dragon archives 05 - forever a dragon

by Linda K Hopkins

  “Eleven,” he said morosely. “Who would’ve thought my pretty young girl would turn into her mother so soon?”

  “Come on, it can’t be that bad,” Lleland said with a laugh.

  “It wasn’t so bad at first, but now with the baby coming in a few months, she nags me from morning to night.” Scott drained his ale in one gulp. “How was your trip?”

  “Good.”

  “Did you see Drake?”

  “I did. He told me nothing new.”

  “Grant didn’t think he would. What was he like? He must be pretty old.”

  “He, er, hardly looks his age. I don’t think he’d have any trouble slaying another dragon, if he wanted.”

  “But he must be at least fifty! Probably even older! Is it true there are dragons in the mountains?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you kill any?”

  “No.”

  “So you’re taking a hunting party?”

  The barmaid retuned with two tankards, which she placed on the table with a smile in Scott’s direction. Curly brown locks fell around his face, and he pushed them aside as he smiled back.

  “The Northern Mountains are Drake’s territory,” Lleland said. “If there’s a problem, he’ll deal with it.”

  “But the dragons are still alive. And I still have to kill my first beast!”

  “Well, it won’t be one of those. Those dragons aren’t a threat.”

  “From what I’ve heard, all dragons are a threat.”

  Lleland shrugged. “Not these. They’ve lived peacefully in the mountains for years.”

  “Then why do we hunt them?”

  “I don’t know,” Lleland snapped. “Perhaps some are more dangerous than others.”

  Scott leaned back in his seat and stared at Lleland with eyebrows raised. “What’s wrong?”

  Lleland sighed and took a long draught. “Nothing. It’s just … I don’t think all dragons should be hunted.”

  “You? Don’t think all dragons should be hunted?” Scott laughed. “I never thought to hear such words from your lips.” Lleland glanced away in irritation. “Was it something Drake said that made you change your mind?”

  “You could say that.”

  “So it’s true that he isn’t interested in hunting dragons?”

  “He’s definitely not interested! In fact, he has quite a fondness for the creatures.”

  “Fondness? That’s rich! Who could ever love such hideous monsters?”

  Lleland watched as a fly landed on the table and walked across the scratched surface. “Who indeed?” he said.

  Lleland received an official invitation to Syngen Gail’s party two days later, written in fine script on thick vellum and stamped with the official seal. He carried it in the pocket of his doublet the following Friday as he made his way across the city to the Ambassador’s residence. The house was built on the river, downstream from the royal palace. Hundreds of lanterns lit the walkway, and a pair of footmen waited at the door to usher the visitors into the towering hall beyond. As Lleland stepped through the door, his heart sank. What Ambassador Gail had described as a little party included a hundred people or more, filling the huge hall. The room glittered with hundreds of candles, tapestries covered the walls depicting various battles, and a huge fire roared in the center.

  “Ah, Master Seaton, I’m glad you could make it.” Lleland turned to see Syngen Gail making his way towards him. He was dressed in a gold silk doublet embroidered with red, which matched his bright red breeches. He had no need for padding on the shoulders, Lleland noticed, and his stomach was still flat and firm beneath the clothing. “Let me introduce you to some of the other guests.” He led Lleland around the room, finally leaving him alone with a man named Wilson. Lleland nodded politely as Wilson talked about the weather, elucidated his views on the grip of power the city merchants exercised over the king, and then launched into a diatribe on the evils of taxes.

  The dinner bell rang, and Lleland turned away in relief. He had only taken a few steps when a footman appeared at his elbow. “This way, Master,” he said, indicating the main table on the dais.

  “Are you sure?” Lleland said, surprised.

