“Tell me,” Kendra said, turning to face me, her expression stern.
“I plan to do whatever my sister says.”
She didn’t answer for so long I thought she might not. Then, without any humor in her voice, she said, “I’m afraid we are going to kill people. That is the only plan I have.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Kendra’s prediction that we were going to kill people came out of nowhere, and it sat on my mind like the dragon crushing an outhouse. It was so unlike her. She was the kindest, most gentle person I knew. Those words coming from her created an impact like being struck with an ax. Once, she had berated me for killing a field-mouse that had made its way inside our apartment. For my penance, she ordered me to devise a trap that would catch any future mouse intruders without hurting them. I did it, and I suffered the guffaws and insults of other boys my age for months as I carried my tiny captives outside for release.
I went to the horses and returned with the bows and quivers. Enough daylight remained to inspect them. There are graveyards full of soldiers who did not care for their weapons or inspect them before a battle.
Both bows were in good condition, but the pull on the longbow was almost too much for me. I handed the smaller, hunting bow to Kendra and watched her examine it as well as any archer would. She pulled an arrow and sighted down the shaft and spun it to ensure it was straight. The tip was metal, and sharp. She selected another and repeated the process.
We sat on blankets, but the night was still warm, even without a fire. Only a gentle breeze caressed us. Our positions were such that I watched the north road over her shoulder while she watched the south. Once finished inspecting the weapons, we remained silent until I pulled a raw carrot and crunched it. She cast me a warning look, but I continued, and just to let her know who was in charge, I chewed with my mouth open.
“We should talk,” she said between the noise of me chewing.
I sat the carrot aside in favor of a thick slice of cheese.
She took half and waited as she watched the last of the light fade. “We’re not going to Mercia, you know.”
“There’s nothing left there,” I agreed.
“We bypassed a small city called Andover. I suspect many of those who fled in the last few days went there.”
“The rest?” I knew she was directing the conversation to where she wished.
“The port.”
“So, we are going there, too?”
“Andover first. Then the port,” she said as calmly as if ordering morning tea.
After waiting for her to continue, I prompted her because she seemed to be thinking about other things. “Why are we going to either?”
“We have to locate ten mages and anyone who worked with them—before they find and kill us.”
That sounded ominous. But it also brought up other questions. “How will we find them? If mages no longer have their powers, what danger are they?”
She rolled her eyes at me, in the old familiar way that said I was not paying attention. “They still have their powers, just not a source of the essence to draw upon and use them. The dragon can still be captured again, and without a doubt, they are devising plans to do that.”
“Then, keep the dragon away from them and foil their plans. We don’t have to go there to do that.”
“If only it were that easy. Listen, there are things you do not yet know or understand. The mages and their supporters are bad people. The king’s illness is a direct result of their activities, I believe. He wished to remove all mages from the kingdom. Elizabeth told me about it. Just as he was about to make that proclamation, he fell sick with the mysterious illness and remains so.”
“You’re sure?”
“Without a doubt. Then comes the crime of penning an animal in a cave for centuries. Can you imagine the anguish the dragon endured? How it woke each day wishing it would die? How its life was being drawn from it and used by mages and others?”
“Including me?”
She shrugged and asked, “If you had known what you were doing, would you have used magic?”
“You mean draining the life from that poor creature? Of course, not.”
“A person cannot be held responsible for things they do not know. Those who did know and continued to do so, and even helped imprison the dragon are responsible.” She was getting angry, and her clipped words told the story. “And now that they have experienced all that power, more than any king in history, they will not give it up.”
“They have lost the dragon, the essence they drew upon. If you look at it one way, it’s over. Killing the last dragon would end the possibility of them regaining control.”
Kendra leaned closer, but instead of agreeing with me and muttering a few nice words for my insights, she punched my shoulder. “Think!”
I had been. At least, thought so. There must be things missed by my simple calculations.
She said, “The dragon is a she.”
It seemed prudent to wait for more information before risking another punch.
Kendra threw her arms wide in frustration at my limited abilities to predict where her mind would go next. “She. Female. Eggs.”
“Escaped dragon,” I countered. “No eggs. No male.”
“Eggs were collected while she was held, prisoner.”
“Male sperm. None.” My wit and understanding of basic breeding facts exceeded hers.
“Wyverns. Related species.”
She had me there. “Really?”
“Maybe. We don’t know, but it is a possibility they can breed their own dragon—or half-dragon. They kept the dragon in a suspended existence and might have done the same with fertilized eggs.”
“That’s bad,” I agreed. “But it would take years and years to mature a hatched egg, and that gives us time.”
Kendra flashed a smile that told me she was going to destroy that argument somehow. “There is more you haven’t figured out, yet. I can still hear the wyverns. Remember them?”
“Of course.” We had just talked about cross-breeding them.
“Think! I hear them. Only two creatures, dragons, and wyverns are inside my mind. It seems logical that mages can draw essence from wyverns, too. Probably not as much. That’s why they didn’t allow them to go extinct. They are the backup plan.”
She was right. On all counts. A mature dragon probably provided a much larger pool of essence, perhaps a more powerful one, too. But a wyvern was so closely related, and they also touched Kendra’s mind. Perhaps three or four could equal the essence available from a single dragon. Or a hundred. It didn’t matter.
We might also be wrong on all counts. Wyvern essence might not be able to be used by mages, but the odds said otherwise. Like anything else, essence was neither good nor bad. The people using it decided that.
A mage might cure sickness, feed the poor, cure blight from crops or reduce famine. He might also use it to help a king rule and provide benefits to the population, water in a drought, protection from enemies, and relief from natural disasters.
But the opposite was also true. A mage or sorceress wishing unlimited wealth and power could use the same essence for personal gain. The mages in the palace had lived in as much splendor as any king. They wore the best clothing, all made by other’s hands. They ate the most expensive foods, imported and prepared for them. They wielded power above any king, with none of the onerous and mundane duties of ruling required of a king. Their only requirements were to attend balls, appear at royal gatherings, and provide occasional bolts of lightning to impress the crowds.