The Dragon's Son (6 page)

Draconas had decided during the meeting of Parliament that he had to find
the dragon’s son. He had to find the boy and Bellona, warn them both that the
dragon-father was searching for them and that they needed to hunker down and he
low.

The day the child was born, Draconas had given the baby to the reluctant
Bellona, warned her to hide the child away, keep him safe from both humans and
dragons at first. Bellona had heeded his warning.

Altering his appearance, which he could at will, Draconas had secretly kept
an eye on Bellona and the newborn baby. He had never approached them, not
disturbed them. He watched over them in secret until he determined that Bellona
was a good guardian for the child, if not the ideal mother. Then, fearing that
he might put them in danger if he continued to hover over them, Draconas
deliberately turned his back on mother and child and, for five years, he had
not set eyes upon them.

Draconas had, instead, kept watch on those who might also be watching for
the dragon’s son. He roamed the countryside around the kingdoms of Seth and
Idlyswylde, searching for the mad monks—human males who possessed the dragon
magic. Acting under Grald’s orders, they had pursued Draconas in Seth and, so
he reasoned, they were the most likely to be sent on the hunt for a child with
dragon blood in his veins. But church brethren were always traveling; making pilgrimages,
working or visiting. Draconas encountered a great many monks and, without
direct confrontation, he could not be certain whether he was seeing real monks
or false. He would have to find the boy. He dared not enter the forest for fear
he was being watched. He would have to wait for Bellona to come out.

Bellona was a soldier, not a farmer. She would have to sell or barter her
skills for food and other supplies and that meant leaving the shelter of the
wilderness and going where there were those who would be able to provide what
she required. The annual faire at Fairfield was her logical choice. Closest to
her forest home, the faire and its crowds of people provided cover and
protection. What was one more crippled child in that mass of humanity? Asking
around, Draconas discovered that she had been there before. She would likely go
there again. At least, the faire was a good place to start.

Draconas arrived at the faire a week before it opened in order to
familiarize himself with the grounds and the people. He made discreet inquiries
about fur-sellers, received descriptions and recognized a couple that might fit
Bellona.

Draconas had last seen the child at about one year of age and he hadn’t seen
much of him then. Draconas pictured to himself what the dragon’s son would look
like at age six—a normal-looking little boy, except for the legs. Bellona would
disguise those, but she would not be able to disguise the fact that the son of
a dragon walked differently from the son of a human.

When the crowds began to arrive, he kept an eye out for her and for the boy.
He spotted the child the very first morning, his attention caught by the way
the boy walked. Young dragons, only a few months old, use that same loping gait
when they try to walk upright on their hind legs. Intrigued, wondering how he
was going to approach the boy, Draconas followed him. Catching a good look at
the boy’s face, as the child gaped at the jugglers, Draconas was confirmed in
his suspicion. The boy was Melisande come back to life.

As he watched the boy, Draconas watched for anyone else watching the boy.

He spotted the holy sister.

She aroused his suspicions for several reasons. The other nuns he saw
strolling about the faire went in groups. This holy sister was alone. She
seemed to go out of her way to avoid meeting other members of the sisterhood,
for she would turn aside if any came near her, ducking her head and retreating
behind the black folds of her veil. She appeared to be taking an unusual
interest in the boy, for, as Draconas tailed the child around the faire, he
noted that wherever the boy was, there she was. This included the
bull-baiting—not the sort of entertainment that generally attracted nuns.

The sister’s behavior at the bull-baiting confirmed Draconas’s fears. She
reacted normally when the dog attacked the child, staring in shock, seeming
paralyzed by horror. Recovering, she ventured close to look at the child’s
injuries. But she did not hasten forward to help him, to pray over him and
succor him— actions a holy sister might be expected to take. She remained in
the background, watching, until Draconas arrived. He tried to keep an eye on
her, but he was forced to focus his attention on the boy while casting his
illusion spell, and he lost track of her. When the crowd dispersed, she was
gone.

