The Dragon's Egg

by Pauline M. Ross

  “Someone got into the southern tower,” Garrett said softly. “Allegedly.”

  “Allegedly, yes. It is all rumour and hearsay, and no one knows how it was done. Magic, yes, but of what nature? But that is my problem, not yours. Master Zarin, I have had word from the homeland regarding the matter of the keeper. There were reputed to be a number of keepers before the Catastrophe. They were families who took on the responsibility to preserve the old knowledge in some form. None of them survived the Catastrophe. The only keeper now in existence is at Mesanthia.”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Zarin said. “But the Keeper there is more of a political and religious figurehead. She is not a teacher or scholar, not someone who could be of any help to Dru. She is the Keeper of the Spirit of Mesanthia, and has some mystical power, so it is said. She never leaves her home, yet she can see everything that occurs within the boundaries of the former Mesanthian Empire. Almost God-like powers, although of course she is not a God. How could she be, being female? So I do not think she could be of any use to Dru, not at all. Although Mesanthia does have the world’s most magnificent library in the Academia there. The greatest collection of books in history. I should dearly love to visit it.”

  Shakara sighed with dramatic intensity. “Moon and stars, Zarin, you do go off at a tangent sometimes.”

  The Lady smiled tolerantly at him. “Master Zarin, I cannot offer you the library at Mesanthia, but how would you like to visit the homeland?”

  Zarin’s jaw dropped open, but he was quite unable to formulate any words. His throat emitted a strangled gargle.

  “He is quite overcome with joy, Lady,” Garrett said, smirking.

  By all the Gods, the man was so irritating! And Shakara too. But if he was summoned to the homeland, he would be free of them at last. Finally, he was to get his proper reward for all his endeavours over the years.

  “That will do, Garrett,” the Lady said. “I have mentioned Drusinaar to the academics in the homeland, and there is a Diamond Court which has expressed an interest in her. They feel she might have possibilities for the Program. I am to send her there, together with her attendants, so you will all go in the spring, as soon as the weather is fit enough for a long sea voyage.”

  It was amusing to see the looks of horror on both their faces. Shakara no doubt hated to leave her comfortable life for the privations of a ship, and they both thought themselves too important to nursemaid a girl like Dru. Zarin would have enjoyed the moment more if he had not been so dismayed on his own account. Trapped aboard ship for who knows how long with these two fornicators? It was unthinkable.

  “I shall need to take a priest,” he gasped. “I cannot contemplate such a journey without spiritual support and guidance. For all of us.”

  Garrett sniggered, but the Lady nodded gravely. “That can be arranged, I believe. Master Garrett, as Drusinaar’s bodyguard, you will need someone to assist you. We can spare Mikah.”

  “Mikah! Why Mikah? He’s barely worked out which end of the sword to hold.”

  “Then this will be a good opportunity for you to provide some intensive training. He looks up to you, so you should find him easy to manage.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And it will be a comfort to Steward Shakara to have her son with her.” That silenced him. “That will be all. We will discuss the detailed arrangements next time we meet.”

  They trooped out, Shakara swaying like a whore, Garrett grumbling in his insolent way and Zarin silent at the rear. This was not what he had hoped for, not at all.

  But there was one shaft of light in the whole dark business: he would be staying at Dru’s side for the foreseeable future. No one was going to tear him away from her.

  7: The Flying Fish (Shakara)

  “We are not lost, Master Zarin,” the captain said for the fourth time at least. “We can steer the ship perfectly well with navigation stones and maps. As soon as this fog lifts, you will see the coast as clear as I can see you.”

  “Yes, but—” Zarin began again, but the priest touched his arm.

  “We must trust to the Gods,” he said in a low voice. “They will protect us.”

  “The Gods protect those who know how to use maps and navigation stones,” Garrett muttered, reaching for the wine flask.

