The Blind Dragon (2 page)

"Get the hammer," Master Khondus murmured.

Anna stopped short.

"Leave it outside the door. Make sure she doesn't see it." He tilted his head to indicate Nightlove.

Anna didn't move. The foal turned its nose to the Master then back at Anna again. It didn't blink. Its eyes really were
huge
, Anna realized. The biggest eyes she'd ever seen on a newborn. Silvery white and beautiful. They seemed to glow.

Like pearls.

Like huge, perfect, silvery pearls.

"Hear me, girl?" Master Khondus asked quietly.

"Yes, sir!" Anna saluted, crossing her fist over her chest.

But she didn't move. She couldn't stop looking into the foal's eyes. The foal returned her gaze, equally mesmerized, or so it seemed, something powerful and unspoken channeling between them.

Voidbane's first siring in three years,
Anna thought.
Voidbane's son.

The foal went still, cocked its head, then gurgled inquisitively. It butted its snout against her hand, demanding her attention. She made to stroke his nose, then stopped herself. She knew her duty. Master Khondus shook his head, stood, and smoothed his grey hair over his head. He tightened the leather strap at the nape of his neck that held his grey queue.

"Get the hammer," he sighed.

"Yes, sir." Anna's mouth was dry. "Should I finish cleaning him?"

"Why?" Master Khondus asked, a faint edge to his voice.

The foal cocked its head at the change in the Master's tone. It seemed to consider for a moment. Then it hissed and struggled to its feet, muscular legs splayed and wobbly, sticky wings peeling from its chest. Gold straw stuck everywhere to its white belly. It tilted its head towards Anna for a moment, reared onto its haunches, and stepped unsteadily in front of her, turning to face Master Khondus as if it wanted to protect her. For a long moment, it stared at the Master. Then its eyes narrowed, it leaned forward, and it hissed savagely, pinkish-white lips peeling back to reveal a mouthful of fully-developed fangs. It was well over twice Anna's height, sitting up like that.

"Easy there, strong one," Master Khondus said, as if he was talking to a newborn kitten rather than a war dragon bred to kill. "All's well. See his teeth? Fully formed. He was late, but even so. Unusual. And look how he stands, look at his wings.
Easy
there, strong one. Very fine indeed." He scratched at his stubble. "More's the pity."

"Easy there," Anna murmured, gazing into the foal's strange white eyes. "All's well, strong one."

The foal turned to Anna and gave her a gentle head-butt. Then it yawned, licked its fangs, and grunted, settling back on its haunches. Nightlove rumbled, eyes closed with exhaustion, and turned her head over her huge shoulder, nudging the foal with her snout. Her head was almost as large as the foal's entire body. Her broad tongue touched at its scales, its wings, the nubs of its horns, its legs, and its nose. Her eyes cracked open. They were dark blue, like liquid sapphire, a striking contrast to the white of her scales.

The foal grunted and settled back against its mother's flank, still staring at Anna. Then it seemed to reconsider, flopped onto its back, took a deep breath, and stretched its hind legs straight into the air, holding them like that for a moment before twisting onto its side with a satisfied snort, its white tail coiling happily in the straw. During this entire maneuver, its eyes never left Anna's face. Not even for a moment.

Nightlove began to croon. Her sound was a deep, soothing flute.

"We can't wait," Master Khondus said, below the dragon's music. "If she bonds any further with him, it'll ruin her for months. Get the hammer. I'll show you how to do it. He won't suffer."

4

A
NNA STOOD AND
walked out
of the birthing stall. As she left, she heard the foal gurgle as it struggled to its feet.

Then it cried out, as if in pain.

Crying for her?

She couldn't help but wonder.

Master Khondus soothed it with a word, but Anna's stomach knotted.

And now the hammer.

The hammer
.

"The hammer," she whispered.

And she'd be the one to swing it. That's what the Master had meant about "showing her how to do it." There was no doubt about it. In a way, she supposed, it proved the Master's faith in her. He knew she understood her duty. So she'd kill this beautiful dragon. Voidbane's son. Because it was blind.

She walked past five other stall doors, down the stable's central hallway, to the storage closet at its end. It was early morning, not even dawn. No one was around. At the end of the hallway, she opened the storage closet and went to the tackle cabinet at its rear. The cabinet's doors were decorated with panels of Anorian oak, each carved with a dragon rampant, their eyes inlaid with dark blue glass. When the cabinet doors were closed, it looked like the two dragons were rearing up to fight one another. The dragons' sapphire blue eyes reminded her of Nightlove.

She opened the cabinet. Training harnesses jingled. The hammer rested in the back corner, behind stacked buckets, crisply folded fire blankets, and neatly stacked rows of feeding tubes, training harnesses, starter goads, oil pots, cleaning buckets, safety lanterns, and other gear. She scraped the hammer out. Its iron head weighed a full stone, probably more. Its handle was almost as long as her leg.

How was she supposed to swing the cursed thing?

In her mind's eye, Anna saw herself hefting the hammer awkwardly to her shoulder, then swinging it with all her might, smashing the foal's fragile skull, the wet sound like an eggshell crushed under a boot. She shut her eyes and shook her head, trying to push the image away, but was rewarded with another instead: herself swinging the hammer, but this time
missing
her target, hitting the foal's side or neck or snout. A scream of agony. The foal's eyes wide with confusion. What had it done wrong? Had it made a mistake? The ultimate violation of trust.

Down the hallway, back in the birthing stall, the foal howled, the cry echoing in the ancient vaults. Her guts wrenched.

