisande
lifted the silver hammer, prepared to strike. She could hear, in the distance,
Bellona bellowing commands. Feet pounded as the warrior women raced to their
posts. A few of the Sisterhood, hearing the unusual commotion, peered out their
windows, wondering what was going on. Melisande did not leave them long in
doubt. She struck the silver gong, sending a shivering peal of alarm through
the monastery.

More
heads looked out the windows of the monastery’s east wing that was the dortoir,
where the sisters lived.

“Make
haste!” Melisande called to them. “I am going to the Mistress.”

The
heads disappeared, as the women hurried to don their sacred garments. Melisande
returned the silver hammer to its stand. The gong continued to vibrate, the
notes dying away slowly.

Warriors
ran past her, heading for the south side of the monastery, where lived the nine
mothers. The mothers—or “cows” as they were known disparagingly among the
warrior women—were those sisters chosen by the Mistress to bear children,
sacrificing their virginity in order to perpetuate the Sisterhood. Babies were
taken away from the mothers shortly after birth. The male babies were given to
families in the kingdom who had been denied a male child and needed an heir.
Girls were kept in the monastery to be raised by the Sisterhood as sisters or
mothers or warriors, depending on the bent taken by the magic in their blood.
This wing also held the “mating” rooms (used once monthly) and the birthing
rooms.

The
warriors emerged from the south wing, escorting the children and mothers to the
catacombs beneath the monastery.

Melisande
hurried past the west wing that would be empty now. Here were classrooms, where
the sisters were taught the sacred magic that kept their kingdom safe. This
wing also housed the kitchen and dining hall, the schoolrooms and playrooms for
the little girls.

The
fourth wing, the north wing, belonged to the Mistress. Here were her chambers.
Beneath this wing was the Sanctuary of the Eye.

The
Mistress of Dragons lived apart from the Sisterhood, as was right and proper
for a goddess. She came among them only rarely. Her life was devoted to the
magic and she spent a large part of every day in the Sanctuary, working her
powerful magicks that kept the kingdom safe. Two bronze doors barred entry to
everyone in the monastery except the High Priestess and chosen members of the
Sisterhood, and even they could enter only by invitation. The elite of the warrior
women stood guard.

The
warrior women saluted as Melisande approached. They had heard the silver gong
and, although they had not received direct orders from the Mistress, this was
an emergency and they had standing orders to allow the High Priestess to pass.
Melisande was not strong enough to shove open the huge bronze doors; the
warrior women performed that office for her.

“Good
hunting, High Priestess,” said one, as Melisande entered the Mistress’s
residence.

Daylight
entered with her, shining down a long narrow corridor of wood and painted
murals. The eyes of the dragons portrayed in murals gleamed with borrowed life
in the sunlight. The light vanished as the bronze doors closed with a dull
boom, stealing away the life briefly granted them. Windowless, the corridor was
lit only by small cresset lights placed at intervals along the wall. Part of
the task of the warrior women was to lower the lights, fill them with the oil
that kept them burning. The darkness was redolent with the scent of incense,
and had a thick, warm, comforting feel.

Running
was not permitted in the chambers of the Mistress. Nor was shouting or talking.
One was expected to enter with bowed head and sacred thoughts, move with seemly
decorum. Melisande had to force herself to slow her steps. She wished that she
had not forgotten her shoes. The Mistress would think she lacked discipline.
Calming herself with prayer and the thought that the dragon was yet far
distant, she decorously walked the shadowy corridors to the Mistress’s
bedchamber.

She
was surprised to find the Mistress’s door closed. The opening of the bronze
doors tripped a wire that rang a bell in the chambers of the Mistress, alerting
her to the presence of a visitor. Ordinarily, she would open the door in
preparation of receiving a guest. Finding the door still closed, Melisande
assumed that the elderly Mistress was still sleeping and had not heard the bell’s
clang. Melisande raised her hand to the bronze knocker, which was in the shape
of a dragon, but at that moment, the door swung open.

