Edward glanced at Marcus, who frowned and searched the room for anyone else. Her Majesty had sent most of the servants away for their own safety, keeping only one woman, who had been with her for years. That good woman crouched in a corner, laughing and blubbering hysterically, completely useless to her mistress. Evelina was the only woman remaining.
Though pale after her frightening ordeal, and far more subdued than usual, she was composed and in control. Marcus did not doubt her courage, no matter what he thought of her character. He gave a reluctant nod.
Evelina assisted the Queen to a chair by the fire and knelt down beside her, chafing the woman’s hands, which were cold as what remained of the human hands of the corpse.
“Mistress Evelina,” said Marcus.
“Yes, Your Highness?” Evelina looked up at him, her blue eyes wide. She tried a tentative smile.
“Don’t bring my mother any wine,” he said harshly.
Evelina’s cheeks stained red. The smile shriveled. She lowered her eyes. “No, Your Highness,” she mumbled, her response barely audible.
“Keep an eye on that creature,” said Marcus to one of the knights as he and his father left the great hall. “Don’t let her out of your sight. And don’t let her leave the palace.”
Gunderson stood atop the wall staring out eastward through a spyglass. Others were watching that direction, as well, eyes squinting, trying to see.
“What is it?” the king demanded.
“As strange a sight as I’ve witnessed in all my years, Sire,” said Gunderson and he handed over the glass. “What do you make of that?”
“You know I can’t see through that damn thing,” Edward said, exasperated. “Marcus, you look.”
Marcus lifted the glass to his eye and brought the amazing sight into focus.
Women on horseback raced along the road that led from the north, riding for the castle gates. The women were clad in leather armor of ornate and archaic design. They wore steel helms and carried shields with the insignia of an Eye upon them. Their swords bumped their legs as they rode. They had bows strung over their shoulders and quivers of arrows tied to their saddles.
Flanked by the warrior women, who rode protectively on either side, were twelve horse-drawn chariots. Each chariot was driven by a female warrior, and riding in each were women clad in white robes that streamed out behind them. The lead chariot was accompanied by a young man, who was not riding, but was running alongside, loping easily over the ground, keeping pace with the horses.
Marcus lowered the glass and rubbed his eyes, which were starting to tear.
“Well?” his father demanded impatiently.
“The warrior women of Seth,” Marcus said.
“Do we fire?” Gunderson asked.
“No!” said Edward, and “No!” Marcus shouted at the same time.
“Sire, I don’t like this—” Gunderson began.
“Neither do they!” Marcus cried, pointing.
The dragon army had spotted the riders and the chariots. A group of dragon warriors detached from the main body that was marching on the palace and shifted direction, racing at a run to cut off the women of Seth before they could reach the palace.
Those watching from the castle walls had no idea where this strange army had come from or what they were doing here, but, seeing that the enemy was trying to stop them, Edward’s soldiers immediately took their side. They cried out warnings to the riders and clashed their spears on their shields and pointed urgently to the dragon warriors who were racing down upon them.
The riders saw their peril and increased their speed. They galloped over the road, holding formation, keeping themselves between the enemy and the chariots. The chariot drivers plied the whip to their steeds. The chariots rumbled and bounded over the paving stones. The passengers clung to the sides, holding on for dear life.
The troop of dragon warriors separated, some racing to cut off the women, some moving to attack them on the flank. The riders, gripping the saddle with their thighs, let go of the reins and, grabbing their bows, fired arrows at the approaching dragon warriors.
Those waiting on the walls expected to see the arrows go up in smoke, as they’d seen happen in the Battle of Aston. To their astonishment, the arrows of the warrior women of Seth penetrated the dragon-scale armor. Many attackers fell, and those on the wall cheered.
It was apparent, though, that the army of Seth would not win the gates before the dragon warriors cut them off.
