“Traginal. Septican is bringing the sick Prince over here. He has an idea. Can you tell Zirca it’s important that the Prince be allowed into the barn. He’s virtually unconscious and will be no threat to either of you.”
Traginal communicated with Zirca in drakonspeak, necessary because Zaldara had grown her in an orphaned child who’d not learnt more than a few rudiments of Common tongue and had never been exposed to reading or writing before the change. Zirca’s curiosity was engaged, they’d discussed the arrival of the sick Prince and what his death could possibly mean to them and now the Prince was being brought to them. What did Septicon want?
The white bearded old man arrived with the limp body of the Prince draped in his arms and walked slowly into the barn through the opening left by Vistala. Zirca observed his cautious movements and once assured the body would be no threat to them, she relaxed. Septicon advanced to stand before the shining golden drakon and bowed slightly.
“Traginal, please explain to Zirca what I wish her to do. I remember she made a painkiller and tranquilizer for you before your change and wondered if it was possible for her to taste the Prince and tell me what poison was used.”
Traginal passed the information along and Septican saw the flicker of interest in Zirca’s huge eyes. She then brought her head down and Septican once again found himself considering his mortality as he gazed up at the size of her jaws. She kept them closed though and the forked tongue shot out of the cleft in her lips and the delicate tips flickered over the Prince’s face. Zirca quietly sat back as she analysed the taste before suddenly opening her mouth and screaming, lashing her huge tail back and forth. Septican and Vistala jumped back against the wall for safety as Traginal moved with deceptive speed to come between them and the highly agitated Zirca. Slowly the huge golden drakon settled down and both Septicon and Vistala could feel Traginal in their minds as he relayed information. They could sense his awe as he did.
“The Prince has been poisoned with drakon venom. Not any old venom, a specially concocted one. It was made by Serkahn, the male drakon allied with the Duke, the one who wants to control the drakon hive. He was the reason Zirca was brought into existence, so she could start another hive, just in case Serkahn succeeded in his planned takeover.”
Septican was putting the politics together in his mind but at the same time his burning desire to heal the Prince came to the fore.
“Can Zirca do anything to help,” he asked Traginal through their bond.
“I think so, wait for a moment or two until she tells me more.”
Kristen had claimed tiredness to escape from under Marni’s watchful eye and had gone back to her room on the second floor overlooking the courtyard. She’d watched from the window as Septican carried the inert form of the Prince over to the barn. There was something fishy going on here in this keep and it involved the barn. When she heard a beastly, enraged scream it was too much for her. She took off running, down the stairs and through the hall, catching surprised looks as she sped past, dashing through the open door and out onto the courtyard without missing a step and running lightly over to the barn door which was slightly ajar. She stopped there, wary of what she mind find, mindful that those inside should not see her. Peering carefully around the edge of the door, she was able to see two large drakons, one golden and one jet black. The gold one was the largest. Drakons! What in Dramad’s name! She knew of drakons, everyone in Melintana knew of drakons. It was the pact with them that kept the Reavers at bay but what were two of them doing here, cooped up in a barn in Balfour’s Keep? Kristen could make out the forms of Septican and Vistala, backs pressed against the wall, the Prince cradled in the old man’s arms. What she didn’t hear was the mental conversation going on between Traginal and the two people.
“Zirca can make an antidote to the poison but she will have to inject it into the blood stream for it to work quickly enough. The Prince is nearly dead.”
Septican nodded and stepped forward, holding the Prince’s frail body before him.
“I trust Zirca. She has done right by you Traginal and I think she has our interests at heart.”
They waited as Zirca stepped forward and opened her huge jaws, the sharp hollow teeth at the front dripping a cloudy liquid. She seemed to pause as if measuring the distance and struck, one of the hollow teeth entering the Prince’s jugular vein and just as quickly being withdrawn. The site bled a little.
As Zirca struck, there was a scream from the doorway as Kristen thought she saw the Prince being offered as a drakon sacrifice. It was too late when Zirca’s head withdrew to realise her mistake. Before anyone could react, Vistala had sprinted to the door and robustly tackled Kristen, driving her to the cobbles outside. It was lucky she had, because Zirca was right behind her but the golden drakon stopped before reaching the doorway, just in time to avoid smashing the doors again. Traginal stepped between Septican and any possible trouble but Zirca, having assessed the situation, was now quite calm. As she made her way back to the comfort of their nest, Traginal told Septican he’d better go now. The old man left, still carrying the Prince and waited while the tangle of Vistala and Kristen unravelled itself with much cursing at skinned elbows and knees and the stupidity of nosey folk.
