CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Ancress
Vek thought never to have Donnova on his back, riding him through the clouds. He had expected never to see her again, but he'd always hoped he would. He'd even thought of venturing out to look for her . . . just to see how she fared. She was a part of his clan, after all. When they knew each other before — seven years ago, if he wasn't mistaken — he was considered too young still to give a human a ride. But the years had changed him; he was mature now. And now, she'd finally come back to him.
He exulted over the weight of her on top of him as he pumped his wings and climbed higher in the sky. Courtesy had called for him to recommend a saddle for the trip, but he was secretly pleased that she had insisted on riding him bareback. He loved the feel of her thighs pressed so securely against him. He couldn't help but smile. He wanted to laugh aloud.
Too soon, they landed gently on the flat expanse before the sloping entrance of the mountain abode. Donnova slid from his back and checked the view.
Wind threw her long ebon hair in her lovely face, and she smoothed it back in place. "It's breathtaking! You can see the whole city from up here." She looked up, reached, and ran her hand through the bottom of a passing cloud. She took a step to keep up with it.
"Not too near the edge, love. Wind gusts can send you right over." Vek sat beside her, anchoring himself with his talons, and put an arm around her. Donnova leaned against him, and they were silent a moment.
Vek took the opportunity to discreetly fill his nostrils with her scent, taking the breath slow and deep. He remembered the first time he'd ever caught her scent. It had been his awakening to the other sex. For that awakening to have happened with a human female. . . . Well, growing up had been rather interesting, to say the least. He didn't know a single other of his kind who had allowed such a thing to happen to himself. Surely he wasn't alone in this, but he certainly seemed to be. And so, he'd never told another living soul.
He breathed her in again. There was only one thing missing — one thing that would make the fragrance even sweeter: a lust for him to match his for her. Oh, she had love for him, but its aroma was more like that a sister would have for a brother.
He suddenly realized the hand he had around her was caressing her! He moved it away and covered with conversation.
"I come up here sometimes and sit just where we are now, looking at the city below and wondering what the Ancress would think of us now — living together in harmony, laughing together, helping one another . . . loving each other." He couldn't believe he'd allowed himself to just say that. He swallowed hard and continued, "Draakhaven is unique in all the Realm." But then he couldn't think of anything more to say.
"Mmm. If only she could see us now . . . up here, together. . . . This was what she lived for," she said, spreading her arms to gesture to the city below, "to bring man and dragon together in friendship."
What about dragon and woman together in— He winced as he cursed himself for having such thoughts in this venerable place. "Yes," he agreed. The scent of her was getting to him.
"If only her message had spread throughout the Realm."
"Perhaps, one day. . . ." But he couldn't finish his double-edged thought in the current vein of the conversation. Best to shift the subject.
"Come." He rose and beckoned her, backed from the edge and turned around. At the cave's opening, he reached inside and took a mounted torch from an inner wall. He held one nostril shut and lit it from the other, shielding it from the wind with a wing. He passed it to Donnova, who was hesitant to take it.
"I'm not sure I understand, Vek."
"You will go inside, of course?"
Her look of amazement made him smile. How he wished he could take her by the hand and lead her within himself.
"I don't—"
"Go on," he urged. "It's perfectly all right. The Ancress was known for her hospitality. She never turned anyone away. I've been inside myself, when I was smaller. All the young ones go in for a good look around before we get too large to fit, and of course humans enter all the time. You must see our history in her painted murals on the walls. Magic paint, they say." He raised his eyebrows for effect.
"Magic paint?" she asked, raising an eyebrow of her own.
Vek nodded, enjoying the look on her face. She looked to the inside of the cave and then back to Vek. She removed her sword from its scabbard and passed it to him.
He took it casually enough, knowing she wouldn't care for him to make a show of it, but he felt like he was being presented with a holy relic. Naturally, he knew from whence it came. His rookery siblings had shown him a little more respect when they learned he was close friends with one who carried a Weapon of Power from The Dragons' Graveyard. Her celebrity for that, and for being a hand-picked Championness of the Realm by the Dungeon Master himself — brought from another world, even — had rubbed off a bit onto him. For a while, at least.
"I wish you could come in with me."