  Shakara said nothing. They were too tedious, all of them. So many hours of each day they spent, trapped in that room. The resting room, the sailors called it, but there was nothing restful about it, not with Zarin wringing his hands like an elderly peasant, Garrett sniping at everyone, and the priest piously reciting his endless contemplations. The common language of the ship was Low Mesanthian, too, which was a constant irritation, grating on her ear. And Mikah – she had hardly seen Mikah. He had made friends amongst the sailors within a day, and was off doing who knew what, for she certainly did not.

  “It would be too easy to stray to the west,” Zarin began again. “We could find ourselves lost in the vast, empty ocean.”

  Shakara rose with a huff of annoyance, and swept out of the room. At least she had a cabin of a decent size, so that when the men wore her patience too thin, she could retreat and enjoy some solitude. She made her way down the corridor with some confidence, despite the swaying of the ship. The first few days aboard had been difficult, and she had incurred a number of bruises as the motion threw her about, but she was used to it now.

  Dru’s cabin was directly opposite her own, so she looked in as she passed by. The door was always open, but there was never any change in what she found there – Dru stretched out on the narrow bed, engrossed in a book. At one end of the room, the box that contained her meagre possessions, and at the other, the cabin girl hunched on the floor, ready to run to Zarin whenever the child finished a book.

  “Are you all right, Dru?”

  “Yes, thank you, Lady Shakara.” She spoke without lifting her eyes from the page.

  “Is there anything you need?”

  “No, thank you, Lady Shakara.”

  “Third table in one hour.”

  “Yes, Lady Shakara.”

  It was perfectly correct, of course, and she could hardly be cross with the girl for being so formal, but it was irritating, all the same. Once – just once – she had mentioned that it was proper for her to be addressed as Lady Shakara, and now the dim-witted child used the title every single time. In any other child, it would be insolence, but Dru knew no better. She took everything literally.

  Shakara swirled into her own cabin, and shut the door rather more forcefully than was strictly necessary. Striding up and down, hands on hips, she allowed herself a few moments of despair. There was no congenial company on the ship, none at all. The captain – well, that might have been a pleasant diversion, except that he had his wife with him. One of the cooks was rather a handsome man, but when she turned her charm on him, one of the other cooks became quite unnecessarily hostile. Since he was chopping meat at the time, with rather a large knife in his hands, she beat a rapid retreat.

  The rest of the crew were unattractive. Or women, which held no interest for her. She had long since given up hope of Garrett noticing her – not that she was interested in such a rough man, but it was an affront to her rank that he made not the least effort to be chivalrous. He was barely civil. Zarin was out of the question – he was even older than Rythin. Otherwise there was only the priest. Actually, that might be a challenge… She smiled. It could make the voyage more amusing, perhaps. Priests were not supposed to, but past experience had shown her that they were as susceptible as other men, given sufficient inducement.

  She dabbed just a touch of her best perfume on her wrists, and then, more optimistically, between her breasts, and returned to the resting room for third table in a much better state of mind. By calling up a little more speed than usual, and one of her most charming smiles, she secured the seat next to the priest as they all sat down. Zarin, who usually sat there, glared at her, and took the seat on her other side.

  The food was set on the table,
then they all waited. So pointless, of course, but the priest insisted on a contemplation before they ate, and the captain and his senior crew, who ate with them, seemed to like it. They had their own gods and rituals, but they were happy to have the goodwill of other gods, too. It was an uncertain business, travelling the oceans, and they needed all the supernatural aid they could get.

  Once the contemplation was over and the dishes handed around, Shakara began her attack.

  “So tell me a little of yourself, Lath Ambattan. Where do you come from?”

  He turned to her, his expression serious, as it always was. She had never seen him smile. A strange young man, with his high forehead, and eyes that crossed slightly, so she was never entirely sure when he was looking at her. During the contemplations, he spoke without hesitation, but his speeches at other times began with a little gargling noise, half cough, and half throat-clearing.

  “Hmph. I was called to the light—”

  “No, no, I mean your home. Before you were called to the light.”

