“So you’ve made this place your permanent home,” he said with genuine admiration.
“Yes. The elders chose my family to safeguard the oasis. It is a great honor for my family! My brother moved here with his two wives, and my youngest sister and her husband, too. We have many children between us, as you can see.” Sa’dun pointed at dozens of youngsters frolicking nearby. “The elders made their choice official during the tribal fair last spring.”
Tallin nodded. He knew about the tribal fair—he had attended one several years ago, on the desert’s eastern border. It was a grand affair, with nightly dances, wedding celebrations, and lots of native food. All the tribes sent their own representatives to exchange goods, arrange marriages, and settle any treaty differences.
Sa’dun continued. “So many blessings have rained down on our brethren! We have so much now that it costs us nothing to share. We exchange our food and water for handicrafts and leathers. Look here,” he said, pointing to a group of ornate baskets. “See this pattern? These were made by the western tribes; they are gifted basket-makers. The weave is so tight that the basket can hold water without spilling a single drop. We have many goods from the other tribes here. This place has become a sanctuary as well as a trading post.”
“That’s great news,” Tallin said. He meant it. The southern desert was hotter than the north and had been once been an inhospitable place, but these hardworking people had transformed this region into their new home. Although the oasis had been created by an elf, any success that they had now they made for themselves.
Tallin looked over Sa’dun’s shoulder and saw a brightly-colored tent, decorated with elaborate runes.
That must be Haluk’s tent, he thought. Tallin knew that nomadic spellcasters usually lived solitary lives, like hermits. It was rare to find one staying with a tribe. “Sa’dun, is that your shaman’s tent? I would like to speak with him.”
“Haluk meditates during the day and prefers to be left alone, but I’m sure he would make an exception for you, dragon rider.”
“Does he speak the common language?” asked Tallin.
“No, he does not. Haluk is descended from the Delvishi tribe, and their elders believe that the common language is impure, and therefore do not teach it to their people. However, Haluk converses easily with animals, and they say he even speaks dragon-tongue. Your dragon may translate for you, or you may communicate with him using dragon-language, if you are fluent in it yourself.”
Tallin’s eyes widened with surprise. “Fluency in dragon-tongue is a rare gift, especially for someone who was not a dragon rider.”
Sa’dun nodded. “Haluk is gifted in many ways. Why don’t you go speak with him, and then return later to share our evening meal?”
Tallin agreed, then called Duskeye over, and they walked together to Haluk’s tent. The tent was farther out on the dunes, a fair distance away from the other families. From a distance, the runes on the tent looked painted on, but upon closer inspection, Tallin realized that the patterns were embroidered. He reached out and touched the delicate thread.
“Look at this needlework, Duskeye. It must have taken an age to complete. The rune work is exquisite—the shapes are perfect.” A prayer flag fluttered at the entrance, and there were small piles of camel dung drying outside, used as fuel for cooking. As they approached, they heard soft chanting from inside. “Duskeye, please announce our presence,” said Tallin.
"With pleasure. One moment please." Duskeye poked his snout into the tent and grunted loudly. The chanting stopped and seconds later an ebony-skinned man stepped out.
Haluk was tall and very thin and looked to be in his late forties. His curly black hair was cropped short, except for a single, twisted lock that was pinned across his brow. Haluk wore a leather tunic, with patterned runes identical to the ones on his tent. A single line, drawn in white clay, ran down the center of his forehead.
Haluk said something in the nomadic language, and Tallin shook his head, letting him know that he did not understand. Haluk reached out to touch Duskeye’s dragon stone, rubbing it lightly with his finger.
“Greetings, dragon-brother,” grunted Haluk. Tallin was shocked; Haluk spoke flawless dragon-tongue. All the guttural snorts sounded perfect. He bowed his head and opened his arms wide in greeting—the same posture that dragons used when they welcomed each other.
"Greetings, flesh-friend," replied Duskeye, who also bowed his head and spread his wings in greeting. Tallin glanced over his shoulder and saw a crowd of children gathering behind them, watching the exchange with curious stares.
