Master of Dragons

by Margaret Weis

  Draconas had provided Lysira with directions to the hidden city of Dragonkeep. She couldn’t see it, though she looked hard for it. She did see the boats of the monks drifting down the river, however— evidence of human habitation. He’d warned her against flying too low, a warning she ignored, for she had to fly low in order to investigate. The humans weren’t in any of the boats heading downstream. Draconas thought they would be traveling the other direction, and he proved to be right.

  Lysira spotted the two between a gap in the trees. Their warm human bodies glowed softly in the night.

  “Your humans are not very intelligent,” she reported to Draconas. “Surrounded by their foes, they are both sound asleep.”

  “Are they surrounded?” Draconas asked, alarmed.

  “No,” Lysira returned. “But, according to what you said, they could be.”

  “Have you seen any sign of other dragons?”

  “None.”

  “Grald could still be hiding in the cave waiting for them,” Draconas said more to himself than to her. “Are you keeping your distance?”

  “Yes, Draconas,” returned Lysira, her colors sharp-edged with annoyance. “I am not a fledgling.”

  The truth was, Lysira had decided to satisfy her curiosity about the humans. Draping herself in a simple illusion to make herself invisible, she descended from her lofty vantage point in slow, lazy circles. She kept watch as she drifted downward on her strong wings, but saw nothing to give her concern. Animals prowled the forest, birds flitted about the skies. They could not see her, and so the fox continued his rabbit-hunt and the nightjar her bug-catching without raising the alarm.

  Lysira hovered above the tops of the trees and gazed down curiously on the two creatures in the boat.

  Sleeping, all humans look as innocent and harmless as nestlings. And they were so fragile and vulnerable. Their bodies soft and unprotected, their soft mouths with tiny teeth, and talons with weak little claws. No wings to carry them out of harm’s way. No fire rumbling in their bellies to scorch their enemies.

  It was a wonder they had survived thus far. She could understand why they had to rely on terrible machines. So weak. So pitiably weak.

  “What if Grald is waiting for them in the cave, Draconas?” Lysira asked. “What am I to do?”

  “Nothing. You cannot fight Grald. It would be madness to try. He very nearly bested me in battle,” Draconas admonished sharply. “You would have no chance against him.”

  “And your humans? What chance do they have?” Lysira demanded.

  “More than you might think. No matter what happens, you must stay out of it. Not just for your own sake, but for the sake of our people. You are my only link with the other dragons now, Lysira. We must keep your involvement secret. Promise me you will not interfere if there is trouble. Promise.”

  “I don’t see what right you have asking me for promises,” Lysira retorted, bristling.

  “I have no right,” Draconas conceded. “Except as someone who cares about you. Cares very much.”

  Lysira’s colors blurred in confusion. She didn’t know what to say and so she said nothing, and by the time she thought of something, he was gone.

  Lysira soared triumphantly into the evening sky. She could have fought Grald or a hundred like him in that moment of happiness. She did not forget her charges and, from her vantage point, she cast an eye on the humans, antlike, in the boat on the river that wound, snakelike, among the trees, and she thought how deceptively serene and peaceful the chaotic world of men looked from this vast distance, up among the stars.

  9

  MARCUS WOKE WITH A START TO PITCH DARKNESS, NOISY WITH THE songs of frogs and crickets, to find Evelina lying across his feet. He tried to recall what had awakened him, but he’d been so deeply asleep that he couldn’t distinguish dream from reality. He had either heard the swishing sound of something creeping along the shoreline or he’d dreamed it.

  He froze, not moving, barely breathing, thinking that if he was quiet, whatever was out there might try to sneak up on him and he’d have the advantage of surprise.

  He heard nothing except Evelina, who muttered something and rolled over, causing the boat to rock. He waited a few more moments. He couldn’t wait long, however, for he was afraid that Evelina might wake and inadvertently say or do something that would reveal their hiding place.

  Marcus rose up slowly and stealthily. He slid one arm beneath Evelina’s head, and he placed his hand, very gently, over her mouth.

  “Evelina,” he said softly.

