The Color of Dragons

by R. A. Salvatore

  Xavier felt me move. “Maggie . . .”

  I ducked his grab and jumped out of the wagon. “A fine fish?”

  “Maggie, get back here!” Xavier called.

  “From the dried bed? Did you see any fish? Were they invisible? Were they some sort of magic fish who could swim in nothing more than a thimble of water?” I yelled at the frowning soldier. “The boy can barely stand. He’s starving. His mother is starving. What kind of monsters are you?” I growled.

  The smug soldier laughed in my face. “Better them than us. That loaf is for our supper.” He shoved me. “Get back in the wagon or you can go hungry tonight too.”

  I stormed toward the wagon where the soldier had stashed the loaf, my intention obvious.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Square Shoulders said.

  “There’s plenty enough for us to eat in the wagons.” I snatched the loaf of bread from beneath the cover, then brought it back to Colin. He sat up, holding his head, but didn’t take it from me.

  “If he takes it, he’ll lose his hand.” Sir Raleigh dismounted and pulled his sword. Colin didn’t run but he turned away.

  Raleigh padded close enough to speak in quieter tones. “Just as you should’ve yesterday when you stabbed Moldark.”

  “What are you saying? Stabbed who?” Xavier started to climb down but stopped when he saw Sir Raleigh shake his head.

  My heart gave in to the terror that ripped through me, pounding so hard it hurt. He too had known all along. I didn’t get a close look at the soldiers, but any of them could’ve been with the prince and Raleigh when the draignoch saved me from the same fate Raleigh was threatening to inflict on the boy. I lowered my head, but my eyes remained fixed on Raleigh’s.

  Sir Raleigh took the loaf of bread from me. “Take your seat before you cause the boy and his mother more trouble. Prince Jori is expecting you. I assured him you would be delivered safely to the castle, along with Xavier. It’s your choice if you want to arrive bound and gagged. Makes no difference to me.”

  I ground my teeth. “May I please help this boy safely back to his house?”

  Raleigh arched a single curious brow, but stepped aside, making room for me to help the boy stand up. His shoulders were so frail, I could feel his skeleton.

  “Load up, men!” Raleigh shouted.

  The gash on Colin’s head was so deep I saw bone. Blood snaked down his face. Dizzy, he tripped twice on the way to his mother’s waiting arms, where he collapsed.

  “Colin?” She patted his cheeks, but he didn’t wake up. “No!”

  My hand heated. The slow hum I’d heard in the tavern returned, buzzing my ears. Although I couldn’t see the moonlight touching me because it was masked by the glare of the lowering sun, I could feel it. The pit of my stomach joined my palm, warming. I still had no idea what I was doing, but if I had a chance at healing this boy’s head, I had to try.

  With my back to the soldiers, I closed my eyes and pressed my hand to Colin’s wound. In the darkness, I saw cracked bone smooth to whole. Skin seal. When I opened my eyes, Colin was looking up at me, smiling.

  His mother gasped. “How—”

  I shook my head, cutting her off.

  “Maggie!” Xavier yelled.

  “Go,” I whispered.

  Colin and his mother went into the house and shut the door.

  I stared at my hands, covered in Colin’s blood, transfixed in wonder, then at the moon. The same moon I’d always seen. The scar on my arm burned. I cringed, unsure what that meant.

  “Maggie!” Xavier yelled again, growing impatient.

  “I’m coming . . .”

  Colin’s frail smile appeared in the window. Then he did the strangest thing. He held up three fingers and set them against his forearm. My scar. He’d seen it. Sir Raleigh’s shadow fell over me. I had completely forgotten he was there. “In the wagon, Maggie.”

  There was a change in his tone, in his demeanor. He seemed . . . unnerved. There was only one explanation. He had seen, and yet he said nothing about it.

  As I climbed into the wagon, Raleigh squeezed the bread. “The boy was right. Fools,” he snapped at his men. “The loaf is stale.” He tossed it back at the house and mounted his horse.

  We camped in a small grove out of the wind. The soldiers stayed away from us, taking care of the horses and standing watch over the wagons. Xavier disappeared into the woods to practice. He asked to go alone. I was happy to be rid of him for a little while. They put up a tent for me, but I always preferred sleeping under the stars. I set my bedroll near the fire, ate the apples and hard cheese Raleigh brought, and fell into a deep exhausted sleep.

