The Dragon's Egg

by Pauline M. Ross

  “You’s wanted up top,” the lamp-holder said. “And you’s friends, too. Not the crew, just the passengers, like.”

  Garrett struggled upright. He pulled Shakara to her feet, then Dru.

  “Zarin? You coming?”

  A hand stretched down, and Zarin grasped it reluctantly. It was galling to receive any help from such a man. Garrett hauled him upright rather roughly, but Zarin suppressed his protest. There were going to be worse moments than this, he was sure.

  Mikah and the Lath had scrambled up without assistance. Dru sat, watching them placidly.

  “Come along, Dru,” Zarin said. “We are going up on deck, for some reason.”

  The lamp-holder grinned even more broadly. Zarin’s apprehension increased. For all the fine talk about them being worth more alive than dead, he didn’t think they were being taken away to be sold to slavers. Still, Garrett seemed calm enough, and he knew these people and their ways. He surely wouldn’t be so relaxed if they were in any immediate danger. Would he?

  They climbed the ladder, emerging on deck into the gloomy half-light of the pre-dawn. Had the whole night passed already? It was brightmoon, so the night was very short, but even so, it was bewildering.

  They were not far from the shore, although when he thought about it, Zarin realised that this was not the mainland. It must be the raiders’ island, then, and a wild, uncomfortable place it looked too, all rocky cliffs towering above the ships, with a scattering of scrubby bushes, and not a building to be seen anywhere.

  When they were all back on deck, the leader reappeared, sword in hand, his belt bristling with knives. He, too, grinned widely at them, obviously enjoying himself. Zarin’s heart sank even further. What could he have in mind? Whatever it was, he suspected it was not going to be pleasant. The Lath was murmuring a contemplation under his breath, and Zarin mouthed the words, too. It was such a comfort, having a priest at his side during this great trial. He could not understand how the others could wait so calmly.

  “Well, well, well,” the leader said, leering at them. Such an ill-favoured man, with rough, sun-darkened skin. He wore bits and pieces of armoured leather, none of it matching. “Isn’t this pleasant? So we meet again, friend Garrett. What is it, five years, now?”

  His accent was as thick as porridge, stronger even than Garrett’s.

  “Six,” Garrett said. “No need to drag this out, Kestimar. Let’s just get on with it, shall we?”

  Kestimar laughed, a harsh sound in Zarin’s ears. He shivered.

  “Oh, but dragging it out is so much fun,” Kestimar said. “You wouldn’t want to spoil my fun, would you?”

  Garrett gave a bark of mirthless laughter. “Don’t push it. At least let the rest of them go back below deck. They don’t need to see whatever little game you have planned.”

  “Oh, but they do.” Kestimar’s voice was menacingly low. “They’re here as witnesses, so that everyone will know that I gave you a proper trial before your execution.”

  Zarin’s jaw dropped. Execution? He had no wish to watch such a thing. The sight of blood made him ill. Besides, it was outrageous, planning to execute a man before holding the trial. Well, that answered the question of whether these people were civilised or not. But he was too shocked to formulate a protest.

  Garrett laughed again. “A proper trial? Ha! You have a strange idea of the law, Kestimar. You need someone with legal authority before a trial can be called proper. And we’re a long way from civilisation – whose law applies here anyway?”

  Kestimar shoved his face just a handspan from Garrett’s nose. “Mine. I am captain of this ship, and that gives me the right – the perfectly lawful right – to hold a trial and convict you and execute you.”

  “If I’m guilty, of course.” Garrett was trying to keep his tone light, but there was a wobble beneath it. He was sweating, too, despite the cool morning air. “Well, I look forward to hearing your evidence.”

  “Oh, you’ll hear it—”

  “Not a captain.” Dru’s voice wasn’t loud – she never raised her voice – but it cut straight across the argument.

  Kestimar whirled round, his face puce. “What?”

  “You’re not a captain. Captain has a tattoo on the chin. You don’t have a tattoo on the chin. Not a captain.”

  “And who the fuck are you to talk to me that way?”

  “I’m Dru.”