“I welcome you to my humble dwelling, dragon-brother,” said Haluk. “I have fresh camel meat. I offer it to you.”
"I must decline with thanks," said Duskeye. "Your leader Sa’dun has offered us a seat at your evening meal, and we have accepted his invitation."
Haluk bowed again. “Of course, dragon-brother. It will be an honor for us to share our hospitality with you this evening.”
Tallin watched their exchange with growing fascination. Haluk wasn’t just speaking dragon-tongue—he was also mimicking the formal mannerisms of dragons when they spoke to each other. “Haluk, how did you learn to speak to dragons so well?” asked Tallin in dragon-tongue.
Haluk addressed Tallin politely, although without the same deference that he had shown Duskeye. “The tribal elders discovered my mageborn gift early. As far back as I can remember, I could speak with lower animals, like birds and mice. Dragon-tongue was more difficult for me to learn, but I eventually mastered it. I also have an enchanted object that assists me.”
“May I see the object?” asked Tallin.
Haluk nodded, reaching into a wool pouch on his hip. He withdrew a small leather strip and handed it to Tallin. “It’s a dragon-charm. The stones amplify my powers. It was gifted to me during my manhood ceremony.”
Tallin rubbed his fingers over the leather’s knobby surface, which felt like sandpaper. He brought it closer to his face to examine it more closely and discovered that the leather was embedded with dozens of tiny gemstones. There were sapphires, carnelians, emeralds, onyx, and even tiny diamonds—the same color as dragon’s stones. The leather looked like ordinary cowhide, but the gemstones, although small, were of high quality. Tallin wrapped the strip around his knuckles and squeezed firmly. He felt a tingling sensation. How did Haluk come into possession of such a thing? he wondered.
“I’ve seen plenty of enchanted weapons, but I’ve never seen an object such as this Do you know its origin? Are these gems enchanted?” he asked.
“It is a fragment of an ancient artifact, crafted eons ago,” said Haluk. “Before me, it was owned by a powerful medicine woman. She lived to be very old, and when she died, it passed to me.”
“Does any other shaman speak dragon-tongue like you?” asked Tallin.
“No,” he replied. “I am the only shaman with this gift. However, I have been told that several of our medicine women can speak to animals. It is a rare gift among my people, but more frequently found in our women. Our male and female spellcasters do not mix, so I am uncertain how many of our women have the gift.”
The nomads had female spellcasters, but they were trained separately. Female mageborns become medicine women or powerful midwives, and cater exclusively to women. Tallin handed the item back to Haluk. “Thank you for letting me see it.”
Duskeye moved forward to examine Haluk more closely. "Flesh-friend, you move like a dragon. How did you learn to move in this fashion?"
“From a she-dragon in the desert—she taught me her ways, which were the ways of a female, not of a male, but I was pleased to learn, nonetheless.”
Tallin’s eyes popped with astonishment. “You found a female dragon in the desert? How long ago was this? What was her name?”
“Her name was Shesha. She was dark red, the color of a blood cactus. She lived far away from here at the southern edge of the desert. I used to visit her in the winter, when the days cooled. We meditated together,
sometimes for days. She was very wise.”
Duskeye and Tallin stared at each other. Could there be another surviving female somewhere in the desert?
"How did you find her?" Duskeye asked.
“After my manhood ceremony, I went into the desert for my spirit journey. I prayed to the gods while carrying the leather strip. The magic of the object drew me to her secret cave. I stopped there to meditate, and I discovered her outside.”
"What happened when you found her?" asked Duskeye.
“At first, she was afraid. She reared up upon her hind legs and roared at me. But I simply sat down and offered her some dried camel meat from my pack. She looked at me oddly, but didn’t flee. But neither did she accept food from me. After a while, I greeted her, and she understood me, although my speech was poor. Every year thereafter, I would visit her during my spirit journey. We talked and enjoyed our meals together. Her dragon stone was not like yours. It was uncarved—smooth and round, like a river pebble.”
