The Author's Blood

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  The Dragon’s lips trembled as he edged back, glancing left, then right. “You,” he croaked.

  Owen pulled his sword again and spoke so softly that only the Dragon could hear him. “You ask my name? I am the Wormling, commissioned by the King himself to find the Son. You murdered my friends. You sent the minions of time to the Highlands to kill my bride. But now your end has come.”

  “You f-f-forget,” the Dragon said. “You have failed to produce the Son. He is cowering somewhere or dead like his father.”

  “Oh no, foul one. Where the Son is, there the King is also. And I tell you this: he lives.”

  The Dragon’s eyes grew black. “You lie!”

  “I speak the truth. Your days as sovereign are over.”

  “Seize him!” the Dragon roared. “Release the tigren!”

  Owen yelled to the tigren. They emerged and chased the vaxors from the arena.

  The Dragon’s throat rattled, and Owen gathered the prisoners behind him. They huddled as a blast from the Dragon’s mouth hit the sword, making it glow white-hot, the flames deflected.

  “Release the sand snakes!” the Dragon cried.

  The people huddled even closer as the arena grounds began to move and hundreds of snakes slithered from their enclosures. Children whimpered, and men and women looked desperately for safety.

  “Don’t move,” Owen said. With his sword he drew a wide circle around the group, and when the snakes reached the line in the sand, they raised diamond-shaped heads and showed their tongues and fangs. Owen gestured with his sword, and they slithered away, up the walls and into the stands.

  The crowd stampeded, screaming and flailing at the snakes.

  The Dragon shot another blast of fire at the prisoners, but again, Owen fended off the flames.

  “I have an offer for you,” Owen said, but the Dragon continued shooting fire.

  One of the prisoners bolted and ran, and the flames engulfed the man.

  “Stay behind me!” Owen told the rest.

  The Dragon snarled as he moved for a better angle. “You have an offer for me? My demon flyers are here. I will see the rest of you dead.”

  “Listen or regret it,” Owen said, dropping something onto the ground. “Your precious offspring will regret it as well. This is what is left of them. Drucilla is dead, the palace burned to the ground.” He kicked a shell toward the Dragon. “This is all that remains, except for one intact egg.”

  The Dragon picked it up as if examining some ancient artifact. He sniffed and cradled it, then bellowed a painful cry of fire that pierced the sky.

  Scythe flyers descended, and gusts of wind evidenced invisible demon flyers as well. The tigren ran for cover as all the forces of the Dragon were unleashed.

  Owen knew his little ragtag army was not ready for the fight and had but one chance. “Let my friends leave and take me,” he said.

  “You killed Drucilla—and all my children.”

  “All but one.”

  The Dragon’s red eyes were misty with what appeared to be a mix of anger and hatred. “Let them go when my whole army is assembled against you? You can’t hold up that sword forever, Wormling.”

  Owen kicked off his shoe, revealing the scar on his heel. “I am more than the Wormling. My father is the King! I am the Son, heir to the throne and your mortal enemy. The one I sought, whom you meant to kill, and I are one and the same. My marriage will unite the worlds and everyone in them.”

  The Dragon’s lips moved, but no words came. He stared at Owen’s heel. “You?” he said finally.

  Owen nodded. “Now free these and any others in your charge. You can have my life.”

  “No!” a child said. “You’re the King’s Son! You can’t leave us!”

  “Whom do you have but these?” Owen said.

  The Dragon snapped his fingers. “Bring the queen of the west. And the others.”

  RHM appeared over his shoulder. “All the others, sire?”

  “Yes,” he said, calling off the air attack. “And now, Wormling, hand over your weapon.”

  Murmurs swept throughout the hillside where the captives had fled to join Owen’s other friends. Some couldn’t believe the Wormling was the Son. Others thought him crazy for not fighting. Nearly all thought they should keep moving farther from Dragon City.

  “We stay here because that is what the Wormling requested,” Batwing said.