  Garrett lifted an arm, as if to restrain her, but he was too far away. “It’s all right, Drusinaar. Let him do what he wants. Keep out of it, all right?” His voice was weary. “Zarin, Shakara, can’t you take her below, or something? Kestimar, let them go below. Your quarrel is with me, not with them.”

  “No!” he yelled. “They’re witnesses, by the Nine! I want them to know what you did, and I’m going to do this right here, where I’m in charge, captain or not.” He glared at Dru.

  “And I’ve got no problem with them knowing,” Garrett said. “I tossed you overboard and left you for dead, will that do? So let’s forget the whole trial business and get straight to the execution, shall we?”

  “No,” Dru said.

  Kestimar stamped his foot, sword slicing the air. “Will you shut the fuck up! Gods, what is the matter with her?”

  Zarin held his breath, heart pounding. This was not a man to argue with, not when he carried a bared sword in his hand.

  Garrett licked his lips. “She’s special. We’re taking her to the homeland.”

  For the first time, Kestimar looked uncertain, his glance flicking from one to the other. “The homeland? You’re going to hand her over to them?”

  “The Tre’annatha, yes,” Garrett said. “They have an interest in her.”

  Kestimar looked across at her again, then back to Garrett, then at the others. “And the entourage? That’s part of it?”

  “Yes. Zarin’s her tutor, Shakara dresses her in inappropriate clothes and I’m her bodyguard. Not a very good one, as you’ve proved. So they’ll pay a good price for them, if that’s what you have in mind.”

  “And the priest? What’s he here for?”

  Garrett shrugged. “The Gods alone know.”

  Kestimar stared at him, then, very slowly, he began to laugh. “By the Nine, I’ve missed your humour,” he said, slapping Garrett on the shoulder.

  Zarin dared to breathe. Were they friends again, their differences forgotten? Clearly there was some unsavoury history between the two men – he had no wish to know the full details, and he was grateful to be spared that – but surely they would now set that aside. The raiders would sell them to the homeland, or perhaps – he dared to think – they might even let them go. All would be well.

  Garrett smiled, too, but not quite as enthusiastically. “So you’ll let them go below?”

  “No.” Kestimar’s anger was controlled again, his voice low. “No, but I’ll take the legal advice and skip the trial. I find you guilty of trying to kill me, not to mention cheating me of the Nine only know how many bones, you snivelling little thief. So up on the lookout with you, and take yourself out of my sight.”

  “Lookout?” Zarin muttered to the Lath.

  “Ship’s lookout post,” Dru said. “Raised platform at the side of some ships for a watcher to be stationed.”

  Garrett laughed at her. “Thank you, Drusinaar. Also a place where those convicted of a crime on board ship may be pushed overboard. Me, in fact.”

  “No,” Dru said.

  “No?” Garrett said.

  “Haven’t been convicted. Only the captain can do that. He isn’t a captain.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Kestimar strode off down the deck. Moments later, he returned dragging a reluctant sailor. He pushed the man under Dru’s nose. “There! He’s a captain, right? Got the tattoo and all, right?” None of the crew wore uniform, just an assortment of nondescript working clothes, and this man looked no different from any of the others. “So he says that snake of a man over there is guilty, and I am going to execute him. All right with yo
u?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, for—!” Kestimar looked ready to explode.

  Garrett made a strangled sound of annoyance. “Drusinaar, give it up,” he said, his tone harsh. “There really isn’t any more you can do. Kestimar is in charge here, he’s the one with the big sword, and that’s the end of it. So I’m going to get up on the lookout, and he’s going to have the satisfaction of pushing me overboard. Since he knows I can’t swim, that’s the end of the matter. So no more interference, understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Striding across the deck, he clambered over coiled ropes, buckets and brooms, and hauled himself onto the lookout post. It was no more than a square of wood, barely big enough for a pair of booted feet, with a half-height rail on the outside. One good push, and a man of average height would topple over into the sea below.

  But Garrett was not of average height, Zarin realised. His waist was well below the rail. Zarin was not a fighter, but he saw with a glimmer of excitement that Garrett actually had a chance here. Without the risk of falling, there was a possibility of surviving, although he could not quite see what good it would do.

