Master of Dragons by Margaret Weis Read Free Book Online

had joined his neighbors in running to the
scene, and he had proven to be invaluable in the search for survivors, for his
strong smith’s arms were needed to lift the fallen stones and move heavy wooden
beams. Rosa had gone with her husband, bringing with her bolts of new-made
woolen cloth to be used as bandages for the living and shrouds for the dead.
    Both Rosa and
Anton worked throughout the morning and into the late afternoon, doing what
they could to help. There had been a great deal of confusion at first, as the
people of Dragonkeep flocked to the site, either to help or to gawk or to
conduct frantic searches for friends and relatives. Anton gave the Blessed
credit for swiftly restoring order. The Blessed (as the monks were known)
served as the dragon’s eyes and ears and enforcers of the law. This, and the
fact that some of the Blessed were quite mad, caused the ordinary, “unblessed”
citizens of Dragonkeep to go in healthy fear of the monks and to be quick to
obey their commands.
    The Blessed
ordered the majority of the citizens home, keeping only those who had proven to
be useful. Anton and Rosa were among these, comforting, bandaging, lifting and
hauling, rejoicing when survivors were discovered, grieving when they came upon
bodies of the dead. By sundown, both were exhausted. The Blessed concluded that
there was not much more to be done, especially now that night was falling. Rosa
went home to “have a good cry,” as she said, and to give thanks to the dragon
that their dear daughter was safe from harm inside the palace beneath the
mountain. One of the dead Rosa had so gently covered with a blanket had been a
young woman near her daughter’s age.
    Anton was also
weary; his arms and his back and his heart ached. He could not bring himself to
leave, however, not when there was the chance of finding someone still alive.
He continued to search through the rubble and the last gleam of failing
sunlight gave him a reward—he saw a child’s dusty hand protruding from beneath
a pile of stones.
    At first, Anton
feared he’d found another corpse. He knelt down and touched the child’s hand
and, to his astonishment, found it warm, with a weak but steady pulse. Hope and
elation burned away his weariness. Experience cautioned him not to immediately
try to free the victim, much as he longed to pull her out from under the mound
of rock. He first took a careful look at the debris pile. Shifting the wrong
stone might cause the rocks to slide and bury the child deeper.
    “Damn, this is
odd,” he muttered to himself, eyeing the strange way the stones and beams had
settled. But then, he’d noted a lot about this disaster that was very odd.
    He thought at
first of calling for help. He thought then that he wouldn’t. He could manage by
himself. Considering the oddity of the situation, that might be best. And it
would save precious time. He dug the child out of the debris using his bare
hands and, within moments, had freed her.
    She was
unconscious. She had a head wound. Blood gummed her hair and covered her face
and her clothes so that it was hard for him tell where else she might be hurt.
Her breathing was easy, not labored or shallow. He felt her limbs to see if
they were broken. Arms and legs appeared to be intact. He could not see the
wound on her head for all the blood and did not want to start probing, fearing
his clumsy touch might make her injuries worse. The girl was about twelve years
old. She was dressed in a woolen shift and that was all—no stockings, no shoes.
    The building was
empty. No furniture, no sign that people lived here. The girl was alone in an
abandoned dwelling. Odder and odder still.
    Anton took no more
time to speculate. Questions would be answered if and when the girl survived.
He lifted her gently in his arms and carried her from the building. On his way
out, he spotted Grald, the man who ruled Dragonkeep in the name of the dragon,
talking with one of the holy sisters. Anton ducked his head,