“It is her time,” said Sorrow, pleased. “Another brother or sister will soon be with us.”
The woman was moaning and writhing with the birth pangs. Her face had gone deathly pale, her eyes wide and staring. Women dressed as holy sisters came swiftly to her aid and, lifting her gently, they bore her away. The other mothers-to-be looked after her, their faces strained, and they placed their hands on their own monstrously swollen wombs. One looked at Sorrow and at Ven. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. Her crying was soundless and it was all the more terrible for being silent.
Ven turned and walked away, his clawed feet scraping against the stone. The sound was loud in his ears. Even Sorrow, who joined him, seemed subdued.
“Even human babies are born in pain,” she said as much to herself as to him. “And sometimes they kill the mother who bears them.”
“I need to get back,” Ven said. He did not add that he wasn’t supposed to be here; Sorrow so clearly thought that her revered father had sent him.
“I would urge you to stay with us,” she said. “But you need to talk with our father. Tomorrow, you will return to us and be one of us, always.”
“I would like that,” Ven said, and part of him meant it. Another part of him said it only because he didn’t want to hurt his sister.
18
ON THE MORNING OF THE DAY VEN ENTERED THE MOUNTAIN, Evelina was taking a stroll over to the beach area where the boats were moored. Most of the fishermen were already at their work; she could see the shadowy forms of their boats slipping in and out of the mists rising from the river. One man remained on shore, however, doing something with a net, mending it, perhaps. He wasn’t looking at the work in his hands. He had his eyes fixed on her. He’d had his eyes on her ever since she’d walked into view.
Evelina remembered him immediately. He had carried her from the boat, lifting her up in his strong arms and ferrying her to shore, so that her feet didn’t get wet. He desired her. That was obvious. He took no trouble to hide his lust. Rather, he flaunted it. Evelina guessed that he had stayed away from his fishing on the off chance that he might run into her.
Evelina was glad to make use of any man who offered himself, especially a man so strong and good-looking, with his dark hair and eyes and sun-browned skin. Feigning not to notice him, she walked closer, looking at the sky, the river, and the crudely built, but snug, little dwellings.
“Good morning, Mistress,” he said.
Evelina gave an affected start. “Oh, you startled me, sir. I didn’t see you. Good morning,” she returned, adopting a tone that was frost-rimed with just a hint that she might possibly thaw if the sun were warm enough.
His hands were busy with the net, feeling their way over the rope, his eyes busy with her, feeling their way over her body.
“What brings you out so early on this fine morning, Mistress?” he asked.
“I need a potion for His Highness’s wounds that he took on our journey. Perhaps you have a wise woman here who brews up such healing liquors.”
“Aye, Mistress, we do,” the man answered. “The Widow Huspeth lives in the woods. Strange woman, but she knows what she’s about, I guess. You’ll find a trail leads to her dwelling, though I would be glad to show you the way myself.”
“No thank you, my good man,” said Evelina with a grateful glance from beneath her lashes. “I will find the way. I bid you good day.”
“Perhaps I’ll see you tonight,” said the fisherman, with a smile. His teeth were white against his black beard that was cut short, so that it outlined his firm jaw.
“I don’t know why you should,” said Evelina. She had plans for this night. She turned to go.
“My house is close by” he told her, as she departed. “It will be the one with the candle in the window. If you feel the need of company, come knock on my door. My name is Jorge.”
Evelina did not reply. She walked away, her head held high, yet she was pleased to know that she could still charm a man. What with the way Marcus had been acting around her, she’d been starting to have her doubts.
She found the trail through the wilderness and soon came upon the house of the herbalist. Evelina was expecting the usual half-mad crone, toothless and gray-haired, crouched over a bubbling cauldron, and she was considerably disconcerted to find a woman of no more than thirty years, clad in man’s breeches and a man’s shirt, down on her hands and knees grubbing among the plants in a large garden.
Evelina approached quietly, wanting to see before she was seen. The woman was instantly aware of the unfamiliar presence in her woods. She turned her head and rose to her feet all in one fluid motion.
