Doom of the Dragon

by Margaret Weis

  “Hevis!” Treia whispered, choked by terror.

  God of Lies and Deceit. His hallmark was fire.

  The god gave a soft laugh. “And here I was trying to be so quiet; not wake the baby.”

  He seemed to linger over the word baby.

  Treia clutched her son close and said desperately, “I know I have not yet fulfilled my part of our bargain—”

  “Too true, dear lady,” said Hevis. “You offered to sacrifice someone you loved in return for the magic you needed to summon the Vektia dragon. I did my part. I gave you the magic. But the people you love are still breathing—your sister, your husband. And now your son…”

  Treia had to gasp for breath enough to speak. “I know I have been remiss, but I have not yet had a chance to act. Look, I will show you what I have done in preparation! Please, please”—her voice broke—“do not harm my child!”

  “Show me, then,” said Hevis.

  The flames in his eyes seemed to scorch her.

  Treia placed her baby in his cradle, then climbed out of bed. Her legs trembled; she could scarcely walk. Keeping a wary eye on Hevis, she crept across the deck to her sea chest, lifted the lid and rummaged about beneath her robes and gowns until she found the casket she had hidden among her clothes. She drew it out and carried it over to the table, shoving aside plates and knives that had been laid for her meal to make room.

  The casket was made of wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl and bore the name “Raegar” done in a pattern of fanciful flowers and vines and the obligatory serpents.

  She sank unsteadily into a chair. Hevis’s eyes, watching her, were two pinpoints of flame. Treia opened the casket with fingers that shook. The god’s fiery light illuminated a massive golden ring—a man’s ring by its shape and size. A square-cut ruby surrounded by small diamonds sparkled in the center.

  “A bribe?” said Hevis. “Thank you, but it is far too flashy for my simple tastes.”

  “Wait! Let me show you!” Treia pleaded.

  The baby started to whimper. She glanced at the cradle that was on the far side of the cabin and then cast a fearful glance at Hevis.

  Picking up a knife, Treia deftly thrust the blade through the ring, lifted it from the box and set the ring on the table. She touched the ruby with the tip of the knife’s blade and a tiny needle popped out of the ring beneath the setting.

  “The needle is tipped with poison,” said Treia in a smothered whisper. “My own concoction.”

  “And who is meant to wear this ring?” Hevis asked.

  Treia had to swallow twice before the words came out. “My husband. It is to be a gift.”

  “When?” Hevis asked.

  “I don’t … After the battle…”

  “Now, tonight,” said Hevis.

  Treia gulped. “No! It is too dangerous! Aelon would be furious! She is counting upon him to win this battle—”

  Hevis drew near. The flames in his eyes flickered. “How is Aelon to know who killed him? Raegar has a great many enemies. The priests resent being ruled by a former slave and would not mourn his death. And he had a mysterious visit from a treacherous wizard this very night. One can blame anything on treacherous wizards.”

  “No, please, don’t make me—”

  “Consider it in these terms, dear lady.” Hevis’s voice hardened. “Your god can replace a military commander far more easily than you can replace your child.”

  “I’ll give the ring to him,” Treia gasped. “Tonight.”

  “Good,” said Hevis. “Be assured. I will be watching.”

  The flame wavered and he was gone.

  Treia closed her eyes. Weak and dizzy, she staggered over to the cradle, picked up her baby, and sank down in a chair. She held him so tightly he whimpered in protest and she loosened her grip.

  She drifted into a horror-filled sleep.

  * * *

  Raegar was standing on the deck of Aelon’s Miracle, talking with Commander Eolus about his son.

  “I won’t have him raised to be some namby-pamby princeling, holding an orange to his nose to ward off bad smells and dining on peacock tongues,” said Raegar. “I’ll raise him to be a soldier, take him with me on campaign, teach him what it means to sleep in the mud and march fifty miles in full armor carrying all his gear.”

  “That is how my father raised me,” said Eolus.

  “And mine, as well,” said Raegar. He was about to continue relating his plans for his son when he saw, to his consternation, the midwife he had left with orders to keep a watchful eye on little Aelonis come up on deck.

