Free The Dragon's Son by Margaret Weis Page A

again, for now that he knew
Grald for what he was, Draconas knew how to fight him. Unfortunately, this was
neither the time nor the place for two dragons to battle.
    Draconas was still considering what to do when Ven unleashed his thunderbolt
and the holy sister made her pronouncement.
    “The robbery was a ruse,” Draconas realized. “You had to be certain this
child was the right child and so, as a little experiment, you beat to death the
only mother he’s ever known right in front of his eyes. Well, you have your
answer.”
    He glanced at the smoldering remains of the “thief.” The stink of burning
hair and flesh was strong in his nostrils.
    Ven twisted his head to look up at the holy sister.
    She carressed Ven’s shoulders and said in soft and urgent tones, “Come with
me, now, child. There is nothing more you can do for your mother except to pray
for the repose of her soul. Come away with me. I will take you to a place of
safety.”
    “She’s not my mother,” Ven said harshly. He shook himself free of the
nun’s hands and backed away from her.
    “G’away,” he ordered, his voice thick and half-choked. He waved his hand. “Leave
me alone.”
    He limped over to where Bellona lay in the dirt. He stared down at her and
then awkwardly knelt beside her, and put his hand out to touch her.
    “My child—” the holy sister began in dulcet tones.
    “Someone’s coming,” warned Grald, his head jerking around to peer down the
starlit road. “I hear horses. We don’t have time to coddle the boy. Step aside.
All of you.”
    Folding her hands in her habit, the holy sister moved a safe distance away,
as did the remainder of the “thieves.” Grald stretched out his hands. Thin
filaments of light sprang from his ten fingers and extended toward the boy.
Twining and twisting together, the filaments of light formed a web—a burning
and biting web meant to jangle the boy’s nerves, incapacitate and paralyze him.
    Draconas moved. Bounding onto the road, he thrust his staff into the magical
net, caught hold of it, and jerked it out of Grald’s astonished grasp. Draconas
twirled the net in a flaming arc, then cast it back at Grald. Amazed by this
unexpected interference, the dragon had no time to evade it. The glowing,
entwined filaments settled over him, and Grald’s human form collapsed to the
ground, screaming and writhing.
    The holy sister opened her mouth. Draconas had no idea what she was about to
say, but feared it must be some sort of magic. He brought the staff around and
gave her a clip on the side of the head. The holy sister toppled over in a heap
of black.
    The last remaining attacker leapt on Draconas’s back, sought to throttle
him. Draconas flipped the man over his head. He landed heavily on the road,
groaning in pain. Draconas kicked him in the temple.
    “That’s for Bellona,” he said grimly.
    He could hear the approaching riders—men, laughing and talking. They were in
no hurry, riding along at a sedate clip, but coming nearer. He couldn’t be
caught here with a bloody body, an unconscious nun, a burnt thief, and a boy
that was half-dragon.
    Ven had not moved from Bellona’s side. He had not even looked around.
    “You have to come with me,” said Draconas. Reaching down, he took firm hold
of the boy’s hand. “Now.”
    Ven looked up at him and recognition dawned.
    “What about Bellona?” he said.
    Draconas cast the body a glance. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”
    “I’ll stay with her,” said Ven, hunkering down in the dirt.
    Draconas didn’t have time to argue. He scooped up what he thought was a
corpse in his arms, only to feel Bellona shudder in pain when he lifted her.
    “Keep close,” he ordered Ven, “and don’t make a sound.”
    The boy nodded. Draconas slipped back into the woods and hid in the brush.
Bellona began to moan and he spoke a whispered word of magic that sent her into
a deep slumber. Ven put one hand protectively on Bellona’s shoulder and