The Dragon's Egg

by Pauline M. Ross

  THE DRAGON’S EGG

  An epic fantasy

  Part of the Brightmoon Annals

  by Pauline M Ross

  Published by Sutors Publishing

  Copyright © 2016 Pauline M Ross

  ISBN:

  978-0-9928819-6-2 (paperback)

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction.

  Cover design: Streetlight Graphics

  Proofreading: Coinlea Services

  A dragon’s egg falls from the sky. What hatches from it is not a dragon, it's a child called Dru. She looks different, doesn’t say a lot, and likes to talk to the chickens, though they don’t listen much. And when flames emerge from her fingertips, her family realizes it’s time to find out who and what she really is.

  Garrett’s been many things in his time… street hustler, warrior, professional gambler, spy. He’ll do whatever’s asked of him, legal or not. Now he’s paid to search for those with a touch of magic in them. But magic is unpredictable and hard to find, and he doesn’t have much luck until he meets Dru. There might be real power behind her strangeness, if she could only learn how to reach it.

  When his employer asks Garrett to escort Dru on a journey, accompanied by a scholar, a princess, a guard and a priest, it seems like a simple enough mission, until they fall into the hands of raiders. Garrett’s lived on his wits all his life, but he’ll need all his talents, and a little magic too, to get them out of this mess and reach safety.

  If he can manage that, maybe he’ll find out the secret of the dragon’s egg, and the girl who hatched from it.

  Books in the Brightmoon Annals:

  1: The Plains of Kallanash, published September 2014

  2: The Fire Mages (The Fire Mages Trilogy Book 1), published January 2015

  3: The Mages of Bennamore, published May 2015

  4: The Magic Mines of Asharim, published September 2015

  5: The Fire Mages’ Daughter (The Fire Mages Trilogy Book 2), published January 2016

  6: The Dragon’s Egg, published May 2016

  7: The Second God (The Fire Mages Trilogy Book 3), projected publication late-2016

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue: The Dragon's Egg (Rak)

  1: Cranna’s Holding (Marisa)

  2: The Keep (Garrett)

  3: The Guest Hall (Shakara)

  4: The Lady's Room (Marisa)

  5: The Tower (Garrett)

  6: The Library (Zarin)

  7: The Flying Fish (Shakara)

  8: The Straits of Dri'allar (Garrett)

  9: The Sword Ship (Zarin)

  10: The Windblown Isle (Shakara)

  11: The Handmaiden's Temple (Garrett)

  12: The Slaver's Ship (Shakara)

  13: The Captain's Cabin (Garrett)

  14: Drakk'alona (Garrett)

  15: The Temple of the Secret God (Zarin)

  16: The Holding Prison (Garrett)

  17: The Commander's Office (Garrett)

  18: The Guest Room (Zarin)

  19: The Testing Room (Garrett)

  20: The Courtyard House (Garrett)

  21: The High Road (Zarin)

  22: West Minaar (Garrett)

  23: The Moon of Wet Harvests (Zarin)

  24: The Coastway (Garrett)

  25: Mesanthia (Zarin)

  26: The Keeper's Tower (Garrett)

  27: The Arena (Garrett)

  28: Crenton Port (Garrett)

  29: The Refuge (Garrett)

  30: The Pool Cavern (Garrett)

  31: The Egg Chamber (Garrett)

  Epilogue: The Return (Garrett)

  Thanks for reading!

  About the author

  Acknowledgements

  The Fire Mages Sample Chapter 1: Refusal

  Prologue: The Dragon's Egg (Rak)

  There was no warning.

  The dragons burst into the sky just above Rak’s head, their battle screeches shaking his very bones. He caught a glimpse of one scaly leg with claws as long as his arm before shock sent him rolling from his perch.

  Half slithering, half falling, heart thundering, he scrambled down to a hollow a few man-lengths below the ridge and threw himself behind the shelter of a large boulder. With luck, the dragons wouldn’t notice him there. All he could hear above the rasping of his own breath was the clanking of the goats’ bells far below. They were panicked, too.

