The Dragon's Egg

by Pauline M. Ross

  Garrett reached into a pocket and pulled out a small cloth bag that jingled. “Would this be enough?”

  The interpreter peered inside, and his long face creased into something resembling a smile. He put his fingers to his lips, and emitted a piercing whistle. Several boys pushing a cart materialised at a run from the far side of the square. Within moments, their boxes were loaded up and rushed away towards the lines of carriages. The interpreter followed at a more sedate pace, and Zarin, Dru, Hanni and Garrett trailed behind him.

  “You might have said you had coin,” Hanni grumbled. “It would have saved a great deal of time.”

  “Thought you had everything in hand,” Garrett said with a lift of one shoulder.

  There was a great deal of negotiation between Hanni, the interpreter and several others. Zarin and Garrett waited a little apart until matters were settled. Dru stood halfway between them, listening to both conversations.

  “Looks like Hanni’s trying to get us that big, closed-in one – the one with red paint,” Garrett said. “But I think it’ll be one of the smaller ones without a roof. Not enough money, I suppose. I’d have got more if I’d known we’d need the coins for a wagon.”

  “I shall not even ask where you got hold of local money,” Zarin said.

  “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you mean. I won it honestly.”

  “Gambling, you mean.”

  “No, actually. Not this time. Just playing for money. Pay to play, reward for winning. A nice, simple game, although I’d never seen it before.”

  “Twelves,” Dru said, drifting closer. “A variant of Twelves, with dragons high and trees low.”

  Garrett spun round in astonishment. “How do you know that? Did you follow me?”

  “No. Watched you.”

  “How? Oh – the ball?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t even know you could do that – watch anything you want.”

  “Can’t,” she said absently, still half-focused on Hanni’s discussions. “Not anything I want. Just you. See what you see.”

  “Just me?” Garrett looked perplexed. “But you see other things with the ball, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” She gave a little smile. “I can see through other balls, and from the towers. I can see through other things. The wind, through the ship’s wind-blower. Water, through water-movers. But only your eyes. I can see what you see.”

  “Ah, that makes sense, but—”

  Garrett’s reply was interrupted as they were ushered into a small wagon. There was barely room for the four of them, and their boxes had to go under their feet, so they sat with their knees squashed against their chests.

  “I hope we haven’t got far to go, or we’ll all be rigid with cramp,” Garrett said cheerfully.

  Hanni was still too cross to answer.

  Several young men took up the ropes and with a jerk they began to move. There was a narrow gate through the high wall on the eastern side of the square, only wide enough for one vehicle to pass through at a time. They waited, creeping nearer and nearer. Then it was their turn and the pullers set off at a fast pace.

  The wall was so thick that the entrance way was a lengthy tunnel, dank and chilly. Zarin wondered at the size of the wall – not just high, but wide, as well. How much stone was above them, as they rattled through the near-darkness, lit only by a sparse line of lamps suspended from the roof.

  Halfway along, the tunnel opened out to make room for two wagons to pass, but nothing was entering from beyond so the pullers ran on. The gloom began to lift, and a slice of blue filled the far end of the tunnel, getting larger and larger.

  They burst out into brilliant sunshine, made even more dazzling by the endless shimmer of the lake which surrounded them. They were on a causeway that stretched across the water, as straight as string pulled tight. Behind them, the great towers of West Minaar, and ahead of them, at the far end of the causeway, another conglomeration of towers. East Minaar.

  Their pullers ran on tirelessly, and the slight breeze from the motion was refreshing. Hanni pointed out landmarks, Dru recited the history of them, Garrett closed his eyes, half asleep, and even Zarin relaxed and began to smile. Gradually, West Minaar receded and East Minaar grew into a dark gash in the sky. If anything, its towers were even more monstrous than those left behind, and it, too, was surrounded by a great wall, the wall that was supposed to keep the city safe from the Akk’asharan Empire, but failed.

