The Dragon's Egg

by Pauline M. Ross

  “Come on, you two,” I said to Zarin and Drusinaar. “Room for us all now.”

  “You are truly a savage,” the priest said, disdain all over his ugly face.

  As if he had any reason to look down on me. We both came from dung heaps. I looked around. “You with the baby over there. Room for one more here. Come along, Mistress, have a seat.”

  She looked astonished at such courtesy, as well she might in a place where people apparently had to fight for scraps of food. Nevertheless, she scuttled across pretty smartly, murmuring something, although I didn’t understand a word of it.

  “Now tell me everything,” I said to Zarin. “What is going to happen to us?”

  “We go back to the slavers unless we have a reason to be here.”

  “Hmmm. Did you find a temple?”

  That set him off. He rattled away for quite some time – the difficulties with finding the place, and then it was some kind of silent type, but the priests seemed friendly enough, until the uniformed gang arrived. Then a great deal about the horrors of being locked up with the peasants, and waiting endlessly to be seen, and the food trolley that was besieged as soon as it appeared. Neither of them had eaten all day, apart from some sweet stuff at the temple.

  “And they laughed at us,” Zarin said, his voice squeaky with indignation. “Can you believe it, they laughed at everything the Lath said about the True Gods. I know they probably have different beliefs, but I would have expected greater respect from men of faith. They said it was made up.”

  Tricky. I rubbed my nose. Should I tell him or not? “Haven’t you ever wondered about it, though? Whether it was really true?”

  “Of course not,” Zarin said, outrage in his voice. “Why would I?”

  I almost left it there. But Drusinaar was watching us, her eyes dark and whirling with interest. “Drusinaar, what do you think about the Blessing of the True Gods? Do you think it’s true?”

  “What would she know of such matters?” the priest said, his tone disdainful.

  But Drusinaar didn’t hesitate. “Not all true. Some books say that the Blessing originated on the Golden Coast, and spread southwards over several centuries. Southern books say that. Northern books don’t say anything about it. All the books say there are three dominant religions on the Golden Coast: the Spirit of us all, the Seven Moons, and the Power of the Great Mother. Nothing else. No True Gods.”

  “Maybe it used to be there, but it moved south because of… of persecution… or something of the sort,” Zarin said, bewildered.

  “No,” Drusinaar said. “No persecution. No True Gods.”

  “She’s right,” I said, gently. “The Tre’annatha invented the Blessing of the True Gods in order to find anyone in the kyles with a natural ability for magic. The priests spread the word that the Guardian is looking for anyone ‘special’. That’s really all they’re there for. Sorry.”

  “Nonsense,” Zarin said, his eyes flashing. “You are just a heathen who knows no better.” But then he hesitated. For all his profound belief in his religion, he was a scholar to his core. “If it is as you say – how would you know?”

  “The Lady told me. It’s my job to check out anyone the priests find, so I had to know the truth. I always hoped you would work it out, Zarin. There are all sorts of discrepancies, once you know where to look.”

  “I… I am not sure…”

  But I could see him thinking it through, putting together the odd pieces that had never made any sense. Not that religion is meant to make sense, I suppose, but the Blessing of the True Gods is so orderly and regular, that the deviations stand out. The Lady had told me that someone at the homeland dreamed up the whole thing in an afternoon, history, names, rituals, everything. That was probably an exaggeration, but not much of one.

  Zarin deflated like a puffer frog. “There is no truth in it at all?” I shook my head. “It was just a way to search for special talents? People like Dru?”

  “Yes. Although… there’s never been anyone quite like Dru. I never found anyone, anyway. I’ve looked at a number of so-called ‘special’ people since I arrived at the Keep, and none of them were much use to the Lady. Connections with frogs, maybe. Or that yellow flower that makes horses sick. Nothing sensible.”

  He didn’t ask me what useful traits she was looking for, which was interesting. Perhaps he already knew. All those books he trawled through, he must have a good idea what kind of ability she wanted to find, what all the Tre’annatha wanted – mage power, just like the glory days before the Catastrophe.

