by Peter Fane
"No," Master Khondus acknowledged. "The fault is mine."
"Just so." The young man sniffed. "It is good for you to understand. I have always told my father that you need to understand these things."
"Your sense of humor is as sophisticated as ever, my Lord," the Master said.
"Huh? That is . . . uh, very well."
Anna peeked around the door jamb.
The Master was talking to a skinny, blond-haired young man. Anna recognized him immediately. Lord Layne Tevéss. He was the son of High Lady Abigail's chief advisor, Lord Gideon Tevéss. Anna didn't know Lord Layne personally, of course. But she knew his reputation. The young heir of House Tevéss was a gossip, showoff, and lack-wit whose giant mouth was outweighed only by his tiny brain. The lordling was a bit shorter than Master Khondus and elaborately dressed in the dark maroon of House Tevéss. He wore velvet leggings, a maroon doublet of Eulorian silk, and knee high boots of Abúcian leather, also dyed maroon. An ornamental dagger, pommeled with a burgundy stone, swung from his belt on a long, gilt chain. As was the fashion in Dávanor's western counties, both his ears were clasped in elaborate gold casings. Under the lantern's orange light, the jewels on his slender fingers shone like blood.
The dragon foal cooed inquisitively and turned to face her. Anna pulled her head away from the doorway.
Something was wrong.
Lord Gideon Tevéss, Lord Layne's father, had been one of the High Lady's chief advisors for three years. But nobody trusted him. And they didn't trust him because House Tevéss had close ties to Lord Oskor Fel. Lord Oskor Fel was a traitor. The House of Fel was House Dradón's oldest and deadliest enemy. And three years ago, Lord Oskor had killed Anna's father.
In her mind's eye, Anna saw Father's body lying on the cot in the upper barracks. She saw the gaping hole in his breastplate. She saw dark blood pooled on ancient stone. Inside the stall, the dragon foal hissed savagely. Anna pushed the image away. She'd get angry if she dwelled on it too long. She'd think about it more. She'd get angrier and more distracted. Then she wouldn't be able to do her work. Then she wouldn't be able to do her duty. And Father wouldn't like that.
She shook her head and tried to think about something else.
What was Lord Layne doing down here in the first place? Alone and before dawn?
A mystery.
The enemy is here. But why is he here?
The foal gurgled. The wet, baby noise made her smile. And suddenly she felt better. Calmer. The foal sighed. She nodded to herself. Right. Stay focused. Stay ready. She scooted closer to the stall's door and cocked her ear.
"Yes, the fault is mine," Master Khondus said again, patting the foal's side. "And mine alone."
"Which brings me to my purpose." Lord Layne cleared his throat. "You have new orders for this broodmare today, Khondus. And I have decided that I will be the one to give those orders to you—."
"And since the fault is mine," Master Khondus interrupted him calmly, "the responsibility belongs to me, as well. This is what happens when a dragon is over-bred, Layne. This is what happens when we break our most sacred trust. It won't happen again."
Lord Layne paused, as if he didn't understand the Master's words. Then he sniffed. "My father says you can breed a proper mare once a year, easily. Twice, even—."
Master Khondus chuckled. "Your father knows as much about dragons as you do."
"Uh . . . . What do you mean by that—?"
The Master laughed good-naturedly. "It means: 'You and your father don't know anything about dragons.'"
"Uh—."
"Regardless," Master Khondus continued, "the obligation and the duty are mine. If I'd insisted on a more reasonable schedule, this kind of flaw would be near impossible. I never should've allowed the breeding. A mistake that will not be repeated."
There was a long pause. Then Lord Layne laughed. "Oh, I see! Ha! Very good! I see. So you make these decisions now, eh, stable master? And to whom shall I deliver this important news? To High Lady Abigail, Duchess of Dávanor? The Silver Courts of Paráden, perhaps? The High Council of Lords? Someone, somewhere, will want to know that the great, wise Master Khondus now commands the business of House Dradón! The High King himself, maybe? King Dorómy will be interested to learn of your—."