“Keep to the trail,” the woman said, her voice husky, as if not much used. “I don’t want my plants trampled.”
Evelina glanced about. She saw no signs of the woman’s house and guessed that it was hidden deeper in the wilderness. The woman wiped dirt from her hands and crossed over to where Evelina stood waiting.
“I’m looking for the Widow Huspeth,” said Evelina.
“You’re a stranger,” said the woman. “Not from the village.”
“I am—” Evelina began.
“It doesn’t matter,” said the woman coldly. “I just want to be clear where we stand. What do you want?”
“I want the widow,” said Evelina, starting to grow annoyed. The woman’s eyes were hard and bright and went through Evelina like a skewer.
“They call me Widow Huspeth hereabouts. Though my name is just Huspeth. What do you want?” she repeated.
Evelina found it difficult to talk to those shrewd eyes. She gazed at some red flowers as she spoke. “I want a fertility potion. And the liquor they call absinthe.”
Huspeth smiled. “Your man won’t marry you, is that it? So you’re going to force the issue.”
Evelina’s cheeks flushed, though not with maidenly confusion. “I am already married. We want a child, that is all.”
The woman brushed her indignation aside and came back to the practical. “I have what you want. But it works only at certain times of the month. When did you last bleed?”
Evelina was startled and suspicious. She’d had no mother to explain such things, and basically all she knew about child-bearing was that when the monthly bleeding and cramps stopped, you had a baby nine months later. She was not all that clear on why this should be, however, or what one had to do with the other.
“Why does that matter?” she demanded, thinking this was becoming a bit too personal.
“There is a scientific explanation, but you wouldn’t understand and I don’t care to try to explain it,” said Huspeth dryly “Let us leave it at this—a woman who wants to conceive has a better chance of doing so in the middle of her cycle.”
Evelina thought back. “A fortnight. Maybe a little longer.”
The woman grunted and shook her head. “The potion still has a chance of working, but you must lie with him this night. Already it may be too late. As for the other you ask for—what did you call it?”
Evelina was accustomed to doing her business with city apothecaries. “Absinthe. It’s also known as wormwood. You distill—”
“I know it. Never heard it by that other name. What have you brought in payment? I don’t do this for charity.”
“I have no money—”
“I have no use for money,” Huspeth said, her lip curling.
Evelina unwrapped a bundle to reveal some fish she’d stolen from the rack where they’d been left to dry in the sun.
The woman eyed the fish, then gave a curt nod. “Wait here. And don’t go trampling my plants!”
Huspeth took the fish and stalked off, disappearing into the forest.
“Mad as a hornet,” Evelina muttered.
She stood on the trail, looking about her in bored fashion. Bees and butterflies clustered among bright red flowers in one part of the garden. The air was warm and still, and she could smell more rain coming. She fidgeted, wishing the woman would hurry. She’d passed a stream on
the way, and she wanted time to bathe and scrub those telltale stains from her clothes.
Just when she thought that the widow had abandoned her, Huspeth appeared, walking down the trail. She handed Evelina two small containers made of baked clay, stoppered with cheesecloth tied neatly around the top.
“This”—the woman pointed to one of the clay vials—”is the liquor for him. I’m thinking you know how it works?”
Evelina smiled. She had never made use of absinthe herself— she was accustomed to fending lovers off, not working to seduce them. Her father had been known to resort to the use of the green aphrodisiac on occasion, either drinking it himself to heighten his own pleasure or slipping it into the drink of some unsuspecting girl.
“And this is for you,” Huspeth continued. “To help with the baby. Drink it now, so that it has a chance to work.”
Evelina sniffed at it. She didn’t detect anything wrong about it, and so she lifted it to her lips and drank. The taste was sweet; it had been laced with honey. She felt it slide down her, warm and soothing.
“You must lie with him tonight,” Huspeth emphasized. “And no guarantees.”
Evelina understood. She took the clay vial containing the aphrodisiac and tucked it into her bosom.
Turning on her heel, the woman walked back through the garden. “Mind you don’t trample my plants,” Huspeth added, tossing the warning over her shoulder.