  Raegar confronted her. “I ordered you to stay with my son. Why have you disobeyed me?”

  “The empress ordered me to leave, Your Majesty,” replied the midwife. An older woman of vast experience, she was not in the least intimidated by one she apparently considered an overprotective parent. “I cannot very well disobey my mistress.”

  “I will go myself,” Raegar said and was about to descend to the lower decks when one of the lookouts called his attention to a storm boiling up out of the west, creating water spouts that snaked down out of the clouds, as if in mockery of Aelon’s serpents.

  Cursing the Stormlords, Raegar went in search of High Priest Benignus. He found him in his cabin with his assistant eating supper.

  “High Priest,” said Raegar, “I need you and your fellow up on deck praying to Aelon to stop the storm that’s about to hit us.”

  “I am surprised you did not simply ask the god yourself, sir,” said the high priest. “You being one of her favorites.”

  “I would,” said Raegar coolly, “but I must go see to the welfare of my wife and son. I am certain you can handle this, but if you need my help, you can always send someone to fetch me.”

  He left, smiling, and went below.

  * * *

  Treia woke with a start, with the feeling she had forgotten or overlooked something. She looked first to the baby, but he was asleep in her arms, so it could have nothing to do with him.

  She pondered, with that vague feeling of unease and irritation that comes with forgetting something important. A flash of light caught her eye and she saw, to her horror, she had left the ruby ring on the table with the point of the tiny needle still exposed. She had meant to return the ring to the casket to be given to Raegar tonight. Exhaustion had overwhelmed her and she had fallen asleep.

  Shuddering at the thought of what might have happened if someone had seen it, Treia hurriedly rose from her chair, keeping her baby in her arms. She sat down at the table and placed the baby on her lap, then, picking up the knife, she carefully nudged the needle back into its compartment, lifted the ring, and placed it into the casket.

  * * *

  Belowdecks, Raegar approached Treia’s cabin and saw a stripe of light shining from beneath the closed door. He found that suspicious; Treia had said she was exhausted and had wanted to sleep. Instead of knocking, he thrust open the door, barged into the cabin. The door swung shut behind him, but he did not notice.

  Treia was seated at the table, holding a knife over their slumbering child. At the sight of him, her face went ghastly white, her eyes widened with fear.

  Raegar wanted to snatch the child to safety, but the blade was perilously close and he feared he might drive Treia to commit the terrible act.

  “Treia,” he said, trying keep his voice under control, “what are you doing?”

  Treia licked her lips. Her mouth worked, as if she would answer, but she couldn’t speak. She dropped the knife onto the table and he sighed in relief. He could see her guilt in her wavering eyes, in the stiff muscles of her face, in the quivering of her lips.

  “Aylaen told me you were going to kill me,” Raegar said, advancing on her, his fury growing with every step. “But she was wrong. You were going to sacrifice my son!”

  He lunged at her and tore the baby from her grasp.

  “No, no, I would never, never harm my child!” Treia stretched out her trembling hands. Roused by the rough tre
atment, the child was wailing. “Give him back to me! He cries for his mother!”

  Raegar held the baby safely out of her reach. “I know about the bargain you made with Hevis. You promised to sacrifice someone you love in return for the power to summon the Vektia dragon!”

  “The sacrifice should have been Aylaen,” said Treia harshly. Her gaze had not left the baby. “She escaped unharmed.”

  “So you admit that you made an unholy bargain with your heathen god!” Raegar cried.

  “I summoned the dragon for you!” Treia said, wringing her hands. “Because you wanted to be Priest-General! I did this for you!”

  The baby was screaming in a frenzy now, kicking his legs and flailing his arms.

  Treia rose to her feet and walked toward Raegar. “Let me have my child.”

  Raegar backed up, holding the baby. “You will never see him again! I will denounce you to the priests as a witch. You will be put to death!”

  Keeping the baby, he turned to walk toward the door.

  “I wasn’t going to sacrifice my child, you fool!” Treia shrieked. “I was going to kill you!”

