[Hurog 01] - Dragon Bones

by Patricia Briggs

  I nodded my head and gave him the truth. “My grandfather sold all the important stuff—four suits of dwarvenmade mail, every artifact that his wizards could find touched with magic, most of the valuable tapestries—to get Hurog through two bad seasons half a century ago. But according to the keep’s accounts, there were two thousand pieces of silver left over. I know my father had access to them from his notes in the account book. There should be almost twelve hundred left, and they weren’t in the regular coffers. I’d bet gems to sweetmeat that Oreg knows where it’s stored. That would buy enough sheep to start a fair-sized herd. It’s sheep that’ll restore prosperity to Hurog, you know,” I confided at my usual pace. The expression of interest on his face became fixed, but I continued anyway. “My father and grandfather tried it with horses, but they are labor intensive. You don’t get good money out of them unless they’re trained. Sheep, on the other hand. . .” I watched the interest die out of Kariarn’s eyes as I waxed enthusiastic about sheep breeding.

  • • •

  OREG WAS STANDING IN my cabin when I pulled my shirt off over my head, though I’d been alone when I grabbed the bottom of it.

  “You usually abbreviate what you say so that you don’t drive people to drink by how slowly you talk, don’t you?” He observed. “Did you notice the grip Kariarn had on his knife while you told him about the difference between Northern Avinhellish sheep and Southern Avinhellish sheep?”

  It was the longest speech he’d made to me since I’d awakened aboard ship. It made me wary.

  “So what do you have planned next?” I asked in mild tones. This evening had been tiring, and I wasn’t in the mood to ignore him anymore. “You could have the trillies rot the rope holding up my hammock so it dumps me on the floor tonight.” I’d abandoned the bed for a hammock because it helped hold the seasickness at bay.

  His eyes widened at my words, so I tugged hard on the top of my hammock (as opposed to the bottom, which would only dump me feetfirst) and at the second jerk, the hook holding the hammock to the upper deck pulled out of the beam. It was the wood, not the rope that had rotted.

  I pulled my clothing trunk over and used it to stand on while I moved the hook to the next board over without saying a word. When I was satisfied the hook would hold my weight, I moved the chest back to where it had been and sat on it. It was time to negotiate. I needed Oreg if I were to save Hurog, so I couldn’t afford to sulk anymore.

  “I know you don’t want to give the dragon bones to Kariarn, but I don’t see any way to prevent it,” I said.

  “She was beautiful,” he replied obscurely. “Rose and gold with a voice that made the waves leap to her music. And Seleg killed her for fear of losing Hurog. He wept and sorrowed, then justified his actions. He cursed his family even down to this generation, and he justified it because he didn’t want to admit he’d been too frightened that he would lose Hurog to the invaders to try to stop them without the magic he gained from the dragon’s death.” Oreg took a small step away from me. “He’d learned by then what killing the dragon meant. The Hurog bloodline was thick with wizards, but Seleg was the last wizard born to your family until your birth.”

  I stared at him, remembering little things he’d told me, things Axiel had told me. “That’s what drove the dwarves away, wasn’t it? Not that the dragon had been killed. If they’d have known that Seleg killed the dragon, the dwarves would have attacked Hurog, and there’s no record of it. But the dragon’s death did something to Hurog. Something that made the dwarves grow ill and stunted their magic.” Oreg nodded. I took a deep breath. “That’s what caused the mines to quit producing and brought salt creep to the best fields. I’ve seen the records of the crops that used to come from those fields. We bring in less than half of that on a good year.”

  “Yes,” whispered Oreg.

  I stood up and began to pace. “It’s not just the dwarven kingdoms though, is it? I stood on top of the remains of the temple at Menogue and looked down on Estian. It’s shrinking and has been for a long time. It’s not just Hurog that’s become less than it was, but it’s spreading from Hurog.”

  “Yes,” whispered Oreg again.

