TREASURES OF THE HEART

Prologue

The sun rose over a village in shambles. Workers still toiled, searching among the smoldering ruins for any survivors who might be buried in the debris, but hope was running out. More than half the village had been set ablaze in the dragon's first pass and the fires had spread quickly through the rest of the closely packed buildings; many had perished in the resulting inferno. All of the wooden structures were destroyed or gutted. Those of stone or slate, such as the town hall and the mayor's house, had withstood the flames better and were now serving as shelter for the wounded, eating and sleeping quarters for the healthy, and headquarters for the king's army.

King Abaddon himself had worked tirelessly through the night. His tall, spare figure had been seen everywhere, comforting the wounded and the families of the dead, organizing and taking part in the rescue efforts, promising aid from his own treasury to take care of their needs. Finally, near dawn, he had given in to the repeated urgings of his senior officers and retired to the building commandeered for their headquarters.

Now he sat at a battered table, head bowed wearily, his golden circlet tossed aside as he ran his hands repeatedly through his thick dark hair. The silver at the temples seemed more pronounced today, as if it had intensified overnight and his clothing was rumpled as if he had slept in it, although in truth he hadn't slept in almost 48 hours. King Abaddon was tired, tired to the bone with a weariness beyond the physical. So many lives depended on him, so many lives had been lost. And for what?

The wizard's grand plan to kill the dragon had failed. His finest troops had been decimated, half killed outright, the rest too injured to fight. More innocent lives had been lost, and the dragon's new terms for an end to its depredations were harsher than before. In addition to the tribute of gold and livestock in its original decree, it was now demanding the crown princes as a sacrifice to its monumental ego. His precious, precious sons...

He bowed his head in anguish, his duties as king and guardian of his country warring with his love for his children. He looked up only when the door opened and his aide came in carrying a cloth-covered tray.

"Please, Majesty, you need to eat and rest," the young man implored, his own voice shaking with fatigue. "A place has been prepared for you, and there's nothing that can't wait a short time."

"I can't rest." The king shook his head wearily as he uncovered the food on the tray. "Not yet. Have they found shelter for all of the wounded?"

"They're divided among the buildings that are still standing. The dead-" for a moment his voice shook with more than fatigue; his father and older brother were among the dead. "The dead have been placed in the town hall. After the villagers have identified their folk, the rest will receive a military burial."

"And the wizard Andronicus?" The king's voice was cold.

"Under guard, as you ordered."

"Have him brought to me at once." He pushed the food away from him. "I will deal with him now, before I face the Dragon."

"Yes, Majesty."

The aide's voice was carefully neutral, leaving the king no doubt where his army stood on the subject of the wizard. He paced, his thoughts unpleasant, until they were interrupted by a commotion in the hall outside. The door was flung open and Andronicus roughly propelled into the room by two guards. Their expressions betrayed their anger at being forced to protect the man responsible for so many soldiers' deaths, and they gladly obeyed the king's signal to wait outside, leaving him to deal with the wizard in private.

King Abaddon looked the wizard over dispassionately. Andronicus was normally an imposing figure, if not a handsome one. He favored long flowing robes in rich fabrics and colors that flattered his sallow complexion and meager build. With a tall peaked hat covering his balding head and his long silver locks flowing from under it, he looked the epitome of a powerful sorcerer. Now his fine robes were shredded and torn, encrusted with dirt and grime, and without the impressive hat, the king noticed absently, it looked like his hair was trying to crawl off the back of his head.

"I'd like to know why I'm under armed guard like some common criminal," he sputtered angrily. I am a Royal Wizard, advisor to the King, and I demand that I be treated accordingly!" He drew himself up to his full medium height.

"The guard is for your protection, although I should probably let them tear you apart and be done with it," Abaddon replied with icy disdain. "What happened, Wizard? According to your grand plan, we're supposed to be rejoicing in a great victory. This doesn't look like a victory to me. Your celebratory bonfires are being used for funeral pyres. Your conquered foe has set new terms, terms more onerous than they were before we 'won' this battle. Tell me *why*, Andronicus! What happened to the great and glorious victory you promised?"

"It wasn't my fault, Your Majesty," the wizard whined, awareness of his plight finally penetrating his ego. "It was his shields. They were impenetrable. Stronger than I've ever seen. Stronger than a dragon could possibly have."

"Obviously not, since he had them," the king replied coldly.

"I'll search through my manuscripts, my spell books. I'm sure there's an answer," Andronicus gabbled. "I'll find it, Your Majesty. Just give me a little more time."

There was a cursory knock at the door before it opened and a weary veteran soldier looked in. "Your Majesty, the Dragon Rohannon has been sighted."

"Thank you, Corporal," the king said calmly. "Have an area cordoned off away from the village and warn my personal guard. I'll be there in a moment."

As the door closed behind him, Andronicus erupted into speech. "Your Majesty, you can't intend to accept his terms!" The wizard was incredulous. "I can defeat him! I know I can! I just need more time!"

"And how many more innocent lives will be lost to buy you that time?" Abaddon asked harshly. "How many more people will die before you admit that he's more powerful than you?"

"How dare you?" Andronicus shrieked. "*No* animal is more powerful than I! I could find the answer if you would only stand firm instead of giving in and sacrificing your sons without even making an attempt to fight!"

King Abaddon raised his fist, and the wizard quailed, suddenly aware that he had gone too far as death stared him in the face.

"We *had* a fight, Wizard, and we were defeated. We depended on you and you failed us! Now I'm going to try negotiation as I should have done, instead of listening to you in the first place. And yes, if necessary I *will* sacrifice my sons to save the people of this kingdom. But know this, Wizard," the king's voice became cold and venomous, "if my sons die, you will die as well. And for every moment of pain or agony they suffer, you will suffer a hundred times more. If they die, Wizard, you will be *begging* for your own death before I have finished with you. And that's the only reason you're alive now." Snatching the golden circlet from the table, he departed with a savage swirl of his cloak, leaving the wizard standing alone in the room.

Andronicus stared after him for a moment, then gazed around the room malevolently. On the mantel was a row of delicate antique figurines that had miraculously survived the destruction. Pointing his finger at each one in turn, he methodically destroyed them in a series of miniature explosions, leaving piles of ash in place of their ethereal beauty.

The two remaining guards, looking in to see what the noise was about, wished they could do the same to Andronicus.