Mistress of Dragons (25 page)

“Too
dangerous,” said Draconas.

Dark-eyed
and taciturn, saturnine—this man hardly looked at her at all and, on those rare
occasions when she caught him regarding her, the expression in his eyes was of
cool appraisement, as if considering how to be make use of her.

I
have to get away, Melisande resolved. Yes, Edward, you are very handsome and
very charming, but I don’t trust you. And I certainly don’t trust your friend.
If you think I owe you something for saving me, you are mistaken. I owe you
nothing. I owe my people everything. I owe them the truth. I have to return to
them, tell them, warn them.

You
are tired, she told the two men silently. You will sleep and when you do, I
will leave.

She
had to put them off their guard. Make them think she was weak and exhausted,
which should be easy, she thought with a bleak sigh. She drew her knees up,
laid her arms on her knees, her head on her arms. She closed her eyes, shut out
the sight of them.

Edward
seated himself, easing himself to the ground with a stifled groan.

“Is
she all right?” he asked in concern. “She looks so ... ill.”

“She’ll
be fine,” said Draconas absently, preoccupied with his own problems. “She’s
young and strong. She just needs rest.”

Edward
nodded. He had a few problems of his own.

“You
should get some sleep,” Draconas advised. “I’ll go fetch the horses.”

“You
said it was too dangerous to build a fire. Isn’t it more dangerous to go
traipsing about after the horses?”

“I’ll
manage,” said Draconas. “I have to. Or do you plan to walk all the way back to
Ramsgate carrying her in your arms?”

Edward
flushed. His head throbbed. He felt sick and dizzy and angry, rightfully angry.
He’d been used, lied to, and it was time to stop. “Answer me this, Draconas.
You brought me here to fetch this Mistress, who was supposed to drive away the
dragon that threatens my kingdom. And what do we find here—a dragon! And it
seems to me you weren’t at all surprised—”

“But
we did!” said Melisande, lifting her head. The blue flame had died in her eyes,
leaving them just blue, a shadowed blue. “We did keep away the dragons. We
fought them and killed them. All but—” Her lips trembled. She shuddered and
clasped her arms around her legs, holding onto herself to keep from shattering.

“Yes,
Melisande, you killed them,” said Draconas, his tone mild, even. “And who
taught you the dragon-killing magic? Your Mistress—a dragon.”

Melisande
raised her head slightly, cast him a furtive glance. He was not looking at her.
He stared out of the shelter, into the dawning, into the birdsong and the smell
of crushed pine needles and the wind sighing gladly now that the storm had
passed.

“You
weren’t protecting your kingdom, Melisande,” Draconas continued. “You were
protecting your dragon.”

Melisande
didn’t answer. She didn’t stir. She hoped they would think she had fallen
asleep. Her thoughts were a quagmire. She tried wading through them, but she
couldn’t lift one thought out of the horrifying muck without feeling herself
being dragged down deeper by another. She needed time to think, to sort all
this out.

“I
think she’s asleep,” said Edward softly.

“You
should be, too,” said Draconas, standing up and stretching. “I’m going to go
get the horses. You’ll be safe enough here, while I’m gone. They won’t have the
search parties out yet. They’ll have to get organized.”

Edward
flicked Draconas a glance. “Sleep’s the worst thing you can do with a head
injury. I’ve heard Gunderson speak of men with cracked skulls who went to sleep
and never woke.” He paused, added quietly, as Draconas was starting to leave, “You
weren’t surprised to see the dragon, were you? In fact, I think you expected
it.”

“Oh,
I was surprised, all right,” Draconas said. “This quest of yours has been
nothing but one surprise after another.”

He
walked off. Edward wanted to rise up in anger and shout, “Don’t you walk out on
me, sir! I have more to say to you!” but he was too tired, too hurt.

Let
him go, he thought, and he didn’t much care if he came back.

Edward
chivalrously chose to rest as far from Melisande as their small shelter
permitted, which wasn’t very far. He laid down, his gaze fixed on her. He fully
intended to keep watch, but his eyes closed, in spite of himself. He gave a
deep sigh and slipped into a fitful and pain-racked slumber.