  Zarin was silent for a long time, head down.

  “What do you think?” I said to the priest.

  “The priests of the Secret God attain a sublime state of spiritual exaltation.”

  I waited, but he said nothing more. “That’s it? They go into some kind of trance or dream or something of the sort?”

  He folded his arms and closed his eyes. On the other side of him, the woman fed her baby, paying us no attention, either not aware of the tension in our group, or too dispirited to care. Drusinaar was still, but her eyes were in constant motion.

  It was not yet dark, but people were beginning to settle down to sleep. I followed my nose to the carsi to take a piss. No one had taken my place when I got back to the bench, which made me smile inwardly. No one was brave enough to risk being hurled across the room. There were one or two bigger men I’d have had trouble with, but I was pleased that none of them had wanted to test me. I didn’t like playing rough – I’m much happier not drawing attention to myself.

  “What happened to you, anyway?” Zarin’s voice startled me. “I thought you were going to keep away from the Enforcers, yet here you are.”

  “Ha! The good citizens of Drakk’alona, it appears, summon the patrols for anyone who looks suspicious, who pay them for their trouble. Nice little extra income there. The man we bought our noon meal from must have alerted the innkeeper, because when we tried to—”

  “You went to an inn?” Zarin said sharply. “And bought a meal? How? We had not a coin between us when that unspeakable slaver deposited us on the wharf.”

  I clicked my tongue in annoyance. “Keep your voice down. It’s not difficult to get money.”

  “You stole it, I suppose. And no one speaks anything but gibberish here.”

  “Never assume,” I said. “Some may well understand more than you think. So there will be no more food before morning?”

  “I should not imagine so, no. We will be exceedingly hungry by then.”

  “Drusinaar?” I said. “Do you have any bread stowed away in your wrap?”

  She produced a chunk of the stale bread from the house, and then, after a moment’s thought, some of the flat bread we’d had at the noon meal. She was smart, Drusinaar. Or maybe it was peasant wisdom. If you can never be sure how much you’ll have to eat tomorrow, you eat frugally today.

  Zarin’s face lit up. I gave him the flat bread, and passed the stale bread across to the woman with the baby, who grabbed it with a rattle of unintelligible words. I didn’t give the priest anything.

  “Right,” I said. “Let’s see how well we can sleep sitting up.”

  I leaned back against the wall, cold and unyielding, and closed my eyes. After a moment, I felt a cool hand prying open my fingers. Something sticky was pushed into the palm of my hand. I opened my eyes. A date. Drusinaar was watching me, her eyes dark.

