The Dragon's Egg

by Pauline M. Ross

  “The Keeper is the supreme ruler of Mesanthia and its dominions,” Xando said, a touch of hauteur in his voice. “She has agreed to see you, therefore you are under her protection. As her Second Protector, my loyalty is to her and to Mesanthia before all else. However…” He leaned forward, his expression edging towards a frown. “Since the Choosing three years ago, when the present Keeper was selected by the Spirit, many things have changed. After two hundred years of stability, the situation is… more fluid, let us say. The exact role of the Tre’annatha in this city is no longer clear. The Program is still in existence. Children are still tested. Those with ability are still taken from their families. It is supposed to be voluntary, but all the details have not quite been worked out yet. And adults, like Drusinaar and Hanni, fall under the old system. Or so the Tre’annatha claim. It is a very uneasy state of affairs, and the new legal system is not yet finalised. So it is better not to put it to the test.”

  ~~~~~

  Mesanthia was an astonishing place, to Zarin’s eyes. So gracious, so elegant, so beautiful! As they drove through clean, spacious streets which flowed sinuously through the city like a river, every slight turn brought new vistas, each more delightful than the last. Palaces of golden stone, domed marble temples, verdant gardens overflowing with tall palm trees and hedges of vibrant colour, shady terraces, quiet courtyards and everywhere fountains splashing. They crossed numerous canals on stone bridges decorated with the symbols of the Empire: dragon, whale and lion. Even the people were elegant in draped silks of muted colours, strolling about in leisurely fashion, no sign of bustle or unseemly hurry. On every street corner, stalls offered delicious-smelling food of some kind, and musicians played delicate bells or a tinkling stringed instrument.

  Zarin had seen many towns and cities in his life, but he had never seen anywhere that moved him so much. More than anything in the world, he wanted to be a part of this wonderful place, to live and work and learn here, to end his life in the heart of civilisation. To spend his days in the Academia, the greatest library ever created, the repository of all knowledge and also one of the greatest buildings in the world – what else could a man desire?

  The guest house was a neat little building, one of many, although each one was different in some way. Theirs was tall and thin, covered in green vines with tiny yellow flowers like stars, boasting a small domed tower on the roof with windows all round. From there, they could look out to the park that surrounded them, and in the distance, glimpsed between two golden-leaved gannyssarim trees, some of the great buildings on the Isle of Study, which housed the Academia and the other famous institutions.

  Garrett, of course, had no soul. “We can spy on all our neighbours from here,” he said, leering. “There’s a woman brushing her hair at that window over there.”

  “Trust you to reduce everything to the gutter,” Zarin snapped. “Here you are in the midst of so much beauty and learning, and all you can do is ogle the women.”

  “She’s very pretty,” Garrett protested, but Hanni clucked at him and, with a final chuckle at his own supposed wit, he subsided.

  It was too late in the day to go exploring, so Hanni and Drusinaar set about unpacking their boxes, while Garrett tested the wine supply and Zarin wrote a note to his friend at the Academia.

  “What does he do, this friend?” Garrett said, as he sprawled, wine glass in hand, on a long chair with carved legs like lions. At least he had taken his boots off. It would have pained Zarin beyond endurance to see mud on the pale silk cover.

  “What everyone does at the Academia – he studies,” Zarin answered, without looking up from the writing table.

  “So he’s a student? Like an apprentice – still learning?”

  “No, of course not!” Zarin tossed his pen down in annoyance. Even the pen was elegant, made of lacquered wood inlaid with tiny flowers, and a gold nib. It wrote beautifully, and one long dip in the inkpot lasted for a whole page, so the guest house steward had explained. So many wonderful things in Mesanthia. He could not be cross for long, even with Garrett. It was not his fault he was so ignorant. “Study – learning – is for life here. Everyone studies and conducts research and writes learned papers. Everyone educated, that is. It is part of the rank system.”

  “Really? You get higher up the ladder just by reading books and such-like?”

  “Well, there is more to it than that, but yes, the nobility improve their rank by writing academic papers and increasing the total of understanding in the world. Learning is highly regarded here, Garrett.”

