He shrugged, gathered his things, and set out.
He glimpsed the castle towers by mid-afternoon, and he could see the city walls and hear the thunder of the falls before the sun had set, but it was full dark by the time he reached the gates, with neither moon in the sky, and he made his entrance into Sardiron of the Waters by torchlight.
Even in the dark, he was impressed by the place. All the streets were paved with brick, flags, or cobbles—not a one was bare earth, anywhere inside the walls. Where the hillside was steep, the streets were built in steps, like a gigantic staircase.
The buildings were built up against each other, with no gap at all between them in many cases, while others left only a narrow alley—and even these alleys were paved.
Torches blazed at every intersection, and despite the gloom the streets were not deserted at all—people were going about their business even in the dark of night!
The sound was also amazing. The roar of the river was a constant background to everything, and fountains splashed in a dozen little squares and plazas, as well, as the city lived up to its name. A steady wind moaned endlessly around the black stone towers. On top of this were the normal sounds of a big, busy town—creaking cartwheels, lowing oxen, and a myriad of human voices chattering away.
The great castle of the Council of Barons reared up above the city, high atop the hill, looming darkly over everything.
The place was really like another world entirely, Wuller thought, as he looked about in confusion, wondering where he could eat or sleep.
A torchlit signboard caught his eye. There were no runes, but a faded painting of a dragon hatching from an egg.
That, he knew, must be an inn. And perhaps the dragon emblem was an omen, of sorts.
There was no broad window displaying ale kegs and pewter tankards, nor open door spilling light into the street, as there had been at the village inns he had seen so far—in fact, the only window here was a small one with bars on it, high above the street, and heavily curtained with black velvet. The only door was painted in four triangular sections, red at top and bottom and blue at either side, and studded with short spikes of black iron. It was tightly closed.
However, most of the city's architecture was equally strange and forbidding. He had seen no open doors or large windows anywhere inside the gates. This had to be an inn. He gathered his courage and knocked on the heavy wooden door, between the protruding spikes.
One of the spikes twisted, then slid back into the door and vanished; startled, Wuller looked into the hole it had left and saw an eye staring back at him.
Then the spike was replaced and the door swung open.
“We've no beds left,” the old woman who had opened it announced, before he could say a word, “but if you've money for drink, we have plenty on hand.”
“I don't have any money,” Wuller explained, “but I'd be glad to work for a drink, or a bite to eat, or to sleep in a corner—I don't need a bed.” He looked past her, into the common room, where a crowd of people was laughing and eating at tables set around a blazing hearth.
“We don't need any,” the old woman began.
Wuller's gasp of astonishment interrupted her.
“Wait!” he said. “Wait!” He slid his pack off his shoulder and began digging through it.
“Young man,” the woman said, “I don't have time for any nonsense...”
Wuller waved a hand at her. “No, wait!” he said. “Let me show you!” He pulled out the charcoal portrait and unrolled it.
“Lady, I've come all the way from northern Srigmor,” Wuller explained, “on an errand for my village—there's a dragon, and ... well, you don't care about that. But look!” He showed her the picture.
She took it and held it up to the light from the commons.
“Seldis of Aldagmor,” she said. “Good likeness, too.” She glanced into the room beyond, where the young woman Wuller sought was sitting alone at a table eating dinner, then looked at the picture again, and from the portrait back to Wuller. “What do you have to do with her?”
Wuller decided quickly that this was not the time for the complete and exact truth, but for something simpler.
“I must speak with her,” he said. “The seer in our village knew her face, but not her name, and sent me to find her. I had thought I would have to search for sixnights yet, or months—but there she is in your dining hall! Please, let me come in and speak with her!”
The old woman looked at the portrait again, then turned to look at the young woman in the room beyond, sitting alone at a small table. Then she shrugged, and handed the picture back to Wuller.
“No business of mine,” she said. “You behave yourself, though—any trouble and I'll have the guard in here.”
“No trouble, lady,” Wuller said. “I promise!”
11
He settled into the chair opposite her, still astonished at his incredible good fortune, and astonished as well at her beauty. Neither Illuré's charcoal sketch nor the image in the oracle had really captured it.
“Hello,” he said. “My name's Wuller Wulran's son.”
She looked up from her plate and stared at him, but said nothing. The face was unmistakably the one he had seen in Kirna's oracle, the one that Illuré had drawn, with the vivid green eyes and the soft curls of dark brown hair. It was somewhat eerie to see it there in front of him as a real face, a small smudge of grease on the chin, rather than as a mere image.
The reality was more beautiful than the image, grease-spot notwithstanding.
“I've been looking for you,” he said.
She turned her attention back to her plate, where a few fried potato slices remained. Wuller glanced at them, reminded how hungry he was, then returned his gaze to the top of her head.
“No, really, I've come all the way from northern Srigmor looking for you. My village elders sent me.” He pulled out the portrait and unrolled it. “See?”