  Kestimar was too busy gloating to see the problem. He was goading Garrett, pacing back and forth below the lookout point, jeering at him and waving the sword around. The sword… that was going to make Garrett’s position awkward. Maybe this was not so obvious, after all.

  “Come on, get on with it,” Garrett said, standing, arms casually folded, above Kestimar.

  Kestimar swore again, and lunged at him with the sword. Garrett danced aside, and Kestimar was forced to jump back to avoid falling over the buckets stacked around the lookout. His face was bright red, and even from across the deck, Zarin could hear his heavy breathing. Garrett, meanwhile, exuded a relaxed amusement, his lips curled into a grin.

  Now what? Zarin could not see how this would end. Even if Garrett saved himself from being pushed over the side, Kestimar was hardly going to be best friends with him afterwards. He was so absorbed in the contest, he noticed nothing else until Mikah jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow.

  “What’s going on over there?”

  Zarin followed Mikah’s pointing finger. A small boat was being vigorously rowed out from the shore, and someone in it – a woman, he thought – was shouting through an amplification tube, although the words were unintelligible. They meant something to Garrett, though, for he burst out laughing.

  “There you go, Kestimar,” he jeered. “Your fun’s over for the day.”

  “Pah! Don’t worry, there will be plenty more opportunities, slime-pod.”

  “Slime-pod,” Dru said. “A metaphor. Not literal.”

  “That is so, Dru,” Zarin said absently, his attention half on the arriving boat, and half on Garrett who, despite his bravado, was still safely out of reach on the lookout.

  After some posturing, Kestimar sheathed his sword and went over to receive the small boat.

  Garrett, grinning, climbed down from his perch, deftly avoiding the heaped buckets. “Well, did you enjoy the performance?” he said. He seemed to be addressing Shakara, but she turned away from him with an exasperated click of the tongue.

  “D’you mean that was all for show?” Mikah said, in disgusted tones. “He wasn’t really going to kill you?”

  “I think he’d like to,” Garrett said, rubbing his beard. “That part was real enough. He’s mad at me because he thinks I tried to kill him, and he wants you all to know that I’m a liar and a cheat and a… What was it?”

  “Slime-pod,” Dru said.

  “Yes, a slime-pod. Very descriptive. He has a real way with words, does Kestimar. But if he’d wanted to kill me, he’d have dragged me up on deck at night, sliced me up and tipped the remains over the side. And he’d have done it out at sea, and not right under the noses of those watchers on the cliff-top there. So I took a chance that he has orders not to chop up the merchandise.”

  A yell and a wave from Kestimar set them drifting across to the rail, where the woman from the small boat was now clambering on to the deck. She pointed to Shakara and then down to the small boat, tied up at the bottom of a long, flimsy-looking rope ladder. Shakara rolled her eyes, but willingly climbed over the rail and started down the ladder. Then Dru followed.

  “The Gods were watching over you,” Zarin said to Garrett as they waited their turn, very conscious of the Lath standing silently beside him. Really, it was his place to point out the obvious.

  Garrett just laughed. “Do you think so? Well, you go on believing that, if it makes you feel better. I’ve never put my trust in the Gods, and I’m not starting now. If you really want to know, Zarin, it wasn’t any God who protected me. Kestimar answers to a higher power, all right, but she’s a lot more fun than any of your Gods.”

  “You blaspheme!” Zarin hissed, but Garrett smiled beatifically at him.

  “Shut your mouth, you!” the woman from the small boat said to Garrett. “Show some respect for our Queen.”

  “Queen!” Garrett squealed with laughter. “Seriously? How glorious!”

  And he carried on laughing all the way down the rope ladder, and half-way to the island, until Kestimar thumped him with a mailed fist. After that he bled profusely, but in blessed silence.

  10: The Windblown Isle (Shakara)

  Shakara sat rigidly in the boat. It was so small, she was afraid it would tip over at any moment, tossing them into the water. Still, she understood the requirements of rank, and it was beneath her to show any fear. She kept her expression emotionless, even when one of the rowers made a mistake with her oar and rocked the boat violently.

