“Yes,” said Orbrecht, nodding. “We’re going to be a little stricter about building codes.”
“And what do you expect in return for this favor?”
“Only that you encourage the people to fall in line under the new government of Skaal City. If we can get control over the religious nuts—no offense—we’ll have a much easier time reestablishing order.”
Wyngalf shrugged off the insult. “What about my friends, Tobalt and Evena?”
Orbrecht nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that,” he said. “The girl, of course, will want to return home, which is easy enough. The goblin is a tougher case. People around here aren’t fond of his kind, as a rule, but his own clan doesn’t seem to have any use for him either. Fortunately, I’ve come up with a solution. The archivist at the city library is a friend of mine, and he’s been complaining about his work load for months. Ordinarily this would be the last of my concerns, but your situation made me think about it.”
“You’re going to make Tobalt a librarian?”
“Archivist’s assistant,” said Orbrecht. “He’ll have no contact with the public, and it will require him to spend his entire day in a cramped underground chamber sorting through musty old books and documents. Do you think you could convince your goblin to take the job?”
“I think you’d have him at ‘no contact with the public,’” said Wyngalf. “It would be hard to imagine a position for which he’d be more suited.”
“Excellent,” said Orbrecht. “Then it’s settled. I negotiate passage home for Evena, get Tobalt a job in the library, and set you up as the head of the official religion of Skaal City.”
“Well,” said Wyngalf, “I suppose I should talk it over with my friends.” He couldn’t see either of them objecting; in truth, Wyngalf mostly just wanted some more time to think over Orbrecht’s offer. It seemed almost too good to be true: after a week of running for their lives, they were each being offered exactly what they wanted.
“Of course,” said Orbrecht. “Go talk to your friends. But we don’t have a lot of time. If I don’t hear from you by noon, I will have to consider an alliance with the SMASHers or the SAURIANs.”
“You would ally yourself with those fools?” Wyngalf asked.
“If you don’t accept my offer, I will have no choice. It is better to have some voice in the government of Skaal City than none.”
Wyngalf nodded. In politics, there were always compromises to be made. “I will talk to Evena and Tobalt,” he said. “I hope to have an answer for you by noon.”
“Good,” said Orbrecht.
Wyngalf left the house and made his way back to the Battered Goblin. As he meandered through the mostly quiet streets, he pondered Orbrecht’s offer. Clearly the Noninity was at work in these events, but was Orbrecht’s offer the reward for Wyngalf’s faithful service to the Noninity, or another test sent by Grimilard? If it was a test, then presumably his new position would at some point require him to somehow sacrifice his principles. But Orbrecht wasn’t making any such demand on him, other than to support Orbrecht’s new government. And what harm was there in that? Even if Orbrecht was a bit crude in his methods, he couldn’t possibly be worse than the SMASHers and SAURIANs, who had allowed the city to be terrorized by Verne. And taking a position as a religious leader—no, the religious leader—in Skaal City would give him a great deal of influence with Orbrecht. After all, Orbrecht needed Wyngalf as much as Wyngalf needed him. As Orbrecht said, it was better to have some influence over the government than none. Additionally, it was not only Wyngalf’s own objectives he needed to think about. If he didn’t take Orbrecht’s deal, there was no telling what would become of Tobalt and Evena. Evena might never make it back home, and Tobalt would be forced to go back to wandering in the wilderness, scrounging for scraps of food.
He had nearly managed to convince himself that taking Orbrecht’s offer would be an act of unadulterated altruism when he walked back into their room at the inn to find Tobalt and Evena waiting for him. Resting on his bed, on top of a wool blanket, was what appeared to be a very large egg. Wyngalf had somehow managed to completely forget about his encounter with Arbliss the previous night, and at first he didn’t make the connection. “What is that?” he asked.
“I thought you might tell us,” said Evena. “It was under your bed.”
“I didn’t…” Wyngalf started. “Arbliss stopped by last night. He handed me that thing, but I didn’t know what it was.”
“But you know now,” said Evena.
