The Author's Blood (17 page)

Clara tended to Connie in a room high atop one of the dwellings near the coliseum. They had heard the cheering and seen the smoke and fire, but they hadn't been able to see what caused any of it. And all the better, Clara thought, for surely someone died in that arena, probably many before the evil celebration was over.

Vaxors guarded the doors as well as the balcony windows. Clara looked for any way through the ceiling in the bathroom or whether the walls were thin enough to punch through, but the structure was rock solid. The Dragon's infernal city was sturdily built.

Even now Connie's color made her look like death itself, but something was different about her. Passing through to the Lowlands had done something to her that Clara couldn't explain.

Clara answered a knock on the door to discover a strange-looking human with a black bag. He was stooped with a scrubby beard and a crooked smile, and he peered through glasses thicker than Coke bottles. “You don't look so bad for having been stung by the minions.”

“It wasn't me,” Clara said. “It was her.”

“That old woman? Oh, dear, this
is
going to be a challenge. Yes, indeed.”

“You work for the Dragon?” Clara said.

“I work for myself,” he said, toddling to Connie's bed. He took her hand and checked her pulse, and it looked as if some color came back into her skin.

“What about Owen?” Connie said.

“Who?” the man said. “Don't concern yourself with others. You have enough to concern yourself with right here.”

The man pulled a candle from his bag, lit it, and held it up to Connie's eyes. He seemed to have no stethoscope or medicine, but something about him seemed familiar and kind. Quirky, no question. But sensitive to Connie. He patted her hand, and again, her skin looked younger, less wrinkled.

“Whatever you're doing, don't stop,” Clara said. “She looks better already.”

The man smiled. “I've done enough. At least you know she won't die. Some who are stung stay old, but you'll see her young again.”

“Young again?” Clara studied the man as he packed his bag. “Did the Dragon send you? If not, how did you slip past the guards?”

“I go where I'm needed, princess. Now hold on to whatever hope you've got. Understand?”

“Hardly,” Clara said.

The man put a hand on her arm, and warmth coursed through her. “Understanding is not your task, is it?”

“No.”

He smiled. “Hold fast to what you know to be true, and do not let go of that.”

Clara opened the door to let him out and found the vaxor guards slumped against the wall, asleep. Down the hall, at the top of the stairs, two more were fast asleep.

The man smiled and tipped his hat, then rose from his stoop and walked through the gauntlet of vaxors at full height. When he was downstairs and out of sight, Clara heard a snap, and the vaxors suddenly awoke.

Owen dangled from the wall of his cell under the coliseum. He couldn't sit because the chains on his wrists were too short, and he couldn't stand upright because the chains holding his feet were too far from the wall. At first it had been uncomfortable. Now, after hours in the dark, it was excruciating. The guards had beaten him with chains, yelled insults, and spat on him. They mocked his father, saying he was no king compared to the Dragon.

Owen had been confident he had followed
The Book of the King
up to now. It had referenced the people of Perolys Gulch and prophesied that the Dragon would try to have offspring. He also knew he was to reveal his true identity to the Dragon. That was to make the Dragon believe he had control over the Son. But Owen had not anticipated being in a dungeon without his sword, the book, or any friend to call his own.

A rat scurried toward him, whiskers twitching.

“How are you, little guy?”

The rat edged back, then raised its head. Owen studied the animal. Its eyes darted; then it turned and ran, tail dragging.

Soon a vaxor in full uniform unlocked the door and stepped inside with a torch. “Guard!” he yelled. “Bring me the manacle keys.”

The guard came, keys jangling. “But, sir, we're not supposed to—”

“You've got him in an impossible position. And look at the water dripping down his back. We're moving him.” He pointed to a corner where there was straw and just leg-irons.

Several guards gathered, wielding spears and swords. The lead vaxor released Owen, helped him up, steered him to the corner, applied the leg-irons, and then—to Owen's surprise—sat and chained himself to Owen's left wrist. He ordered the others to leave and lock the door.

“Thank you,” Owen said. “I was losing all feeling in my legs.”

“We should respect our enemies, and you are one prized prisoner. My name is Velvel. You slipped by my men, and now I'm paying the price.”

“I remember you,” Owen said. “You knew Daagn and served with him.”

“Yes,” the man said harshly. “And it was your trickery that killed him.”

“I simply used the Dragon's anger against him. Besides, Daagn wanted me dead.”

“I don't imagine we will come to agree on anything here tonight.”

“That's where you're wrong, Velvel. We can agree we won't come to any agreement.”

The vaxor shrugged and nodded. “Good point.”

After several moments of silence, Owen said, “Can I ask why you follow the Dragon?”

“Sure. He compels my allegiance by his power.”

“So much for the official answer. Now really. What about him makes you want to join him?”

“Because he would kill me otherwise.”

“So you fear him.”

“I'm not sure we should continue this.”

“On my honor, I won't divulge anything you say.”