Draconas
left the cave, walked some distance, giving them both time to lose themselves
in sleep. He did intend to go fetch the horses, but not yet. He flexed his
muscles, rubbed away the few sore spots and bruises. He was tired, but not
exhausted. He could go for several days without sleep. What he required now was
food. Not planning to make a long stay of it, they’d left all their supplies in
their saddlebags.

And
there was Braun. Draconas had yet to make his report. The dragon would be
waiting impatiently to hear what had happened. He would have to keep waiting.
Draconas wanted to sort things out in his own mind first.

After
half an hour, he padded quietly back to the cave to look at his charges.

Both
were asleep. Edward lay on his back, one arm over his chest. He muttered and
grimaced. He was still in pain. Melisande lay on her side, her legs drawn into
her body, her arm over her face, still trying to hide. She hadn’t meant to fall
asleep, of course. She’d been planning to slip away, try to go back to her
people.

“Courageous,”
he told her silently, leaning over her. “But foolish.”

Certain
that they were deeply slumbering and would not waken at his touch, Draconas set
about doing what he could to cure their hurts. Maristara couldn’t let them
escape, not with what they knew. She’d send someone after them, if she didn’t
come herself. These two had to be fit to travel.

Draconas
had the power to heal himself, as do all dragons, who use a combination of
magic and mental discipline to reverse the effects of all but the most critical
injuries. Dragon-magic spreads warmth throughout the body, alleviating shock.
Dragons can slow their heartbeat to stop bleeding, both internal and external.
They can send themselves into a deep, healing stasis, allowing their bodies to
regenerate and repair injured organs, broken bones, snapped tendons. Draconas
could do this to himself, and he had done so in the past. Humans were so very
reckless, so careless of their own well-being. Life lived among them was
fraught with peril.

Draconas
could not heal humans as he could heal himself. He could not cause their organs
to regenerate, for example, but he could reduce shock and slow racing hearts or
speed up failing ones. He could cauterize wounds by touch, leaving scars, but
removing infection. He could mend minor breaks. He supposed by a strict reading
of dragon law, he was meddling in their lives by healing them, but he generally
found ways to justify it. And he was careful to never let them know that he had
helped them. Fortunately, most humans subscribed to the belief that either
sleep or strong spirits or a combination of both could cure almost any ill.

Draconas
placed practiced hands on the bruised and ugly gash in Edward’s head, let his
magic flow into the human, deepened his slumbers. The lines of pain smoothed
from the king’s face. Edward relaxed, his breathing grew more even. Draconas
poked and prodded, found no other injuries. He moved on to his next patient.

Melisande’s
injuries were superficial—scrapes and cuts and bruises, nothing more. She had
taken the worst wound in her soul. Draconas could tend to her body, but the
other would have to heal on its own or not, as the case may be. He could only
keep her warm and trust that the intelligence and courage she had exhibited in
battling the dragon would aid her in continuing the fight.

His
task done, he left them, went outside the cave, and summoned Braun.

“This
is terrible,” said the dragon grimly. “Far worse than anything we imagined. I
cannot believe it.”

The
two dragons spoke mind to mind. The day being clear and cloudless, Braun did
not like to fly where Maristara might see him. He had taken refuge on the top
of another mountain, as close as he could come to the Sentinel peak. Looking
into Braun’s mind, Draconas saw a miasma of ugly colors—vibrant shock mixing
with disgust and revulsion; anger mingling with dismay and, running through
all, a thin, red trickle of fear.

Draconas
probed deeply, and was at last satisfied. The young dragon’s emotions were
real, not manufactured. Draconas had nursed a few suspicions about Braun.
Patricide was not unheard of among dragons. Theirs was a bloody history,
especially in that time when the planet was new, long before humans walked
upright on it. Maristara’s partner was a male. Perhaps that partner was her
grandson.

Draconas
was glad to know that his suspicions were unfounded. Braun was young. He had
not yet mastered the art of hiding his emotions.

“If
word of what is happening in Seth leaks out, if other humans discover that
dragons are stealing their babies and raising them to a life of torment and
torture, they will be enraged. Their governments will send out armies to hunt
us down. The slaughter, the killing will be incalculable.”