Edward raced down the stairs, shouting for his knights. The horses had already been saddled and readied for battle, and now stable-boys and groomsmen led them into the bailey near the gatehouse. The knights mounted, as did the king. Marcus ran down with him and stood near the gates, holding his father’s bridle. Marcus longed to join them, but he was not strong enough to sit on a horse, and he might imperil the mission.
“If I fall, you are in command, my son,” said Edward.
Marcus was in command. Not Gunderson. Marcus, the bastard son, the son he had not wanted, the son he’d never understood. Marcus saw pride and confidence in his father’s eyes, and he saw something else: an apology. It would forever go unspoken between them, but Edward was saying he was sorry.
“Look after your mother,” Edward added, and he put on his helm and took up his shield and rode to the gates, where men stood, ready to fling them open at his command. His knights fell in behind him.
“Open the gates!” the king commanded.
“Covering fire!” Marcus shouted. “Keep them busy.”
He thought of using the cannons, which were now perfectly safe, but no man would go near them, and Marcus himself was reluctant to chance it. Catapults hurled stones at the besiegers. Flights of arrows soared through the air, and though the dragon warriors caused these to go up in smoke, the attack kept their attention on the archers on the walls and away from the sortie at the front gate.
The king and his knights rode out from the castle walls at a gallop. They raised their voices in a mighty shout. Trumpets blared from the walls and drums rolled. The dragon warriors rushing down on the chariots heard the commotion at their backs and saw that they were about to be caught between the hammer of Seth and the anvil of the king’s men.
The enemy did not give up. They hurled wicked, deadly darts and blasted their foes with fire and lightning. Here a knight fell and there a warrior woman tumbled from her horse to lie bleeding on the ground. The commander of the Seth warriors urged her horse forward, shouting something to the woman who rode in the lead chariot, a woman whose robes were deep purple.
Clinging to the driver with her arm around her waist, the woman raised her other hand and pointed to the sword held by the commander of the Seth forces. Her sword burst into white flame. The commander brought it down in a fiery slash at a dragon warrior. The enchanted blade sliced through his armor and cleaved him almost in half. The commander did not waste time looking back to see her foe, but galloped on to the next.
The leader of the dragon warriors saw that his small force was about to be separated from the main body and surrounded. He had been trained to fight ordinary humans, not the female warriors of Seth, who, though they might not have possessed the dragon-magic, did possess the knowledge of how to use it and how to thwart it.
“Fall back!” he shouted, and his forces began an orderly retreat.
Some of the younger knights would have given chase, but the king ordered them sharply to return to the safety of the castle walls. The chariots rolled through the gates, their horses wet and foaming at the mouth. The knights and the women warriors galloped in behind them. The gates slammed shut.
Marcus was on hand to meet them. He searched frantically through the crowd, paying scant attention to the women warriors or the women in the chariots until he found the one he sought.
Ven was inspecting a metal dart that had lodged in the scales of his leg. Grimacing, he grabbed hold of the dart, yanked it out, and tossed it on the ground.
“Ven,” said Ma
rcus warmly. “It is good to see you!”
The Dragon’s Son lifted his head.
Marcus held out his hand.
Ven straightened. He eyed Marcus with no change of expression. He made no move to take his hand.
Marcus flushed. He lowered his hand and started to turn away. Ven took a step forward, his clawed feet scraping on the ground. “Brother,” said Ven gruffly, and he embraced Marcus—gently, so as not to hurt his injured arm.
43
THERE WAS HEADY CELEBRATION, BRIEF MOMENTS OF ELATION and triumph, and then the knights and soldiers of Idylswylde took second looks at the proud and fierce-looking warrior women of Seth and their pagan priestesses and began to wonder if they’d opened the gates of the sheep fold to let in the wolf Those in the courtyard gathered around the women, regarding them with baleful glances and muttered comments. At about that moment, someone caught sight of Ven and saw that while he was human above, the young man was beast below.
