Dragon Spear

by Jessica Day George

  With a rumble of laughter, Shardas looked at Hagen. “Would you be so kind as to look at our orchard before we retire to our cave for refreshment? I am worried that the trees are not growing as straight as they should. ”

  “Don’t you have them staked?” Hagen’s blushes faded, and his tone was immediately businesslike.

  “I’ve been wanting to see the orchards myself,” Luka put in. “Personally, I’m curious to see how soil this sandy can hold up any kind of tree. ”

  “It’s a different soil inland,” Shardas said, banking the oven and setting the glassblowing pipe carefully aside. “Thick, red soil, from the volcanoes that formed the islands. ”

  “While you go kick the red dirt around in the orchards,” Velika said, “I believe that I shall go and take a nap!”

  She led the way up the path into the jungle until it forked. Then we all waved as she went off to the left, to the cave she shared with Shardas (which I was still dying to see). We continued on to the right, however, toward the orchards of the dragons.

  Peach Trees and Honey Squash

  Are these the birds that you traded to the Moralienin?” I ducked as another red and blue plumed nuisance dove across the path and nearly grazed my head.

  “Yes. There are also smaller green ones,” he said. Then he shook his head vigorously as one of the red-and-blues tried to land on his horns.

  “They’re more annoying than Marta’s monkey,” Luka said, waving both hands over his head to keep them away.

  The birds screeched and continued to dive at us. One of them settled on a nearby branch and began berating us. I stopped in my tracks, however, when it actually called out, “Stupid creatures!”

  “Can they talk?”

  “Yes,” Shardas said curtly, “making them even worse than Marta’s monkey. If you talk to them, they will mimic the words. Unfortunately, most of what they hear are curse words, so please don’t be shocked if they call you ruder things than ‘stupid. ’ ”

  We all laughed at that, and I asked about Marta’s monkey, Ruli. She had bought it in Citatie, but the horrid little thing had taken a shine to Feniul’s mate, Ria, and had come to the Far Isles with them. I had been quite relieved, for the tiny black-and-white animal was fond of shredding silk, and the thought of it getting loose in our shop had filled me with terror.

  “Oh, you haven’t seen him yet? He’s around here somewhere,” Shardas assured me. “Velika finds Ruli particularly trying, though, so I believe that Ria is keeping him well away from us. And, by the First Fires, I can’t say that I miss him!”

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  The path forked again, sweeping away to our left and our right, and Shardas stopped and pointed at the trees straight ahead. “Here they are,” he said.

  “Here are what?”

  But as I came around Shardas’s massive, golden haunches I saw that the trees in front of us weren’t the usual jungle trees with their frothy leaves atop tall branchless trunks. These were ordinary Feravelan trees, peach and apricot, and I thought I saw apple to one side. They appeared to be nearly as tall as the jungle trees because they were planted on huge mounds of red dirt, and were in clusters rather than the straight lines of an orchard.

  “It’s, er, rather an unusual orchard,” Luka said, giving voice to my thoughts.

  We walked a little ways to the left, and saw other mounds, with paths winding between them. Some of them had trees planted on them; others had melon vines, or beanstalks carefully staked upright. The reasoning behind these circular garden plots finally struck me, and I shook my head at my own foolishness.

  “Of course,” I said aloud. “If you planted the trees in rows a few paces apart, the way we humans do . . . ”

  “They would be too close together for us dragons to care for,” Shardas finished.

  “And the mounds probably help with irrigation,” Hagen said knowledgeably.

  He was already moving toward the foremost group of trees, nodding his head in a wise fashion. It was still strange to me to see how much my little brother had changed in the past three years.

  Hagen had a keen mind, and had sat at the head of his age group in our tiny school in Carlieff. He had been a hard worker on our farm and then our uncle’s, after our mother and father had died. Which is why Hagen had not been considered a burden by our aunt, and so she had kept him, while sending me off to be eaten by a dragon.

