Shatterwing: Dragon Wine 1

by Donna Maree Hanson

  Lenk’s presence close to her continued to aggravate the essence of Thurdon in her head. Laidan thought she must be caught up in her master’s mental anguish. In her ear, Lenk whispered, “Did Thurdon say anything before he died?”

  No words would come. She wanted to say he was poisoned. That he was dead. Please go away, Thurdon, I can’t think!

  Lenk’s breath tickled her neck as he whispered to her, “Tell me, why do your eyes glow?” He touched her face, covered her eyes. His cold fingers pressed down on her eyelids, shutting them. When they opened again she saw the silhouette of his hand. Her eyes glowed? Thurdon, what have you done to me?

  Hurried footsteps approached. Lenk dropped his hands from her face and stood. “Tuan, I fear we were too late. Look!”

  Another presence neared, a black outline in the white haze, smelling of stale sweat. That must be Tuan, Laidan thought. “Interesting,” the man said in a deep voice. “Thurdon’s eyes were rumored to glow.”

  “Yes, so I’ve heard. But why is she so unmoving, so unaware, only able to writhe and moan like one possessed? She has put the fear into those cowardly guards of mine.”

  Tuan leaned closer to Lenk, two dark silhouettes together. “I cannot say, my lord,” replied Tuan with a voice pitched low. “She looks hale enough, so she escaped the poison. Perhaps she is driven mad with grief at the loss of her master. Her eyes, though, are something else altogether, as you already suspect. I recommend you secure her for yourself now regardless of her condition. The glowing eyes may be temporary. I do not understand the nature of Thurdon’s rumored power, but if it did exist this may signify that he passed it on.” Tuan dropped his voice another notch. “Think of it, my lord, she will be in your power. She is young, vulnerable and malleable.”

  “I want Thurdon’s power now. You know he is due to arrive soon. What of the counter-insurgents? I need a show of strength if I am to hold the town. She is useless to me as she is.”

  “Unless you can convince her to give it to you. Think, my lord, she is docile, pleasing.” Lenk moved away with Tuan still talking quietly in his ear. “You can amuse yourself with her and dispose of her later, when you have taken her power. She would be worth a lot on the flesh market.”

  “Mmmm … Thurdon’s relationship with this girl fascinated me from the beginning. Now I can find out, through exploration … through gentle questioning—” Lenk laughed abruptly. “The old man was poisoned … gives me some leverage, as she was the last person with him. I see plenty of motivation.”

  “You will say she killed him for his power?” Tuan suggested.

  “I will cut out your tongue if you circulate such a story.”

  The other man bowed and said, “Yes, quite right … I see what you mean straight away … Please forgive my stupidity.”

  “Stop simpering and come up with a plausible motive.” Lenk sounded angry, while the other, Tuan, sounded cowed.

  “Her motive would be … let me see … revenge for his sexual perversions? What slave hasn’t wanted to do their master in for availing themselves of their person?”

  Lenk chuckled. “Yes, that will do nicely.”

  “Indeed. I have no doubt you can find a way to deal with this young maid. Shall I fetch a slave to secure … sorry, to prepare her for you?”

  “Yes, do so. I will take a moment with her first.”

  Time seemed suspended. Her emotions were flat. A sense of unease grew within her, but she couldn’t grasp its source. She heard the words the men spoke to one another, but couldn’t retain their meaning. They dissipated like handfuls of mist. No sooner had the conversation ended than Lenk’s hands were gripping her, urging her to her feet. He clasped her shoulders in his hands and hauled her up against him with his face pressed to hers. “You will give me what I require. Hear me? I will have that which Thurdon gave you.” When she didn’t respond, he softened his voice. “I will look after you … you will be my little treasure.”

  Those words caused pain to knife into her head as Thurdon reacted. Lenk eased her gently back down and lifted his finger to stroke a hair away from her face. “These clothes you wear offend me.” He tugged on her tunic, tearing it so that it fell open across her shoulder. He caressed her exposed skin, and his voice dropped a level. “You will be taken to better rooms than these. You will be washed and dressed appropriately. When you are more pleasing to the eye, we will discuss this further. I want to know every word and deed of Thurdon’s before his end.”

