The Dragon's Egg

by Pauline M. Ross

  They made their way up a curving ramp, seemingly of solid marble, although Shakara could not imagine how it had been constructed. They moved slowly, for Zarin and the priest had fallen far behind. At the top of the ramp, beneath a pillared portico many storeys high, they waited for the two men, then entered the building together.

  Tall wooden doors banded with metal stood open. Inside, a mosaic floor showed a seascape in vibrant colours. There was a clear path across the centre of it, but towards the walls debris had accumulated, dry leaves that crunched under their feet if they strayed that way.

  Then another high doorway, the doors closed. Kestimar pushed one, and it swung open without effort. They passed through into a vast hall that must have run the full length of the building. Marble pillars supported an arched ceiling far above, with a little light filtering from windows brown with dirt, and again the sides of the room were filthy, a handspan deep in dust and who knew what detritus. On the walls, decaying hangings exuded a musty smell. Shakara wrinkled her nose.

  At the far end of the hall, a dais supported two thrones. A woman sat there awaiting them, with her retinue around her. The Queen.

  She was beautiful, although she must have been Shakara’s age at least, or older. She wore a gown of shimmering green, which could only be the finest Pastruckian silk. Her throat sparkled with a hundred jewels, and her fingers and the golden belt at her waist flaunted more. Dark hair without a trace of grey fell in lustrous waves to her waist, and on top of them, a plain golden crown.

  Shakara hated her on sight.

  “Welcome to the Windblown Isle,” the Queen said, and at once Shakara felt better. Instead of the melodious, regal tones she had anticipated, her voice was as harsh as Kestimar’s. Harsher, perhaps, and with a truly ugly accent.

  “Bow to the Queen,” Kestimar said.

  Garrett immediately snorted with laughter again. With an exclamation of annoyance, Kestimar grabbed him by one arm and dragged him nearer to the dais. “Here’s one you’ll recognise, by his insolence if nothing else.”

  With a flourish, Garrett bowed to the Queen. “Highness, I am deeply honoured to be in your presence.” Then another fit of giggling.

  Kestimar raised his arm to strike him, but the Queen said, “Wait! Is it… it can’t be, surely? Garrett?”

  “At your service, Highness.” Another small bow. Ironic, Shakara suspected.

  “Majesty,” Kestimar hissed at him.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You address the Queen as Majesty. Show the proper respect or I’ll feed you to the fishes, you slime-pod.”

  “That’s enough, Kestimar!” the Queen said. “Garrett, introduce me to your friends.”

  “Of course. This is Mistress Shakara lah Mazzalath, Third Under-Steward to the Guardian of the Western Keep.” Shakara’s eyes narrowed in annoyance – Third Under-Steward indeed! Even though it was technically true, it was ungallant to mention it so publicly. But she forced a smile, and executed an elegant curtsy.

  “This is Mistress Drusinaar of Cranna’s Holding, in the Kyle With Fifteen Oak Trees, and her tutor Master Zarin lak Hakkirin. That is a priest. And this is my assistant as bodyguard, Mikah dahal Mazzalathin, who is also Shakara’s son.”

  “Does the priest have a name?” She smiled sweetly as she spoke, and to Shakara’s disgust, the priest actually blushed and simpered.

  “Oh! It is unimportant of course, but how gracious of you to ask, Majesty. My name is Ambattan, Lath Ambattan, of the Seminary of the True Gods.”

  “You are welcome, Lath Ambattan. You are all welcome. I trust you will not be too much inconvenienced by your stay here. We will try to make you as comfortable as possible, and have you on your way again before too long.”

  “On our way to – where, exactly?” Garrett said.