“No,” replied Wyngalf, but he had a sinking feeling that he did.
“My understanding of such matters is, of course, entirely academic,” said Tobalt, “but judging by the size and the markings, I would guess that this is a dragon egg.”
“It explains why they call themselves ‘Ovaltarians,’” said Evena. “They’re some kind of dragon cult.”
“You don’t know that,” said Wyngalf.
“That assessment would seem to be consistent with my own studies,” said Tobalt. “It would seem that the Ovaltarians are not interested in ridding the land of Dis of dragons as they are in replacing the old dragons with a new one.”
“That’s pure conjecture,” said Wyngalf. “And in any case, Arbliss entrusted me with the egg, no questions asked. Maybe the Ko-Haringu is supposed to destroy the egg before it hatches.”
“Is that what you’re going to do?” asked Evena.
“I don’t know,” said Wyngalf. “Maybe. How long do we have until that thing hatches?”
“It’s impossible to say,” said Tobalt. “Years, perhaps. Maybe decades.”
“Then in all likelihood we have plenty of time to decide,” said Wyngalf. “And in the meantime, we have more pressing matters to attend to.”
“Like what?” asked Evena.
“Orbrecht made me an offer. He wants my help establishing his new government in Skaal City. In exchange, he’s going to give you passage home, and he’s going to give Tobalt a job as an archivist’s assistant in the city library.”
Tobalt’s ears perked up. “Will there be any contact with the public?” he asked.
“None,” said Wyngalf.
“Will I be working in a cramped underground chamber sorting through musty old books and documents?”
“All day, every day,” said Wyngalf.
“Tempting,” said Tobalt.
“And what do you get out of this?” Evena asked.
“Orbrecht will declare Noninitarianism the official religion of Skaal City, and set me up as its official leader.”
“Leveraging the public delusion that you’re the Ovaltarian messiah,” said Evena.
“‘Delusion’ is a strong word,” said Wyngalf. “I realize that you don’t share my faith, but I find it perfectly reasonable that the Noninity would pave the way for the one true faith by seeding this land with a convenient pagan prophecy.”
“You actually believe you’re the Ko-Haringu,” said Evena, shaking her head. “You think you’re the messiah, come to save the land of Dis.”
“What if I am?” asked Wyngalf, growing angry. “What if I’m finally getting the opportunity to do what I was put here to do, and I turn it down?”
“I don’t think it works that way,” said Evena. “Destiny isn’t something that’s handed to you. I think people make their own destiny.”
“Handed to me!” Wyngalf exclaimed. “My life has been in danger ever since I got on your father’s accursed ship. It’s only my own faith and resilience in the face of overwhelming odds that has kept me alive until now.”
“Wow,” said Evena. “That must have been really hard for you, going through that all alone.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” said Wyngalf.
“It kind of sounds like what you’re saying,” she replied.
“No, I understand that you and Tobalt have been with me the whole time. What I’m saying is that our experiences over the past few days mean something different to me than they do to you.”<
br />
“Because you’re the vaunted Ko-Haringu, and we’re just, what, supporting characters in the Wyngalf show?”
“I don’t understand why you’re being like this,” Wyngalf said. “We’re all getting exactly what we want.”
“If I might be permitted to interject,” said Tobalt, “Evena and I were talking while you were out, and while we admire your dedication to your faith, it seems to us that you have a tendency to oversimplify inherently complex matters, interpreting them according to a rather arbitrary and occasionally even self-serving dogma. Further, I am beginning to have second thoughts regarding this Orbrecht character.”
“Tobalt,” said Wyngalf, “No offense, but matters of faith and destiny are a little outside of your bailiwick.”
“I’m sorry,” said Tobalt, furrowing his brow. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Yeah, you’re pretty dense when it’s convenient,” said Wyngalf. “Okay, let me spell it out for you: you’re a goblin, Tobalt. You don’t have a soul. You can memorize all the big words and philosophical theories you want, but in the end your opinion carries about as much weight as that of a trained bear.”
Somehow, seeing Tobalt rendered speechless was not nearly as satisfying as Wyngalf had expected.
