Authors: Margaret Weis
Marcus swung the sword and brought it down with all his might on the claw
that had hold of him.
The sword shattered. The claw burst into flame. The fire seared him, burned
him. Marcus almost fainted from the pain, but he made himself hold fast to
consciousness, for he must not fall inside the dragon’s lair. He lurched back
into his own quiet little room and, with his last strength, slammed shut the
door.
Outside, the dragon raged, the fire blazed.
Inside all was dark and silent. Marcus let go of
the sword, let go of the pain. He curled up in a ball in the darkness and shut
out the noise and the heat and his brother’s betrayal. . . .
“There he is.”
“I don’t see him.”
“Over there. That lump on the pavement.”
The two monks approached warily, gliding noiselessly down the street. A
blade glittered in the moonlight.
“Quick and clean,” one ordered. “Strike the heart.”
The knife blade flashed silver . . .
“Stop!”
The monk gave a start, as if he’d been frightened out of his skin, and
dropped the knife.
“Grald!” the monk gasped. “What are you doing here?” He looked behind him,
bewildered. “I just saw you back there—”
“I don’t recall having to answer to you for my comings and goings.” Grald
clenched his fist. “Be gone. I have no more need of you.”
The monk raised his hands as though to ward off a blow and ventured a
pitiable protest.
“But, Grald, you ordered us to slay him—”
“And now I order you
not
to slay him,” Grald said angrily. “I’ve
changed my mind.”
The monks hesitated, did not move.
“What are you staring at?” Grald roared. “Be gone!” He took a step toward
them, huge fists doubled. “Since when do you feebleminded lunatics dare disobey
me?”
The monks turned and fled.
Grald bent over Marcus. Placing his hand on Marcus’s neck, Grald felt for a
pulse. Satisfied that the young man was still alive, Grald shook his head in
exasperation. Grald flung the young man over one shoulder as easily as if he
were a child, the child of the little room.
“Maybe next time you’ll listen to me,” Draconas
grunted.
THE SOUND OF KNOCKING WAS PERSISTENT. IT WOULD not go away, much as Evelina
tried to shut it out, but insisted on dragging her from her only refuge—sleep.
Struggling against waking, she opened her eyes a slit. The room was gray with
the first wretched light of dawn. The roosters weren’t even up yet, if there
were roosters in this godforsaken place. Evelina pulled the blanket over her
head. The knocking continued.
“I brought you some food,” called a voice outside the locked door.
“Go away, Brother or Father or whatever you call yourself,” she yelled. “I
told you last night—I don’t want anything to eat!”
“You have to eat,” the voice said gravely. “Otherwise you will make yourself
ill.”
It was not one of the crazy-eyed monks. Evelina opened her eyes.
“Yen? Is that you?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’ve brought you bread and—”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
Evelina sighed deeply. Sitting up in bed, she rubbed her eyes and yawned.
What was he doing up at this hour? She didn’t know, but she couldn’t afford to
lose him. Clasping the blanket around her, she called out petulantly, “Where
have you been? Why didn’t you come to me last night? Don’t stand out in the
hall talking through the keyhole. Come inside.”
He opened the door with his shoulder and entered the room. He carried in his
hands a tray covered with a cloth and he had a bundle draped over his arm.
Evelina barely glanced at the tray. She was far more interested in the bundle.
“A dress!” she cried. “For me?”
Ven saw bare shoulders and neck, golden hair rumpled, a face flushed with
sleep and pleasure. The black habit lay in a heap on the floor. He looked away
from her.
“I’ll leave the tray here and let you get dressed. I hope these clothes are
what you require. I asked one of the women—”
“I’m sure the clothes will be fine,” said Evelina. She shifted her position
on the bed, let the blanket slip a little, provocatively, and gave him a smile.
“You don’t need to go. Just turn your back. . . .”
“I’ll wait outside.” Ven placed the tray on the table, hung the clothes over
a chair, and then left the room. He shut the door firmly behind him.
“Don’t go far,” Evelina called. “I want to talk to you.”
