The Dragon's Son Read Free Page A

the other hand to reappear. When it did, he would grab hold of
it and find out who it was.
    A claw, not a hand, reached out of the darkness. The claw seized hold of the
colors and would not let go. The claw tore open his mind, as it might have torn
open a rabbit. The claw roamed around inside him, upended him, dumped out the
contents, turned him inside out. The claw lifted him up. A face filled his
mind—a face with a long snout covered with blue-black scales, snapping jaws and
sharp teeth, red reptile eyes that looked straight at him.
    “Where are you?” The words were flame and they burned Yen’s mind. “Tell me
where to find you. . . .”
    The pain was unendurable and Ven writhed in agony. He could not run away,
for the claw held him fast, but the darkness could run to him and it did,
flinging its blanket over him, burying him deep.
    Ven woke to a pounding headache, sickness, and terror of the beast that had
attacked him. He pressed his cheek to the cold stone floor. The chill helped
ease the nausea. He lay there, shivering and sweating, afraid to leave, afraid
to stay.
    Another face filled his mind. Bellona’s face, twisted in anger. Her face was
real and so was the willow branch. The other face—
    the dragon’s face—was starting to recede. Wobbly-legged, Ven crept out of
the cave, moving slowly, stealthily, pausing every few steps to look and to
listen.
    Nothing came after him.
    Ven broke into a run and did not stop until he reached the stream that ran
near their hut. He realized then that he was thirsty, with a terrible taste in
his mouth. Falling to his knees, he scooped up the water with his hand, then
halted, staring at his reflection.
    The sight of his face shocked him. He was deathly pale, his eyes wide and
wild. The moment Bellona saw him, she would suspect something had happened and
she would ask questions he did not want to answer. Ven splashed cold water on
his face and pinched his cheeks to bring the blood back. The hour wasn’t as
late as he’d feared. The sun hung from the lower branches of the trees, hadn’t
yet dropped to the ground. He sat in the sunshine and let it warm him and
banish the memory of the dragon.
    Ven didn’t know why a dragon was hunting for him, and there was no one to
ask.
    He knew better than to mention it to Bellona. Last year, at the faire, he’d
watched a troupe of actors putting on a show about a prince and a damsel and a
dragon. The dragon came on stage in the last scene, for the prince to battle.
(The dragon was not real, of course; even a five-year-old could see that.) The
battle raged. The prince slew the dragon. Ven returned to their tent and, when
Bellona asked him where he had been, he told her or started to tell her.
    When he came to the word “dragon,” she rose to her feet. Her face was as
pale as his face had been in the stream. She did not hit him, though he thought
she was going to. Her hands twitched; then the fingers clenched. She turned her
back on him, walked away, and stayed away all that night, leaving him to fend
for himself. They left the faire early that year and lived the poorer for it
that winter.
    The sun dropped off the last branch and fell into the horizon.
    Ven reached the hut just as night’s first shadows darkened the doorway. He
found Bellona seated at the table, fletching arrows. She cast him her usual
cursory glance, making certain he was still living and breathing; then she
looked back to her work and never took her eyes off it until it was time for
their meal and their beds.
    That night, Ven could not sleep. He could hear
something snuffling and pawing outside the hovel, something huge. When he went
out the next morning to see what sort of tracks the beast had left, he saw no
marks in the dirt.
     
    The night had been quiet, Bellona told him, when he asked. That morning,
they set off for the faire.
    The Fairfield faire was one of the largest in the kingdom of Idlyswylde. The
city of Fairfield, located on the river Aston, south of