The Dragon of Trelian

by Michelle Knudsen

  The captain gave orders for the wounded man to be carried to the infirmary, then he and Serek started toward the castle. As the guards set about their work, Calen gathered up Serek’s supplies and returned them carefully to the pouch. He knew better than to try to follow or ask any questions. Serek would tell him more later, or he wouldn’t. In the meantime, he might as well use this opportunity to get back to the library and start his dragon research. It was strange — only a day ago, he knew he would have been sullen and furious at being left behind yet again. But today everything was different. Suddenly he felt invested in his own future in a way he’d never experienced before. He had a purpose — two, actually. He was going to prove to Serek and himself that he could master whatever challenges Serek set before him and become the powerful, successful apprentice he knew he could be.

  And he was going to find out everything he could about dragons for Meg.

  Yesterday he had been alone, and not particularly happy with his lot.

  Today he had a friend and a secret. And a spark.

  MEG SAT AT HER DRESSING TABLE and began to brush the tangles from her hair. Now that her errand-girl clothes were safely bunched into a ball and stuffed in the back of her wardrobe, her face was clean, and she was dressed more appropriately (in the pale blue gown with rose satin trim that Morgan had given her for her last birthday), she supposed she looked a little more like herself again. Even if sometimes lately it was hard to remember which version of herself was the real one.

  Maerlie came up behind her and took the brush, gently working it through the hard-to-reach parts in the back. Meg watched her in the mirror. At seventeen, with her dark hair caught up in an elegant knot below the thin gold circlet all the girls wore, Maerlie was beginning to look every inch the respectable future queen. She was a woman now, Meg realized — no longer the playful girl who would wrestle her sisters on the floor or hide giggling behind the bed as Nan Vera came to collect them for tea. She hadn’t lost her warmth or her mischievous smile, but somehow it was clear that she had put certain childhood games and activities behind her. Will that happen to me, too? Meg wondered gloomily. She didn’t want to grow up into someone else. She didn’t want Maerlie to, either.

  A sharp tug on her hair interrupted her melancholy thoughts.

  “Ow!”

  Maerlie smirked but didn’t look up to meet her eye in the mirror. She took up another section of Meg’s hair and pulled it tight, twisting it together with the first section.

  “Maer, that hurts!”

  “Oh, quiet. Do you want to look ravishing at dinner or not?”

  “Not. Stop pulling.”

  “Not even for your precious Wilem?”

  “Very funny. You know he’s not . . .” She trailed off, watching her sister’s smirk stretch out into a grin. “He is? He’s coming to dinner tonight? But I thought, I mean, he wasn’t . . .” Meg closed her mouth in disgust. Did she have to turn into a babbling idiot at the mere mention of his name? Groaning, she pressed her hands to her face, which she could feel flushing with heat even now. “What’s happening to me, Maer? I never used to get all moon-eyed over a pretty face. Remember that ambassador from Black Island who came up a year or two ago? He had those two sons with him, and they were by far the handsomest boys I’ve ever seen. Finer-looking than Wilem, even. And they didn’t have this kind of effect on me.”

  Maerlie paused in her hairdressing. “I think that was closer to three years ago, Meg. At least. And that probably makes all the difference. When the Black Island boys were here, you were only eleven. They saw you as a child, and that’s probably how you saw yourself. But you’re a young woman now. More of an age to notice young men, and to be noticed — fourteen’s not too young for a betrothal, you know. Wilem sees you as a young woman, maybe even a potential match.”

  Meg tried to ignore the way her heart lurched at that. Maerlie looked at her in the mirror. “I thought you liked the way he made you feel.”

  Meg considered. “I did. I do. Mostly. I mean, he chose me to walk with after dinner, and it was so . . . I felt . . . but he also makes me feel — not myself. I get all tongue-tied and stupid. That’s not who I want to be.”

  “Well, I imagine most of that’s only nervousness, and in time you’d be able to relax around him and be more yourself. For now maybe you should just try to enjoy it.” She smirked again as she went back to work on Meg’s hair. “Who knows? Father might eventually marry you off to some ugly old nobleman, and then you’ll be pining away for the days when a man made you feel tongue-tied and stupid.”