  “And the curse on the family isn’t just that there are no more Hurog mages. I remember my mother when she was happy, but the longer she stayed at Hurog, the stranger she got. Then there is my father.” I remembered what the Oreg I’d dreamed of had told me about Hurog. I said, “Hurog poisons the people who live there. My grandfather had eight legitimate children of whom only two survived childhood: my father and his brother, who were sent out for fostering at a very young age. Ciarra can’t speak, and Tosten was suicidal.” The strain of the voyage was telling on my temper so that the results of that ancient stupidity made me want to hit something.

  “And you lost the ability to work magic.”

  I waved my hand, and all of the oil lamps in the room flared brightly. “Not completely.”

  Staring at him, I realized that the reason he hadn’t moved was because he was afraid of me. I’d been agitated and ranting like my father used to, and for little cause besides stress and fatigue. I inhaled and closed my eyes and carefully pruned away the anger I felt toward Seleg, who hadn’t been the hero I needed him to be; toward my father; my mother; and finally, toward Hurog, whose magic filled my soul and took my sister’s voice and my mother’s reason; but most of all at Oreg, who hadn’t believed in me.

  “Anger is stupid, and stupidity will kill you more surely than your opponent’s blade.” My aunt’s voice echoed in my head, and so I pushed anger aside with reason. It was not Seleg’s fault I’d chosen him for my hero. It was not my fault my father had hated me, and my mother had run away. When I was certain it was gone, I looked again at Oreg, who’d been betrayed far more than I.

  “I can’t change what Seleg did,” I said at last. “There is nothing I can do to make it right.”

  Oreg’s purple eyes were still wide with fear or some other strong emotion, watching me so he could tell which way to jump.

  “I could have you get the two of us into Hurog when we are close enough. We could help my uncle hold her.”

  “Duraugh can’t hold Hurog, Ward,” said Oreg. “There are too many here. Even with all of the Blue Guard, Hurog could not withstand this many men. Not in its current state. It’s not ready for a siege.”

  I thought again. “Could you move the bones out?”

  He shook his head. “Out of the cave and its protections, every wizard within a hundred miles could find the bones, but it doesn’t matter. Seleg bound me past my death to keep the bones hidden in the heart of Hurog.”

  “Do you see any options that would keep Kariarn from the bones?” I asked.

  “No.” He turned his head away from me.

  “Oreg.” I waited. “Oreg.”

  Finally, he looked at me.

  I cleared my throat to hide how much his answer mattered to me. “Do you think that I would kill my uncle just to become Hurogmeten again?”

  His face worked suddenly, and he dropped to his knees before me. “I believe that you would never have killed a dragon to save yourself. I believe that you would never knowingly betray a trust.”

  It was a powerful speech, and I wanted to believe him, but I’d been around slaves. They told their masters what they thought their masters wanted to hear, then tried to believe it themselves.

  When he looked up, there was a strange expression on his face, one I’d never seen there before. It took me a moment to identify it as hope. “You would not betray Hurog,” he said. “You would do the right thing, no matter what the consequences.” There was something about the way he said it that made me want to question him, as if his words meant more than they said.

  From the shadows beyond the chest, a shadow darted, chittering loudly, distracting me. Oreg laughed suddenly and picked up the trillie, ruffling the gray green fur behind the rodent face. He said something to it and set it down to disappear once more in the shadows of the cabin.

 
He pulled up his knees and buried his face in them. His shoulders shook with—laughter. “There’s a rotten fish in your blankets,” he said.

  • • •

  “THE SAIL MASTER SAYS we’ll reach Tyrfannig tomorrow—probably very early morning,” I said, watching Oreg, who lay on the hammock belly first, swinging it back and forth while he stared at the floor. It was black as pitch outside, but the little oil lamp was sufficient to light a larger space than my cabin.

  “What?” he said. Apparently the floor was more interesting than I was.

  “Quit watching the cracks go past, and listen to me.” I paced as I spoke. Two strides, heel-turn, two strides, heel-turn. Our cabin was the second largest on the ship, but that wasn’t saying much. “As soon as you can, transport yourself to Tyrfannig and warn them about the Vorsag. Have the headman send a message to my uncle and—”

  “Calm yourself, Ward,” soothed Oreg, rolling over and bouncing out of the hammock in one easy motion, effectively stopping my pacing because there was no more room. “I know, I’m to tell the townspeople to hide themselves until the armies have passed by. Then, as soon as we’re close enough, I’ll transport both of us to Hurog and you can warn Duraugh.”

