“You enjoy watching people get eaten?” I asked.
He regarded me with complete calm, a cool, dark blue gaze. “You eat meat yourself, don’t you?” he said. “They’re not so different from us.”
This was what Master Maunus would call a question of philosophy: Wherein is man different from the animals? But I had no taste for philosophy at the best of times, and this was far from the best of times. At that moment, there was a jerk on my chain so strong that my leg went out from under me and I tumbled down on one side.
What…?
It was the dragon. Instead of snapping at its own chain, it now had hold of mine. It stood there with its head lowered and the chain in its jaws, and I am not sure it had even discovered yet that there was a fish at the other end of the line. It twisted its powerful neck and gave another tug on the chain, and I slithered a few feet closer, despite my best efforts to get up and stand firm. The monster stared at me, and at the chain stretched between us, and I swear it almost grinned. It tugged at the chain again.
I scrabbled in the dirt with arms and legs and fought as hard as I could, but the dragon’s strength made a joke of my poor human efforts. It pulled at the chain the way a cat tugs at the loose end of a ball of yarn, and the only thing that saved me was the fact that it couldn’t hold the chain in its mouth and bite me at the same time. It had to let go of the chain, and I flung myself backward and escaped the darting head by inches. The dragon’s angry hiss was a hot wind in my face, but it wasn’t about to give up. Once more it grabbed the chain and jerked, dragging me close. And this time it planted a heavy foot on the chain before spitting it out. It opened its mouth and struck at me like a snake does, fangs glinting in the gray daylight. Its jaw snapped shut less than an arm’s length from my leg.
“Do something!” I yelled at the Dragon knight, who was watching everything like it was the best entertainment he had had in years. He had a sword, didn’t he? And he couldn’t really mean it about being on the dragon’s side, could he?
“Sly beast,” he said almost lovingly. “They get cleverer and cleverer, I’ve noticed.”
There were more people in the courtyard now, but none of them seemed to want to interfere. I tried not to think about what it would feel like if the dragon caught my foot next time. They were needle sharp, those fangs. And venomous. When Dina was bitten by a dragon, her arm went numb almost right away, she had told me.
The next jerk was so ferocious that I almost flew across the gravel and ended up right between the front feet of the beast. There was only one thing I could think to do. I snatched up the chain and flung a loop of it around the dragon’s snout, trying to keep its jaws shut. It snorted in surprise and batted at me with one foot. Two of the claws drew long bloody furrows down my arm, but if I let go, I had had it. If I could keep the chain taut, at least it couldn’t open its jaws. If it couldn’t open its jaws, at least it couldn’t—
It flung up its head like a wild horse, tossing me into the air like I weighed nothing at all. I lost my grip on the chain, and went sailing across its neck until a sharp wrench of my ankle brought an end to my brief flight. I came down like a sack of potatoes, on top of the dragon’s scaly gray-blue back, with a dim view of its long tail. I dug my fingers into the scales and tried to hang on to its shoulder blades, but they were rough and bumpy, those scales, like plates of bone, and it was hard to find a grip. Another vicious jerk at my ankle, and I slid along the neck, toward the head and a set of jaws that would not remain closed for much longer.
The head.
The eyes.
I could see one of them, matte gold and furious, right beside me. I clenched my hand into a fist and punched it as hard as I could into the dragon’s yellow eye.
A hiss came from the dragon, a hiss so thin it was almost a scream. It forgot all about being clever. It flung itself from side to side, tossing its head, batting at me with first one leg, then the other. I couldn’t hold on, couldn’t do anything, not anymore. A last jerk of its head hurled me forward, to be flipped head over heels as the chain tightened once more, and I landed flat on my back with an impact that blacked out everything for a moment.
I couldn’t move my arms. I couldn’t move my legs. If the beast wanted to reel me in again and eat me, it could do so. There was no more resistance in me.
Somebody was bending over me. I slowly opened my eyes. It was the Dragon knight, the one with the cool, very dark blue eyes. They reminded me of someone, those eyes, reminded me of…
“Can you hear me?”
I nodded faintly. I had no breath for talking.
“The next time you want to play with one of my dragons, be a little more careful. I don’t like it when people hurt them.”
My dragons. Did he mean—
I realized why his eyes seemed so familiar. They were a lot like Nico’s. Which wasn’t so surprising, considering they had the same father.
“Drakan,” I whispered with what breath I had left.
He nodded.
“And you,” he said, “you must be the Shamer’s son. Dina’s older brother. Your name is Davin, isn’t it?”
DAVIN
Dragon Blood
That night I learned what Drakan needed his dragon for.
Night had fallen. A big fire had been lit inside the Ring of Iron, and the dragon lay so close to the flames that they washed the gray scales with gold and made its eyes glitter beneath the heavy lids. I too had crept a little closer, even though it also meant moving closer to the dragon. It was that or die of cold. My ankle was so swollen now that it bulged around the iron, throbbing viciously with every heartbeat. My arm, too, was sore, marked by the dragon’s claws. But there was something inside me that dwarfed the pains of my body. Inside my head the Whisperers were back, with new whips to flay me.