  The next day was more of the same, long flat roads running by blighted pastures. The soldiers continued to pillage anything that resembled a dwelling. That night, long after I’d fallen asleep, Xavier woke me in a panic. He dragged me away from the smoldering fire’s delicious heat, into the dense darkness in the woods, away from the prying eyes of the soldiers.

  “It’s not working. Maggie, we cannot go into the Walled City if the magic is gone.” The wall looked even bigger now, and we were still miles from it.

  “There’s no turning back, Xavier. Show me what you’ve been doing? Maybe there is something you’ve forgotten. What are you trying to do?”

  He gestured to the ground.

  Our rabbit lay unmoving, a bloody wooden sliver beside him. “Why would you do this?”

  “I was trying to heal it.” He held up his hands, which were covered in hair and blood. “It didn’t work!”

  “Clearly.” I ground my teeth. The rabbit’s side lifted. At the very least, he was alive.

  “What are we going to do, Maggie?” he whispered harshly.

  “Go on then. Let me see what you’ve been trying before our prop bleeds to death.” By the looks of him, he wasn’t going to last more than a few minutes.

  Xavier fumbled with the gem strapped to his head and the others on the backs of his hands. He picked up his staff. He raised his arms over his head, chanting, then touched the rabbit with the bottom of the staff, nudging. Standing still as a statue, he watched the skies while I watched our furry friend.

  “You see? No moonlight and the rabbit . . .” He threw the staff on the ground.

  I saw only a frantic soul standing on the precipice of failure or greatness, with a sad rabbit dying at his feet. But pretended I saw something else. “Yes.” I picked up the staff. The shaft warm, it felt heavier than usual. What was I going to do? Xavier couldn’t keep harming our animals. We didn’t have very many, and those we kept had taken time to catch. Time we didn’t have. Not to mention barbaric butchery hardly seemed like a stunt that would be a crowd-pleaser. But then I had another thought. “Hold your staff as you did at the tavern.”

  He took it from me, shifting his hands up and down the shaft, then posed. “Like this, wasn’t I?”

  I walked around him, adjusting the jewels on his hands, moving the bones in his hair, as if any of it mattered. Ridiculous; if I could, I would’ve laughed. I yanked a bone harder than necessary.

  “Ow! Maggie!”

  “Ah. Several of these have come loose. That could be the issue. Have you removed any?”

  “Yes!” He pulled one from his pocket. “It fell off.” He pressed it into my palm.

  “Kneel down.” I glanced into the dark skies.

  He did, and I retied the bones, securing them. Clouds rolled over a thumbnail moon. It was waxing and would be easier to see in the coming days. Perhaps that would help in the Walled City.

  “Up. Let’s do this exactly as we did that night. Your back was to me. And you, uh, had your eyes closed the whole time.”

  “Ah! Yes! I did.” Xavier turned, lifting the staff. He slammed his eyes shut, then began singing his mystical words.

  I held my hand up. A crescent-shaped moonbeam landed on the center of my palm. An intense warmth ran through me. My breath turned frosty and visible. My ears buzzed with a monotone hum.

  This was
it, the way I felt in the tavern, only stronger. More powerful, and it felt good.

  I stifled a laugh. “Louder, Xavier. You were much louder!”

  As his voice grew in volume and pitch, I fell on my knees, setting one hand on the bottom of Xavier’s cloak’s train and the other over the rabbit’s wound. My heart hammered a thunderous beat, terrified that any minute the soldiers would come to find us.

  I closed my eyes for the briefest of seconds. The wound sliced deep but was already knitting together. When I looked, the rabbit hopped up, scooting beside my feet. I traced his fur with my fingers, the moonlight gilding his outline.

  “Are you seeing this, Maggie?” Xavier’s eyes were open. He stared at the brilliant light cascading over his shoulder, then at the rabbit, alive and well at our feet.

