“Yes,” she said, thinking she knew where he was going. “But only if they suspect that what they are seeing is an illusion. If they think it is real, then it will be real to them.”
“Good,” he said and he smiled at her. “Then put all the children back into their beds.”
Sorrow understood what he meant and she began casting the magic.
Ven and Lucien led the children down the tunnel.
Quickly and quietly, the dragon’s children walked the corridors of the mountain palace. Sorrow and Ven led the way, with Lucien bringing up the rear. The corridors were those that Draconas had walked before them, those he’d told Ven the dragon did not use.
There was one dangerous point, however. Ven recalled that somewhere up ahead, the corridor they walked intersected a corridor used by the humans. As they drew near, Ven sent his thoughts to Sorrow. He found it odd, entering another’s mind and allowing her into his. Odd, but not as bad as he’d once imagined.
“Warn the children to be very, very quiet.”
Sorrow nodded.
“Stay here. I’m going to go take a look.” Ven left her, walking forward as quietly as he could over the rough stone floor.
Sorrow sent her thoughts to the children. The older ones whispered it to the younger, who might not be able to fully understand the pretty colors they saw in their minds.
Draga, clinging to Sorrow, had gone back to sleep with the motion of her walking. Sorrow hoped he would continue sleeping, but he woke the moment she stopped moving. He was confused, irritated at being hauled away from his bed, and fretful.
“Put down,” he demanded. “Draga walk.”
His voice was deep for a child and sounded unbelievably loud.
“No, Draga,” said Sorrow softly, jiggling him on her back, trying to keep him quiet. “Sorrow will carry you. Isn’t this fun?”
“Draga walk!” said the child willfully. He was the baby, and he was used to having his own way. He pinched Sorrow’s arm and pulled her hair. “Draga walk!”
Ven came running back down the corridor.
“Warriors!” he called softly. “Everyone crouch down! Put your backs against the wall! Hurry!”
He turned angrily to Sorrow. “Keep that kid quiet!”
“I’m trying!” Sorrow gasped. She shifted Draga to her hip and knelt down, rocking him, stroking his head, making soft, clucking sounds.
Draga was having none of it. He squirmed in her arms and kicked his feet, trying to escape her grasp. He was a hefty child, and slippery. Sorrow could hear the warriors moving at a swift pace along the corridor, coming their direction. The other children crouched down, huddled against the wall. Their eyes were wide with fear. One of the smaller ones started to whimper. The boy carrying her clapped his hand over the little girl’s mouth. The warriors were coming nearer. Draga struck at Sorrow with a small fist and sucked in a deep breath, preparatory to letting it out in a howl.
Ven thrust his face next to Draga’s and said in a harsh whisper, “Shut up!”
Draga swallowed his howl in astonishment and shrank away from Ven. His shock was only momentary. Tears shimmered in the child’s eyes and his lower hp began to tremble. His little body quivered. Draga drew in his breath again, and Sorrow knew from experience that he was all set to pitch a head-banging, feet-kicking, lung-bursting tantrum.
“Do something!” Ven hissed.
Sorrow reached into Draga’s mind and seized hold of the colors that were bright and new. She mixed them together to form a brilliant, gaudy pinwheel, and started them spinning. The colors spun, faster and faster. Draga forgot his fear, forgot his anger, forgot wanting to crawl out of Sorrow’s arms. He stared, fascinated, at the whirling, dazzling colors. After a moment, his body went limp. His mouth hung open. His arms slipped from around her neck. His eyes did not blink. Drool slid from the corner of his mouth.
Sorrow pressed against the wall. Intent on their mission, the warriors hastened past the corridor in which the children were hiding. She counted eight of them—four women and four men, including Commander Leopold.
“It’s about time we put an end to this,” the commander was saying. “I’m sorry about Grald’s death, but I think all of us knew he was obsessed with his monstrous offspring. He was losing sight of the true vision.”
“Personally, I found the whole business disgusting,” said one of the women. “The very sight of those scaley beasts made my skin crawl. I look forward to putting an end to them. The hardest part will be killing the mothers. Poor girls. It wasn’t their fault.”