  “That was before he surrendered,” a man said. “He proved he cannot be trusted. How does he know the Dragon won’t simply come and wipe us out?”

  Several spoke at once until the king of the west hushed them. “We must stay together, of one mind.” His wife huddled close and wept.

  “Don’t you see?” a woman said. “The Wormling didn’t care for his own life. He cared for us.”

  “But we would have fought for him,” another said. “We would have helped him defeat the Dragon and bring in his kingdom. Even if it meant our lives.”

  Some said they could never defeat the Dragon and his forces. Others said they should raise up a new leader. “Send an assassin to kill the Dragon, and his forces will scatter.”

  Someone emerged from the heavy fog that enshrouded the mountain and spoke as if he’d been listening all along. “You cannot kill the Dragon by conventional means. He can exist in the Highlands, the Lowlands, and in the heavenly realm.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “How do you know this?”

  “My name is Tusin.” He sat, his cape folding over his body. “I have spent time with the Wormling—the Son. We helped him and his friend Watcher. We knew the King.”

  “What about the Dragon?” a man said. “How do we kill him?”

  “The Book of the King speaks of it. The Wormling told us much about his plan but not all. One thing we know is that the Dragon has layers of scales on his chest and back that make it impossible for even the Sword of the Wormling to pierce all the way to his stony heart.”

  “If it’s impossible to kill him, what are we—?”

  “It’s not impossible. I’m simply saying it will take more than a sword. The Wormling says the plan was laid out by the King in his book. We are to have faith, no matter what.”

  “He will be killed,” someone said. “The Dragon will kill him and then come after us.”

  “We are not alone in this fight,” Tusin said. “We have allies, even inside the Dragon’s trusted circle. And reinforcements.”

  “From where?” the queen said.

  “I don’t know, but the Son promised, and I believe him.”

  “What of our daughter?” the king said.

  Tusin pursed his lips. “The Son has a deep love for all of us but an even deeper love for her. He knew the Dragon would not release her. It’s all in the book.”

  “What are we to do?” the queen said.

  A flutter of wings passed overhead. Tusin rose and moved up the hill. “We stay here. And we prepare for battle.”

  As murmuring rose in the crowd again, a young girl sat crying, grieving the loss of her family.

  Rogers sat beside her, and beside him was a mud-covered Starbuck, cradling the book.

  The Dragon marched into the council room of the coliseum, and all the members applauded. These most fierce and terrible beings in the Lowlands sensed victory. The newest member, Machree, spread his wings and smiled in welcome of the Dragon.

  “Where have you imprisoned the Son? We should kill him now!”

  “He’s your sworn enemy! Flood his cell!”

  “Extinguish him with fire!”

  The Dragon lifted a hand. “Guards watch every door between him and freedom. There is no escape.”

  “Sire, let me be the one to end his life,” Slugspike said. “I will bring his body so you can burn it before the crowd at tomorrow’s ceremony.”

  “Generous of you, Slugspike, but you see, he has not given up the whereabouts of the one offspring that still exists.”

  “Allow me to gain this information from him,”
another said. “I can do it while keeping him alive at the same time.”

  “In due time,” the Dragon said, rising to ceremoniously hang the Sword of the Wormling on the wall. He gazed at it lovingly and scratched himself, his confidence at an all-time high. He turned. “What about you, Machree? As our newest member, what do you think we should do with our prisoner?”

  Machree dipped his head. “I defer to your knowledge and wisdom, Excellency.”

  “I appreciate that, but I really want to hear your thoughts. We’ve become so ingrown. It is useful to get an outsider’s perspective. Please.”

  “Very well. I think it best to use this situation as the ultimate proof that you are sovereign. You were going to execute the girl in front of her mother—”

  “And I will yet,” the Dragon said.

  “Of course, sire. But her mother is gone. How much better to do this in front of the Son and see the look on the his face. . . . Would that not be priceless? He will certainly give you the location of the egg at that point.”