The
Mistress stood within. The golden threads embroidered into her ceremonial robes
shone in the light of an oil lamp that stood upon a richly carved wooden table.
Her seventy years had sapped the strength of her body. Her hair was snowy white,
her face wizened and deeply lined, her thin body bent and stooped. Her voice
was strong, however; eagerness flickered in her dark eyes.

“You
have seen a dragon,” she said.

“I
have, Mistress,” said Melisande, ashamed to be unable to control a tremor in her
voice.

In
this sacred place, the enormity of the situation, the danger and the peril for
her people, and her own responsibility fell suddenly upon her and she faltered
beneath the crushing weight. For a brief moment, she wished fervently that she
was once again that eight-year-old girl, being carried to safety in the strong
arms of a warrior.

“How
many?”

“Just
one, Mistress.”

“The
dragon is coming here? Are you certain?”

“The
beast was still very small within the Eye, Mistress. But he grew larger as I watched.
He is coming closer. And his gaze looked straight at me.”

The
Mistress smiled. Her smiles were rare and always inward, so that Melisande was
never certain if the Mistress was pleased with something she had done or if her
joy rose from some secret held within.

“I
knew you would be among the blessed,” said the Mistress. She moved toward the
door, grasped hold of Melisande’s wrist. “I knew when you were small. I could
see the magic dancing in your mind. You must describe the dragon to me.”

“A
young male by his bright coloring, golden green on his back and shoulders and
mane, tending to blue scales on his belly and his legs and tail. Should I
summon the sisters—”

“Yes,
summon them.” The Mistress’s hand was skin and sinew and bone. She clasped
Melisande’s wrist tightly. “Send them to the Sanctuary. Alert the warriors—”

“I
have already done that, Mistress.”

“Ah,
yes, you would.” The Mistress smiled again. “Then it seems you have done what
is needful, Melisande. I will go to the Sanctuary to prepare. You return to the
Eye to keep watch. When the dragon’s head fills the bowl and it seems that you
cannot hide from his sight, the beast will be nearly upon us. Come to the
Sanctuary, for we will have need of you.”

The
Mistress did not let loose her grip. She kept fast hold of her with her hand
and her dark, bright eyes.

“This
will be your test, Melisande. I have faith in you. Have faith in yourself.”

“I
will try, Mistress. I have much yet to learn.” The Mistress’s hand relaxed, her
touch grew gentle, caressing. “Your time will be soon, Melisande.”

“No,
Mistress, do not say so,” Melisande said, truly grieved. “You will be with us
many years—”

The
Mistress’s smile grew sad, poignant. She shook her head. “We are always given
to know our time, Melisande. So it will be with you, when your hour comes.”

The
Mistress gave Melisande’s hand a brisk pat. “Still, that hour will not come
today. Now we must prepare to meet our foe. Go do your duty, Daughter. I will
take up mine. And remember, as you can see the dragon, so he can use his magic
to see you. Do not let him intimidate you.”

The
Mistress gave a gesture of dismissal. Melisande bowed her way out and the
Mistress shut the door behind her.

Melisande
paused a moment in the fragrant darkness. As she closed her eyes and prayed
silently to the Mistress for courage, the thought came to her that soon she
would have no one to pray to. She would be the Mistress and all prayers would
come to her. The thought was startling, daunting. She wondered why it had never
occurred to her until that moment.

“Probably
because I assumed the Mistress must live forever.”

Her
prayer ended suddenly, half-spoken. If her time to be a goddess was coming
soon, she had best get used to acting on her own.

She
pulled the bell rope to alert the guards to throw open the bronze doors.
Blinking in the bright sunlight, she drew in a deep breath of fresh air. The
warriors had manned the battlements that ran along the tops of all four walls.
Other warriors were carrying the last of the children to safety. Melisande saw
the little girls clinging to the warriors, their arms clasped around them
tightly, their sleep-drenched eyes wide with the novelty of it all, and she
smiled at them reassuringly. The “cows” followed closely, soothing those
children who were fearful, telling them to pray to the Mistress.

The
members of the Sisterhood were waiting outside to be admitted to the Sanctuary.
At Melisande’s nod, they filed past her, out of the sun, into the darkness.
They wore their white robes, their cowls cast over their heads, their eyes
lowered, their hands clasped in prayer.