“They will die swiftly, at any rate. Not the long and painful death they faced bringing those monsters into the world. For them, the horror will be mercifully over.”
“True,” the woman agreed. Then she added, “Speaking of death, what happened to Grald, anyway? We all heard a crash and boom that shook the ground. Someone said the Abbey had been destroyed.”
“I heard something about a dragon battle,” Leopold said evasively. “Maristara will tell us what we need to know. No point in wasting our time speculating. We have work to do.”
Their voices trailed off down the corridor.
For long moments, no one moved.
Ven rose to a half crouch and motioned. “Quiedy,” he cautioned.
But Sorrow was having trouble lifting Draga. The child was dead weight, absorbed in watching the spinning colors in his mind. Ordinarily her strong arms would have made nothing of such a burden, but fear and horror had left her weak and trembling. Seeing her difficulty, Ven took the little boy from her. The child hung, a limp doll, in his hands.
“What did you do to him?” Ven asked.
“A magic spell,” said Sorrow. “The monks use it on those of their brethren who get out of control.”
“Well, it worked,” said Ven. He slung the child over one arm, like a sack of coal and started to leave.
Sorrow didn’t move.
“Sorrow, we have to go—now!”
She reached out to take hold of Draga’s limp hand.
“I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing,” she answered. “This is our home ...”
Screams echoed down the corridor. The screams of human women—the mothers. The screams ended suddenly, abruptly. Cut off. Mercifully.
Then an explosion shook the corridor. Sorrow smelled the acrid smell of brimstone and saw, in her mind’s eye, the illusion of herself and the other children slumbering peacefully in the chamber. The warriors stood in the corridor, the men attacking, the women defending, hurling their magic at the monsters, killing the horror.
Tears came and she couldn’t stop them. Human tears, for dragons cannot cry.
“It’s useless. It will be easier just to die here. We’re monsters, after all.”
“Are we monsters, Sorrow?” Ven gestured to the little boy, gazing rapdy at the pinwheel of his dreams. “Is he?”
Sorrow shook her head. “I don’t believe that. But you do. And so will all the others out there. The humans in their human world.”
Ven reached out. His hand clasped hers. “I was wrong. You made me see that. Now, are you coming with me?”
Out into the world. A world that she had never seen.
Ven opened his mind wide and showed it to her.
A world that smelled of green things and blue sky and sharp, bright sunlight.
The sunlight would blind them, the Children of the Dragon, until they grew accustomed to it.
Yet, in that world, there would be room to fly. “I’m coming,” said Sorrow.
29
A DOOR SLAMMED, CAUSING MARCUS TO WAKE SUDDENLY, WITH THE panicked feeling that the dragon was chasing him. His heart racing, he stared, baffled, at his surroundings. He had no idea where he was. Sunlight flooded in through an oilskin-covered hole in the wall. Outside, birds twittered and chatted. He looked around at unfamiliar walls and up at an unfamiliar ceiling. His racing heartbeat slowed, and he closed his eyes and sighed deeply.
The dragon was gone. All the dragons we
re gone. Memories remained. Terrifying and amazing, they wound and curled and twined about him. He might have thought he’d dreamed it all, but he could still see and feel everything with frightening clarity. Ven lying on the floor, the dragon looming over him. The golden gleam of the locket. The strangely beautiful dragon-woman, her silver scales shining in the light of his mind.
“Your brother is safe,” said Draconas. “At least, for the moment.”
The man stood inside the little room as Marcus had seen him before, holding his staff, his boots covered with the dust of the many roads he had he traveled.
“Where is Ven?” Marcus asked.
“He walks his own road and I have no idea where that will lead him,” Draconas replied. “But he is not your concern, Marcus. Your road lies dead ahead, and I do mean ‘dead.’ Return home as swiftly as you can. Ride as though demons were pursuing you, for they are. Grald may be destroyed, but his plans for the conquest of humans are not. You’ve seen the legions of Dragonkeep. They are being readied for war as we speak. Your kingdom will be the first to come under assault.