  She meant it as a joke, although they both knew something like that was a definite possibility.

  They didn’t speak for a time. Maerlie finished Meg’s hair and stood back to admire her work. Meg had to admit it looked lovely. She was never able to style her own hair like that.

  Maerlie stood beside her in the mirror for a moment, then abruptly leaned down and hugged her. “Don’t worry so much about everything,” she said softly, pressing her cheek against Meg’s face. “Soon enough we’ll all be grown up and find ourselves with more responsibility than we ever wanted.”

  Meg hugged her sister back tightly. “I know,” she whispered. Maerlie’s words suddenly made her think of what Calen had told her about the spirit cards. That was something else she could share, she decided. Should share. They both had a right to know what was going on, after all. Maybe together she and Maerlie could get their parents to talk to them about it. Before she could open her mouth to speak, however, there was a tap at the door.

  They both turned at the sound. Then Meg noticed that her sister’s grin was back. She looked at the older girl, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  Maerlie’s grin widened even farther at her look. “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” she said innocently. “Wilem asked if he could escort you to dinner this evening. That must be him now.”

  The early part of the evening meal had the quality of a half-remembered dream; Meg vaguely recalled engaging in polite conversation with various members of the small dining party and seemed to remember the fish tasting spicy and delicious. In addition to Wilem, her parents had invited Sen Eva and Sen Salyn R’ambe, another advisor to the Kragnir throne, and the talk had been lively and informative. At least, she thought it had been. Most of the details were fuzzy. Wilem had seemed interested only in her, and the force of his unwavering attention had been like a spear of white-hot light, pinning her across the table from him and throwing everyone and everything else into dim shadow by comparison.

  Until she’d heard about the attack on the royal guard that afternoon. That dire news had eclipsed even Wilem’s shining presence. To think that their soldiers could be set upon so close to home! Maerlie apologized quietly when she realized Meg hadn’t known what had happened, but Meg couldn’t be entirely sorry that her sister hadn’t told her; it had been so nice to just talk about boys and kissing and lighter things, once the secret-keeping discussion was over. Still, it was not good for a princess to be uninformed about something so important, she supposed. Everyone else in the castle already knew all about it, since that poor man had collapsed right at the gates and gossip flew faster than falcons around here. Unfortunately, gossip also showed little regard for separating facts from fancy. What everyone “knew” was contradictory and confusing in its variety. Meg wanted real answers, but no one seemed to have anything other than guesses.

  “Could it have been a dragon?” Morgan asked.

  Meg’s heart stopped in her chest, but King Tormon only shook his head. “A dragon would more likely use flame than claws, and even so, the men would have recognized a dragon. All of them swear this was no creature any of them had ever seen.”

  “But perhaps —”

  Their father held up his hands. “Please, Morgan. This speculation serves no one. I do not want rumors of dragons to be added to those already in circulation.”

  Sen Eva spoke from across the table. “You speak of rumors, King Tormon; is it possible your
men were simply influenced by the tales being spread by merchants and traders? We’ve all heard of the fantastic stories going around. Surely your soldiers have heard them as well.”

  “If I didn’t personally know the men involved, if they hadn’t been able to supply such disturbing detail, I might be tempted to agree with you,” said the king. “But these are experienced fighting men, trained to recognize known dangers and evaluate unknown ones. They all agreed this creature was something foreign. Enormous, black as night, with pointed horns of uneven length, and of course, the poison . . . Well, I cannot pretend I am not concerned. But that doesn’t mean we’re speaking of ghosts and monsters out of tales, either. I have soldiers out in numbers, searching the area where the attack occurred. I have no doubt that we will discover what manner of creature roams about and prevent it from causing further harm. At the very least, my men will not be taken by surprise again.” He turned his attention back to his meal, a subtle signal that he wished to end the discussion.

