The
Scholar and the Dragon
The slate
gray dragon crouched at the edge of the cliff, his wings flattened
against his sleek torso and his long slender neck pressed to the
ground. Shadows darkened the narrow ravine below his perch. He could
smell the appetizing aroma of fat, sleepy sheep and hear their gentle
bleating. The shepherd approached.
The drake had not eaten in
several days, and while nothing would suit him more than a meal of
fresh mutton, he had other concerns today. He had watched dozens of
travelers take the pass between Grassel and Regone over the last
month, but most came in large groups or were well armed. This
shepherd was alone.
The narrow roadway flooded with sheep. Their
wooly backs stretched from wall to wall.
The shepherd and his
dog urged the livestock along the path. The dragon drew a deep
breath, arched his neck, flapped his wings, and dove.
The shaggy
black sheepdog barked sharply at the dragon's descent but too late to
warn his master. The dragon grasped the man in his bird like talons
and swept him into the sky. Lambs scattered every which way and the
dog’s yapping grew frantic.
The great
winged beast dropped the man on a rocky ledge far above the canyon
floor where he rolled about, gasping and shivering. He tried to
scramble away, lost his footing, and fell from the cliff. The dragon
swiftly struck out. He bit into the man’s shirt, arresting his
fall, and pulled him back to safety. The fellow jerked about like a
fly in a spider’s web for several minutes before going limp.
The
dragon lowered him back to the earth.
“Now
that you have realized you cannot fly, perhaps we can talk,” he
said.
The man
stared up at him, wide-eyed. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
“You
aren’t going to eat me?”
“If
you answer my questions honestly, no. There shouldn’t be any need
for that, though I wouldn’t mind one of your herd for a quick
snack.” The dragon’s long tongue darted out and in. “You come
from Regone?”
“Aye.”
“The
king, Ernest, is he well?”
“Ernest
is no longer king of Regone.”
The
monster drew his head back and up like a snake posed to strike and
the man crumpled to his knees.
“What
became of Ernest?” the dragon hissed.
The
shepherd’s body shuddered. “He died, natural causes, almost a
year ago.”
“Then
the dragon-hunter now rules?”
“Dragon-hunter?
Oh, you mean Prince Edmond. Yes, he has ascended to the throne.”
The
creature stretched out his wings. “All right, I have heard enough.
I shall return you to your flock, but you must speak of this to no
one.”
The man
nodded and did not cry out when the dragon snatched him up and
plummeted into the ravine. The gray drake deposited his
prisoner on the ground, dodged an attack from the panicked sheep dog,
and nabbed a fat ewe before streaking into the sky.
He came
to rest on a plateau and tore into the animal's carcass, swallowing
great chunks of savory meat.
It is
time to decide: settle the score or forget and move on.
He turned
his eyes back to the horizon. To the west low, green foothills
stretched out for miles, to the south lay
near impassable mountains
filled with freedom and peace.
“Not
yet, but soon,” the dragon whispered. Leaving his meal unfinished
he launched himself towards the craggy blue peaks of the Middland
range, his path ripping apart the clouds like paper.
҉
Shannon
hurried down the corridor, her skin crisscrossed by the shadows the
sun cast through the diamond panes of the glass windows. Her fine,
dark blonde hair slipped out of its braid and into her face.
Frustrated, she pushed it back and sniffed.
She
knew she looked like a child, especially when flustered. Shannon's
brown eyes were too big for her round face, her hands too small for
her arms, and her hair and garments always disheveled. People
underestimated her, but this was Martin. Martin should know better.
They had worked together on numerous projects and though, as the
older more experienced scholar, he had always been her superior, she
had thought she had proven herself to him. Numerous times.
Now,
a few months into his promotion to Headmaster's Assistant, he had
apparently forgotten her. Worse than forgotten, ignored, for she had
written him two notes which he had either disregarded or flat out not
read. She had assumed he was simply taking his time, but then a
chance encounter with a fellow junior scholar had revealed the full
extent of the betrayal and left her livid.
She
hated confrontation, but Martin needed to know he was making a
mistake. Shannon assured herself of this as she stormed through the
Academy's echoing halls. Her boots slapped out a rhythm of it's
unfair; he should've come to me first. It's unfair. He should've.
It's unfair.
She
wasn’t good at being angry. It simply didn’t come naturally to
her, and if she were going to assume an air of righteous indignation
she would need to work herself up and keep herself there. If she were
incensed enough he’d have to listen. He'd have to see how serious
she was.