“How dare you?” Evena said. “After everything Tobalt has done for you. After everything we’ve been through together.”
“I appreciate what you’ve both done,” said Wyngalf coldly. “But it doesn’t change the basic facts of our situation. Tobalt is a goblin. You’re just a young girl who needs to get home.”
“And you’re the Messiah of Dis.”
“I’m someone who has been burdened with a great sense of purpose,” Wyngalf snapped. “Someone who has been given the opportunity to be a tool of the divine will.”
“You’re being a tool alright,” muttered Evena.
“I don’t have to put up with this,” said Wyngalf, bending over the bed to wrap the egg in the blanket. “I’m going to tell Orbrecht I’m taking his offer. You’re welcome, both of you.” He picked up the bundle and put it under his arm.
“What are you going to do with that?” asked Evena.
“Whatever I feel is best,” said Wyngalf. He turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Twenty-two
The speech was a good one, probably the best Wyngalf had ever given—a fact that was undoubtedly related to his conscious effort to avoid getting into the details of the Noninitarian religion. He did manage to allude indirectly to three of the Fourteen Points, but these asides were met with silence and confused muttering. His calls for unity, working together peacefully, and supporting the new government were much more enthusiastically received. It rubbed him a little wrong to focus so much on temporal matters rather than those of eternal significance, but he reassured himself that there would be plenty of time to bring the people of Skaal City into the Noninitarian fold after the immediate political crisis had passed. It had only been three days since the death of the dragons and the overthrowing of the old regime.
“Well done,” said Orbrecht, as Wyngalf walked inside from the balcony where he had delivered the speech to several hundred people gathered in the street below. For now, this mansion—which Wyngalf learned had been appropriated from one of Orbrecht’s SAURIAN enemies—served as the headquarters for the new city government. “If we maintain a unified front, the SMASHers and SAURIANs don’t have a chance against us.”
Wyngalf nodded pensively.
“What’s the matter, lad?” Orbrecht asked with fatherly concern. “If you’re worried about your friends, I assure you they’ve been taken care of, as I promised. Even now, Evena is on her way north to a port where she can get passage across the Sea of Dis, and Tobalt is happily toiling away somewhere in a dark alcove.”
“It’s not that,” said Wyngalf. The problem, he realized, was that he had not fully committed to his alliance with Orbrecht. Some part of him had continued to listen to Evena and Tobalt’s warnings about Orbrecht. But that was silly. If the Noninity had paved the way for him to take his position at Orbrecht’s side, then obviously it wanted him to go all in. The fate of Noninitarianism in Dis rested on Orbrecht successfully retaining control over Skaal City, and he was determined that Orbrecht would not fail. And if anybody in the city knew what to do with a dragon egg, it was Orbrecht.
“I have something to show you, Orbrecht,” said Wyngalf. “I’m still not sure what to do with it, but if we’re going to be partners, I think you should know about it.”
Orbrecht regarded him quizzically. “All right,” he said. “What is it?”
“It’s in my room,” said Wyngalf. He led Orbrecht down the hall to the quarters that had been assigned to him. The suite was simple but tasteful and well-appointed, as suited a man of the cloth. At the foot of his bed was a wooden chest to which he held the only key.
Wyngalf fished the key out of his pocket and opened the chest. He lifted the bundle and unwrapped it, presenting the ovoid object to Orbrecht.
Orbrecht stared at it in awe. “So it does exist. Arbliss had almost convinced me….” He trailed off, evidently thinking better of what he was going to say.
“You know Arbliss?”
“Everybody in Skaal City knows that crazy old preacher,” said Orbrecht. “May I?”
Somewhat reluctantly, Wyngalf allowed Orbrecht to take the egg.
“But you spoke to Arbliss specifically about the egg?” asked Wyngalf.
“What?” said Orbrecht, enraptured by the mottled, marble-like pattern of the egg’s shell. “No, no. I never spoke to him. But he’s well-known as a member of the Ovaltarian sect, and there have long been rumors that the Ovaltarians were in possession of a dragon’s egg. What I meant is that I was nearly convinced by Arbliss’s mad ravings on the street that the Ovaltarians were just a bunch of wackos. But I guess there was something to the rumors after all.”