He
meant the slaughter of humans, but dragons would die, too. That was inevitable,
especially since human ingenuity seemed to delight in inventing new and better
ways to kill.

“What
can Maristara and her fiend of a partner be thinking?” Braun demanded angrily. “Can’t
they see the danger?”

“They
see it,” said Draconas. “They want it.”

A
vibrant burst of outrage, then cool calm spread through the dragon’s mind.

“Of
course,” said Braun. “How stupid of me! Turmoil and chaos work well for them.
They mean to destabilize human society, then send out these false monks, gifted
with the dragon magic, to take control.”

“They
seize a kingdom here, a nation there,” Draconas remarked. “They have one
kingdom that we know of. My guess is that they have one other—the place where
they take the children. You didn’t happen to see where that wagon of babies
went?”

“They
drove the wagon into the forest that borders the river. From there, they took
to boats, and I lost them. I flew up and down the river, but saw no trace of
them.”

“The
riverbank is thick with trees. They could have left the boats at any place
along the shore, struck out overland. We’ll never find them. It’s like trying
to track weasels.”

“My
father found them,” Braun said. “That is why they killed him.”

“He
knew too much,” Draconas agreed. “And now so do we. You had best be careful, my
friend. Be careful what you say and who hears it.”

“I
will have to take this to Parliament—”

“No!”
Draconas admonished sharply. “Tell Anora, no one else.”

Braun
was silent, his mind gray, subdued. “Can we trust her, do you think?”

“We
have to,” said Draconas flatly, adding after some thought, “yes, I think we
can.”

“How
can you be so sure? At this point, I don’t feel I know anything for certain,”
Braun returned.

“These
monks practice male dragon magic—battle magic. The spell that first monk cast
at me was taught to him by a male dragon. The human females, like those who
attacked you, are taught only defensive magic. It’s actually quite clever of
Maristara and her partner, to divide it up like that. That way, they don’t make
any one human too powerful.”

“Then
you think there are only two of them involved?”

“That
I don’t know. I hope there are only two of them,” Draconas said tersely. “If
there are more . . .” He left that hanging. “You must impress upon Anora that
she cannot tell anyone. She won’t like that. She will want to take it to
Parliament and that is the one thing she must not do. Our one advantage over
our foes is that they don’t know precisely what we know. I intend to keep it
that way. Anora has to decide what is to be done on her own.”

“What
is
to be done?” Braun demanded, frustrated and helpless. “I suppose we
could attack this wretched human kingdom, destroy it, burn it to the ground and
then bury what is left so that no one can ever find it.”

“And
what would you have accomplished, besides killing a few thousand humans?
Maristara would simply hide out in her lair until we had gone, then fly off to
find another kingdom. You would fail to catch her partner, for we have no idea
where or who he is. The humans in this area would be in an uproar. Word that
hundreds of dragons have wiped out a human kingdom would spread throughout the
continent. As you said, their governments would send armies after us and we’d
end up throwing ourselves into the very pit we are trying to avoid.

“At
the very least,” Draconas added, “we should make Maristara exert a little
effort to kill us.”

“I’m
glad you find this amusing,” Braun said coldly.

“Oh,
I do. I’ve been laughing heartily ever since that monk knocked me
half-senseless.”

Draconas
sat brooding, absorbed in his thoughts.

“Look
at it another way,” Braun said suddenly. “If you were Maristara, what would you
do now?”

“Do?”
Draconas shrugged. “Not much. Why should I? I will try to slay these two
humans, of course. They know the truth about me and they might manage to sneak
back into Seth and ruin everything I’ve accomplished.”

He
fell silent, his watchful gaze roving over the hillside and into the skies. He
could see Braun with the rising of the sun—a graceful, winged figure perched
high on the mountain peak, silhouetted against a smear of white, wispy cloud.

“You
have a plan,” said the dragon. “I see it in your mind. It is a good one.”

“No,
it’s not,” said Draconas, irritated at himself. He had not meant his plan for
sharing. He’d thought he’d buried it deep, but apparently he’d missed. “There
are too many variables. And it would be twenty years in the making.”