  “To the slavers, Garrett. You will fetch a pretty price, I imagine.”

  ~~~~~

  The Queen’s idea of comfort did not quite mesh with Shakara’s. They were herded into an unused tower with a score of dirt-encrusted rooms, and locked in. An hour or so later, the door opened again, and some furniture was pushed through – low pallets, a table and an assortment of mismatched chairs. Another hour, and roughly stuffed mattresses arrived, and a heap of blankets. They found a pair of water privies at the bottom of a narrow stair, and although the water pump wheezed and grated, it still worked well enough for the purpose. Some hours later, jugs of water and buckets of food arrived – although only bread and cold meat and the remains of a bean stew from their own ship.

  They sat around the table, propped up on one side by some slivers of wood to stop it wobbling. Silently the food was passed around. There were no knives or spoons, and Shakara declined to eat the stew with her hands. “But it’s not hot,” Mikah had said, as if that made a difference. They might have been prisoners, but she was still a princess and that meant maintaining certain standards. It meant going hungry, too, she discovered, as she saw the others tucking in with relish. No one thought to offer her extra bread or meat to make up for the deficiency.

  “Will they really sell us to the slavers?” Mikah asked. Shakara sighed. He was so straightforward, sometimes. No subtlety at all.

  “Probably,” Garrett said.

  “Because that Kestimar man made out he was going to kill you, but he didn’t really mean it. So I wondered if she meant it about the slavers.”

  That was a good point. The boy was bright, that was certain. Her spirits lifted. Yes, of course, it was just a ploy.

  “I can’t be sure, not being able to read their minds,” Garrett said. “But I don’t know what else they can do with us, really.”

  “They can keep us here. We can become raiders too! It would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

  Garrett laughed. “Possibly.”

  “But not very legal, Mikah,” Zarin said sadly. “And if you were caught, you would be executed instantly, with no need for a trial. Your mother would not be pleased about that.”

  “But she’d be a raider too!”

  “And then she would be executed alongside you. Not a happy end to your lives,” Zarin said.

  “Only if we get caught,” Mikah said. “And we’d live like lords in the meantime. It would be worth the risk.”

  Garrett laughed again. “Ah, you have a gambler’s heart, boy.”

  Mikah beamed, as if he’d been paid a high compliment. “I take after my father.”

  Shakara coughed, and leaned across the table. “Is there any meat left? Or bread? I could manage a little more.”

  “You should have eaten the stew,” Zarin said. “There is nothing else left.”

  “I have some,” Dru said, fishing a chunk of bread and a slice of meat out of a fold in her wrap. She slid it across the table to Shakara.

  “Thank you, dear. What were you keeping it for anyway?”

  “For later. If I get hungry in the night.”

  That was sensible, Shakara thought, as she picked off bits of fluff and specks of dirt. They should all be more prudent now. They never knew when the next meal would arrive.

  ~~~~~

  Shakara had barely dropped off to sleep on the lumpy mattress when she found someone shaking her violently.

  “What—? Go away!”

  “Hush, hush! You’ll wake everyone. Keep your voice down.”

  “Garrett? Whatever is the matter?”

  “Drusinaar’s gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “Out. Through a locked door.”

  She was fully awake now, but it still made no sense. “What do you mean?”

  “Sshhh!” He gestured towards the door.

  Shakara pushed the blankets aside, and rolled onto her knees. Garrett offered her a hand, but she waved him aside, scrambling to her feet and shaking out her skirts. At least she was still fully dressed, that was something. Not that she would have dreamt of undressing with so many men in the room.

  Zarin had insisted they all sleep in one big room for safety, although what he w
as afraid of, even he could not say. They were securely locked in, after all. Around the walls, the dawn light showed her several inert lumps huddled under the thin blankets. Someone – the priest, she suspected – was snoring gently. Alongside him, Zarin lay sprawled on his stomach. Two pallets were empty – Garrett’s and Dru’s. Mikah was nearest to her, curled up with the blankets tucked under his chin, hair standing on end. He looked about eight, with sleep smoothing the almost-adult contours of his face. Poor Mikah. What would become of him, as a slave? She knew well enough what happened to pretty young men. She could hardly bear to think about it.

  Stepping carefully around the table and chairs in the middle of the room, she followed Garrett to the door, and then into the short corridor beyond. It was darker here, but they headed towards a dim light at one end – a window so grimy with age it barely fulfilled its function. Turning a corner, they came to a big open room with a rusty range along one wall, and an assortment of cobwebby chains, pots and spits. At the far side, another door, which stood open.