During her five years in the Drádonhold's stables, Anna had seen dragon foals put down twice. Two times in five years. Each of those times, the newborn had been born into pain. And each of those times, Master Khondus had swung the hammer himself. It had been terrible to watch, but the foals hadn't suffered. Anna was certain of it.

After the second time she'd seen it, back in the High Keep's library, Master Borónd had told her the same thing. "That foal felt nothing, Miss Dyer." He adjusted his reading spectacles, looking at her over their gold wire frames. "But that's not the point, is it? The point is this: There are other stables, other high houses on Dávanor, where
any
imperfection is met with the hammer. But not here. So consider yourself fortunate. You've seen this twice during your tenure with Master Khondus. If you'd served elsewhere, you might have seen it five or six times a season."

But not here.

Not in House Dradón.

"Dragons aren't like men, girl," Master Khondus had told her later that evening, when Anna had brought it up again. "They don't ruin their dreams with silly vanities—what some fool might say about an off-center crest, a bent horn, a patch of dull scale. And they sure as spit don't care about land, title, or coin. They dream of nothing save their rider's love—her love of the air, her love of the flight, and her love of a good fight. Those are their dreams, girl. So those are the dreams we honor. In House Dradón, every dragon fights."

Every dragon?

Anna frowned. She couldn't get the foal's silvery-white eyes out of her head. The trust there. The unspoken faith. Her Father had been Voidbane's rider for almost two decades. And this foal was Voidbane's first siring in three years. Didn't her family owe the great dragon something?

She shook her head. She'd seen it done before. It was a simple task.

But it wasn't so simple, was it?

"Enough." She took a breath. "In battle, dragons die."

Of course they did. Impaled, burned, slashed, shot, screaming, falling from the sky, their last moments savage and brutal, with only the glory of future song to give solace.

But those dragons had had a chance to earn their glory in battle, a chance to serve their House and their rider, a
chance
to face the enemy.

Anna realized that she hadn't moved.

She was still standing in the storage closet. Staring into the tackle cabinet.

"I won't hurt him," Anna said to the stacked goads. "I'll do it right."

5

A
NNA SHUT THE
cabinet doors, closed the storage closet, and walked back to the birthing stall. She held the hammer in front of her.

From inside the stall, Master Khondus said to someone else, "I warned your father of this."

Anna stopped outside the door. Inside, Nightlove snorted like a blast furnace, then growled with exhaustion. The foal hissed. Its tail thrashed the straw.

"
We
are responsible, Khondus?" A young man chuckled. His voice was a light tenor marked by the heavy accent of Dávanor's far western counties, where the Kingdom's common tongue was taught late to children. His voice seemed familiar. "This is
our
fault? My father will find
that
interesting."

"No," Master Khondus acknowledged. "The fault is mine."

"Just so." The young man sniffed. "It is good for you to understand. I have
always
told my father that you need to understand these things."

"Your sense of humor is as sophisticated as ever, my Lord," the Master said.

"Huh? That is . . . uh, very well."

Anna peeked around the door jamb.

The Master was talking to a skinny, blond-haired young man. Anna recognized him immediately. Lord Layne Tevéss. He was the son of High Lady Abigail's chief advisor, Lord Gideon Tevéss. Anna didn't know Lord Layne personally, of course. But she knew his reputation. The young heir of House Tevéss was a gossip, showoff, and lack-wit whose giant mouth was outweighed only by his tiny brain. The lordling was a bit shorter than Master Khondus and elaborately dressed in the dark maroon of House Tevéss. He wore velvet leggings, a maroon doublet of Eulorian silk, and knee high boots of Abúcian leather, also dyed maroon. An ornamental dagger, pommeled with a burgundy stone, swung from his belt on a long, gilt chain. As was the fashion in Dávanor's western counties, both his ears were clasped in elaborate gold casings. Under the lantern's orange light, the jewels on his slender fingers shone like blood.

The dragon foal cooed inquisitively and turned to face her. Anna pulled her head away from the doorway.

Something was wrong.

Lord Gideon Tevéss, Lord Layne's father, had been one of the High Lady's chief advisors for three years. But nobody trusted him. And they didn't trust him because House Tevéss had close ties to Lord Oskor Fel. Lord Oskor Fel was a traitor. The House of Fel was House Dradón's oldest and deadliest enemy. And three years ago, Lord Oskor had killed Anna's father.

In her mind's eye, Anna saw Father's body lying on the cot in the upper barracks. She saw the gaping hole in his breastplate. She saw dark blood pooled on ancient stone. Inside the stall, the dragon foal hissed savagely. Anna pushed the image away. She'd get angry if she dwelled on it too long. She'd think about it more. She'd get angrier and more distracted. Then she wouldn't be able to do her work. Then she wouldn't be able to do her duty. And Father wouldn't like that.

She shook her head and tried to think about something else.

What was Lord Layne doing down here in the first place? Alone and before dawn?

A mystery.

The enemy is here. But why is he here?

The foal gurgled. The wet, baby noise made her smile. And suddenly she felt better. Calmer. The foal sighed. She nodded to herself. Right. Stay focused. Stay ready. She scooted closer to the stall's door and cocked her ear.

"Yes, the fault is mine," Master Khondus said again, patting the foal's side. "And mine alone."

"Which brings me to my purpose." Lord Layne cleared his throat. "You have new orders for this broodmare today, Khondus. And I have decided that
I
will be the one to give those orders to you—."

"And since the fault is mine," Master Khondus interrupted him calmly, "the responsibility belongs to me, as well. This is what happens when a dragon is over-bred, Layne. This is what happens when we break our most sacred trust. It won't happen again."

Lord Layne paused, as if he didn't understand the Master's words. Then he sniffed. "My father says you can breed a proper mare once a year, easily. Twice, even—."