  Once again, they were plunged into a tunnel, cool and damp. This one was shorter, and within a very short time they emerged into a giant square surrounded on three sides by great towers, the exact counterpart to the one in West Minaar. But if the architecture was the same, in other ways it could not be more different. Everywhere there was colour, flowing cloaks and skirts in shimmering silks, throats adorned with gems of sparkling green and blue, gold rings on every finger and ear and nose. There were stalls draped with orange cloth, carts selling food or drink, jugglers and acrobats performing for small coins and children running this way and that, diving between larger bodies. The air was thick with the calls of those touting for business, or giving instructions, or greeting friends.

  And Zarin understood them. Everyone spoke High Mesanthian, although with a dreadfully thick accent. Oh, the pleasure of understanding what was being said, of the possibility of asking questions and receiving sensible answers.

  “Watch your purse,” Garrett whispered to Hanni, who nodded acknowledgement.

  “Might we get some food?” Zarin said, gesturing towards the stalls.

  “Later,” Hanni said abstractedly. “Let us get to our destination first.”

  Zarin sighed, and Garrett gave him a sympathetic smile.

  Their pullers threaded a way through the melee to the far side, where a cluster of horse-drawn wagons waited. They climbed down, their boxes were lowered beside them, and their wagon turned round and disappeared into the throng.

  “Now what?” Garrett said.

  “I have an address,” Hanni said. “An inn – the Moon of Wet Harvests.”

  “Sounds very appealing,” Garrett said.

  “It is one of the best! Or so I am told. Now we wait – someone will find us. Ah, yes. Here comes a porter now. Yes, these four, thank you. We are going to the public wagon for the Great Moon quarter – you can direct us there?”

  “Aye. The blue one, Lady. Follow me.”

  In West Minaar, several robust young men had hoisted their boxes effortlessly. Here, one elderly man was far less effective, and Garrett did most of the lifting, and then helped to push the tiny cart with its wobbling wheels. It was fortunate the road was well paved and smooth, or even Garrett would have had trouble.

  It was only a short ride in the public wagon, through narrow canyons between towers which gave no view of the city. The inn covered several floors of one tower, but it was, as Hanni had promised, comfortable and spacious. She had written ahead to secure a suite of rooms on a high floor.

  “There are only three bedrooms, but I do not mind sharing with Drusinaar, you know. You two can have a room each.”

  “No,” Dru said. “I share with Garrett.”

  “I do not think—” Hanni began.

  “He’s my friend,” Dru said, tucking her hand into Garrett’s. “I want to sleep with Garrett.”

  Garrett shrugged. “You put us all in one room at your place, after all, Hanni.”

  “But that was to— Well, never mind.”

  “That was to what?” Garrett said, eyes narrowing.

  Hanni huffed out a breath. “To test you, if you must know. To see how your group worked. We have listening tubes and so forth.”

  “We’re just one big experiment to you,” Garrett said disgustedly.

  “Yes.” Hanni was not in the least embarrassed. “I do not like this business of you sharing with Dru, Garrett. It is not at all proper, at your age, to be sharing with an innocent young girl.”

  “By the Nine!” Garrett rolled his eyes. �
��I’ve looked after her pretty well so far, without trying to lift her skirts. Not that there would be much point, since she’s not equipped for it. And she’s not so young – thirty, at least.”

  Hanni’s mouth dropped open, and she looked from Garrett to Dru and back again. When she found her voice again, she said, “Interesting. Your people have carried out a full physical examination, then? We will speak of this another time. Now, I have already written to the Mesanthian Ambassador’s office about you, but I must send word that we have arrived. After that, we shall go down to get something to eat. It is almost noon, after all.”

  “Some decent food, I hope,” Zarin said.

