CHAPTER NINETEEN (cont.)

The Ancress

Donnova hadn't expected to venture inside. This was truly a treat. The long corridor from the entrance was fairly wide. The walls had been smoothed and arts and crafts of all kinds lined the way on both sides. Drawings and paintings were hung and statuettes and other objects were neatly niched. These were the displayed offerings from the children and fledglings of Draakhaven. It reminded her of the Shrine of Valmun in Zona.

Hadn't she dreamed of that place recently?

From the various representations, Donnova had a good idea of what the Ancress must have looked like. She was obviously quite short, like the Dungeon Master. She had long white hair, often braided or secured loosely in gold bands. She was most often portrayed wearing blue, but she could also be seen here in purple, gold, and green. Her skin was dark � but not as dark as Diana's, she thought � and paired best with the gold ensembles.

Diana was dead now, wasn't she? She pushed the thought from her mind.

She then came to the section of cave where the Ancress herself had been the artist. Her murals covered the walls. Overhead, the entire ceiling of this area depicted a Realm occupied only by dragons. Dragons of all sizes and colors � winged and wingless, horned and hornless, and even legless dragons. Dragons in the air, on the land, and in the seas. The artistry was divine. The colors were brilliant. She felt she could have studied the work for days, weeks, more, and still found something she'd never noticed before.

The wall to her left showed the coming of man. Wary dragons kept their distance. Curious dragons dared approach. High above all, a large red dragon watched, perched on a distant mountaintop. This red dragon had a place of prominence, and looked much like Tiamat, except this dragon had but one head.

Donnova moved slowly on down the wall. According to this, man struck first, killing dragons for food and sport, tools and fashion. They ate their meat, dressed in their skins, adorned themselves and their women with polished dragon scales and claws and teeth, made headdresses of dragon skulls. . . .

On the wall behind her . . . war. The red dragon that looked so much like Tiamat led the battle. The dragons attacked any way they could, but men were clever. They trapped the winged ones in hidden holes in the ground, lured them into narrow spaces so that their wings were useless. Other traps were set. Sea dragons were caught in nets.

But now Donnova came to a new sight. The red dragon now had five heads, and could do the work of a legion of dragons by herself. She slaughtered man wherever she found him. This was the Tiamat Donnova knew. And just like the old tales, Tiamat was able to strike in five directions with powers beyond any other of her kind.

When the war was over, if it could ever truly be, the lands were littered with bones and blood of both sides. Tiamat stood amongst the broken bodies of her kin, spread her great wings, and magically sent her dead � all the dead of her kind from all over the Realm and from throughout the ages � to The Dragons' Graveyard, where she would reside to guard the dead where they could not be disturbed by man.

Along another angle of wall was a different story, a gray mountain dragon and a male child came upon each other. The child was hurt and terrified. It ran; the dragon followed. The boy ran all the way back to a red dragon that lay dead on the ground, a spear through its neck. Beside it lay a dead woman who was likely the boy's mother. The dragon took the crying child and delivered it to the first humans he came upon. The mother's body was soon reclaimed, as well.

Afterwards, a friendship had begun between the dragon and the family of humans. That friendship extended on both sides until it came to the attention of the dragon queen. For being traitors to their kind, the gray dragons of the mountains were banished from entering The Dragons' Graveyard to die. It was a difficult punishment to bear for several reasons. Even so, these dragons never renounced Tiamat as their queen. They accepted their punishment.

In sympathy, their human friends then altered the beginnings of their new city so that they could properly welcome and include their dragon friends as part of their lives in earnest. They shared their death ritual of burial, and the dragons adopted this, burying their dead under rocks in or around mountains. The ways of life for both were changed and each benefited from their coming together. And there had been peace and harmony between them ever since.

But where was the Ancress in all this? Was she so modest that she did not give herself her place of importance in this history? All Donnova could find was a depiction of the sloping entrance to her cave dwelling in the mountains. This was along the floor, and something about it seemed odd.

Donnova reached down to touch the painted opening, and her fingers disappeared through it. She jerked her hand back, reflexively.

She crouched and tried to peer inside, but there was only blackness. She eased the torch through, but the firelight was consumed and she was left in darkness. She pulled her torch back. It was still lit; it hadn't gone out.

Magic paint? But what did it hide?

Curiosity overrode all else. She crawled through and was immediately on her guard. There were lit torches along the walls of this room, which was very like the room she had come from. She looked around. She knew she couldn't be alone, but she saw and heard nothing. Who would be here other than ones from the city below?

With so much light here, she no longer needed the torch. And there just happened to be an empty bracket where she stood. She mounted her torch and looked around.

Her attention was drawn to the new murals surrounding her. Here again the war between dragon and man was depicted. But here was shown that Evil had transformed Tiamat, and in seeming response to this, the side of Good had sent its own agent. Haloed in a golden glow stood a man in red robes, wearing a crystal pendant about his neck. This was obviously the Dungeon Master, but he did not look much like the one Donnova knew. He stood between dragon and man. It seemed he brought about the end of the war, if only by preventing further battles.

It seemed the Dungeon Master tried to bring both sides together in peace, but Tiamat rejected him and tried to kill this emissary of man. She failed, and it was then she took herself and her dead away to her graveyard.

Another mural depicted a Dungeon Master that could have been the one known to her, but far younger. He was with a beautiful, blond-haired woman who held an infant. He held one, too, but in more of a way of presenting this child to the world. Was the role of Dungeon Master passed down from father to son? Where were his wife and children now?

