The Little Dragons

  Chapter 89: Mother Peg

  As her heartbeat slowed, Mother Peg felt faint. She had been waving her arms at the disappearing Dragons, yelling at them to bring the child back. Her stick lay beside the path. She managed to retrieve it and prop herself up on it while her aching lungs struggled to catch her breath. The Little Dragon had betrayed them. Was he working with the Great Dragons? Did they tell them to lure the two women on to the Barrens in full daylight?

  Her anger and alarm turned to fear. Out in the open on the Barrens, in full daylight. She must make her way back to the Healer’s cabin as fast as she could. And yet … She scanned the sky above her, the huge, blue vault of it, empty. They could easily have taken her too. There had been at least ten Dragons. It was just Liandra they wanted.

  In the Healer’s cabin, Mother Peg sat heavily on the side of the bed, relieved to be off of the Barrens. She had puzzled about it through the whole struggling hobble back to safety: What did the Dragons want with Liandra? Was it Roxtrianatrix they wanted, and thought he would never go with them without his mother, if you could call the Princess that?

  At least--and here she felt the inside pocket of her skirt to be sure--she still had Mother Calla’s precious journals, safe in their metal box.

  Chapter 90: Maida

  “Rafe!” “Rafe!” Maida called over and over again.

  The Healing had gone well, despite her nervousness. It was a straightforward bonesetting. The pain-killing herbs had worked quickly and well. She had closed her eyes and found that she could feel through the skin without touching, judge the direction and pressure needed to put the bone back in place. She had watched Mother Peg do this so many times. She slipped into the reassuring Healers’ tone with ease, giving confidence to herself as well as her patient. She had left the woman resting well, her leg held in place by a splint and bandages, packets of herbs for pain and healing on the table beside the bed, and had made her way home with much of the night still remaining.

  She had quickly found that her charge was absent from the barn and house. Another half-hour confirmed that he was not working in any of the fields around the cottage. Now she checked each of the trails leading to the clearing, as far as she dared, given the approach of dawn. Her lantern cast wild shadows among the trees, but no sign of Rafe. Her throat was sore from calling.

  She should not have left him alone.

  Chapter 91: Liandra

  Liandra was half frozen, her eyes watering as the Dragon carved through the colder air of the Northern mountains. She did not want to close them, because each lift of the massive wings revealed another awesome panorama of rocky peaks crowned with snow, their lower flanks carved by steep wooded valleys. Other Dragons flew around them now. She lost count of the fierce armoured snouts, the opal eyes, that came close to look at her. They seemed to greet Roxtrianatrix with a flick of their mighty tails and then with a flash of belly scales in every shade of blue, green, bronze, black and gold, they would join the honour guard conducting her to the heights. Her hands were tiring from gripping the scaly blue toe that supported her chest when she noticed they were dropping, skimming along a ragged cliff. They rounded a corner and the dark mouth of a cave gaped before them, with more Dragons flying in and out, a great, glittering cloud of them.

  It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, although the musty smell of the place almost overwhelmed her the second they entered. It was a relief, however, to be out of the wind. The Dragon hovered for a few minutes, and she caught glimpses of a huge cavern dotted with rocky perches, each one hosting a Dragon, landing, taking off, or just sitting and watching them. On one side a scattering of smaller caves caught her eye and held it because they were arranged in straight rows, three levels of very small openings, twenty or so in each row, and below them two larger ones. Beside these, and slightly lower, was a much larger opening with some kind of platform projecting forward into the cave.

  The Dragon approached the top row of small holes, and Liandra saw that each had some kind of fence set into it. He approached the one on the end, lifted her and carefully placed her just behind the fence, which turned out to be a balcony railing. As his fingers unfolded from her, her legs began to buckle. She turned and grasped the railing hard. It was sturdy, made of polished hardwood. Roxtrianatrix landed beside her on its smooth surface. Are you all right? he asked.