… your fault… your fault…
Callan. Dead or dying. Rose… what would they do to a girl like her? She had grown so pretty lately, with her fair hair and very nice legs and breasts I couldn’t help noticing even though I tried not to. The mere thought that someone might…
… your fault… your fault…
For once in my life, couldn’t I have used my eyes and my head before opening my big mouth? Used whatever brains I had, perhaps? For Callan’s sake, and Rose’s. But it was too late now. I eyed the dragon. Perhaps it would have been better if it had eaten me. Then, at least, the voices would have had to shut up.
I couldn’t run away from them this time. Judging from the pain in my ankle, it would be a while before I would be able to run from anything again.
… your fault…
When the first knights emerged from the castle, it was almost a relief that something was happening. At least it might take my mind off the voices and the pain in my foot. They put up torches along the walls so that the courtyard was lit by a flickering yellow glow.
Then Drakan appeared. His uniform looked like the others—perhaps a bit more gold on his breastplate, and I think his cloak might be the only one made from dragon hide—but despite that he stood out immediately. There was something about him, a jittery feeling of power barely held at bay. A sense that he might blow anytime. If there had been a powder keg with a lit fuse in the yard, everyone would have watched that too.
“It is time,” he said. And although he didn’t say it very loudly, even the knights who had been putting up torches at the far end of the courtyard heard him immediately and came to stand with the others in a half-circle around the dragon and the fire.
There were twenty-four and Drakan. I counted them. I tried to set their faces firm in my mind too, because this was the kind of knowledge that might be useful to the Highlanders in this war, if ever I got out of here alive and was able to give it to them.
One by one the knights stepped forward and bowed to the dragon, like people bow to a prince or the picture of a saint. It seemed to make no particular impression on the beast, but as for me, it made my skin crawl.
“We thank the Dragon for what we are abo
ut to receive,” they said as one voice. It was eerie to hear so many people say the same thing at exactly the same time and in exactly the same way, as if they were all possessed by the same evil spirit.
“We thank the Dragon for our strength.”
There was a loud sound of leather against leather as they all slapped their chests at the same time, with their gloved fists pounding their breastplates at heart height.
“We thank the Dragon for our courage.”
A new pounding.
“We thank the Dragon for our wisdom.”
Wisdom? Exactly what kind of great thoughts were they expecting to receive from a big dumb animal like that? It might have been cleverer than I thought when it used my chain to drag me within reach. But wisdom?
I looked at the dragon. It had heaved itself to its feet and had begun rocking from side to side, from one foreleg to the other. The neck was swaying, and the head darted this way and that with no purpose that I could see. What was wrong with the beast? If I had thought dragons could have such emotions, I would have said it looked anxious. Nervous. About what?
Drakan, the twenty-fifth man in the circle, stepped up to the dragon. In one hand he held a golden cup, in the other a knife. The dragon retreated from him, step by step, until it could back up no farther. It hissed at him like a cat, but this was a frightened cat.
I could see Drakan’s lips moving, but it was impossible to hear what he was saying. What did one say to a frightened dragon: “There, there, easy now, that’s a good dragon”? Whatever he was saying, it seemed to work. It lowered its belly to the ground, and then its head, in a curiously resigned manner.
The knife flashed in the torchlight. Drakan pushed the point between two scales on the dragon’s neck, and dark blood welled across the knife’s blade into the golden cup he held. The dragon didn’t move an inch. Was it really so afraid of him that it didn’t dare move? I almost felt sorry for it. Almost.
When the cup was nearly full, Drakan withdrew the knife. The scales fell back into place, and the bleeding stopped almost immediately. The dragon shook its head and then sank to the ground like a tired old dog that no longer has the strength to snarl.
The circle of knights had tightened. They were still moving slowly and solemnly, but there was a suppressed eagerness in their steps now and in the way their eyes followed the cup in Drakan’s hand. The first of them knelt to his prince, and Drakan held the cup to his lips.
“Drink,” he said. “The strength of the Dragon, the courage of the Dragon, the wisdom of the Dragon.”
The man seized Drakan’s hand and drank the dark blood as if his life depended on it.
It was the most disgusting thing I had ever seen, and yet I couldn’t look away.
“What are you drinking?” asked Drakan.
“Strength, courage, and wisdom,” said the man hoarsely. And then he laughed, a strangely light and untroubled laugh in the middle of all the gore and solemnity. “Strength, courage, wisdom,” he repeated, “and freedom!”
And then he laughed once more.
One by one they knelt. One by one they drank.
When the cup had gone full circle there was still a little of the thick fluid left.
“Get the boy,” said Drakan.
The boy? Did he mean me?
“He hasn’t been initiated,” objected one of the knights. “He has not found his place in the Order of the Dragon.”
“No,” said Drakan with a narrow smile. “But think about it. The son of the Shamer witch. What revenge could be more beautiful, and more appropriate?”
What did he mean? I wouldn’t drink his foul dragon’s blood. But even if they did somehow force it on me, where was the revenge?
Three of them came for me. One unlocked the iron—it wasn’t easy for him, what with the swelling—while the other two hauled me to my feet. The pain in my foot made my vision blacken at the edges; the two claw marks tore open and began to bleed as well, but it was the ankle that hurt so badly they nearly had to carry me.