  The sky above remained blue, unshadowed by dragon bulk, and he’d heard no more bellows from them. Was he safe? He dared a peek from behind the boulder. They were still there, way below him now, grappling in mid-flight right above the beach. On the grassy slopes, goats ran this way and that in a bleating frenzy. No sign of Dernish. Rak hoped he’d had time to get under a bush, out of sight.

  Rak always sat up on the ridge to eat his noon parcel. He loved the height, the windblown freshness of the air, the quiet solitude. The commanding view gave him a chance to see dragons occasionally, too, far out to sea. But never so close! Never right above his head like that, sneaking up from the valley on the far side of the ridge, so that he’d never even seen them coming. What a tale he’d have to tell!

  Now they were separating, the two great beasts, but still focused on their battle. A greenish one, and a slightly larger one, mottled brown and gold. Now that he’d caught his breath a bit and was safely hidden away, he was curious. What was it about? He’d heard of dragon fights, but they were just legends. Someone’s great-grandmother had seen one once, or a traveller who’d crossed Dragon’s Point would tell lurid tales of wyrms fighting with such intensity that they tore each other to pieces. He’d never thought to witness one himself.

  If he lived to tell of it at all. For now the two were coming back, flying low and fast up the hillside directly towards him, one chasing the other. The leading dragon clutched something in its claws – something round, glimmering.

  By the salt, they were getting close! Rak ducked down behind his boulder again and the dragons roared overhead, then shot directly upwards. The leader ducked and wove about to evade its fellow, but the pursuer was bigger and stronger. The green dragon was caught, and then they were spinning downwards again, their roars of anger echoing off the ridge.

  Rak could hardly breathe, but he couldn’t draw his eyes away. Down, down they went, tumbling over and over. Surely they must smash into the rocks at the foot of the slope? At the last minute they separated, wings out, straining for height. The smaller dragon turned for the sea, but the larger one snapped at its tail and the smaller one spun round, belching fire at the aggressor, claws out to defend itself.

  Something dropped, sparkling as it fell end over end in the sunlight. A splash near the beach. The green dragon realised its error, diving vertically downwards, but the brown one was beside it in moments, nipping its tail again. The fight was on once more, the lost treasure forgotten in the heat of battle. Gradually they edged out over the water, as the green dragon tried to make its escape and the brown pursued. It caught up, they scuffled and split apart, over and over.

  Rak watched the dragons until they were no more than specks on the horizon, two specks, then one, then two again. Gradually his hammering heart slowed, and his breath became more even. Only when his eyes couldn’t make them out, no matter how hard he strained, did he feel it was safe to emerge from the security of his boulder, and descend to the strand.

  Some of the goats were already ambling back, although not as many as there should be. Rak sighed. They would be all over the dunes by now. It would take him and Dernish all afternoon to collect them together again, and they would be late back to the holding and ma would be so cross. But where was his brother?

  Ah, there, at the edge of the sea, up to
his knees in water. And carrying something – the dragon’s treasure!

  Rak raced down the last stretch of slope to the shore, weaving between the great boulders collected there. Some were taller than he was, testament to the power of the winter storms here, which brought them crashing down from the heights above. Then a short strip of smooth grass, speckled with wind-tossed summer blooms, and up and over the dunes.

  “Hoy!” Dernish was walking slowly up the beach. “Look what I’ve found!”

  Rak skidded down the last dune, and ran across to him. “What is it?”

  “The dragon dropped it.”

  “An egg!”

  Rak gazed at it in awe. It was half his height, at least. Dernish was almost an adult now, but he struggled to carry it. It looked like pale green marble, the narrower end smooth, the wider covered with overlapping scales of the same colour. When he touched it, there was a slight tingle. It felt warm, not cold.

  “Will it hatch, do you think?” Dernish said, grinning.

  “No, it needs dragon fire for that. Beside, what would we do with a live dragon? It would eat us.”