  I bit into the date. “Thank you.” She smiled at me.

  ~~~~~

  I was awake long before dawn. Many years before, I’d learnt to sleep like a lion, as the saying was – half dozing, but ready to spring alert in an instant. In this case, though, the crick in my neck made sure there was no possibility of further sleep. Once the first grey light crept through the windows, I went for a piss, then sat down again, leaned my head back and closed my eyes. My ears told me all I needed to know.

  It’s surprising what you can learn when you just listen. Even when the language is incomprehensible, the ton
e of voice, the odd rumble of laughter or the clenched breath of anger, the hiss of pain – all of them jump out, somehow. And the small movements of people creeping about. Most of them have a good reason for it – visiting the carsi, or stretching cramped muscles unused to sleeping on hard ground – but a few are up to mischief. It startles them when their intended prey opens his eyes and stares right in their face.

  After a while, I gave up the pretence altogether. Drusinaar was awake, her big eyes fixed unnervingly on my face, although she said nothing. Zarin was hunched in misery, twitching cramped arms and legs restlessly. I’m not sure he’d slept at all. The priest was snoring softly, his mouth wide open.

  Eventually the food trolleys arrived, and I forced my way through the melee to retrieve enough for the four of us. Then I ignored the priest’s outraged glare, and gave his share to the woman with the baby.

  The day wore miserably away. By watching the numbers arriving and leaving, and some business with the tokens, Zarin worked out that he and the priest might receive a summons in three days’ time, and Dru and I a day later.

  “Is there no one at all you know here?” I asked him, for about the fifth time. “No scholars you’ve been in contact with? They must have some kind of school here.”

  “Well, of course they do. The city states are civilised. But not all scholars know each other, Garrett. I have no acquaintance here at all. Only at Mesanthia.”

  “That’s no help,” I said irritably. “We must be hundreds of marks from Mesanthia.”

  “Ha! Thousands,” Zarin said. “And even if we were free, how would we get there? Walk up to a ship and ask the captain very nicely to take us there? No, we would be better off trying to get to the homeland. This is the entry port for it, and there are plenty of Tre’annatha living here. There is a Keep and a Guardian, after all. We just have to find a way to contact them, and they will take care of us, and help Drusinaar.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. The closer we got to the homeland, the less I liked the idea of handing Drusinaar over to the secretive Tre’annatha to put into their Program. The Lady talked about it as a benevolent thing, a wonderful opportunity for those with a magical ability, but I’d heard other, darker tales.

  And Drusinaar interested me. When I’d first met her, I’d assumed she was just a girl with a memory trick. Now I wasn’t so sure. Clearly she had some ability, but it was like nothing I’d ever seen before. The way she’d handled the dragon’s eggs, describing the dragon inside each one with such confidence. She’d had no trouble opening locks. And ever since she’d stolen Tella’s glass ball, she’d been different. Her voice, her expressions – not quite normal, but it made her feel more real to me. I wanted to get to know her better, to find out how much control she had over her fire-making talent, to learn what else she could do. She fascinated me, and I didn’t like the idea of handing such a fragile soul over to the emotionless Tre’annatha.

  Still, it was an academic problem. First we had to wait our turn to be seen, and find out what horrors awaited us at the hands of our new captors. I could see no point in trying to escape from the prison. Even if we could open the door, we’d have to fight our way past any number of armed guards, find our way out of the building and then find a place to hide where we wouldn’t end up back here within the hour. No, force wouldn’t work.

  That night it rained. And by that I mean there was a full-blown storm, with thunder rumbling and lightning cracking, with the whole room lit up like brightmoon. The windows had no shutters, or none we could see, anyway, so once the rain started, it dripped and then gushed through the openings onto the hapless souls below. We were lucky, as we weren’t directly below any of the torrents, but there was enough dampness in the air to get us thoroughly wet all the same. Even the priest couldn’t sleep.

  Zarin was a bundle of despair. He’d probably never experienced privation in his life before, and now he was cold and wet and still hungry, since the food I’d been able to get was hardly adequate. His joints were paining him, and he couldn’t get comfortable, whether standing, sitting or lying down. Another three days of this would be a torment to him.

  Drusinaar was watching me, her big eyes dark, as if she expected me to do or say something. “This isn’t much fun, is it?” I said.

  “No.”

  “It’s a pity you can’t talk to the rain, and tell it to bugger off.”

  “I can talk to it.”

  “What? Are you serious?”

  “Yes. It doesn’t listen much, though. Don’t know if I can tell it to bugger off.”

  I was lost for words. I remembered her saying something about the glass ball – that it allowed her to talk to the water the ship moved through. But rain? That was something else.