Scrambling out of bed, she seized the clothes, shook them out, eyed them: a
linen chemise and petticoat, woolen bodice and skirt, woolen stockings, a
woolen cloak. Plain and shabby and dull. Her lips pursed in disgust, but then
she shrugged. At least it was better than that horrid nun’s garb. Evelina
dressed hurriedly, her mind on her mission. She slid the chemise over her head,
drew on the stockings, stepped into the petticoat and then into the skirt. She
cinched the bodice tight and tugged down the chemise to better display her
prime assets.
“You may come in,” Evelina called, adding in wheedling tones, as he opened
the door, “Next time, bring me a comb.”
She dragged her fingers through her hair, toyed with a curl that lay
languidly on her breast. “I must look a fright.”
Any other man would have made the requisite gallant reply. Ven took her
literally, said only, “I’ll bring you a comb.”
Evelina bit her lip in exasperation, forced a smile, and sidled closer to
him.
“I have something important to talk to you about.”
“And I want to talk to you. I heard you left the guesthouse last night.
Where did you go?”
“For a walk,” said Evelina. “You told me I was free to leave. Or have you
now changed your mind?”
She was having trouble with her eyes. Ven wore different clothes: a
loose-fitting shirt, open at the neck, and tight-fitting breeches slit at the
seams in order to fit over his scaled, beast’s legs. He wore no boots. His
clawed feet scraped on the floor. Blue scales glittered. It was as if he was
flaunting the fact that he was a monster, taunting her. Surely he must know how
it disgusted her to look at him.
“You can go where you want by day. You shouldn’t leave the compound,” he was
saying. “It’s dangerous for you to walk the city at night by yourself.”
“Danger!” Evelina scoffed. “Danger from what? Being bored to death?” Her
smile slipped and trembled, her lip quivered. “There is nothing to do here. No
taverns. No one singing or dancing.”
She drew nearer to him and lifted her hands, as if she would touch him. He
drew back a step, and she hurriedly changed her motion. She clasped her hands
together, rested her chin on the fingers, and regarded him with imploring eyes.
She kept her eyes on his face, not looking at his legs.
“I want to leave this place,” she said.
“You are free—”
“I mean, leave this city.”
He was silent.
“I don’t like it here,” she continued. “There’s nothing to do, nothing to
see, no one to talk to.” She made a disparaging gesture at the nun’s habit. “I
might as well be shut up in a nunnery.”
“What has this to do with me?” Ven asked.
Evelina flushed prettily, cast down her eyes, and said softly, “I want you
to come with me.”
He said nothing and Evelina was nonplussed. She had expected him to fling
himself on her with rapture. He just stood there like a dolt. She fought down a
desire to scratch out his eyes.
“We could leave tonight. When it’s dark. Just you and I. Alone. Together.”
“I don’t understand why you want me to come with you,” Ven said. “You
despise me.”
Evelina started to protest, to feed him blandishments, the honeyed words
that had always seduced her other lovers. When she tried to say them to him—to
those intense blue eyes—the words shriveled up, dried out.
What did I expect?
she asked herself scornfully.
He’s not a man
like other men. He’s a beast, an animal. His feelings are low and base as any
mongrel’s.
“If you must know, I can’t find the way out of this horrible place by
myself,” she said at last, sullenly. “I walked around and around the wall last
night, searching for the gate—”
“There is no gate,” Ven said.
Evelina gave a girlish giggle. “Oh, come now, don’t tease me—”
“I’m not teasing, Evelina.”
“There must be a way out!” Her tone sharpened. “There is a way in. . . .”
“True. But the entrance and the exit are both controlled by the dragon.”
“Dragon?” Evelina repeated impatiently. “What dragon? What are you talking
about?”
“The dragon who fathered me,” said Ven. “The dragon who made me what I
am—half-human, half-beast.”
Evelina stared at him. She might have thought that he was jesting, but she
knew enough of him to know that he lacked the capacity to jest. His father—a
dragon.
Of course, that would explain a great deal.
She looked down at the scaled legs, the clawed feet, and realized that she’d
never wondered how he’d come to be this way— a beast-man.
How could I be expected to?
she asked herself crossly.
I’ve seen
so many freaks in my life: men who look like elephants, children with their
heads stuck together, women with three breasts. I thought he was just another
one of those.