  Grabbing the knife from the table, she rushed at him.

  Raegar saw the flash of the blade out of the corner of his eye. His one thought was to protect his child and he rounded on Treia and struck her a blow with all the strength of his fury.

  He felt his fist smash into bone.

  Treia’s head snapped back and she dropped without a cry.

  Raegar stood staring down at the body.

  “Treia…”

  She didn’t move and he saw a pool of blood, black in the firelight, begin to ooze onto the deck.

  Still holding his screaming son, he nudged her shoulder with the toe of his boot, rolling her over. Her head lolled at an odd angle; her face was nothing but mangled bone and bloody pulp. Her eyes were fixed.

  Raegar felt his gorge rise and he swallowed, trying to keep from retching. He couldn’t think. He didn’t know what to do. He started toward the door, planning to summon help, and found Aelon blocking his way.

  “She was right,” said Aelon. “You are a fool!”

  He blanched beneath her furious gaze.

  “It was an accident,” said Raegar in a hollow voice. “I didn’t mean to kill her. She came at me with the knife…”

  “Do you think the priests will believe you?” Aelon asked him. “You are a barbarian who sleeps with anything in a skirt. This would give them the excuse they need to be rid of you. Give me the baby.”

  Aelon took the child and, wrapping the baby in his blanket, rocked him back and forth, hushing and soothing him.

  Raegar gazed at her, stricken, helpless. “What do I do?”

  “Get rid of the body, of course. You will make it appear as if she fell overboard.”

  Raegar groaned. “But the men on watch! They’ll see me.”

  “Not in a raging storm,” said Aelon.

  * * *

  The high priest and his fellows gathered on deck and prayed to Aelon to save them from the storm. The god was deaf to their pleas, however. The worst storm they had yet encountered struck, hurling rain with the force of lances, and pelting all those on deck with hail the size of eggs. Priests and sailors fled to safety belowdecks. Raegar even dismissed the watch, saying quite rightly that they could not see anything in the pitch darkness anyway.

  The storm raged all night. In the dark hours before dawn, Raegar tied lead weights used to sink the fishing lines around Treia’s waist, wrapped her corpse in a blanket, and tied it with rope and more lead weights. He slung the body over his shoulder and carried it onto the deck. He had some difficulty. By this time, the corpse had grown cold and was starting to stiffen.

  He paused before going out on deck. Aelon had assured him that even those who remained on deck would not be able to see him due to the storm, but he wanted to make certain.

  He had never known a darker night. The wind struck him a pummeling blow, rain beat on him. He could not even see his feet, much less anyone else who might have the misfortune to be on deck this terrible night.

  Raegar heaved the body over the side. He could not see the corpse hit the water, but he heard the splash. Weighted down, it would sink immediately.

  He stood a moment in the darkness, shaking in reaction. He was chilled to the bone and wanted only to drink himself into oblivion, but he had more work to do. The storm was starting to pass. The driving rain turned into a drizzle. The wind ceased to howl.

  “Help!” Raegar bellowed. “Help me!”

  His cry carried through the night, rousing the weary rowers from their slumbers. Men poured onto the deck, demanding to know what was wrong.

  Eolus ran to Raegar’s side.

  “What is it, sir?”

  Raegar was in a wretched state, weeping and pointing over the side.

  “My wife!” he cried. “She was running a high fever … delirium … She wandered up here and … and jumped into the sea.”

  Raegar sobbed. “I tried to stop her … We have to save her.”

  He stripped off his clothes with the obvious intention of leaping into the black, churning waves. Eolus tried to reason with him and when that didn’t work, flung his arms around Raegar and shouted for men to help him.

  Raegar fought them, but they knocked him to the deck and pinned him down while they explained to him that it was hopeless, Treia was lost.

  Raegar collapsed with grief and Eolus assisted him to his cabin, accompanied by the high priest, who reminded him that his beloved wife was with Aelon now and that he must pull himself together for the sake of his son.

  “You are right,” said Raegar, his voice harsh from weeping. “I need to see my son.”

