The Dragon's Son by Margaret Weis Read Free Book Online

the staff picked it up and turned to face the crowd.
    “Go along now,” he said in a pleasant tone. “The boy is not much harmed, as
you can plainly see. This show has ended. There’s no demon child here. Go watch
the actors. I hear they have a man who can eat fire.”
    “I seen what I seen,” insisted an old man with all of three teeth in his
head. “He had the legs of a lizard. Covered in scales they was.”
    “Here, sister, come and look!” another cried. But the holy sister was
nowhere to be found. Someone suggested stripping the boy to see for certain.
    Ven’s protector reached into his purse. Drawing out some coins, he tossed
them in the dirt.
    “You’re drunk, Father, but not drunk enough, apparently,” he said, still
pleasant. “Take that money and go finish the job. Here, look at the boy’s leg.
What do you see? Flesh and blood and bone. Feel it, if you don’t believe me.”
    The old man was stubborn enough to do just that. As the others gathered
around watching, he gave Ven’s leg a poke with a bony finger. The old man
grunted, snatched up a coin, and walked off. Seeing their spokesman depart, the
others fell on the coins, grappling and clawing in the dirt. The mob that had
gathered dwindled away to the ale tents or went back to the bull-baiting.
    “We had best get you to the abbey infirmary,” said the man. He picked up the
maltreated boot, stuffed it into his belt, then picked up Ven.
    “No!” Ven gasped. “Not an abbey—”
    “Shut up,” the man growled in Ven’s ear. “We’re not out of danger yet. Let
me do the talking.”
    The man lifted Ven in strong arms and slung him over his shoulder. They
headed for the edge of the fairegrounds.
    “Sir,” said Ven, “if you’ll just take me home—”
    “Keep silent,” the man ordered.
    Ven did as he was told, more because he was still too confused by what had
happened to talk, than because he felt compelled to obey a stranger, even one
who had saved his life.
    The man did not take Ven to the abbey or go anywhere near it. As soon as
they were out of sight of the crowd, the man left the road that led to the city
and struck out over the open fields, heading for the forest. A few people
stared at them, but, seeing nothing more interesting than a man carrying a
blood-smeared child, they went on their way.
    The cool and familiar shadows of the forest closed over Ven and he breathed
easier, relaxed. The man stopped to peer about to make certain they were alone.
Seeing and hearing nothing, he eased Ven down onto a bed of dead leaves. The
man held his hand over Ven’s flesh-and-blood leg.
    A narrow, shifting band of sunlight filtering
through the green leaves of the walnut tree shone on blue, glittering scales.
The man lifted Ven’s leg, examined the scales minutely, then nodded in
satisfaction.
     

5
     
    “The dog tore a few of them loose, but no serious harm done. You were lucky
I happened to be keeping my eye on you,” the man added, his voice grim. “Tell
Bellona she must take better care of you—”
    Ven jumped to his feet and ran. The man shouted something. Ven ignored him.
He ran as fast as he could, giving his beast’s legs their freedom, loping over
the rough, uneven ground; springing off his clawed toes. He heard the man give
chase, crashing through the underbrush. Ven was small and he was agile. He
dodged in and out among the tree trunks, slithered under tangles of brush and
vines, crawled beneath fallen logs, and splashed through streams. He ran until
his legs ached and he was forced to halt to ease the pain. Gasping for breath,
he listened for pursuit. He could no longer hear the man’s shouts or his
crashing footfalls and he knew he’d lost him.
    Ven had lost himself, too, in the woods, but that wasn’t a worry. He knew
his way around a forest. Far off in the distance came the faint cries of the
hawkers, shrill laughter, hoarse calls and shouts— the sounds of the faire. He
had only to follow the sounds and he would find