  The sensible part of my brain, the bit that wanted to keep its head down and not get into even deeper trouble, told me this was a very bad idea. Letting Drusinaar loose with her half-formed magical skills in the middle of a crowded room with armed guards just outside the door could only end badly.

  But the gambler in me was excited by the prospect. We could sit here for three days, and then be sent back to the slavers, and to worse conditions than Mesanthia, undoubtedly. The oar-ships, perhaps, or the mines. Alternatively, we could throw the bones again and see if they fell any better.

  When I was a boy, and went out with my brothers to the markets or ale houses for a spot of thievery, we always put a few frogs or snakes in our pockets before we left home. If things got a bit sticky, and we needed to escape from irate traders or barkeepers, one of us would toss one of the creatures under their feet. It always created a nice little diversion, so chaotic that we could slip away in the mayhem. Make something unexpected happen, and all sorts of opportunities can open up.

  “Can you try?” I said at last. “Can you see if you can make the rain stop?”

  “All right.”

  She kept one hand tucked inside her wrap – holding the glass ball, no doubt. The other hand she lifted, to point at the nearest window. And then her eyes swirled. That’s the only way I can describe it. They darkened, until the whites were gone and the whole eye was filled with a greeny-gold colour, which shifted and turned like a whirlpool. I watched her, mesmerised, as she concentrated.

  And the rain stopped. Not everywhere, for it still poured through the other windows, but that one window was dry.

  Oddly, no one seemed to notice. One or two people watched curiously, but I suppose it wasn’t obvious what Drusinaar was doing. She was sitting some distance below the window, so no one connected her with the sudden lack of rain.

  The arm dropped and she took several heaving breaths, as if she’d been running. The rain gushed through again. Ah well. I’d thrown the bones and nothing had changed.

  “Never mind,” I said. “The storm’s easing a bit anyway, I think, so it’ll soon stop all by itself. It was worth a try.”

  “Yes. Water’s hard. It doesn’t listen. Metal’s easier.”

  “Locks and things? I don’t think there’s much point in opening the locks on the door there. It’s barred on the outside, for one thing, and there are men waiting just the other side with swords, who look like they know how to use them.”

  “No. The windows.” She pointed upwards.

  “The metal bars? What can you do with them?”

  “I can keep the rain out.” She turned those great eyes on me, and I knew what she meant. She’d never in her life asked a question, but she was asking now. She wanted my permission to… well, I had no idea what she had in mind. But I very much wanted to find out. Another throw of the bones.

  “Go on, then,” I said. “Keep the rain out.”

  Again, she raised her hand, and the eyes whirled. And by the Nine, those window bars just flowed into a different shape, a sheet of metal that covered the opening altogether.

  If that had been all, we would probably have got away with it. But Drusinaar decided to change the rest of the windows, too. To do that, she got up from the bench and walked d
own the room, arm still raised, swirling eyes uplifted. And as she moved, the wrap fell open, and there was the glass ball in all its mystery, lighting up the night like a little moon.

  That was noticed all right. People scrambled away from her, and someone screamed. And within three heartbeats we fell into a shrieking, panicking Vortex, the guards rushed in, swords drawn, and a score of fingers pointed at Drusinaar, all oblivious, calmly moulding metal with her mind.

  “There,” she said to me. “No more rain.” And the smile on her face was almost smug. Turning, she saw the array of naked swords. One of the guards spat a few words, and, astonishingly, Drusinaar answered him in the same language.

  She wasn’t afraid. Her smile widened, and she held out her cupped hand, filling it with flames. By the Nine, with the glowing ball in one hand, and living fire in the other, she was magnificent, a Goddess.

  The guards turned and fled.

  17: The Commander's Office (Garrett)

  It was an age before anyone came for us. I wasn’t surprised at that, for I guessed the guards had had to send for reinforcements, and it was still the middle of the night.

  Drusinaar sat calmly in isolated splendour, an entire bench to herself, for no one would go near her. The ball was out of sight now, the flames gone, and she looked herself again. And yet – not quite the same. There was a composed confidence about her that I’d never seen before. An intelligence. There was something gloriously exotic about her. She took my breath away.

  Zarin and the priest sat on the next bench along, also vacated, as the other prisoners crammed themselves like fish in a barrel against the furthest wall, whispering furiously. I sat at Drusinaar’s feet. It seemed appropriate.

  The lock clanked, the door creaked open and in came a hard-faced middle-aged man in rather a garish uniform, much hung about with gold tassels, the guards trailing in his wake flapping their hands like so many chickens.

  The man in the garish uniform barked something to one of the guards, who lifted an arm and pointed straight at Drusinaar. A rattle of the local language. Drusinaar answered him in the same language. Another, longer, stream of words. She turned to me.