Dragonskin Slippers (25 page)

“How do you know it’s fine? You’ve never seen it.” She eyed me sharply. “Have you?”

“No, but Feniul told me of it, and described how beautiful it was.”

“I doubt that.” She snorted smoke. “Feniul’s as colour-blind as his dogs, and cares for little else. I’m amazed that he even noticed what I collect.”

“All right, I was only assuming that it would be a magnificent collection,” I admitted. “It’s just that I’ve seen two – well, three – dragon’s hoards, and they’ve all been very impressive in their own way.”

“And who has been letting a human maid peek at their hoard?”

“Theoradus of Carlieff, which started this whole
mess,” I told her. “He let me take the dragonskin slippers made by Milun the First.”

She shuddered. “That fool! Theoradus never should have been entrusted with a power as great as those slippers!” She clawed the ground angrily. “Shardas should have destroyed them. It was his responsibility. What was he thinking? Madness!”

“Shardas? Why should it be
Shardas’s
responsibility?”

Again the sharp look. “How do you know Shardas?”

“He saved my life. He’s my friend. These collars were his idea. I’ve seen his hoard, it’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” I found myself babbling. “Look,” I spread out my skirt. “I used his windows as a pattern for my gown.” I was wearing a green gown salvaged from Derda’s shop. The embroidery was only half-finished, but I doubted the young countess who had paid for it would ever know, if she was even still alive after the attacks on the city.

“So Shardas is behind the collars, eh?” She stretched her wings, then refolded them neatly. “Well, then. I’ll take all three of those tapestries, and in return you can collar me. I’m starting to feel the pull from that whingeing human brat again. Then take me to see Shardas, I want to know his plans.”

Picking up the collar at my feet and moving to toss it over her neck, I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but we haven’t collared Shardas yet.”

“What?” She drew back. “Then how did you get these? I thought you said that this was Shardas’s idea?”

“Shardas gave his only collar to me,” Feniul said, arching his neck forward to show her. “So that I could be his messenger. He thought he would be strong enough to resist, but alas …” Feniul shook his head.

“He had a friend who was an alchemist,” I said, “four centuries or so ago, who developed the spell. He left a message and instructions for me, so that I could help Feniul.”

“I see.” Niva stretched out her neck again. “Collar me quick, and then I’ll help you locate Shardas. I saw him attack the King’s Seat at the first, but I haven’t seen him since. That’s why I assumed he was working with you.”

I tossed the collar over her neck and knotted the dangling cords firmly under her chin. When the ends were joined, her scales rippled and she fanned and folded her wings again.

“That feels marvellous! You should have just sent Feniul or Amacarin to tell me that Shardas had provided a way to fight the power of the slippers.”

“Is Shardas a friend of yours?” I asked as Luka and the duke approached to introduce themselves.

“I would hardly presume,” Niva said in a formal voice.

This made me shake my head in confusion. Why did this dragon regard Shardas with such reverence? “I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand what you’re talking about.” Something she had said a moment ago struck me. “Why is it that Shardas is the one who should have
destroyed the slippers? Why not Theoradus? Or any of the rest of you?”

Niva snorted loudly, setting a small clump of wheat on fire. Luka was quick to stamp it out. “Because Shardas the Gold is our king,” the dragon said deliberately, watching me closely to gauge my reaction. “Velika Azure-Wing was his mate. As our king it was his duty to dispose of those awful slippers.”

The world began to spin around me. Shardas was the king of the dragons. I had been wearing shoes made from the skin of Shardas’s mate.
I had lived with the king of the dragons, eaten peaches with him, ridden on his back, and waved those accursed slippers right under his nose!

I thought I might be sick again.

“Creel? What’s wrong?” Luka came over and touched my shoulder, concerned.

But I didn’t take my eyes off Niva. “We have to help him. We have to get him free of
her
,” I said vehemently.

“I haven’t seen him since he was first sent to destroy that palace,” she said. “But I will find him. Feniul and Amacarin can help me. Do you have one of these –” she gestured to her collar with a foreclaw – “for Shardas?”

I nodded and bowed my head. It would be even harder to collar Shardas now, knowing that he was a king.

“Creel made a very beautiful collar just for Shardas,” Luka said softly.