  “Hmph. My life before that was of no account, Lady Shakara. Hmph. I was no better than a speck of dirt.”

  “But you must have had family,” she said in her sweetest tones. “Tell me of your mother.”

  A long silence, while he shuffled his food around, and loaded a spoon with vegetables. “Hmph. My mother also was no better than a speck of dirt, as we all are, Lady Shakara. I was most grateful to be called to the light.”

  “Did you grow up in a town? Or a holding, perhaps?”

  And finally, he abandoned the specks of dirt. “Hmph. I was born in a holding, Lady. A very small one, a long way north of here. But the Earth God had not smiled upon it, for little grew there. We lived on fish, mostly. Although, not so good as this fish, given to us by the Sea God only today. My mother… I never knew my mother. My father was a good man, but worn down by hard work and too many years of poor crops.”

  “I am so sorry,” Shakara said. It was no wonder the man had been receptive to the lure of religion.

  “Hmph. So when the Recruiters came to the kyle, my father encouraged me to go and talk to them. Two of my brothers went also, but I was the only one called to the light. It was the happiest day of my life, Lady.”

  He looked so different when he was fired with enthusiasm like that. His beatific smile and the glow in his eyes made him… well, not handsome, exactly, for he would never be that, but certainly more acceptable. She leaned towards him, and began to consider what he might look like after—

  A voice hissed into her other ear. “I know what you are doing!”

  “I beg your pardon, Zarin?” Turning, she gave him a gently reproving glance. “I am talking to Lath Ambattan.”

  “If that were all…!” Zarin said, his face red. “I know precisely what you are doing, Lady Shakara.”

  She raised her elegantly shaped eyebrows. “And what am I doing?”

  She regretted her words almost at once. Better to rise above the insults, to pretend nothing had happened.

  “You are seducing a man of the Gods, that is what you are about.”

  The priest leaned forward to speak across Shakara. “Do not be concerned on my account, Friend Zarin. The Gods shield me from temptation.”

  The Gods and Zarin, she thought sourly. Just when she had begun to make some progress, too.

  “You do not know her,” Zarin said, his voice rising. “Look at her! Painted up like a whore, and smelling like one, too. It is quite obvious what she is about. You should beware, my Friend, for she is a wicked seducer.”

  Garrett was trying, not very successfully, to suppress his laughter. He took a sip of wine and almost choked on it. Shakara could not see what was so funny. She had just been insulted, and by a dried-up stick like Zarin, too. Garrett should protect her from such insults. Well, maybe not Garrett. He was too ill-bred to understand what was due to a princess. But Mikah, perhaps. A son should defend his mother. But he was watching wide-eyed, his gaze flicking from one to another.

  It was the captain, of all people, who intervened. “Now, Master Zarin, I am sure Lady Shakara is just being sociable. Let us not mistake friendliness for something else, eh?”

  “You know nothing about it!” Zarin was almost shouting now. “She is an evil fornicator who should never be allowed to mix with honest men. She should be in a brothel, so she should!”

  The captain and the priest both protested, but Shakara raised her voice. “You know perfectly well I am a respectably married woman!”

  “Ha!” Zarin shrieked. “Married, yes. Respectable, never! Your husband is too distressed by your behaviour to live with you. He should have sent you packing years ago. Rythin is too generous by far, for no sensible man would stand for being treated so badly.”

  “What under the moon am I supposed to have done that is so terrible?” Shakara said evenly. She guessed what he would say, but she felt reasonably safe. Had she not always been discreet? And careful in her choices. All he had to go on was rumour and hearsay. He could hardly accuse her on that basis.

  But he was not deterred. “You are a fornicator! How many men have you seduced at the Keep? Answer that! And your own son not even your husband’s, as everyone knows.”

  The silence that fell on the room was profound. For a moment, she couldn’t catch her breath. That was an accusation she had not expected! Not so publicly, at least. Rythin – well, he had had his reasons for suspecting, but no one else could possibly… could they?