  After the First Dragon War, when I had volunteered Hagen as caretaker of the display of Theoradus’s hoard, he had risen to the honor with distinction. Or so I had been told by the Duke of Mordrel, who had been sent to make the initial arrangements. The Duke had been the first to tell me that my brother had begun cultivating the land just to the south of Theoradus’s cave. Despite our family’s previously unsuccessful attempts at farming, Hagen’s peaches flourished, as did his plums and his grapes, and I could only gape when crates of preserves arrived at my shop, accompanied by Hagen’s cheery notes about how many visitors Theoradus’s hoard of shoes had had that season, or how many swains our girl cousins had collected, plus a good deal of bragging about how he had at last found the crops that our family was meant to farm.

  But it didn’t end with simply growing fruit. Hagen was fascinated by where different plants came from and what their uses were. He no longer allowed his plums to be made into preserves or dried, but sold the entire crop to an alchemist who made cough medicine with them. The alchemist had also helped Hagen with several experiments involving crossbreeding grapes and cherries, something I didn’t understand, but freely bragged about.

  And now it seemed that the bragging had been justified. As I watched, Hagen moved from tree to tree, pulling at branches, plucking leaves and studying them. He kicked at the soil, even bent down and raked his fingers through it, and squinted at the little ditches that I could only assume carried water between the trees and around the mounds.

  “These trees will need to be staked, or they’re going to grow crooked,” Hagen told Shardas. “And this soil feels too heavy. Do you mulch?”

  “Er . . . ” Shardas scratched at the red dirt with his fore-claws. Then he raised his head and bellowed, “Roginet!”

  I took a step backward. I had been standing rather close, and Shardas’s bellow blew my hair back from my face. “Oof!”

  “Sorry,” Shardas rumbled.

  “What’s Roginet?” Hagen looked eager. “Some sort of fertilizer?”

  “I am not a fertilizer,” said a faintly accented voice. An orange dragon I had never seen before came from behind one of the other mounds and bowed to Shardas. “I am, however, a gardener. ” He said this as grandly as if announcing that he was a duke or prince.

  “Roginet is in charge of our orchards and gardens,” Shardas explained. “He has a passion for growing things. ”

  “It ’as been some years since I was able to plant on such a large scale, ’owever,” Roginet explained. “And I used to plant only ze cherry trees. ”

  “Roulaini,” Luka said out of the corner of his mouth.

  I nodded slightly, having just recognized the accent myself. The Roulaini dragons had also gone into hiding after Milun the First had betrayed Velika, and had only come out into the open when Shardas had called for them to help fight Citatie during the Second Dragon War.

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  “This is young Hagen Carlbrun,” Shardas said. “And you have no doubt heard of his sister, Creel, and her betrothed, Prince Luka of Feravel. ”

  “Ah, yes!” Roginet bowed to the three of us. “I ’ave seen you both from afar,” he said.

  “Young Hagen was just advising me to stake these trees so that they grow straighter,” Shardas said.

  “Ah, me! I had forgotten ze staking,” Roginet said to Hagen. “Thank you. ”

  “You—you’re welcome. ” Hagen was still uncomfortable being consulted by dragons, I could tell.

  “And he mentioned mul
ch,” Shardas said. He said the last word as if it were completely foreign to him.

  “Ah, ze mulching!” Roginet nodded enthusiastically. “I ’ave been using our own waste, but do you zink it is too ’eavy?”

  Shardas immediately stopped running the soil through his claws. “You’ve been using what?”

  “Mulch is usually a mixture of dung and some other things, leaves maybe,” Hagen explained.

  Luka, too, drew back from the mound, while I just laughed. Having grown up on a farm, I knew exactly what mulch was.

  “Do you zink zat our mulch is too strong?” Roginet fingered the soil, bending his head to Hagen’s.

  “You might want to try a bird- dropping-based mulch,” Hagen mused. “I use turkey droppings. ”

  “We ’ave not the turkeys here,” Roginet said. “But there are many other birds. ”

  Farm girl or not, this was about as much discussion of mulch as I could stand, and so I took Luka’s arm and we strolled farther down the path. The mounds of trees gave way to clusters of grape vines strung on wires, vines on the ground bearing melons, and vegetable plots. Shardas soon joined us, and we went to select some honey melons from one of the mounds to eat with our dinner.

