The Dragon's Egg

by Pauline M. Ross

  And those Enforcers stepped aside, saluting the Tre’annatha politely as they swept through, quite oblivious. The three of us sailed past in their wake. We got no salutes from the Enforcers, just hard stares, but they said nothing, and made no attempt to stop us.

  “By the Blessing!” Zarin muttered, as he scuttled alongside us. “I thought we were about to be arrested again.”

  “Since when are we not arrested?” I said, raising an eyebrow at him.

  He shook his head sorrowfully. “Sometimes you are too cynical, Garrett. We are free at last. Enjoy it.”

  Even if I questioned how free we were, I could go along with the enjoyment part of things.

  At the end of the wide street, Hanni led us through an arch and down stone steps into blessed cool shade. Down and down again, into a wide tunnel with many people coming and going. High, narrow windows admitted shafts of brilliant light, and heat flooded in from other stairways we passed by, but otherwise it was wonderfully cool.

  “These walkways are more pleasant than the streets in summer,” Brown Gown said. “They connect many of the principal areas.”

  Pleasant was perhaps stretching the truth a bit. It was a strange world down there, gloomy one moment, dazzlingly bright the next, so that my eyes had trouble adjusting. It smelt fusty, with odd whiffs of sewer. The crowds pressed us closer than I was comfortable with, and every bumped elbow or shoulder set my nerves jangling. More than once a sudden movement nearby set me reaching for my non-existent blades. Such a swirling mass of people would attract pickpockets in any normal place, and although I had no purse to protect, I was constantly on the watch, an automatic wariness.

  But no one bothered us. They swished past, in ones and twos, or large groups, the women with their full skirts and oddly shaped headwear, the men with flowing coats and wide-brimmed hats. Many walked with canes, although they had no limp. Others wore fluttering silk robes, not unlike Shakara’s wrapped style, although less complicated. They looked at us as they went by, but without curiosity. In our fancy clothes, we passed muster as locals.

  We saw two more groups of Enforcers, but although they looked us up and down, they passed by without making any attempt to stop us. Hanni and her friends had enough status to protect us, it seemed. Even so, Zarin was at the point of collapse by the time we reached the Garden of the Gods.

  The entrance was a latticed iron archway across one side of an octagonal plaza, with the remaining sides taken up by a series of imposing buildings, fronted with high pillars and painted-glass windows. And here for the first time since leaving the prison we saw guards wearing swords, or perhaps daggers, for the blades were rather short and curved. But they were just for show, since the guards wore nothing more protective than metal wrist braces and leather waistcoats. Beneath that they sported flimsy silk shirts and loose trousers that must have been pleasantly cool, but would do them no good in a real fight.

  The centre of the plaza was entirely filled by a monstrosity of a sculpture, a wild collection of creatures and objects, of different sizes, all heaped up together. A dragon sat on the upturned hull of a boat, a giant rabbit crouched on a wagon, an eagle carried a tower in its talons. I’d never seen anything like it. On the very top, larger than anything else, a man in a knee-length skirt strode over the whole mess, waving a tree in one hand and a snake in the other. I suppose it meant something to the Drakk’alonans.

  Around the sculpture, wagons and carriages and horses and mules raced about in a constant whirl that made me dizzy. Children with buckets dashed between them collecting the animals’ droppings, and how they avoided being trampled I can’t guess. Around the outside of the plaza was a wide paved walkway for those on foot, but it was so crowded it was hard to move. Many people dragged small carts behind them, which banged my shins and once almost knocked me clean over. There was no shade, and the sun beat down on us to add to our torment.

  The Tre’annatha ladies forced a passage for us, and eventually we arrived at the archway to the gardens. I could see cool greenery splashed with colour, and pleasant paths beneath tall trees draped with vines. And there was no one in sight. I wanted so badly to walk under the arch and into that haven of blessed quiet. But our way was blocked by a line of guards.

  Zarin was quivering again. By the Nine, the man had no stomach at all. I moved a little in front of him, trying to shield him from notice. My sword hand was twitchy again, but I hoped I looked more relaxed than I felt.