Niva lowered her head and looked at him. “Are you the younger prince?” she asked.

“Yes. Prince Luka of Feravel at your service … Madam.” He bowed to the dragon.

I squinted towards the King’s Seat. “Were we expecting another dragon?”

“No!” Luka turned and began to shout to the men. “Take cover, take cover!”

Niva swivelled her head around and looked up at the approaching dragon. “It’s Shardas.” Her voice was flat. “You can see the gold of his scales in the sun.”

“And someone’s riding on him,” I said, shading my eyes with one hand. Rage bubbled up in me. I knew precisely who it was. “May I?” I took hold of Niva’s collar and raised my foot, ready to climb up on to her back.

“Please,” she said, leaning down to make it easier for me. “Are we fleeing, or facing them?”

“Facing, I think.” I was now an expert at riding dragons and had myself comfortably seated between two neck ridges, with my skirts spread around me, before Luka or the duke even noticed what I was doing.

“Creel, come down from there! Take cover!” Luka was pointing at an overturned wagon, as though that would protect anyone from dragonfire. It wouldn’t even withstand regular fire, for Jylla’s sake!

“You take cover, I want to talk to Amalia,” I retorted.

“I’m coming with you!” He started to reach for the collar as well.

“My prince, it’s too dangerous! We cannot risk you!” The duke took hold of one of Luka’s arms, and Tobin took the other. “I’ll go instead,” the duke said as he reached for the collar.

Luka fumed for a second but then turned away,
shaking off Tobin’s restraining hands. He slunk towards the cart with anger visible in every line of his tense shoulders and taut spine.

“It’s very rude to mount a dragon without permission,” Niva said in frosty tones, moving out of the duke’s reach. “You may ask Feniul or Amacarin, if you like.” And then she sprang into the air.

Hanging on for dear life, I looked back down to see the stunned duke running to Feniul and gesticulating. I couldn’t blame Niva for being curt with him, she had been through a great deal in the last few days, and disliked being treated as a mindless animal.

On the other hand, the duke was kind, and it was just that he was accustomed to having his way. And we humans had all been through a great deal, too.

There was no further time to think about it, though. Straight ahead of us, his scales gleaming golden in the summer sun, was Shardas. A rider in scarlet sat on his back, her hair streaming in the wind created by the dragon’s flight. Niva curved right, Shardas left, and they were gliding in circles, nose to tail. There was no sign of recognition, or even intelligence, in Shardas’s eyes.

“What are you doing with my dragons, you ugly country cow?” Amalia had to shout to be heard. “They all belong to me!”

“They aren’t
your
dragons, you spoiled brat,” I retorted.

“They are now.” She raised the hem of her scarlet skirt (the one that Marta and Alle had worked on, with
the scarlet ribbons I had found on my first day at Derda’s). The blue slippers almost glowed in the sun, a beautiful contrast to Shardas’s scales. A tide of rage washed over me, leaving me shaking.

She dug her heels into the sides of Shardas’s neck, as though he were a horse. “Shardas, burn them!”

“Shardas, I shall fight back if I must,” Niva warned.

“If you must,” Shardas said. His voice was thick and slow, not at all like the warm, rumbling tones I had grown to love.

“I did not give you permission to speak,” Amalia shrilled. Then she pointed a finger at Niva. “And I didn’t give you permission to leave! Shardas, I said to burn them!”

Niva’s wings snapped wide and she hurtled upward, with me clinging like a burr to her collar. Looking back, I saw a sluggish tongue of fire curl through the air where we had been. We could no longer hear Amalia, but she was waving her arms and clearly shrieking like a mad thing. Below them, approaching with great caution, was Feniul with the Duke of Mordrel on his back.

Another, more spirited burst of flame came from Shardas, narrowly missing Feniul, who swerved just in time. As it was, the tip of his wing had been singed. He spiralled slowly to the ground.

“What should we do?” My question was lost in the wind as Niva circled high above.

Shardas dove after Feniul, and a gout of flame tore across the ground, scattering the men, who appeared no
bigger than ants, and causing the hay bales and wagons that had concealed them to explode.

Dragonfire is very potent, and very quick. In a matter of minutes, it seemed the entire field was ablaze. The men who had managed to escape were mounting their horses and galloping for their lives. Feniul and Amacarin had flown for the cover of the forest, and Shardas was now making slow circles over the destruction.