  Meg’s mother smoothly turned the conversation to other topics, asking Sen Eva and Sen Salyn more questions of Kragnir life and local customs, and soon the table was humming again with many smaller exchanges between table companions. Wilem smiled reassuringly at Meg, and she could not help but smile back. She tried to follow her parents’ example and put the matter of the attack aside for now. There was little that could be done at the moment other than to pray for the wounded man and hope that the soldiers were successful in their search. At least they had quickly dismissed the idea that it had been a dragon. Of course she knew it hadn’t been her dragon, but the last thing she needed right now was some kind of fevered dragon hunt. She didn’t think anyone would happen upon Jakl’s cave by accident, but she didn’t really want to put that to the test. Besides, she was sure he left the cave sometimes. That thought gave her a moment of panic — what if Jakl encountered that creature? Meg took a sip of wine while she recomposed her expression and tried to make herself relax. He’s a dragon, you idiot. He can take care of himself. Still, she reached out toward him, trying to sense his presence more strongly. This far away, he was just faint warmth; she’d have to go and visit him again tomorrow, just to make sure he was all right.

  After dinner, Meg found herself escorted once more along the garden path, her arm delightfully linked through Wilem’s. The night was cool and lovely, and many of the increasing number of castle guests were also out enjoying the gardens. Poor Nan Vera was trying to keep up with Maurel, who was skipping joyfully ahead into the hedge maze.

  Wilem had cast his charming spell upon her again at the meal, tying her tongue and brain into senseless knots, and only now did the cool air seem to be restoring her to some sense of equilibrium. She struggled to take advantage of it. Come now, Meg, she told herself sternly. Think of something intelligent to say before he falls asleep from boredom. “I was sorry to have missed you this afternoon, Wilem. My sisters told me you had come to call.”

  “I was sorry to have missed you as well. I understand the demands of a wedding, however. The men seem to have it easier, but I’ve been assisting Prince Ryant with such preparations as have been necessary.”

  “Will you be standing with him, at the ceremony?” Mother had begun planning the arrangement for the bride’s court as soon as Jorn had delivered the offer of betrothal, but the groom’s court was planned by the groom’s family.

  Wilem nodded. “As the prince has no brothers, I am honored to say that he has chosen me to be his second.”

  Meg couldn’t help wondering if Wilem could ever say the word brother without thinking of his own. That wasn’t the sort of thing she could actually ask him, of course. She gave his arm a little squeeze, though, just in case. He looked down at her and gave her another of his sweet, sad smiles.

  “Are you —” he began, then stopped, looking out suddenly beyond her, into the night.

  “What is it?” she asked, but then she heard it, too. Cries of alarm, distant, but growing closer. Everyone in the garden seemed to be aware of it now; some began walking in the direction of the commotion, heads craning, others stood in place, talking in low voices and looking worried.

  Meg stepped forward to follow those walking toward the shouts, but Wilem’s arm was still linked with hers, and he hadn’t moved. She looked back at him. “Wilem, will you come with me? I want to find out what’s happening,” she said.

  “No, Princess. You should stay here. It could be dangerous.”

  She fixed him with one of the steely glares that had such satisfying effect on Calen. “Well, yes, Wilem. People are shouting. I’m sure it is dangerous. That’s why I want to know what’s going on. Are you coming with me or not?”

  “Meglynne —”

  Suddenly a horrible, piercing scream tore through the night around them. Wilem’s face went white; Meg felt the blood draining from her own as well. Her hand gripped Wilem’s arm like a vise.

  “What is that?” she whispered.

  He could only shake his head silently. Around them, the other people in the garden began running for the castle doors just as several castle guards came running out. They saw Meg and approached quickly.

  “Your Highness, please accompany us indoors at once,” the lead guard said briskly. Meg nodded reluctantly. Normally she would have resisted being whisked away like a helpless child, but that scream had completely unnerved her.

  The guard looked to Wilem. “You, as well, sir, if you please.” Wilem looked torn but seemed to decide that it was best to honor the guard’s request. He took Meg’s arm again, and together they hurried toward the castle. The guards followed immediately behind.

  There was another scream, closer this time. It seemed to vibrate in the air around them. Meg glanced back over her shoulder and gasped, stumbling to a stop. An enormous dark shape was visible past the trees that lined the royal gardens.