  Something about Oreg had changed in the last few days. Perhaps it was just that he trusted me; but I’d never seen him in such calm good humor. It made me nervous. All right, more nervous. Waves of panicky self-doubt had been rolling over me since I awoke on board Kariarn’s ship. My plans were so tenuous as to be laughable. Nothing I could do would guarantee my uncle’s safety.

  Even without experience in siege warfare, I knew that Hurog couldn’t stand off a siege before harvest. So the only answer was to get the people away from Hurog and hope that Kariarn would leave with the bones. Oreg seemed strangely unworried about that part for all of his earlier histrionics. He spoke confidently of our weak plans, while I wasn’t even certain my uncle would trust me when I told him to get our people out of Hurog.

  “If I’d slept with Bastilla, she might not have gone back to Kariarn,” I threw myself back on the bed, since Oreg had the hammock.

  “It wouldn’t have mattered, Ward. She is bound to him.”

  “Could you have broken the binding, Oreg?”

  “If she wanted it badly enough,” he answered. “But she didn’t.”

  His reasonableness made me furious, and I curled my hands into fists, just as my father always had before he lost his temper. The thought forced me to stretch my fingers out and flatten them against the narrow mattress. “I’m sorry, Oreg. Just jitters. I just wish I knew what was going to happen.”

  Some fleeting emotion crossed his face. “All things happen in their own time, whether you want them to or not.”

  He stiffened suddenly, lifting his head and staring at nothing. “We’ve come farther than I thought. I can warn Tyrfannig now.”

  “Go,” I commanded, but he was already gone.

  I took in a deep, shaky breath. It had begun. I didn’t know whether I felt better or worse.

  THERE WERE NO SHIPS at the mooring when we sailed within sight of Tyrfannig. Nor were the dockworkers there. It didn’t hamper Kariarn’s ships. They weighed anchor offshore and sent eel boats to transport troops and mounts to land.

  “Is it always so quiet here?” asked Kariarn from the prow of our ship.

  I shook my head, watching the Vorsagian eel boats. They didn’t look a lot like eels, being much broader and flatter than anything a Northlander would sail. In the season of storms, they’d be capsized, but it was calm today, and they slid through the waves as if they were negotiating the southern seas.

  “Where are all the people?”

  “My brother must have gotten a message to Duraugh,” I said without concern. “Look at that! If they’re not careful, that horse is going to—ah, they got the blindfold on. Could have lost the boat.”

  “A message!” said Kariarn. “What message? How many troops could he muster?”

  I rolled my eyes at him and said, “My uncle has a wizard, and so does Haverness. I would suppose from the results in front of us that Haverness’s man sent a message to my uncle’s.” Inside, I felt a flash of hope. I’d forgotten about the wizards.

  “Bastilla?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “My sources say Duraugh’s wizard is inept, and Haverness’s man has no talent for farspeaking. I suppose Oreg might . . .” She looked at me.

  I shrugged. “He might be able to do it; he likes to be mysterious. It doesn’t matter. Tyrfannig has no fighters except ten or twenty mercenaries hired to escort merchants. This late in the summer there won’t be many. My uncle has only half the Blue Guard.”

  “He has another estate.”

  “Iftahar in Tallven,” I answered. We’d already discussed this. I wasn’t the only one nervous about the assault—if for different reasons. It was hard to remember that Kariarn was little older than I. “Even if he had time to bring them all in, he would not have half the men you bring against him.”

  “If a messenger could get through so fast, so also could troops.”

  “Not so.” I raised my voice a bit impatiently. “You know how much longer an army takes to cover so much territory. There are supply wagons that have to be taken on real roads—or at least decent trails. They’d be lucky to make five leagues a day. They won’t be here for another week at the very least. By that time, Hurog will be mine, and I’ll welcome them in, having supposedly driven your troops off.”

