“There, see what you made me do.”
“Forget the prayers. Come with me,” pressed Bellona, kissing her lover’s cheek and her neck.
“No, I mustn’t,” said Melisande, sighing and relaxing beneath the warm caresses.
The two held fast to each other, Bellona rubbing her cheek in the soft, fair, and fragrant hair, Melisande giving in to strong arms and the gentle touch.
“Melisande,” said Bellona softly.
“What?” Melisande murmured, half in a dream.
“You were asleep. Standing up. While I was holding you.”
“No! Was I?” Melisande blinked and shook herself.
Bellona regarded her sternly. “You have to get some sleep, Melisande. You go on ahead. I’ll take a last look around. And I’ll tell Lucretta that you are not well.”
“Don’t be long,” said Melisande, yielding.
“I won’t,” said Bellona with a kiss.
Bellona made her rounds, saw that all was well. The soldiers were in good spirits. Coupling Night was a sacred tradition for soldiers and sisters. Every woman there owed her birth to one such night in the past. Still, the soldiers did not look upon it with quite the same reverence as the sisters. Each month they made bets on the “bulls,” staking a share of their food rations on which would plow his furrow more than once and which would be lucky to plow at all.
They told the same crude jokes and stories that had been told for three hundred years on these nights and added some new ones, sharing them all gleefully with Bellona when she made the rounds. She laughed, but did not linger, as she might have done, to join them in their fun.
Hopeful that another Coupling Night would pass without incident, Bellona went to the nave, gave her message to Lucretta, who screwed up her mouth in disapproval and sniffed.
Bellona had one more stop to make before she went to her quarters.
“All well within?” she asked the guards at the door of the Mistress’s chamber.
“Yes, Commander,” replied one. “All is quiet.”
Bellona looked at the windows that were always dark, their heavy curtains always drawn. The Mistress might die in there alone and no one would know it. Yet, perhaps she was not so near death as they all feared. Melisande had a great deal to learn before she was ready to take over as Mistress of Dragons. The current Mistress had not yet begun to teach her.
Bellona was still uncertain about whether or not to travel to the pass. Looking at the dark windows, she made up her mind. The journey was about thirty miles. A day’s ride with a change of horses en route. A day there, to inspect the defenses and find out more details about who it was who had tried to enter. A day’s ride back. If the Mistress died, there would be little for Bellona to do, except to keep the sad news from spreading out into the kingdom until the sisters were ready to announce it. And the last death watch had lasted weeks, or so Bellona recalled hearing.
Her mind made up, Bellona returned to her quarters. The hall was dark. The barracks quiet. Accustomed to coming and going at all hours, Bellona found her way easily in the moonlit dimness, entered the room quietly.
Melisande lay on the bed. She had not undressed. She had not removed her robes or her sandals, nor unbound her long flaxen hair. A band of silver moonlight slant through the slit window and fell across her face, which looked worn and sorrowful, even in sleep—the haven for the troubled. Sweat glistened on her face and neck. The room was stifling.
Bellona took off her sandals and removed the white robes. Pouring cool water into a bowl, she dipped a sponge into the water, wrung it out, and laved Melisande’s arms and breasts, her face and hands. Bellona used long, slow strokes, moving the sponge gently, so as not to wake her. Melisande shivered, but she did not waken. Bellona carefully loosened the heavy coil of braided hair and brushed out the waves that were gold in the daylight, white by the moon’s reckoning.
This done, Bellona drew the blanket over Melisande’s damp body, so that she would not take a chill. Leaning over, she kissed Melisande on the forehead, on the eyelids, and the mouth. Melisande never stirred, but the lines of weariness had smoothed, the tension in her body relaxed. She slept deeply and peacefully. Somewhere in the night, a woman gave a drowsy, satiated laugh. A man’s deep chuckle joined her. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled. It would rain before morning.
Bellona crawled into bed, flung one arm protectively over Melisande, and shut out the moonlight.
