“No,” said Maristara. Her gaze looked far away, probing and seeking other dragon minds. “No other dragon was here.” She was silent, her eyes narrowed, prying and jabbing. “Where is he, the Dragon’s Son?”
“I do not know, mistress. He must have fled-—”
“He tries to hide from me, but I see the blood spattered on the cavern walls. I see his guilt. I had no idea he was so powerful.”
“They are all powerful, Mistress,” Leopold said grimly. “Powerful and dangerous.”
“The dragon’s children, you mean.”
“Yes, Mistress.” He hesitated. “May I speak plainly?”
“Of course. You know our secrets, I see. Grald evidently trusted you.”
“I had that honor,” said Leopold quietly. “I am one of the commanders of the dragon warriors. I have been in training all my life for the war against humankind. I was raised with the dragon children. I have trained to fight alongside them. I am not the only one who is made uneasy by what I have seen of them. I could say nothing against the children to Grald. He was, understandably, quite proud of his offspring.”
“Yes,” Maristara murmured, her narrow-eyed gaze shifting to the carcass, then back again. Her lips tightened.
“Grald raised his children to believe that they are better than humans. He taught them to disdain humans and human life. Because of this, they will kill a human without a second thought.”
We would, Sorrow told him silently. You do well to fear us!
“We are forced to revere them, to almost worship them. This was part of Grald’s plan. He intended to take over Ven’s body. He would then be able to control the children, who would think him one of themselves.”
Bleak dismay sickened Sorrow, made her legs tremble. She leaned against the pillar for support.
“Now Grald is dead, slain by one of his own children—the least powerful among them,” said Leopold pointedly. “Grald told me himself that Ven had never been trained in the magic, that he refused to use it or even acknowledge it. One can only imagine what the other children, who have been trained in the magic and in warfare, as well, can do. And not only against humans.”
“What are you saying?” the Mistress demanded irritably. “You humans—always so long-winded. Come out with it.”
“I am saying that bringing these children into the world was a mistake,” said Leopold grimly. “They are unpredictable, uncontrollable, and far more dangerous than anyone could have imagined.” He gestured to the carcass. “As you can plainly see, Mistress.”
“Dangerous to humans.” The Mistress shrugged. “Grald taught his children to revere dragons. Ven was different. He was taught to hate dragons. Like the humans of Seth.”
“That is true, Mistress. But news of Grald’s death will spread. We cannot hide it, for someone else will have to take command of the armies. We might be able to conceal the circumstances of his death from the humans, but not from his children, who communicate mind-to-mind. Once they find out that Ven had the power to kill his dragon father, they will start to regard dragons with the same disdain that they now regard humans.”
“No . . . never . . .” murmured Sorrow, her heart aching.
“I did not approve of Grald’s experimental breeding of humans and dragons,” said the Mistress. “I thought he was making a mistake and I told him so. He has paid for his mistake. No other dragons will do so. Still,” she added thoughtfully, “the older children might prove useful to us in the upcoming war—”
Leopold shook his head emphatically. “Forgive me for contradicting you, Mistress, but, as I said, the dragon’s children cannot be trusted. What if they were to turn upon us in the midst of a battle?”
Sorrow could see the dragon’s thoughts, the colors swirling in Maristara’s mind, and they were much in accord with her own. You fear them, miserable human. You are jealous of them. Yet . . . Her gaze went to Grald’s carcass. Yet you are right. Too much is at stake to take a chance.
“Where is the Walker?” the Mistress asked abruptly.
Leopold answered reluctantly. “I ... I do not know, Mistress.
Grald kept him in line by threatening to slay the humans who had protected him. The Walker was the one who told me Grald had died. What could I do against him? I am no threat to the Walker. I saw him change into his dragon form, Mistress, and take to the skies.”
“You have lost both the Walker and the Dragon’s Son. Draconas discovered our plans for the war,” the Mistress said, glowering. “And Grald let him live! Yet another mistake!”
