The Dragon's Egg

by Pauline M. Ross

  “Uncle, I’m serious. I need to know for sure. If it’s true, I mean. I’ll have to tell the Guardian, and I don’t want to be repeating lies to her.”

  “Don’t you believe it?”

  She hesitated a moment too long. “Of course, but…”

  “But?”

  “It all came from Dernish,” she burst out. “Every word of it. You never talked about it, not once in all these years. So naturally I wondered and… and I don’t like to speak so of my own father, but he was not the most reliable of men.”

  “Aye, that’s true enough,” Rak said. He spat noisily from the roof, pinging something metal below. “Do you remember the time he went to Hammer Rock? Just for the adventure of it, he said. And when he came back – when he eventually came back, a great deal poorer than he went, it took quarter moons to weasel out of him what had happened. And do you remember the story he told?”

  “Which one? There were so many… oh.”

  Rak smirked at her, point made.

  “Aye, I see.” She nodded, lips lifting into a smile. “He always told the same story of the dragon’s egg.”

  Rak stretched out on the turf again. “Good night, niece.”

  ~~~~~

  Marisa quickly tired of the cart. The ironmonger had agreed to take them for nothing but the pleasure of her company, he’d said. Since he was going all the way to Hammer Rock eventually, it had seemed like a good arrangement. Better than walking. But all his pots and tools rattled and clanged about until her head throbbed. And then he stopped at every holding along the way, and it seemed that there was always some work for him to do, so they had to wait until the bucket was mended or a new cooking chain made up.

  He joked and flirted with her, of course, but he’d done that since she’d first braided her hair. He was handsome enough in those days, and she’d even had a little business going on with him for a while. But then she’d met her fine young fisherman, tall and fair, with those twinkling eyes, as blue and deep as the sea, and that was that. Even though she’d been tied to Henyon when she became Holder, she’d only ever had one true love.

  Dru seemed to enjoy the journey, as far as anyone could tell with her. She looked about, eyes flickering this way and that, with apparent interest. Marisa had pointed out landmarks at first, and Dru had nodded solemnly. They’d soon gone beyond Marisa’s knowledge, though, and the ironmonger knew little more, even though he passed that way several times a year.

  The road changed as they drew near to Hammer Rock. The rutted dirt tracks became smooth stones, so that the cart jolted less and the clanking diminished. So many people! The fields crowded close to the road, and stretched away into the distance, nothing but ripening grain and fat cattle as far as the eye could see. And the holdings so neat and tidy, with tiles on their roofs, and some of the cottages as tall as a kyle house.

  Hammer Rock was everything people said about it: noisy, dirty, smelly, busy and, most of all, tall. Marisa was used to cottages that crouched low to the ground, huddling out of the ever-present wind. Here, the buildings stretched up to the sky itself, so that walking amongst them was like being in a deep ditch, with the sunlight and air far above, out of reach. It was stifling.

  For five days they squatted in a cheap inn by the harbour, avoiding the drunks and the rowdy inhabitants of the women’s house next door, while they waited for a ship to take them north. They had to work their passage, since only the wealthy could travel at leisure, but Marisa was glad to have something to keep her hands busy, and to keep Dru out of the way of other folk. A few hours in the galley each morning earned them their food, and, knowing something of the reputation of seafaring folk, she’d brought some hard-earned silver to pay for a tiny cabin for the two of them.

  She needn’t have worried. On the first day aboard, the sailors made their customary offerings of food and small coins to the Goddess and the sprites to ensure a safe journey. Fascinated, Dru had gone close to watch. When they leaned over the rail to throw their gifts into the waves, she tore the beads from her hair and tossed them overboard too.

  The sailors were delighted. “Ah, the sprites will be pleased with those, little lady,” one said.

  “Aye, they are,” she replied. “They like the pretty colours and the way they sparkle. But they like the food best. They thank you for that.”

  After that, she was revered like a minor deity. Talking to sprites was very lucky on a ship, it seemed. Although, when they asked her later what the sprites thought about some matter, she’d said, “No sprites here.” That had puzzled them greatly.