  “This is the back door,” Garrett said. “The servants’ entrance, I suppose. Drusinaar has gone out that way.”

  “Why was it not locked?”

  He clucked impatiently. “Well, it was locked, of course. Mikah and I checked the whole place yesterday. D’you think we’re stupid? But somehow Drusinaar got it open and she’s gone out.”

  “But where? And why? And why did she tell you, anyway?”

  “Really, Shakara, your brain is scrambled this morning. She didn’t tell me anything, she simply got up and went. But Mikah and I have been taking it in turns to stay on watch, so I saw her go. I followed her here, then I came to get you. Better if there’s two of us, wouldn’t you think? In case she’s sleepwalking or something. As to where or why – why does she do anything? I understand her brain even less than yours.”

  “But—”

  Another impatient cluck. “Let’s just find her and get her back here, all right? We don’t want Kestimar to get to her first.”

  Shakara shivered. She had forgotten her outer wrap, but it would make her seem weak if she turned back for it now. “Lead the way, then.”

  Beyond the doorway was a corridor so choked with dust and dangling cobwebs that Shakara had to pull her scarf over her mouth and nose. It was too flimsy to be much help, but it was better than nothing. There was one advantage of the filthy state of the place – it was easy to see which way Dru had gone by the footprints on the dusty floor and the broken ends of cobwebs.

  Garrett followed the trail for some distance along winding corridors, and then up a steep, narrow staircase. Another long passageway, this one lined with statues on plinths of long-dead people. Or women, rather, for none of them looked masculine. There was less dust here, but the marks of Dru’s bare feet were still clear to see. Another turn, another staircase, and a much cleaner corridor. Colourful rugs covered the floor, lit by beams of light from tall windows which were clean enough to show the flowering bushes outside. An ornately carved balustrade surrounded a much grander staircase than the ones they had used.

  “Which way?” Shakara whispered. There was no dust now, and therefore no footprints.

  Garrett dithered, looking first one way, then the other. But then, distantly, a voice. He pointed, and set off in the direction of the sound. He was trying to be quiet, walking on tiptoe, and he wasn’t a heavy man, but he wore leather boots and jerkin, which creaked as he moved. Shakara crept along behind him, heart pounding, for surely now they would be discovered?

  There was the sound again, a murmur of voices, one high, one lower, steadier.

  She tugged on Garrett’s sleeve, and spoke in a low voice. “Should we not go back? This must be where they live – the raiders. Better not to be caught sneaking about, surely?”

  “You go back, if you’re afraid,” he whispered. “I want to find Drusinaar.”

  Shakara stood watching his disappearing back, irresolute. The sounds were much closer now, emanating from an open door not far away. Garrett was going to just walk in there, with no idea what – or who – he might find. If it were Kestimar… or the Queen… how to explain the unlocked door? What might they do to escaped prisoners?

  But then she heard more voices, louder, masculine, accompanied by the unmistakable jingle of sword loops. They were coming up the main stairs. In a few seconds more they would see her.

  She picked up her skirts and ran after Garrett.

  11: The Handmaiden's Temple (Garrett)

  The room was sensibly furnished, that was the first surprise for me. It was oddly shaped, with corners at strange angles, and curves and niches everywhere, and the three windows were all different shapes, but it was filled with comfortable sofas, chairs and rugs, with tables and chests and desks scattered without much order. A fire burned low in the hearth behind a metal screen.

  The child was the second surprise. I guessed he was five or six, and he sat on the floor surrounded by dragons. There were wooden ones, and carved jade ones, felt ones, a couple in marble, and one made of ivory, a piece so large it could only have come from a kishorn tusk. More dragons sat on every surface, and a wide shelf held a long line of dragon eggs.

  Drusinaar stood, mesmerised, gazing at the eggs. She had one in her hands, but as I watched she replaced it very gently on its plinth and moved on to the next one, picking it up as tenderly as if it were a duck egg, which might crack at any moment.