She
threw open the door to his study. Martin sat behind his heavy wooden
desk, hunched over some papers, quill in hand. He looked up, eyebrows
raised, when she barged in.
“Shannon?
Is something wrong?” he asked, his clear blue eyes widening.
“Yes,
something is wrong!” she burst out. Her voice squeaked. She
swallowed and considered adjusting it. Even she couldn’t take that
voice seriously.
I
sound like a six-year-old.
She
cleared her throat and began again. “I just talked to Henri in the
library. He told me you put him on the shortlist for the assignment
in Regone. I didn’t know you were even interviewing candidates yet,
and Henri has already had two interviews. I’m twice as qualified as
Henri, Martin! This is because I’m a woman, isn’t it? I know the
headmaster is old fashioned, but the choice is yours, not his.”
“No,
that’s not it. Dame Allison is on the short list too.” He stuck
the quill into the inkwell and leaned back in his seat.
She
couldn’t help it. She gaped. Allison knew her alchemy. The woman
was a walking reference library, but she had no imagination, no
ambition. When it came to thinking out of the box, Shannon knew she
could run circles around her.
“That
only makes it worse, Martin.” She managed to control the pitch of
her voice. “I’m a better alchemist than Allison and I know more
botany than Henri. Why are they on the list when you never even
interviewed me?”
“Do
you even know what this assignment involves?” Martin's wide mouth
scowled at her.
“I
saw the letter they sent to the headmaster.” She nodded, doing her
best to come across as firm rather than shrill. “The Regonian king
wants a scholar versed in alchemy, botany, and apothecary healing,
and I was top of my class in all three. You know I want to leave the
Academy. I need
to leave. Why didn’t I make the list? I should’ve been
the list.”
“Because
it’s Regone!” he said, sounding unaccountably exasperated.
She
blinked at him.
He
drew a deep breath. “You don’t know what that means, do you?”
She
shook her head.
“Regone
is cursed, Shan.”
Shannon's
brow crinkled. She could never tell when Martin was joking but this
had
to be a joke. She’d heard of cursed objects, cursed people, even an
occasional cursed castle, but an entire kingdom? The amount of magic
it would take to curse an entire kingdom was unfathomable. His eyes
were placid, though, no twinkle.
“How
so?” she asked.
He
adjusted himself in his chair as if preparing to sit for a good
length of time.
“Edmond,
the current king of Regone, is the second son of the previous king,
Ernest. The first son, the Crown Prince Ewan, was killed five years
ago by a dragon,” he explained.
“Unfortunate,
but hardly in the realm of the supernatural.” Shannon shrugged.
“Men are always trying to prove themselves against dragons, and it
rarely ends well.”
“I’m
not finished. Upon hearing of his brother’s fate, Edmond swore
vengeance upon the entire race of dragons and, along with the
majority of the knights from the Regonian court, began hunting them
down, one by one, from one end of the Continent to the other. Rumor
is he and his entourage killed at least a dozen of the great wyrms
before they encountered an entire nest of them. Outnumbered by the
beasts, they were roasted and rent.”
“Again,
sad but the inevitable consequence of tangling with dragons,” she
interrupted.
“Again,
not finished.” Martin’s scowl returned, a little deeper this
time. “Miraculously a handful of the knights survived. Edmond
included, though he was grievously wounded. When Ernest saw them
bring back his only remaining son clinging to life by a thread, his
heart gave out and he died within the hour. Edmond, of course, did
live, but is severely maimed and in constant pain from the dragon
venom, which is why they need a scholar, someone to help alleviate
his symptoms.
“Nothing
has gone right for the royal family since Prince Ewan’s death. The
kingdom is nearly bankrupt. Many of the nobles have left or are
simply refusing to pay taxes because they know King Edmond does not
have the manpower to force them to do so. When I was a boy growing up
in Regone it was thriving. Ernest was a good king, and Ewan had
potential to be an even better one. He wasn’t an idiot. When I’d
heard a dragon had got the drop on him, I couldn’t believe it.”
Martin stood and motioned towards the door. He was not a particularly
tall man and Shannon could gaze directly into his eyes without
effort. He reached up and rubbed his already unruly dust brown hair.
“You don’t need to be entangled in that mess, not on your first
trip out of the Academy.”
“But
I’d be perfect for the appointment,” she persisted. “I know
I’ll be fine, Martin. I can handle myself, and I promise I won’t
go anywhere near dragons. It won't be hard. They are scarcely seen
outside of the Wilderlands nowadays. The chances of being killed in
an unprovoked dragon attack must be comparable to the odds of being
struck by lightning. The prince's fate was tragic but statistically
improbable.”