  Thurdon, she thought, he must be buried in the earth! As if he had read her mind, Lenk instructed the guards to prepare Thurdon’s funeral. Something about his request made the guards laugh. “But he should not be burned. I want him condemned in the next life. Sink him into the leaching field, so he can nestle for eternity in shit.”

  Lenk commented to Tuan, “I hope this placid state wears off soon. I want a response … not this bedazzled expression and dumb incomprehension.”

  “I can see your point, my lord. Perhaps I can assist you,” Tuan replied.

  “In what way? I didn’t know you were a voyeur.”

  Tuan chuckled again. “I think she is traumatized. If it pleases you, I will examine her later after the slave has prepared her. Careful observation is the only way to give you warning when her wits return. I should caution you. Certain actions may prolong her current state. Gentleness and rest may work better.”

  “Well then … you may examine her later in my presence. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with her. Why did the old man die? He was meant to be … incapacitated only.”

  “Mmm,” Tuan lowered his voice. “He ate too many berries, I suppose, ingesting more poison than anticipated. Or perhaps he was more fragile of body than we thought.”

  “Yes, perhaps. But I will tell you this. I am thwarted. My plans are awry.”

  When an old and tired-sounding female slave arrived, Lenk instructed her to take Laidan to the prince’s sitting room. Laidan’s hand was tugged and she followed along, leaving the room and her master’s body behind. In the maelstrom of thoughts in her head, she sensed a cry that was her own, full of loss and helplessness. Thurdon was all she could think about. He was in her mind, creating havoc.

  On reaching their destination, the slave let go of her hand. “Remove your clothes and I will bathe you,” the old slave woman said.

  Laidan stood still. She couldn’t have complied with the request if she had wanted to.

  “Bless my soul, ’tis true. You be bewitched. We’ll all be killed!”

  Laidan remained unmoving. After the slave had calmed, she approached again. “Well, bless me. By the Great Dragon’s holy arse, you be dumbstruck. This is a sign, by the Wing!”

  The slave tugged the robe off Laidan, tearing it in her haste. When she was naked, the slave led her by the hand to a wide, shallow tub of steaming water. It smelled sweet and the reflections in the oily surface did strange things to the light in her head. Indifferently, Laidan noted the slave’s brisk and firm movements, while the woman scrubbed every inch of her till she was thoroughly scoured and raw. Then a surge came from Thurdon and she couldn’t remember how she’d come to be standing in warm water. Even the sensation of tingling skin didn’t bring her back to herself. Her hair was washed and washed again until the water tossed over it from a jug ran clear. A thin cloth soaked up most of the moisture before a clean robe was wrapped around her. The old slave pushed Laidan down to sit on a stool in front of the fire, so that her hair could be brushed. The slave remarked on her hair as it dried. “Well, if that don’t beat all, red lights in your golden hair and strange eyes. Best you be careful. You’ll be burning as a witch before you know it. Then all your beauty and Prince Lenk’s protection won’t save you.”

  Silently, Laidan sat, lulled by the firm strokes through her hair. The importance of the woman’s words was lost on her. She was too distracted by the play of light in her head. When her hair was dry, the slave looked up. “Now, to your clothes. I think one of the princess’s dresses will suit. Sh
e was about your size, and as she died this morning she can’t object, can she?”

  Laidan turned her head toward the slave, silently rejoicing in gaining some control over her movements.

  “Oh? Don’t look at me with those eyes, for you look frightful. Close them, now. Close them.”

  Laidan did as she was bid and shut her eyes. It allowed her to concentrate on the pulsating mass of power. There were reds and soft shades of violet across the surface of her mind. She heard the slave leave the room, and an indefinable amount of time later, hustle back in. “Let me take off that robe.”

  A heavy gown was placed over Laidan’s head. Her arms were tugged through the sleeves by the slave and her breath was forced out of her when the laces of the bodice were tied.

  “The green velvet suits you, I think,” the slave said. “Master likes green. I saw him ogling the princess in this very gown just last week. I saw them at it, you know,” she whispered conspiratorially as she finished tying up the laces. “She always did rut noisily, whether it was with the footman or the captain of the guard. Bet she didn’t think when she spread her legs for her husband’s brother that he’d do her in. I heard them whispering, see. She schemed with him against her husband so I’m not sorry the bitch is dead.”