  “Yes! You did it, Xavier!” I stood, moving my hand to his arm. Light shifted, skating down his arm, up the staff, hitting the gem. The facets broke the beam, as they did in the tavern. Blue droplets landed on trees bristling in the breeze. “So beautiful. This is what the audience will cheer for, Xavier. You don’t need to sacrifice our animals this way. Draw the moonlight and put on a glorious show of light.”

  He hummed, intrigued.

  Twigs cracked. Our rabbit spooked, scurrying into the woods, getting away.

  “Xavier! They’re coming!”

  Raleigh and several other soldiers hurried into the glen, carrying torches.

  “Look at that!” one cried.

  Sliding farther behind Xavier, I peeked in their direction, worrying about having to find our stupid rabbit before morning. I could suddenly feel his fur beneath my fingers.

  The soldiers stared at Xavier, mouths open.

  “What is that?” one of them asked.

  “It’s a rabbit!” another said, pointing at Xavier’s shoulder, where my hand happened to be.

  I looked up. My breath caught. A glistening rabbit drawn in moon threads stared down at me from atop my hand on Xavier’s shoulder. Xavier’s head jerked, his eyes finding the ghostly aura. He squeaked in surprise.

  “I don’t remember giving either of you permission to leave camp!” Raleigh barked.

  I glared at him. The sparkling rabbit jumped off Xavier, following my gaze, launching in Raleigh’s direction. Before it reached him, on instinct, I closed my hand, breaking the connection with the light. Darkness fell like a closing curtain. The delicious scent of fresh snow lingered in its wake.

  “Was that a ghost?” one of them asked in the hushed silence.

  “Nah. It was magic,” another said. The awe in his voice unmistakable. It was there in their stares at Xavier too.

  “See?” I whispered to Xavier. “This is what the king will want to see. When he meets you, he will truly believe in magic.”

  Wind rustled the leaves.

  “Get back to camp. I’ll escort them,” Raleigh ordered, taking a torch from the soldier beside him. His gaze firmly on me, he padded toward us. “Don’t know what sorts live in these parts, but I’m sure they’re not used to whatever that was. Time for sleep. Been enough rehearsing the past two nights. If you’re not ready now, Xavier the Ambrosius, you never will be.”

  Four

  Griffin

  Griffin couldn’t sleep. He went to the practice fields beside the armory before dawn, strapped on his leather breastplate, gauntlet cuffs, and shin guards, and started running. It had been three long days since the attempt on the king’s life. Three long days since Jori had left. And three long days since Halig and Capp had been taken by the guards to be interrogated.

  Bradyn was inconsolable.

  With Jori gone, Griffin had no one to turn to for help. For the first time in his life, he felt useless, and didn’t like it.

  According to the physician, for the mushrooms to work that fast, a full cup, dried and ground, had to have been mixed into the ale. And Bradyn claimed that the king’s food and drink were tasted in the kitchens before being brought to him.

  It was brought to the table already poisoned by someone between the buttery and the chamber.

  An assassin. King Umbert had been right. His life was in danger, but not from Malcolm. The Northman had willingly poured his own drink from the pitcher. If the dogs hadn’t drunk the poison first, he would be dead now too. Wouldn’t he? Or had he done that for show, believing the king would drink it when he returned?

  Griffin had seen the surprise in Malcolm’s face. He hadn’t done it, but then who had?

  Griffin rolled his wrist, swinging his sword downward, stabbing the ground. It was opening day of the tournament. He had to set all that aside. He needed to put on a good show, win over the crowd as the king asked, and for that he had to be focused on the task at hand only. That’s what he had told Bradyn about the melee. Now he had to heed his own advice.

  “Focus on what you can control.”

  The cold fall air stiffened his limbs. The only remedy was to put them to task so that he was ready for the monster to come. He ran harder, faster, until he could no longer feel resistance in his legs or lungs. He used a rough rock to toughen his calluses to keep his sword’s grip from slipping. Then he took practice swings, thrusting upward in different angles until his arms no long protested the awkward position.

  Two hours later, Griffin made his way over the bridge and into the performers’ tunnel, ready for day one in the arena. The melee had started. The field was carved into small squares for matches. He stood at the end for a few minutes, staring down at the event. Bradyn was down there in the midst of the cracking wooden swords, somewhere, as was every boy from ten to sixteen who wanted to show off burgeoning skills, or reveal the lack thereof. Victors moved square to square, sparring to disarm each other until the champion was the last man standing in the center.

