Dragonvarld 1 - Mistress of Dragons by Margaret Weis

Author:Margaret Weis [Weis, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780765343901
Publisher: Tor
Published: 2004-04-29T04:00:00+00:00

16

MARISTARA WAS SHOCKED AT THE SUDDEN LOSS OF her new body, more shocked than angry, at first. Events had come crashing down on her, literally. One moment she was going to rip out a human’s heart and the next the ceiling collapsed.

Draconas, the walker. The meddlesome walker.

And that youngling Braun.

They were both in this together. The son should have died along with the father. Well, all in good time.

Maristara was calm now. She had been so incensed, so infuriated at the disruption of her plans that she had almost lost her head, let rage consume her.

She had come within a snarling word of using her magic to blast apart the rock slide that blocked the cavern, going in after them, hunting them down like vermin, breathing her fire down the tunnels, poisoning them with the fumes, incinerating their miserable flesh.

She had stopped herself, just in time.

The blast would be heard and felt by everyone in the monastery and half the people in the kingdom of Seth. The sisters would be in turmoil, weeping and wailing and demanding answers, demanding leadership, crying to the Mistress for help . . . and there would be no Mistress. Only the corpse of a desiccated old woman with a gaping hole in her chest. And a dragon.

Maristara turned away from the pile of rubble, twisting and maneuvering her body in the small, cramped Sanctuary, and mulled things over.

“Let them go for the time being, the humans and the walker.” She rolled the term with hatred on her tongue. “They will not get far. I will see to that. First, there must be a new Mistress of Dragons. Whom shall I choose?”

Her mind ranged over the sisters, studying, selecting, rejecting. And then the one.

“Melisande’s rival, of course,” said Maristara. “Imminently suitable. Jealousy and desire cloud her vision. She will not think to question ...”

The dragon snuffed out the fire burning in the brazier. Hunkering down in the darkness, grasping the locket in a fore claw, she fixed her eyes upon the door and, in the weak and dying voice of the former Mistress, the dragon called out softly, “Lucretta. Come to me, Lucretta. I have need of you.”

Bellona woke at the sound of footsteps outside her door. When the knock came, she was halfway out of bed.

“Commander.”

“Yes, what is it?” Bellona spoke softly, so as not to disturb Melisande.

“A summons from the Mistress’s chambers. You are wanted. The matter is urgent.”

Dawn was near. Pale, gray light illuminated the room. Bellona glanced over to see if Melisande was awake, only to find her side of the bed empty.

Bellona reached out her hand and smoothed the pillow which still had the impression of the beloved head. “So it has happened,” she said to herself softly. “Poor Mistress. Yet she has lived a long life. May she join the blessed ranks of the goddesses who watch over and protect us.”

“Commander ...”

“I’m coming,” Bellona called, rising and reaching for the soft tunic she wore beneath her armor.

“You have leave to enter.

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