SummerDanse

by Terie Garrison

  Oh, my son, my son. You have done so much, sacrificed so much of your life in our cause. My pride in you swells my heart nigh to bursting. It is really you? Are you really here? I pray your indulgence, let me touch your face yet again, assure myself I do not dream.

  Oh, my son, my son. We sit here poised on the cusp of victory, a victory of which we would have little hope if not for you. Join me in a celebratory cup. Let us lift our glasses aloft and toast one another. Let us taste the sweetness of anticipated victory.

  Oh, my son, my son.

  Everything froze. My heart. My breath. My very thought. In an instant of clarity, I saw it all, how I had been toyed with by these two powerful men.

  Then my flight instinct took over.

  I spun on my heel and made a dash for the nearest door. Laughter followed me. I turned the handle, but the door didn’t budge.

  Looking over my shoulder, I found the two of them advancing toward me. I smacked the door in frustration. The other doors would also be locked, but perhaps a window would offer escape. I ran to the nearest one and tugged with all my strength, but it might have been nailed shut for all the good it did.

  Desperate, I slammed my fist into the glass and shattered the pane. My hand passed through, glass shards slashing it. But I had not chosen well, for the window I’d broken was a small one, far too small for me to get out. Footsteps drew near.

  A weapon. Perhaps I could protect myself from them that way. Disregarding the blood flowing from my hand, I ran to the fireplace, snatched up the poker, and turned to face my adversaries. Grasping the poker in both hands, I held it in front of me.

  They approached. I held my ground, back to the marble fireplace, ready to smash their heads if necessary to escape. They stopped just out of range.

  Zhantar smiled, and it no longer looked benevolent. “Now, Donavah, do you not think this is poor repayment of my hospitality?”

  I stood breathing heavily, eyes flicking back and forth between him and Anazian.

  “Come now,” he went on. “Surely you can see that your behavior is quite absurd. This is no way to treat your host and his beloved son.”

  “I never told you my name,” I said. Did he think I was a complete fool?

  He raised his eyebrows. “You are right, Anazian. She is a sharp one. Now, Donavah, no one needs to get hurt. Put that down, and come speak to us in a rational manner.”

  I just gripped the poker tighter.

  Anazian waved a hand lazily in my direction, then unclasped his black cloak and threw it over the back of a nearby chair.

  The poker suddenly heated up, burning my palms. With an involuntary cry of pain, I dropped it, and it clattered loudly on the stone floor. The odor of hot metal filled the air.

  Zhantar shook his head. “You are only making this harder on yourself. You must know that it is futile to try to escape. And if you keep trying, we will be obliged to make your life far more miserable than you have yet known.”

  I still stood my ground, trying to ignore the pain.

  “My father,” said Anazian turning to Zhantar, “let her stand there as long as she likes. The loss of blood from those cuts will weaken her soon enough. Let us sit and enjoy the spectacle.”

  Oh, how I hated him. How I hated them both.

  I could not give in and submit, nor would I be able to resist them long. My right hand was indeed bleeding profusely from several gashes. Even now I could feel myself weakening. I leaned back against the marble. It was cool, and I pressed my palms against it. But that didn’t really help, and I grew dizzy. I imagined I could smell my own flesh burning. I struggled to stay standing. My breath came in gasps, and Anazian laughed at me.

  I don’t know how long I stood there, but as my strength waned, my hatred waxed. They might have me cornered this time, but they would never beat me down.

  Eventually, I slid to the ground. Everything went black, and I passed out.

  I wandered in a hazy dream world. Anazian played Talisman and Queen with Zhantar as I looked on and tried to guess their next moves. They didn’t speak as they battled it out, trying to Secure the Queen’s Heart.

  Rennirt licked the blood from my hand and swelled with power, his green eyes glittering beautifully in his dark, handsome face. Grey, a knife hilt protruding from his back, held me close and tried to kiss me one last time as he died. I wept, and Chase licked my tears.

  Everything went white. Anazian’s laughter filled my ears, going on and on for endless hours until I screamed for him to stop. Angry, he filled my mouth with stones that burned my tongue and stole my maejic.

  Zhantar stood before me, and I pummeled his face with my fists. He simply smiled at me and offered more wine. I tried to push him away, but someone had tied my hands behind my back. He approached, and I couldn’t move. He threw the wine at me, and it etched a labyrinth into my face.

  Xyla snatched Breyard from the ground and ate him, his bones crunching between her teeth. Traz beat her with his wooden staff, so she ate him, too. Then Yallick mounted her, and they flew off into the sky, where Mama and Papa danced against the backdrop of the setting sun.

  I woke up back in my room, my blistered palms painful and one hand swaddled in bandages that smelled of healing herbs.

  “And finally, those eyes open,” said a voice I recognized. Still a bit drowsy, I couldn’t quite place it, nor did I care to try. What I wanted was to go back to sleep, but without the unsettling dreams.

  Then a man leaned over me, offering a cup from which to drink. An old man with short-cropped white hair and black beard. Zhantar! And now his smile looked shrewd and threatening rather than kind and concerned.