Smiling to herself in anticipation of the evening’s pleasures, Evelina went off to a secluded spot on the river bank to take her bath. She did not know that Jorge was discreetly following her and was watching her from the trees, and that was a pity, for the knowledge would have heightened her enjoyment of her bath immensely.
19
GRALD ROAMED ABOUT THE CAVERNOUS HALL OF THE ABBEY, WAITING for news, his scowling face and clenched fists a terror to the Blessed, who—when they were forced to speak to him—cringed and blanched at the spark of fury in his eyes.
The monks had lost Ven, and Grald had made it plain that unless the Dragon’s Son was found, some of them would pay for their folly with their lives.
At last one monk came striding across the grassy field that surrounded the Abbey, walking with the long and purposeful gait of one who bears important news. By the expression on his face, when he threw back his cowl, the news was rather good than otherwise.
Seeing who it was, Grald immediately dismissed the other monks to speak to this one in private.
He was the monk of the bridge, the monk Draconas had encountered, whose eyes were not as mad as the eyes of most. He was, in fact, not a monk at all, but a high-ranking officer in the Army of the Dragons and one of Grald’s most trusted agents.
“Commander Leopold!” Grald exclaimed in satisfaction. “You have news, I see.” His hulking body hunched over that of the soldier, who—though he was tall for a human—was head and shoulders shorter than Grald. “Have you found him?”
“I have, Lord,” the soldier replied. “He is in the palace.” Leopold paused to let this information sink in, then added, “He is with the Children.”
Grald sucked in a breath through his teeth and let it hiss out in a name. “Draconas. The Walker found a way inside.”
“Despite our best efforts, Lord, I am afraid he did. As I told you, I am certain it was Draconas who tried to talk his way past me on the bridge that night. Although then he was disguised as a monk. My shield-mate was the one who saw Ven inside the palace, and she told me that he was accompanied by a child—a little girl.”
“Of course. How very clever,” Grald muttered. “What idiots we have been! Searching for the man, Draconas, when, naturally, he would take on another form. What is Ven doing? Is he still there? What did he tell the Children?”
“I do not know, Lord,” Leopold was forced to admit. “My shield-mate feared to come too near the Children. They do not react well to humans spying on them. You recall what they did the last time.”
Grald smiled, proud of his children’s ferocity. They had not actually slain the man, who had mistakenly wandered into their part of the cave. Their attack had, however, left him a gibbering idiot, and a one-armed idiot at that.
Thinking of the children brought to mind the yearly ritual when he would invite another group of young women, chosen because they were strong in the magic, into his “palace.” Grald rubbed his hands in anticipation! This year would be momentous. He planned to impregnate the women using Ven’s body. He hoped that the seed of that half-dragon body, mingled with the magic of himself, the dragon, would produce far better children—more dragon and less human.
It is fitting, Grald thought, that Ven should be the one to take over this task. He proved that I was right in my theory that we could breed more like him. All I require are women like his mother, who are strong in the magic.
“What else did Ven see inside the palace?” Grald asked.
“The army,” replied the commander.
Grald ground his teeth in ire. “He will alert the humans, if he can. Warn his brother.”
“What does it matter?” asked Leopold imperturbably. “I’ve seen human armies. There’s nothing they can do against us. Whatever Ven tells them of us will only plant terror in their hearts. Fear is a fast-growing tree that bears noxious fruit.”
“That may be true, but I don’t trust the Walker. He must not leave Dragonkeep. I want him dead.”
The commander was dubious. “Pardon me if I point out, Lord, that one of your own kind attempted to kill the Walker and failed-—”
“Anora bungled it,” said Grald bluntly. “She foolishly alerted Draconas instead of taking him by surprise. Or perhaps her action was not so foolish. Perhaps it was deliberate. The Walker and Anora have been friends for many centuries.” His eyes narrowed so that they nearly disappeared in the shadows of his overhanging brow. “Draconas is cunning, but I am more so. This time, we will catch the Walker off guard. Ven will kill Draconas.”