“I have just left your father. I tried to warn the King,” Draconas added. “But Edward does not trust me, and he would not believe me. You must convince him, tell him what you have seen, add the weight of your words to mine. You don’t have much time. In fact, we may already be too late.”
“Where will you be?”
“Where I need to be,” Draconas replied curtly.
The little room burst like a soap bubble and disappeared, along with Draconas.
Marcus sat up in bed. He knew where he was now. The fishing village. He would have to ride hard to reach his home, and he felt rotten—the after-effects of a night’s carousing. His mouth tasted like the insides of a well-worn boot; his head was three times the size it should be, and his stomach kept trying to climb up into his throat.
Marcus tossed aside the blanket. He would feel better after a plunge in the cold river. As he started to climb off the mattress, a voice murmured drowsily, “My darling ...” A hand touched his arm. “You’re awake . . .”
Marcus gave a violent start. He looked over his shoulder. Sleepy blue eyes gazed up at him from out a mass of disheveled blond curls.
“Darling,” Evelina repeated, and her hand ran up and down his arm. “Don’t get up yet. We have the whole day before us.”
She was naked. Marcus had a confused impression of heavy breasts and bare shoulders and a smooth, flat stomach and dark shadows below that. . .
His blood burned, his loins throbbed. He was aroused and, at the same time, repulsed—as by a vague memory of something ugly and sordid. Marcus wrenched his gaze away from her. Not knowing quite what he was doing, he jumped out of the bed and hurriedly walked away from it.
“Please, cover yourself, Mistress,” he said, and his voice was harsh. He fumbled for his breeches that he found lying on the floor. He couldn’t remember undressing. God help him! He couldn’t remember anything!
“Oh, my dear,” said Evelina with a gurgling little laugh, “it’s late in the day for modesty.” Her voice altered slightly. “After all those wonderful things you said to me last night!”
What had he said? Marcus recalled drinking wine and kissing Evelina and her kissing him back and him breaking out in blotches and the dreadful itching . . . and that was as far as memory took him, before his mind ran to the little room and Ven and the battle with Grald. Yet, there seemed to be something else and it had to do with her. If only he could think through the pounding in his skull!
He looked down at his bare chest and arms and torso and saw no trace of the red blotches.
“Marcus . . . my love,” Evelina said with a catch in her throat. “I should be horribly angry at you, but how can I be angry at the man who may be the father of my child? Look . . .”
Reluctantly, he turned around.
Evelina wriggled over to one side on the mattress and pointed to a patch of blood, the mark of the end of a maiden’s virginity. Marcus looked at the mattress, and he looked at her. He didn’t believe her. He knew in his heart and soul that he had never made love to her. Yet he couldn’t prove it. He couldn’t even prove it to himself, much less to anyone else.
He hadn’t made love to the maiden fair, because he’d been fighting a dragon.
“Say you love me, dearest, like you did last night. Promise you’ll always take care of me, like you did last night.” Evelina purred. “And come back to bed.”
She held out her hand to him and slid one leg over the other, slowly opening her white thighs.
Marcus averted his head. For some reason, the sight of her like that sickened him beyond measure.
“Please, get dressed!” he said coldly. He yanked on his breeches and began to search for his shirt.
Evelina burst into loud and noisy sobs.
“You did this to me and now you hate me!” she cried, gulping. “But you won’t get away with it! You’ll make me a princess! You’ll take care of me. Or else I’ll tell everyone how you used me and then tossed me away like a bunch of stinking fish heads. I’ll tell everyone in the village. I’ll tell everyone I meet! I’ll make sure everyone in your damnable kingdom knows what a monster you are!”
Her face was red with her fury, the ugly red spreading down to the hollow between her breasts, which jiggled with the force of her sobs and her threats.
“For you are a monster! I’ll tell them lots of things about you, Your Highness,” she cried in a frenzy, almost incoherent. “You summon up the fires of hell! You talk to people who aren’t there! You wave imaginary swords and shout about killing dragons!”
