The Dragon's Egg

by Pauline M. Ross

  Whatever was in them, I didn’t believe they would harm me. Perhaps it was reckless of me, but I trusted Hanni. So I rested my hand on top of the ball.

  At once it filled with colour, first yellow, then red, green, something that wavered between orange and red, and finally grey.

  That brought the first sign of surprise in her. “Oh, how interesting!” She peered into the ball, her nose a handspan away from it, watching the grey centre shift and swirl like clouds.

  “May I remove my hand?”

  “Oh – yes.” But she couldn’t tear her eyes from the ball.

  I wondered why she was so surprised. Was the ball misbehaving? Was this reaction unusual? It was very curious.

  Eventually she drew her eyes away from the ever-changing patterns, and looked up at me. “Now then, a few questions, and please answer truthfully. What is your name?”

  “Garrett.”

  “Your full name, if you please.”

  “I never had one. I was abandoned at birth and brought up in the temple orphanage, so I was never named for a village or family or craft. I had a number, though. Do you want that? I was forty-eight seventeen eighty-three. Or Garrett for short.”

  For an instant she stared at me blankly, not understanding my feeble joke, but then she giggled, hand to mouth. Such a girlish gesture that was, something I’d seen a thousand times in tavern servers or street singers or inn companions, a gesture that suggested a certain interest. But Hanni wasn’t flirting with me. She seemed quite unconscious of me as a man. I was just a subject to her.

  “And your companions?”

  “The man is Zarin lak Hakkirin. He’s a scholar. The girl is Drusinaar of Cranna’s Holding, in the Kyle With Fifteen Oak Trees.”

  Her eyes flickered with interest, but she made no comment.

  “Where were you born – Garrett?”

  We went through my life history. I saw no reason to keep anything from her, for I’d long since stopped trying to hide my past or pretend to be anything I wasn’t. People made assumptions about me, and I didn’t always correct their mistakes, but that wasn’t the same as hiding things or lying. I was more or less honest these days, when I was allowed to be, and could look the world in the eye.

  “And where have you seen a ball like this before?”

  That one caught me wrong-footed. How much should I say? Tella’s part in it was fine, but did I want to tell Hanni about Drusinaar? On the other hand, perhaps it was better that she should know. My instincts still told me to trust Hanni.

  “A friend had one. She was a Karningholder – one of the nobles on the Karningplain – and the religious types in charge used these balls when they interviewed them. To ensure they spoke the truth. When the Karningplain fell into chaos, she took one as a reminder of how things used to be.”

  Then I stopped, still uncertain what to say about Drusinaar. The ball flared slightly, a momentary blue tinge that died away with a heartbeat.

  Hanni sat back in her chair. “You are not telling me the truth.”

  So that was what the blue flares meant. How many times had I seen it happen, and thought it was just some random thing? And – it struck me with the force of a tidal wave – it must be the person who last rested their hand on the ball whose lies were revealed. And that was always Tella. By the Nine, the lies she must have told! That ball went blue a score of times every day when she had it.

  “Garrett! Do not lie to me.”

  “I’ve told you no lies.” The ball agreed with me. No hint of blue.

  Her face was a picture of outrage. “But perhaps you have told me less than the full truth. I need to know everything.” She leaned forward, her eyes mere slits. “Everything, you understand?”

  So she wanted to play that game. Well, I was an expert at it. My whole body tingled with excitement. I was a gambler to the core of my being, and Hanni would get a surprise if she pushed me. This was about to get interesting. “Or what? What will you do if I refuse to tell you anything else?”

  She stood up, all affronted dignity. “You do realise I can have you executed if you refuse to cooperate?”

  I sprawled back in my chair, grinning at her, exuding relaxed amusement. “And how will you do that? Look around you. We’re alone in here, Hanni.”