Did the nun have other urgent business at the faire? Or was she hastening
off to alert her cohorts that she had found the dragon’s son?

Draconas mulled over his predicament. He was not well pleased with himself.
He’d lost both the nun and the boy. He could try contacting the boy through the
use of the dragon magic. He banished that idea as far too dangerous. If the
child opened his mind to Draconas, the boy might inadvertently open himself to
Grald.

Draconas decided to confront Bellona. Leaving the woods, he went in search
of her. He’d been provided with a couple of locations where she might be
camping and the first proved accurate. He found her exhibiting her pelts to a
customer, a man who knew his furs, to judge by his knowledgeable questions and
the swift, deft way he sorted through the pelts. Their business was soon
settled. They shook hands upon the deal. He promised to send his apprentice
with the money to pick up the pelts. Bellona promised she would be here to
receive him, and the two parted. Draconas stood to one side, watching. When the
customer left, he stepped forward.

“Well, sir?” said Bellona, gruffly polite. “What is your business here? I
don’t recognize you—”

She stopped talking. Her eyes narrowed. Turning, she entered her tent and
yanked down the flap.

“We have to talk, Bellona,” called Draconas, standing outside the tent. He
kept careful watch, looking all around, among the other tents, into the woods,
across the fields. “Something happened to the boy at the faire. Something you should
know about.”

At first no sound came from inside the tent. Then, thrusting aside the flap,
Bellona emerged.

He barely recognized her. Six years had passed since their last meeting and
not even humans aged a great deal in only six years, but each of those years
might have been ten, for the marks they had left upon Bellona. Hardship and
toil had melted the flesh from her body. She seemed made of nothing except bone
and sinew. Her face was gaunt, her expression hard and stern and hostile. She
was young still, maybe only in her early thirties, but her hair was streaked
with gray.

“Where is Ven?” she demanded, glaring at Draconas. “It is past his
suppertime.”

“I told you. Something happened to him.”

“Where is he?”

“The last time I saw him, he was safe. He’s tough, that child. What is that
name you call him?”

“Where is he?” she asked a third time, her dark brows lowering, her eyes
glinting. “What have you done to him?”

“I haven’t done anything except get him out of a nasty scrape,” said
Draconas, exasperated. “Do you want to listen to me or not?”

Bellona hesitated, then gave an abrupt and grudging nod.

Draconas related the incident with the bulldog and the crowd of people that
saw, for an instant, a child with the legs of a dragon. He watched, as he
spoke, for some sign of distress, of fear, of worry. Her face was iron, cold,
and hard. Her eyes took in, did not give out.

“I cast a magic spell on his leg,” Draconas explained. “A spell that created
an illusion similar to the one I used when we were attacked that day his mother
died; the spell that made it look as if the •window was still shuttered, even
though in reality the shutters had been chopped to kindling.”

He paused, expecting some response. Bellona had nothing to say, however, and
so he continued.

“I made it appear to the onlookers that his leg was the leg of a normal
human child, torn and bloodied from the attack by the dog. A few doubters
remained, but they found it hard to argue with their own eyes, and eventually
they left.”

“Did the dog bite harm him?” Bellona asked gruffly, and she seemed to resent
having to ask that much information of him.

“No. Those scales of his would turn a dagger’s blade. The dog’s teeth
managed to loosen a couple, but they will heal. He is a quick healer, I think?”

He waited for a response, got none, and went on. “I carried him into the
woods, away from prying eyes. I wanted to talk to him, to explain what I had
done. He ran away before I had the chance. I went after him, but I lost him.”

Bellona smiled, tight-lipped, and for the first time, he saw what might pass
for maternal pride. “You’ll never find Ven,” she said. “Not unless he wants to
be found. He is both swift and strong. And, as you say, a quick healer.”

“You’re not the least bit worried about him, are you?” Dra-conas observed.

Bellona shrugged. “Ven can take care of himself. He’ll come back when he
gets hungry. If you’re expecting thanks,” she added caustically, “you’re not
going to get it. What he is, you made him.”

