The Author's Blood (21 page)

“You have my word.”

“Release them!” the Dragon said.

The Dragon cackled as he carried Owen over the throng of cheering worshippers. “Stay and await my return!” he shouted. “I shall bring your next ruler with me!”

Having the King's Son so close gave the Dragon secret glee. How fitting that they were together now at the pinnacle of the Dragon's rule. He had conquered the enemy, scattering everyone except the Son, and would soon have control of the Highlands. In fact, his very own son or daughter could rule the Highlands when old enough. Perfect.

No one need see the Dragon kill this human—once he knew the egg's location, he could merely tip the Wormling from his back and let him fall. Then he would display the body in the arena, slice open the croc, and put the body of the girl next to him.

Soon he would teach his own offspring to belch fire. He or she could ride on the Dragon's back. His son or daughter would rule the kingdom with fire and eradicate every enemy.

“Fly east,” the boy said, his teeth chattering in the frigid air at that altitude.

Dark clouds appeared on the horizon, and lightning flashed.
Perfect weather for a death,
the Dragon thought.

When they neared what was left of the White Mountain, the lad told the Dragon to fly lower. He felt the Wormling lean and look down.
He wants to see his friends one last time
.

“Turn here,” he said.

“Not to the White Mountain?” the Dragon said.

The boy did not answer.

The Dragon rose to where it was even colder. He had no temperature issues, with his many layers of scales. The only place on his body that had fewer were his legs, where the boy had sliced him in the castle long ago. Lightning flashed again, and the Dragon flew through wind pockets that bounced them about.

The boy struggled to hang on and soon called out, “Land over there. I need a minute.”

“We must reach the egg as quickly as possible,” the Dragon said. “My crowd awaits—”

“Now,” the boy said, “in that cave, out of the weather, or I'll spill the contents of my stomach on your back.”

Soon they were down and the lad was inside, retching and coughing.

The Dragon shook his head, rolled his eyes, and peered into the cave. Familiar. Something about this reminded him . . . that was it, the hole in the wall. This was the location of one portal. And there, before the opening the Wormling had no doubt breached, was a linen cloth that bore Drucilla's family crest. It covered something round and large, and as the Dragon reached for it, he heard a voice.

“Now you see I was telling the truth,” the boy said. There was a zing of metal upon metal. “Your offspring is nearly ready to hatch.”

The Dragon pulled off the cloth and gazed admiringly at the egg, all veiny and thick. “Yes,” he hissed. “It could be with us at any moment.” He was so enamored of the egg that he almost missed the buzzing. He had heard that sound before in the castle. RHM had been there.

“My father gave me the power to rule the animal kingdom,” the boy said. “Two of your flyers learned to follow my every command. Those tigren obeyed me because they know my father.”

The Dragon looked around, trying to determine the origin of the sound. “You can't order me about!”

“You are not of the animal kingdom. You are pure evil, and that is why you must be killed as well as your offspring.”

The Dragon smiled warily. “And how do you plan to do that? You have no army. You have just one weapon, and it cannot penetrate my—”

“I need only the words of the King.”

“Words, words, words. I prefer action.”

“Very well,” the boy said. “Then hear these words of action.”

The Dragon prepared to blast fire, but before he could, the boy shouted, “Attack!”

The force of his voice surprised the Dragon. The buzzing increased, and when a dark beast flew out of the tunnel left by the Mucker, the Dragon belched fire too late. The nestor had already flown behind him and sunk his stinger into the flesh behind the Dragon's head.

* * *

As the Dragon belched flames wildly about the cave, Owen raised his sword high and moved toward the egg, careful to stay away from the Dragon's deadly, thrashing tail.

The Dragon crashed his head against the back of the cave, and the nestor fell. The Dragon, rage in his eyes and the nestor's venom coursing through him, blasted a furious stream of fire that Owen had to block with his sword. Some of the flames diverted to the egg and charred it.

“Get away!” the Dragon roared, lunging at Owen but falling.

Owen was able to get beyond the reach of his razorlike talons, but when the Dragon swiped at him again, his claw sent the weapon flying. Owen scrambled back and called for it, but as it came he saw the Dragon bent over the egg, holding it in his reptilian arms.

Owen couldn't let the Dragon get away, so he rammed his sword through his tail and into the earth, pinning him and causing him to emit an unearthly howl. He blasted fire again, but Owen remained behind the sword, untouched.

The nestor rose from the floor and lodged itself in the Dragon's chest, burrowing through the scales. Already the Dragon was turning gray, and try as he might, he couldn't pull the sword out.

Suddenly the Dragon pivoted, his tail still pinned to the floor, and extended his body as far toward the cave entrance as it would go. He then heaved the egg so high into the sky that it became a tiny speck before disappearing into the distance.

“You killed your own offspring,” Owen said.

“Perhaps,” the Dragon rasped. “At least you will not have the satisfaction. And your pain will be even greater than mine. You will never marry the one your father chose.”

“Wrong,” Owen said. “The croc you captured is a friend of mine named Rotag.”

“But he devoured her! I watched him!”

“She was unharmed,” Owen said. “Even now we prepare for the ceremony my father envisioned long ago. And there is nothing you can do to stop it.”

With a mighty lunge, the Dragon pulled free, leaving half his tail in the cave. He flew lopsided and weaving, the nestor buzzing around him.

