“It’s when you pledge your allegiance to me. I drink your blood, and you drink mine.”
“No. No more blood.”
“You must,” Zach said. “You cannot leave here without making Aaron your Master.”
“First of all, Aaron is the Dragon Master, and I’m not a dragon,” Lleland said. He looked at Aaron. “And if I drink your blood, it may strengthen the effects of Lydia’s.”
“There are many dragons in Civitas, Lleland,” Aaron replied. Lleland’s eyebrows rose fractionally at the thought. Had he been walking past dragons every day and not known it? “They’ll recognize you for what you are as soon as they see you, and if you don’t create a bond with me, they’ll know that too. You’ll be considered rogue, which means they are free to do with you as they will.”
“Then let them know what happened,” Lleland said.
“Absolutely not! The dragons of the clan have sworn their allegiance to me, but I cannot control all their actions, especially those further afield. If word got out that Jack created a dragon by giving a child his blood, who knows what will happen.” He pushed himself from the desk. “This must remain between us. I won’t even tell the elders.”
Lleland paced over to the window. “I still won’t drink your blood,” he said.
Aaron was silent for a long moment. “I cannot force you to join the clan, Lleland. But if you don’t, your life could be in danger.”
“I understand. Let’s see what happens.”
“You’re just delaying the inevitable,” Aaron said. “When do you plan to leave?”
“At first light.”
Lydia was not in the hall that evening, and Lleland was relieved. It was, after all, better not to see her again. It was because of Lydia that he had become a monster. She meant nothing to him anymore. Even if he did have feelings for her, he could not trust that they were real. Not after she bound him with her blood. And given his behavior that afternoon, her absence made things less awkward. No, he told himself, he definitely did not want to see her. But that conclusion did nothing to lift his spirits and relieve the melancholy that settled over him for the remainder of the evening.
He left as soon as the sun reached the horizon the next morning, following the path that led from the mountain castle. Aaron and Zach circled above him, a pair of huge, golden dragons. “Do you want a ride to the village?” Zach asked, dropping closer as Lleland scrambled down the path.
Lleland frowned. “No.”
“Halfway down the mountain, then?”
When Lleland remained silent, Zach swooped away with a laugh. “Don’t get sore feet,” he said.
It was nightfall when Lleland reached the village, but he did not stop. Instead he skirted the buildings and headed to the west road. Even though it was dark he could see clearly, and despite a full day of walking, did not feel weary. The moon was waning but shone brightly in the night sky. Between the trees a nightjar chirred, while from farther away came the hoot of an owl.
It was already past midnight when Lleland finally stopped to rest. He found a tree a short distance from the road to lie beneath, and placed his things on the ground beside him. Sleep came easily, and he dreamed of soaring above the trees and climbing the heavens to reach the stars. He was powerful, and he threw back his head and roared his strength to the night sky. When he awoke, he saw that the trunk of the tree he lay beneath had been singed with flame.
He gathered his things and carried on walking. He soon passed the place where Francis had been attacked, and saw a broken arrow on the path. Had it only been three days ago? It felt like a lifetime had passed. The smell of human blood assailed his senses. He could tell that some of it was his, but the rest belonged to the other men that had been killed.
As Lleland walked, he thought of his mother, his students, and the work he needed to do to prepare for his classes. Anything other than dragons. And Lydia. He pushed himself to walk as far as possible each day, taking his body to the brink of exhaustion. As the days passed, he noticed his abnormal strength lessening. Did that mean he was becoming human again?
Lleland had been on the road for a week when he reached a large town. The first inn he stopped at was full, but he was directed to another a short distance away, and he stepped into a large hall filled with the scent of humanity. He waved over a barman and ordered an ale before dropping his bag and taking a stool at the bar.
“Lleland Seaton? Is that you?” Lleland turned around to see Francis pushing his way towards him, and he groaned inwardly. “I thought you were dead!”
“As you can see, I’m quite alive.”
“But how did you escape?” Lleland could smell his confusion. “You were badly wounded and when that creature grabbed you, I was sure you were doomed.”
Lleland shrugged. “It meant me no harm. As soon as I was well, it let me go.”
“It let you go? And you traveled all this way with a stab wound?”
“It was merely a scratch.”
“A scratch? I saw the blood gushing from your chest!”
Lleland turned in his stool and took a long swig of ale. “It must have been the other man’s blood,” he said.
“I didn’t think he was wounded.” Francis eyed him skeptically.
“Well, as you can see, I’m fit and hale.”
“Yes, so I see.” Francis studied Lleland for a moment, then turned and waved for another ale.
“How has your journey been?” Lleland asked.
“No more thieves or bandits, I’m sorry to say.”
“That’s a good thing,” Lleland said.
“It makes the journey so dull and tedious.”
“You’re supposed to be doing penance.”
“True.” Francis grimaced for a moment, but then grinned. “There’ve been some rather accommodating barmaids along the way.”
Lleland groaned. “That’s what got you in trouble in the first place.”
“Ah, but I’m not giving them my name! And my father is not around to know what I’m doing.”
“I wash my hands of you,” Lleland said, swallowing the last of his ale and standing. “I’m going to find a bed for the night.”