  “It might eat you,” Dernish said. “It’s my egg, so it would be my dragon. It would obey me, and I could fly all over the place.”

  “Rubbish,” Rak said. “Only the mages could fly them.” Although he wasn’t sure that was true, for who had not heard the legend of Melroor, the fisherman who had enchanted a dragon? “Mages and… and special people.”

  “Well, I’m special,” Dernish said, puffing his chest out. “I’m Dernish the Eggfinder now. I’ll be famous in every kyle and holding. People will come from all over to meet me and see my egg.”

  “Well, you may be Dernish the Eggfinder, but you’re still Dernish the Goatherd, too, and we have some work to do. I’ll take this side, and you can take the other side.”

  Dernish laughed merrily. “Fine. I’ll leave my egg here for now.” He hollowed out a patch of sand, and carefully placed the egg upright. “Right. Let’s get these goats rounded up as quick as we can. I can’t wait to get back to the holding to show them my egg. Won’t everyone be surprised!”

  1: Cranna’s Holding (Marisa)

  SIXTY YEARS LATER

  The carter dropped Marisa at the end of the lane. She walked slowly up between the fields, noticing from long habit the grains growing tall and green, and the roots thriving at last after their poor start. The geese round the pond honked as she passed by, and in her mind she picked out a fine, plump one for the pot next rest day. Might as well have a good meal before the journey.

  Her hip was aching again. She tried not to limp, but it always bothered her after she’d been down to the kyle. Too much walking. Well, she might as well get used to it. She’d be doing quite a bit these next few quarter moons, unless they got lucky.

  Rak was picking berries for their supper. He waved cheerfully at her, holding up the bowl to show her how many he’d found, spilling a few. He wasn’t fit enough for field work any more, but he liked to help out. She smiled affectionately. He was a good man, and he’d stepped in and been a good father to her after the fire. Better than Dernish ever had been, truth to tell.

  The holding always looked shabby when she’d been away. The low stone cottages with their scruffy turf roofs, and the peeling paint on the doors and windows were bad enough, but was the goat barn actually leaning? She would have to see about that, when she got back.

  Lissanda saw her coming, and emerged from the cookhouse, wiping floury hands on a cloth. “Well, Ma?”

  “We’ll talk about it after supper, when everyone’s there,” Marisa said. “Where’s Dru?”

  “Watching the chickens.” Lissanda sighed with an exaggerated lift of the shoulders.

  Marisa laughed. “Well, she can’t come to any harm there.” Then she saw Lissanda’s face. “Can she?”

  “She let them out yesterday. They were up in the trees – all over the place.”

  “Why ever did she do that? She knows how much work that causes.”

  “She said they asked her to.” Lissanda rolled her eyes. “But don’t worry. Mattan’s keeping an eye on her.”

  “Great spirits!” Marisa said. “She’s getting worse, I think.”

  “But at least she hasn’t set the place on fire again.”

  Lissanda went back to her dough, but Marisa dropped her travel bag at her cottage and walked through the orchard to the chicken run. Mattan was in the oldest apple tree, almost at the top. Oh, to be eight years old again, and agile enough to climb trees! Marisa smiled at him, and he waved and pointed to the chicken run just ahead.

  Dru was looking through the gap in the gate where the wood had rotted. She was sitting on her heels, hands resting in her lap, motionless. Only her eyes flickered with life, fixed unblinking on the chickens in the pen. And, oddly, they were quiet, not busily scratching and pecking and fussing as usual. It was as if they were staring back at Dru.

  “Off talking to the sprites,” Dakkish always said when she got like this. He had no time for her, none at all. Thought they should send her to the kyle, let them deal with her. “She doesn’t even look normal,” he’d say when she did something even stranger than usual.

  Well, that was true enough. Dru’s skin was so pale and thin, you could see the blue veins showing through. All those hours in the fields, yet she never went a healthy brown. And her hair as fine and silky as the fur on the barn cats, but it never seemed to grow much.