  I needn’t have worried, though. The guards were smiling, looking friendly. Green Gown said something and they all laughed. There was some back and forth between them, then the guards stood aside and we walked into the Garden of the Gods.

  It was a vast place. I’ve seen towns smaller than that, or so it seemed, as we wandered along meandering footpaths, surrounded by lush greenery which towered above our heads. Scented plants were dotted about, filling the air with perfume, and tubs of fruiting bushes clustered around places where paths crossed. We could eat the fruit, too, Hanni told us. Zarin wouldn’t, but Drusinaar and I tried one of every different type. Some were sweet, some sharp, some were so succulent the juice ran down our chins.

  The leaves were too dense to see through, but squawks and rustlings above our heads indicated wildlife living in the tall trees. Occasionally a bird shot past us, its plumage a brilliant green, with a yellow ruff on its head. “The empress bird,” Hanni said.

  Half hidden by shrubs, brightly painted buildings peeped out.

  “Here we are,” Hanni said, leading us down a narrow path and round an enormous bush covered in creamy white flowers to a low red and green building.

  We followed tamely. I was too overwhelmed by all the sights I’d seen even to form a coherent thought just then. I’d travelled over half the continent, or so it seemed, and experienced plenty of wonders and oddities, but just then I was exhausted by the heat, the sickly-sweet scent of the flowers and the peculiar situation we were in with the Tre’annatha. I half-trusted them, but I was still on edge, still nervous of what weirdness they might spring on us next. I’d have given a great deal to be sitting in a dark tavern, a mug of ale in my hand and a pretty serving girl to bring me my bread and soup.

  There were no serving girls here. We were greeted at the door by a man, shown to a private room by another man, offered bowls of scented water to wash in by yet another man, and each given a small dish of nut-like things to eat by a fourth. The room contained no furniture, but we were brought cushions and low tables, immediately removed at a word from Hanni and replaced with a normal table and chairs. Zarin sighed with relief. The rest of us could probably manage to eat sitting on the floor, but he could not.

  The building had solid outer walls, but the inside walls were folding screens or pots of plants, and the fourth side of the room was open to a courtyard with a fountain playing. One corner of the building was taken up with kitchens, but the rest of it was given over to rooms like ours, overlooking the courtyard.

  I was soon glad of the nut-like things, because this was not a place where you asked for food and were immediately handed a bowl of something brown and hot. First there was a long discussion about the wine, then they had to settle what we were actually to eat. Zarin, Drusinaar and I took no part in this, but the four Tre’annatha debated the options on the various trolleys presented to them – one with slabs of meat laid out, another with fish, yet another with peculiar things unlike anything I’d ever seen. I hadn’t any idea what they were, but I didn’t want to eat them.

  Eventually, all was arranged, but even then we sat for an age while servers brought wine, and then small dishes of little pastries or hot, spicy balls or slivers of meat in a sweet sauce. Nothing that I’d call nourishing. But eventually the real food arrived – platters of succulent meat, whole game birds, bowls of thin soup with vegetables floating in it. And rice. The Lady had had rice sometimes at the Keep, but I’d never much liked it. I ate some, out of politeness, but I’m a meat man, myself. Drusinaar seemed to enjoy it though, and
Zarin, bless him, filled his belly with wine and relaxed, for once.

  While I watched them eat, I wondered how Shakara was getting on with her raiders, and whether she was eating half as well as we were. Unlikely. I’d not had much sympathy to spare for her recently – not while we were locked up in one dungeon or another. For a while, it had seemed that she’d done rather well for herself. But now, when things seemed to be looking up for us, I had to wonder if she’d made the right choice. And Mikah, too. No, he’d be fine. Tella would look after him, in her own way. She was wild and tempestuous and selfish, but she wasn’t vicious, and she had Kestimar more or less under control. The priest I was glad to be rid of, with his pious bleatings. I had no time for priests, and especially false ones. I’d known too many of them.

  “Well, Garrett.” Hanni startled me back to the present. “Are you satisfied that we are your friends now? We have done as you asked.”

  To give myself time to think up an answer, I said, “Why have you switched to Low Mesanthian?”

  “Because it is the workers’ language, and no one here will understand it if they should happen to overhear. These walls are very thin.”

