Mistress of Dragons

by Margaret Weis

  Draconas rolled the king over onto his back, to make certain he was dead.

  Edward groaned and opened one eye. The other was swollen shut. His face was a mess of blood and crushed bone.

  “Melisande?” he whispered.

  Draconas shook his head.

  Edward made a moaning sound. His eyes closed. He fell back, unconscious.

  Draconas smiled, relieved to have found the king alive, though he knew he shouldn’t be. Edward dead was a saint.

  Edward alive seriously complicated matters. The devil take it. They’d sort this out together.

  Draconas bloodied himself up, concocted his own story, then tended to the wounded king.

  Draconas built a roaring fire to warm him. Building a fire was risky, for there was the possibility that Grald was still about, but Draconas guessed that Grald would not linger in this location. He would not chance a second meeting.

  Despite Draconas’s healing ministrations, Edward spent a restless night. He gabbled and writhed in his sleep, muttering to himself and once woke with a wild cry, staring at Draconas with terror-filled eyes. Draconas soothed him. Edward looked about in dream-drugged bewilderment, then sank back down into his tormented sleep. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, Draconas was gratified to see Edward relax and sink into deep and restful sleep.

  Edward woke around noontime. He stared around blearily, then memory returned. Thrusting aside Draconas’s restraining hand, he staggered to his feet. “Melisande! Where is she? I have to find her!”

  “You’re in no shape to find anyone,” Draconas admonished. “Besides, she’s gone.”

  Edward blanched. “Not... not dead ...”

  Draconas shook his head. “She’s alive and safe. I’ll tell you what happened, if you’ll sit down. I spent the night saving your life and I don’t want all my effort to go to waste.”

  “She’s not dead,” Edward repeated. “You’re not just saying that. I saw ... I saw blood ...”

  “She’s not dead. The warrior woman followed us. She found Melisande and took her away in her boat.”

  Edward stared, appalled. “She took her! The one who shot arrows at her! We have to go after them. She’ll kill her!”

  “No, she won’t,” said Draconas. “Are you going to sit down?”

  Edward hesitated, staring out at the sun-dappled river that had taken her away. Dejectedly, he slumped back down.

  “So this warrior found her. Why are you so sure she won’t kill her?”

  “Because she saved her life. Grald—”

  “Grald!” Edward was perplexed. “That brute we saw in the dragon’s cave? The one who stole the babies? What does he have to do with this?”

  “Don’t you remember?”

  “I don’t remember anything,” Edward said bitterly. “I heard footsteps crashing through the trees. I thought it was you and ...” He paused, grimacing, trying to think. He winced with the pain. “Nothing. The next thing I knew, I woke up to darkness and burning pain in my head. I called out to Melisande, but she didn’t answer.”

  “Grald attacked you,” said Draconas. “He meant to kill you. You’re lucky he didn’t.”

  “Melisande . . . You said she wasn’t dead. Did Grald? Oh, God, did he . . .” Edward couldn’t say the words.

  “I don’t know,” Draconas said somberly. “I think so.”

  “But how did he find her? How did he know about her? Unless the dragon told him ...”

  Draconas nodded sagely. “That’s my guess.”

  “Oh, God!” Edward cried. He clasped his head in his hands. “I knew something terrible had happened to her. I found her chemise torn and stained with blood ... I knew then ... I guessed.”

  He lifted his face, tear-streaked yet hard-set, resolved. “Grald. It was him? You are certain?”

  “I saw him. He came out of the forest carrying Melisande in his arms. The warrior woman attacked him. He dropped Melisande and took to his heels.”

  “What were you doing all this time?” Edward demanded angrily. “Enjoying the show?”

  “I was shoving the broken ends of bone back under the skin,” Draconas returned, raising his arm, which he’d wrapped in a crude sling. “And vomiting up river water. I ran into Grald myself.”

  “How did you run into Grald?”

  “He set a trap for me in that cavern and I walked right into it, witless as a newborn babe.”