Master Khondus chuckled, but his voice was serious. "Call Dorómy Dallanar 'king' in my presence again, boy, and we'll have words. Treasonous talk has no place in this High Keep. And you miss the point, yet again. I will speak slowly: a broodmare of Nightlove's age and configuration cannot be bred more than once every two or three years. Look at her for a moment, Layne. Just take a moment. Do you see how she gasps? See how she barely moves? That's not good."
"I—." Lord Layne began.
"Maybe this will be easier," the Master continued patiently. "How is this dragon foal supposed to fly? Its eyes don't work. So how will it fight? Think about it for a moment, Layne. Just take your time and think about it."
Lord Layne paused, as if considering, then sniffed. "Your sarcasm is unwarranted, stable master. And you shall address me as 'my Lord,' or 'Lord Tevéss.'" He paused. "And yes, it is a worthless beast, to be sure. I have never seen one quite so . . . ungainly."
"Further proof of your ignorance."
"Well, I . . . uh, that is to say . . . surely you do not think this blind worm can be of some use?"
The foal growled. Lord Layne coughed nervously and stepped away from it in the straw.
Master Khondus sighed. "She'll not be bred again, Layne. Not for three years. Maybe four. Take that to your father and be gone with you. You're dismissed."
"What? What do you mean by—? Now, hold on you . . . you wait just a moment—."
"And if you feel inspired to grow some brains," the Master said conversationally, "you'll keep your silly mouth shut when it comes to dragons, politics, and the war. I know your family's loyalties, boy. Everyone does. And you know mine. But never forget: House Dradón and the duchy of Dávanor are loyal to High King Bellános. And we always will be. Now be gone. We've got work to do."
"Huh? Well . . . uh. Maybe you are the one who does not understand me, stable master. As I was trying to say, I have orders. New orders. For you and this broodmare."
The Master laughed. "I don't take commands from you, boy."
"You do today, Master. That is why I am here. I am here to give you orders. Nightlove has had a great honor bestowed upon her. She shall be bred again in four weeks. Lord Oskor Fel and his entire entourage fly now from Felshold with the great Irondusk. They arrive in three days' time and shall stay some months as honored guests. My father has made Nightlove available to Fel's stable masters, and I have been given charge of the breeding!"
6
"FEL COMES HERE?" Master Khondus asked. His voice was quiet.
The foal hissed. Anna blinked and her face went warm.
It wasn't possible.
Lord Oskor Fel. The traitor. House Dradón's most ancient foe. Her family's nemesis.
Here?
The dragon foal's tail thrashed violently in the straw, as if hearing her thoughts.
"Indeed," Lord Layne rambled on, growing even more excited, oblivious to the change in the Master's demeanor. "And Nightlove will be bred to Irondusk. Those are your new orders. A symbolic act, of course, but still good cause for celebration. The joining of our two prized lines, at last. Even you can understand that. Eh, Khondus?"
The Master said nothing.
"Perhaps it is easier to understand this way: this breeding is a foretaste of the future union between House Dradón and House Fel. Does that help, great Master? My father has arranged it. Lady Abigail is very young, but everyone understands the need. The two great houses of Dávanor finally united! A just peace! Is that not cause for celebration?"
"She's nine years old," the Master said softly.
Anna wanted to look back into the stall, but she didn't dare. Her head was spinning. Her anger—her old dark friend—grinned at her from the shadows of her mind. The dra
gon foal growled.
"Come now, Khondus," Lord Layne said. "You look . . . well, you look disturbed. My father has arranged everything. Why the sour face? This should be a time of merriment. There will be grand parties. The great Irondusk comes! Lord Fel brings the whole of his entourage! Come now! Come! Of course, there have been some silly misunderstandings in the past, but that is all behind us now. There shall be months of celebration! A delightful surprise, eh?"
Master Khondus said nothing.
"Well." Lord Layne sniffed. "You should be grateful that I am telling you at all, Khondus. It will be a great surprise. Nobody else is to know. I tell you only out of courtesy."
Nightlove rumbled. The foal's growl was low and continuous.
Anna still couldn't understand it.
Three years ago, High Lady Abigail's father, Lord David, had quelled Fel's revolt at terrible cost. Now the same traitor who had defied their High House's rightful authority, the same traitor who had nearly plunged all of Dávanor into war, the same traitor who had killed their best men, came with soldiers and arms to their High Keep as an ally?