  “Never assume,” I said sharply. “Workers move upwards, by education, or marriage, or cleverness, or thievery, or simply by working hard. Put a worker in fancy clothes, and teach him some manners, and you’d never guess his origins.”

  “That is true,” said Brown Gown, furrowing her brow.

  Hanni sighed. “The servers have gone, the room on that side of us is empty, and on the other side, the patrons are speaking Brianese, and had to have a Brianese-speaking server translate their needs. So we are quite safe. There are no workers here, with manners or otherwise.”

  “Except me,” I said. “And possibly Drusinaar, although she’s more peasant than worker, I’d have said. What about you, Zarin, how do you classify yourself?”

  “As a scholar,” he said with dignity.

  “Ah, so you are.” I beamed at him. We were all mellowed by good food and wine, and we hadn’t been poisoned, either. I could hop from head to head quite happily. Not that there was anything interesting to see through other eyes, not here, but I liked knowing my ability was there, curled up inside my head, waiting to be used. I might not have a sword or knife, but I still had a modest weapon at my disposal.

  “You are an intriguing group,” Hanni said. “And the priest, too. I should love to know more about all of you. If you wish to tell us.”

  I only hesitated for a heartbeat. When I’d been buried underground, with Hanni so smug and superior, treating me like scum, I’d had no wish to tell her anything. More than that, I’d been filled with a burning desire to wipe the self-righteous smile from her face, as violently as possible. I’d wanted – not to hurt her, particularly, but at least to shock her. Even though I hadn’t quite managed that, I’d dented her composure slightly.

  But now? I didn’t exactly trust Hanni and her friends, but they’d done everything I’d asked. They were treating us with respect. And sitting in that room, with the fountain playing gently a few paces away, the birds screeching in the trees and my belly full, I was disposed to give them the benefit of the doubt. And what else could I do? The alternatives were worse – the slavers, the Enforcers, or a shadow life on the streets, trying to evade authority? I’d done enough of that. If I put my faith in the Tre’annatha, there was a chance they’d betray us, but there was also a chance they would help us. It was worth the gamble.

  So I told them everything. My own history first, then Zarin volunteered his story, and then I reported everything I knew about Drusinaar. The story was the one Marisa had brought to the Keep: the fighting dragons, the falling egg, which later hatched to reveal Drusinaar, seemingly a child of two or so. And how she had grown up a little strange, but had caused no trouble until recently, and started asking for her keeper. Then all that had happened since, even the glass ball. Drusinaar listened calmly, saying nothing, but watching intently, her eyes dark.

  When I asked her, Drusinaar brought the ball out from her wrap and held it in her hand. It sat quiescent, not glowing, all its power hidden, but when I asked her to, she made it glow for a moment. The Tre’annatha were fascinated.

  “We had no idea there was a different type,” Hanni said. “There are said to be quite a few of them along the coast, where they are used to decide who enters the Program. Some of them have obviously gone to the Karningplain, from all you have said, where they use them to detect lies. But I have never heard of a glowing one.”

  Green Gown held out a hand. “May I? I have no connection worth mentioning, so I cannot harm it.”

  “Nothing can harm it,” Drusinaar said, but she hesitated, then looked at me.

  “It’s up to you. The ball is yours.”

  She nodded as if I’d given her an order, then gently rolled the ball across to Green Gown, who stopped its movement with her hand. Nothing happened. The ball stayed clear, with not a trace of colour. Brown Gown and Blue Gown tried, too, but there was no change in its appearance.

  But when Hanni reached for it, Drusinaar snatched it back. “Not you.”

  Hanni went a little pink. “Why ever not?”

  “It’s mine.”

  It wasn’t much of an explanation, and pretty rude, too, after Hanni had treated us rather well. I was about to argue with her when Zarin cut in.

  “It is a scrying stone, Hanni. Dru may have a good reason to keep you from the ball.”

  Drusinaar’s eyes flicked back and forth, but she said nothing.

  After a moment, Hanni nodded. “Well, you keep it, child. It is all the same to me, I am sure,” Hanni said. “You must take great care of it, for these are very precious – irreplaceable. No one knows where they came from, so we can get no more of them.”