  There were only a few other passengers. A wealthy merchant family was taking a son to be married at a town in the far north. A few people in worker’s clothing got on at one port and off at the next. A widow was going to live with a niece. None of them took any notice of Marisa or Dru. The sailors, by contrast, were inclined to be too friendly, but Marisa knew how to deal with that.

  One passenger was different, with a knowing smile and a greeting whenever he met them. He looked to be in his thirties, short for a man, but with the sort of muscles that came from a sword or bow. Although he was plainly dressed, he did no work on the ship, so Marisa marked him as wealthy. Perhaps he was just being friendly, but there was a roguish look in his eye that warned her off. With anyone from a neighbouring holding or the kyle she’d have understood him at once, but a stranger’s ways could mean anything. Just as well to be cautious. So she nodded politely when he spoke, but avoided conversation. It was rude, perhaps, but in a matter of days they would be ashore, and never see him again.

  One morning, the cabin girl woke them early. “Cap’n’s respects, Mis’ess, but Keep’s in sight.”

  They dressed quickly and hurried up to the deck.

  “There,” the captain said, pointing. “Can ye see it?”

  Far away, a dark shape jutting into the sea. Hard to tell from that distance what was rock and what was building.

  “Aye. I see something, at any rate.”

  He laughed, beard rocking in rhythm. “’T’is far off still. We’ll not be there before noon, I reckon.”

  He went off to see about ship matters, but Marisa stayed on deck, as the dark shape grew larger by imperceptible stages, and resolved itself into a promontory, several rocky outcrops, and a squat black shape on one of them.

  “See that, flower?” Marisa said. “That’s where we’re going. The Keep. Where the Guardian lives.”

  Dru turned darkening eyes on her. “Where is my keeper?”

  Marisa had never had an answer to that question, no matter how many times it was asked. “It’s a big place, isn’t it? Do you see it?”

  “I see it,” Dru said, in her flat voice.

  As they drew close, the size of the promontory and the Keep itself became apparent. It loomed over the harbour in the little bay below, a mass of towers and turrets and spires. Its black stone glistened in the summer sunshine as if it was frosted, and glass shone in hundreds of windows. Marisa had never seen any building so big.

  The sun was beginning its fall when they docked at the Keep’s small harbour. This was a very different place from Hammer Rock, with its warehouses and taverns and women’s houses jostling along the wharves, and fishing boats tied up five deep at every pontoon. The Guardian’s harbour was a neat square of jetties with cranes for unloading, and a single large warehouse to one side. Uniformed workers moved about purposefully, unloading goods from a handful of ships onto lines of identically painted wagons.

  They waited with their small travel bags, watching the ropes being thrown and the agile sailors clambering along the side of the ship. They were not the only ones waiting to disembark. The friendly young man emerged on deck carrying a pair of travel rolls, and something that looked suspiciously like a sword, neatly parcelled up. So he was going to the Keep, too. He saw Marisa looking and waved, a broad grin on his face.

  She hesitated. Well, if he was a visitor to the Keep as well, it would be churlish to ignore him. She couldn’t quit
e bring herself to smile, but she nodded acknowledgement. Annoyingly, his grin widened.

  Fortunately, the captain appeared to bid them farewell.

  “You’ll be able to get a ride to the Keep on one of the wagons.”

  “Is there an inn nearby?” Marisa said.

  “Nay, the Guardian keeps a guest hall. You’ll get a room there. The wagoners will show you where to go.”

  A guest hall? That sounded very grand. She said nothing, her heart slowly sinking. It was all so different from home, whether holding or kyle. Different even from Hammer Rock. Now that the moment had come, it was a dreadfully daunting prospect. Why had she ever thought she could do this alone?

  Still, it must be done, for Dru’s sake. She lifted her chin. “Thank you for the information, Captain, and for your kindness to us, being strangers to you. Dru, say farewell to the captain.”

  “Farewell, Captain.”

  “May the Goddess smile on you, child. And perhaps you’ll ask the sprites for good winds for us, next time you talk to them, eh?”

  “I will. Next time.”