Owen readied himself to fling the sword at the Dragon's chest, where the nestor had thinned out his scales, but he held up as the Dragon escaped.

Wings flapped below the entrance, and a brown bird rose. “You didn't kill him?” Machree said.

“Soon,” Owen said. “Let's get back to the coliseum.”

RHM had ordered the clowns back to the center of the arena, but the vaxors in the stands grew restless, watching the skies for any sign of their leader. Velvel asked to speak with him, and RHM moved back into the corridor.

“We must face the possibility of our leader not returning,” Velvel said.

“What?” RHM said, aghast. “A mere boy against a dragon? He cannot win.”

“There is a strength in him I have never seen,” Velvel said. “In the face of defeat, he remained sure of his father's power and eventual victory.” He drew closer, looking around as if to make sure he wasn't heard. “He told me his father still lives.”

“Impossible!” RHM said. “We had reports. This cloaked figure—if it truly was the enemy of our leader—was thrown down by the entire minion horde. He could not have survived.”

“Do you have his body?” the vaxor said.

“No, but he could never survive. . . .”

“You thought the Wormling could not survive the Dragon's fire in the White Mountain.”

RHM eyed Velvel suspiciously. “Do I detect a weakening in your allegiance to our king?”

The vaxor shook his head. “No, but I admit the boy nearly swayed me. He speaks with strong conviction and purpose. I can see how people would be drawn to him.”

RHM pressed a tentacle into Velvel's chest. “If the Dragon does not return, I will be king. I will show this pip-squeak that he cannot thwart our plans. And I expect your complete devotion.”

“You will have it, sir.”

“Now, what else did he tell you?”

“That the Dragon would be weakened before returning for the final battle. And that the Wormling's army would march on Dragon City and—”

“His
army
! His
army
?” RHM laughed. “He has no army! They are either dead or on the run. He is deluded.” He grabbed Velvel and pulled him close. “No more talk of this utter fantasy. Kill the croc and bring me the old woman's remains.”

Enjoy your freedom,” an ugly vaxor said. “While it lasts.” He threw Clara and Mr. Reeder to the ground outside the city.

Mr. Reeder helped her up. She was unsure where to go, knowing the vaxors could return soon to hunt them down and drag them back to the coliseum.

“I'm sorry for my part in your troubles,” Mr. Reeder said. “I positioned myself in the Dragon's council so I could do some good.”

“My father will be pleased. Thank you for trying,” Clara said. “Should we head for those trees or down this gully into the stream?”

“Let me see,” Mr. Reeder said.

Just then a man in a dark suit approached.

Clara clutched Mr. Reeder's arm, regretting that they had not acted more quickly. But when she saw the man's face, she realized it was not some vaxor dressed as a human but was actually someone she recognized. “It's the kind doctor who attended to Connie. Hello, sir!”

The man wiped mud from her face. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” she said, but emotion overcame her. “But Connie is—”

He put an arm around her. “Don't worry, child. Things are better than they seem.”

The man nodded at Mr. Reeder, and Clara saw a look of amazement come over him.

“What do you mean, better?” Clara said. “Connie is dead. Owen flew away with the Dragon—who knows whether he's still alive? I'm in a world I've never known among beings I've never seen, and the only one who can help us—”

“Is with you now.” The man took off his hat and gray hair flowed.

Clara stared, breathless. “Father?” she said, her eyes filling. 

“Things are not always as they seem, my dear.” He held her tight. “You have been brave throughout this ordeal. I'm so proud of you. There is much you could not have understood.”

“Just being with you now is enough. I don't need to know everything.”

He beamed. “But you shall, my child. It will be my pleasure to make everything known to you. Now we must hurry. The next chapter is about to be written.”

The Dragon felt strength ebbing from him as he flew, his chopped tail bleeding and clotting, his throat and neck and chest oozing to scabs, his mind reeling.
So this is what it feels like to be stung by the minions of time.

He scraped the nestor off by brushing heavily into the branches of a tree, then blasted it with fire. Then came the frantic search for the egg. Defeating the enemy and extending his legacy had obsessed him ever since he had read that infernal
Book of the King.
He overflew every bit of land where the egg could have landed, darting between lightning bolts until he came to the shores of a shining lake.
I couldn't have thrown it this far
.

He headed back to the coliseum, each wing flap reminding him how fast he was fading. His breath came in rasping gasps. When at last the stadium came into view, a roar of the assembled greeted him, and he saw a stream of warriors headed straight for Dragon City. But from where?

He landed in the middle of the arena and tried to catch his breath. RHM was there, looking concerned. The assembled vaxors had cheered him, but now they pointed and whispered.

“Where is your offspring?”

“Did you kill the Wormling?”

“No time to explain,” the Dragon said. “An army approaches. We must engage and destroy them!”

“For the Dragon!” the vaxors shouted, emptying the stands and lining up for weapons.

“Now, RHM,” the Dragon said, “I want that croc's belly ripped open and the old woman brought to me.”

“About that, sire . . .”

“What?”

“I anticipated your request and sent guards to retrieve it. But they found a hole had been dug in his holding area and the pen was empty.”

The Dragon nearly collapsed. “Not another of his loyalists! I don't believe this!” He let out a roar, but it was weak, like an old man coughing.

RHM sidled close. “Why don't you relax at the castle and let us defeat this army? Whoever it is, we will kill them in your name.”

The Dragon turned toward the oncoming storm. “No. I must meet them myself. I will see this to the end.”