"That means she was always wild—never bound to a rider," said Duskeye.
“Yes, I suspected so,” said Haluk. “She did not speak very highly of humans. She was afraid of them.”
“I explored that area of the desert a hundred times and never saw any evidence of a dragon living there. How did I miss her presence?” said Tallin.
“Shesha rarely left her cave,” said Haluk. “There was a sulfur mudhole nearby, and the stink kept animals away. She smeared mud on her scent glands to mask her pheromone. It worked, for she told me that I was her only visitor.”
“I wonder how she survived the war?” wondered Tallin out loud.
“Shesha told me that dragon hunters attacked her once during her first mating season. She played dead and barely escaped with her life. The hunters destroyed her nest and slaughtered her hatchlings. After the hunters left the cave, she sat and wept, embracing one of her hatchlings, a little emerald male. His heart was still beating, and she tried to save him, but he died in her arms. She carried a great heaviness in her heart.”
"Please—can you tell us how to find her?" asked Duskeye.
“I’m sorry, my friend. I would help you if I could, but I do not know where she is now. On my last spirit journey, I sought her out, but she was no longer at the mudhole. I waited several days, and she did not return to the cave. But she left me a gift sitting on the floor of her cave —a marble of glass surrounded by a ring of polished stones.”
"A firebreath circle!" said Duskeye, his voice catching in his throat. "May we see the marble?"
Haluk nodded, slipping back inside his tent. He returned a few minutes later with a black pouch. He undid the strings carefully and a tiny glass sphere fell out, about the size of a cow’s eye. Haluk handed it to Tallin, who accepted it carefully, grasping it between his thumb and forefinger. In the center of the sphere, there was a tiny, round emerald.
“Duskeye, what is this?” asked Tallin.
Duskeye was silent for a moment. He touched the stone with his snout, and it began to glow faintly. "That... is the soulstone of a newborn dragon, preserved in firebreath glass."
Tallin’s heart pounded in his chest. “What ghastly sorcery is this?” he whispered.
Duskeye sighed. "It’s difficult to explain to humans. When a dragon dies, his soul-light extinguishes forever, and his dragon stone crumbles to dust." Duskeye paused, and when he continued, his voice was sad. "But there are rumors among my kind—of females who preserve the stones of their dying hatchlings. They cut the tiny dragon stone from them as they are dying, and preserve the hatchling’s dragonstone using magic. Then they keep the soulstone with them always, and they continue to mourn."
Tallin looked shocked. “But why would they do such a thing?”
"I don’t know," said Duskeye sadly. "Perhaps they believe it will soothe their torment. In an indirect way, it does—because a soulstone will suppress any future pregnancies. The magic in the soulstone inhibits fertility and will prevent a female from nesting indefinitely. Creating a soulstone leaves the surviving mother in agony, both mentally and physically. Before the war, soulstones were just a myth—but after the dragon hunters started raiding their birthing caves, many females started making them."
Tallin stared disbelievingly at the circle of glass. Inside, the tiny emerald pulsed, and Tallin imagined that he could hear the cries of a weeping hatchling. He suppressed a shudder.
“Do the soulstones have any power?” asked Tallin. “Do they strengthen the female somehow?”
Duskeye shook his head. "No, exactly the opposite. It will only compound the mother’s pain and misery. She becomes frozen in grief, unable to move on. A female dragon with a soulstone will often starve herself to death."
“Well, perhaps Shesha abandoned her soulstone because she wanted to live,” said Tallin. His voice was hopeful.
"It’s unlikely," said Duskeye sadly. "Females with a soulstone implant will usually remove it just before they die."
“That’s horrifying,” said Tallin quietly. “I never knew about this.”
"It’s not something that we dragons discuss freely, and a female will never admit that she has a soulstone, even to her own bloodkin. She-dragons have many private rituals, secrets that they never divulge to anyone."
“Shesha left the stone for Haluk to find. Why would she give a soulstone to a human?” asked Tallin.