  “Melisande said the place had a bad feel about it,” Edward said softly.

  “I should have listened to her,” said Draconas.

  Edward eyed him. “I have a lot of questions. At least I think I do. My head hurts so, it’s hard to think. How did he find us?”

  “We were careless,” said Draconas bluntly. “We built a fire last night, left the boat in plain sight, for anyone to see, not to mention blankets strewn about the beach. Once he found our camp, he had only to follow our trail.”

  Edward frowned, puzzled this through. “But if he was after her, why set a trap for you?”

  “It wasn’t for me,” Draconas said. “It was for her, for Melisande. He hoped to lure her into the cavern. He didn’t expect me and he was not pleased to see me, I can tell you.” Draconas grimaced. “When he thought he’d taken care of me, he came looking for her.”

  Edward mulled this over. “That makes sense,” he admitted. He cast Draconas a glance, gave a rueful smile. “I’m sorry I suspected you.”

  He was silent long moments, his face drawn with pain. “Did Melisande go with that warrior woman willingly?” he asked, not looking at Draconas.

  “She went willingly.”

  Edward started to say something, then closed his lips on the words. He stared bleakly at the river.

  “She thought you were dead, Edward,” Draconas said in answer to that unspoken, heartbroken question. “She told Bellona how you fought Grald in her defense. Melisande honors you for that.”

  “I pray I meet that Grald someday,” said Edward. “I pray for that, too,” Draconas agreed. “And I’m not a praying man.”

  The two were silent; Edward gazing at the river, Draconas waiting for what must come next.

  “I don’t know what got into me,” Edward said at last. “I should have never touched her. She was so beautiful and the sun was so warm and it seemed that there were only the two of us in a world that had been made with us in mind ...”

  “You are human,” said Draconas.

  Edward sighed. Resting his arms on his knees, he let his head slump forward. “Meaning I’m weak.”

  “No,” said Draconas. “Meaning that she was beautiful and the sun was warm and there were only the two of you in the world.”

  Edward lifted his head, smiled wanly. “Well, no matter. It’s over and done with and she is gone and I have failed. I have failed everyone who ever trusted in me. I failed Melisande. I failed my people—that cursed dragon will still be there when I return. I failed my wife. Poor Ermintrude. How can I ever look at her again?”

  Draconas could have answered that Edward had not failed on at least one score. He would return home to find that the evil dragon was no longer a threat. Draconas wasn’t supposed to know that, though, and so he kept silent. There was nothing he could say to comfort the king. He waited for what was to come and in the next moment, it came.

  “There’s one person I won’t fail,” Edward said.

  “Let it go, Edward,” Draconas told him.

  “You don’t know what I mean—”

  “Yes, I do. Let it go. It won’t help either of you. It will just cause more sorrow—for you and for her.”

  Edward slowly shook his head. “No, I can’t let it go. If she is with child, then the child is mine and I must—”

  “The child might not be yours,” said Draconas brutally. “Not if Grald—”

  Edward rose unsteadily to his feet. Fists clenched, hazel eyes ablaze, he stared down at Draconas.

  “Do you think that matters to me? If you truly believe that I am the type of man who woul
d take my pleasure and abandon her, then I will meet you on the field of honor to settle this any way you want.”

  “No, I don’t think you’re that kind of man,” Draconas said, adding inwardly, I wish you were.

  Edward wavered, but he remained standing.

  “You have to find her. You’re the only one I can send. The only one she would trust. I don’t want anything from her. You can assure her of that. If she is with child, I want to take care of her and the baby. That’s all. Whatever I can do for them. Will you find her and tell her that, Draconas?”

  You should have died, Draconas said to him silently. The time will come when you’re going to wish you had. But if you’re willing to accept your responsibility in this, then I guess I’m willing to accept mine.

  “I’ll do what I can,” said Draconas, adding in warning tones, “but it won’t be easy.”

  On you, or any of us.