  “Dru? What are you doing, flower?” Marisa used her gentlest voice.

  No answer. Not the slightest indication that Dru was even aware of her.

  Marisa sighed, and tried again, a little louder. A waste of time, of course. When Dru was lost in her own thoughts like this, she heard nothing. Marisa stretched out a hand, and, with the tip of one finger, touched the girl’s cheek.

  With a gasp, Dru jumped as if stung. For a moment, her eyes darkened, then slowly she settled back down on her heels, looking through the gap at the chickens. Motionless, not even blinking. Such a strange child. Although she wasn’t really a child, despite the rounded face and flat chest. She was thirty and more, now, although how much more was anyone’s guess.

  “Dru?”

  This time she turned her head. Eyes flickering. Then, a blink. “Ma. You’re back.” That flat tone.

  “Aye. Just arrived. How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  “What are you doing, Dru?”

  “Listening to the chickens, Ma.”

  “Are they saying much?”

  “Not much, not today.”

  “Will you come inside, flower? Lissanda will need you for the supper.”

  “Supper…” After a moment she pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll help Lissanda with the supper.”

  And she walked off without a backward glance.

  Supper was an awkward affair. Everyone wanted to hear Marisa’s news, but the proper time was after the meat, while the pie was being handed round. The pies were always good at this time of year, rich with juicy fruit. Rak had done well. Marisa took a good slice, and handed the dish to Lissanda. Once the dishes had been passed all the way to the bottom of both long tables, Marisa stood and limped up to the head of the room.

  “The newsteller has not been through recently, so there is no news from up the coast. At the kyle, Dorrom the Roper has finally died, and his place on the kylerand has gone to his youngest son, Hibbin. There was a small fire at the women’s house, but there was no damage, and the women were not hurt.” That brought some smiles. Several of the men had favoured women there. “The herrings are coming in, and the catch is better this year.”

  There were a few nods of interest, but most people were waiting for Marisa’s most important news.

  She hesitated, pondering her words carefully, trying to soften the blow. Dru had no idea, none at all. But there was no avoiding it. Best get it over with.

  “I talked to the kylerand about Dru,” she said. “They agreed that… something needs to be don
e, but there is no place suitable at the kyle for Dru’s particular circumstances. They suggested that I take her to the Guardian. She will know what to do.”

  A buzz of chatter, everyone surprised – no, shocked. No one had expected it. Only one person showed no reaction – Dru herself.

  “How are you to get to the Keep?” Dakkish said. Dru’s head came up, as Marisa had known it would. “It’s a terrible long step, that is.”

  “The kylerand has given me tokens for the journey. Cart to Hammer Rock, then by ship.”

  The discussion dissolved into twenty separate strands, working out the practicalities of such a long journey. Marisa retrieved her slice of pie, and carried the plate down the table to squeeze in beside Dru near the end of the women’s table.

  “Did you understand that, flower? I’m to take you to the Guardian. She’s a wise lady, a book-reader. She’ll know how best to help you. But it will be a long journey for us, all the way up the coast to the Keep, where she lives.”

  Dru’s eyes flickered. “Where is my keeper?”

  “Sweetie, I don’t know,” she replied, as she had a hundred times before. “I have no idea what you mean by that. But if anyone can answer you, it will be the Guardian.”

  Later, Marisa went in search of Rak. He was up on the roof of one of the cottages, stretched out on the turf, chewing his leaf thoughtfully. The other men were clustered under the big old pear tree, laughing and pretend-arguing and teasing any of the young women who came too close. But Rak liked to get up high, away from the rabble.

  There was a time when he could run up any of the cottage roofs, and the barns, too, but nowadays he confined himself to the ones that huddled low to the sloping ground at the back, so it was no more than a step or two up. Marisa was able to reach his perch quite easily.

  “So,” she said, plopping down beside him. “Tell me again the story of the dragon’s egg.”

  He sat up, eyes twinkling. “I think you know it as well as I do, niece. Nothing to add to the tale now.”