“Ven is hardly strong enough—”
“Not the old Ven,” Grald interrupted with a grin. “The new Ven. Once I have taken over my son’s body, I will go to Draconas on some pretext or other and I will slay him. As simple as that.”
“Ah,” said the soldier in understanding.
“We must move faster than we have anticipated, however. When my son leaves the palace, apprehend him. Make no mention of the fact that you know where he has been. Let him think he has fooled us. Bring him here to me tonight, at the hour past slumber, when all is quiet.”
“And the Walker?”
Grald thought this over. “He must not be allowed to interfere with my plans. Keep him occupied.”
Leopold bowed. “As you command, Lord. I have one more question.”
“Ask it,” said Grald.
“When may I return to my company? My shield-mate and I do not want to miss out on the battle.”
“Do not worry, Commander. You will march with your comrades. You are too valuable a warrior to remain disguised as a monk forever.”
Leopold bowed at the compliment and took his departure.
Ven left the cavern by the way he’d entered. The sun was sinking into the west and the shadows were long by the time he descended from the mountain and found his way back to the city. That part wasn’t difficult. He simply followed the smell, the stench of humanity. He’d never noticed it before. Now he knew he would never get it out of his nostrils.
The Blessed pounced on him almost immediately. They said nothing, but he knew they knew where he’d been without a word being spoken. Their eyes flitted to him and flitted away. Like Bellona, they never looked at him long, if they could help it.
“I want to see Grald,” Ven demanded, as they wound their way through the maze of streets.
“Grald wants to see you, Dragon’s Son,” replied one of the monks, one who had a saner look than the others. He actually met and held Ven’s gaze.
“Good,” said Ven, rather nonplussed. “Then take me to him.”
“Not yet,”
the Blessed said. “Grald is busy with the plans for war. He says that you should dine first and rest yourself after the exertions of the day. Grald bids you come to him after the hour of slumber.”
“Very well.” Ven did not like being “bid” to do anything, but he was ravenously hungry—he had been too distracted by his inner turmoil to eat anything beneath the mountain—and he was exhausted, not so much physically as mentally He had a lot to think over before meeting with his father.
As for slaying Grald, his death might not be necessary. That was one of the things Ven had to think over. He was intrigued by the new way of viewing himself offered to him by his siblings. He had seen himself reflected only in the eyes of humans, and that was like looking into water stirred by the wind, so that his reflection was always distorted and warped. He’d seen himself in the eyes of Bellona, who had been ashamed of him and loathed him. He’d seen himself in the eyes of Evelina, who’d seen a freak, a beast. His siblings had lifted up before him a mirror of pure crystal, without flaw, touched by no emotion, and he’d seen himself honored, revered, a miracle of creation that combined the best parts of two separate entities to create a new kind of person, someone who was not unnatural, but had his or her own place in the world.
That this miracle came at the cost of a human’s life was regrettable, but then, as Sorrow had said, many human children walking the earth this very day had come into the world at the mother’s expense.
So perhaps I don’t need to take revenge against the dragon. Perhaps, instead, I should thank and honor him.
Ven went to his supper and ate with a good appetite. Then he lay down on his bed, not to sleep, but to consider all the questions he would ask his father, the dragon.
Grald sniffed about the vast hall in the Abbey. Once he was certain by both sight and smell that he was alone, he walked over to a portion of the wall that was solid stone to the eyes of humans, empty air to his dragon eyes. The illusion concealed a tomb made of granite with a heavy granite lid that now rested on the floor.
Inside was the body of Grald, the body the dragon inhabited. Tonight, the human would finally receive his release in death. Grald would tear out Ven’s heart and place it in the golden locket. He would seize the young, strong body, and when that was done, he would take what was left of Ven and place him inside the tomb. The dragon would lift the heavy lid of the coffin in his claws and seal Ven inside. There, the young man would continue to live, buried alive, his still-beating heart fueling the body the dragon had usurped. Ven might live for thirty or forty years, Grald calculated. The dragon would get thirty or forty years of good use from the young man’s body, maybe longer. And when that body eventually aged and died, the dragon would have many more bodies of his own children from which to choose.
Master of Dragons Page 15