9
“We’ll leave the horses here,” said draconas, tying the reins around a tree limb, “and go in on foot.”
He could not see Edward’s face, for he was turned away from him, but he could tell by the quick, deft movements that the king was eager for action. Edward did as instructed, and swiftly joined Draconas.
The fire-blasted pine tree, still smoldering, was a furlong away, growing on a ledge that jutted out from the rock face. The moon had lit their way up the side of the mountain. An easy climb, for the slope was gradual, not steep; the trees flung about with a sparing hand. Distant thunder presaged more rain. As they neared their destination, the sky thickened with clouds that swallowed up moon and stars and the dragon Braun, who was as eager for action as Edward. Of the two, Braun was the one Draconas least trusted.
He had no idea how the young and impulsive dragon would react. Braun had done well so far—the blasting of the pine tree had been an inspired idea. Draconas hoped Braun would continue to behave rationally and circumspectly, but he couldn’t count on it. Braun was being motivated by vengeance and that was a self-damning emotion, both in humans and in dragons.
As for Edward, Draconas had only one regret and that was the undeniable fact that His Grace was in no way graceful when it came to trekking through the woods. Edward made noise enough for six kings, slipping and stumbling, cursing beneath his breath, treading on dry branches that crackled and crunched beneath his boots, and once nearly upsetting himself when his foot turned on a rock.
“For all the noise you’re making, we might as well shoot off one of those blasted cannons to announce we’re coming,” Draconas told him.
“It’s all very well for you to talk,” Edward returned, breathing hard. “You have eyes like a bat, apparently. I can’t see a damn thing in this witch’s murk.”
Draconas felt a twinge of remorse. He tended to forget that humans were not blessed with his dragon’s ability to see in the darkness.
“Place your toe first and roll back on the heel,” Draconas suggested. “You’ll find your footing more secure.”
“I look like a mincing dancing master,” Edward grumbled, but he did as Draconas recommended, and the two proceeded. Fortunately rain began to fall again, masking their footfalls.
They climbed to a point that brought them directly underneath the overhanging ledge on which stood the marked pine. Beyond the pine, so Braun had reported, was the cavern opening, with what appeared to be a crude road leading up to it.
The road provides the humans easy access, Draconas thought, pleased to have his theory confirmed.
They stood beneath the ledge, peering upward. The rain pattered down on them lightly, dripped off the ledge. Thunder grumbled above them. Lightning spread blue-white fire over the underbelly of the clouds.
Holding his breath, Draconas cocked his head, listened. “What is it?” whispered Edward, tensing. “Voices,” said Draconas. “I’m going to take a look.” Catching hold of the edge, he swung himself easily up and over the ledge. He flattened himself on the rock shelf, taking care to keep hidden in the ruins of the pine tree. No ordinary human would be able to see him in the rain and the night, but who knew what a human gifted with the dragon magic might be able to do or see?
And humans were not the only beings who would be keeping watch for them.
Ahead of him, about twenty paces away, was the cavern’s opening, a long and narrow slit in the mountain. A soldier sat hunched on a boulder, his head slumped to his chest. The man was cloaked and wore a steel helm, chain mail, and ca
rried a sword. He was the only person in sight. No mad monks.
The soldier had taken refuge from the rain beneath a shelf of rock that thrust out over the cave, creating a natural portico. By day, the cavern’s entrance would be concealed in the shadow of this portico, effectively hiding it from view. Draconas could have searched for years and might have never discovered it. It was the road that gave it away, and Braun would have never found that if Draconas had not told him to look for it.
A narrow strip of white rock eked out of solid gray, the road had not been carved out of the stone. The road had been ground into it, the path worn smooth by countless numbers of feet coming and going over three centuries, trailing down the mountainside. Braun followed the road from the air, reported that it disappeared into a forest along the river. The strange road apparently came from nowhere and led back there, for Braun could not any find trace of it in the lands surrounding the mountains.