  RHM said, “We only wish we could have met the mother of your child.”

  The Dragon scowled. “She was useful for this task, but that is all. I do not grieve her, just the destruction of the other children.”

  “How can we be sure this egg exists?” Slugspike said. “Could it not be a trick?”

  The Dragon rolled his eyes. “You don’t understand the enemy. He is imprisoned by honesty. He swears by himself and keeps his promises to the letter, and we can exploit that. Knowing that he cannot lie, we can push him to the brink with his bride—how is she, by the way?”

  “The trip took its toll,” RHM said, “but she is lucid, talking only to the one brought with her.”

  “The Son does not know we have both his bride and his sister in custody,” the Dragon said. “We truly have the upper hand now.”

  Velvel raised a hand. “Do we know how the Son got into the arena? Or why?”

  RHM said, “Why? He believed he could kill our leader, of course. As for how, he posed as a dung carrier and slipped past your detail.”

  The vaxor flinched. “I-I’ll have them punished immediately.”

  “Already executed,” the Dragon said. “But it all worked out. Their slip dropped him into our hands.”

  “A thousand pardons, sire,” Velvel said. “I only hope you will rely on me again.”

  “Perhaps you’d like to prove yourself right now.”

  Clara tended to Connie in a room high atop one of the dwellings near the coliseum. They had heard the cheering and seen the smoke and fire, but they hadn’t been able to see what caused any of it. And all the better, Clara thought, for surely someone died in that arena, probably many before the evil celebration was over.

  Vaxors guarded the doors as well as the balcony windows. Clara looked for any way through the ceiling in the bathroom or whether the walls were thin enough to punch through, but the structure was rock solid. The Dragon’s infernal city was sturdily built.

  Even now Connie’s color made her look like death itself, but something was different about her. Passing through to the Lowlands had done something to her that Clara couldn’t explain.

  Clara answered a knock on the door to discover a strange-looking human with a black bag. He was stooped with a scrubby beard and a crooked smile, and he peered through glasses thicker than Coke bottles. “You don’t look so bad for having been stung by the minions.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Clara said. “It was her.”

  “That old woman? Oh, dear, this is going to be a challenge. Yes, indeed.”

  “You work for the Dragon?” Clara said.

  “I work for myself,” he said, toddling to Connie’s bed. He took her hand and checked her pulse, and it looked as if some color came back into her skin.

  “What about Owen?” Connie said.

  “Who?” the man said. “Don’t concern yourself with others. You have enough to concern yourself with right here.”

  The man pulled a candle from his bag, lit it, and held it up to Connie’s eyes. He seemed to have no stethoscope or medicine, but something about him seemed familiar and kind. Quirky, no question. But sensitive to Connie. He patted her hand, and again, her skin looked younger, less wrinkled.

  “Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop,” Clara said. “She looks better already.”

  The man smiled. “I’ve done enough. At least you know she won’t die. Some who are stung stay old, but you’ll see her young again.”

  “Young again?” Clara studied the man as he packed his bag. “Did the Dragon send you? If not, how did you slip past the guards?”

  “I go where I’m needed, princess. Now hold on to whatever hope you’ve got. Understand?”

  “Hardly,” Clara said.

  The man put a hand on her arm, and warmth coursed through her. “Understanding is not your task, is it?”

  “No.”

  He smiled. “Hold fast to what you know to be true, and do not let go of that.”

  Clara opened the door to let him out and found the vaxor guards slumped against the wall, asleep. Down the hall, at the top of the stairs, two more were fast asleep.

  The man smiled and tipped his hat, then rose from his stoop and walked through the gauntlet of vaxors at full height. When he was downstairs and out of sight, Clara heard a snap, and the vaxors suddenly awoke.