Leopold was defensive. “Grald was going to slay the Walker, Mistress, as soon as he took over Ven’s body. That way, the other dragons would blame Ven and not Grald—”
“Yes, yes.” The Mistress scowled at the dead dragon, her thoughts baleful. You wretched worm. You have come close to our undoing. All our carefully laid plans and now this! It is well you are dead, or I would murder you myself!
“Pardon me, Mistress,” said Leopold, “but if you are going to deal with the dragon’s children, you should do so now, while they are asleep.”
“I think you get above yourself, human,” returned the Mistress, drawing herself up. “I know what I am about. I do not need the likes of you to advise me.”
“No, Mistress, of course not,” said Leopold, chagrined. “I beg your forgiveness.”
The dragon made up her mind.
“You and your soldiers destroy the dragon’s children. I will take care of disposing of this mess.” She cast a scathing glance at the carcass.
Leopold frowned. “But, Mistress, would it not be better if you killed them?”
“No, it would not,” Mistress snapped. “Tell me, Commander, can you haul away this carcass, this monstrous lump of flesh and bone? Half the population of this city would be required to even lift the tail, much less dispose of it in such a way that no one will find out the truth of what happened.”
“I understand, Mistress,” said Leopold, though he did not look happy.
“Kill the children while they are sleeping. When they are dead, search for the Dragon’s Son.”
“Yes, Mistress,” replied Leopold. “What are my orders regarding him?”
“Kill him. Oh,” the Mistress added, as an afterthought, “and kill any of the human women who are pregnant.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Leopold bowed. “After that, I would like your leave to return to my shield-mate. I assume that war is imminent.”
“You assume right.”
Sorrow crept away from her pillar. She did not dare turn around. She did not dare to take her eyes off the Mistress, fearful that suddenly those eyes would shift to her. Sorrow backed her way along the corridor, her hands outstretched behind her, feeling for the wall. She touched it, solid and cold.
The Mistress was eyeing Grald’s body, her thoughts a blur of fire and smoke and death. “I will tell the populace that there was a pitched battle between the Walker and Grald,” Maristara murmured. “Grald fought valiantly. He used his magic to blast the other dragon, and that magic blew asunder the walls of the Abbey. Grald killed the Walker, but, sadly, he himself died in the explosion. The massive stone building fell on top of him, burying his carcass beneath the rubble. This will be his final resting place.”
Other images appeared in Sorrow’s mind. The dragon children slumbering in their lair, the little ones in a single bed, crowded together for warmth and comfort, their arms and legs and dreams so entwined that it was hard to tell where one left off and another began. And then the dragon warriors come, led by Leopold, bringing fire, immolating the dreams and the small dreaming bodies.
Sorrow could run swiftly, but her claws would make noise on the stone floor, and the dragon would hear her.
Sorrow flexed her wings nervously. She had never had much chance to practice flying. The dragon would not permit the children to go out into the sunshine, for fear they might be seen by the humans of Dragonkeep. Grald had promised that, in due time, he would teach her to fly, but that day had n
ot come to pass, and now it never would.
A childhood accident with regard to flying—involving leaping off an upper level—had left Sorrow with a terrifying memory of panicked flapping, a terrifying fall, a slashing white scar across her forehead, and a deep-seated fear. Flying back to her lair would be the fastest way to reach the children, however, and flight would be silent.
Sorrow leaned forward onto the balls of her feet, trying to keep her claws off the floor, and she began to run. As she ran, she spread her wings and felt them catch the air currents. Her wings lifted her up, carried her feet off the ground. The sensation was startling and frightening, so that she gave a little gasp and froze. Her stomach was fluttering, not her wings.
Instinct rescued her, as instinct rescues young dragons forced out of their sweet darkness into the blinding sun and fresh air. As they gasp and flail and eventually fly, so did Sorrow flail and then fly, her wings lifting and falling in a smooth, swooping motion that sent her—astonished and frightened and thrilled—soaring through the darkness.