  “Is swordwork highly regarded, too? Are there tournaments? Public training grounds?”

  “How should I know? You would need to ask the steward.” And with that he bent his head to finish his letter.

  Zarin had no expectation of an early reply, but to his amazement the servant sent to deliver the message returned no more than an hour later, accompanied by a small, dark-haired man with the familiar high forehead and pale eyes of Zarin’s race. He was shown straight into the dining room where they were all at third table.

  The visitor was rather striking. Yhur was stout, and wearing voluminous draped garments that made him look even stouter. He had a thin plaited beard dangling from his chin, and jewels gleamed from his throat and wrists. There was a strong perfume clinging to him that made Zarin’s eyes water. He was sure he would not have recognised his friend if he had passed him on the street.

  Nevertheless, he jumped up and addressed Yhur with pleasure in their own language, bending forward for the traditional greeting, forehead to forehead.

  Yhur jumped back, leaving Zarin lurching into air.

  “We are not in Hak-Harn now, ashanok,” Yhur said. “Here, we greet an old friend like this.” He touched his forehead, lips and chest in a graceful gesture that encompassed a small bow from the waist.

  “Ah!” Zarin nodded, and attempted the same movements, although his efforts were clumsy by comparison. He introduced his friend to Hanni, Dru and Garrett. “Will you eat with us, ashanoki? We would be delighted to have your company.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Hanni said brightly. “There is more than enough.”

  Yhur looked at the dishes set out on the table, and his lip curled. “How kind, but I would not deprive you. I was hoping to steal my friend Zarin away from you for the night. Should you like to see the Academia, ashanok?”

  For a moment Zarin could barely breathe. “Now?” he croaked. “This evening?”

  “To be sure. Not everyone is permitted inside at this hour, but I may come and go as I please. Then perhaps you would like to see my chambers there. My cook is most accomplished, and I have a guest room you may sleep in.”

  “Oh… How wonderful! You honour me, but… my friends here…”

  “Go, by all means,” Hanni said. “We know where to find you. The servants will pack a few things for you.”

  “No need,” Yhur said smoothly. “My chambers have everything a guest might require. Come, ashanok.”

  Yhur led the way outside, to where a pair of slender upright boxes stood, each fitted with a seat inside and windows all round, lifting poles and two strong men to do the carrying. One of them helped Zarin into his box and shut the door, then they moved off at a swift pace. The rocking motion made Zarin feel as if he were floating on clouds.

  It was not quite dark yet, the western sky still streaked with pinks and golds and watery blues, and the moon some hours away, but all the streets and buildings were lit up by thousands of lamps. Such a beautiful sight, like being surrounded by the stars. How much oil must be consumed to keep Mesanthia bright!

  At first, the streets they passed through were much the same as those Zarin had seen earlier in the day. But then they came to an avenue wider than any so far and ruler straight, the first such he had encountered. It was walled and decorated with statuary like a bridge, with the gleam of water beneath them at the midpoint. At the far end, they passed through a large stand of gannyssarim trees, and beyond that—

&nbs
p; Zarin needed no explanation for what he saw. Face pressed against the small glass window in the door, he gazed out in awe. Here, arranged in a sprawling circle, were the eight great institutions of Mesanthia, the centre of learning and the arts, and the greatest of them all was the Academia. He gasped out loud at the size of it as they drew near to the entrance. In the poor light, it was impossible to see all the details beyond the broad steps, the massive pillars, the impossibly high arched windows framing the main doors, which stood open, golden light pouring out. Above, the vast edifice stretched so far upwards that the roof with its famous domes and cupolas blended invisibly into the darkening sky.

  As soon as the box was set down, the door opened. Zarin was too overwhelmed to move, and Yhur had to lean in, take his arm and gently detach him from his seat.

  “Come along, ashanok. We are here.”