Draconas turned his attention back to the voices. On first hearing, he had thought them to be right above him. He now realized that the voices were some distance away, coming from inside the cavern that was acting to amplify them. He could make out at least two distinct speakers, but, due to the echoes bouncing off the cavern walls, he could not understand what they were saying.
Under the cover of thunder, Draconas slithered off the ledge, dropped back down.
“One guard,” he reported, whispering into Edward’s ear. “And he’s asleep.”
“Any sign of the enchantment?” Edward whispered back. “Fairy dust sprinkled about the opening? Eerily glowing cobwebs strung across the entrance?”
“We won’t know if the enchantment’s working until we try to enter. And if it is,” Draconas added coolly, “you won’t find it so damn funny. For mercy’s sake, keep as silent as you can!”
Draconas again leaped for the ledge, pulled himself up and over. He crouched low, listening to make certain that no one else was coming. He heard nothing, except the voices within the cavern.
The somnambulant guard slumped on the boulder. Draconas couldn’t blame him for keeping careless watch. Three hundred years of these trysts and nothing had happened, ever. “Hand me my staff,” said Draconas.
Edward handed up the staff. Draconas rested it on the ground beside him, then reached for the king. Catching hold of Edward’s hand, Draconas hauled him up onto the ledge. “Quiet!” Draconas warned. The two crouched, frozen. The voices still continued their conversation, but over that they could hear footfalls and other, stranger noises.
“That sounded like a baby’s cry!” Edward breathed.
“Keep silent!” Draconas returned irritably, trying to think. He turned to the king, gripped his hand, looked him in the eye. “Whatever happens, whatever you hear or see, you must not interfere. Promise me.”
“What’s going on? You have to tell me.”
“There’s no time. Promise me,” Draconas said, “or I turn back.”
Edward stood frowning, glancing balefully at the dark cavern. The footfalls and the sound of whimpering and crying grew louder. They were nearing the entrance.
“I promise,” he muttered.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Draconas told him. “If you try to stop them, they’ll fight and you’ll risk harming the children. Take cover over there. Wait for my signal.”
Edward did as ordered, though he was plainly not happy. Like all animals, humans had the instinctive need to protect the young of the species. Draconas should have warned the king of the possibility that there might be children involved, but he had never supposed they might arrive in the middle of a transfer.
Of all the confounded luck!
Draconas waited one more second to make certain that Edward obeyed orders. The king might be a romantic, but he had a good measure of common sense, and he did as he was told, padding softly past the slumbering guard, taking cover in a jumble of rocks near the cavern’s entrance. Once Edward was safely ensconced, Draconas clambered from boulder to boulder, climbing up the outside of the cavern’s wall and out onto the portico. Flattening himself on top of it, he peered over the edge.
The sleeping soldier was directly beneath him. Three more soldiers, accoutered like the first, in steel helms and armed with swords, emerged from the cavern.
“Wake up, you lazy bastard,” said one, thumping the lookout. “Lucky for you it was me and not Grald caught you snoring on watch. Else you’d be asleep permanent.”
“Bah, what’s to watch for? Nothin’ but goats up here,” said the guard with a yawn. He looked back into the cavern. “I wish those old biddies would get a move on. Can’t you make ‘em hurry?”
“Hurry up in there,” the soldier called. “And douse that blamed torch!”
“I won’t,” returned a shrill female voice, sharp and indignant. “It’s dark as pitch out here.”
“Our way’s been lit before,” said another female. “You’ve had moonlight before,” returned the soldier. “Well, the moon’s not out, is it?”
Five women, dressed as nuns, in black habits and black wimples, emerged from the cavern. One of them carried the contested torch, blazing brightly. Four of them carried bundles of cloth that occasionally stirred or let out a cry or a whimper. At the sight, Edward gave a gasp that was audible to Draconas, but, thankfully, not to the soldiers, who were still arguing with the women.