"So do I," he said, looking down, but then he put on a cheerier face. "But do take your time. I shall be here."
She smiled and nodded at him, and then went in. As soon as she was out of sight, he backed away and slumped along the rocky outer wall. Finally. . . . He needed a moment to collect himself. He took a deep breath of the clean mountain air, and his head began to clear, if only a little.
He looked at the sword and remembered the first time he'd held it. She had let him hold it years ago. He'd never felt so special. It was a moment he would cherish forever. He had seen her use the famous sword, too. She was amazing.
The memory took him back to that time. He hadn't wanted his new friend to go away. He'd never been so impressed with a human before. But then, she wasn't entirely human, and he supposed that was part of what appealed to him back then. She was so different. She didn't smell like the others, and she had that voice that could do things even his couldn't do — the story of which she had claimed to have never told any other but him. Everything about her had excited him and filled his young mind with wonder.
He also remembered, shamefully, how jealous he'd become when she'd speak to other young dragons. He hadn't wanted to share her with anyone. He didn't want to share her with anyone now.
And then a disturbing thought occurred to him. What if he'd involuntarily bonded with her? Dragons mate for life. What if he wouldn't be able to mate with a dragoness now? But that was ridiculous . . . right? Just because he hadn't yet successfully attracted the attention of one of his own kind didn't mean . . . did it? No, of course not. He was still too young to worry about such a thing.
An image of little Helen flashed in his mind and he sighed. "I really am a silly dragon, aren't I?" He regarded the sword in one hand and planted his chin in the other as smoke wafted up from his nose.
Donnova hadn't expected to venture inside. This was truly a treat. The long corridor from the entrance was fairly wide. The walls had been smoothed and arts and crafts of all kinds lined the way on both sides. Drawings and paintings were hung and statuettes and other objects were neatly niched. These were the displayed offerings from the children and fledglings of Draakhaven. It reminded her of the Shrine of Valmun in Zona.
Hadn't she dreamed of that place recently?
From the various representations, Donnova had a good idea of what the Ancress must have looked like. She was obviously quite short, like the Dungeon Master. She had long white hair, often braided or secured loosely in gold bands. She was most often portrayed wearing blue, but she could also be seen here in purple, gold, and green. Her skin was dark — but not as dark as Diana's, she thought — and paired best with the gold ensembles.
Diana was dead now, wasn't she? She pushed the thought from her mind.
She then came to the section of cave where the Ancress herself had been the artist. Her murals covered the walls. Overhead, the entire ceiling of this area depicted a Realm occupied only by dragons. Dragons of all sizes and colors — winged and wingless, horned and hornless, and even legless dragons. Dragons in the air, on the land, and in the seas. The artistry was divine. The colors were brilliant. She felt she could have studied the work for days, weeks, more, and still found something she'd never noticed before.
The wall to her left showed the coming of man. Wary dragons kept their distance. Curious dragons dared approach. High above all, a large red dragon watched, perched on a distant mountaintop. This red dragon had a place of prominence, and looked much like Tiamat, except this dragon had but one head.
Donnova moved slowly on down the wall. According to this, man struck first, killing dragons for food and sport, tools and fashion. They ate their meat, dressed in their skins, adorned themselves and their women with polished dragon scales and claws and teeth, made headdresses of dragon skulls. . . .
On the wall behind her . . . war. The red dragon that looked so much like Tiamat led the battle. The dragons attacked any way they could, but men were clever. They trapped the winged ones in hidden holes in the ground, lured them into narrow spaces so that their wings were useless. Other traps were set. Sea dragons were caught in nets.
But now Donnova came to a new sight. The red dragon now had five heads, and could do the work of a legion of dragons by herself. She slaughtered man wherever she found him. This was the Tiamat Donnova knew. And just like the old tales, Tiamat was able to strike in five directions with powers beyond any other of her kind.
When the war was over, if it could ever truly be, the lands were littered with bones and blood of both sides. Tiamat stood amongst the broken bodies of her kin, spread her great wings, and magically sent her dead — all the dead of her kind from all over the Realm and from throughout the ages — to The Dragons' Graveyard, where she would reside to guard the dead where they could not be disturbed by man.