  As the feeling came back into her legs, she stood straighter and looked out over the gigantic room before her. Dragons sat on every ledge she could see and many more hovered in mid air. Every pair of kaleidoscope eyes was focused on the two of them. The feeling of love—no, stronger than that, adoration—was intense.

  Alethilion says welcome home, Roxtrianatrix said.

  Who? she asked, but did not need to wait for the answer. She looked into the eyes of the Dragon immediately in front of her, the lithe blue Dragon that had carried her here, and recognized him. Her eyes dropped to his back leg, neatly tucked under his belly. Yes, a ring of scar tissue, the mark of an iron manacle. What is his name? she asked.

  Alethilion, Roxtrianatrix repeated.

  Behind the balcony was a sleeping chamber. Liandra explored it in the dim light that entered from the larger cave outside. The room was dominated by a bed, made up with sheets and a comforter, musty with time and full of the smell of the outer cave. Beside that was a small table and on it, thank the God, a lantern and flint. Fortunately there was fuel in it, although the wick was dry. After two or three tries, it lit. Now she could see the rest of the room. There was a sturdy wooden chair, a cupboard holding two dresses and a cloak, and several shelves lined with books. The only decoration was a small tapestry of a hovering blue Dragon on the wall. When she touched it, a puff of dust billowed from its old fibres. There was also a thick layer of dust on the floor. When she looked back, she could see her own footprints.

  Roxtrianatrix stayed perched on the railing, delighted to visit with his Great Dragon relatives. Holding her lantern aloft, Liandra entered the corridor behind the simple room. It led past rows of doors. Each one she opened revealed another sleeping chamber, identical in furnishings, but revealing the individuality of their long-disappeared inhabitants. Some were immaculate; some piled with a jumble of belongings. Some bookshelves were empty, or held bouquets of dead flowers or small sculptures. Others were piled so high with books they were bending slightly under the weight. Dresses and cloaks were hung neatly in the cupboards or tossed across beds or chairs, or lying in heaps on floors, all identical in cut but differing in colour and size, from tiny enough for a child to voluminous enough for the heaviest of breasts and the best-fed of bellies.

  In the middle of the corridor a spiral staircase descended, passing two more corridors identical to the first and ending in a landing between two large rooms. One side was clearly a library, judging by the floor to ceiling shelves of books, the small desks, the circle of comfortable chairs around a huge stone fireplace. On the other side was a dining hall filled with tables and chairs. They were clearly intended to be set in rows, but half of the room was in disarray, its dust scattered by recent use. She thought of her father’s expedition to steal the Dragon egg, Alethilion’s egg. The soldiers must have found this place.

  Each of these rooms, the library and dining hall, had a long balcony overlooking the Dragon cave. Alethilion hovered just outside the dining hall balcony, watching her. He had been following her explorations. She shivered. All her life the sight of a Dragon so close, paying you that kind of attention, would mean your life was not going to last beyond a few more minutes.

  A large door in the back of the dining hall led into a vaulted ballroom, or something of the sort. As she stepped through the door, there was an excited chittering sound behind her. It came from Alethilion, who was flapping his wings noisily just off the edge of the balcony. “Don’t worry,” she said aloud. “I’m coming back.”

  An echo in her mind repeated her words, Roxtrianatrix passing them on to the big blue Dragon. He calmed and d
isappeared from the opening. Liandra felt relief. Maybe he would go and rest, stop watching her every move.

  The reception room was as disordered as the dining hall had been, the old furniture pushed aside to make room for the soldier’s sleeping pallets in the centre of the floor. On her way through, she spotted a worn pair of black doeskin pants discarded in a corner, definitely from the uniform of one of her father’s soldiers.

  The reception room had a door on the far side as well, with light in it. There, Liandra found an outdoor platform, probably large enough for a Dragon to land on. Immediately she was proven right, as Alethilion landed in front of her, flicking his tail in what she took to be greeting. She smiled at him and he flicked harder. Behind him the clear light of the mountains was fading, the sun heading for rest behind the vast peaks.