She raised her head, put a slice of potato in her mouth, and began chewing. She blinked. Then she put down her fork, reached out, and took the picture.
She stared at it for a moment, then looked at Wuller. “Did you do this, just now?” she asked. “It's pretty good.”
“No,” Wuller said. “My Aunt Illuré drew it, more than a sixnight ago.”
“A sixnight ago I was home in Aldagmor,” the girl said, her gaze wary.
“I know,” Wuller said. “I mean, no, I didn't know at all, really, but I know that Illuré didn't see you. I mean, didn't really see you.”
“Then how ... all right, then who's this Illuré person? How did she draw this? I don't know anybody named Illuré that I can recall.”
“You've never met her. She's my aunt, back home in Srigmor. She drew this because she's the best artist of the people who saw your face in the oracle.”
"What oracle?”
“Kirna's family oracle.”
“Who's Kirna?”
“She's one of the village elders. Her family got this sorcerer's oracle during the Great War, and it was passed down ever since, and when the dragon came...”
“What dragon? One of ... I mean, what dragon?”
“The dragon that's captured my village.”
The girl stared at Wuller for a moment, and then sighed. “I think you'd better start at the beginning,” she said, “and explain the whole thing.”
Wuller nodded, and took a deep breath, and began.
He described the dragon, how it had arrived one day without warning. He told her how it had killed Adar the Smith and given the village an ultimatum. He explained about the meeting in Kirna's hut, and how the oracle had shattered after showing them her face.
“ ...And they sent me to find you,” he said. “And here I am, and I thought I'd have to find some way to hire a magician to find you, only I don't have any money, and then by sheer luck, here you are!”
“No money?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“Does anyone in your village have any money
?”
“Not any more,” he said, a trifle worried by this line of questioning.
He considered what he might do if she proved reluctant to come to the aid of the village. Small as he was for his age, he was still slightly bigger and stronger than she was; if worst came to worst, perhaps he could kidnap her and carry her home by force.
He hoped it wouldn't come to that. “Will you help?” he asked.
She looked down at the portrait she still held.
“Well,” she admitted, “your oracle wasn't completely silly. I do know something about dragons. My family—well, my father's a dragon-hunter. That's been the family business for a long, long time now. That's why I come to this particular inn when I'm here, the Dragon's Egg, because of the connection with dragons. I was here in the city selling the blood from my father's latest kill to the local wizards; they use it in their spells. And some of my uncles will get rid of dragons when they cause trouble. But ordinarily...” She frowned. “Ordinarily, we don't work for free. This dragon of yours doesn't sound like one I've heard of before, so there's no question of family responsibility—I mean, this isn't one that we taught to talk, or anything. At least, I don't think it is.”
Wuller suggested desperately, “We could pay in sheep, or wool.”
She waved that away. “How would I get sheep from Srigmor to Aldagmor? Even if they made the trip alive, I'd do better just buying them at home. Same for wool. We don't raise as much in Aldagmor as you do up north, but we have enough.”
“If you don't come, though,” Wuller said, “my village will die. Even if the dragon doesn't eat us, we'll starve when the sheep are gone.”
She drew a deep sigh. “I know,” she said. She looked around the room, as if hoping that someone else would suggest a solution, but nobody else was listening.
“Well,” she said, “I suppose I'll have to go.”
Wuller couldn't repress his smile; he beamed at her.
“But I don't like it,” she added.
12
When she realized that he was not mere poor but totally penniless she bought him dinner, and allowed him to stay the night in her room at the inn. Wuller slept on the floor, and she slept on the bed, and he dared not suggest otherwise, either by word or deed.
For one thing, he had noticed that she carried a good long dagger in her belt, under the long vest she wore. The hilt was worn, which implied that it had seen much use and was not there simply for show.
In the morning she bought them both breakfast, gave the innkeeper a message to be sent to her father when next someone was bound to Aldagmor, bundled up her belongings, and stood waiting impatiently by the door while Wuller finished his meal and got his own pack squared away.
That done, the two of them marched side by side down the sloping streets toward the city gates. It had rained heavily during the night, and the cobbles were still damp and slippery, so that they had to move carefully.
This was the first time Wuller had seen Sardiron of the Waters by daylight, and he was too busy marveling at the strange buildings of dark stone, the fountains everywhere, the broad expanse of the river and the falls sparkling in the morning sun, to pay much attention to his beautiful companion.
Once they were out the gate, though, he found his gaze coming back to her often. She was very beautiful indeed. He had never seen another girl or woman to equal her.
He guessed her to be a year or two older than his own sixteen winters. Her face was too perfect to be much older than that, he thought, but she had a poise and self-assurance that he had rarely seen in anyone, of any age.
Although her beauty had been obvious, she had seemed less impressive, somehow, the night before; perhaps the dim light had been responsible. After all, as the saying had it, candlelight hides many flaws. Could it not equally well conceal perfection?
By the time they were out of earshot of the falls, and the towers of the council castle were shrinking behind them, he worked up the nerve to speak to her again for the first time since they had left the inn.