  Her face reddened with anger, but there was no fear in her. She leaned forward, stabbing one finger to emphasise her words. “Do you dare to threaten me? Who do you think you are? I am trying to help you people and all I get from you is abuse. I should send you back to be processed, and let them dump you at sea. Perhaps that is just what you deserve.”

  I had to admire her courage, but it was stupid all the same. She was leaning over me, her pointing hand practically touching my nose. I leapt from my chair and grabbed her wrist before she had time to react. “Here’s the thing, Tre’annatha lady,” I snarled. “I’m tired of being pushed around by rude, ignorant foreigners. The north coast is supposed to be civilised, but for all your fancy clothes, you’re just as savage underneath as anyone else. Now me, I’m a barbarian through and through. I make no pretence to be civilised. So now you’re going to tell me the truth, lady, and if you have any help you can summon, now’s the time for it.”

  And I gripped her wrist firmly, and forced her hand down and down, until it rested on the glass ball. Then I held it there, while the ball cycled through its colours. The same sequence, always the same, but the end was different. For her, the final colour was a pale creamy blue. The same as Tella. I wondered what that meant.

  To her credit, after a gasp of surprise, she didn’t make a sound. Only a slightly pained expression on her face suggested that my grip was hurting her. I didn’t care. It was time to push back. In combat, there’s always a phase of dancing round each other, getting the measure of your opponent, making dummy thrusts then pulling back, watching and waiting. But when you make your move, you have to do it fast and hard, because you may not get a second chance. So I held her wrist tight enough to bruise, and pushed it hard against the glass ball, and I didn’t let go until the colours had settled.

  “Now you answer my questions, lady.”

  She stared at me wide-eyed, rubbing her wrist. “May I sit down?”

  I shrugged.

  She flopped into the chair. “I will answer your questions. I would have done anyway, without… that.” She was cool, I’d give her that. Her breathing was a little faster than usual, and perhaps she was slightly flushed, but her voice was steady.

  “What does grey mean in the ball?”

  “It means you have a mental connection. All the power connections show up in the ball. Fire, stone, water, metal, wood… they each have their colour. But a mental connection is grey.”

  “Why were you surprised by it?”

  “I was surprised the ball showed any connection. I thought you had been given the suppressant. But perhaps it has worn off.”

  She paused, watching for a reaction, but I knew how to keep my face blank.

  After a few heartbeats, she went on, “Grey is uncommon, and yours is… unusual. I have not seen that precise shade before. Would you mind telling me what it is?”

  “I’m asking the questions. What other mental connections are there?”

  “The most common is an emotional connection – you would feel the emotions of another person, and can… adjust them. If someone is angry, you can make them more angry or less, for instance. Or it might be animals. A connection with languages has been seen in the past. And not long ago, there was a case of a boy who could read people’s memories. In theory, the connection might be with any part of the head – eyes or ears or smell or taste, as well as feelings.”

  “Not thoughts?”

  I disliked her intensely, but despite that, she fascinated me. She was so composed, despite the way I’d treated her, and I had to admire that. As a person – as a woman – I respected her. She reminded me so much of the Guardian, someone I’d trust with my life. In the Karningplain, Tre’annatha were feared and hated for kee
ping the population in subjection. Tella had called them demons, but then she’d suffered more than most at their hands. I’d suffered, too, perhaps, but I’d never blamed the Tre’annatha for that. I’d broken the law and been caught, no point heaping blame anywhere but on my own head. And Hanni – in spite of everything, instinct still told me that she was more friend than enemy.

  “I have never heard of a case of connecting with thoughts, no.”

  The glass ball hadn’t flared blue once. “You are being honest with me. That’s good. Let’s see if you can keep that up. What do you plan to do with us?”

  “That depends on what connections you have. My friends and I have our own research group here, investigating magical abilities.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To learn about such talents and to help the subjects use them safely, of course.”

  “Isn’t that what the Program does?”