  28

  THE RIVER BORE EDWARD HOME TO HIS WIFE, HIS kingdom, and a hero’s lauding. He was bewildered and perplexed by this, but it appeared that the dragon had not been sighted in a fortnight and the people gave their king the credit for driving off the beast. Edward tried to protest that he’d had nothing to do with it, but, as Gunderson told him, the people needed a hero and it was right and proper that they look for that in their ruler.

  So Edward kept silent and received graciously the accolades he knew in his heart he had not earned, no matter what Gunderson might tell him to the contrary. Edward talked little about his adventures, much to the bitter disappointment of his young sons, who wanted to hear all the gruesome details— how the dragon had roared when their father had cut off its head and how much blood there had been. Edward told them gently that he did not want to speak of it and their mother told them sharply to leave their father alone.

  This his sons did, mainly because their father had developed a disconcerting habit of hugging them close every time he saw them. They bore this as long as they could, then Wilhelm took his father aside one day to tell him that the stable boys were snickering at him, calling him “a baby” and would his father please be less demonstrative of his affection in public.

  Edward, smiling fondly, promised he would and was true to his word, settling after that for a manly clap on the back.

  Edward told the truth of what had happened only to Gunderson, who listened in wondering amazement. He said little, but he pressed his king’s hand with deep affection and pitied him from the depths of his heart. He agreed that Edward had done the right thing in asking Draconas to seek out the woman.

  Edward did not tell Ermintrude the truth. He had been going to, prepared to unburden himself, but Gunderson earnestly counseled otherwise. Was it right to inflict pain on his wife, just to relieve his own guilty conscience? Far better to suffer his guilt alone and in silence than to burden her. Edward saw the wisdom of this, though his silence only added weight to the burden, for he and Ermintrude had always agreed that there would be no secrets between them.

  Ermintrude knew something had happened to change her husband, and her wife’s heart suspected the truth. He had sometimes been brusque with people, especially petitioners. Now he was kinder, more understanding, listened to their problems with exemplary patience. He abandoned his scientific studies, gave away his astrolabe and his books and star charts, filled his office with texts on kingship and statecraft, on law and governing. He laughed less frequently, and she often caught him standing at the window, staring out at the river with a sad and wistful expression.

  He was kinder to her, much more gentle and tender. Though he avoided her bed, he would oftentimes hold her close, seeming to need her arms around him, and it was in these moments that she felt very much that he wanted to tell her what had happened to cast a shadow over his life, but that he could not bring himself to do so, for fear it would hurt her.

  She wanted to tell him, in these moments, that whatever he had done, she was his wife and she loved him and would forgive him. Instinct—the same instinct that woke her in the night and led her to the bed of a sick child—held her back. In his own time, his own way, he would tell her. Until then, she must bide her time and be patient and go on loving him and showing him that she did.

  Several months passed thus.

  The river carried autumn’s dead leaves upon its bosom, ran dark through winter snows. When the snows melted and the river swelled with the spring runoff, when the crocus and the squill bloomed, Edward grew restless, ill-at-ease. He seemed to be waiting for someone or something, for every time he heard a horse’s hooves clattering in the courtyard, he hastened to the window, looked out expectantly.

  Gunderson knew Edward was waiting for Draconas. Ermintrude guessed it.

  Gunderson had not liked what he’d heard of Draconas’s part in their adventures. He found many of Draconas’s actions deeply suspect and he bluntly told His Majesty so. Edward admitted that he had doubts about Draconas himself, but there was no one else on whom he could rely. Gunderson would have dearly loved to tell his king to forget this woman, forget the dalliance and its possible outcome. Men fathered bastards every day and thought no more of it than the barnyard cat. Edward had not been raised to think like that, however, and Gunderson was proud of him for behaving thus honorably, even though at night, in private, Gunderson prayed to God that the woman would never be found.

  Ermintrude prayed simply that whatever was going to happen would happen, as one prays on a hot and sultry day that the storm will break and bring relief.