“Which
is exactly the sort of thing one shouldn't say in front of anyone who
has lost a loved one to a dragon–for instance the king you are so
set on healing.” Martin's eyes flashed and she drew a deep breath.
“Oh,
you aren't afraid for my safety. You are afraid I'm going to say
something stupid and embarrass you.”
“No,
of course not, I just, well, yes, honestly, a little bit. You tend to
speak your mind, Shan. It's endearing after one becomes accustomed to
it, but you will be dealing with a king, not a professor. An offended
professor will mark down your paper. Upset a king, and much worse
might befall you.”
She
frowned and narrowed her eyes at him. “But did King Edmond request
a politician or a healer?”
“A
healer, of course.”
“And
do you think any of those other applicants would be a better healer
than me?”
“They
are all capable.”
“As
capable as me?”
She
could see him wavering. “Martin, when you received your last
promotion, you told me one of the benefits would be aiding those who
had helped you in your climb. You also said I was the best research
assistant you had ever had. Did you really believe that?”
“I
did then and do now. “ He lowered himself down and sighed loudly.
“Are you sure this is the assignment you want?”
“It
is a good fit.”
“All
right. You are on the list then, but no promises. Brush up on
antidotes for dragon's venom and write out a what your treatment
regimen would be. I'll look it over, and if
it is satisfactory, then maybe you can have the assignment.”
Shannon
smiled. She knew she had won.
҉
Shannon
had only seen most places on the map. She could point to the farm she
grew up on from the window of her Academy apartment. When she was
younger, just leaving the farm to study had been the biggest
adventure she could imagine. Now she was ready for something new and
exciting.
It
didn't take her long to prepare for her journey. On the day of her
departure, Martin came to help her carry her bags from her room.
“It isn’t too late for me to send Henri,
you know,” Martin said.
“You
do realize the caravan to Regone is waiting for me.” Shannon
frowned at him. She wrapped old rags around the glass bottles holding
her most prized essential oils and placed them gently in her leather
carrying case.
“Aye,
but there will be another going through Regone in a few days, and we
could send him along with that. It won’t kill King Edmond to wait
another day or two.”
She
carefully closed the case and buckled the leather straps, binding it
securely.
“You
know it will be almost impossible to extract you without causing an
international incident,” Martin continued to harp. “Its proximity
to the Academy has given Regone influence beyond what its size and
wealth would normally garner. At least three headmasters have come
from there.”
Shannon
paused. She was well versed in Academy history and that number was
off.
“Antonius,
Gregory, and who else?”
“Martin,”
he grinned mischievously. “In about ten years, of course.”
She
shook her head ruefully at him and shouldered her pack.
“That
is the last of it. Are you too peeved at me to see me off?”
“I’m
not peeved. I’m concerned.” He offered to take her baggage and
she accepted, keeping only the case with the delicate, glass vials so
she could ensure its safety. They left her tiny apartment and headed
down the stairs towards the Merchant’s Courtyard where the caravan
awaited.
As
they passed the door to one of the classrooms a cluster of men in
dark robes, each with a golden crescent amulet upon his chest,
emerged. Martin tensed. The leader nodded with a pleasant smile to
the pair before guiding his flock back down the hall. Shannon laughed
quietly.
“With
all your experience, I can’t believe you still let Abel and his
band unnerve you like that,” she teased.
“He is really a pleasant
fellow, when he isn’t in a trance.”
“Diviners,”
Martin scoffed. “They take science and turn it into a guessing
game.”
Shannon
didn't often admit it, but she envied Abel and his ilk. While it was
accepted that a scholar could be successful without magical
abilities, she had always longed to possess even the slightest hint
of the natural talent needed to devote herself to the flashier
“Magic” side of the Academy. In her first several months as a
student she had undergone test after test, trying to light a candle
with her mind, levitate objects, or invoke visions of the future. All
had come to naught. Magic required a natural gifting, generally
hereditary, which both she and Martin lacked.
Martin
had always assured her that being a scholar, a true scholar, was more
about using one's brains than one's magical aptitude, and there were
certain aspects of magic–warding, spell protection, good luck
charms, spell reversals–that could be taught. Martin managed to be
successful through hard work and intelligence and often expressed an
opinion that those who relied on magic lacked both. However, this
contempt did not stop him from acting like a nervous cat whenever the
diviners were in a room.