It made no sense.
The dragon foal snarled.
"That animal is not safe," Lord Layne muttered uneasily. "You are sure it is blind?"
"Who else knows of Lord Fel's arrival, Layne?" Master Khondus asked casually. "When does he come?"
"Ah. Well. I can tell that you are upset, Khondus. No pretending. The birthing has upset you. I understand. These things can be difficult. But you do not see how important this is. I know that can be unsettling. A soldier of your age and experience should understand these matters. These stables and dragons are the property of House Dradón. House Dradón is ruled by High Lady Abigail. Lady Abigail is young, yes. But she and her advisors are expecting an important guest with whom alliances must be made. This broodmare is a part of a larger plan. She must be bred. Do you understand now?"
"When does Fel arrive, Layne?" The Master cleared his throat. "You say three days. You know that with certainty?"
"Well . . . uh, yes. As I said—he is to come two days after tomorrow. No one is to know. I thought I would come and tell you because—."
"Three days. You're certain?"
Lord Layne laughed out of nowhere and clapped his hands. "I have it! Ha! You will like this, Khondus. A good use for this useless beast! A blind animal like this will fly strangely, no? It will fly eventually? Am I correct?"
Master Khondus didn't answer. The dragon foal went silent, as if listening.
"Oh, I have a very clever idea. I love it! I want you to clean it up and feed it. Train it. Give it some basic . . . uh, maneuvers. You know. Prepare it for 'battle.' Fel and his men shall be with us for several months. Dorómy has sent Lord Oskor two great cannon from Paráden to be offered to High Lady Abigail as symbols of Dávanor's unity. When the guns arrive, I am sure that Lord Oskor and the High Lady would welcome the chance to test the skill of their gun crews and war adepts. A small, weird target like this would prove very challenging, eh? Am I wrong? Good use for a useless thing. Clever, eh? No sense to waste the beast for nothing. And I am sure that my father will agree. Then we can all enjoy the sport. It will be the highlight of the celebration! And think on this, Khondus: It shall be better for the foal, too. It can spend even more time with its mother before it gives 'battle,' eh?"
Anna could barely believe her ears. The lordling's idea for "target practice" was ignorant nonsense, of course. But two cannon from Paráden sent to Lord Oskor by the Pretender King? If it was true, then it was war, plain and simple. What more proof of Lord Fel's treason did they need?
The foal growled.
Layne stepped farther away from it.
"Eh, Khondus?" he asked again.
The Master said nothing. Anna was tempted to look around the door jamb, but she resisted.
Lord Layne didn't speak again for a moment, but when he did, it was with a firmer voice. "Now, listen, Khondus. I am patient, but I shall broach no further insolence from you. Answer me. I come to you as your superior. I may not be some kind of famous dragon master or warrior or some such thing, but I do know a few things about these animals. House Dradón has long held the reputation for coddling the undeserving. That ends today. Do you understand, stable master? Garbage will be thrown out with the garbage, and that will be the end of it. Now, prepare this broodmare for breeding."
Anna's face went hot, her anger rising out of the dark, and she was struck by the insane urge to walk into the birthing stall and smash the fool's face with the hammer. She'd forgotten that she held it. It seemed lighter in her hands.
The foal growled.
Lord Layne coughed uneasily and scooted even further away in the straw.
The foal's growl went deeper.
Easy, Anna thought to herself. Easy.
The foal grunted and seemed to settle. Anna took a breath. There was no way this would happen. Lady Abigail was young, to be sure. But Master Khondus, Master Zar, Master Borónd, Captain Fyr, and all the other senior captains of House Dradón would never tolerate this outrageous "plan."
Never.
The foal growled again. The sound was even deeper this time.
"You are sure this beast cannot see?" Lord Layne asked. "My plan will not work if it can see. The sport for Lord Fel—."
"You're confused, boy," Master Khondus said at last. His voice was quiet. "You have no 'plan.' And the dragons of House Dradón don't provide 'sport' for our enemies. The dragons of House Dradón bring our enemies one thing—and one thing only: death. There will be no 'games.' There will be no 'celebration.' There will be no 'breeding.' And there most certainly will be no 'union.' It won't happen."