  He expected her to jump and gasp or scream, which was why he had his hand over her mouth. What he did not expect was for her to nibble at his fingers, murmur something unintelligible, and nestle more deeply into his embrace.

  “Evelina, wake up,” he said again.

  She snuggled closer. Her breath was warm and moist on his hand. “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  “Evelina,” he said. “Please . . .”

  Her eyelids fluttered. She stretched languorously, arching her back and flexing her arms behind her head. Soft, full parts of her brushed against him. Her lips licked his fingers and the touch of her lips and her body sent desire aching through his body.

  “I’m awake,” she said, and her eyes opened.

  She gazed at Marcus, then she pushed him back and sat up with a suddenness that set the boat rocking wildly.

  “Oh!” she gasped, clutching at her chemise.

  “I’m sorry!” he gasped in turn. Drawing back, he felt guilt-ridden and confused. “I didn’t mean ... I was only trying ... I was afraid you might cry out . . .”

  Evelina hung her head. “No, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice soft as the night. “What must you think of me! I was dreaming . . .” She blushed so deeply that he could see her flush even in the lambent starlight. “Please forgive me, Your Highness.”

  Not knowing what else to do, he patted her hand soothingly, all the while keeping watch in the woods.

  “Is there something out there?” she asked, noticing his preoccupation and clutching his hand tightly in alarm.

  “I thought I heard a noise. But it may have been an animal. I haven’t heard it again.” He gently disengaged his hand. “We should be going. I didn’t mean to sleep so long.”

  “I didn’t mean to sleep at all,” said Evelina remorsefully. “It’s just ... I was so tired . . .”

  He soothed and petted her again and thought about the spell he was going to cast on the boat.

  “How do your hands feel after all that rowing?” Evelina asked suddenly.

  “Like raw meat,” he said ruefully.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Evelina, and her eyes shimmered in the starlight. “When we stop to rest, I will make a poultice to put on them. You will have to leave it on for several days and not do any more rowing, but it will heal them, and when they are healed, we can continue our journey.”

  “A kind thought, but we don’t have time,” said Marcus. He was busy constructing the magic in his mind.

  “I was thinking, Marcus. This may be unseemly of me to offer, but if I tore off some strips of the hem of my chemise, you could use them to bandage your hands. It might help a little—”

  “That’s a good idea.” He knew what he had to do and he turned his attention to her. “If you don’t mind—”

  “I don’t mind.”

  Evelina lifted her skirt and folded it back over her knees. Marcus realized a bit belatedly that a gentleman should turn his head away, and he did so, but he took with him the image of shapely legs, white in the starlight. He heard fabric rip and tear, and when she told him he could turn around, she held up two long strips. She wrapped Marcus’s hands herself, apologizing profusely for the fact that the cloth was travel-stained and frayed.

  “That feels better already,” he said, as she was carefully winding the cloth around and around his blistered palms. “I’ll have my mother’s seamstresses make you a new chemise when we reach my home. Made of the finest silk.” He had
only a vague idea what chemises were made of, but silk seemed safe. “With a hem of lace.”

  “I would like that, Marcus,” said Evelina, and her hand stroked his hand gently as she finished her bandaging.

  He was embarrassed by the adoration in her eyes and he turned away. He wished she wouldn’t look at him that way, when he didn’t know how he felt about her.

  “We should get started.”

  “We’re going into that cave,” said Evelina, and her voice was tight.

  “It’s going to be all right.” Marcus drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I’m going to cast a magical spell on the boat, Evelina. I’m going to make it invisible. And I’m going to make us invisible. Not to each other,” he added hastily. “You’ll still be able to see me and to see the boat. But no one else will be able to see us.”

  He was making a mess of this, but he’d never had to explain his magic to anyone before.

  “I know you don’t understand—” he began.

  “Understand what? That you are going to make us invisible? Of course, I understand.” Evelina settled herself in the stern, pulled the blanket more closely around her shoulders, and regarded him calmly. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

  He found himself almost loving her at that moment. “You must keep perfectly still. And not make a sound. Not a sniffle, not a gasp, not a whisper. For though they cannot see us, they can still hear us.”