“Abel
is sweet,” she persisted. “You can tell he only practices the
good sorts of spells.”
Martin
snorted loudly.
“I
have already defeated you in this debate once,” he said. “There
aren’t good and bad sorts of magic. Magic, like science, is a
purely secular business.”
“You
didn't
defeat me. That debate was clearly a draw,” she said. “And if
there aren’t good sorts and bad sorts, why are certain practices
allowed while things like Necromancy, Mesmerization, and Bee Charming
are forbidden?”
“Because
while no magic is evil, some sorts are definitely dangerous,” he
answered.
She
laughed. “Bee Charming? Really?”
“You
try waking up one morning with a swarm of angry bees buzzing around
your bedchamber,” he said sourly. Something in his voice suggested
experience, and she thought it wise to drop the matter.
They
entered the courtyard. Several vendors had set up new stands against
the wall. Any other day she would’ve been pouring through their
offerings looking for exotic herbs and oils, shiny objects, or just
news of the outside world, no matter how fantastic and fabricated it
might sound. Today, however, she had her own chance to see places
outside of the Academy and Freeman's Valley.
“Last
chance,” he said.
She
hugged him quickly.“You know I can handle this, Martin.”
He
sighed but nodded.
“I
suppose you can,” he said. “But after the death of his brother,
Edmond became moody: darker, angrier, difficult to be around. I can’t
imagine the passing of his father did anything to lighten his burden,
and while you are bright, you have always had a strange way of
looking at the world. Please, be careful, Shannon. Kings aren’t
like scholars. A good scholar appreciates questions for they allow
him to test his preconceived notions and learn about the world
through another’s eyes. A king expects to be obeyed, no matter how
ridiculous his commands may be, and acquiescing to authority has
never been one of your strengths.”
She
nodded.
“I
will be careful. After all, I am only there to heal him. I won’t
have a reason to cross him.”
҉
The
journey between the Academy and the Regonian court only took two
days. She spent most of that time pouring over the caravan leader’s
maps as she sat beside him in the lead wagon. He told her stories of
travels through wilder lands.
The
merchant, a middle-aged man, had a massive, oily beard and a physique
that looked barrel chested when he stood but collapsed like a sack of
wheat when he sat.
“There isn’t much to Regone,” he said.
“The land there is fertile, but it takes less than a day to cross
the breadth of it, and that’s on foot. Most of the folk there are
farmers now that the quarries are closed and they can no longer trade
stone for wheat. That is the one foolish thing King Edmond has done
during his short reign, ordering the quarries to be shut down. Many
used to work there and purchase all their food stuffs from the farms
in Freeman’s Valley.”
Freeman’s
Valley was the official name of the rich floodplain surrounding the
Academy. No king held sway there, and with no noblemen taking their
cut, they always had extra grain to trade for other things they
needed. They were able to maintain this state of liberty due to the
protection of the Academy, which age old treaty required to stay on
neutral ground so the healers and advisers it sent forth could be
trusted by all monarchs. This made the Academy a fecund melting pot
filled with scholars from all over the Continent and of all walks of
life, and led to the general prosperity of the Freeman’s Valley
farmers.
“It
seems to be surrounded by larger neighbors,” she said, indicating
the kingdoms of Grassel and Westshire which touched upon Regone’s
northeastern and southeastern borders.
“Aye,
but you see those wee green triangles?” He switched the reins into
his other hand and pointed to the borders she had been indicating.
“Those represent trees and those trees make up the thickest forest
on the Continent, called simply ‘The Wilderlands.’ Those trees
provide Regone some shelter from its more aggressive neighbors.”
“I
imagine the Middland Range also does its part.” She eyed the
sprawling mountain chain that branched into the foothills of Regone
and Westshire. “Aren’t they supposedly impassable?”
“Aye,
and filled with dangerous, wild beasts. In fact, that is one of the
few places on the Continent you can reliably locate dragons. It was
in the Range that King Edmond and his men searched out the great
wyrms for slaying and it was there that they were outnumbered and
bested by the scaly beasts.
“It
is rare for dragons to leave the shelter of the uninhabited lands
now,” he said. “The one who killed the king’s brother was a
fluke, and when on his mission of revenge, King Edmond had to travel
far into the uncharted areas in order to find his prey. It is
a miracle he made it out alive.”
And
foolish of him to attempt the hunt in the first place.
But
remembering Martin's advice, Shannon held her tongue.