  This sparked hunger in Liandra. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Where there is a dining room, there must be a kitchen, she thought, and her father’s soldiers had been here not that many months ago. They may have left behind something to eat. She headed back to look. On the way through the reception room, she noted a particularly large and well-finished passageway leading away into darkness on one side.

  The kitchen was off the dining hall, apparently the only room with no balcony overlooking the Dragon cave. It looked as though it had survived a storm, everything knocked about and dirty with crusted food. Men! Liandra thought, as she waded into the mess looking for something edible. There were several packets of the hard biscuits that served as soldiers’ rations. She collected them together into a tin box she found sitting on a shelf. There were five altogether, not enough to last her for long. She would have to figure out what to do about food, not only for herself, but for Roxtrianatrix.

  She selected a packet and opened it. The biscuit inside was too hard to chew. The point, she guessed, was to work at it slowly, and when she did, her hunger faded. It made her thirsty, though. The pump was not hard to find, set beside a stone sink with a drain. A row of tin cups hung on hooks on the wall. She helped herself to one. The water was cold and good.

  Still chewing on her soldiers’ biscuit, she picked up her lantern and continued to explore. Small rooms off the kitchen seemed to be offices or Healing rooms, one containing four beds. One long passage led out of the mountain to a stable with a large storage room half-full of hay. The stable opened into a sheltered meadow with a fence around it. As soon as she stepped out, Alethilion was there beside her, flicking his tail like a dog. Clearly there was no protection from Dragons here in the meadow. Either the animals in the stable grazed at night or there was an agreement that they were not to be eaten. Out here Liandra could see that darkness was falling. It had been a long day, filled with wonder and emotion. She was exhausted.

  On her way back to the sleeping chamber where Alethilion had placed her, she made another discovery. At the end of each corridor there was an indoor toilet, better even than those at the castle. A small pump filled a basin for washing hands and face. When the plug at the bottom of the basin was pulled, the water ran through the toilet, carrying whatever was there away to some clever cesspool elsewhere in the mountainside.

  At the sleeping chamber, Roxtriantrix waited on the railing, happy to see her. She found a nightdress in the closet and adopted it, glad to strip out of her filthy traveling clothes. She was too tired to mind the mustiness of the bedding and fell instantly asleep, Roxtrianatrix curled on a small rug beside the bed.

  Chapter 92: Melisande

  “Marle, welcome!” Melisande held her hands out to her visitor, surprised to see her so soon after their parting in the inn at Theta’s Well. She stepped back and indicated the chairs in the Visiting Room, sent for Imelda and a pot of tea before asking, “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Marle told her. “I mean, yes and no.” Imelda arrived and greeted Marle warmly. A few minutes later, a young Servant arrived with the tea. As the grey-clad girl shut the Visiting room door, Marle nodded her head slightly at it. “Is it safe to speak here?” Her voice was very low, just loud enough for Imelda and Melisande to hear.

  Melisande had not heard the Servant’s steps disappear from the hallway. “It is a delight to see you,” she said loudly, covering the slight rustle of the parchment scraps she pulled from her pocket, along with a charcoal stick wrapped in a bit of light fabric to keep the user’s hands clean. “Be careful,” Melisande wrote.

  Marle reached out for the writing tools. While Imelda and Melisande kept up an innocuous conversation, she wrote: “Word spreading quietly among Healers. Great excitement. But on road to School with M. Peg, L. & Rox. taken by Dragons.”

  Melisande’s face lost its colour as she read the note. Imelda reached out to cover Melisande’s hand with her own, frowning at the message she could not read.

  “And how are our friends in the Eastlands?” Melisande asked aloud, as Marle bent to write again. “Not attack—took her carefully. Rox. went willingly. Tess thinks Dragons up to something—will not hurt L. Thought you should know. Will come if we hear more. Keep ears open here too.”

  Melisande took the note, read it several times, nodded. “All is well in the Eastlands,” Marle said aloud.

  “Thank you so much. It’s important to get news from friends,” Melisande said, also aloud, covering the rustle of her skirts as she rose and carried the notes to the fireplace. “We look forward to seeing you again.”