  Zarin meekly allowed himself to be led up the steps, through the doors and into the Academia. So big, so unimaginably vast! He had read so much about this wondrous place, yet mere words could not adequately encompass it. It was beyond all description. The entrance lobby alone was so vast that the whole of the Western Keep could have fitted inside it, and every portion of floor and walls and ceiling decorated, with paintings or carvings or the wisdom of long-dead philosophers. Even the pillars supporting the roof were carved with delicate tracery, like living plants entwined with the marble.

  Beyond that, another chamber, and then another, in an endless procession, each one more magnificent than the last, and all filled with book stacks. The books! Millions upon millions of books, with covers in leather or wood or lacquer or metal or no cover at all. Some had the edges glued, and some were stitched and some were held by metal spirals. There were scrolls and folding types and round tubes which, Yhur assured him, also held books. Zarin had seen many types of books over the years, but he could hardly believe the inventiveness of the writers who created this magnificent abundance.

  At every window, rows of desks were laid out for the transcribers, who took copies of worn books to ensure nothing was lost. The desks were empty now since it was too dark for them to work, but elsewhere, despite the late hour, scholars sat hunched over their books, scratching away with pen and paper, making notes by the light of lamps on wooden stands. They wore the same style of draped clothing as Yhur, with sashes of different colours.

  Zarin would have loved to wander about, to take it all in and perhaps look more closely at some of the books. Not to touch – he could not contemplate casually removing a book or scroll from a shelf, as he saw some doing, and most books were locked away behind grills – but just to gaze at them, and perhaps, if he dared, to touch one or two. But Yhur hurried him through, and into a smaller chamber, with bare stone walls and no books, and a spiral staircase at one side. A scholar rushed through and up the stairs, several scrolls under one arm, the flap of her sandals echoing.

  A woman sitting on a stone seat against one wall rose as they entered. She wore the same scholar’s robes as Yhur, but she was Tre’annatha, so that Zarin was reminded of Hanni, and before her the Guardian at the Keep.

  “Ah, Magister Yhur, good evening,” she said, her voice soft. “And this is your friend from so far away.”

  “Zarin, yes,” Yhur said.

  “Excellent. You are welcome to Mesanthia, Zarin. Magister Yhur has told me all about you.”

  “Indeed?” Zarin was puzzled, not least by Yhur’s failure to introduce him by his full name and tribe, as he would have expected. It seemed disrespectful.

  “You have been a faithful correspondent over the years, ashanok,” Yhur said with a laugh and a lift of one shoulder. “You have told me so many times of your wish to live and work here. Naturally I speak of you to my superiors.”

  “Superiors?”

  The Tre’annatha smiled gently. “I am a Magister Most High. It is for me to decide who is permitted to work here. You understand me, I am sure.”

  Zarin’s eyes widened. Was it possible—?

  “I see you do,” she went on. “Of course, we do not admit just anyone who happens to pass by. There have to be certain… conditions met first. But I am certain we can come to some accommodation. Shall we proceed to Magister Yhur’s chambers, and discuss the matter over fourth table?”

  “Oh yes,” Zarin whispered, almost bereft of speech. “Yes, please. I should like that very much.”

  26: The Keeper's Tower (Garrett)

  The Keeper was tall, elegant and younger than I’d expected – not much above twenty. She was also furious.

  “How dared you? Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?”

  We had all been summoned to the Keeper’s Tower to sort out the mess Zarin had got us into. He stood, head down, in front of the Keeper like an apprentice being reprimanded by his master. Hanni was beside him, quite unafraid. Drusinaar and I lurked to one side, keeping well out of the way of so much anger. Around us, any number of Keeper’s Guards and servants stood impassively. I felt quite pale beside so many dark-skinned Mesanthians.

  Zarin quaked before her rage. “I meant it for the best—”

  “That was not for you to decide,” she said coldly. “Drusinaar was in my care, and by stealing her away you offered me a great insult. And for such a selfish reason! You traded Drusinaar’s life for a position at the Academia. You do realise I could have you executed for this?”

  “I… I humbly beg your pardon, Lady—”

  “Address the Keeper as Revered One,” snapped the First Protector, glowering. He was a fearsome one, a solid man in his thirties, all muscle and hostility, not at all like gentle Xando, who stood a little apart.