  Owen dangled from the wall of his cell under the coliseum. He couldn’t sit because the chains on his wrists were too short, and he couldn’t stand upright because the chains holding his feet were too far from the wall. At first it had been uncomfortable. Now, after hours in the dark, it was excruciating. The guards had beaten him with chains, yelled insults, and spat on him. They mocked his father, saying he was no king compared to the Dragon.

  Owen had been confident he had followed The Book of the King up to now. It had referenced the people of Perolys Gulch and prophesied that the Dragon would try to have offspring. He also knew he was to reveal his true identity to the Dragon. That was to make the Dragon believe he had control over the Son. But Owen had not anticipated being in a dungeon without his sword, the book, or any friend to call his own.

  A rat scurried toward him, whiskers twitching.

  “How are you, little guy?”

  The rat edged back, then raised its head. Owen studied the animal. Its eyes darted; then it turned and ran, tail dragging.

  Soon a vaxor in full uniform unlocked the door and stepped inside with a torch. “Guard!” he yelled. “Bring me the manacle keys.”

  The guard came, keys jangling. “But, sir, we’re not supposed to—”

  “You’ve got him in an impossible position. And look at the water dripping down his back. We’re moving him.” He pointed to a corner where there was straw and just leg-irons.

  Several guards gathered, wielding spears and swords. The lead vaxor released Owen, helped him up, steered him to the corner, applied the leg-irons, and then—to Owen’s surprise—sat and chained himself to Owen’s left wrist. He ordered the others to leave and lock the door.

  “Thank you,” Owen said. “I was losing all feeling in my legs.”

  “We should respect our enemies, and you are one prized prisoner. My name is Velvel. You slipped by my men, and now I’m paying the price.”

  “I remember you,” Owen said. “You knew Daagn and served with him.”

  “Yes,” the man said harshly. “And it was your trickery that killed him.”

  “I simply used the Dragon’s anger against him. Besides, Daagn wanted me dead.”

  “I don’t imagine we will come to agree on anything here tonight.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Velvel. We can agree we won’t come to any agreement.”

  The vaxor shrugged and nodded. “Good point.”

  After several moments of silence, Owen said, “Can I ask why you follow the Dragon?”

  “Sure. He compels my allegiance by his power.”

  “So much for the official answer. Now really. Wha
t about him makes you want to join him?”

  “Because he would kill me otherwise.”

  “So you fear him.”

  “I’m not sure we should continue this.”

  “On my honor, I won’t divulge anything you say.”

  Velvel seemed to study him. “Still, this conversation can go nowhere good.”

  “You wish to discover something about me or you wouldn’t be here,” Owen said. “Am I right?”

  Velvel inched closer. “There is an intact egg, correct?”

  Owen nodded knowingly. So that was it. “I did not damage it in the least. I left it in a warm place, so it should be fine. Unless, of course, some animal happens along and cracks it.”

  “You should tell me the location. You don’t want the Dragon’s wrath coming down on you if something should happen to it.”

  “No, there is a time for everything, and now is not the time to reveal this.”

  “How do you make these decisions, Wormling? How do you know what to do?”

  “I listen to my father’s voice. I read the words he left for me. He loves me. That’s why I follow him.”

  “I do not know what it means to follow someone other than out of fear.”

  Owen was moved. “Tell me about your father. What was he like?”

  “I don’t see how that could possibly—”

  “Humor me,” Owen said.

  The vaxor sighed. “He was huge. Brutal when dealing with your kind. He would be gone for long stretches and return covered with the blood of his enemies.”

  “How did he treat you?”

  Velvel shrugged. “As a nuisance. I was always in his way.”

  “We have much in common, except for the blood of the enemies part.”

  “You said your father loved you.”

  “My real father does. But the one who raised me, the man I thought was my father, was distant and treated me like a nuisance. My real father is the true King, who does not make people follow him. He wants them to become whole.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “This world is not all there is,” Owen said. “There is another just as real. My father wants to unite the seen with the unseen. When these worlds are whole, everything will change. His love will be seen, and we will follow him because we love him, not because he threatens us.”