  Two sailors carried their bags to the waiting wagons. Marisa stepped ashore, holding Dru’s hand tightly. Now for the difficult part.

  She could only hope that the Guardian believed her story.

  2: The Keep (Garrett)

  “Up, up, up!” I yelled. “Good, much better. Light feet, remember. Keep moving, and keep those arms up. Oh, nice one, now in again… but I saw that one coming. Try to take me by surprise, otherwise I’ll just keep pushing… like this…”

  At which point the hapless boy stumbled backwards over his own feet, landed hard on his rear and the sword flew out of his hand.

  “Sorry, Captain, sorry. I almost got it that time. Can I try again?”

  I had to laugh at his enthusiasm. “Maybe tomorrow, Mikah, but I can see your archery instructor waiting to reclaim you. Off you go now.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He raced off across the training court, weaving between pairs of grunting, sword-waving men with the ease of one born to it. Such a pity he was less adept with his hands. The boy would perhaps do better with a bow, short as he was, but I admired his perseverance. As a youth myself, I’d struggled every day to overcome my own lack of height, so it was only fair to help the boy do the same.

  Retrieving the practice sword, I headed back to the armoury, but the garrison commander waved me over before I got there. Actually, not waved, no. The man would never exert himself so much. A raised eyebrow and a slight shift of the head, no more than that, but it was enough. Instantly I was wary. I wasn’t part of the garrison, so the commander couldn’t give me orders, but he could still make life difficult for me if he chose. I wasn’t quite sure why the commander disliked me so much – there were several possible reasons, all equally plausible – but there wasn’t much I could do about any of them.

  “Commander.”

  The commander looked up and down at my no doubt dishevelled, sweaty appearance, before smoothing an imaginary crease from his own perfectly pressed trousers. He was a head taller than I was, with an angular face, the nose thin and sharp like the prow of a ship. “Garrett. It is your lucky day. She wishes to see you at three bells falling.” He flicked the piece of paper in his hand.

  “May I?” I said, holding out my hand for the order.

  “No need. I have informed you of the salient point. Another trip for you, doubtless.”

  I hated that false tone of voice, so irritatingly amicable, almost jovial, but the effect was spoilt by the way he looked down his nose at me. Oh, for another handspan or three in height, to be able to look the irritating bastard in the eye.

  “Really? So soon? I only got back yesterday.”

  “And now perhaps you will be leaving us once more. Such a shame.”

  “It is indeed.” It was a blow. I’d hoped for a moon or two to rest before setting off again. “But I have to do what I’m told, and go where I’m sent.”

  “If you say so,” the commander said. “I daresay someone has to do such work, but I do not think I would care much for it myself.”

  I ignored the taunt. The sneers about my work were rather amusing. “Remind me – was it two bells falling or three?”

  As I’d hoped, he glanced down at the paper in his hand. In a heartbeat I shifted my perspective to see through his eyes. Such a useful talent to have, the ability to see another person’s view of the world. I’d used it to find out all sorts of secrets, which was handy in any number of ways. And it was profitable, too, in the gaming houses. It had got me into trouble more than once, though, when I was accused of cheating. I didn’t think of it as cheating, really, just a tilting of the odds in my favour. But some folk take exception to that, and so my life had turned out a little differently from how I’d expected.

  I rarely used my ability for profit nowadays, but there were still times when I needed to see through another man’s eyes, and this was one of them. The commander had caught me out once before by giving me the wrong time for a meeting. I’d been late and the Lady had not been pleased, not at all. So now I looked through his eyes, and scanned the order he held. I wasn’t a fast reader, but such orders were made to a standard format and I knew where to look for the time. Three bells. Astonishingly, he’d told me the truth for a change.

  “Your mind is weak, Garrett. Three bells falling. Do not be late.”

  I made a small bowing motion – not enough to be mistaken for genuine respect, but enough to forestall any complaints about rudeness – and made my escape.

  Straight after second table, I went to my rooms. Rummaging about in boxes and closets produced my set of decent clothes, and then it was down to the bathing pool for a good scrub with scented soap. It wouldn’t do to be less than immaculate when entering the Lady’s presence.