Then the Master stepped to the doorway, snatched the hammer from Anna's hands as if it were a strapping switch, and stepped back into the stall, hammer held ready to strike.
7
"WHA—WAIT?!" LORD Layne cried, seeing the hammer.
Anna followed Master Khondus into the stall.
Layne was backing away from the Master, one palm up in front of him, the other hand fumbling for his dagger that bounced on its gilded chain. The lordling's feet tangled in the straw. He stumbled and almost went down, then righted himself gracelessly.
Nightlove growled, but she was too exhausted to move. The foal, however, had energy to spare. It hissed and rose up on its haunches, white wings spread wide in the darkness, blocking Lord Layne's retreat. Its eyes were mean, silvery slits.
"Wait!" Lord Layne squealed, suddenly not sure which way to go, not sure which direction was the least terrifying: Master Khondus stepping towards him from the front or the white dragon foal blocking him from behind.
"We'll take you to Captain Fyr," Master Khondus said pleasantly, still moving forward, hammer held ready. "See what she has to say about you and your father's little 'surprise.'"
"How dare you! How dare—."
"Funny." Master Khondus smiled grimly. "Your big mouth has been an embarrassment to our High Keep for three years—yet now, in a mere moment, it's become our savior. Had to come down and show me who was in charge, didn't you? I thank the Great Sisters for your pea-sized wits, boy. Kneel. Put your hands behind you."
"You wouldn't dare—."
"Kneel, boy. I'll brain you like the senseless pup you are."
The Master took a step forward, hammer cocked.
"Stop!" Lord Layne cried, and actually stamped his foot in the straw. "I am of House Tevéss! Halt! I am Tevéss! You cannot—! No—!"
But as Lord Layne cried "No!" he reached for his sleeve, pulled a hidden stiletto, and lunged for Master Khondus's neck in a single, fluid movement.
The maneuver might have worked. On someone whose profession wasn't war.
Master Khondus ducked, Layne's stiletto spearing over his head, and jabbed the lordling hard in the throat with his finger. Layne reeled backwards, eyes bulging, hands at his neck. Master Khondus kicked his legs out from under him, knocked him to the straw, and flipped him over onto his stoma
ch like a trussed pig, pulling the lordling's hands behind his back and binding his wrists with a leather thong from the birthing basket. Then he rolled Layne back over, grabbed him by the front of his doublet, and hauled him up from the straw.
"Through which pass does Lord Fel come?" the Master asked him calmly. "Which pass?"
Lord Layne wheezed and stared. His eyes had gone glassy; he couldn't answer. Master Khondus dropped him to the floor. The dragon foal leaned over the lordling, its fangs gleaming.
"Three days," Master Khondus said. His voice was calm, but when he looked at Anna, she saw that his eyes were black with rage. "We have three days."
The Master glanced at the foal. It was leaning farther over Lord Layne, wickedly licking its fangs. The lordling wheezed, his legs churning the straw, eyes wide with terror.
Master Khondus turned to Anna. "We must gather Master Zar, Master Borónd, Captain Fyr, and our other captains. We need to tell our allies in the minor houses. Your mother must know, as well. Lord Fel comes—."
He stopped and looked at the dragon foal.
"Sir?" Anna started, following the Master's gaze.
"And our work isn't yet done here," Master Khondus said.
Her hands went cold, the understanding coming quickly. With everything she'd just seen, she'd forgotten why she'd fetched the hammer in the first place. The foal cocked its head at the Master for a moment. Then it turned to Anna and cooed, asking its question. She looked at it. Then looked away. Master Khondus nodded and set the hammer in the straw in front of her.
"We must take care of him now, girl. There's no time."
8
IN SPITE OF herself, Anna shook her head.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
Master Khondus was supposed to spare the foal after what they'd just learned, after what had just happened. She didn't know why, but the Master was supposed to realize that the foal should live.
She took a step backward, her head spinning. She had the sudden urge to grab the hammer, run from the birthing stall, and throw the cursed thing over the nearest balcony.