“Grald’s orders,” said the soldier. “No light. You can take it up with him.”
The women looked at each other. “Put it out,” said one dourly.
The soldier took the torch, doused it in a puddle. The women continued to grumble and complain that they couldn’t see and they’d surely fall off the cliff.
“If I break my neck, you’ll be left to care for this squalling brat,” said one.
“Your eyes’ll get accustomed to the dark,” said the soldier. “The walk’s not that far. The wagon’s waiting for us in the woods.”
The women began to creep along the road, shuffling their feet to feel their way.
“We’ll be all night at this rate,” groaned the soldier who had been asleep.
“Don’t worry,” returned his comrade. “Grald will soon be along and then you’ll see the old crones hop lively.”
“Keep your voice down,” said the first nervously. “Those women have the magic, you know, and they’d just as soon turn us inside out as look at us.”
“Let them try,” said the other with a shrug, but he did lower his voice.
His comrade looked back around. “How long will Grald be in there with her?”
“ ‘Til whenever Her Worship decides to dismiss him.”
“Should one of us wait for him?”
“He ordered us to guard the women. He’ll meet us at the wagon. Don’t worry. If trouble comes, Grald can take care of himself.”
“Don’t I know it,” said the soldier sincerely. As the soldier had predicted, the women soon grew used to the darkness and mended their pace. The soldiers hastened after them. Draconas could smell the dragon magic on the women, as Edward had been able to smell the thunder.
Once they were gone, the king rose from his hiding place, walked out to stand in front of the cave. Slithering down from his perch, Draconas dragged the king into the shadows.
“Nuns carrying babies out of a cave!” Edward confronted him. “And you knew they’d be here.”
“At least,” said Draconas, “we know that the entrance is not enchanted.”
“The hell with that! What about the babies? Where are they taking them? Whose are they? What in the name of the Holy Mother is going on?”
“Come with me,” said Draconas. “And for your life, make no sound.”
“Damn it, Draconas—”
“Are you coming?” Draconas asked, starting toward the cavern entrance.
Edward had little choice. Muttering, he followed after. “It’s dark as death in here. Hold onto me or you’ll soon lose your way,” Draconas told him.
Draconas felt Edward’s hand close
over his arm. The king was a quick learner. He moved almost as silently as Draconas. The narrow entrance opened up into a wide cavern with a high ceiling. They would come to pick up the children once a month, on a night with a full moon to light their way. He wondered how many babies had been taken from this dark and fearful place to what darker and more fearful fate? Hundreds? Thousands? He was glad Edward didn’t know what horrors these children faced. No human possessed of that knowledge could have stood by and watched them being spirited away without doing something to try to save them.
The two voices grew louder, clearer, and he was able to determine their location. The large chamber ended. A small opening to his left led into another chamber beyond. Light emanated from this chamber, spilled out onto the floor, carrying a man’s shadow with it. Draconas halted so suddenly that Edward bumped into him.
Draconas squeezed Edward’s arm, warning him to be silent. Edward squeezed back, much harder than necessary. Yes, I’ll keep quiet now, that painful squeeze said, but I have plenty to say later.
Draconas smiled in the darkness. He moved closer to the stone wall, away from the light.
Both men stood still, barely breathing, listening. The language the two voices spoke was the language of most of those living on this part of the continent, although the male voice had the dialect and accent of someone who came from farther south. The other speaker, “Her Worship,” spoke with a sibilant lisp, as might be expected of a creature with a long and slender tongue flicking between sharp fangs. “You are certain he will try the pass?”
“I am. Where else would he try?”
“I do not know, but if there is another way he will find it. He is not one to underestimate, as I think you would have learned by now.”
“Your warrior women patrol the border—”
“Yes, because they spotted the monks. Another example of your incompetence.”
“They let themselves be seen. You suggested it—”
Mistress of Dragons Page 12