  “Yes. Ambassador Gail pointed you out himself.” He led Lleland to a chair, covered in silk, near the center of the table, and Lleland waited as the other guests assembled. Muriel mounted the dais a moment later on her uncle’s arm, and she darted a quick smile at Lleland as she took the seat next to him. She was dressed in a dark red gown trimmed with white lace which reached her throat, while her golden hair had been braided and twisted around her head and covered with a net decorated with pearls. The shade of the gown reminded Lleland of Lydia, who had once worn a similar color. But her hair always hung down her back, like a shimmering, silky curtain. He swallowed and pushed the memory away.

  “I asked Uncle Syngen to seat you beside me,” Muriel said as Lleland took his place beside her. “Was that wrong of me?”

  “Not at all, Mistress,” he said with a smile.

  She leaned back in her seat and carefully placed a napkin over her knees. “Uncle Syngen has arranged a minstrel to entertain us tonight,” she said. “He can sing, dance, juggle and tumble!”

  A platter of food was placed on the table before them, and Muriel helped herself to a small portion of roasted quail. “Uncle Syngen says you teach at Kings College,” she said as Lleland loaded his plate. “What do you teach?”

  “Philosophy,” Lleland replied.

  “You’ve studied the great masters,” she said. “I only know a very little, and can speak Latin but poorly.” Lleland smiled, remembering his surprise when Lydia conversed in the ancient language, and her annoyance at his astonishment. Muriel looked away. “You’re laughing at me,” she said. The color was rising in her cheeks.

  “Forgive me, Mistress, you reminded me of someone. Please don’t think I’m laughing at you.”

  “It’s just that many people think I cannot be interested in philosophy and other such subjects.”

  “And are you?”

  “Oh, yes! I wish I could attend university and read Aristotle and Plato.”

  “There’s no reason why you can’t study them on your own, Mistress. I’d be happy to lend you my books and direct you on where to begin.”

  “Oh, would you?”

  “Certainly. I have a slim volume of writings that would be a good place to start. It’s all in Latin, though,” he added. “Do you think you know enough to follow?”

  “If I am unsure of something I could ask Uncle Syngen.”

  Another course of food was placed before them, and Lleland waited as Muriel took a spoonful of fish, before piling his own plate. There was a scraping of chairs, and Lleland glanced around to see a man nimbly flipping head over heels into the room while holding a fiddle in one hand. He landed on his feet and started scratching out a tune as the guests clapped their hands. It made him think of Storbrook. Lleland glanced at Muriel, who was watching the minstrel with eager enjoyment. Her enthusiasm reminded him of Lydia, but where Lydia was bold and forthright, unconcerned about the opinions of others, Muriel was quiet-spoken and demure. He turned to watch the minstrel, laughing with the other guests when he tumbled to the floor.

  “Isn’t this wonderful?” Muriel said, her eyes shining. “I’m so glad you could join us this evening.”

  “Thank you, Mistress,” Lleland said.

  Further entertainments followed, and when the meal was finally finished, the tables were pushed aside as the minstrel began to recite poems of love and love lost. With a shy smile Muriel left Lleland and joined her friends, and Lleland moved to the back of the hall, where a few others were lingering. Syngen wandered over and took a place beside him. “I understand you promised to lend Muriel one of your books,” he said.

  “That’s correct. She expressed an interest in philosophy.”

  “She’s lived a sheltered and protected life, Master Seaton. The kind of life, I think, that you’re not familiar
with.”

  Lleland glanced at Syngen, but his expression was inscrutable. “I’m well aware of our different stations. I seek only to provide guidance to someone eager to learn.”

  “You misunderstand me,” Syngen said. “I’m not concerned about your station in life, as far as it extends to your helping her – I think it would be good for Muriel to pursue other interests. I merely wish to give you a better understanding of her character. I had thought of approaching the queen to discuss her entering court, but I’m afraid the queen dowager is a little, er, indisposed to me.”

  “You know her well?”

  “We were childhood playmates. I believe she thought I’d offer for her hand, but I was not the marrying type. She got a king instead, but never managed to forgive me. But you’re not interested in my personal affairs. Muriel mentioned you explored some of the old ruins when you traveled north. Was that your main area of interest?”

