Mistress of Dragons Read Online Free PDF

our High Priestess proves her devotion to the
cause,” said the Mistress, her tone and expression stern. “Melisande, take your
place and lead us in prayer.”
    As
Melisande knelt upon her rug, she cast one swift glance at Lucretta. The woman’s
face was hidden, but the back of her neck was flushed an ugly red. This
incident would only further enrage her. Melisande put Lucretta and her petty
jealousies firmly out of her mind. They had to battle the dragon.
    She
faced into the center of the stone Eye carved into the floor and began to
recite the ritual Battle Prayer, asking the Mistress to grant them the magic to
fight their foe. As she spoke, she extended her hands, one to the sister on her
left (thank the Mistress it wasn’t Lucretta!) and one to the sister on her
right. Behind her, she could hear the creaking voice of the Mistress reciting
the words to the magical spells that were known only to the Mistress of the
Dragons and taught to her successor on her deathbed.
    One
by one, the sisters clasped hands until they had formed a ring around the stone
Eye. As Melisande prayed, her elation grew, her voice gained in strength and in
power. The sisters joined in the chant and their voices were strong and
fervent, so that the chamber rang with their chanting. The sisters began to
rock back and forth, holding hands, swaying with the words. The Mistress raised
her own voice, her words counterpoint to the chanting of the sisters.
    Melisande
felt the sisters’ hands she was holding burn with unnatural warmth. The magic,
called the “blood bane,” acted on her and the others like a fever, making the
skin hot to the touch, sometimes bringing on delirium if the sisters were weak.
    The
colors burned in her mind, shimmering and whirling and sparking.
    Louder
and louder the chanting grew. The Mistress’s magic fed the fire in the brazier.
The flames leapt high. Those in the valley below, waiting fearfully for the
battle, would see the smoke belching from the mountain and they would cheer.
The dragon would see the smoke, too, but he would not know its portent.
    The
Eye carved into the stone blinked and then began to widen and Melisande
wondered fearfully if she was delirious and then she realized, with a thrill
that banished pain and fever, that this was the miracle of the magic. Melisande
had never seen the miracle and she was awestruck.
    The
stone floor vanished. Blue sky appeared with the snowcapped peaks of the
mountains. The chamber filled with sunlight.
    From
behind the mountain flew the dragon.
    The
Mistress gave a great cry that seemed torn from her frail body, a cry of fury
and hatred and triumph. The dragon heard it or seemed to, for he turned his
head suddenly and stared with narrowed eyes directly at them.
    The
colors of her mind, colors imprinted on the backs of Melisande’s eyes, took
shape and form—spiking yellows and sharp iron grays, stabbing and piercing. The
colors blended with the colors of the other sisters, working on the dragon’s
mind, confusing him while protecting them from the spells he might cast.
    The
Mistress unleashed the power of her magic, a burst of energy that rose,
swirling, with the smoke.
    The
dragon tried to veer away, but it was too late. The magic caught the dragon in
its vortex. Trapped in the maelstrom, the dragon flapped his wings violently in
an effort to escape, but the magic spun him as if he were a foam bubble churned
up by the spell’s whirling torrent. The energy whipped his head back and forth
and beat against him, buffeting and pummeling his body, and he roared in pain
and anger. Round and round the magic tossed the hapless dragon, dragging him
downward, to dash his body on the jagged rocks.
    He
was young and strong and he fought to avoid his terrible fate, but Melisande
could see that he was weakening. He was within range of the warriors now.
Spears and arrows soared upward in deadly arcs, one tearing through a wing,
another bouncing off his scaled hide. He was being sucked