  That astonished me. “They come from the glowing towers. I thought you people would know that.”

  “Glowing towers?”

  “You have one right here in Drakk’alona. In fact, this ball – almost all the known balls – came from there. Ran’ashilla Fah. It was opened a long time ago, the contents removed – these balls – and now it’s closed up. The tower at the Western Keep is another the same, but no one’s ever got into that one. Even Drusinaar—”

  “Wait!” Hanni said. “You had better explain this.”

  “You really didn’t know?”

  “Tre’annatha are noted for their secrecy,” Zarin said. “No one is told anything unless they need to be. It can lead to great misunderstandings.”

  So I told them all about the towers. It amused me that the four of them, who devoted their lives to the study of magical ability, and used a glass ball themselves, should know nothing of their origins.

  “But look,” I said, “Drusinaar couldn’t open the tower at the Western Keep, but with her ball maybe she could open this one. What do you say? It’s worth trying, isn’t it?”

  The Tre’annatha shook their heads sorrowfully. “The place is guarded constantly.”

  “But it’s practically in the city! Can’t we just go there? Have a look?”

  “Anyone can go and have a look, but the base of the tower and the underground entrance are watched at all times.”

  “And we can’t get permission to try to open it?”

  They laughed. “Not through us! You would need the approval of a very high level of authority in the homeland.”

  “Ah. And you are not going to help us get there.”

  “No,” Hanni said. “We will help you investigate Drusinaar’s abilities, as best we can, but outside the Program. That is all we can do. I cannot think how else we might be of use, or who we might turn to for help.”

  Zarin leaned forward. “What about Mesanthia? They have a Keeper there, is it not so?”

  “Where is my keeper?” Drusinaar said.

  “Exactly!” Zarin said.

  “That is an interesting point,” Hanni said, eyes shining. “Yes, they have perhaps the last Keeper in the world. I cannot beli
eve… but the child has a need to find her keeper, whoever that might be, and we should try every possibility.”

  She turned to Drusinaar and patted her hand.

  “Well, child, would you like to go to Mesanthia to meet the Keeper?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Then that is what we shall do.”

  21: The High Road (Zarin)

  Zarin found the preparations for departure unbearably tedious. In any other city, perhaps, they could have packed and been on their way with a day or two. Not so at Drakk’alona.

  “There are any number of papers and permits and letters of authority to be obtained,” Hanni said. “It is not a straightforward business, leaving Drakk’alona.”

  “How will we get to Mesanthia?” Garrett said. “It’s a fair old way. We’ll need to find a boat, I suppose.”

  “We could indeed take a ship,” Hanni said. “That would be quicker, perhaps. But then we will arrive in Mesanthia without the necessary permission.”

  “Permission to leave Drakk’alona, permission to enter Mesanthia,” Garrett muttered.

  “Ah, not exactly,” Hanni said. “No permission is needed to enter Mesanthia, apart from some proof of identity. Mesanthia welcomes visitors. But we wish to see the Keeper, and that is a much greater problem. Indeed, we might not succeed at all. We do not wish to travel all that way, only to be turned away in the end. I have a better plan. We will go to Minaar first, where there is a Mesanthian embassy. We will be able to argue our case there.”

  “We?”

  “Oh yes. I shall come with you, for Dru is my responsibility now. The others do not wish to leave here, but I look forward to the journey.”

  Zarin did not ask whether our papers were real or forged. It was of no consequence to him. However Hanni managed it, if she could get him to Mesanthia so that he could visit the Academia there just once in his life, he could die content. There were many wonders in the world, both natural and man-made, but they held no interest for him unless there were books. The permanently snow-capped Asharim Mountains, the vast Plains of Kallanash, the great canal system of the northern plains, the towers of Minaar – none of these appealed. Even the homeland, with its repositories of knowledge dating back to before the Catastrophe, was of lesser importance. But the Academia! He could barely speak for joy at the thought that he would soon be there, walking among the hallowed shelves, breathing the air of knowledge enjoyed by scholars for thousands of years. His God had turned out to be a lie, but books would never let him down.