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Francis said cheerfully.
Lleland left before first light and did not see Francis again. He had taken some bread and cold meat from the inn, and ate as he walked, but it did little to relieve the gnawing hunger that had been growing in the pit of his belly for the last few days. His throat was continuously parched, and no amount of ale or water could quench his thirst. Aaron would say he needed blood, but he refused to consider it. If he faltered in his resolve to resist the urge of the dragon, all would be lost.
The days passed. When he was able to find an inn, he slept there, but just as often he slept beneath the stars, under a tree or bush. He refused to think of Lydia as he walked, but he could not keep her from his dreams. Sometimes she came to him in human form, and she’d take him by the hand and lead him to a pool of calm water. Her lips would touch his, and he would wrap his arms around her and whisper her name. Other times she came to him as a dragon, her huge wings spread over him, until he too changed form and chased her into the skies. She was hugely, savagely beautiful. Her fiercely spiked tail would wind around his, and he would drag his forked tongue down her neck as her eyes flamed with heat. He woke from these dreams panting, longing to feel her in his arms, until he remembered that she was a monster and he could no longer trust the feelings he had for her, and he would push the thoughts away with a growl.
As the days passed, Lleland’s legs began to ache, and his body was no longer able to endure long hours of walking. It was late one evening when Lleland stopped for the night near a river. He had not eaten since the previous day when he had enjoyed a bowl of stew at an inn. But there were no inns in the country that surrounded him now.
He placed his satchel on the ground and taking his bow and a few arrows, headed towards the water. His plan was to hunt a small animal to roast over a fire.
He sniffed the air. Something was approaching downwind of the river. He crept forward with as much stealth as possible, then paused and sniffed again. The animal was coming closer. He notched an arrow on the string of his bow, and crouched behind some bushes. A large elk appeared from behind some trees and stopped to nibble the leaves. Lleland paused a moment; the creature was large, and he was just one man, but hunger gnawed at his stomach. He drew back the string and loosed the arrow, watching as it hit the animal in the neck.
Blood spurted from the wound as the elk fell, and instinct took over as Lleland dropped his bow and ran towards the kill. His wings opened on his back, shredding his tunic and propelling him forward, but he didn’t notice. He fell to the ground next to the animal and yanked out the arrow before sealing his lips to the wound. Blood gushed into his mouth, and he swallowed with pleasure as the burn in his throat finally subsided. Using his knife, he sliced open the belly of the huge animal, then used his teeth to rip the warm flesh, burying his face in the carcass. In the distance he smelled a wolf approaching, and he growled, a deep sound at the back of his throat. He heard the creature turn aside as he tore off more flesh. Flames roiled within him, burning the fresh meat as soon as it hit his stomach, and he filled his belly. When he had finally had enough, he lay down on the ground beside the carcass and slept.
The sky was still dark when he opened his eyes, awoken by leaves crackling beneath the soft paws of an animal. The wolf he had smelled earlier stood on the other side of the elk carcass, watching him. It stepped forward, then back, clearly unsure what to make of the man lying on the ground. Lleland glanced at the remains of the elk, then turned away in disgust. His memories were hazy, but he knew that the bloodied carcass was the result of his frenzied eating. The taste of flesh and blood were still in his mouth.
He rose to his feet, and frowned at his bare torso. He glanced over his shoulders to see a pair of black wings spread out behind him, trailing on the ground. He stared at them for a moment before folding them onto his back. They disappeared beneath his skin, leaving only ridges that ran the length of his spine. The wolf edged closer, eyeing him warily.
“Go ahead,” Lleland muttered. “It’s all yours.”
Despite his revulsion at his actions, he could not resist licking the dried blood from his fingers. Strength and power coursed through his body, and the gnawing hunger and burning thirst that had tormented him had disappeared. He collected his belongings and started along the road, walking late into the following night before pausing for a rest.
Another two weeks had passed when Lleland stood at the top of a hill and looked down at the city below. The pall of smoke had hung over the horizon the whole of the previous day, along with the smell of foul air. All around him people crowded along the road, dragging carts with their merchandise or lugging huge bundles as they headed into or out of the city. He wended his way through the throng and crossed the bridge. The city pulsed with life, and his senses were overwhelmed by the sights, sounds and smells that assaulted him on all sides. He still knew the streets and alleys, and recognized the hawkers and flower sellers who had been there before, but Civitas was a foreign place. He longed to return to the mountains, and felt their call pulsing through his blood. He turned towards the university.
The grounds of Kings College were quiet – there were still two more weeks before the start of the autumn term. The only sign of life was the groundsman tending bushes in a far corner. Lleland walked up the path and pushed open the wooden door. A few of the Masters, like himself, lived at the college all year around, and the building was not completely empty.
His boots echoed over the flagstones as he headed down the passage. He had just reached the stairs when a door opened and he saw the Dean emerge from his office. “Ah, Seaton, you’re back from your travels. I look forward to hearing your report.”
Lleland nodded. “Yes, Master.” He mounted the stairs and made his way to his chamber. It was cool and smelled a little moldy, and he flung open the window, letting in the late summer air. The room seemed very small after the chambers at Storbrook, but as he glanced around, his eyes fell on his books which had been carefully stacked on the desk, and he smiled to himself. No matter what changed around him, it was reassuring to know that some things remained the same.