Shouts of “Devil-spawn,” the clash of steel, and a rush of men put an end to the brothers’ reunion. Marcus tried to reason with them, but he couldn’t make himself heard. He knocked a man to the ground with a blow of his fist, as Ven lifted up another with his bare hands and flung him back to his comrades, bowling them over like ninepins.
Hearing the uproar, the warrior women drew their weapons and started to go to the rescue. The king’s men rushed to bar their way, and it seemed as though the enemy might as well sit down and rest, for their work was being done for them.
A furious shout sounded. Hooves clattered on cobblestone. King Edward rode into the fray, his knights accompanying him, striking to the left and right with the flat of their blades.
The king turned to face the mob.
“Have you gone mad?” Edward roared. He had no need to use his sword. The fury in his voice and the rage in his face caused the soldiers to fall back and lower their weapons. “Last I looked, the enemy was outside the walls!”
The soldiers muttered and then one spoke up boldly, pointing at Ven, “What’s this then?”
“A miracle,” Edward replied. “A miracle sent by God in our hour of need. Now return to your posts! Or, by God, I will clap every single man among you in irons and charge you with treason!”
The soldiers saw the king, and they saw, out of the corners of their eyes, the knights on horseback, who had them surrounded. The soldiers were riled, their blood was up, and they made no move to disperse. The king’s face darkened. His knights were starting as to edge their horses forward when a man shouldered his way through the crowd and ran toward the king.
He was stopped at spear point by one of the knights. The man said quickly, “Your Majesty, I bring urgent news.”
Edward stared down at the man in astonishment, for he recognized him. “Draconas!”
“Dragons are flying to join in the assault, Your Majesty,” said Draconas. “Not just one. Many.”
His voice carried. A hush fell over the crowd, as they lifted their heads to stare fearfully into the sky.
“Many?” Edward repeated in dismay. “What can we do to fight them?”
“You spoke truly when you said a miracle had come.”
Draconas held out his hand and a woman strode forward. She walked with dignity and grace, and the crowd parted as she came.
“This is Anna, the High Priestess of Seth,” said Draconas.
“Your Majesty,” said the High Priestess, and she made him a low bow. “My sisters and I can defend you against the dragons. That is why we have come.”
Before the king could reply, shouts went up from all parts of the castle, crying that the enemy had regrouped and was launching the attack.
“Get back to your posts!” Edward commanded.
Men returned to their positions. The warrior women took their places alongside the soldiers, who glanced at them askance, but were too busy preparing for the assault to have much to say to them.
Marcus heard the command, but he did not move. News of the dragons and the enemy attack made little impact. He stared, entranced, at the High Priestess.
“She is lovely,” he said softly, to himself, or so he thought.
“Yes, she is,” said Ven.
Marcus looked from his brother to the High Priestess and flushed. “I am sorry, Brother. I didn’t mean—”
Ven smiled. His smile was stiff, for it hadn’t been much used, and he wasn’t certain quite what to do with it.
“Admire Anna as much as you like,” Ven said. “She and I are friends, that is all. I have a family of my own to look after now. Twenty brothers and sisters. I’ll explain later,” he added, his smile warming as he saw Marcus’s astonishment. “Now, we had best prepare to deal with the dragons.”
“There is no need to be diplomatic, Your Majesty,” Anna was saying, responding to the king’s delicate questions. “We know the truth about the dragon, as we know about the deceit that was practiced on our people. We know that the Mistress of Dragons, the woman we revered, was actually a dragon herself.”
Her gaze went to Ven. “We know about the babies that were stolen away in the night and taken to Dragonkeep. We know about the dragon’s children. We have taken them in and offered them sanctuary. And we have come to your kingdom to stop the dragons from enslaving you as they did us.”
“Your help is most welcome, High Priestess,” said Edward. He was glad to see that many of his commanders were standing within earshot and that they were listening intently. “Let me know what you need.”
Voices cried out from the watchtowers and the walls. The attack was commencing. Globules of fire, like balls of molten lava, flew over the walls. The flames spread rapidly, feeding off whatever they touched, be it cold iron or human flesh.