  I lifted a hand and knocked the cup away. It clanked and rolled across the floor. I paid for this action with a sharp wave of pain, but it was worth it to see the look of surprise that replaced Zhantar’s smile. He shrugged and sat back down in the chair next to my bed.

  “My son suggested that perhaps it would be wise to bind you, wrist and ankle, to the posts of your bed. His methods are rather more brutal than mine, I give you that. But perhaps more effective.”

  The implicit threat in his calmly spoken words was clear. I would have to go very carefully. I closed my eyes and willed myself to fall back asleep.

  “There will be none of that, young lady,” Zhantar said. “I wish to speak with you, and you will listen. If you give me any trouble, my son will be happy to take over.”

  Reluctantly, I sat up in bed, but I refused to meet his eye.

  “Now, before we begin, let us make something perfectly clear. I know who you are, I know what you are, and I know where your friends are.”

  I tried not to let my reaction show. Could it be true? No, he must be bluffing. He couldn’t possibly know where the mages had gone.

  “So the question is, what are we to do with you?”

  “Why not just kill me?” I growled. “Or is it that your precious son can’t manage to do it no matter how hard he tries?”

  Zhantar moved closer to my bed and leaned over me. “Killing, my dear, is too good for you. If you do not keep a civil tongue in your mouth, I will personally make sure that you wish for a very, very long time that you were dead.”

  I averted my gaze.

  “Now, allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Zhantar, DragonLord.” He paused to let that sink in. He wasn’t just a dragonmaster, he was the chief of them all. I was still trying to take that in when he went on. “The fact is that I am intrigued by your power. It is very great. Oh, it was amusing to watch you lie about having ‘a little magic.’” He let out a small laugh as he resettled himself in the chair. “As if a little magic were sufficient to bring the red dragons back from Stychs.”

  I gasped aloud. How did he know so much? Did he indeed know everything?

  “I propose we begin again, this time bein
g honest with one another. For let me remind you that you have not been entirely truthful with me any more than I have been with you.”

  I just glared at him.

  “Well, I shall go forward as if we have an agreement. I hope you will come to find I am worthy of the truth in return.”

  His arrogance left me almost breathless. How could he possibly imagine I would ever come to trust him, when I was being held captive in his own house?

  “Ah, I perceive from the indignant lift of your chin that you object to the treatment you have received here. I confess that my means have been duplicitous. But I ask that you listen to what I have to say, then you can judge for yourself whether the ends called for them.

  “But first, you need to eat.” He rose from the chair and went to the door, where he spoke quietly to someone on the other side. He then went to the window and stood looking out. I tried to put the pieces together.

  Well, at least I now knew why Anazian had turned traitor. The thought struck me that maybe he hadn’t “turned” traitor at all but had been a plant from the beginning. That would explain why the mages had been “discovered” by the dragonmasters—their betrayer had lived among them for years.

  Now the timing of the attacks made sense, too. When Xyla and I had joined the mages, Anazian must have guessed at the significance. Perhaps Yallick had even told Anazian about his suspicions that I was the one spoken of in the prophecy. That would certainly explain why Anazian had tried to kill me, as well as why the dragonmasters had attacked the mages in the mountains. Small pleasure it was to consider the irony that their attack was the very thing that sent Xyla to Stychs to get the red dragons.

  But what about now? Why had they captured me and brought me here? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to kill me?

  Nilla came in with a tray. Her normally placid face looked tired, grey, and worried. She frowned as she watched me eat, and when the injuries to my hands made it hard to handle the spoon, she fed me the broth herself.

  When she’d gone, Zhantar resumed his seat.

  “A new age is dawning,” he said, as if there had been no interruption. “The time of the kings is ending, and we who are powerful in the arcane arts rise up to take their place.”

  This was not at all what I expected, and despite myself, I listened keenly to him.

  “You have great power, girl, and you know its flavor, its feel, its scent. You know what it is to use the power for good. That is what we intend to do, to wield the power for the good of the people.”

  I stared at him. He was talking about treason. Real treason. Not breaking some petty rule to which the king had attached the name “treason,” but the real thing. And with a sinking sense of doom, I realized how neatly the trap had been sprung. Having told me this plan, he would never, ever let me go.

  A smile blossomed on Zhantar’s face. “I see you understand.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw. “That is enough discourse for today. I will leave you now. To think.”

  He rose in a fluid motion and a moment later was gone. I heard a bolt slide, locking me in.

  To think, indeed.

  I would never leave this place. Not as a free person. Zhantar seemed to think that he could convince me to join the dragonmasters, but he would learn how wrong he was. I would die first. I gasped at that thought. But, yes, I would die first. I would never give in, so sooner or later, while I was yet young or when I was old, I would die in captivity. Just like so many generations of dragons. Cooped up, trapped in a net, enslaved to someone else’s will. That unhappy thought accompanied me to sleep.

  I was awakened I don’t know how much later by my door slamming. Anazian stood there, no longer dressed in his fine black clothes but wearing simple tan trousers and tunic, and holding a basket in one hand.

  I leapt out the opposite side of the bed. My vision went black from getting up too fast, but I backed up until I was against the wall. When I could see again, he hadn’t moved, but he was giving me a lopsided grin.