“He
seems a fair king, however,” the man went on. “Since his wounds
have forced him to remain in Regone, he has been slowly picking up
the remnants of his father’s kingdom. Soon I hope to see him reopen
the quarries. I would love to get my foot in the door early for a
piece of that pie.”
Shannon
almost said something about the badly mixed metaphor but thought
better of it. Would working with royalty often mean not saying what
really ought to be said? Well, she could handle that. She wasn’t a
fool.
“I
see the peak of Mount Regone.” He pointed to a great cinder cone
that loomed on the horizon, towering above the smaller hills around
it. “It’s old name was Dragon’s Roost, but no one calls it that
any more, out of
respect for the royal family.”
“A
shame, Dragon’s Roost sounds more poetic than Mount Regone.”
“Aye,
well, dragons are out of fashion in Regone right now,” he sniffed.
“I
suppose that is good. I promised a friend I would stay away from
dragons.”
Regone
The
caravan passed through a great side gate into an open, cobblestone
courtyard before the Regonian palace. A group of men milled in a
corner by the stables watching a wrestling match between two of their
fellows. A few of them wore forest green, uniform tunics, possibly
guards. No one seemed to take note of the line of wagons entering
their castle.
Shannon
eased herself from her seat and turned to thank the merchant for his
company. He came to stand at her side and motioned towards the men.
“We’ll
wait until they are done with their fight and then I will introduce
you. There aren’t many folk on staff here, so you’ll be able to
recognize anyone of importance soon enough. I believe Sir Roderick is
more or less the leader of Edmond’s knights.”
He
pointed to a man of average height and somewhat more than average
build who watched the bout. His butter pale hair was well-coiffed and
he had sloughed off his shirt and carried it in the crook of his arm,
even though the day was not particularly warm.
“He
used to hunt with Edmond, before the king’s injuries ended his
quest for vengeance,” the merchant continued.
The fight
concluded and Roderick looked up. His eyes met Shannon’s, and he
straightened his posture and started forward.
“Ah,
he’s seen us. He’ll be able to get you settled in.”
Shannon
studied the knight’s face as he drew closer. He had a cleft in his
chin and gray eyes that gave her an impression of self-satisfaction.
She wished he would put his shirt back on.
“Hello
there,” he said.
“Sir
Roderick, I was just telling young Shannon here how you survived the
great battle with the fiery wyrms,” the merchant said. “Perhaps
you would care to relate the tale in full.”
Roderick
smiled broadly. “Why of course.”
“Not
now, though. I would like to get right to work.” She retrieved her
medicine kit from the under the wagon seat and faced the knight. “Can
you take me to the king now?”
He
furrowed his brows at her.
She
cleared her throat. “I’m a scholar. The king sent to the Academy
for a healer.”
He didn’t
move.
“I
am that healer.” She held up her kit. “I would like to examine
the king and determine the extent of his injuries.”
“Oh,”
he said. “You are the healer? You are pretty for a scholar. I
thought only pimply, dowdy girls were
allowed into the Academy.”
She
balked but remembered Martin’s advice and swallowed her retort. “On
second thought, I am certain I can find my own way.”
He put
his hand on her shoulder and prevented her departure. “I would be
happy to show you to the king. I believe he has a workshop and
quarters set aside for you. The servants will take your belongings
there. Come, let’s get started.”
“All
right,” she agreed.
He led
her through an arched entryway into a long hallway lined with closed
wooden doors. The scent of rising bread surrounded them and she
surmised they were somewhere near the kitchens.
“I
saw you watching the fight. Do you enjoy tournaments?” Roderick
asked.
“I
have never been to one,” she replied.
“Ah,
well, I don’t compete anymore. None of the other knights have my
combat experience. It simply wouldn’t be sporting.”
“That
is honorable of you, I suppose.”
They
ascended a spiral stairway at the end of the hall. Roderick kept
offering her his hand as if they were climbing a mountain rather than
three flights of steps with a handrail, but she politely declined. A
guard stood on the landing at the top of the stairs. She pushed
forward and managed to reach the entrance to the royal wing several
steps ahead of Roderick.
“I
am Shannon Macaulay, and I’m here to act as the king’s healer,”
she said breathlessly. “Thank you for the escort, Sir Roderick.
Where can I find the king?”
“I
am sure he is in his study,” Roderick said. “Follow me.”
She
groaned quietly. He knocked on a door about halfway down the hall. A
tall, stately woman with gleaming green eyes and dark hair swept up
into a tight bun answered the door. She eyed Roderick.