  Laidan whimpered. She tried to speak but couldn’t form words. Her thoughts were tangled, impossible to sort. Then Thurdon’s rage boiled over once again. He was so angry and frustrated, he howled in her mind. He feared for her and she didn’t know how to soothe his anxiety. She didn’t know what was going on. She couldn’t remember, not clearly.

  “Sad about that strange old man. Terrible accident. I did hear whispers of poison, but you’re too young and beautiful to have done such a thing. Aren’t you? Curious how they all died the same morning. The prince, his wife and your master … among a few others that I’ve heard of.” She lowered her voice and whispered into Laidan’s ear again, moving her hair to the side and hooking it behind her ear. “Take my advice. Do as Lenk says. If he says show me your tits, do it. If he says open your legs, you ask how far. It’s the only way you’ll live out the week. But I can tell from the shape of your brow you’ll not be taking my advice. Tut-tut. What’s to be done?

  “I’ll be heading off after I settle you down. Now, because you appear dim-witted I’ll remind you. I’ve not put any underclothes on you. Don’t see the need for them, actually. But it is best you understand—don’t go hiking up your skirt at the wrong time, especially at dinner, or you’ll do more than surprise a forager.”

  The slave woman ran her hands down the dress, smoothing creases and picking off lint as she went. “There, I think you will do nicely. Sit over there on the settee by the window and wait. Oh! I best feed you before I go.”

  With that she bustled around tidying the bath things and headed out of the room. Laidan stood where she was, mindfully engaged with what was going on inside her head—mad jittering, maniacal laughter, flaming bubbles and bursts of energy like stars exploding. Outside, she heard the gardeners chatting while they worked and the various noises made by children and guards as they went about their daily chores.

  Her mind hung there, trapped between two competing worlds of sensation, until once again Laidan was captured by one of Thurdon’s memories. He was younger than she could ever recall. It was her mother he was talking with, and they were entwined together in a bed. A surge of emotion erupted within the memory as the lovemaking scene played out: a bittersweet regret at leaving her, knowing she carried his child in her belly. Laidan was embarrassed by the memory. The feelings and sensations she was experiencing through Thurdon were alien to her. She never knew sex felt like that. Then came the realization that she was that unborn child. How sad that Thurdon hadn’t told her that he was her true father. Now she couldn’t thank him for caring for her so well.

  The slave came back with a tray. The smell of thick soup and dark orange bread reached her, making her stomach grumble. The slave pushed her down on the settee.

  “Open your mouth. There you go.”

  Like a child she was fed, without having the wherewithal to object. The slave wiped Laidan’s mouth and arranged her hair to drape down her shoulders, then carefully placed cushions behind her and eased her back to recline against them. After she finished arranging the gown around her feet, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. “My, even one of those stuck-up fellows from the observatory would be tempted by you. Stay there. Sleep if you wish. The master will be happy to wake you when he’s ready.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Observatory

  Garan stood on the windswept promontory of Trithorn Peak and waited for sunset. Around him nestled the observatory, carved from the mountain face and girded by hewn rock. Glass fragments within the stone glowed blood red as they caught the last hint of sun. Stretching out to the west was the contorted backbone of the well-eroded Duggan Ranges. In the ebbing light, the lower peaks glowed pinkly among the darkened valley clefts.

  Brushing his hair out of his eyes, he glanced back at the horizon. His gaze ranged over the pale lilac sky that deepened to purple with each beat of his heart. Streaks of pink cloud darkened in the last meager rays of the dying sun. Belle moon was already up. He swallowed the lump in his throat; Belle always moved him. Glowing with a faint lavender hue, its clear and pure light pierced the sky.

  Turnet, a fellow Skywatcher, called to him, urging him to the evening meal.

  “In a minute,” he answered as he returned his friend’s wave. He took another long look at Belle moon rising. His shift would begin when Belle set and its reflected light no longer hampered his work.

