Free Dragon Ultimate by Christopher Rowley Page A

Bazil.
    "Dragons caught plague in Eigo. You remember ancient forest. Disease there almost killed all of us," said Alsebra.
    "That is true," said the Purple Green, and the others fell silent.
    The carts and wagons rumbled by with their load of dead, many, many dead. Cuzo passed the word that they should get ready to march when the wagons were past.
    No sooner had the dragons got onto the Marneri pike than they had to march in single file as another convoy of wagons went by carrying more bodies to the pits.
    "How many have died, do you think?" said Jak.
    "I'd bet a thousand at least," replied Endi.
    "What? You counted 'em?" Swane said scornfully.
    "Nope, but there were at least fifty wagons. Some of them were small, but they were averaging twenty bodies or so, I'd say."
    "What about all the people who died yesterday? Where did they put them?" said little Jak.
    "I heard they used an old quarry over in Quave," replied Endi. "Tommo in the stables told me."
    "You want to watch what you believe from that Tommo," said Swane.
    Relkin had been quiet all morning, his spirits depressed by the morbid business of digging the huge charnel pit. He marched alongside the dragon, his eyes on the countryside here, where large villas were visible among the trees. His thoughts were all with Eilsa.
    She had left the city and gone to Rinz, a crossroads town ten miles north of the city. As far as he knew the plague had not reached Rinz. He prayed that it would not either.
    They passed some more carriages, this time carrying the living determined to flee the city. Then came a trio of horsemen, one a woman. Relkin was familiar with the horse she rode: Beety, the pretty gray mare from the tower stables.
    As they came closer the boys of the 109th recognized Lagdalen of the Tarcho.
    "Hail, Lagdalen!" shouted Swane.
    Lagdalen waved back at them and called out as she passed. "Hail, my friends. Keep your hearts strong, the Mother is with us!"
    She rode on and disappeared behind them, overtaking the carriages.
    "What d'you think that's about then?" said Swane, dropping back beside Relkin. Relkin shrugged, not wanting to get caught up in Swane's eternal speculations. "No idea."
    "I heard there were witches arriving from Cunfshon."
    "First I heard of it."
    "I bet she's gong to Rinz. Going to the queen."
    Relkin nodded. If the queen was in Rinz, then that would be good reason for Lagdalen to be riding out there in such a hurry.
     

Chapter Eleven

    Kind Adem had built the house at Rinz Park on the ruins of a grand villa. From afar the house looked like a birdcage made of white columns, perched on its bluff overlooking the park itself.
    Besita had always liked to come to Rinz. Pleasant memories from her childhood were set in this old house. With its pine-paneled walls and carved-log staircases, it was a place out of time. The servants were mostly elderly, and they remembered the times of her father and her grandfather and so were quite content with her. Compared to the tyranny of King Wauk, the incompetence of Queen Besita was of little consequence to them. There were none of the hidden sneers that she sensed all around her in the Tower of Guard in Marneri.
    She was not a happy queen, nor a very good one. So be it. The damned witches had murdered her brother to make sure the crown came to her, but she had never asked for it.
    Lagdalen found the queen sitting out on the belvedere, gazing at the park. There was a bottle at her elbow, and at first Lagdalen's heart had sunk. Then after her bow and curtsy she noticed that it was just a bottle of water. Besita had not lapsed into her drinking habits.
    "Your Majesty, it is good to see you looking so strong and well."
    "Well? What leads you to that conclusion? I am not well, Lagdalen of the Tarcho. My back is a horror of aches, my left leg is numb, and I have the recurrent head spasm. The doctors are all at sea with it. One says take the oil of turmeric, the other recommends black draughts of pimsey, disgusting stuff.