Chapter 30
Lleland sat in his chamber, his daybook before him on his desk. The window was open and the smells of the city wafted through. He rubbed his bare back over the hard wood of his chair as he read, in an effort ease to the pressure that would not go away. There was nothing he could do to relieve his back, or the ache in his belly, which craved raw flesh and blood. The thought of feeding his animal nature repulsed him, and he denied these cravings: perhaps if he starved the monster within, he could kill it. The memory of his last kill brought conflicting emotions. His stomach tightened as he thought of the hot blood spilling into his mouth and the steaming flesh reaching his belly, but he was revolted by his wild, beastly instincts which had him tearing the carcass with his teeth. He had stopped all hunting so he wouldn’t become an animal again.
The constant, gnawing hunger was one thing, but it was the dreams that troubled Lleland most. He dreamed of himself, huge, black and monstrous. As monstrous as Jack. He dreamed of blood spilling into his mouth, and the taste of human flesh as he ripped it apart with his talons. The screams of frightened people filled him with power, and he took delight in their fear. Sometimes Lydia joined him as he feasted, killing dozens in a single night, while other times he hunted alone. His appetite was insatiable, and he reveled in it, until he awoke, aghast. He took to sleeping on the floor after he woke up with his quilt ripped and mattress shredded. Sometimes when he opened his eyes his wings were unfurled, trailing over his back and across the floor, and he lifted them languorously, marveling at their power, until he remembered what they represented. As much as the dreams appalled him, it was the cravings which lingered long after he awoke that most shocked and revolted him. He could not allow himself to become that monster.
Lleland glanced at the book before him. It was open to the account of his first encounter with the Storbrook dragons, and Lydia’s sketches stared at him from the page. He traced his fingers over the drawing of the smaller dragon, then slammed the book shut in annoyance. He did not want to think about dragons, and especially not Lydia. But even so, the memory of her soft lips could not be forgotten, and he groaned. It was a woman he wanted, not a dragon.
His mind wandered back to his visit to his mother a few days before. It was the first time he had seen her since his return to Civitas. He knew that his reluctance to visit had been caused by his dread that somehow she would know he was changed – that he had become the creature she most feared. She’d stared at him when he first arrived at the door, and for a moment he was sure that she knew, but then she smiled and took his hands.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, son,” she said, “I just had to remind myself what you look like!”
He grinned in relief. “It hasn’t been that long,” he said.
“Long enough! And I wasn’t even sure you’d ever return!” A shadow passed over her face, then was gone. “But here you are! Come, sit down, and tell me about the places you’ve seen!”
The clock in the church tower tolled three, reminding Lleland of the time. Durwin Scott, one of the members of the League, had sent him a note the previous day. He had heard that Lleland was back in town and suggested they meet over a pint. Lleland straightened his tunic and headed outside. The heat of summer had given way to cooler temperatures, but the days were still clear and fine. He turned in the direction of the tavern near the Guildhall, passing the busy market where hawkers and vendors shouted out their wares. His senses were assailed by a multitude of smells – spices, leather, flowers and fabrics, while all around him he heard the loud and not-so-loud conversations of buyers and sellers. He passed the table of fabric that Lydia had admired so much, and turned away.
“Master Seaton!”
Lleland spun around to see a carriage slowing to a halt a few feet away. He recognized John the coachman, and waved his hand in greeting.
“You’re back in town,” he said.
“We arrived last week. Mistress was eager to get back to the city after her mother passed. I’m glad to see you made it back alive, and didn’t die in the mountains!”
The door of the carriage opened, and Lleland saw Muriel lean forward in the dim interior. “Master Seaton! I was hoping we would see you sometime.” She blushed and bit her lip as her eyes dropped to her lap. An elderly gentleman sat on the bench across from her.
“This is my uncle, Ambassador Syngen Gail,” she said.
The man leaned forward, and Lleland met his gray eyes with a nod. “Master Seaton? I understand from my niece that we owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“I did as much as any other gentleman would’ve done.”
“Perhaps. But I’m still in your debt. We’re having a small party next week. Why don’t you join us?”
“Well …” Muriel peered at him from beneath her eyelashes.
“You would honor us if you accept,” Syngen said.
“Thank you, Master. I look forward to it.”
“Good.” Syngen closed the door and the carriage pulled away. Lleland swallowed a sigh as he watched it go, before continuing on his way.
He reached the tavern a short while later, and immediately saw Scott seated at a table in the center of the room. He was talking to the barmaid, who was laughing at something he said. Lleland made his way to the table and sat down. Scott was a tanner by trade, and even as a human, Lleland could smell the odor of untanned leather that clung to him. Now, however, it almost overwhelmed his senses, and he turned away to take in a deep breath.
“You’re a married man now,” he said as Scott patted the barmaid while she walked away. “You shouldn’t be flirting with pretty women.”
Scott turned to Lleland with a sigh. “Don’t remind me,” he said.
“That bad, eh? It’s only been, what, ten months?”
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