“So what should we do with it?”
“Well,” said Orbrecht. “There isn’t much we can do but wait.”
“We could destroy it,” said Wyngalf.
Orbrecht frowned at him. “Destroy it? Why would we do that?”
“Because it’s going to be a dragon,” said Wyngalf, not sure where Orbrecht’s confusion was coming from. “Dragons are evil.”
Orbrecht chuckled. “Dragons are unpredictable and tend toward greed and self-aggrandizement, but I think it’s a bit of an exaggeration to say they’re evil. Besides, it takes centuries for a dragon to get as big as Verne or Scarlett. Plenty of time to train it to behave properly.”
“I didn’t know dragons could be trained,” said Wyngalf.
“Sure they can,” said Orbrecht. “The problem with Verne and Scarlett is that they were never properly domesticated. We have a unique opportunity with this dragon, Wyngalf. To my knowledge, this will be the first dragon that is ever hatched in captivity. Just imagine the good we could accomplish with a dragon that does our bidding!”
“I suppose so,” said Wyngalf. “It’s an awful lot of responsibility, though.”
“Does your religion teach you to shrink from responsibility?” Orbrecht asked.
“No,” admitted Wyngalf.
“Of course not,” said Orbrecht. “See, this is why you’re the perfect person to help me train the dragon. I’m a man of action, and I’ll be the first to admit that sometimes I don’t think things through as thoroughly as I should. But you take all this morality and responsibility stuff really seriously. We’re going to be a great team.”
“Yes,” said Wyngalf, without much enthusiasm. “Every team should have a member who is concerned with morality and responsibility.”
“Right?” said Orbrecht. “And don’t forget, dragon broods are rarely just one egg, so there are probably more out there somewhere. We don’t want Skaal City to be defenseless.”
“True,” said Wyngalf. It was hard to deny Orbrecht’s logic.
“It’s good that you came to
me with this,” said Orbrecht. “Don’t worry, I will make sure it’s in a safe place.”
“I didn’t intend for—” Wyngalf started.
“Obviously we can’t keep it in here,” said Orbrecht. “If anyone found out about it, they could break in here and steal it. We can’t risk the egg falling into the wrong hands. Don’t you agree, Wyngalf?”
“Of course,” said Wyngalf. “But I had assumed—”
“Good!” said Orbrecht. “I’m telling you Wyngalf, this is a good omen. I’m not a religious person and I don’t usually buy any of that prophecy crap, but there has to be a reason we were entrusted with this egg. Great things are going to happen in Skaal City!”
Wyngalf smiled weakly, and Orbrecht left, cradling the egg in his arms.
That night, Orbrecht’s fears were proven true: Wyngalf awoke to the sound of someone rooting around in his room, obviously looking for something.
“Who is that?” Wyngalf demanded, sitting up in bed. “What are you doing?”
The figure, a small creature with large ears and overdeveloped forearms, stood still at the foot of his bed for a moment, and then began banging on the lock of the chest. “Where is it?” a familiar voice asked urgently. “It’s imperative that I find it.”
“Tobalt,” Wyngalf groaned. “Why are you skulking around in here?”
“I’ve been conducting research in the library,” said Tobalt. “I have to find the egg before it hatches.”
“It’s not here,” Wyngalf said irritably. “And you shouldn’t be either. If Orbrecht’s guards find you, they’ll cut your throat.”
Tobalt hopped onto Wyngalf’s bed, crouching over him and clutching the front of his pajamas. “Tell me where it is!” he hissed.
Wyngalf punched the goblin square in the face, sending him reeling backwards. He tumbled off the bed and lay on the floor moaning. “You threaten me again, and I’ll call the guards myself,” he said. “Now tell me what’s gotten into you.”
“Saurianology,” moaned Tobalt. “Dragon imprinting.”
“Imprinting? What’s that?”
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