  A cool breeze sprang up. Garan turned up his collar and snuggled deeply into his gray Skywatcher’s cape, which was edged with a moon and stars design. The meal gong echoed across the pathway, and he went to join his colleagues at their repast.

  *

  Hours later, it was the middle shift and darkness was like a thick cloak. They had been tracking movement in the Wing as part of their normal operations. The Ruel debris was never stationary, as dust and rock and larger asteroids drifted and shifted in line with the planet’s orbit and that of Belle moon. Some collisions sent asteroids out into space. Other smaller rocks would burn up in Margra’s atmosphere or cause little damage to the surface. Occasionally, a meteor would draw near, appearing to enter the atmosphere, only to skim along the outer layer and then continue its journey back into the darkness of the heavens, leaving trails of light in the sky.

  “It’s definitely incoming,” Turnet said from his viewfinder. “Second quadrant, sector nine.”

  Garan moved the scope and fine-tuned the coordinates to Turnet’s call. This object had been marked by previous shifts over the preceding months, the Farsighters noting it first and then handing it over to the Skywatchers. They had continually monitored its changing position until a definite path could be determined and calculated. The object was no longer at the last verified coordinates. Moving the scope along the projected course, Garan waited for the piece of Shatterwing to come into view. “Ah … there it is. Confirm plotted trajectory and size. It’s moving and is too large to completely disintegrate on entry.”

  An Elder made swift calculations and then unfolded two hand-drawn maps. Garan waited, watching the small blip of light slowly gain speed as it was drawn into Margra’s atmosphere. “A little more haste, good Elder, ’tis moving fast. I would like to know before it impacts whether we need to blast it or not.”

  “I’m calculating, young sir.” The Elder was difficult to hear as he was bent over his maps.

  Garan fretted. If the meteor fell into the charred lands near the rift then he need not act, even though the dust that would be thrown up was not a desirable outcome. But if it fell in the populated regions, havoc and death would result. He watched the meteor as it accelerated, drawn down by Margra’s gravity. Time was running out.

  The Elder straightened up. “Yes. Destroy it. My calculations confirm it will land near a settlemen
t.”

  “Crystal,” Garan said to the blond boy assisting them. The boy placed a chunk of roughly hewn crystal in the loading tray. Turnet joined him at the skyviewer, standing opposite. The Elder took up the tracking, peering into his own scope.

  “On my mark. Hit when it reaches level four on the projected path.”

  Garan tracked the deadly lump of rock. It had a tail now as it slid into the atmosphere and its speed grew steadily. He targeted the crystal array ahead of the meteor’s path to the hit coordinates and adjusted the aperture of the nozzle to determine the width of the beam. The Elder timed their mark. Garan exchanged a nod with Turnet and they started to hum. Their voices caused the crystal to resonate until it began to glow and then in turn emit a sound. Garan increased the volume and pitch of his hum and focused his mind on the crystal. Turnet, too, hummed a little louder, focusing all his attention on increasing the crystal’s resonance. The crystal flashed and sent shards of light out of the carrier. Turnet’s face was white in the reflected light. The Elder’s voice grew louder and more urgent as he tracked the target to the hit point through his own scope. “Four. Three. Two. One. Now!” he cried.

  As they released the energy building in the array, the beam shot out of the scope, a direct line of focused light aimed straight into the immediate path of the meteor. The accompanying boom rattled the array. Turnet immediately resumed his visual tracking, confirming the hit. From where he stood, Garan saw a small flash as the meteor died, and he let out a pent-up breath. With that exhalation he felt fatigue wash over him. It was time to change the watch. Skywatchers retired after one meteor blast a night. Luckily meteors didn’t get shot down every shift. Garan opened the chute under the crystal’s loading shaft, letting it fall, dull as ash, into the basket below. It clicked against the other spent crystals.

  “Good work, boys,” the Elder said, refolding his maps. He nodded to his replacement, who wiped sleep from his eye with one hand. His other hand held his own maps and calculating equipment. Two other Skywatchers took up their positions, already poised to begin scanning the sky. Behind them on a recessed balcony, Garan could make out the Farsighters and the astro-theorists using the larger of the scopes. The new shift had little time for banter as Garan walked off.