Secret of the Dragon

by Margaret Weis

  “The boy lived among us for a long time,” said Aylaen. Her red curls straggled around her face in the damp. The flaring fire of her green eyes seemed the only light in the gray, bleak dawn. “He never harmed anyone.”

  The warriors added their avowals to Aylaen’s. The Torgun considered Wulfe strange. He could cause the birds to come down from the trees, light on his hand. He claimed he could speak to animals and understand them. He spent a great deal of time with Owl Mother, an old woman many thought was a witch. Still, Wulfe was one of their own. The very fact that the detested traitor Raegar hated the boy was a mark in Wulfe’s favor.

  Zahakis looked very grim. “I tell you this for your own good, Skylan. If the boy returns, hand him over to me.”

  Skylan stood stubbornly silent, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest.

  Zahakis eyed him, then said, “Meantime, the Legate wants to speak to you.”

  “Hang the Legate!” said Skylan angrily. “I need to find Wulfe—”

  One of the soldiers jabbed Skylan in the gut with the butt of his spear and Skylan doubled over, clutching his belly.

  Zahakis looked at the others. “I am in no mood to play games. I see you men want exercise. I am happy to accommodate you. There is a field that needs to be cleared of stones.”

  He rounded on his heel and walked off. The soldiers seized hold of Skylan and shoved him along, prodding him in the back with their spears if he slowed. The other soldiers rounded up the Torgun, including Aylaen, and ordered them to start marching.

  Skylan glanced back to the see the Venjekar adrift on a sea of mist, and he was reminded suddenly and unpleasantly of the ghostly voyage he had made aboard the ship returning from the ill-fated trip to the Druid Isles. The Goddess Vindrash had been steering the vessel. She had taken the body of his dead wife, terrorizing him, forcing him to play, night after night, games of dragonbone. Only at the last, on the Dragon Isles, had the goddess revealed herself to him in her true dragon form.

  Skylan’s skin tingled, the hair prickled on the back of his neck. The goddess stood at the ship’s stern. He stared, amazed. She raised her hand, palm outward, in what might have been a salute. Then, deliberately, she spread her fingers and made an emphatic gesture. The number five.

  “Get moving, lout!” said the guard, giving Skylan a shove. He slipped in the wet grass and stumbled, almost losing his footing. He regained his balance and walked on. He glanced back. The goddess was gone.

  CHAPTER

  7

  * * *

  BOOK TWO

  In the villa, in the largest and prettiest of the bedrooms that looked out upon the atrium, Acronis paced back and forth, his hand rumpling his grizzled hair.

  “Chloe, are you sure about this?” he asked.

  The Legate was one of the most powerful, most influential men in the nation of Oran. He commanded his own private army. He was known as a brave warrior who bore proudly the scars of battle. He was a scholar, an inventor, a scientist and philosopher. The Empress often sought his counsel.

  And one fifteen-year-old girl, slender and small for her age, had only to look at him with her winsome smile and brown eyes and say, “Oh, Papa, please!” and he was helpless as a newborn lamb.

  Chloe lounged on her bed, propped up by pillows, holding a bronze mirror while Rosa, one of the female house-slaves, arranged the girl’s curly hair into the latest style. Rosa first wound the hair into a bun at the back of Chloe’s neck and then encircled the bun with a length of braided hair. She finished by twisting tendrils of the hair to hang loosely about the girl’s face.

  “There, Papa, how do I look?” Chloe asked, laying down the mirror and lifting her face to her father.

  “As beautiful as the dawn,” said her fond parent.

  “That is to say that I am gray and dismal,” said Chloe with a pert glance out into the atrium.

  Her father had ordered the atrium doors to be shut, fearing she would be chilled. Chloe had insisted on having them open, however, saying she felt suffocated when the room was closed up.

  And so, of course, the doors stood open.

  Acronis said hurriedly he had not meant she was gray and dismal. He meant that she was beautiful as dawn when it wasn’t raining, a clear dawn, a rosy dawn. Chloe laughed at him and laid down the mirror.