  “What is that?” Meg whispered again. Her question came out sounding more like a whimper, and she struggled to pull herself together. She was not going to collapse in terror like some ridiculous coward.

  The lead guard swallowed and forced his eyes back to Meg. “Please, Your Highness.”

  Before she could move, something burst out of the entrance to the hedge maze behind them. The guards, obviously jumpy by now, whipped their swords around to face this new threat. Meg almost laughed when she realized it was only Nan Vera, until she saw the woman’s face. Nan Vera staggered forward, waving the swords away as if they were flies. “Your sister,” she cried, “she’s still in the maze — I can’t find her. . . .”

  “Maurel!” Meg cried. Her own fear forgotten, she lunged toward the maze, only to have Wilem pull her back.

  “Meglynne, no!” he said. Two of the guards ran off through the maze entrance. “The guards will find her. You need to go inside.”

  Meg shared an agonized glance with Nan Vera. Then she pulled loose from Wilem’s grip and launched herself at the entrance. Someone swore behind her and she knew they’d be following, but she dashed ahead, hoping to lose them in the first few turns of the maze. The guards would never find Maurel in here; they wouldn’t even know how to look for her. She could hear them faintly, calling Maurel’s name. Fools. Maurel would only think she was in trouble and work all the harder at remaining hidden.

  After several turns, Meg forced herself to stop. There were no sounds of pursuit directly behind her; now she had to focus on finding her sister. She looked around, frowning. Once she had known the maze almost as well as Maurel did now, but that had been a long time ago. With a start, she realized that she wasn’t even entirely sure which turns she had taken so far. Meg fought the urge to panic. It didn’t matter. Maurel would know the way out. She just had to find her.

  She started walking again, quickly, her feet nearly silent on the soft path of dirt and hedge needles. The tall hedges blocked most of the sound from outside the maze. It was like a separate world, self-contained and indifferent to what went on beyond its borders. Lanterns hung from poles at long in
tervals, creating pools of light in the otherwise dark passages. Meg looked up. The moon was large in the sky tonight, nearly full, but even so its light seemed unable to penetrate deep into the maze. The moon was the symbol of the Hunter god, the dark consort of the bright Goddess, who ruled the day. Most people preferred to make their prayers to her, since the Hunter was more inclined to justice than to mercy. Still, Meg thought she would take whatever help she could. Besides, I’m not asking for mercy. She closed her eyes and sent a quick, silent prayer up to the moon. Tonight, I’m a hunter, too. Please, if you can, help guide my steps so I can bring my sister safely home.

  When the passage came to a fork, Meg hesitated only a second, then turned to the right. She dug a line in the ground with her foot, so she’d know which way she’d chosen if she circled back this way. She continued to walk quickly, searching for signs of her sister and straining to hear the sound of footsteps other than her own. Any time she had a choice of path, she chose without thinking, stopping only to make her mark upon the ground.

  Suddenly another of those terrible screams tore through the darkness, close enough that the shock and force of it made her stumble into the hedge wall beside her. She sank to the ground, barely aware of the needles that scratched her arms and face, for the moment unable to move or even think coherently. Her mind couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than the one repeating thought that it was close, it was very close now; that thing, whatever it was, was very close and possibly getting closer and closer and closer and closer —

  Meg dug her fingernails into her arm, using the pain to break herself out of her spiraling panic. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this afraid before in her life. Something about that sound was so . . . wrong. What kind of creature made a sound like that?

  The silence that followed the last echoes of the scream was oppressive. The small sounds of her feet against the path as she forced herself to stand again seemed to ring out like the bells of noontime. It can’t hear you, Meg told herself angrily. But how did she know? Maybe it could. But she couldn’t cower in the dirt forever, regardless. She had to find Maurel. She made herself step forward. When nothing darted out of the darkness to kill her, she took another step. She kept going until she came to a T in the maze. Left or right? The task of choosing suddenly seemed beyond her. She looked down the left-hand passage, at another featureless green walkway. There was nothing to indicate that this path was better than any other. Sighing, she turned to the right. And there, at the far end of a lengthy green-walled passage, she saw a flash of red.