“Pitiful,” said Drakan. He leaned close and spoke so caressingly that it might have been one of his beloved dragons he was talking to. “But don’t worry. Soon everything will be so much better.”
He held out the cup. I turned my face away. The fluid was so dark it didn’t really look like blood. But the smell—the smell was unmistakable: heavy and sweet and festering at the same time. Like the dragon’s own stench, only worse, because of the cloying sweetness.
“Do you turn away from the gift of the Dragon?” he said. “You don’t know what is good for you. Hold him.”
They made me kneel with a swift kick to the back of my legs, and one of them grabbed me by the hair and forced my head back. I tried to turn my face away or at least to clench my teeth, but one of them edged a knife’s blade between my jaws and forced my mouth open. He cut my lip by accident so that, in the end, what ran down my throat was a mixture of my own blood and the blood of the dragon.
They did not let me go until they had made sure that I had swallowed the revolting stuff. And even though I spat and kept on spitting, I knew it was too late. It was there, inside me, in my throat and stomach and body. It made me want to puke.
“There,” said Drakan in the same soft tone. “Soon you will be one of us.”
I had no idea what he meant. If he thought I was now a Dragon’s man—a knight of the Dragon, even—just because they had managed to get me to swallow his disgusting dragon’s blood, then he was very wrong.
But something was happening. Something was happening inside my body. My heart was beating faster, my hands and feet were growing warm. Suddenly my ankle didn’t hurt nearly as much. No, wait. It didn’t hurt at all. I almost laughed out loud. It didn’t hurt!
“He’s beginning to understand,” said one of the knights. “Look at his face.”
“Bring him,” said another. “Let him see it. Let him try it.”
“Naturally,” said Drakan. “Did you think I would waste the Dragon’s precious gift on him just to put him to sleep with a smile on his face?”
Bring me? Where to?
And then I didn’t care. I had just discovered something else.
The voices were gone.
The penetrating, whispering voices that had bored their way into my skull, telling me I was a coward, I was a murderer, everything was my fault, and I would never be able to make it right… they were gone. For the first time in months, they were completely silent. More than that: They simply weren’t there anymore.
This time, I could not hold back my laughter. It welled up inside me, a soaring rush of freedom, a relief so vast it had to come out somehow. I laughed so loudly that the dragon blinked in surprise. It was a wild and inappropriate laughter, I knew that, but I was not ashamed. Like the voices, my nagging sense of shame was gone. Gone completely and entirely.
Hoofbeats thudded against the frozen ground. The darkness was close and thick, and the frosty mist even thicker, but what did I care? I could see in the dark. I was not afraid. And I was the best rider in the world. No more, no less. One of the others was riding next to me, and right now he was the one who held my horse’s reins, but that didn’t matter either. We were going the same way: into the night. I felt like baring my teeth and howling like a wolf.
Well, why not?
I did it. A fine, strong howl, which cut through the night like a fang through a vein. Show me the wolf that could have done better! The horse leaped forward as if I had taken a whip to it, and that was fine too. More speed. More freedom. I howled again.
“He’s way up,” somebody shouted.
“That’s how it is,” said the one holding my reins. “The first time, we can all fly.”
I wasn’t quite sure what he meant. But perhaps they were right. Perhaps I really could fly. If I stood up in the saddle and spread my arms—
“Hey! Sit down, boy!”
One foot slipped as I tried to stand up. It wouldn’t quite take my weight. I slid down to one side, and the
man next to me had to grab me by the arm to haul me back into the saddle.
“Watch it” came a voice from farther down the line. “We don’t want him to break his silly neck, do we? At least not until the Dragon is done with him.”
I turned and laughed at them. Why would I break my neck? Not me. Not here. Not now.
A call came down from the foremost riders.
“There they are. ’Ware!”
The call went down the line, from one rider to the next. I called too, so as not to be left out. I didn’t know who “they” were, nor why we had to beware. But the man next to me had drawn his sword and threw me my horse’s reins.
“Here, boy. You’ll have to manage on your own for a bit.”
I caught the reins easily. Right now all I could do would be to haul the horse around to the left if I wanted to stop it, but what did that matter? I didn’t want it to stop. But I didn’t have a sword, and that worried me a bit. If everyone else had one, why not me?
More shouting up ahead. A scream that certainly didn’t come from a man. Then torches suddenly blazed in the darkness and flew like firebirds, shedding sparks, until they landed on…
A thatched roof, white with frost.
Torches in the thatch.
Something about that wasn’t nice. Something about that wasn’t right.
“Careful,” I told my neighbor. “The whole house might catch fire.”
He laughed. “That’s the plan,” he said. “And it’s all right. They are not of the Dragon.”
“Oh,” I said. Of the Dragon? What did that mean? Were we “of the Dragon”? Yes, there had been a dragon, and it had given me something. And that was why I was feeling so great right now. So maybe I really was of the Dragon? It was a little hard to understand all this, particularly since people were screaming like that all around me, and there was so much fire and darkness. They were using the swords now too, I saw. Why didn’t I have a sword?
The Shamer's War Page 16
