Dragon Wing

7

Three people were gathered in a room located in the upper levels of the monastery. The room had been one of the monks’ cells and was, consequently, cold, austere, small, and windowless. The three—two men and one woman—stood in the very center of the room. One man had his arm around the woman; the woman had her arm around him, each supporting the other, or it seemed both might have fallen. The third stood near them.

“They are preparing to leave.” The wizard had his head cocked, though it was not with his physical ear he heard the beating of the dragon’s wings through the thick walls of the monastery.

“Leaving!” the woman cried, and took a step forward. “I want to see him again! My son! One more time!”

“No, Anne!” Trian’s voice was stern; his hand clasped hold of the woman’s and held it firmly. “It took long months to break the enchantment. It is easier this way! You must be strong!”

“I pray we have done right!” The woman sobbed and turned her face to her husband’s shoulder.

“You should have gone along, Trian,” said Stephen. He spoke harshly, though the hand with which he stroked his wife’s hair was gentle and loving. “There is still time.”

“No, Your Majesty. We gave this matter long and careful consideration. Our plans are sound. We must follow through on them and pray that our ancestors are with us and all goes as we hope.”

“Did you warn this . . . Hugh?”

“A hard man such as that assassin would not have believed me. It would have done no good and might have caused a great deal of harm. He is the best. He is cold, he is heartless. We must trust in his skill and his nature.”

“And if he fails?”

“Then, Your Majesty,” said Trian with a soft sigh, “we should prepare ourselves to face the end.”