“Sir
Roderick, you seem to have forgotten to dress yourself,” she said
coldly.
Roderick
turned red and hurriedly donned his shirt. Shannon laughed, but when
the woman gazed at her the merriment died in her throat.
“I
am Shannon, the healer the king sent for.” She opened her kit and
searched out Martin's letter of introduction. The woman read it.
“Oh,
I see. Come in.” She stepped aside, allowed Shannon to enter, then
shut it again before Roderick could follow. The muscles between
Shannon’s shoulder blades relaxed.
She found
herself in an impressive room, perhaps four times the size of the
headmaster’s office at the Academy. Light filtered in through a
tall, leaded glass window overlooking the green country side with Mt.
Regone on the horizon. A large wooden desk sat against one wall and
on the other was a great brick fireplace with a crackling fire and
two wingback chairs with forest green upholstery. In one of these sat
Edmond.
The king
was tall and lean with brown hair and sad gray eyes, handsome in
spite of the reddened, wrinkled skin along the left side of his neck
and across his left cheek from his chin to his ear. His left arm
rested in his lap with his fingers turned unnaturally inward. His
weathered expression belied his otherwise youthful face. She
hesitated.
“Am
I really that grisly?” he laughed bitterly.
She
blinked away her stare and stepped forward. “No, not at all. I just
thought you would be older.”
“I’m
twenty-three, if you must know. Not all kings are old men with
floor-length beards. So you are the
Academy’s best?”
“I
don’t wish to brag, but I believe I can help you. Your arm, do you
have any movement or feeling?”
He shook
his head. “Nay, but I have learned to accept that. What I want is
for the pain to stop. I thought it would heal with time, but while my
bones have reformed, my muscles ache. Some days it feels as if fire
is coursing through my veins.”
She
nodded. “Can you show me where it bit you?”
He
unlaced his collar and pulled it down revealing two round scars
beneath his left clavicle.
She put
out her hand. “May I?”
He
nodded. She knelt beside his chair and gently probed the area. He
winced and the woman with the dark hair rushed to his side.
“Steady,
Adonna!” he soothed. “Let her do her examination.”
“Are
you his wife?” Shannon asked, gazing up at the woman.
Adonna
shook her head. “We share great-great-great-grandfather’s. He is
my king, and I would not see him hurt without need.”
“Well,
I assure you there is need. Dragon venom is the most insidious of
poisons. It gathers in the bones and leaches out slowly over time.
You should’ve called someone months ago.”
Edmond
raised his eyebrows. “Well, next time I will know better.”
Shannon
blushed and lowered her eyes. She stood and placed her kit on the
desk. “I have some tonics already prepared. They just need to be
mixed. Do you have a kettle and water?”
He
motioned towards the fireplace with his good hand. A kettle sat on
the mantel. She fetched it and took out two vials of powder and a
wooden cup.
“Are
you sure we can trust her, your highness?” Adonna whispered, loudly
enough that Shannon suspected she didn’t care if she was overheard.
“Sir
Martin had his pick of scholars, and he chose her,” Edmond
answered.
“Aye,
but she is so strange and spinster-like. She reminds me of a hermit
or a feral child. Has she even brushed her hair?”
Shannon
avoided looking at the pair and finished mixing the powders with the
lukewarm water from the kettle.
She approached the king. “Here, try
this.”
He drank
deeply and handed the empty cup back to her. After a moment he
blinked and his facial muscles eased. He raised his eyebrows.
“This
mixture is
merely a palliative measure. It is mildly narcotic so you may wish to
nap soon. I need to unpack my supplies and see what resources are
available locally. Fresh herbs have more potency than dried and while
I brought a good supply of dried, I would prefer to supplement with
fresh whenever . . .”
“Do
what you need to do,” he interrupted, raising his hand. “You are
right. Whatever you gave me does make me wish to sleep. The guards
will show you to your chambers. You can start my treatments in the
morning.”
Uncertain
whether he was displeased with her or simply gruff by nature, she
nodded and bowed out of the room.
҉
Her
first few weeks in Regone passed uneventfully, so much so that she
wrote a mocking letter to Martin informing him that his “cursed
kingdom” offered her no challenge whatsoever unless she feared
dying of boredom. Shannon spent some time pleasantly gathering local
herbs from the hillsides and forests, enjoying the balmy spring
weather.
Under
her watch, King Edmond began a regimen of sleeping potions and
extracts she knew promoted healing and blood flow. She kept to
herself for the majority of the time and enjoyed the freedom the laid
back assignment offered her.