  “They can’t see us, but they can hear us. I understand, Marcus,” she said.

  In order to cast the magic, he would have to enter his little room, a room in his mind similar to the room where he had been locked up as a child. The danger was that whenever he entered the room, the dragons were aware of him. They would try to catch him, haul him out. And so he opened the door swiftly and ran inside and slammed the door shut behind him. Almost immediately, he could hear claws scraping and scratching outside, searching for weakness, searching for a chink, a crack.

  Marcus sat on the small stool in the middle of the room, shut out the clawing, and considered what he had to do. He’d never cast a spell of such magnitude before, not in cold blood. He knew how to do it; Draconas had taught him, long ago, on the bank of a river.

  There are two types of dragon-magic, Marcus. Like two types of strategy in a battle: offensive and defensive. From what I have observed watching the monks, humans can use either one or the other. The determining factor as to which they can use appears to be sex. Females can use defensive magic, males offensive. You are unique, in that you can use both.

  Outside the door, the dragon snorted in frustration. Marcus forced himself to concentrate, to forget the dragon. He brought the image of the boat to mind, so that it was like a wet painting on a canvas, and he began to scrub it with water, so that the colors streamed and ran together and dribbled off the canvas in muddy droplets. He scrubbed and scrubbed until the image of the boat vanished. Looking at the painting, he saw the river and he saw the black net of tree branches catching the stars in the sky. But no boat. No Marcus. No Evelina.

  He sighed deeply. He could tell by the contented warmth of pleasure that the magic had worked. The weakness and the sick feeling would come later; hopefully much later, after they’d managed to sneak through the cavern.

  Marcus picked up the oars and, wincing at the pain in his hands, began to row.

  Evelina opened her mouth.

  Marcus shook his head, reminding her she must be silent.

  “Are we invisible now?” she whispered.

  Marcus nodded.

  Evelina glanced around at the boat, which was plainly visible, and at herself, and at him.

  “Good job,” she whispered solemnly. “I can’t see a thing.”

  Marcus smiled, thinking she was joking to relieve the tension. He continued to row and the boat rounded the bend of the river.

  “There it is!” Evelina cried in a smothered voice that she remembered just in time to keep soft. She pointed.

  Marcus glanced over his shoulder. The river flowed into a black maw. Chill, dank air washed over them. Evelina shivered and cast him a pleading glance that said, quite plainly, “It’s not too late to turn around and go back!”

  He knew those words because he was hearing them inside his head. He kept on rowing. The black maw came nearer and nearer, spewing out the river, sucking them in.

  The rock cliff loomed above them, blotting out the stars. He listened, but heard only the soft gurgle of the river water, roiling around the base of the stone walls. Grald might be in there, crouched in the darkness, waiting. Or perhaps a cadre of monks, their hands tipped with fire, deadly bolts ready.

  Whatever eyes were watching would not be able to see him. He reminded himself of that and continued to row. The maw came closer. He was rowing as quietly as he could, but the oars made plashing noises as they entered the water, and there was nothing he could do to muffle them. The river’s flow was not very strong here, and he hoped that one mighty pull would give the boat momentum enough to coast through the cavern, so that he would not have to put the oars into the water once they were inside.

  The entrance was coming up fast upon them. He had forgotten it was so low. Evelina took one frightened look, then hunched down and threw the blanket over her head.

  “I can’t watch!” she gasped.

  Marcus gave a final pull at the oars, and then shipped them and ducked his head.

  The boat skimmed over the surface and slid into the maw. He was awash in darkness so deep that it made the lambent light of stars and river seem bright by contrast. He could see nothing, and he recalled how the monks had lit lanterns on their boats when they had sailed into the cavern.

  Marcus stared hard in the direction of the shoreline. He could not see it. He could see nothing in the pitch dark of the cave. He couldn’t hear anything either and he began to think that the cavern was empty, that they were going to slip through unchallenged.