  “The Program!” she spat, sudden anger flashing across her face. “It is an abomination. Those at the homeland want to control magic – all of it, Garrett. They would take people like you and your friends, and lock you away for ever while they work out how to exploit you.”

  It was the first sign of fire in her. I was getting somewhere.

  “But what they fail to understand is—” She bit her lip. “I beg your pardon. I should not talk so wildly.”

  “You’re doing fine,” I said, giving her my most charming smile. “I like wild talk.”

  She twisted her lips wryly. “But I do not.” She eyed me speculatively, but then she seemed to come to a decision, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms. “Garrett, I suspect you are not quite as barbaric as you pretend. Not well educated, perhaps, and willing to do whatever the situation demands, but I believe you are a fair man. So I will tell you the truth about myself, and you may judge whether to trust me. Is that acceptable?”

  “The truth is always acceptable, lady.”

  “Very well, then. I was born in the homeland, as all Tre’annatha are, but then I was sent to an outside court to be raised. At Caxangur, in fact, in the Two Rivers Basin at the northern end of the great Plains of Kallanash. At the age of five, I was sent to be tested for a connection, again, as all Tre’annatha are. I was the youngest child of my nest, and my three older siblings had all been taken into the Program. I wanted that too. Magic is so fascinating!”

  She leaned forward so abruptly, it was all I could do not to jump.

  “Can you imagine my disappointment when none was found?” she hissed. “That pale blue colour in the ball – that means no connection, or none worth mentioning. To be rejected as useless at the age of five…”

  “Not everyone has a connection,” I said mildly.

  “Actually, that is not true,” she said, her tone veering back to its usual calmness. “Everyone has a connection, but most are below the threshold of measurability. Or usefulness, come to that. I knew one child whose connection was to orange spotted butterflies. Amusing, but not much practical application. Anyway, if I could not be a part of the Program as a subject, I determined that I would be part of those managing it. It would be almost as much fun to observe the abilities of others, or so I thought. To guide those with strong abilities to achieve their full powers, and help them learn to use those powers. That was how it should be, but there is a corruption within the Program—”

  She was becoming agitated again, and paused while she got herself under control.

  I waited.

  “It was impossible,” she went on in her usual quiet voice. “All I wanted to do was to learn about magic, but all the interesting subjects were taken away from me. There was no possibility to progress, so I left the Program. It sounds so simple when I say it, but it was anything but. No one leaves the Program, subject or observer, once enrolled. The only way out is death. So I died.”

  I raised an eyebrow at that. “You look quite well for a dead person.”

  She laughed. “Indeed! The Tre’annatha live by documents. If there are documents to say that a certain person is dead, then that person is dead. I could not stay in Caxangur, of course, so I moved about. Eventually I came here.”

  “Isn’t it risky for you, so close to the homeland? Drakk’alona is crawling with your people.”

  “That makes it easier to hide. I have a false name, false history, false documents, if required, but no one ever asks to see them. Tre’annatha hold a special position here, outside Drakk’alona law. I like being here, so close to the homeland. I still hope that I might be able to go back.”

  “Really? Is that possible? Would you have to rise from the dead?”

  “Of course not!” That flash of anger again. “I have explained, I have a new name now, I am a person of some importance in Drakk’alona. How else could I whisk you away from under the commander’s nose? Unfortunately, that name gives me no right to live in the homeland. That is a right that may only be earned. One day perhaps I will perform some invaluable service for my people and they will welcome me back as a queen in gratitude…”

  Her head drooped, and there was the faintest tremor in her voice.

  “The Tre’annatha have queens?” I said.

  “Yes!” Her head lifted sharply. “I would have my own court… I could breed… it would be wonderful.” She shrugged. “But that is not likely to happen, so I have my own court here, with a few friends who are similarly dead, and we conduct our own research. Not like the Program! We only want to discover everything we can about power connections, and how they may be used. We are scientists, not gaolers. We want to help you and your companions, Garrett, not exploit you.”