She was about halfway down the corridor when she heard ponderous footfalls and the scraping of the dragon’s belly and tail along the floor. Sorrow risked glancing behind her, fearful that the dragon had heard her and was chasing after her.
There came a blast of flame so fierce that it flared through the darkness, lighting it bright as day. After that a roar and a wave of heat and a low rumbling sound that built into a horrific crash, shaking the ground and walls of the underground passage and sending clouds of dust rolling through the corridor and cascading down from the ceiling.
Crouched in the shelter of the mountain fastness, Maristara breathed devastating magic on the Abbey. The magic blew apart the walls and brought the building down on top of what was left of Grald. Sorrow kept flying, though flight was now perilous. Dragon-sight could not pierce the clouds of dust, and she was having difficulty seeing where she was going.
She forced herself to slow down. It would take the human, Leopold, some time to make his way into the palace. Once there, he would have to wake and arm his soldiers, and prepare them for what they must do.
That part, Sorrow thought bitterly, will not be difficult. They have been waiting for this opportunity, it seems.
Waiting to kill us—the monsters.
28
SORROW REACHED THE PART OF THE CORRIDOR THAT BRANCHED off into the palace living quarters, and here she had to end her flight and take to her feet. She felt a vast sense of relief when she had solid ground beneath her claws, and also a tiny sliver of regret. Although her stomach had remained clenched in terror the whole time she was in flight, she had enjoyed the rush of air past her face and beneath her wings. She looked forward to flying again. If she lived that long.
She burst into her brother’s room and found him with Ven, who was lying on the bed, his eyes closed.
Lucien looked up. “Oh, Sorrow! I was worried! What was that blast—”
“Never mind that now!” Sorrow gasped for breath. Terror and the exertion of flight had stolen the air from her lungs. “The warriors are coming to kill us!”
“To kill me,” Ven corrected.
“No,” said Sorrow. “To kill us.”
Ven opened his eyes and sat up.
Lucien stared at her, confused and dismayed. “But . . . why?”
“Because Ven was able to slay Grald, Maristara fears that we are a threat to all dragons. The humans think we are a threat to them. It was Leopold, one of the human dragon warriors, who talked the dragon into it.” Sorrow was bitter. “The dragon gave orders that all Grald’s children must die. And the humans are eager to carry out her command.”
“Kill us? But . . . what do we do?” Lucien asked, dismayed.
“We fight them,” said Sorrow viciously. “I was thinking we could barricade ourselves in here. Keep the little ones safe—”
“For how long?” Ven demanded. “How long can you hold out against these warriors and the dragon? I’ve seen these warriors, Sorrow, and so have you. They are powerful in the magic, and they’ve been taught to use it in battle. There are hundreds of them and only you and Lucien. You two are the only children who are old enough to fight.”
“And you,” said Sorrow.
Ven shook his head. “I can’t use the magic.”
“You used it to kill our father!”
“I had help,” Ven said grimly. He didn’t say who, but Sorrow recalled the human who had invaded her mind, the human who had claimed to be Ven’s brother.
“Maybe we could reason with the dragon,” Lucien suggested, his voice trembling.
“There’s no reasoning with Maristara or with the humans. I know,” Ven said. “I’ve tried both. We have to get out of here. All of us.”
“But there’s nowhere to go!” Sorrow protested. “There are hiding places in the mountain, but, eventually, they will find us—
“We have to leave the mountain.”
Sorrow felt as if all the air had been punched out of her. “But . . . this is our home.”
“If you stay, it will be your tomb,” said Ven.
Sorrow shivered. Death seemed easier to face than the terror of venturing out into the unknown. Lucien moved near her. His hand sought hers, and she clasped it spasmodically. They stood holding on to each other for comfort, staring at Ven, as though he could make everything right again, make this all go away.