Tiamat looked on in the background, looking murderous as ever.

"Welcome, child."

Donnova whirled around at the voice and gasped. Whom she saw could only be the Ancress herself.

"Don't be afraid," the small lady said with a good-natured smile.

She took a moment to catch her breath. "It is not fear, but surprise at your appearance. You're the Ancress, aren't you?"

"I was . . . once. In another age."

"It is believed you are. . . ."

"Dead?"

Donnova's silence answered for her.

The old one brought her hands together before her, bowed her head and stepped forward. "Not dead, but exiled by Venger long ago. And brought from that exile by ones you know."

Donnova thought she must be referring to Hank's group. She thought of Sheila, and then tried not to think of any of them.

"They should know. The people of Draakhaven, I mean. They should know you're here, alive, returned. Not all believe you dead. Some believe you simply . . . moved on . . . to help others. Many believe you would one day return to them. There will be such joy in the streets when you�"

The Ancress held up her hands. "They no longer need me." Then she laughed sweetly. "I doubt they ever did," she said as though she believed all would have been just the same had they never known of her.

"Perhaps not here, but elsewhere in the Realm. There's more to be done! There are dragon hunters that�" Donnova stopped herself when she heard her own voice rising. One breed of murderer she could not tolerate was the dragon hunter.

"My destiny lies along another path, child. It has been so long since I was known as the Ancress. My name is Zandora, and you, I'm told, are Donnova."

The name was familiar. Donnova eyed her. "Who told you?"

"I did."

An inferno ignited in her mind at the sound of Dungeon Master's voice, and she glared at him as he made his way toward them from out of nowhere. "You defile this good lady's home, Dungeon Master."

"Dungeon Master is my friend," said Zandora. "And he would like to be yours."

"His friendship is a poisonous thing. A deadly thing!" She turned to Dungeon Master. "Know you that Diana is dead?"

"She has passed from this life, but now knows another�"

"Oh spare me! She is dead! And for what? You lied to us all! There was no prisoner within the tower!"

"But there was."

She shook her head. "I saw no one."

Zandora looked to the Dungeon Master, and he back at her. Donnova looked to them both, wondering if they spoke to each other with thoughts.

And then Donnova took sudden stock of her situation. Here she was in the presence of not only the Dungeon Master, but also the legendary Ancress. The old weariness hit her like a tidal wave, putting out the fire of a moment ago. This meeting wasn't chance. She was right where Fate wanted her to be. The illusion of Free Will dissolved yet again. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but she found she was too numb to do either.

"What is this?" She heard the defeat in her voice. "What do you want of me?" She felt tears pooling in her eyes and fought not to let them fall. "I failed you at the tower. Will you now punish me?"

Dungeon Master shook his head. "No. No," he said quietly as he bowed his head. "I ask your forgiveness. I failed you. I failed you all. You were unprepared. I did not give you all you needed to succeed. I did not give you . . . the truth. I failed . . . to trust." He looked up, and Donnova followed his tear-filled eyes to the mural of his family.

She looked to Zandora, who was weeping as she also looked to the mural of Dungeon Master and his children. Both were silent, and it was maddening. What was going on? What was she supposed to do? What was her place here?

"What is the truth? What happened to them?" Neither was forthcoming. "It was Venger, wasn't it? Venger killed your family."

"No," Dungeon Master answered quietly with another shake of his head.

This was getting tiresome. "What then?" She was running out of patience.

"She must be shown the truth," Zandora told Dungeon Master.

Dungeon Master closed his eyes and nodded.

Donnova's eyes widened when Zandora raised a glowing hand, and from a dark corner of the room, a box slid quickly across the floor. It spun around and came to a stop beneath the vibrant young Dungeon Master who held his child. The box opened.

That's why the name was familiar! She remembered Sheila's story of Zandora and her magic box. She couldn't think of any way the memory could help her now, but she was glad to place the name.

Zandora walked toward her box. Donnova looked to Dungeon Master, but it was obvious he wouldn't be joining them. She followed Zandora.

The elder gestured to the open box. "This box is magical gateway," she began.

"I know of your magic box, Zandora. Where will this take me?"

"Within the crystal prison. Wherever in the Realm it may be, it can be found through this special portal here, and only here. I'm sorry I cannot go with you, child."

"But what�"

"You must understand what you are meant to do � your purpose here. And know that there is power in friendship and in love�"

"There is also power in hatred and fear."

"Yes, but with friendship comes trust and loyalty and forgiveness."

"Oh, I see. . . . It's not my friendship the Dungeon Master needs. It's my unquestioning obedience." And Donnova had wanted to like the old lady, but she saw that Zandora was just a puppet of Dungeon Master's. She would spare Vek and the others this sad knowledge. "Very well. I will see this truth. But it is understood . . . I make no promises."

Zandora smiled and nodded. It was more like a small bow. Donnova looked once more to the Dungeon Master. He was looking at her, too, and his expression disturbed her. A mix of sadness and fear? She wondered what it was she would find within the box.

She stepped inside and went down the stairs. A few steps down, she looked back. The lid was still open. She'd half expected to have been trapped in here � some cruel trick to get rid of her. They could still lock her away, but why would they? They had come to her. She had nearly made up her mind to stay in Draakhaven. She still may.

As she continued down the steps, she felt lighter, and lighter still, until she felt she floated. A small light was growing. She was moving towards it, like a moth to a flame. Drawn to it, she allowed herself to float through nothingness, unthinkingly, dreamlike. At last, she passed within the light, and things took shape around her.