  Two days later, Melisande was not surprised to find the tall man in the rough cloak slouched in one of the Visiting Room chairs, his back to the door, his hood pulled up over his head. He was in front of the fire, as if craving its heat, and had pulled another chair alongside his own, very close, she noticed. He indicated with his hand that she should sit there.

  Slouched as he was, he did not tower over her. He turned sideways to face her, holding the hood out to cover any glimpse of his face someone at the keyhole might be seeking. He had aged, she saw. His eyes looked tired.

  She bent to whisper behind the shelter of his hood. “My Lord.”

  That brought a momentary smile. “Not your Lord any more.” It disappeared again. “Where is Liandra?” he asked, and watched her sharply for her response.

  She knew she could fool the Court by substituting Jessa for Liandra but, if he was paying attention at all, not the King. She had thought about what to say, planned to give the same story about Liandra she had given Head Mother Mabonne about Jessa. Now it was true. She had only to let her real worry for Liandra show through her words to convince him. “She was taken by a Dragon.” In fact, having to carry the knowledge as a secret from all but Imelda had caused the worry to build. She found tears leaping to her eyes, looked down to allow them to escape, running down her face. She had lost so much. The fire crackled in the silent room.

  After some time had passed, Melisande pulled a linen handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose. She did not miss his glance at the handkerchief. As Queen it would have been nothing but silk. “I was very happy to find Jessa here,” she whispered. “You told me she was all right, and I believed you, of course, but it was good to see her with my own eyes.”

  “She has grown into a lovely young woman,” Anglewart said. “And soon she will marry Prince Locheil of the Westlands.”

  “And no issue about her virginity,” Melisande whispered.

  “Thank you,” he said. So he believed what she had hoped he would, that she had sent Jessa for the sake of the marriage to Locheil. Men, and their all-important power games! She kept her eyes firmly on the crumpled handkerchief in her lap, so he would not read the anger there. “The Dragon,” he said, “The one that took Liandra, do you know if it was blue?”

  “You mean …” --this had not occurred to her before—“The one in the courtyard?” He nodded. “I don’t know. I wasn’t there when it happened.”

  “Where did it happen?”

  “Somewhere near the witch’s cottage.”

  “How did she get outside in daylight?”

  “I don?
??t imagine the old woman could have stopped her if she decided to run away.”

  “And what became of the child?”

  What did he know? What had Peg told Aden? “I don’t know,” she said. It was safest.

  “So did you see her when you went?”

  “No, I was too late.” The tears had dried up with the anger, then the worry about what he might already know, but her nose was still quite full. She lowered her head and used her handkerchief to blow it again.

  Chapter 93: Mother Peg

  Word of the Little Dragon and Mother Calla’s journals spread quietly but quickly among the Healers. Every day brought another Senior Healer to the School to see for him or herself, join the discussion of what would happen next.

  Mother Peg was in her glory, the centre of many conversations in the Dining Hall. She told the story over and over again of Roxtrianatrix’s birth, the discovery of the Journals. Every session was the same, first excitement at these two leaps forward in their efforts to discover the secrets of the Dragon Priestesses, fading to dismay that the possible new Dragon Priestess was gone, along with her Little Dragon, to who knew what fate and, although the second of Sister Rena’s journals had survived, full of information on how to raise, train, control and communicate with Little Dragons, it was the first journal that must have contained the information about how the Priestesses became pregnant with their Little Dragons in the first place. And the first journal was damaged beyond reading.

  Chapter 94: Gleve

  Keiran and Gleve walked as quietly as they could, listening for the tread of foot or wheel ahead of them or coming up behind. They had had some close calls with merchants and soldiers. Soldiers, in particular, were a worry because so many of them had been shown the poster advertising the price on Keiran’s head. Anyone else could have seen these as well, and even if they hadn’t, the sight of a Man of the Land traveling with a King’s Man would be enough to cause suspicion.