“He is in danger, Bellona. I came to warn both of you—”

“He has been in danger since the day he was born. I know it. No need to tell
me about it now.”

She rested her hand on the hilt of her sword. “Leave us. And don’t come
back.”

Bellona was not a threat to the dragon. Draconas could fuse her sword’s
blade to the scabbard or cause it to melt and ooze into a puddle on the ground.
He could do many things with his magic and he was tempted to do all of them to
the infuriating -woman. People were roaming about among the tents, however; a
person who looked to be another furrier was making his way up the hill, heading
toward her cart. Draconas swallowed his ire. There would be talk enough around
the faire over this day’s deeds as it was. No need to give them anything more
to discuss.

“I saved him today, Bellona,” he told her as he left. “But I won’t always be
around to protect him. Take better care of him.”

He stalked off in ill humor, heading back toward the faire-grounds. As he
went, he glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder, certain that she would
leave to go search for the boy herself. If she did, he would follow.

Bellona turned away, but only to talk to the new customer.

Draconas stomped though the tall grass, cursing the stupidity of humans.

Bellona’s face came to mind and with it her words.
What he is, you made
him.

Her accusation brought him up short. He was forced to admit that was true,
at least in part. And if Bellona was careless of her charge, perhaps that was
because he’d never fully explained to her the danger. He’d thrust the newborn
babe, still drenched in the mother’s blood, at Bellona and bid her take the
child and hide him away in the wilderness. He’d never told her who she was
hiding from or why; never warned her about the magic that blazed inside the
child’s head; never told her about the false nuns.

“Yet how could I know how the magic would affect him or his brother?”
Draconas asked himself, frustrated. “How could I have told her what I didn’t
know myself? And I might have led Grald straight to them.”

Well, it was all the cat’s milk now. No use crying over what he hadn’t done
or berating himself over what he should have done. He had to assume the worst.
He had to assume that the holy sister was one of the false nuns, sent to locate
the dragon’s son.

He focused his thoughts on the holy sister—middle-aged; plump, motherly
figure; puckered mouth and eyes. Keen eyes, alert, penetrating. Where would she
go to search for the boy?

To the place where Draconas had announced he was
taking the wounded child. She would go to the abbey.

Built to honor some obscure local saint, the abbey in Fairfield was small
and humble, compared with its grander cousins in more major cities. Its priests
and lay brothers lived quiet lives, spending their time in prayer, working
their fields, assisting the poor, and maintaining a small hospital for the sick
and injured. Since the abbey stood outside Fair-field’s protection, it had its
own fortifications. A gray stone wall surrounded the gray stone abbey and its
various outbuildings. A porter stood in attendance at the main gate. His duty
was not to keep people out—for the brothers welcomed all to enter and worship
freely—but to direct them to where they needed to go once they were inside.

Usually a quiet place, the abbey was busy during the faire. Their small
guesthouse provided accommodations to wealthy patrons who had a claim to the
abbot’s hospitality. In addition, the abbey also provided shelter and food for
the train of beggars and cripples who hoped to share in some of the faire’s
wealth. Draconas passed a veritable army of men, women, and children, squatting
or lying, sitting or standing along the road that led from the faire to the
abbey, holding out their hands or their begging bowls.

He made his way past the line of misery to the abbey’s main gate, where the
porter sat basking in the afternoon sunshine, taking his ease and refreshing
himself with a meat pasty in one hand and a mug of ale in the other. At the
sight of a visitor, he put his meal aside, and rose to greet Draconas.

“A fine day, sir. A day God made. And what is your business with the abbey,
Master?” asked the porter with a broad smile, unconscious of a blot of gravy on
his chin.

“I come seeking information, good Porter,” said Draconas. “A young lad was
injured this day at the bull-baiting contest. A torn and bloodied leg. He was a
brave lad and bore his injury like a soldier. I was much impressed with him and
I thought that since I was passing, I would stop to make inquiry. How does the
lad? Is he mending?”