  Mikah stared at his plate, his face bright red. The captain and his colleagues avoided her eyes. The priest was staring at Zarin, shocked. Zarin himself seemed shocked at his own outburst. Dru took no notice, spooning food into her mouth as if nothing was happening. Garrett was the only one who would meet her defiant gaze. He watched her calmly, unsurprised. That was interesting.

  Shakara breathed in, breathed out. Then again. She needed to be calm. Tranquil – a princess always had a tranquil mind, never angry or agitated. Another breath in, another breath out, centring herself. Tranquil, she must be outwardly tranquil. It gave her time to mull over her options. Outrage? Anger? Distress? When she was younger, she had been able to cry at will, but she was uncertain whether she could do so now. In the end, she settled on amused disbelief.

  “Zarin, you do talk some dreadful nonsense sometimes.” A wide smile. “Captain, I do believe you should add more water to your wine.”

  The captain responded with a half smile, and there was a ripple of polite laughter from the crew.

  “Lath Ambattan, I believe your contemplations regarding the wind are about to be answered,” the captain said. “There are signs that the direction is changing, and this fog will soon be gone.”

  Shakara sipped at her soup without enthusiasm. All her enjoyment of the meal was spoilt. She had hoped for a little pleasant diversion, and had received the most appalling insults instead. It was disheartening. It was absolutely necessary to appear unconcerned, but inwardly she drooped.

  She took little notice of the conversation around her. It was not until the captain said, “Hush!” rather loudly that her attention was drawn.

  And then she was surprised she had not been alerted before. Above their heads, footsteps pounded up and down the deck, and there were shouted orders in the distance. Strange noises, too, clankings and creakings. Then, far off, a bell began to ring, a deep, ominous tolling. All the sailors rose in a clatter of chairs and a thump of boots, and headed for the door.

  “What is it?” Garrett said. “Is there a problem?”

  Zarin’s head came up like a rabbit scenting the fox. “Are we about to run aground? Or be dashed to pieces on the rocks?”

  The captain stood. “Nothing like that, Master Zarin.”

  “Thank the Gods!” he sighed.

  “Your gratitude is a little premature,” the captain said shortly. “It seems that we are under attack.”

  “Attack? What kind of attack? Who would attack us?” Zarin’s voice rose to a great height.


  “Raiders, Master Zarin. The watch has spotted a raider ship. You will forgive me if I leave you to your meal. I must attend to this at once.”

  “What should we do?” Zarin said, his voice querulous. “Will they sink the ship?”

  “Unlikely,” the captain said. Then he was gone, the door crashing shut behind him.

  “I imagine they prefer to take a ship intact,” Garrett said. “It is worth more to them that way.”

  “They just want the ship? Then will they murder us to get it?”

  “No, they will not murder us,” Garrett said, with an exaggerated sigh. “Not unless they have to. Money is all that matters to them. We are worth far more to them alive.”

  The rest of them stared at each other.

  “What do you mean?” Mikah said, looking around the room with wide eyes. “What will they do with us?”

  “Nothing, most likely,” Garrett said. “With luck and some decent wind, we can outrun them.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  A long pause. “Then we will be sold to the slavers. Those of us that are of any use to them.”

  8: The Straits of Dri'allar (Garrett)

  “Come on, Mikah,” I said. “They might need an extra pair of swords on deck.”

  The boy jumped up from the table at once. As we headed to the door from the resting room, the priest brought out his reading cards, and Zarin muttered, “Yes, yes, a reading! That is just what we need.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “You do not believe in the power of the Gods,” Mikah said, looking at me, his tone flat.

  I was silent for a few moments as we made our way to the cabin we shared. The ship was moving at some speed now, and we were thrown about as we walked, bumping off the walls. I could say nothing, perhaps, leaving my thoughts about the Gods for another time, one less fraught. But there again, what better time to discuss it than here and now, when we might be facing battle? Mikah’s first, certainly, and an occasion when a little thoughtfulness about the purpose of life and the role of the Gods was perfectly natural.