The question of “how” he had come by his beast-legs may not have occurred to
her, but a dragon for a father? Evelina didn’t believe it and she didn’t
not
believe it. The truth was—she didn’t care. His father could be a frog, for
all it mattered to her. She had to get out of this hidden city and back to the
world, a world of men with money who wanted to spend it all on her. Ven knew
the way. His dragon feet could carry him there and carry her with him. She
wrenched her gaze back to meet his. Her eyelids fluttered. She smiled
tremulously.
“Your father the . . . uh, dragon . . . controls the exits? That’s
wonderful, Ven. I’m sure your father will show you how to open the gate if you
ask him. If he refuses,” she added, having had some experience with
recalcitrant fathers, “we’ll trick him. It won’t be hard. You’ll see—” She
glared at him. “Stop shaking your head. Didn’t you hear me? I want us to leave
together. Together!”
“I don’t want to leave,” he said calmly.
“But I do!” she cried, stamping her foot. “I must leave! I hate this place!
I’m in a cage— No, no! I didn’t mean that! Oh, Ven, I’m sorry. . . .”
Too late. The blue eyes darkened, then caught fire. He turned away from her.
Panic-stricken, watching her freedom walk out the door, Evelina flung
herself after him. Clasping her arms around his waist, she buried her head in
his back and wept. Her fear was very real and, this time, so were her tears.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about what they did to you. I know you
hate me and I don’t blame you, but if I stay here, I’ll die! I’ll truly die!”
She felt his body quiver. He reached down to her hands and loosened her
grasp, then turned around and took hold of her. His touch was gentle and
tender. She thought she felt his lips brush her hair.
She whispered softly, “Help me get away from here, Ven, and I’ll do anything
you want. I’ll sleep with you. I promise.”
His arms stiffened. He let go of her and backed away.
“What’s the matter now?” she cried impatiently. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“Are you going to eat your breakfast?” he asked.
Evelina grabbed hold of the small table on which he’d placed the food and
upended it. Food and tray and crockery crashed to the floor. “No, I’m not going
to eat it. Or anything! Ever! I’ll starve myself to death.”
“You have the knife I gave you,” he said coolly. “Stabbing yourself would be
much quicker and less painful.”
“I’ll do it! I’ll kill myself! Then you’ll be sorry!” Evelina made a dart
for the knife that she’d secreted under the pillow.
By the time she had the blade in hand and turned around, Ven was gone. The
door was closing behind him.
Evelina stood seething. Muttering curses, she tossed the knife back onto the
bed and flounced down beside it. A thought came to her.
He will show me the way out, whether he means to or not. Sooner or later he
will leave, and when he does, I will be right behind him. I have only to watch
for my chance.
Perhaps he was planning on leaving now. True, he’d told her he didn’t want
to leave, but all men were liars.
Ven occupied the room next to hers. Evelina could hear him next door, moving
about. She crept to the door, opened it a crack, and peeped out. He had not
shut his door. It stood wide open.
She shut her door quietly. Grabbing up the knife, she bound the hilt into
the drawstring that held her petticoat around her waist and pulled the bodice
down over it so that the bulge wouldn’t show. She wrapped herself in her cloak
and hurried back to the door. She did not open it, but stood next to it,
breathless with anticipation.
The door to his room closed. She heard him walk past her room, heading down
the hallway. She opened her door silently, peeped out.
He wore his cloak. He was going somewhere. Evelina waited until Ven had
started down the stairs, then she glided after him, the feel of the knife
reassuring against her belly. About halfway down the spiral stairs, his
footsteps stopped. He was talking to someone. Evelina paused, listening.
“Dragon’s Son.” It was one of the monks. “You are up and about early this
morning. Going for a walk? Excellent. I will come with you. I am in need of
some exercise—”
There was a gasp, a crunching sound, and a thump. Mystified, Evelina stood
poised on the stairs, wondering what had happened, afraid to venture any
farther.
The sound of a door shutting impelled her to action.
She hastened down the stairs. At the bottom, she came to an abrupt halt.
The crumpled body of a monk lay at the foot of the stairs. The crunching
sound had been bone breaking. His neck was broken. The monk did not move, and
she assumed he was dead.