  He did not give thanks yet. The boat was starting to lose its forward momentum. He would have to row. His heart in his mouth, he picked up the oars, moving slowly and carefully to keep them from squeaking, and slowly and carefully lowered them into the water. They made a gentle splash, and he cringed as he pulled on the oars. He feared losing his way in the darkness, and he was relieved beyond measure to see the exit—a much wider aperture than the entrance—come into view. The starlit river glimmered in the opening, and he steered the boat toward it.

  The opening came nearer and nearer. Marcus was starting to think that they were going to escape after all, his heart was starting to lift, when a glimmer of light caught his attention.

  The light came not from the shore, but from the dark water.

  Marcus stared down into the river’s depths. The light grew in brilliance, and then there were two lights—red-gold in color, widening and expanding and drawing closer.

  Marcus ceased to row. His hands clenched on the oars. Two eyes—red-gold, with black, reptilian, slit pupils—gazed up at him.

  The dragon was in the water beneath them.

  Terrified, Marcus stared into the eyes that followed him, unblinking, as the boat slid over the surface. The boat moved of its own volition, for Marcus’s hands had gone numb, his arms had lost their strength. He sat in his small chair in his little room and quaked at the sight of the unblinking eyes and the dragon’s thoughts that clawed with sharp colors at his soul.

  “Come out,” Grald urged. “I’ve your doom to show you.”

  Marcus stayed where he was, kept the door bolted.

  “I will give you a glimpse,” said Grald.

  Ranks of soldiers—human soldiers, clad in armor that sparkled in the moonlight like the scales of the dragon—marched toward Marcus. The soldiers marched faster and faster, rushing up at him. Water surged around the boat, and he envisioned it capsizing, throwing him into the river, where the dragon would seize him and drag him under.

  Marcus grabbed the oars and drove them deep into the water, propelling the boat toward the exi
t. Determinedly he rowed and kept rowing, grunting at the stinging pain in his bandaged palms.

  “What is it? I can’t look!” Evelina lifted her head out of the folds of the blanket, she stared, terror-stricken, around her.

  Marcus didn’t answer her. He lacked the breath. The boat shot out of the cave. The soldiers vanished. The dragon’s eyes watched Marcus row, plunging the oars into the water, pulling, lifting, plunging, again and again, until the eyes were far behind him. Sweat poured off him.

  “What’s wrong?” Evelina cried.

  “Didn’t you see the dragon?”

  Evelina glanced timidly over her shoulder, then looked back at Marcus.

  “No,” she said. “I didn’t see anything.”

  “It was there, watching us.”

  Or was it?

  Illusion. An illusion created by the dragon. An illusion meant to show Marcus that his puny magicks, of which he was so proud, were the mewling of a babe compared to the magic of the dragon.

  Marcus slumped over the oars, his strength gone. His hands burned. His arm muscles jumped and twitched.

  A hint of your doom. Come inside and see the rest! See the dancing girls take off their veils! All for the price of . . . your soul.

  Marcus was tempted. He would open the door just a crack . . .

  “Don’t be a fool,” said a female voice, quite clearly.

  “You’re right.” Marcus smiled wearily at Evelina. “That would be foolish.”

  “Maybe it would,” said Evelina, regarding him strangely. “But I didn’t say anything.”

  10

  THE MOON HAD RISEN AND, THOUGH PAST THE FULL, THE NIGHT had shaved off only a sliver, so that its light was bright in a cloudless sky. Marcus and Evelina continued traveling the broad expanse of the river, keeping away from the shore. Not even Evelina wanted to stop for the night so near the horrible cave. She was rowing the boat now. It was either row or linger in the place that had driven her prince mad.

  Marcus dozed fitfully in the bow of the boat. At least when he was asleep, he wasn’t talking crazy, talking about what he’d seen in the cave or hearing the voices of dragons in his head. There had been nothing in the cave. Evelina had hidden her head in the blanket so she wouldn’t see anything horrible, but, consumed by a dreadful fascination, she’d peeped out from between the folds. She’d watched the cavern slide by, dark and empty. And no one was talking to him, either.