  She smiled. “Oh, yes. Very decent.”

  ~~~~~

  Zarin was more than satisfied with the quality of the food at the Moon of Wet Harvests. Despite the ominous name, they were offered a wide variety of dishes of impeccable quality. Garrett called it ‘fancy food’, but he ate it anyway, with great gusto. Dru never quibbled about anything she was offered. Hanni picked at this and that, but, like Zarin, she was more relieved to find a supply of good wine.

  Food and drink mellowed them. Garrett prompted Dru to tell him more of the history of East Minaar, which she did, chattering away. Her voice was far more inflected these days, ever since she had found the glass ball, Zarin noted. And she smiled, too, and showed far more spirit. It was good to see her finally emerging from her cocoon of oddness.

  By the time they had eaten and drunk enough to give them a rosy outlook on life, Zarin felt able to take note of their surroundings. The table room, as it was called, was not much different from any inn anywhere. There were numerous tables of assorted sizes, mismatched chairs, dark corners and a stream of pleasant young women and men to serve the guests, with a sour-faced middle-aged woman overseeing them.

  Zarin and his friends had settled themselves in a quiet corner, well away from a couple of large, noisy groups. Other people came into the room in twos and threes, ordered food, ate and left. Only a few stayed. By about two bells falling, judging by the candle-clock over the serving counter, only a handful of customers remained – a group of four at the other end of the room, two men chatting to the innkeeper and a man hooded and cloaked, hunched over a tankard of ale in a dark corner.

  Hanni was still absorbed in Dru’s tale. Leaning forward, Zarin whispered into Garrett’s ear, “That man in the corner – he looks suspicious to me. He has been there for some time, but he is not drinking. What do you think?”

  “I’m aware of him,” Garrett murmured back. “I can’t get into his head, though. You know, to look through his eyes. So there’s something unusual about him. Drusinaar…” He touched her arm gently, and she stopped in mid-sentence and turned to him. “The man in the corner – does he have any weapons on him?”

  She reached into her wrap to touch the glass ball. Then, with a squeak of alarm, she leapt to her feet, free hand extended towards the stranger. A bolt of flame shot from her fingers, engulfing him.

  There were screams, and the sounds of chairs crashing over. Zarin jumped up, and Garrett was on his feet, too, once again reaching for his non-existent sword.

  The stranger was the only one not agitated. The flames vanished instantly. Slowly he lifted his head and stared at Dru.

  “What’s going on over there?” the innkeeper called out, her voice strident.

  “Nothing at all,” the stranger called back. “Just… um, an accident with a candle. All dealt with now. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Oh. Well, all right. Be careful, that’s all. Don’t want the place burned down.” She laughed, and turned back to the two men she was talking to.

  The stranger stood up, and smiled at Dru. “You must be Mistress Drusinaar. Shall we go somewhere more private to talk?”

  “And who in all Nine Hells are you?” Garrett said, fists clenched into balls.

  “I am the Second Protector of Mesanthia, and I can get you access to the Keeper.”

  24: The Coastway (Garrett)

  We followed the Protector meekly from the table room. He tossed the innkeeper a coin as we passed, and then led us down a corridor, up stairs and into another corridor. He opened a door halfway along.

  “Private parlour,” he murmured as we trooped in. “We do not want everyone to know our business. Here… sit. Shall I order us some wine?”

  “We’re already pretty well filled,” I said, and he chuckled. He seemed quite unthreatening, except for that whole business of being consumed by fire and yet completely unscathed. That was a neat trick.

  He pushed the hood back, and that was another surprise, for the head that emerged was clearly Tre’annatha. He and Hanni could have been brother and sister, although he looked a little older than her. Perhaps he was thirty. She gasped, too, and said something to him in their song-like language.

  He shook his head. “Let us speak a language that everyone can understand. Are you all comfortable with High Mesanthian? Good. To answer your question, yes, I am Tre’annatha, and I am also Second Protector of Mesanthia.”

  “What exactly does that mean – Second Protector?” I said. “Is that like a soldier? Bodyguard?”

  Zarin rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows about the Five Protectors. Except you, it appears.”

  “Well, yes, I’m just an ignorant barbarian,” I snapped.