  She paused, watching me. I made no reaction. In truth, I wasn’t sure what to make of the story. I wanted to believe it all, but here I was, still trapped. It was all just words.

  “I want to be your friend,” she said, smiling.

  “Then you have to prove it,” I said briskly. “Look – I’m tired of being underground like a worm. I want to see the sky again, feel the wind on my face. Take us somewhere for a meal – above ground, mind you. A tavern or inn of some kind. Let us walk around the streets like normal people, without anyone arresting us. If you do that, I promise I’ll tell you everything about the three of us.”

  She looked uncertain. “How do I know you won’t just run away?”

  “You won’t. You’ll just have to trust us, won’t you? As we have to trust you.”

  20: The Courtyard House (Garrett)

  It took Hanni a couple of days to organise papers for us. She could not be questioned by the Drakk’alona authorities, but we could, so we needed something called a proof. This turned out to be a metal token, a little like the circular coins used in some places. It was engraved with marks, unreadable to me, which gave our names and some kind of number.

  We had new clothes for the occasion, too. Zarin and I looked like expensive catamites, I thought, with brocade coats with long skirts over trousers that only reached the knee, and complicated silk wrappings below. Hanni and her friends spent ages over the wrappings; apparently it was a subtle signal of status, so they had to get the pattern correct. Drusinaar was dressed much like Hanni, with a full-skirted silk gown, and ribbons threaded through a fussy hair arrangement. Hanni had offered her a matching silk coat, but Drusinaar refused to wear it, preferring her old wrap. I knew why of course; nowhere to hide the glass ball in a flimsy coat.

  When everything was organised, Hanni led us through the maze of identical passageways, and then up and up to an airy, glass-domed lobby with a mosaic floor in a complicated repeating pattern. We passed a few other Tre’annatha as we crossed to the high doors, which stood open.

  Outside, the sun blasted us, hot and so bright I had to screw up my eyes.

  Hanni made an exclamation of annoyance. “Hats. I should have thought of hats.”

  She and her friends wore leather caps, like the one she’d worn when we first met her, although a slightly different style. With a little adjustment, the wings could be bent
forward to shade their eyes. The friends, all women, looked identical to me. They were called Lushi, Marla and Flinni, but I could never work out which name went with which of them. I just thought of them as Green Gown, Blue Gown, Brown Gown. I’d spent enough time watching Hanni to be able to pick her out of the group, although if she’d ever worn the same colour as one of her friends, I’d have been in trouble.

  As we descended wide steps to the street and turned towards the sun, the heat bounced off the pale walls of high buildings. It was like walking into an oven.

  “Is it always this hot?” I said, beginning to wilt already.

  The Tre’annatha all laughed. Green Gown said, “You are in the north now, Garrett. It gets much hotter than this. We are barely out of spring.”

  “Do not worry,” Hanni said. “We are going to the Garden of the Gods.”

  “What’s that? Some kind of temple?”

  “You will see.”

  Drusinaar could never resist. “An area of land set aside by Queen Handiria Lossia in the year—”

  I rested a hand on her arm. “Don’t spoil the surprise. When we get there, you can tell us all about it.”

  “She is very knowledgeable,” Hanni said, looking at Drusinaar speculatively.

  “Of course she is. She reads a lot,” Zarin said. The heat was making him cross, I expect.

  “You must have a wonderful library in your little west coast Keep, then, if it tells of Queen Handira Lossia.”

  “Read it here,” Drusinaar said. “Books in the guest room.”

  The Tre’annatha exchanged surprised glances, but said nothing.

  We turned off one street into another, much wider, one. As we rounded the corner, we practically bumped into a group of uniformed men with batons. Enforcers, and four of them, as always.

  Zarin stopped dead, but the four Tre’annatha never even broke stride, ploughing on without so much as a pause in their conversation. Drusinaar followed blindly, and I tucked in behind her, with a quick glance behind to be sure that Zarin was moving again.