  Zarin’s composure crumbled. “Sorry, so sorry… Revered One…”

  And then he broke down completely. It was Xando who jumped forward to put an arm round his shoulders, and lead him away to a seat, making reassuring noises, while Zarin wept quietly. I would have gone to him myself, but the First Protector was still glaring at anyone who moved. He was in full mail, with a serious sword at his belt, and several knives, making me feel quite naked. Even unarmed as I was, I never took my eyes off him. Not a man to take lightly.

  “May I speak?” Hanni said, but her tone suggested she had no fear of a refusal.

  The Keeper gave a small nod.

  “It seems to me,” Hanni went on, “that no harm has been done. We have Drusinaar back safely, after all.”

  “No harm?” the Keeper said icily. “Have you any idea how much crawling and pleading and dealing I have had to do to get her back? I could not intervene personally without causing a political rift, so I have had to call in debts, lean on friends, promise any number of favours. Even then, it was a close-run thing. Once someone is in the Program, it is next to impossible to get them out. Luckily, the paperwork had not yet been completed, so there was a sliver of hope.” She sighed. “Still, I am not pleased.”

  “Then may we—?” Hanni began.

  The Keeper cut her off with a wave of one hand, and turned to Xando. “Second, would you be so good as to take Master Zarin back to the guest house to recover? Lady Hanni, you may go with them.”

  There was a moment where an odd tension hung in the air, although I couldn’t quite work out why. Hanni looked a bit peeved, but she could hardly refuse the Keeper, so she smiled and followed Xando and Zarin out of the room. The tension dissipated as suddenly as a soap bubble.

  The First Protector laughed, instantly looking less threatening. “By the One, I enjoyed that!”

  The Keeper shrugged. “She is foreign. Oh, I beg your pardon, Master Garrett. Our ways must seem odd to you. Are you aware of political matters here?”

  I shook my head.

  “Until recently, we had to bow down to the Tre’annatha,” the First Protector said, his face still full of merriment. “Everyone had to address them as Honoured Saviour, and give them precedence. It is no longer the law, but the title lingers. With visitors, however, we need not be so careful.”

  “So you were being rude to Hann
i, then?” I said, still bemused.

  “Not really,” the Keeper said, with a smile that erased the lingering anger and gave her a stately beauty. “I used the correct title. A Mesanthian Tre’annatha might choose to be insulted. But come, both of you. Let us go somewhere more private.”

  She swept out of the room, and Drusinaar and I followed. With the First Protector on my heels, I wouldn’t have dared do anything else. The Keeper led us down a broad corridor filled with pots of tall plants with creamy flowers, which gave off an exotic scent. The sort of perfume that Tella liked to wear. Odd how these little passing reminders would bring her to my mind. I liked to think I was free of her, and certainly I was glad to have escaped my recent encounter with her and Kestimar with all my bits and pieces still attached, but by the Nine, she was hard to forget.

  We were taken into a small ante-chamber, fitted out for elegance rather than comfort, with darkwood furniture, polished floorboards and panelled walls. A dark, depressing room.

  “Now, let us talk,” the Keeper said, as the First Protector shut the door behind us. “Sit. Yes, there, if you wish. Drusinaar, I will speak to you in a little while, but first I wish to talk with Garrett. Is that all right?”

  “Yes.” She sat as still as stone, but her eyes roamed about constantly, and there was an excitement about her that I’d never seen before. Natural, of course. All her life, she’d been waiting to find her Keeper and now here was a Keeper at last. Just as poor Zarin had found his heart’s desire here at Mesanthia, so, perhaps, had Drusinaar.

  “Good,” the Keeper said. “Now, Garrett—”

  “Can I ask something?” I said quickly, before she got carried away and I forgot to ask. She nodded assent. “Why did you send Hanni away?”

  The First Protector laughed again, a rich, deep rumble. “A very good question! Why did you, my love?”

  She smiled at him, and patted his cheek affectionately, before seating herself on a low stool. The First Protector stayed standing, looming behind her like a bodyguard, but he was still smiling. I took that as a good sign.