“Put out those fires!” Gunderson roared.
“Do not use water!” The commander of the warrior women shouted. “Water spreads the flames! Smother them with wet straw or blankets!”
“My sisters and I need someplace quiet to form our sacred circle,” Anna replied, raising her voice to be heard, as the commotion boiled around her. “We do not fight with swords, Your Majesty. We fight with our magic.”
“Marcus, take the High Priestess and her women into the palace,” said Edward and, for once, his son didn’t argue with him.
Marcus bounded forward with alacrity.
“High Priestess,” he said, bowing. “I am yours to command.”
He held out his arm to escort her. Anna rested her hand on his and Marcus felt a different kind of magic, an ordinary kind of magic, one that had nothing to do with dragons.
Marcus led the women of Seth to the king’s private chapel, which was quiet, isolated, and well protected. He wondered if God would be offended at this invasion of pagan practices. Recalling what Draconas had said about the miracle, Marcus could only hope and trust that the Lord was open-minded.
“We will do our best to fight the dragon,” Anna was saying to Marcus. “But I must confess to you, Your Highness, that some of us, myself included, have never battled a dragon before. And none of us have ever fought more than one dragon. I’m not sure we can do it.”
“I am certain you will succeed,” said Marcus, hardly knowing what he was saying.
Anna remained somber. Halting outside the chapel doors, she turned to face him. “The magic makes us very weak and ill. The blood bane, we call it. Some of us might die. I want you to be prepared for that,” she added gently.
“Then you must not attempt it,” Marcus said firmly. “We’ll find some way to deal with Maristara—”
“You misunderstand me, Your Highness.” Anna lifted her head proudly. “I say this not to try to evade our duty, but to inform you that we know our fate and accept it. This is our fight as much as yours. Maybe more so. Our nation has been held captive for hundreds of years.” The sisters filed past her into the chapel. She began to push him away. “And, now, you must go. The ceremony is sacred, and it is secret.”
Marcus opened his mouth to protest.
> “Please, go, Your Highness. All will be as it will be. There is nothing more you can do, and your presence would only distract us.”
Marcus saw that further argument would be useless and would, perhaps, only anger her. She was a ruler of her people, and she had a right to expect her wishes to be obeyed.
Marcus brought her hand to his lips and bowed. The High Priestess was the last to enter the chapel. As she shut the door, she said to him, “No matter what happens, Your Highness, we are not to be disturbed.”
Marcus nodded. She shut the door, and because he did not trust any other to guard them, he took it upon himself to remain outside the chapel door. He sat down on a stone bench and that was a mistake. The moment he stopped moving, pain and fatigue overwhelmed him. His shoulder throbbed, his head buzzed. The floor tilted beneath his feet, the walls slid sideways. Marcus leaned back against the wall to wait for the dizziness to pass.
He’d been going on adrenaline alone, and that was suddenly all used up.
The chapel was located inside the palace proper, sheltered from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Even though tumult raged beyond, the thick walls dampened most of the sound. He could hear faintly the ongoing struggle and the chanting of the sisters as they gathered in their circle.
And he also heard voices shouting in terror, “Dragons!” and he heard a blast and boom of fiery breath.
The pain and weakness were so great, he did not think he had the strength to move off the bench. His gaze lifted to a stained-glass window above him, to the myriad colors shifting in his wavering vision. “I faced the dragon before. I can do it again.”
He left the little room and entered the mind of the dragon.
Maristara was furious. Her fury burned inside her like the brimstone rumbling in her belly. She was furious and she was afraid, and she was using her fury to try to squelch her fear. The dragon had always been a bully, and like most bullies, she was a coward. Her longtime companion in this adventure, Grald, was dead, and though she had despised him and distrusted him, she had relied on his brutal strength and low cunning more than she had cared to admit.
Master of Dragons Page 34