  Griffin tried to watch to the end, but the tunnel flooded with actors for the play that followed. He was forced to back up into a horde of guards blocking the stairs that led to the dais, and the king. Griffin wondered if Jori was up there now. High time he had made it back.

  Rousing applause and a horn let Griffin know a winner had taken the circle. The actors shifted, making room for the boys to exit the lift swiftly so they could enter. It would take several trips.

  “Who is it?” Griffin called to Bradyn, who was sidestepping through the actors to get to him.

  Bradyn shook his head. “If you’re asking if it was me, it wasn’t, my lord. Got walloped by Wallison in the first square, the lard ass. He took the prize. How unlucky is that? I mean, who puts me against that man-child first off?”

  Wallison, the beastly son of Sir Wallis of the Top, lumbered into the tunnel, his sword resting on his shoulder as if he were going to keep it as a souvenir. At fourteen he was nearly as tall as Griffin. He raised his sword over his head in triumph, looking for a reaction from Griffin.

  Griffin aimed a finger at him. “Well done, Wallison.”

  Bradyn hit Griffin on the arm. “He finished off Zac by farting on his head so loud His Majesty heard it on the balcony. Laughed at him heartily. Zac will never live it down.”

  Griffin laughed. “Serves Zac right for ending up under Wallison’s arse.”

  “Oof!” A wooden sword swung playfully in Griffin’s direction, wielded by young Master Zac himself. “One day you’ll pay for that, Sir Griffin,” Zac laughed, tossing his wooden sword at him. Griffin ducked, letting it hit the wall. The boys surrounded Griffin and began cheering his name. The actors joined in.

  “The king’s champion will triumph again!” Wallison called. “Grif-fin! Grif-fin! Grif-fin!”

  Griffin’s chest swelled with pride while his cheeks burned with embarrassment. He couldn’t imagine anyone cheering his name when he’d first arrived in the Bottom. Kicked by soldiers more times than he could count, disrespected by every noble family. Now surrounded by admiration from the very sons of those who looked down on him.

  “Foundling Son of the Bottom!” Thoma bellowed at him.

  Dres trailed after him. The two gap
ed at Griffin as if they were meeting a celebrity-stranger and not someone they’d known since he was eight. Both shorter by a head than Griffin, Thoma was fair, with a dimple in his chin and an always-warm smile, while Dres was dark haired with caterpillars for eyebrows, and a permanent furrowed brow that made him look perpetually angry.

  “You look like a gladiator,” Thoma teased, shoving his shoulder.

  “He looks like a Topper. Fighting with all that on,” Dres chortled. “You should go out naked, like our ancestors.”

  Thoma slugged Dres on the back. “Have you seen the northern girls on the balcony? I’ve seen him naked. He’d never have a chance with them if he did.”

  Griffin grimaced, mortified. This was the last thing he needed right now. The guards by the door to the king’s balcony glared at them. They weren’t supposed to be in here. They weren’t supposed to sit in the Top sections at all, but there was no way they would make it to the Middle, let alone the Bottom before the match began. Griffin didn’t need to ask their intentions to know they planned to do something they shouldn’t.

  “Get out!” Hugo yelled at them. “Griffin doesn’t need you blathering fools wasting his time. He has a match!”

  “Ah! Finally, the most important man in the Walled City!” Griffin’s heart filled at the sight of his former employer.

  “We’ll find you after!” Thoma said.

  “Not if he’s dead, we won’t.” Dres laughed again.

  Hugo hustled toward him, carting a new axe, bumping a few boys who refused to get out of his way. The blacksmith was the closest thing Griffin had to family—a hulking human, with little hair on face or head, and hands forever caked in soot. Terrifying at first, Griffin had realized the truth of him quickly. He was as bighearted as they come.

  “Here you go, lad!” He handed over the axe. “Double-edged like you asked. Hickory handle. Strongest there is.”

  Griffin examined the edges. No one sharpened a blade as finely as Hugo. Griffin rotated the handle through his warm-up moves so as not to kill his cheering friends, finding it perfectly balanced. “Thank you. Truly. It’s perfect.”