  “Red,” she said, turning to the boy. “Black wing-tips.”

  “Boy or girl?” the child said.

  “Boy. Reds are always boys.” She set it down, and picked up another one. “Blue. Very pale blue, with brown markings.”

  “Boy or girl?”

  “Girl.”

  I stared, fascinated. A slight movement on the far side of the room made me realise I was not the only spectator.

  Inclining my head, I said, “Good morning, Majesty.”

  She was wearing a night robe, her hair tumbled about her shoulders as if she’d just got out of bed. I had a sudden desire to take her straight back there, and rip the robe from her lush body. She gave me an intimate little smile, for all the world as if she could read my thoughts.

  “Good morning, Garrett. You don’t need to be so formal. You know me well enough to call me Tella. Ah, and here’s… Shakara, isn’t it?”

  I turned, to see Shakara scuttle in, rather breathless. Had she been running? I’d thought she might abandon me once we got close to our quarry, but she had more spirit in her than I’d expected.

  The boy was more interesting to me. “What’s his name?” I said.

  “Ruell.” Another enigmatic smile. I’d never understood Tella’s moods, but she seemed friendly enough today.

  “He’s just like you,” I said.

  She laughed. “In looks, perhaps. In other ways, I think he takes after his father.”

  “And here he is, how splendid,” I said, as Kestimar strode in, fully mailed, sword at his side. Two other men followed him.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Kestimar said, pulling a long, curved blade from a sheath at his waist. He waggled the knife under my nose. Gods, but the man loved to have something sharp and pointed in his hand. “Shit, Garrett, this time I’m really going to slice you open, and turn you inside out, so the vultures can feed on your entrails.”

  “You know, Kestimar,” I said mildly, “when we first met, you made a point of telling me that you were the high-born, educated one, and I was the gutter-born low-life scum. But the distinction escapes me now.”

  “Enough!” Tella said crisply. “Kestimar, escort our guests back to their quarters, undamaged, if you please. And see that they are properly locked in this time.”

  He glared at me, but she had him well cowed, for he led us back downstairs, as tame as you please, and in through the main door of the tower. He was so mad at me, he didn’t even notice that the door was still locked.

  Later, when I was sure he and his henchmen had gone, I crept through to th
e back door. I’d pushed it shut and pocketed the key when we’d passed through before. Now I locked it from the inside.

  We had a way out whenever we wanted it, but I wasn’t sure that was much help to us. Even if we escaped from the tower, we were still trapped on an island out of sight of the mainland. This was going to take some thinking about.

  ~~~~~

  Buckets of porridge arrived for us, and this time even Shakara wasn’t too proud to eat with her hands. Then the two women were taken away to help with the domestic chores. Later, Zarin and the priest went off, too. Finally, someone came for Mikah and me. We, it turned out, were to have the pleasure of displaying our skills with the sword.

  Mikah was paired with a boy not much older than he was, a skinny youth who barely knew one end of a sword from the other. They bashed away at each other with more enthusiasm than style, and were best friends within the hour.

  I had less luck. Kestimar wasn’t allowed to chop me into tiny pieces with a real sword, but a training sword and shield can inflict a surprising amount of damage, wielded by a man a head and a half taller than me, and with muscles to match. Kestimar might have lost whatever veneer of civilisation he’d once had, but he’d obviously not neglected his swordsmanship. I spent perhaps two hours picking myself out of the dirt and trying not to break anything vital.

  That was tedious enough, but we then spent the afternoon helping to stow away the supplies from our own ship in the cellars. Kestimar’s men rowed back and forth collecting crates and barrels and sacks, a wheeled trolley carried them through a dank tunnel and directly into one end of the cellars. A dozen or so of the crew from our ship were there, too.

  “Are you all right?” I whispered to one I recognised, when we had a moment unobserved.

  “Aye, they’s treating us fine. We’s sleepin’ on the ship, like. You know what they’s goin’ to do wi’ us?”