  “I’m a curious man by nature, Ambassador, and am interested in anything new and interesting. I’d already traveled the southern part of the kingdom extensively, but this was the first time venturing so far north.”

  “And the mountains – did they meet your expectations?”

  “Absolutely! They’re magnificent.”

  “Yes. I’m very familiar with them. Did you see anything, er, especially interesting?”

  “It was all interesting, Ambassador.”

  Syngen nodded. “Yes, indeed.” He nodded his head, and turning on his heel, walked away, greeting guests as he moved across the vast, glittering hall.

  Chapter 31

  Lleland gathered his books and headed down the passage to start his first class of the term. The fine weather of late summer had given way to rain, making the corridors dark and gloomy, but the lack of light did not bother him. He glanced at the book in his hands. Plato. Of course. The ancient Greek philosopher. He sighed to himself. He had never been so unprepared to teach a class before. Instead of organizing his lessons, he had wandered restlessly around the city, exploring nooks and crannies in places he hadn’t visited before. He had seen dragons often, and it amazed him now to think how many were in the city, hidden amongst unwitting humans. He could tell from a quick glance the strength of each, and although he was more powerful now than he had ever been as a human, he knew he was weaker than most of the dragons he encountered. He avoided the areas he noticed they frequented, hoping to prevent the confrontation Aaron had warned him about, but he had been stopped by a dragon one time near the cathedral. The man was large, with a power level close to Zach’s.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said. “I’m Calder.”

  “Seaton,” Lleland replied.

  “Seaton?” Calder cocked his head. “I’ve never heard that name before. And you’re not part of Aaron’s clan. He’ll want to know about a stranger in his territory.”

  “He already does.”

  Calder crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You’ve been in contact with him?”

  “I spent some time at Storbrook. Aaron knows I’m here.”

  “I see.” Calder cocked his head. “Well, I won’t question the ways of the Master, but the last rogue in the city caused a great deal of mischief. There are some dragons who’d kill you despite what Aaron thinks, just to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

  Lleland nodded. “Thank you for the warning. But I don’t plan to be here long.”

  “Well, take care.” He tapped his chin. “Did you meet Aaron’s son while you were at Storbrook?”

  “You mean Zach? I know him.”

  “Good. He lives in the city, too, so he can vouch for you.” Calder turned to look down the road. “I’m heading to Drake’s Landing for a drink. Will you join me? I can introduce you to some others, and we can allay any fears they may have about you.”

  Lleland lifted his eyebrows. “Drake’s Landing?”

  Calder grinned. “It’s owned by a human. But many of our kind like to drink there. Are you coming?”

  “Thank you, but I have some, er, errands to run. Another time, perhaps?”

  “Of course. Just come find me first before you go stepping into the Drake! Don’t want anyone to do something foolish!” He laughed, and Lleland gave a weak smile. “My house is on River Row. Number ten,” Calder said. He waved his hand as he turned away and strode down the road, and Lleland had watched his retreating figure with a mixture of relief and confusion. He could hardly imagine this man attacking innocent people in the street.

  Lleland pushed open the door to the classroom and stepped inside as his eyes swept over the students. He had forgotten to review the list beforehand, but there were none in the class he did not already know. Only Zachary Drake was absent, which Lleland hoped was permanent. He placed his books on the table and pulled out a sheet of paper, before opening his writing set and sharpening a quill. He dipped it in the jar of ink he had carefully placed on the corner of the desk, then looked out across the room.

  “State your name,” he said. He waited as the first student called out his name, then wrote it down on the sheet.

  “Harold Dodd.”

  One by one the students gave their names as Lleland recorded them. The door opened then closed, bringing in a familiar scent.

  “Thomas Bell.”

  “Zachary Drake.”

  Lleland wrote the name on the list, before finally laying aside the quill and looking up at the latecomer. “Class starts precisely at two,” he said. “Please ensure you’re on time in future.”

  “Of course, Master,” Zach replied. His gaze caught Lleland’s, and for a moment they stared at each other. Lleland cleared his throat, and opened his book.