  Zarin and the priest sat in front of her, muttering contemplations. Beside her, Dru watched everything, eyes flickering. On the seat behind, Mikah and Garrett were mercifully silent. Garrett was still grinning like a maniac through the blood streaming from his nose, although what was so amusing to him was beyond her understanding. The man was a barbarian. She had always thought so, but now it was proved beyond all doubt. He came from the great plains beyond the Sky Mountains, far to the east. Everyone knew that civilisation lay along the coast. The further inland anyone travelled, the more savage and wild the people became. Even so, and despite the fact that nothing came of it, all that posturing between the two men was most unsavoury to watch.

  She wished Dru had not seen it. The child seemed to have a fondness for Garrett, as far as she could be said to be fond of anyone. And the poor thing just had to speak out. Zarin should have taught her better. All that book learning was not much use if the girl was merely going to echo it back at the most inopportune moments.

  “Are you all right, dear?” she said, patting Dru’s hand.

  “Yes, thank you, Lady Shakara.”

  The boat slid through a narrow cleft between two steep cliffs, cool in the long morning shadows. The rhythmic squeak and swish, squeak and swish of the oars was loud here, as though they were in a watery tunnel. Far above, a sea bird squawked, then fell silent again. Shakara shivered and pulled her wrap more tightly around her.

  In moments they emerged into the light again. They were in an almost circular bay, the narrow entrance the only access point. On the seaward side, the cliffs continued, although diminished in height. To the other side, a broad sweep of silver sand, with many boats drawn up on it, and sheep grazing on rough grassland beyond.

  On the opposite side to the entrance, a spur of land jutted into the bay, and on it was… well, what was it? A palace, perhaps. A vast collection of spires and towers and domes, the upper windows sparkling in the dawn sunlight, while the lower parts were still shaded.

  Mikah leaned forward and touched Shakara’s shoulder. “That must be where the Queen lives,” he whispered.

  For some reason that set Garrett off again. Insufferable man! He was out of reach of Kestimar’s fist just now, but at least he’d paid a small price for his idiotic behaviour. She hoped his nose was broken. It would serve him right. Not that he would care, she supposed. Nor would it
spoil his chances with women of less refined tastes than herself. He had always been inexplicably successful in that area.

  There was a stone pier arrangement in the water below the palace or whatever it was, and this was where the boat headed. A number of people were sitting about on boxes, but as the boat drew near, they got up and ambled over, ready to toss ropes about and tie them to stone bollards. Then a wheeled gangplank was positioned for them to disembark.

  There was some comfort in the solidity of stones under her shoes. Shakara had a moment of imbalance, when it seemed as though the stone pier itself was moving. Garrett put out an arm to support her, but she shook him off.

  “I can manage,” she said, in a dignified manner.

  “Fine,” he said, and turned at once to Dru, offering her an arm to lean against. They set off down the pier, and Shakara had to rush a little to catch up with them.

  Kestimar led the way, his long legs striding along a smooth, stone-paved road which wound over the low hills that ringed the palace. Garrett and Dru were not far behind, then Mikah. Shakara soon lagged behind, but Zarin and the priest were even slower, with raiders in an impatient gaggle just behind them. Only the six of them had been brought ashore, she realised. The crew had been left aboard ship. She wondered uneasily what that meant. Was special treatment a good thing or a bad?

  Their straggling procession passed under a grandiose carved archway. Ornate metal gates stood open, leaning at drunken angles. A high wall enclosed level grounds surrounding the palace. Probably it had once been an ornamental garden, but now it was a riot of overgrown bushes, creepers and weeds higher than their heads. Here and there, fallen trees lay untouched. Moonroses crowded close to the path, but on the path itself the stones were unblemished, with not a single weed breaking through.

  The palace loomed over them as they drew nearer. There was no symmetry to it. A curved wing nestled next to a square tower, a hexagonal section was topped with a spiral roof, domes and porticoes and oddly shaped roofs were heaped up, as if a child had started to build and lost interest before each part was completed. Some walls were grey stone, sparkling where the sun caught them, while others were red brick or shaped yellow slabs, the joints artfully curved. Bridges and buttresses angled across gaps between towers, or seemed to be suspended in mid-air. And yet there was a strange harmony to it.