During
one such free period she found the royal library, a small collection
of books compared to the Academy's compilation, but impressive for a
kingdom the size of Regone.
She
perched in a chair with a book of poetry. She had read half the
volume before she became aware she was being watched. Looking up she
swallowed uncomfortably for Roderick leaned against the nearest
bookshelf, his face weirdly contorted into a half grin and his
eyebrows raised. He gave the impression he had been standing that way
for quite some time waiting for her to admire him.
“Hello,”
she said slowly. “Roderick, isn't it?”
She
almost said Richard, and in hindsight she wished she had allowed
herself to make the mistake. Perhaps that would've been
discouragement enough to for him to leave.
“Aye,
and you are Shannon. Strange name for a woman, almost masculine,”
he said, coming closer. He sat on the arm of her chair, on top of her
hand which had been resting there.
“It
can be a boys name as well.” Shannon quickly extricated her fingers
from under his thigh and stood. His weight almost tipped the chair
over, but he managed to hop up, steadying it and himself.
“I
would have named you Rose or Ruby, something beautiful and precious.”
Not
completely immune to compliments, she blushed.
He
smiled confidently. “We should go for a walk. This room smells
funny.”
Shannon,
who had always dreamed of finding a perfume that smelled of old
books, frowned at this.
“I
like it here,” she said simply. She crossed over to a different
chair and sat down. He walked away and for a moment she thought she
was rid of him, but then his head popped up from over the back of her
chair. She shrank into the upholstery and put her book over her mouth
barely in time to block an unwanted kiss.
҉
Over
the next several weeks, every time she left her quarters or finished
her duties, he was waiting. He left presents on her doorstep, which
she redistributed among the castle staff, and as much as she disliked
confrontation she was finally forced to simply tell him she did not
appreciate his presence and wished to be left alone.
“Don't
be silly,” he said. “You must be at least twenty, so you have
less than a decade left of eligibility. If you think you are going to
find better than me in that time, you are simply delusional.”
She
almost slapped him, but having learned how twisted his thought
process was, she feared he might see that as encouragement and simply
ran away. She sent Martin another letter to ask whether he knew of
any anti-love potions.
҉
Shannon
went into a prolonged period of hiding–one that might have lasted
indefinitely if not for the appearance of the hated dragon.
That
day she had finished early with the king's treatments. He had slept
through the night for the first time since her arrival, and this
small victory had left him uncharacteristically chipper.
He
had even smiled at her once and given her a backhanded compliment
about being more competent than her manner suggested. The session had
passed pleasantly, and productively. Even better, he mentioned that
the knights had scheduled a sparring contest for that morning which
meant Roderick would not be pestering her for at least a few hours.
Shannon
decided to take some of her free time and explore the empty halls
beyond the royal wing and servants’ quarters.
Martin
had told her the Regonian royal residence was small as palaces went,
but considering how empty it was, it seemed cavernous. She spent a
good two hours wandering the silent, sepulchral halls, often getting
lost in areas that had not seen human habitation in many years.
After several twists and turns, she found a
door leading to open air and emerged onto a parapet on the western
wall of the palace. A lone guard leaned pensively against the door
frame. He stood at attention when she approached.
“Milady,” he said, tilting his head
respectfully.
She acknowledged him with a nod and a smile
then rested her arms atop the chest-high wall to gaze across the
Regonian countryside. There was Mount Regone, or Dragon’s Roost as
she preferred to think of it, a small peak but still dwarfing the
gentle green hills around it. About midway up she spied a dark spot
that might have been a large cavern. Perhaps she could hike there
some afternoon and explore. While botany interested her more than
mineralogy, she knew some minerals held potent healing powers and
caves were the perfect place to seek such things.
A dark silhouette rose from the mountain’s
shadow and whirled into the sky. She frowned in bewilderment.
“Is that an eagle? I’ve never seen one
quite that large before.”
The guard left his post and came over to stand
at her side. He squinted, then placed his hand above his eyes and
shook his head.
“That is far too big to be any sort of bird,”
he answered.
“Well, what is it, then? It is too dark to be
a cloud.”
The form grew closer and for a moment turned so
that its full profile stood in stark contrast to the clear, blue sky:
swan’s neck; bat’s wings; serpent's tail.
“By
the king's line!” the guard breathed. “That is a dragon!”
By
now other sentries had sighted the beast and shouted out a warning.