  “Plato,” he started. “Who can tell me anything about him?”

  The lesson dragged by, until finally the bells across the city tolled the fourth hour. Lleland laid down the book and leaned against the desk as the students filed out, until only Zach remained.

  “I thought you might not be back,” Lleland finally said.

  “Why not? I’ve as much academic interest as your other students. You didn’t seem quite on form today, though.” Zach cocked his head. “I see the effects of your change have not lessened in any way, but you’re weak. You’re not eating.”

  “Of course I am,” Lleland replied. “The food served in the hall is always very hearty.”

  “That’s not what I meant. When last did you feed?”

  Lleland glanced away. “Four weeks ago.”

  “Four weeks? Lleland, you’re being foolish! I suppose that’s also the last time you changed.”

  “I’m not being foolish, I just refuse to be a monster. And I haven’t changed since leaving Storbrook.”

  “But you hunted?”

  “It was a … lapse. I didn’t intend to eat like an animal.”

  “It was your body demanding what it needed.”

  “It was the creature within making that demand. I won’t make the mistake of letting it free again.”

  “It’s what you are now, Lleland. You need to accept that.”

  “Accept that I’m a monster? No!”

  “How far will you push yourself? To death? And then what? Who will take care of your mother when you’re gone?”

  “My father was killed by a dragon! Do you really think she would survive the shock of knowing her son has become a monster?”

  “You think she’d prefer you dead? Another victim to a dragon? The only one you’re fighting here is yourself!”

  “I’ve spent years hunting dragons, Zach. If this be my last fight, so be it!” Lleland turned to gather his things. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Master Drake,” he said. “Please ensure you’re here on time.”

  Zach walked towards the door, then paused. “I’m hunting tonight,” he said. “Join me.” He didn’t wait for a response, and when Lleland looked up he was already gone.

  Lleland exhaled angrily, and a stream of flame coiled around his head. His back itched, and he twisted his shoulders in an effort to
relieve the irritation. Zach’s words pricked at his conscience – did he really want to choose death over life as a dragon? He shook his head. Of course death was preferable! And under no circumstances would he hunt with Zach Drake. He picked up his papers and stormed out the door.

  That evening at dinner Lleland sat beside Master Rutherford. “You look a trifle peaked,” Rutherford said. “Are you quite well?”

  “A little tired, perhaps,” Lleland said.

  “You need an early night.”

  “Indeed.” Lleland looked across the hall. Zach was seated at one of the tables close to the dais, and Lleland could tell he was following the conversation closely. “Getting an early night is exactly what I plan to do,” he said.

  But when the bells began to chime ten Lleland was wide awake. He listened as they tolled the hour, and paced around the room. In an effort to distract himself, he opened a book: The Ballad of Roland. The tale of Charlemagne’s defeat by ambush in the Pyrenees had always fascinated him. The true story of the ambush was clouded in the mists of time, but the legends around Roland, the commander of the rear guard who was killed in the attack, had continued to grow. It was a story that Lleland had read many times and it never failed to interest him, but this evening his mind refused to focus on the details, and when he laid the book aside, he could not recall what he’d just read.

  He lay down, longing for sleep but dreading the dreams, but both refused to come, and he began to pace once again. The conversation with Zach played in his mind. Did he really want to die? But then he thought of Jack and the horrific things he had done. Jack had definitely deserved death. Lleland stopped at the window. Of course, not all dragons were like Jack. Aaron and Zach, for instance. They did not hunt and kill as Jack had done. He thought of Lydia attacking someone in the city, and almost smiled. She’d never hurt someone if she could avoid it. Except himself, of course. She had bound him to her side and turned him into a monster. He frowned and turned his thoughts back to Jack. The black dragon had been a monster, but was Lleland? Jack’s blood coursed through his veins – did that mean he was the same? He remembered his dreams, and the resultant cravings, and he clenched his fists. Sometimes sacrifices had to made.