Blood of Dragons

‘My lord. My lord, may it not displease you that I speak, but if you wish to preserve this creature’s life so that you may have a later treatment of his blood, you must stop now.’



The healer who gripped the dragon-man’s wrist spoke in a timorous voice. His thumb was on the creature’s pulse. The Duke paid no heed. The healer shot a frightened glance at the older man who grasped the dragon-man’s forearm. Now Ellik noticed that he, too, kept a monitoring thumb on the pulse point inside the creature’s elbow. He met the younger man’s stare, gave his head a tiny shake, and pressed down. The Duke sucked harder for three breaths and then abruptly lifted his head. His voice was stronger, thick with his drink as he demanded, ‘Has he died? The blood has stopped!’



‘No, my duke, he is not dead, but he flutters close to it.’ The healer spoke in a gentle voice full of deference. ‘Would you finish him now, or send him back to be fed up again for a later treatment?’



Greed and caution warred in the Duke’s face. Abruptly, he pushed the thin wrist away from his mouth. ‘Take him away. Bid my daughter feed my fine blue cow fat again. Whatever Lady Chassim desires for him, she may have! See that she does all she can to bring him to where he can be bled again. Tell her this is my most ardent wish for her, if she would retain the goodwill of her duke.’



‘My lord,’ the healers chorused. Ellik saw concern in how quickly they bandaged the creature’s wrist. Before they wrapped it, he glimpsed the deep purple bruising all around the wound. The Duke’s teeth had left deep dents in the flesh.



‘I will eat now,’ the Duke declared.



As he leaned back into his pillows with a deep sigh of contentment, the room around him erupted into a frantic bustle of activity. A basket of clean cloths appeared as the used ones were whisked way. Fresh bedclothes were brought, and the servants deftly folded away the soiled ones as the new ones were spread over him so that not even for a moment was he chilled. An array of musicians bearing their instruments trooped in and stood ready against the wall in case he should bid them to play. A narrow table was carried into the room, followed by an ant stream of servants bearing trays of all manner of food and drink. Water beaded on the outside of pitchers of iced wine while other pots steamed fragrantly with hot, mulled drinks. Covered platters stood shoulder to shoulder with steaming tureens. The array would have done credit to a banquet and once again Ellik wondered where the hardy warrior he had once followed had gone.



The Chancellor cleared his throat and the Duke’s eyes turned to him. He waited, watching the Duke count and measure the words he would give him, and knew he was on the cusp of losing all he had gained. ‘Your gift has pleased me,’ the old man said at last.



Ellik waited ten heartbeats. The Duke said no more, and in that quiet, the Chancellor read that he would not keep his promise to him. When a man hopes to live, he does not prepare a stronger man to take his place. It would be more important to him now that he coddle his daughter so that she might keep his blood-cow alive. ‘Lady Chassim’ he had called her. He could not recall the Duke ever granting her both honorific and name when he had spoken of her before. Her status had changed in his mind. He would not again offer his daughter to Ellik. But the Chancellor replied only, ‘Then I am very well pleased, my lord.’ He lowered his eyes, so that no one might see how his mind seethed with fresh plans to take the reward he had earned.



For the first time in months, the Duke had ordered his servants to open the heavy draperies that sealed all light from his chambers. From his bed, he had watched the pale-grey light of dawn venture across his carpets and then the linens on his bed. He had opened his hand to that light, light he had believed would not touch him again, and smiled as it became the full gold of daylight. He was alive this morning. Still. And as he resolved that he would live, he’d issued his orders. The chief of his healers looked aghast.



‘My lord, favoured of the gods, beloved of the people, I fear you attempt too much too soon. Your recovery has been swift, but so quick an improvement, if followed by too much activity, may lead to a relapse and—’



‘Be quiet or die.’ The Duke kept his response short. He knew the wisdom of not taxing himself just as he was starting to recover. But to no one else could he entrust this errand. ‘Carry me to her chambers, set down the chaise, and leave. Stand ready outside the door until I summon you. Do not otherwise disturb us.’



Last night, after the dragon-man’s blood, he had eaten and drunk wine with pleasure for the first time in months. When he awoke, he could sit up in bed, and could control his bowels once more. He had not soiled himself, nor spat blood today. He knew it was soon to demand to be conveyed to his daughter’s presence, but it was a risk he had weighed well. Beneath the light coverlet, he grasped a knife in each hand. If she saw fit to show her vicious side, he would kill the bitch regardless of the consequences. But if she could be reasoned with at all, there might be great benefit for both of them. He intended to show her that.