Velvel seemed to study him. “Still, this conversation can go nowhere good.”

“You wish to discover something about me or you wouldn't be here,” Owen said. “Am I right?”

Velvel inched closer. “There
is
an intact egg, correct?”

Owen nodded knowingly. So that was it. “I did not damage it in the least. I left it in a warm place, so it should be fine. Unless, of course, some animal happens along and cracks it.”

“You should tell me the location. You don't want the Dragon's wrath coming down on you if something should happen to it.”

“No, there is a time for everything, and now is not the time to reveal this.”

“How do you make these decisions, Wormling? How do you know what to do?”

“I listen to my father's voice. I read the words he left for me. He loves me. That's why I follow him.”

“I do not know what it means to follow someone other than out of fear.”

Owen was moved. “Tell me about
your
father. What was he like?”

“I don't see how that could possibly—”

“Humor me,” Owen said.

The vaxor sighed. “He was huge. Brutal when dealing with your kind. He would be gone for long stretches and return covered with the blood of his enemies.”

“How did he treat you?”

Velvel shrugged. “As a nuisance. I was always in his way.”

“We have much in common, except for the blood of the enemies part.”

“You said your father loved you.”

“My real father does. But the one who raised me, the man I thought was my father, was distant and treated me like a nuisance. My real father is the true King, who does not make people follow him. He wants them to become whole.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“This world is not all there is,” Owen said. “There is another just as real. My father wants to unite the seen with the unseen. When these worlds are whole, everything will change. His love will be seen, and we will follow him because we love him, not because he threatens us.”

The vaxor's eyes shone, firelight dancing on his face. “And what of the Dragon?”

“His defeat is sure. He will not rule this world or any other.”

Velvel harrumphed. “You say that as if you really believe it. Yet here you sit in chains, with no army and all the forces of the Dragon against you.”

“But I have seen the end of this war already. I have spoken with the one who wrote
The Book of the King
—”

“Tell me of this book.”

Owen hesitated. “I don't know if I can trust you. In fact, I'm pretty sure I can't. Why should I?”

Velvel narrowed his eyes. “I think of myself as a fair warrior. If the Dragon asked me to kill you, I would.” He lowered his voice. “But I sense something in you. And if there is a chance you could be right . . .”

“Listen carefully,” Owen said.

Rogers tried to comfort Talea, but the girl could not stop crying. “Why did I care for those eggs so well,” she said, “when I should have known my family was dying?”

“You couldn't know,” Rogers said. “You were working to keep them alive.”

A shout came from the edge of the camp. “Vaxor on horseback!”

Starbuck and Rogers left Talea to gather with the warriors. They would be hopelessly outmatched against any of the Dragon's forces, but they quickly flanked the invading rider from behind.

“Now!” Rogers said.

Starbuck threw his spear, and the rider fell with a thud. Several men held knives at his neck as he slowly rose. The spear had only knocked him off his horse; it had not pierced his armor.

Tusin stepped forward. “Identify yourself.”

“I am Velvel, chief of the vaxor forces of Dragon City, leader of the imperial guard.”

“And what reason have we to let you live?” Tusin said.

Velvel glanced from face to face. “I'm looking for Starbuck.”

“What do you know of Starbuck?” Tusin said. “Who sent you?”

“He who sent me said you would know who he was by the fact that I knew Starbuck's name.”

Everyone grew quiet.

“How is he?” Tusin said.

“Chained, imprisoned. He has been beaten.”

Rogers raised his spear. “Let's kill this one now before he alerts others.”

“There are no others,” Velvel said. “I've come alone.”

“What do you want with me?” Starbuck said, pushing his way through the crowd.

“I was told you hold the book.”

The crowd gasped and Starbuck winced. “No books are allowed in the Lowlands—you know that.”

“Don't pretend you don't know I'm talking about
The Book of the King
. Your leader asked that I retrieve it.”

“Don't believe him!”

“He's a liar!”

“The truth is not in him!”

“Don't trust someone who works for the Dragon!”

“Quiet,” Tusin said, studying the man.

“He's luring us into a trap,” Rogers said. “We let him go and he'll lead the rest of the horde here.”

Tusin grabbed Velvel's chin and forced him to look him full in the face. “Your eyes have been opened, haven't they? You've heard the truth about the King.”

The vaxor wrenched away. “I listened. I haven't made up my mind about what is to come.”

“You're playing both sides,” Starbuck said. “You'll go with the Dragon if he wins and the Son if he does. But that won't work. You have to choose.”

“The book says, ‘If you stand on a fence in the middle of battle, you can't help but fall,'” Rogers said. “Which side will you serve?”

Velvel looked around. “I risked my life and my career to come here. Don't accuse me of not choosing. Plus, your friend told me you would believe me if I explained what he said.”

“And what was that?” Starbuck said.

“That the King's plans are coming true. No matter what happens, believe the Dragon will be defeated. But your friend has need of the book. And he must have it now.”