Along another angle of wall was a different story, a gray mountain dragon and a male child came upon each other. The child was hurt and terrified. It ran; the dragon followed. The boy ran all the way back to a red dragon that lay dead on the ground, a spear through its neck. Beside it lay a dead woman who was likely the boy's mother. The dragon took the crying child and delivered it to the first humans he came upon. The mother's body was soon reclaimed, as well.
Afterwards, a friendship had begun between the dragon and the family of humans. That friendship extended on both sides until it came to the attention of the dragon queen. For being traitors to their kind, the gray dragons of the mountains were banished from entering The Dragons' Graveyard to die. It was a difficult punishment to bear for several reasons. Even so, these dragons never renounced Tiamat as their queen. They accepted their punishment.
In sympathy, their human friends then altered the beginnings of their new city so that they could properly welcome and include their dragon friends as part of their lives in earnest. They shared their death ritual of burial, and the dragons adopted this, burying their dead under rocks in or around mountains. The ways of life for both were changed and each benefited from their coming together. And there had been peace and harmony between them ever since.
But where was the Ancress in all this? Was she so modest that she did not give herself her place of importance in this history? All Donnova could find was a depiction of the sloping entrance to her cave dwelling in the mountains. This was along the floor, and something about it seemed odd.
Donnova reached down to touch the painted opening, and her fingers disappeared through it. She jerked her hand back, reflexively.
She crouched and tried to peer inside, but there was only blackness. She eased the torch through, but the firelight was consumed and she was left in darkness. She pulled her torch back. It was still lit; it hadn't gone out.
Magic paint? But what did it hide?
Curiosity overrode all else. She crawled through and was immediately on her guard. There were lit torches along the walls of this room, which was very like the room she had come from. She looked around. She knew she couldn't be alone, but she saw and heard nothing. Who would be here other than ones from the city below?
With so much light here, she no longer needed the torch. And there just happened to be an empty bracket where she stood. She mounted her torch and looked around.
Her attention was drawn to the new murals surrounding her. Here again the war between dragon and man was depicted. But here was shown that Evil had transformed Tiamat, and in seeming response to this, the side of Good had sent its own agent. Haloed in a golden glow stood a man in red robes, wearing a crystal pendant about his neck. This was obviously the Dungeon Master, but he did not look much like the one Donnova knew. He stood between dragon and man. It seemed he brought about the end of the war, if only by preventing further battles.
It seemed the Dungeon Master tried to bring both sides together in peace, but Tiamat rejected him and tried to kill this emissary of man. She failed, and it was then she took herself and her dead away to her graveyard.
Another mural depicted a Dungeon Master that could have been the one known to her, but far younger. He was with a beautiful, blond-haired woman who held an infant. He held one, too, but in more of a way of presenting this child to the world. Was the role of Dungeon Master passed down from father to son? Where were his wife and children now?
Tiamat looked on in the background, looking murderous as ever.
"Welcome, child."
Donnova whirled around at the voice and gasped. Whom she saw could only be the Ancress herself.
"Don't be afraid," the small lady said with a good-natured smile.
She took a moment to catch her breath. "It is not fear, but surprise at your appearance. You're the Ancress, aren't you?"
"I was . . . once. In another age."
"It is believed you are. . . ."
"Dead?"
Donnova's silence answered for her.
The old one brought her hands together before her, bowed her head and stepped forward. "Not dead, but exiled by Venger long ago. And brought from that exile by ones you know."
Donnova thought she must be referring to Hank's group. She thought of Sheila, and then tried not to think of any of them.
"They should know. The people of Draakhaven, I mean. They should know you're here, alive, returned. Not all believe you dead. Some believe you simply . . . moved on . . . to help others. Many believe you would one day return to them. There will be such joy in the streets when you—"
The Ancress held up her hands. "They no longer need me." Then she laughed sweetly. "I doubt they ever did," she said as though she believed all would have been just the same had they never known of her.
"Perhaps not here, but elsewhere in the Realm. There's more to be done! There are dragon hunters that—" Donnova stopped herself when she heard her own voice rising. One breed of murderer she could not tolerate was the dragon hunter.
"My destiny lies along another path, child. It has been so long since I was known as the Ancress. My name is Zandora, and you, I'm told, are Donnova."
