Clandestine circle

“I am with you,” the dragon whispered.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed as if her heart would break.

The next thing Linsha became aware of was darkness, the simple darkness at the edge of sleep. Slowly it unraveled around her until it was merely a haze. Through the haze, she heard someone say, “Will she live?” Varia.

“Of course.” A deeper voice, familiar and welcome. Lord Bight.

Linsha’s eyes slowly opened and focused on a bed curtain suspended above her. Dim golden light from a single lamp wavered on the material in dancing patches.

“Linsha… welcome back,” the lord governor said.

She turned her head and saw him sitting beside the bed. His tanned face looked haggard and tired, but his eyes gleamed with success. “You called me Linsha,” she said, or at least tried to say. Her voice came out hoarse and barely audible. She realized her neck was swollen and her throat bruised from Durne’s attack.

“A friend told me,” he said. He reached over and gently touched her throat to still any more talking. “Just rest. Priestess Asharia was here a little while ago. We have closed your wounds and tended your body. Tomorrow will be soon enough to finish your healing.”

She nodded, but she had to ask, “Varia?”

The owl cooed softly from the bed stand. She sat ensconced in a nest of blankets with a sling supporting her newly set wing. “All is well for now,” she hooted. “It is night. The volcano sleeps. The Dark Knights have been routed.”

“Go back to sleep,” Lord Bight said. “You are safe here in the palace.”

Linsha sank deeper into the clean sheets and cozy pillow. She smiled sleepily. “All I need now is the orange tomcat from the barn,” she whispered before she slid back into the recuperative darkness of sleep.

Varia looked up at Lord Bight. He flashed a conspiratorial grin and rose to his feet. “Good night, owl,” he said, his voice quiet.

Sometime later, Linsha woke again to darkness. The lamp burned low beside the bed, and Varia slept. The room was quiet about her. Yet some small sound or movement had awakened Linsha. She lay still and listened, waiting for a repetition. Then it came again, a soft meow. Small feet padded across the room. She felt a weight land on the bed near her feet, and the orange tomcat appeared in the dim light. His purr thrummed in his chest as he blinked at her.

Smiling, she patted the bedclothes beside her. She didn’t wonder how he had found her or why he was there. It was enough that he had come. She rubbed his ears and fell asleep to the music of his purr.

Linsha remained in the room in the palace for two days as her body healed and her voice and energy returned. No one but Lord Bight knew she was there, for he told his guards that the guardswomen, Shanron and Lynn, had died defending him from the traitor, Ian Durne. The guards were stunned by the duplicity of their commander and by the deaths of Mica and the two women. News of the tragedy spread through town faster than a swarm of locusts.

Meanwhile, city folk breathed a huge sigh of relief that Sanction had been spared an invasion by the Dark Knights.

That was the last thing they needed. No one knew where the big bronze dragon had come from, and no one knew where he went. They were just grateful he had come to their aid when they needed him most.

The people of Sanction had other things to think about as well. Word came from the Temple of the Heart that, thanks to the efforts of the governor’s healer, Mica, a possible cure had been found for the Sailors’ Scourge. Using the fragments of information from Sable and Mica, and a few donations from the elusive bronze dragon, Lord Bight and Priestess Asharia concocted an infusion made from dragon scales and restorative herbs. A call went out to volunteers to try the new antidote, and in a few hours, a line stretched out of the temple and down the road. Asharia gave some to anyone willing to try the concoction and then went to the refugee camp and the Guard camp to dose those already sick. She spread the news as well that the disease was spread by touch and recommended gloves be worn by anyone caring for the sick. Gloves sold out in the city shops in less than a day. Although Asharia and her surviving healers wouldn’t celebrate yet, she told Lord Bight the results looked promising.

The lord governor told Linsha this later that night and pointed to the scale she still wore on the golden chain. “You were our first successful experiment,” he said, grinning.

She fingered the scale and felt the slight scratch where Durne’s sword had gouged the gold rim. “It protected me in more ways than one,” she said. Reluctantly she pulled it off and held it out to him. “I should give this back before I go.”

He took the chain, but instead of keeping it, he hung it back around her neck. “It’s yours. A favor from an admirer.”

“Won’t you need it for the cure the mystics are making?”

“We have a few more where that came from.”