  The high priest asked if he would like him to sit with him, perhaps recite some of Aelon’s teachings. Raegar thanked him and said he needed to be alone with his child.

  He walked into the cabin, shutting the door behind him. The oil lamp still flickered on the table. Aelon was rocking his son in the cradle, singing to him softly.

  She stopped to ask, “Did everything go as planned?”

  “Yes,” said Raegar wearily. “I told them Treia started hemorrhaging, which will explain the blood on the floor. She began running a high fever, grew delirious, and jumped into the sea. If the midwives had been with her, they might have saved her, but she insisted on being alone.”

  He picked up the knife Treia had dropped and put it back onto the table.

  Aelon brought over his son and handed the child to him.

  Raegar held his child close. “I didn’t mean to kill her.” He closed his eyes and buried his head in the baby’s blanket.

  “I know,” said Aelon in soothing tones. “Take the child back to your cabin. He is hungry. You need to summon that wet nurse.”

  Raegar nodded. He was about to leave when he saw the dragon’s spiritbone hanging from the wall. He turned to Aelon in alarm.

  “What about the Dragon Fala? She will have to be told and she will be furious. She might leave.”

  “I will deal with Fala,” said Aelon.

  * * *

  Raegar had recovered from his grief the next day and brought his son up on deck, where he received the condolences of his crew and soldiers. He thanked them for their service and told them that Treia would have wanted them to continue with their plans to defeat the Stormlords. Overhearing some of the men talking with admiration of his fortitude and courage, Raegar smiled.

  The sun was shining brightly. The day was fine. No sign of rain. It seemed the Stormlords had given up.

  Raegar received the daily report on their location from the navigator, who pointed to distant mountains, whose peaks were hidden in the clouds, and said that they were very near the destination.

  While he was on deck, one of the slaves who had been sent to clean Treia’s cabin discovered a beautiful casket lying on the deck with a name on the top that was decorated with flowers and serpents.

  The slave could not read, so she
had no idea who the casket might belong to, but she could see it was valuable. Fearful she might be accused of stealing, she carried the casket to Commander Eolus.

  He recognized the name and realized that this must be some gift Treia had meant to give her husband.

  “Poor man,” said Eolus. “This will only increase his grief.”

  Eolus took the casket to Raegar’s cabin, opened his sea chest, and buried the casket at the very bottom, thinking he would tell Raegar about it later.

  As it happened, the small matter slipped the commander’s mind.

  CHAPTER

  22

  The Sea Goddess provided calm seas and a fair wind for the Venejekar and the four other dragonships and they sailed swiftly north. Farinn proved himself an apt pupil of Acronis. He took readings and charted their progress and when land came in sight, he was able to tell Skylan that they had reached the Spirit Coast, a long stretch of coastline on the eastern side of the Kharajis continent known as the Chimerian Downfall.

  “To the west is the Desolation,” said Farinn. “The land north of that is uncharted. No one ventures there. Legend has it the fae claim those lands as theirs.”

  “That’s because the land is ours,” said Wulfe.

  Skylan glanced at him. This was the first time the boy had talked to him since they had left Joabis’s isle. Unhappy and withdrawn, Wulfe had spent most of his time gossiping with the oceanids.

  “The Chimerian Downfall. What are chimera?” Skylan asked.

  “Fae creatures, according to the old songs,” Farinn answered. “Part lion, part goat, and part serpent.”

  Wulfe was nodding his head. “Fierce. Very fierce.”

  “So why do they call this land Chimerian Downfall?” Skylan asked Wulfe.

  “My grandmother says that in the First War, when we were fighting you Uglies, a group of chimera wanted this land and they attacked both the fae and the Uglies who lived here. The Uglies were frightened and ran away, but my people fought the chimera and drove them back into the Realm of Fire. Stupid Uglies,” Wulfe added sullenly, glowering at Skylan, then running off.

  Skylan shook his head, then turned his attention to the map. Although he could not read the words, he was starting to understand the concept, which Farinn had once explained.