"I do not know," said Duskeye. "Perhaps Haluk was the only friend she had. Her despair must have been unbearable." Duskeye turned away from them, and Tallin knew that his friend would discuss the subject no further.
“Thank you,” said Tallin, handing the stone back to Haluk. The shaman put the little marble up to his lips and kissed it before returning it to the pouch, then nodded politely before retreating into his tent. Moments later, his quiet chanting resumed.
Duskeye wanted to be left alone, so Tallin walked off by himself to a secluded place on the dunes. Duskeye eventually joined him, and they sat in silence for a long time, watching the moon rise in the sky. From the village behind them, someone called out that it was time for dinner.
Finally, Tallin said, “I’m sure I could find that sulfur mudhole, if it’s as foul-smelling as Haluk described.”
"What purpose would that serve?" said Duskeye. "I doubt that Shesha is alive. And even if she is, she doesn’t wish to be found."
Tallin fell silent, watching the yellow moon. When he spoke again, his voice was pleading. “We must try, Duskeye,” he said quietly. “We must try and find her.”
Duskeye sighed. "I knew you would say that."
Druknor Theoric
The ground in Sut-Burr was blanketed in snow. A sticky, thick powder had fallen the night before, followed by a sleeting rain that made the surface as slick as grease. The hills were gleaming white and the trees glittered with icicles.
An ornate slaver’s coach crawled slowly along the road, its wheels slithering back and forth. The rain had turned the road into a quagmire of mud and ice. It was dark when the coach finally reached the outer walls of Druknor’s fortress.
In the gathering twilight, the air grew colder. There was a dead stillness in the air here. No birds or animals could be heard. Only the sound of the wind accompanied the party as they approached the keep. There were no trees for leagues, either—they had been cleared long ago, leaving only a vast plain of snow and ice, so there was no cover for anyone on foot, and no obvious place to hide. The lay of the land was such that the only way to approach the fortress was via a single, twisted road.
Four men accompanied the coach on foot, one man following behind each tire. Heavy fur parkas kept the men warm, despite the freezing temperatures. Their clothing was caked with blood and filth, evidence of an animal hunt along the way. The carcass of a half-eaten seal was tied to the back of the coach with ropes. Every few hours, the men sliced a chunk of frozen meat to chew as they walked.
The coach rarely stopped, even during the night, and they had been traveling for several days. The exhausted me
n plodded on, knowing they would not rest until they reached the safety of their master’s keep. The men all knew that their passenger had no need of additional security.
Scattered moonlight reflected off the walls of the fortress, built entirely of white stone. From a distance, the keep looked almost invisible, its walls melting into the snowy landscape. There was only a white gleam; the snow surrounded the fortress like layers of cotton upon the plain.
At first glance, there didn’t appear to be any guards on duty. But the doors creaked open, and the coach moved forward into the ivory fortress.
Despite the cold, people milled around outside, engaged in various activities. Inside the doors, three men were butchering a large animal. The men paused for a moment to watch the coach come through the doors, but they quickly resumed their work. Even in terrible weather, the workers were accustomed to watching people come and go, and it was best not appear too curious.
The gates shut behind the coach, and the four men in dirty parkas melted away silently, going directly to their quarters. Their charge had arrived safely, and their task was over.
The coach was dirty, covered with mud from the roads, and the horses were spent. Attendants materialized immediately, jumping forward to clean and prepare the coach for its next use.
A footman, smartly dressed and enormously fat, waddled up to the door with an umbrella. He placed a stool by the coach door and opened it with flourish, extending his hand to the woman inside. “Greetings, my lady!” said the footman. “I am Annat, Duke Theoric’s personal assistant. Welcome to our glorious keep!” Annat bowed so deeply that his beard touched the ground.
A hooded figure stepped out of the coach and into the moonlight, ignoring the man’s outstretched hand. Annat retracted his hand awkwardly, but continued to smile. Druknor has yet another lady caller this week, he thought.
Druknor was charming and wealthy, so despite his advancing age, he never had any difficulty attracting women.
The Balborite Curse (Book 4) Page 8