  “Get back into bed, Donavah.”

  “Come and make me.” It was the first thing that came to mind to say, and childish though it was, at least it wiped the smile off his face.

  “Few things would give me more pleasure,” he said in a low, threatening voice. “But I daresay the pleasure would be all mine and none of yours. I suggest you think carefully before giving me such an invitation again.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. A fleeting thought passed through my mind, wondering whether I could be sure of dying if I were to jump out the window. But such a thought was not only distasteful but also unworthy. It certainly couldn’t be construed as a victory for me, even if it did deny my adversaries victory.

  Anazian took another step. “Come here. Now,” he said in a low voice. “Or I will make you.”

  I stood a moment longer trying to gather my wits and courage. Then, slowly, I went back to the bed and sat on it, every muscle tensed.

  He set the basket on the table next to the bed. “I have come to tend to your hands. Move over here and sit quietly.”

  He took my left hand and examined it. Waves of pain washed over me as, with an ungentle touch, he slathered salve over the blistered skin. The right one was even worse. When he unwrapped the bandages, I saw that the gashes from the broken window had been deep enough to require stitching. Anazian smeared an ointment on them that stung, then more of the other salve on my palm.

  He put his things back into the basket, then took my chin and forced me to look up at him. With his free hand, he stroked my face. His fingers lingered on the mark on my left cheek. He traced the design with a fingernail, sending a shiver down my spine. “I will find out the story behind this,” he said. “But now, business calls.” He took his basket and left the room.

  Tears of frustration sprang to my eyes, but I dashed them away. In that moment, I came to myself as if from a long, exhausting dream. I was in a tight spot, no point in denying that. A tight spot from which it didn’t appear likely I would extricate myself. But that didn’t mean I had to act like a victim. I needed to start thinking clearly, paying attention to what was said to me, and forming a plan. Range their Talismans around me as they might, I would make Anazian and Zhantar dance a merry dance if they wanted to Secure the Queen’s Heart.

  Nilla brought my breakfast and left. I ate slowly, trying to make the meal last as long as possible. After I dressed, I stood at the window, gazing out at a grey sky that suggested rain later. I heard a noise behind me. Whirling round, I found Zhantar sitting in a chair, one leg crossed over the other and hands folded primly on top of a large book in his lap. I turned my back on him and stared out the window. How dare he slip into my room like that! I concentrated on remaining calm and not letting the DragonLord rattle me.

  “Good, good,” said Zhantar in a pleased voice that aggravated me. “Now, sit.” He gestured at the other chair.

  Not wanting to push too much and overstep myself, I paused only a moment before sitting down.

  “You have a pleasing voice, and I wish you to read to me.”

  He lifted the book from his lap. Its ancient leather binding had no writing or decoration that I could observe. The edges of the pages were cut unevenly, and ribbons of many colors spilled out from where they marked pages. Zhantar opened to a page marked with a wide scarlet ribbon, then turned the book around and placed it on my lap. He licked his upper lip, gave me a sly look, and placed a finger at a particular point on the page.

  “There, let us see what you make of that. Begin reading.”

  The words contained herein are for the eyes of the worthy. Read on, if you dare, but beware the consequences.

  Knowledge is a dangerous thing. It can lift a ruler up in one breath and cast him down in the next. Like a double-edged sword, it cuts both ways

  If knowledge you seek, be pure of heart and of pure blood. Non
e others shall find what they seek. Instead, they shall find death and destruction, or, if favor shines on them, they shall simply find nothing. For knowledge must be guarded, hid from the undeserving, protected from those who might corrupt it.

  Read on, if you dare, but I deny all culpability if what you find is not that which you seek but instead ends in death and destruction.

  I read from the book. But as I did, a strange thing happened. I couldn’t remember a word I’d read. Startled, I looked up to find Zhantar leaning forward and watching me with an eager expression on his face.

  “Carry on,” he said, making an impatient motion with his hand.

  When I looked back down to the page, the words I’d already read had disappeared. I stared.

  “Read,” he demanded, tapping the page.

  With an uncomfortable feeling that something was very, very wrong, I resumed. The next hour had an unreal quality to it, as I read out pages and pages of whose contents I had no memory. When I paused to turn a page, Zhantar didn’t speak or move; he sat as still as a statue, he green eyes glittering with a hunger I didn’t understand.

  After an hour, he stopped me, took the book, and set it on the table.

  “You are still alive, I see,” he finally said.

  “Yes,” seemed to be the only possible reply.

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I am not surprised. No, indeed, on the contrary, I am pleased. You are one of us.”

  Anger boiled out of me. I leapt to my feet and walked to the opposite side of the room. I took several deep breaths to keep my voice from shaking before I said, “No, I am not one of you. And nothing you do or say can change that.” I gathered up as much courage and dignity as I could, then turned to face him. “You might as well just kill me now.”

  He beamed. “Ah, now this is much better. I had begun to believe that my son had brought me the wrong girl.”

  “Maybe he did. Maybe your precious son isn’t very good at getting things right. He certainly didn’t manage to kill me the first two times he tried.”