She glared at him, her eyes awash.
“I’ve heard the talk around the village about you. Strange rumors. And I know they’re true. I’ve seen you use demonic powers. When I’m finished, they’ll be tying you to the stake and stacking the wood around your feet!”
Marcus turned his back on her and started to walk for the door.
Evelina leapt from the bed and went running after him. She flung her arms around him, pressing her naked body against his. “My love, my love, forgive me! I didn’t know what I was saying. I would never, never do anything to harm you. It’s just . . .” She paused. “Just that we have a baby coming . . .”
Marcus managed to disentangle himself from her grasp. “Get dressed! Please! I . . . have to think about this.”
“Yes, Marcus,” said Evelina meekly. “I don’t blame you. It was partly my fault, too. I just wanted to make you happy . . . I’ll go get dressed now. I’ll do whatever you say.”
She padded off, still sniffing, sobbing an occasional sob that she couldn’t quite control.
What she said is true. People do talk about me. They have talked about me since I was old enough to hear the whispers. They whisper that I am my father’s bastard, and all know that bastard children have a propensity/or evil, are easily ensnared by the devil.
And now my kingdom is about to come under attack by forces that will be considered demonic. And I will be one to warn of their coming. Evelina’s timing, though accidental, is perfect.
“What do you want?” Marcus asked her harshly. “Money?”
“I want your love, Your Highness,” Evelina replied, sniveling. “And a father for my child. If there is a child. And, somehow, I’m sure there will be. Last night was so wonderful. . .”
“I’ll do what is right.” Marcus drew his shirt over his head. “Ami not because of your threats.”
“I know you will, Marcus,” said Evelina contritely. “I’m sorry I said those things. I didn’t mean them. I was afraid of losing you. I do truly love you. And I know you love me. You said so many times last night.”
Marcus sighed deeply and walked out the door, carefully shutting it behind him.
Two knights of the Prince’s Own arrived in the village that afternoon Marcus’s personal escort had been leading the search for him,and they were overjoyed to find their charge safe and sound. The knights were introduced to “Mistre
ss Evelina,” and they treated her with grave courtesy, at least while Prince Marcus was present, for he said she was coming back to the palace with them. When he left to go bid farewell to his host, the two men exchanged rolling-eyed glances.
“Like father, like son,” muttered Sir Ranulf.
“At least the king had brains enough not to bring his trollop home to meet mommy!” grumbled Sir Troeven. “Look at the strumpet. Preening herself like she is a fine lady.”
“She’s proof that the lad has something between his legs,” said his friend. “There were those of us who were starting to wonder. The question is—what do we do with her?”
“Bring her along,” said Troeven, the commander of the Prince’s Own. “Nothing else we can do. His Highness’s orders.”
“Speaking of His Highness, I don’t think the lad looks well. He’s pale and too thin, by half. He won’t say where he’s been or what happened to him. He claims he’s not hurt, but . . .” The knight shook his head.
“He was always a strange lad,” his companion reflected. “Or so I’ve heard for it has been years since I have seen him.” A veteran soldier, Sir Troeven had been abroad for fifteen years, fighting wars for other kings, since his own kingdom was at peace. “We’ll get him home and let his parents deal with him.”
Prince Marcus graciously thanked his host and his wife. At his request, Sir Troeven gave them a bag full of silver coins, more than the village earned in a year’s fishing. The prince rode off, accompanied by cheers and blessings. There being no spare horse for Evelina, she rode pillion with one of the knight’s servants.
Evelina would have liked to have ridden pillion with the prince—her arms clasped tightly about Marcus’s waist, her body snuggled against his—but when she suggested it, Marcus refused, adding that he would be riding hard and he did not want her to get hurt. And, indeed, when he left the village, he put his spurs to his horse and galloped off down the road, taking his escort by surprise, so that the knights had to spur their own horses to catch up with him. Sir Troeven ordered one of his squires to remain behind to guard Evelina.
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