  “Father, I am teasing you.” She patted the side of her bed and scooted over to make room for him. “Now come and sit here and tell me all the reasons I am not to have what I want.”

  Acronis did as commanded. He was armed to the teeth with logic and common sense and he was firmly prepared to withstand the enemy onslaught.

  Chloe immediately outflanked him.

  “You did promise you would bring me a gift, something special to make up for the fact that you were gone so long,” she said in wheedling tones. “Where is the necklace you promised me?”

  Acronis’s shield splintered, his sword broke off at the hilt. “My dear, we were not on a pleasure cruise. I could not go shopping for you in the markets because there were no markets in which to shop. We were in pursuit of dangerous men.”

  Seeing a breach in her defenses, he charged in and briefly rallied. “And it is precisely because these men are dangerous that I will not permit you to have one as a pet.”

  “I don’t want him as a pet, Papa,” said Chloe, pouting. “I am not a child. I want him for my manservant.”

  “You have Kakos—”

  “I am sick to death of Kakos,” said Chloe impatiently. “He is fat and lazy and smells of garlic. When I ask him to do the slightest littlest thing, such as carry me into the garden, he groans and claims his back aches. When I insisted and made him carry me, he whined that he threw his back out and took to his bed for a week.”

  Kakos had been in the Legate’s service since birth. His mother was the cook and his father the groundskeeper. And though Acronis knew his daughter was exaggerating, he could not argue with the fact that Kakos was overweight and inclined to feel sorry for himself.

  Acronis decided it was time to launch a counteroffensive. “This slave you want—I will make you this offer. I am going to be training him for the Para Dix, Chloe. This man will be your champion! There, what do you say to that? Not many fifteen-year-old girls in Sinaria have their own champion.”

  Chloe clapped her hands. “That is wonderful, Papa, thank you! He can do both. When he is training, I will be at my studies. When he is finished, he can attend me.”

  Chloe nestled her cheek on her father’s arm and looked at him, her eyes shimmering with tears, and said softly, “You know how long my days are, Papa. You are so very busy with all your important work. I hardly see you. I ask for so little. . . .”

  Acronis was routed, foot and horse. “I will consider it,” he said reluctantly.

  “Oh, Papa, thank you!” Chloe flung her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. “What is my champion’s name? You told me, but I forgot.”

  “Skylan,” said Acronis.

  “Skylan,” Chloe repeated, lingering over the name with a sigh. “Bring him to me. I want to meet him.”

  “I’m not promising anything,” said Acronis.

  “I know that, Papa,” said Chloe demurely, but she knew as well as he did that she was riding off with the honors of the day.

  “You cannot be serious, my lord!” said Zahakis when Acronis told him. “You must change your mind. Tell her no.”

  “You do not have children, do you, my friend?” Acronis said with a smile. “Saying no is not that easy. And Chloe’s life is so hard. This man is a barbarian, but he is not a savage. He has a rough code of honor. He could have killed me when the slaves revolted, but he did not.”

  “My lord, Skylan kept you alive out of expediency, not out of mercy,” said Zahakis. “He and the rest of his men are filled with rage and determined to escape. To say nothing of that wretched boy who apparently slaughtered two grown men—”

  “You don’t believe that any more than I do, Zahakis,” said Acronis.r />
  “I don’t know what to believe, my lord. All I know is that if I had a daughter, I would not let her within a mile of these brutes.”

  Acronis rumpled his hair with his hand, clearly disturbed. Then he brightened. “I have an idea. I promised Chloe I would bring Skylan to meet her. When she sees this barbarian—and hears him talk—she will not want anything to do with him. Where is he?”

  “He is in the atrium, my lord, waiting your pleasure,” Zahakis said.

  “Bring Skylan to Chloe’s room. I will meet you there. We will spring him on her without warning.”

  Chloe sat in her bed, propped up by pillows. The bed, one of the most beautiful in Sinaria, was carved of wood, highly polished and embellished with gold and seashells. The coverlet was of damask embroidered with flowers. Bowls of fresh-cut flowers from the garden, roses and lilies, perfumed the air. The day might be gray, but her room was always filled with light.