  Edward gave Gunderson orders that Draconas was to be brought to him immediately, no matter if it were day or night. Edward had just concluded hosting a banquet for his father-in-law, the king of Weinmauer, who came ostensibly to pay homage to his son for his heroics. In reality Weinmauer nosed about, whispered in the ears of several border lords and made vague promises, hoping to persuade them to shift allegiance. One and all, they held true their king, however, and Weinmauer would eventually leave disappointed.

  The guests had departed. Those sober enough to walk on their own had stumbled off to their beds. Those who needed assistance had been hauled away by the servants. Edward and Ermintrude had retired to their family quarters, but they had not yet gone to bed. They sat before the fire, laughing over her father’s discomfiture, for their spies had brought them all the details of his failed intrigue. Ermintrude was mulling spiced wine, when Gunderson came to the door, summoned Edward with a look.

  “Excuse me, my dear,” said Edward, turning to her, as she stood holding the warm mug in her hand, her smile tremulous on her lips. “Pressing business calls me away. Do not wait up for me.”

  He left before she could say a word. She sat down in her chair and gazed at the fire, watching the flames devour the wood, the logs crumble and dwindle and blacken.

  Edward and Gunderson hastened out into the courtyard. The night was still chill, but there was a smell of spring in the air. They went to the stable, where Gunderson had stashed the visitor. He lit a lantern, flashed it about to make sure no one else was around.

  “We’re alone,” he reported.

  “Draconas?” Edward called into the darkness, into the smell of hay and horses.

  Draconas stepped out of the shadows. He looked the same as he had always looked. Edward did not.

  “Has Your Majesty been ill?” Draconas asked.

  “Just anxious,” said Edward, passing it off quickly. “What news, Draconas? Have you found her?”

  “I have,” said Draconas with equanimity.

  “Is she . . .”

  “She is,” said Draconas.

  “I knew it,” said Edward softly. “Somehow 1 knew it. Is she safe? Well?”

  Draconas nodded yes to all, though in that he was lying.

  “You gave her the money?”

  “She would not take it,” said Draconas, and handed back the money pouch.

  Edward absently stroked the leather with his hands. He sighed. “I hoped she might, but I didn’t think she would.”

/>   His heart cried out to ask Draconas where she was, but he had promised he would not and he kept that promise.

  He could not help but question wistfully, “Did she say anything about me? Send any message? Is there nothing I can do for her, Draconas, maybe without her knowing?”

  Draconas did not immediately answer. His gaze shifted to Gunderson, standing silent in the darkness. Gunderson saw in the man’s eyes what he was about to say and Draconas saw in Gunderson’s eyes the asking not to say it.

  Draconas ignored him. He had spent a most unpleasant several days in the presence of an extremely angry Anora, who had, as he had anticipated, threatened him with the loss of his ability to walk among humans unless he ceased what she termed his “regrettably weak and sentimental human behavior” in regard to Melisande.

  He might well have ignored that, for much as he admired and respected Anora, she could never understand what it was like to live in two bodies, in two different worlds. Something else had happened, however, something that had hardened Draconas’s heart to all humans and their little problems.

  Braun was dead.

  As with his father, the death had been made to look like an accident. The young dragon’s gleaming-scaled body had been discovered lying in a field, his neck broken. Charred and burned patches on his body seemed to indicate that he’d been struck by lightning, as sometimes happened if dragons were caught in thunderstorms. The Parliament brought in a verdict of accidental death. Draconas knew better, and so did Anora.

  Draconas had told Braun, right before his death, that he had found Melisande and he’d told Braun where she was hiding, so that the dragon could help guard her. All that information would have been plainly visible in Braun’s mind, visible to his killer.

  “Melisande wants only one thing from you, Your Majesty,” said Draconas.

  “Anything,” said Edward earnestly, clasping the leather bag in his hands.

  “She wants you to take her baby and raise him in your household.”

  “I will,” said Edward at once.

  “Your Majesty,” Gunderson remonstrated, “please consider—”