His stern expression softened. “I know what it is to leave the safety of the darkness and venture into the sunlight. You can do it. I did it. And I will be with you.”
Sorrow saw the little ones in their bed, waking in bewilderment when they felt the heat of the fire lick their bodies, and then the bewilderment turning to terror and pain as the flames began to consume them.
Slowly, shaking, she nodded.
“Sorrow, wake the others. Don’t frighten them. Tell them we’re going on an adventure, an outing. The older children must carry those who can’t walk or can’t keep up. Lucien, we’ll need food for the journey. And rope.”
“Water?” asked Lucien, starting out the door.
Ven shook his head. “We won’t need it. We’ll be traveling by way of the river.”
Lucien left. As long as someone was in charge, telling Lucien what to do, he was content. Sorrow envied him.
“Where are you going to take us?” she asked.
“To the last place Maristara would expect us to go—her own kingdom.”
The two of them entered the children’s room. The little ones were still slumbering. If they had heard the noise of the blast at all, they must have thought it was thunder and rolled over and gone to sleep again.
“Seth is a land of humans,” Sorrow said, her mouth dry, her throat tightening.
“Yes,” Ven replied. “But they might understand.”
As he stood gazing down at the sleeping children, he left his mind open to her, and Sorrow saw a little boy crouched in a cave. His legs were covered in ill-fitting woollen trousers, his feet hidden by over-large leather boots. He sat in the middle of the cave, in the darkness, his arms hugging his small body. In the distance, a woman’s voice called out his name. The little boy did not answer.
“You should hurry,” Ven said. “It won’t take the warriors long to organize and come after us.”
Sorrow hesitated one more moment, wanting, wishing this not to be. All her magic could not make that wish come true, however. She placed her hand on the youngest child’s forehead, smoothed it, and said in a voice that shook, “Draga, time to wake up.”
The child opened his eyes. He was about two years old, with a human head and torso, dragon arms and legs, and a small tail. He blinked his eyes and stared at Sorrow in sleepy unrecognition. His face puckered and he seemed about to wail, but Sorrow hushed him.
“It’s all right, Draga. Everything’s all right. Sit here quietly while I wake the others.”
She went from child to child, waking them, and coaxing them out of their warm beds. She tried to discipline her tho
ughts, to keep them cool and tranquil blues and greens, but red fear bubbled up from beneath the surface, with the result that her colors were an ugly sludge of purple and brown. The children’s thoughts blended with hers, and they were frightened, but they also sensed the danger and the urgency, and were quiet, for the most part, and did what they were told. By the time all the children were roused, Lucien had returned with several large bags containing what food he had been able to scrounge.
Ven stood back, keeping his distance. He was obviously uncomfortable around the children. Sorrow and Lucien moved among the group and soon, without fuss or clamor, the dragon’s children had formed a line, the older children carrying the younger on their backs.
Sorrow lifted up Draga. The child clasped his hands tightly around her neck. Lucien hefted the last of the children. Ven carried the food.
“Move quickly now, children,” Sorrow said, guiding them out the door and into the dark corridor. “Follow Ven. He knows the way.”
Instead of obeying, the children came to a halt. They looked at her, their eyes wide and solemn. Humans can he to their children. Dragons cannot. Sorrow’s frightened, confused colors swirled through their minds.
“Sorrow,” said a little girl with dragon legs like Ven’s, “where are we going?”
Sorrow tried to think of an answer that wouldn’t frighten them. Before she could respond, Ven crouched down in front of the girl, his eyes on a level with hers.
“There are those who think that because we are not like them, we have no right to live,” he said quietly. “These people want to hurt us. We’re going someplace far away, where they can’t find us.”
The children understood. Sorrow had tried to shelter them from the cruel remarks and hurtful comments made by humans when they thought the children couldn’t hear, and she’d assumed she’d succeeded. Apparently, she hadn’t.
Ven glanced back into the room where the children had been sleeping. “Sorrow, can these dragon warriors see through illusion magic?”
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