  The ritual – washing, and then dressing in my best clothes – helped me prepare my mind for the encounter, too. With anyone else, I needn’t worry too much about my accent, or whether I’d got the right amount of formality when talking to people. But the Lady demanded more of me. For her, I made the effort to look and speak like a noble, even though she knew exactly where I came from.

  The entrance to the Great Tower was behind a vast circular waiting room, with polished floor and pillars, and long marble seats arranged in curving rows. Two hundred people could wait there without crowding, although they wouldn’t have been very comfortable, since there were no cushions. However, there were no crowds to suffer the inconveniences of the room. It was empty, as usual, apart from the secretary waiting at a small wooden desk at the far side.

  I marched across the expanse of marble, the heels of my best boots clicking, and strode up to the desk. I didn’t even need to speak. I was recognised, my name was checked on the list, I was waved onwards, through an archway and into the lifting device. Chains clanked, the device swayed a little and up I went. I had no idea how it worked, but if it saved the effort of climbing endless flights of stairs, I was glad of it.

  The device carried me almost to the top of the tower. Only the Lady’s private apartments were higher than this level. The lifting device opened directly into the real waiting room, a much more comfortable place, with thick rugs and draperies, padded chairs and numerous wall-hangings depicting far-flung parts of the world. One was new since my last visit.

  It was annoying to find Shakara waiting there too, smirking at me. I couldn’t think of a single reason for her presence. She was a steward, concerned only with domestic matters. It was impossible to imagine her having anything to do with one of my projects. A dreadful thought: perhaps I was to be dragged into her work. But surely not. I couldn’t think of anything I was less suited for. Was I to be penned down in the cellar, counting flasks of oil or sacks of flour? Impossible.

  To avoid having to look at her, I stood before the new hanging, studying the detail. It showed a rocky shore with a long promontory stretching out into stormy seas, and the tip of a tower part way along it. In the foreground,
a harbour was full of ships of various shapes and sizes.

  The hour bells were just sounding when the two of us were called in. My spirits lifted, as they always did in her presence. The Guardian was her official title, but everyone called her the Lady. There was something magical about her, something that drew the eye and commanded respect. She wasn’t beautiful, not in the conventional way, but she had a certain majesty about her. Her bearing, perhaps, or her penetrating intelligence, or maybe it was merely the aura of power.

  The room was perfectly designed for her. The wooden wall panels painted in soft colours, the light furniture, simple but elegant, the splashes of vibrant colour in a rug or a vase or a screen. At one end, a pair of large desks where she and a secretary dealt with each day’s papers. To one side, low tables and dainty chairs for informal meetings. And at the far end, floor to ceiling windows set into the curve of the tower wall, with that glorious view of coast and sea.

  The best part of the view was perched on the end of the promontory, the reason for the Keep and the Guardian and all of us to be here: a slender tower, without windows or doors, which glowed with its own mysterious power. For hundreds of years the Guardian – a succession of Guardians – had sat in this greater tower, watching the smaller one no more than a thousand paces away, and waiting. Waiting for someone to arrive who could unlock the mystery and open the tower, revealing the treasures within. But no one had come.

  The Lady always stood before the massive windows to receive guests, so that she was lit from behind by the westering light. On a grey winter’s day she would appear in striking silhouette, but today, with the sun falling in a clear sky, a shining halo gave her the appearance of a Goddess.

  “Ah, Steward Shakara. And Master Garrett. Do come in.” She said it as if it was a surprise to see us there, as if she hadn’t commanded our attendance. She wore blue today, a gently muted colour, the gown plain silk, a delicate lace cap over her soft brown curls, and a single silver chain glinting around her neck, with no other ornamentation or jewels. But then she needed none.