  “It seems that you’re doing very well here, sir,” Luka said as he and I climbed among the vines, knocking on the sides of the round, yellow fruits.

  “Indeed, we could not have asked for a better land to settle,” Shardas agreed. “The climate is mild year ’round, so we are able to keep our gardens growing constantly. A good thing, considering how much food a single dragon can eat in a year. And we have taken pains not to farm any of the areas where wild fruits and animals flourish. ”

  “What kind of animals live here, other than those screeching birds?” I pulled out my belt knife and cut the vine from one of the melons I had chosen.

  “Oh, wild pigs, some strange little things that look like tiny bears—not very good eating, but they have to be kept away from the gardens or they tear them all to bits. Oh, and goats. Quite delightful little creatures, really. Different from Feravelan goats, and their milk and cheese are sweeter. Would you like to see the goat herds?”

  Our nearest neighbors when I was a child had had goats. I remembered the smell, and the bruises I got when one of the males decided he didn’t like me. I smiled politely at Shardas and declined.

  “Delightful little goats?” Luka chuckled. “You know, sir, you and my father are two vastly different kings. Well, I don’t think he knows what mulch is either, but I cannot imagine him even caring to find out. Let alone describing a herd of goats as ‘delightful. ’ ”

  “Perhaps your father is missing out on some of life’s small joys, then,” Shardas offered. “These particular goats have a rather unusual habit of keeling over in a dead faint from excitement when they see strangers. And since they can barely remember who fed them breakfast an hour ago, they more or less think everyone is a stranger. ”

  “They faint?” That got even my attention.

  “They faint,” Shardas said, laughing. “Come along and see, if you don’t believe me. ”

  We put the melons in a large net, and slung it under Shardas’s belly. Then he flew Luka and me over the rest of their gardens and orchards, and yet more jungle, to a high, grassy plateau near the sea.

  From his back, we watched the black and brown goats scatter in panic, and the moment his claws touched the ground, every last one of them had fallen over and was lying on its side, eyes rolled back and legs stiff. Luka and I had to sit right down on the short- cropped turf and hold our stomachs, we were laughing so hard.

  There were tears streaming from my eyes, so I nearly missed seeing Darrym creep up over the edge of the cliff. I wiped my face on my sleeve, and watched him weave between some rocks as though trying to sneak away without us noticing him.

  Shardas, however, was not teary- eyed from laughter, and from his height had an even better view of the brown and green dragon. He hailed Darrym, who froze before turning to face us.

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  “Hello, er, Shardas,” Darrym said. “And . . . Creel and . . . Prince. ”

  He bobbed up and down, displaying that strange tic we had noticed before. There was a bulky canvas sack hanging from his neck.

  “I didn’t think you had herding duty today,” Shardas said.

  “Oh, yes, I, er, volunteered. Miral was not feeling, er, well. ” More bobbing.

  “Sorry to have made your charges faint,” Shardas told him.

  Darrym looked around in surprise, just now seeing the goats all lying about stiff. His tail came around and prodded one, which rolled over and began to snore, apparently over its initial terror.

  “Do they do this often?” Darrym appeared mystified.

  “Have you never had this duty before?” Shardas’s voice had a slight edge to it now.

  “I don’t believe so. ” Darrym took off the sack and stashed it behind some rocks. With distaste he began to poke at more of the goats. Some of them leaped up and ran off, while others made themselves more comfortable and went to sleep.

  “We shall leave you to it, then,” Shardas said.

  Luka and I scrambled back onto his neck, and the king of the dragons leaped into the air without so much as a goodbye for Darrym and his herd of strange charges. I thought this just a bit rude of Shardas, even considering Darrym’s odd behavior. I said so as diplomatically as I could once we had returned to the gardens where we had left Hagen.

  “He is rather grating on my nerves,” Shardas admitted. “He seems to think himself above work of any kind, and I often catch him standing on the path near my cave for no reason. ”

  “I wonder what was in that bag?” Luka said.