  Chloe was reading the journals her father had written during the voyage. She loved reading his journals. They provided her a glimpse of the world that lay beyond her bedchamber, a world she would never see.

  Acronis’s writing style was didactic, the work of a scientist. The fifteen-year-old girl took the dry words and made them live, embellishing the scenes he described with her own romantic notions. She saw the Dragon Kahg in his words and longed with all her heart to see a dragon for real. She laughed out loud when she read about Zahakis with the jellyfish wrapped around his hand, and her heart beat fast when Skylan and the captives made their bid for freedom. She was moved to tears when she read of the prow snapping off, how the brave men had given way to despair.

  Chloe was in the middle of Acronis’s description of a Vindrasi battle, reading an account of how they formed a shield wall, when her father and Zahakis brought the slave Skylan into her room.

  Skylan was taller than her father and Zahakis. His fair complexion was tanned. His hair was the color of the sun. His eyes were blue as the sky. She had never seen such blue eyes before and she was charmed by the intensity of their color. He was broad through the chest and shoulders, the cut of his muscles visible beneath his leather tunic, and she could understand why her father had chosen him for the Para Dix. What she found most fascinating was that he stood tall and proud, his head held high, his eyes boldly, even defiantly, meeting her gaze. He might have been some proud and noble lord, except for the horrid tattoo on his arm that marked him a slave.

  His clothes were the worse for wear and stained with what she thought might be blood. He smelled of saltwater and wet leather and something indefinable. . . .

  “Life,” Chloe said softly to herself. “He smells of life.”

  He did not smell of her life, of perfume and scented oils and oranges and cut flowers and garlic and whatever Cook was fixing for dinner. Smells that were always pleasant, always the same, smells that never seemed to dissipate even when Rosa opened the doors to let in the air. Even the air smelled the same to Chloe, day after day after day.

  Skylan was different. His smell made her want to inhale deeply and, at the same time, wrinkle her nose. He was danger, the unexpected. He was life, the life she had never known. The life she never would know.

  He was a warrior. Men had died by his hand. Chloe felt a qualm of fear and was forced to admit that perhaps her father had been right. She shouldn’t be in his company. And then she looked more keenly into the blue eyes.

  He stood unmoving beneath her scrutiny. Yet she saw in the blue eyes that wanted to appear so impassive and cold a flicker of uncertainty. Chloe had read her father’s descriptions of Skylan’s people, his way of life, and she suddenly realized how strange and unfamiliar this world was for him. He must be feeling confused, overwhelmed, desperately unhappy.

  “Skylan will suit me, Father,” Chloe said. She saw Acronis raise his eyebrows. He seemed about to argue and she raised her small hand to forestall him.

  The young man had shifted his gaze and was now staring, narrow-eyed, at her. Probably he didn’t understand. She smiled at him.

  “You will be my manservant, Skylan,” Chloe explained. “Your duties will not be onerous. You will be required to read to me—”

  “He cannot read,” said Zahakis. “Nor can he write.”

  Chloe was startled by this, but, on reflection, found that made him more intriguing. “Indeed. Well then, Skylan, you will entertain me by telling me stories. As to your other duties, when the weather is fine, you will carry me to the garden—”

  “Carry you!” Skylan’s voice was sharp and loud and went off like an explosion in her room where all sounds were muted, only the softest music was played. Chloe jumped, startled and a little frightened. The feeling was thrilling.

  The young man glared at her. “I carry shield and sword. Not spoiled brats. You have feet. Carry yourself.”

  “How dare you?” Acronis said angrily. “I will have you whipped—”

  “Oh, Papa, don’t be silly,” said Chloe in crisp tones. “He is my slave and I won’t allow him to be whipped. He meant no harm.”

  She gazed at Skylan and smiled. “You are right. I do have feet.” Chloe drew back the damask coverlet to reveal her limbs and gave a little shrug. “But my poor feet do not work. They have not worked in many years.”

