Mistress of Dragons Read Online Free PDF Page B

down, inexorably, and
there was no escape.
    Suddenly,
the Mistress’s words faltered, became garbled. Melisande glanced over her
shoulder, saw the Mistress clutching at her throat.
    “Mistress!”
Melisande cried, frightened.
    “Maintain
... the spell!” the Mistress gasped. Clasping hold of the altar, she struggled
to remain standing, but she was too weak. She slid to the floor. The sisters
faltered. The chanting petered out. Panic-stricken, they stared at the
Mistress, lying on the floor behind the altar. One began to scream
hysterically, another burst into tears.
    Melisande
tried to keep the chanting going, though she knew it was hopeless. Without
their Mistress, the sisters were no match for the dragon. The fire in the
brazier sank down, so that the smoke was a thin trickle, barely visible.
    The
dragon realized he was free.
    A
flap of his leathery wings carried him safely out of range of the spears and
the arrows. As he flew off, Melisande noted that one foreleg sagged limp
beneath his body, the skin of one wing was torn, and countless arrows stuck out
of his flanks. Blood marred the bright green of his scales.
    That
was the last she saw of him, for the Eye shut out the view, closed on the
sunlight and blue sky. The light of the brazier failing, the chamber was dark,
filled with the smell of smoke.
    The
fever of the blood bane left them all weak and drained, yet many of the sisters
managed to stagger to their feet, crying out for the Mistress. Melisande heard
hysteria in their voices and she feared that this would lead to panic.
    “Stop
it!” Melisande ordered sharply, blocking the way to the altar. “Regain control
of yourselves. Your mad raving will do our Mistress more harm than good.”
    Glancing
behind the altar, she saw the Mistress lying on the floor, mouth open, feebly
gasping for air. “Fetch me cool water and blankets. Make haste.”
    The
sisters stared at her, helpless to obey. Those who had strength enough to stand
were being forced to lean on each other for support. Like them, Melisande was
weak and lightheaded as a patient rising from a fever bed. None of them had the
strength to fetch anything.
    “Then
pray for her,” said Melisande.
    Most
of the sisters looked ashamed of themselves and, sinking to their knees, began
to pray fervently. Lucretta alone did nothing. She glared at Melisande, her
hatred and envy plain in her eyes.
    Melisande
had no time to worry about Lucretta. Weak and shaking, her body covered with
sweat, Melisande made her way to the altar and to the Mistress. She sank down
beside her.
    The
Mistress could not speak, but she formed the words with her lips. “The dragon!”
    “He
was grievously wounded and he fled,” said Melisande. Taking hold of the
Mistress’s hand, she pressed it to her lips. “Dear Mistress, you saved us from
the beast. The people are safe.”
    The
Mistress struggled to speak. “Not dead?”
    “You
drove him away and he will not be back soon,” said Melisande. “You must think
now of yourself, of resting and getting well.”
    The
Mistress shook her head in frustration. She fell back, limp and exhausted. She
motioned to Melisande with a crook of a shaking finger.
    “Come
closer.”
    Melisande
caught back the coil of her hair, bent her head to hear.
    “I
have failed you,” the Mistress said in a gasping breath.
    “No,
Mistress, please—” Melisande could not go on for her tears.
    “Come
to me . . . tomorrow. We start. . . the final training.”
    The
Mistress fell back. Her eyes closed. Her body went limp.
    “She
is dead!” cried Lucretta, and a wail rose from the sisters.
    “No,
she sleeps,” Melisande returned, her voice firm to quell the panic. “She cannot
remain here. She must be carried to her chamber.”
    But
how she was going to manage that, she did not know. She would be lucky to walk
ten steps, much less try to carry the Mistress.
    The
sisters gazed at her in dismay. Their training had not prepared them for this.
They had never supposed