  “I’m sure he was sitting on one of the cliff ledges, eating or reading and ignoring the goats,” Shardas said, his voice dismissive. “And didn’t want us to know. ”

  “I suppose,” Luka said, but he sounded doubtful.

  I was doubtful as well. Darrym hadn’t seen us until after he’d come up over the cliff lip, and there was no reason why someone assigned to sit and watch the goats all day couldn’t be reading or eating while they did so. I wanted very much to know what was in that bag.

  “You have to try some of this,” Hagen said, running up to us with Roginet at his heels. Hagen thrust a bizarre, spiky fruit into my hands. “It grows wild here, and I’ve never tasted anything like it. ”

  We all cut off sections of the fruit, which was shockingly tart but delicious, and then it was time to join Velika on the beach for supper. Soon, gorged on roasted pork and honey melons, I forgot all about Darrym.

  The Palace of the Dragon King

  And I will take Creel to our cave and show her some of your glass,” Velika said.

  “And then you should rest,” Shardas reminded her.

  “I will rest,” she agreed.

  We had been down at the beach most of the day, watching Shardas blow glass. Feniul and Ria had joined us, along with their hatchlings and various dogs, and we had watched the dragonlets and their pets run races and play in the water until they were all exhausted and lying in a heap in the shade of a giant palm tree.

  The rest of us talked about the different animals that lived on the islands and how often the dragons could hope to export some of them—like the noisy birds—in exchange for the things they couldn’t get here. Luka liked Shardas’s story of having found the birds in the water after a storm had blown them from wherever their home might be, but Velika and I argued that there were only so many times that story could be used before people grew suspicious.

  But now we were all feeling drowsy, and Shardas was urging his mate to return to their cave and have a nap. I had chimed in that I still hadn’t seen their home, and would accompany her.

  “I need to work on my gown anyway,” I said. “I’ll run by the hut and get it, and meet you farther up the path. ”
r />   Velika moved so slowly that I didn’t have to run at all to reach my little stone hut, gather up the basket with my wedding gown and sewing things, and meet her halfway to their home. She looked distinctly uncomfortable when I caught up to her, and paused in the shade of the jungle for a moment.

  “The eggs will come soon,” she assured me when I asked how she felt. “And then I shall feel much better. Afterward, Shardas and I must only take turns keeping them warm. ” Sighing, she led the way to their cave, which was right inside the central mountain.

  It was different from Shardas’s old cave, which had been formed from pale gray stone. The mountains of the Far Isles were long-dead volcanoes, and the rock was mostly rough and black and porous. To soften the floors, deep sand had been laid in the string of chambers, and I stopped to admire the pattern that claws and tails had made in the soft white sand. It would look good on a gown, I thought, and made a note to sketch it when I got the time.

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  Once again Shardas had used mirrors to reflect the light from small ventilation shafts, so the caves were well lit and full of fresh air. On a shelf carved out of the living rock was a row of strange, lumpy shapes.

  Shardas’s glassworks.

  They were beautiful, and strange, I thought. If you had told me this one was a goblet, this other a plate, I would have laughed—they were too oddly shaped to be of actual use. But from a purely aesthetic stance . . .

  “They truly are gorgeous,” I breathed. With a reverent finger I traced the curve of one piece, stained faintly blue.

  “I think so,” Velika said, her voice soft. “I tease my mate because he will insist that they have a practical use, or that they will one day, at least. But I do enjoy looking upon them. ”

  “Yes,” I agreed. Studying the lines of a larger creation, this one translucent green and shaped vaguely like a tree, I saw how it might be meditative to gaze on them.

  I lifted another green piece, this one no larger than a plum. It appeared to have started out as a flower, but then folded and collapsed in on itself. I held it up to the light, admiring the clarity of the glass and the complexity of its shape.

  Laughing, Velika settled into the deep, sandy hollow at the side of the main cave.

  “What is it?” I turned to look at her, still holding the lump of glass.