  Zarin raised his hands. “Sorry. I am a little on edge.”

  I nodded an acknowledgement. “We all are. Drusinaar, tell me about the Five Protectors.”

  “The Keeper of the Spirit of Mesanthia has Five Protectors, who sire the Children of the Spirit and act as the eyes of the Keeper outside the Keeper’s Tower, which she can never leave. During the days of the Akk’asharan Empire, the Protectors and Children also acted as rulers of the various regions and cities under the dominion of the Empress. The Protectors are chosen—”

  “Fine, I think I’ve got it. So husband and deputy – right?”

  The Protector smiled again. “Pretty close. The eyes part is the most important, though. The Keeper is watching you right now, through my eyes.”

  “Really?” I waggled my fingers at him. “Hello, Keeper. Erm… how do I address her? Or you, for that matter?”

  Drusinaar was about to speak, but the Protector gently waved her to silence. “Thank you, but I think I can answer this one. Revered One is the official form of address, or Revered Protector. But you can call me Xando.”

  “Xando. Right. So tell me—”

  “Really, Garrett!” Hanni burst out. “I do not think it is for you to question one of the Protectors of Mesanthia. Show some respect.”

  “He is perfectly respectful,” Xando said, his voice mild. “And I am here unofficially, not as Protector. I was in Minaar to meet with the Assembly, and naturally the Ambassador showed me your letter – Hanni, is it not? And this must be Master Garrett, the swordsman, and Master Zarin, the scholar. Naturally, I was intrigued to know more about you, and since you helpfully told me where you planned to stay, I had someone watching for your arrival. Then I came and lurked in the table room. I am sorry I startled you, Drusinaar.”

  “And what did your lurking tell you about us?” I said, my fingers drumming on the tabletop. I didn’t like being spied on. First Hanni, now this man.

  Hanni tutted in annoyance, but Xando turned his eyes on me. So like the Guardian, so like Hanni. They were all of a piece, these Tre’annatha.

  “My lurking told me that you were exactly what you professed to be – three people escorting someone of unusual talents. I am sorry that I alarmed you, Drusinaar, but you were trying to invade my mind, and I could not allow that. And Garrett, too – you were trying something, but I am not sure what.”

  I hesitated, but what was the point in hiding anything? We had to be open with this man, in order to get Drusinaar to the Keeper. “I can see through other people’s eyes,” I said. “Not yours, though. Not Drusinaar’s, either. But most people.”

  “Do you feel their emotions, too? Or is it ju
st seeing?”

  “Just seeing. If someone has a bit of magic in them, I can see clearly. If not, it’s a bit hazy.”

  “Fascinating. And if someone has a lot of magic, then you can’t see through them at all. Correct?”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way, but it made sense. “So Drusinaar has a lot of magic in her? And so do you?”

  He smiled. “It is one of the advantages of being a Keeper’s Protector – our connections are shared. Just as our eyes and minds are shared, so are our connections. I have my own mental power, which reads emotions. That is how I can see that you are being honest with me. I also soothed the innkeeper’s fear down in the table room. She will not forget what she saw, but she will not worry about it. From the First Protector I get the ability to manipulate water and read memories. And from the Keeper, I have acquired the ability to create fire.”

  He held out his hand, and a glowing ball of flame appeared there. Drusinaar immediately put her hand out, too, and little flames rippled from finger to finger. She smiled, and Xando laughed in delight.

  “Wonderful! But flames cannot hurt me, so your little performance in the table room was extinguished as soon as it touched me. I could walk through a burning building unscathed, if I wished. Just as you could, Drusinaar.”

  She nodded. “I was born in flames.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Really? How—?”

  “I was born from a dragon’s egg. The flames cracked it, and I was born. The house burned down, but I wasn’t hurt.”

  “You must find such a thing hard to believe…” Hanni began.

  Xando wasn’t listening. “A dragon’s egg?” he said excitedly. “Yet not a dragon’s egg, clearly. Was it pale green, and mottled, like marble? With scales?”

  “I… don’t know,” Drusinaar said.

  A sudden excitement flooded me. He knew something about Drusinaar’s egg! I leaned forward. “Yes! Does that mean something to you?”

  Xando didn’t answer at once. He got up and paced across to the door and back, then stood for a moment in silence, his eyes unfocused. Then he laughed, as if at some inner joke.