The name was familiar. Donnova eyed her. "Who told you?"
"I did."
An inferno ignited in her mind at the sound of Dungeon Master's voice, and she glared at him as he made his way toward them from out of nowhere. "You defile this good lady's home, Dungeon Master."
"Dungeon Master is my friend," said Zandora. "And he would like to be yours."
"His friendship is a poisonous thing. A deadly thing!" She turned to Dungeon Master. "Know you that Diana is dead?"
"She has passed from this life, but now knows another—"
"Oh spare me! She is dead! And for what? You lied to us all! There was no prisoner within the tower!"
"But there was."
She shook her head. "I saw no one."
Zandora looked to the Dungeon Master, and he back at her. Donnova looked to them both, wondering if they spoke to each other with thoughts.
And then Donnova took sudden stock of her situation. Here she was in the presence of not only the Dungeon Master, but also the legendary Ancress. The old weariness hit her like a tidal wave, putting out the fire of a moment ago. This meeting wasn't chance. She was right where Fate wanted her to be. The illusion of Free Will dissolved yet again. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but she found she was too numb to do either.
"What is this?" She heard the defeat in her voice. "What do you want of me?" She felt tears pooling in her eyes and fought not to let them fall. "I failed you at the tower. Will you now punish me?"
Dungeon Master shook his head. "No. No," he said quietly as he bowed his head. "I ask your forgiveness. I failed you. I failed you all. You were unprepared. I did not give you all you needed to succeed. I did not give you . . . the truth. I failed . . . to trust." He looked up, and Donnova followed his tear-filled eyes to the mural of his family.
She looked to Zandora, who was weeping as she also looked to the mural of Dungeon Master and his children. Both were silent, and it was maddening. What was going on? What was she supposed to do? What was her place here?
"What is the truth? What happened to them?" Neither was forthcoming. "It was Venger, wasn't it? Venger killed your family."
"No," Dungeon Master answered quietly with another shake of his head.
This was getting tiresome. "What then?" She was running out of patience.
"She must be shown the truth," Zandora told Dungeon Master.
Dungeon Master closed his eyes and nodded.
Donnova's eyes widened when Zandora raised a glowing hand, and from a dark corner of the room, a box slid quickly across the floor. It spun around and came to a stop beneath the vibrant young Dungeon Master who held his child. The box opened.
That's why the name was familiar! She remembered Sheila's story of Zandora and her magic box. She couldn't think of any way the memory could help her now, but she was glad to place the name.
Zandora walked toward her box. Donnova looked to Dungeon Master, but it was obvious he wouldn't be joining them. She followed Zandora.
The elder gestured to the open box. "This box is a magical gateway," she began.
"I know of your magic box, Zandora. Where will this take me?"
"Within the crystal prison. Wherever in the Realm it may be, it can be found through this special portal here, and only here. I'm sorry I cannot go with you, child."
"But what—"
"You must understand what you are meant to do — your purpose here. And know that there is power in friendship and in love—"
"There is also power in hatred and fear."
"Yes, but with friendship comes trust and loyalty and forgiveness."
"Oh, I see. . . . It's not my friendship the Dungeon Master needs. It's my unquestioning obedience." And Donnova had wanted to like the old lady, but she saw that Zandora was just a puppet of Dungeon Master's. She would spare Vek and the others this sad knowledge. "Very well. I will see this truth. But it is understood . . . I make no promises."
Zandora smiled and nodded. It was more like a small bow. Donnova looked once more to the Dungeon Master. He was looking at her, too, and his expression disturbed her. A mix of sadness and fear? She wondered what it was she would find within the box.
She stepped inside and went down the stairs. A few steps down, she looked back. The lid was still open. She'd half expected to have been trapped in here — some cruel trick to get rid of her. They could still lock her away, but why would they? They had come to her. She had nearly made up her mind to stay in Draakhaven. She still may.
As she continued down the steps, she felt lighter, and lighter still, until she felt she floated. A small light was growing. She was moving towards it, like a moth to a flame. Drawn to it, she allowed herself to float through nothingness, unthinkingly, dreamlike. At last, she passed within the light, and things took shape around her.