“Shardas!” Niva’s voice roared out, making my legs tremble where they clasped her neck. “Fight her! Fight the pull of the slippers! Think of Velika, think of this human! Fight it!”

Shardas turned and headed straight for us. I saw his mouth open wide, and forced myself not to put my arms in front of my face or close my eyes. “O Regunin, Caxon, Jylla,” I prayed, “protect us. Protect Shardas from the slippers. Please.”

Fire roared from Shardas’s mouth, blue and gold and scarlet flames. I could feel the heat even from a distance, and my sweat-slick hands nearly lost their grip on the collar as Niva dived to avoid the flames. I kept my eyes open, my gaze fixed on Shardas.

Then, at the very last second, Shardas raised his head. It wasn’t much, but it would have been enough to direct the flame safely over my head, even if Niva had not made her move.

“Thank you, Regunin, Caxon, Jylla,” I breathed.

With Amalia still astride his neck, ranting and waving her arms, Shardas was now flying back to the King’s
Seat. Niva swooped over the ruined field to the small wood where we had seen Feniul and the others take cover.

“Thank you, Shardas,” I said as we landed, and Luka ran out to meet us.

Luka and the Duke of Mordrel had both escaped, but many of their men had not. After we had gathered anyone who was left to gather we returned to the duke’s country estate. I rode Niva, and Feniul and Amacarin flew back and forth, watching for Roulaini-controlled dragons.

“There’s no help for it,” Earl Sarryck said when we were once more ensconced in the sitting room with the maps and stacks of herbs and yarn. “We will have to destroy the remainder of the beasts. Particularly this gold-coloured one.”

A horrified gasp came from Marta, who gave me a quick look of sympathy and reached out to pat my hand. I shook her off and rose to my feet. I wasn’t shocked, I was even more filled with rage than I had been at seeing Amalia riding Shardas.

“They are not beasts,” I said in a carefully controlled
voice. “They are not rabid dogs or lame horses, and it is not for you to decide that they must be slaughtered.” I folded my arms and glared at the startled earl. “And furthermore, I’d like to see you try.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d like to see you bring down one dragon, let alone ten,” I clarified. “Their scales deflect arrows, they can breathe fire, and they can fly. How, precisely, were you planning to destroy them?”

“The same way Milun the First did,” the earl said grimly. “Ambush. Spears, archers, swords to finish the job.”

A brittle laugh burst from my lips. “Yes, let’s all follow Milun’s example: butchering a thinking, feeling creature who called him friend, using her hide for his own purposes, and lying about it to cover his perfidy. Gave him the slippers out of friendship, indeed!”

“King Milun did what needed to be done –”

“King Milun was a –” I began, but Luka interrupted before I could say anything shocking.

“Some of these dragons are our allies,” he said, putting his arm around me. “Creel is right: we should be working
with
them, not executing them for actions they cannot control.”

“That gold dragon destroyed a field and killed twenty men as well!” The earl pounded his fist on the table, sending a map slithering on to the floor. “I believe that could be considered a crime in this country.”

“He was being controlled by Amalia,” I protested.

With an effort, Sarryck reined in his temper. “Our border is completely open now, patrolled by Roulaini soldiers. Prilian is leading his army straight to the King’s Seat, with dragons flying overhead to prevent any attack we might stage. We don’t have time to win the creatures over to our side, one by one. We need to eliminate them, and concentrate on moving our men into position around the King’s Seat.”

“But with the dragons working for us,” I protested, “we’ll have the extra edge over the Roulaini.”

“Three will have to be sufficient,” the earl countered. “Because unless you can think of a way to get every dragon out of Amalia’s control by tomorrow, young woman, I can see no alternative.” His face softened. “Maybe it isn’t the fault of the dragons, as you say, but they’re dangerous all the same. A danger we cannot afford to have loose.” He picked up the latest reports from the scouts and shuffled them into a pile. “I’m giving my remaining men the extermination order.” He strode out of the room.

In my head, wheels were turning. My thoughts and feelings churned and tumbled over each other. There had to be a way to free the dragons en masse. Amalia commanded any dragon within at least two hundred leagues, thanks to those wretched slippers.