“You're from Aldagmor?” he asked.
Immediately, he silently cursed himself for such a banality. Where else could someone named Seldis of Aldagmor be from?
She nodded.
“Do you come here often, then?”
She looked at him, startled. "Here?" she asked, waving at the muddy highway and the surrounding farms. “I've never been here in my life!”
“I meant Sardiron,” he said.
“Aldagmor's part of Sardiron,” she replied. “Our baron's vice-chairman of the Council, in fact.”
“I meant the city, Sardiron of the Waters,” Wuller explained with a trace of desperation.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, that's not here. We left the city hours ago.” This was a gross exaggeration, but Wuller did not correct her. “And I come down to the city about twice a year—usually once in the spring and once in the fall. I'm the one they can best spare, since I'm female and not strong enough for most of the work around ... at home, so I make the trip to sell blood and hide and scales and order any supplies we need.”
“Lucky we were there at the same time, then,” Wuller said, smiling.
“Lucky for you," she said.
Wuller's smile vanished, and the conversation languished for a time.
The clouds thickened, and by midday it was drizzling. They stopped at an inn for lunch, hoping it would clear while they ate. Seldis paid for them both.
“This could be expensive,” she remarked.
Wuller groped for something to say.
“We'll do our best to find a way to repay you,” he said at last.
She waved it away. “Don't worry about it; it was my decision to come.”
Two hours later, when they were on the road again and the rain had worked itself up into a heavy spring downpour, she snapped at him, “I don't know why I let you talk me into this!”
He said nothing.
13
They stayed the first night at the Blue Swan, in the town of Keron-Vir, but this time Teneria the innkeeper's daughter was much less cooperative. She took one look at Seldis, and despite the dripping hair and soaked clothing saw that this was a beauty she could not possibly match; she refused to talk to either of them after that.
Seldis once again paid for meals and a small room, and once again she slept in the bed while Wuller slept on the floor.
He lay awake for half an hour or so, listening to the rain dripping from the eaves, before finally dozing off. He dared not even look at Seldis.
The rain had stopped by the time they left the next morning, and by noon Seldis was once again willing to treat Wuller as a human being. After a few polite remarks, he asked, “So how will you get rid of the dragon?”
“I don't know,” she said, shrugging. “I'll need to see what the situation is.”
“But...” he began.
She held up a hand. “No, really,” she said. “I don't know yet, and even if I did, I might not want to tell you. Trade secrets, you know—family secrets.”
Wuller did not press the matter, but he worried about it. The oracle had said that Seldis could rid the village of the dragon, and Seldis herself seemed confident of her abilities, but still, he worried.
He remembered Alasha's words, about virgins sacrificing themselves, and shifted his pack uneasily. Would Seldis sacrifice herself to the dragon?
The idea seemed silly at first thought—she hardly looked suicidal. On the other hand, she had agreed to make the journey in the first place, which certainly wasn't a selfish decision. Just how altruistic was she?
He stole a glance at her. She was striding along comfortably, watching a distant hawk circling on the wind—scarcely the image he would expect of someone who intended to fling herself into a dragon's jaws for the good of others.
He shook his head slightly. No, he told himself, that couldn't be what she intended.
A nagging thought still tugged at him, though—it might turn out to be what the oracle had intend
ed.
They stayed that night at the Burning Pine, in the village of Laskros, and as Wuller lay on the floor of their room, staring at the plank ceiling, he wondered if he was doing the right thing by taking Seldis to his village.
Why should she risk going there?
Why should he risk going back?
Wouldn't it be better for both of them if they forgot about the dragon and the village and went off somewhere—Aldagmor, perhaps—together? He would court her, as best he could with no money and no prospects and no family...
No family. That was the sticking point. His family was waiting for him back home, relying on him. He couldn't let them down without even trying. Here he had had the phenomenal good luck to find his quarry quickly, as if by magic, and now he was considering giving up?
No, he had to go home, and to take Seldis with him, and then to help in whatever it took to dispose of the dragon.
He looked at her, lying asleep on the bed, her skin pale as milk in the light of the two moons, and then he rolled over and forced himself to go to sleep.
14
We won't be staying in inns after this,” he told her the next morning. “We should leave the highway late today and go cross-country.”
She turned to stare at him. “I thought you said it was another few days,” she said.
“It is,” he replied.
She glanced eastward, at the forests that now lined that side of the road.
“If you headed east for two days, anywhere along this road, you'd wind up in the mountains,” she said. “Three days, and you'd be on bare stone, wouldn't you?”
“If you headed due east,” he agreed. “But I didn't say that. We head north-northeast.”
“For three or four days, you said?”
He nodded.
“Why not follow the road until we're ready to turn east, then? We'll be almost paralleling it!”
“Because,” he said reluctantly, “I don't know the way if we do that. I can only find my way home by following the trail of peeled branches I marked coming south.”
The Blood of a Dragon Page 28