  Skylan stared at her, frowning, not understanding.

  “My daughter had an illness when she was five,” Acronis said. “She survived, but she lost the use of her legs.”

  “I would love to walk into the garden myself,” Chloe said. “But I can’t. I am forced to lie here in this room, day and night.”

  She looked at Skylan and added gently, “So you see, I, too, know what it means to be a prisoner.”

  Zahakis escorted Skylan from the bedchamber. They walked through vast and echoing rooms decorated with statuary and furniture the likes of which Skylan had never seen. There were even pools of water inside the house. Skylan was astonished to see golden fish swimming about. A great many people were coming and going, working about the villa. He and Zahakis passed by several women on their hands and knees, scrubbing the floors.

  “Which one is the Legate’s wife?” Skylan asked.

  Zahakis glanced at him in amazement, almost laughing.

  “The Legate’s wife is dead. And she would not be on her knees, scrubbing floors. These are slaves.”

  Skylan stared at them. The women kept their eyes on their work, not looking up. He saw two men rubbing the wooden furniture with sweet-smelling oils. Going through one room, on their way to the atrium, they came across a small boy of about six years cleaning out one of the fish pools.

  “Is the child a slave?” Skylan asked.

  “He is the son of a slave and so, yes, he is a slave.”

  “But . . .” Skylan sought for words. “These people are your own people! How can they be slaves?”

  “Some are born to slaves and as such they are slaves themselves. Some are sold into slavery and some sell themselves to pay off a debt.”

  “I live only for the day I escape this land,” said Skylan.

  Zahakis stopped walking. Reaching out, he caught hold of Skylan. The two were alone in a hallway of black marble that led to the atrium.

  “Remember that you are a slave, the Legate’s property. You and this bit of fruit have that in common.”

  Zahakis lifted an apple from a bowl that stood on a small table. With a sudden motion, he flung the apple against the wall with such force that it split apart. Juice and pulp slid down the wall and dribbled onto the floor.

  “The Legate will do that to your head, Skylan Ivorson,” said Zahakis, “if you so much as think of harming that child.”

  “His daughter? I don’t want anything to do with his whelp!” said Skylan emphatically.

  “If it were up to me, you would not be allowed near her. But it is not up to me,” said Zahakis grimly.

  “So I must do this,” said Skylan.

  “Chloe’s wish is her father’s command. And you are her father’s sl
ave.”

  Skylan watched bits of pulverized apple slide down the wall.

  “You need have no fear,” he said. “His daughter is safe with me. He is my enemy and I would kill him without hesitation, but I do not make war on children. I don’t enslave them, either.”

  Zahakis barked an order. Two women hurried in with a bucket and rags. They would do the same if that had been his head split open on the floor, spilling blood and brains. Just another mess for the slaves to clean up.

  CHAPTER

  8

  * * *

  BOOK TWO

  Zahakis took Skylan into the atrium and left him standing near a flowering hedge with two guards and orders to await the Legate’s pleasure. Skylan could see Acronis a short distance away on the other side of the hedge, which was a mass of green leaves and pink flowers. The Legate was pacing up and down on a path made of crushed pink marble. He caught sight of Zahakis and motioned for him. The two walked back and forth, discussing something with intense interest.

  The rain had passed. The sun had come out, spattering the water-spangled leaves. Skylan stood where he had been told to stand, fuming and frustrated. He was not accustomed to being ordered about by anyone. He had always done what he wanted to do, and now he was sent here and told to go there and he did not think he could stand it.

  Skylan eyed the bored soldier standing guard over him and considered attacking him. Or perhaps he would attack Acronis, who was not three paces from him. He and Zahakis were separated from Skylan only by the blooming hedge and a marble statue of a half-naked man leaning upon a spear. He would not stand a chance. The guards would cut him before he got near Acronis, but at this point, Skylan considered death preferable to this life, which was growing more intolerable by the moment.

  Skylan was seriously considering carrying out his resolve when his attention was captured by something Acronis said. Skylan quickly forgot his self-pity and began listening.