She looked behind her into the courtyard and saw the frantic bustle
of guards and servants, some running for cover, some coming out from
under cover to stare at the sky and the approaching monster.
Uncertain if simply seeing a dragon violated her promise to Martin,
Shannon contemplated the size of the creature as well as the speed
and grace with which it cut through the air. It seldom beat its wings
but glided silently like a massive bird of prey.
“It is coming right towards us,” the guard
hissed. “What I wouldn’t give for a long bow!” He pushed her
back towards the door, but too curious to be frightened, Shannon
chose not to flee.
The dragon swept lower and circled the palace.
A few archers spent their quivers but all shots fell short. The sun
glistened on slate gray scales as the winged beast turned and made
one more low pass over the palace. Shannon ducked instinctively as it
whooshed less than ten feet over her head, the speed of its flight
stirring her hair and her heart.
The dragon rose into the sky once more and she
watched as it slowly glided back into the shadow of Mount Regone and
disappeared.
The guard whistled. “I wouldn’t want to be
in the room when King Edmond hears about this.”
Remembering how King Ernest had died due to a
great shock and knowing a weak heart could be hereditary, Shannon
blanched and hurried back into the palace.
Though Edmond preferred to conduct most of his
business within the peace of his private quarters, there was an
official throne room for holding court and addressing large groups.
From what she could see, every palace inhabitant–counselors,
knights, and even the staff–had rushed there, craning necks towards
the throne where Edmond sat, his face reddened and his mouth pinched
sourly. Roderick stood near the front, so she took advantage of the
crowd and hid in the back behind the wall of onlookers.
“Did anyone see where it roosted?” the king
barked.
A knight stepped forth, not one whose name she
knew but one of Roderick’s lazy companions who she had seen
loitering about the kitchens and training grounds. “I believe it
landed on Mount Regone, your highness. Some of my friends have
started out to see if they can get a better look. They should be
back shortly with more news.”
“I hope they are cautious. The kingdom cannot
afford to lose any more men,” Edmond said, his eyes clouding.
“We need a champion! One who can best the
beast one on one!” the knight shouted eagerly.
“Unless you are referring to yourself, that
does me no good,” Edmond said.
The man fell silent and hung his head.
“I thought not,” Edmond continued.
“Fighting a dragon takes skill, cunning, and strength and even then
anything can go wrong. They have fire and venom and sinews of steel.
Knights with the credentials needed for such a task do not work for a
mere pittance and I cannot afford to offer any great bounty at this
time. That wyrm may as well be unreachable.”
This was the most she had heard the normally
sullen Edmond speak in one sitting. Intrigued, she moved forward a
few steps. Roderick looked up at that very moment and their eyes met.
He grinned and revulsion rippled through her.
He strode boldly onto the dais. Edmond stared
at him. Roderick’s face seemed to ooze, so unctuous was his simper.
“I, your highness, will slay the beast!” he
said, sticking out his chest. “I will bring you back its head and I
desire no financial recompense. All I ask is the Lady Shannon to
grant me her fair, frail hand in wedded bliss.”
Shannon’s jaw dropped. He pointed at her, a
leer on his smug, stupid face. Everyone else grinned at her. She
could guess what they were thinking: she was the damsel in distress
and he the hero in this romantic tale. He would slay the dragon, win
her hand, and there would be peace and happiness in the kingdom of
Regone. She squirmed under their scrutiny.
“Lady Shannon, I was not aware you and Sir
Roderick had an understanding,” Edmond’s level voice broke the
spell.
“We do not!” Shannon shrieked. She flushed.
Her heart pounded. She wanted to melt into the floor.
Edmond smiled then cleared his throat and
frowned at Roderick.
“Unfortunately, Sir Roderick, Lady Shannon is
a native of Freeman's Valley, and therefore not my subject. I cannot
command her to wed you.”
Roderick stiffened. Shannon exhaled.
“However, if she does choose to accept your
offer and you do choose to act upon your promise, I will be
exceedingly grateful to the both of you and willing to oversee any
ceremony,” Edmond said.
Her heart faltered again and before anyone else
could address her she fled from the room and hid in her quarters for
the rest of the day.
It took all her strength to face the king over
the next few days. While he had not broached the subject again, she
could feel the weight of it sitting on her head like an unfortunate
bonnet. After a bit, she decided she would either have to leave,
admitting to Martin her failure in her first assignment, or accept
Roderick and pray the dragon ate him–or do something even more
drastic and unexpected, something that might well cause her to be the
one devoured.