  On the ship nearest to us, Kariarn’s wizards brought the basilisk on deck. It was longer than any of the eel boats, but they appeared to be trying to get it in one anyway. The long, slender boat swayed wildly on the pulleys that would lower it into the sea as soon as it was loaded. The basilisk was so heavy that the ship it was on dipped dangerously toward us as the creature’s position threw the ship off balance. A big wave at the wrong angle would capsize it.

  The basilisk remained motionless, all four legs spread out to support it against the motion of the ship. At long last, it dashed across the deck and into the eel boat. But it didn’t even hesitate aboard the rocking vessel but slid over the edge and disappeared into the sea. Who would have thought stone dragons could swim?

  Kariarn swore and dashed to the side of the boat nearest the beast. I followed him in time to see the basilisk dive under our ship, hitting it solidly with its tail. I grabbed the rail as the ship wallowed, instinctively grabbing Kariarn before he went over.

  He didn’t pause to thank me but ran to the other side. The basilisk surfaced near the rock-strewn shore and climbed out of the water. It settled on the rocks and closed its jewel-toned eyes, blending so thoroughly that if I hadn’t seen him move to the spot, I wouldn’t have known he was there.

  A heavy hand slapped my shoulder.

  “Thanks for keeping me from falling in.” Kariarn grinned at me.

  I grinned back and wondered if he would have drowned if I let him go over. Or perhaps I could have jumped in to “rescue” him and made certain of it. But there hadn’t been time for thought, and instinct had bade me save him.

  “Sire, the boat is ready.” One of the sailors approached cautiously.

  Kariarn waved at me to precede him. I turned, and darkness pulled over my eyes.

  I WOKE UP IN a room that wasn’t surging with the sea. My wrists and ankles were tightly knotted together.

  “I’m sorry for this, especially after you’ve demonstrated your good faith,” said Kariarn.

  I focused on his face. The aftereffects of Bastilla’s spell weren’t as bad this time. I must have been getting used to it.

  “I can’t afford to trust you right now,” explained Kariarn sincerely. “After we’ve taken the keep, I’ll send some people to get you. Then Bastilla and my mages will pretend to help you take back the keep with a few impressive shows of magic. You’ll be quite safe here. No one but my men will know that you’ve been our prisoner. Even if some of the Tyrfannig people return, I’m leaving the basilisk in the main
room, just outside your door. My mages tell me that it’s become harder to control and is as likely to kill my army as it is your uncle’s, so it will serve as a guardian for you. To keep you safe.”

  I nodded my head—slowly, so the pulsing pain didn’t get worse. “I understand. Just be sure you take the keep. Wouldn’t want to be stuck here until the basilisk gets hungry.”

  Kariarn laughed and left the room, Bastilla trailing behind him.

  “They made a mistake taking the basilisk here,” said Oreg, emerging from the shadows after the bolt slid home. “I thought they might have trouble. The land here, even so far from Hurog, is steeped in dragon magic, which is close kin to that of the basilisk. I doubt they have any control of her now, whatever they think. You’re not the only one who’s able to play stupid.”

  “Did you get everyone out?”

  “I carried a message from your uncle to the headman, who can read, bless his merchant’s heart,” he said.

  “A message from my uncle?”

  “Bearing his seal and in his own writing,” confirmed Oreg. “Forgery is one of my many talents. At Duraugh’s command, the Tyrfannig citizens have taken to the hills where they cannot be easily found.” He took a slender dagger out of his boot and sliced the bindings on my wrists and ankles.

  We’d decided not to send a message for Hurog. A message alone wouldn’t give Duraugh cause enough to leave Hurog; I wouldn’t do it myself. “Can you get to Hurog to warn them, too?”

  “No.”

  I stopped rubbing my wrists and said, “No?” My stomach clenched. Kariarn’s people would slaughter my . . . my uncle’s people.

  “It is too far from you. I can’t do it.”

  I cleared my mind of panic. “Then we’ll just have to get close enough to do it. When Kariarn clears out of Tyrfannig, break us out of here and . . . Why are you shaking your head?”

  “She’s spelled the building against your escape. It’s specific, so it’s nearly impossible to counterspell without alerting her. I think she suspects that you know a lot more magic than you do. Maybe it was the pyre at Silverfells.”