Free Daughter of Regals by Stephen R. Donaldson Page B

was effectively powerless. And he had indeed
been my friend. Every man or woman must place trust somewhere, and for years I
had placed mine in him. In league with Damia against me? I would have felt
great anger if I had been less afraid.
    But then I thought of
the Dragon Scour had evoked in the air of the ballroom, and I grew calmer. All
Creatures were perilous, and among them a Dragon was surely one of the most
fearsome. But the Real danger of that lovely strength made the more human risk
of my plight seem small in contrast—wan and bearable. My life was a little
thing to lose in a world where Dragons and Gorgons and Wyverns lived. And
also—the thought came to me slowly—the restoration of any Dragon to the realm
was a boon to the line of the Regals. If the Basilisk-Regal had in fact slain a
Dragon, then that crime was now made less. My sires had less need for grief.
    And while the identity
or allegiance of the Creature remained hidden, I was not compelled to despair.
    When I was steadier, I
was able to think more clearly about what I suspected of Mage Ryzel.
    I saw now that although
my life was small my presumption had been large. For no other reason than that
I was my father’s daughter—and that he had named me Chrysalis in prophecy—I had
been prepared to risk the realm itself on the test of my Ascension—the same
realm for which the Basilisk-Regal had shed the blood of the last Dragon. But
that willingness was indefensible; it was a girl’s pride, not a woman’s
judgment. Ryzel was wiser: behind my back, he sought, not to deprive me of
hope, but to keep the Three Kingdoms from war if I failed.
    Though it pained me to
do so, I resolved that I would accept whatever he did and be content. If I were
truly the daughter of Regals—in spirit if not in Magic—then I could do no less,
so that the innocent of the Three Kingdoms would not be lost in an abhorrent
contest for power.
    I wished sorely to be a
woman of whom no Creature would be ashamed.
    I had intended to remain
in my rooms until midnight drew near, but after only a short time a servant
came to my door and knocked. When I replied, she reported that Count Thornden
desired a private audience with me.
    My new calm did not
extend quite so far; but the matter could not be shirked. While I held any hope
for my life, I was required to walk the narrow line of my position, and so I
could not afford to deny the lord of Nabal a hearing which I had earlier panted
King Thone.
    To the servant, I named
a meeting-room in which a tapestry concealed a door through which guards might enter
if I had need of them; but I did not immediately leave my chambers. I gave the
guards a moment to be made ready—and myself an opportunity to insist that I was
indeed brave enough for what lay ahead. Then I unbolted my doors and walked
trembling to Count Thornden’s audience.
    I trembled because he
was as large and unscrupulous and lacking in subtlety as a beast. And because I
could not imagine what prompted him to request speech with me.
    At the door, I nearly
faltered. It was unattended—and should not have been. But I did not wish to
betray my fear by refusing to meet the lord of Nabal until I was sure of my
protections. Gripping my courage, I lifted the latch and went inward.
    At once, a large hand
caught my arm, flung me into the room. The back of the hand was dark with black
hair, and its force impelled me against the table. Regals had often sat there
with kings and counselors; and the peace of the realm had been preserved. I
stumbled, and the edge of the table caught my ribs so that I gasped.
    The room was lit with
only two candles. Their flames capered across my vision as I fought to regain
my balance, turn toward my attacker. I heard the door slam. At the edge of my
sight, a massive chair seemed to leap from the table to wedge itself against
the door. As I turned, a backhand blow took the side of my face with such force
that I felt myself lift from my feet and sail toward the