The three of them retired to Septican’s room where the Prince was placed back in the cot that was once Trag’s and knees and elbows administered to. Septican monitored the Prince as Vistala explained to Kristen what she had just observed, swearing her to secrecy on pain of death. Kristen was fine with that, she’d already learnt many secrets of the realm from Lermond and she didn’t intend spilling them either. The green colour had already left the Prince’s face and a healthy pink colour now replaced it. The transformation was progressing rapidly and soon the Prince’s eyes opened, their clear blue swinging wildly about until they came to rest on Kristen. All saw the relief and something more as he spoke in a croaky voice.
“I thought I’d died. I dreamt of drakons. Is there any water please?”
Septican gave the Prince a drink of water mixed with honey for energy. It looked as if Zirca’s antidote was working already but the Prince would be weak for many days to come. Septican decided it would be of benefit to keep Kristen occupied and give her the job of nursing her Prince, it seemed as though that was something they both desired.
Yes, he would do that.
9. A Sister’s Mistake
Vigano and Bromala Balfour had eventually arrived at Wenstrom on the promised visit to their uncle, well before Prince Lermond, Kristen and her brother Karl turned up at Balfour’s Keep. They knew nothing of the momentous events at home, being merely relieved to finally get away from the boredom of their small world where everyone was familiar and the occasional loud roar of a drakon broke the everyday noise of the keep. They were also excited at the prospect of meeting others of their own age who lived in a more progressive society.
The trip to Wenstrom had been tedious for them, having to spend over a week on board the small ship which was returning back up the coast after having dropped off barrels of wine and steel goods in exchange for produce to Trade. The winds were light and their cabin small and airless, hot in the late summer afternoons. Most of the voyage was spent on deck, with Bromala covered from head to foot to preserve her delicate paleness while Vigano poked his nose into everyone’s business and alienated quite a few of the sailors. Bromala spoke to virtually no one, as it was beneath her position to talk to hired men while Vigano was loud and disdainful of the wiry, sunburnt sailors who manned the vessel.
It was a beautiful early morning, clear with just a light breeze when their ship arrived at Senmouth, the seaport at the mouth of the river Sen. It was an eye opener for Vigano and Bromala. Even at that hour there was plenty of hustle and bustle on the docks as cargos were unloaded or loaded onto the many ships of all sizes tied up there. They had never seen such a hive of activity and were pleased to have arrived at last. That is, until they found out from a waiting servant that there was yet another day�
��s travel by coach until they reached Wenstrom. Why couldn’t their Uncle have lived on the coast or in the capital upriver? Luckily the road was smooth and the coach well sprung, although there was nothing that could be done about the dust which entered it. The day was too hot to close the curtains of the coach and by the time they arrived in Wenstrom in the late afternoon, both of them were grateful to finally stop travelling.
Although their Uncle Devlin was Wiley’s younger brother, he was a lot fatter than their father and far more florid. He’d chosen to follow the new fashion of being clean shaven and although the siblings could see the family resemblance, Devlin Balfour had a weaker chin than Wiley. Still, his fashionable clothing, straining across his mid-section, more than made up for that small defect and he was gracious in his welcome of his niece and nephew.
“Vigano, Bromala. How wonderful to finally meet you again. The last time I saw you, you barely came up to my knees and look at you now! Tarin and Wendi have been so anxious to meet their cousins, its all they’ve been able to talk about for the last month. Come in, my wife Anya will be glad to finally meet you both.”
Servants gathered up the baggage, most of it Bromala’s and followed them inside to where the siblings were introduced to their aunt and cousins. Tarin was around the same age as Vigano but soft, well groomed, oiled and fashionably dressed. He made Vigano look loutish in comparison. His sister Wendi was dressed in layers of clothes which made her dress full and bouncy. She was blond with slightly crossed, piercing blue eyes and a long nose. Attractive in a strange sort of way in spite of her obvious distain for her cousins.
“Oh, you’re sooo rural,” she exclaimed, wrinkling her nose. “We’ll have to do something about that before you meet our friends. Won’t we Daddy?”
Devlin had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed but still agreed with his daughter while Anya merely glared at her rude offspring. Wendi ignored her as Anya tried to smooth things over.
“Well come in, your things have been taken to your rooms. I’ll show you where they are then you can wash off some of the dust and get changed before we have some tea and cake. Supper will be later, when its cooler.”
Vigano and Bromala dutifully followed Anya up the stairs, ignoring the little whispers and odd snigger passing between Tarin and Wendi and cursing the fact their clothes were not of the latest fashion. Their rooms were side by side and connected by a door. There was a curtained window in each room, overlooking the street below where carts and wagons trundled by. Their bags were placed at the end of the beds and a water jug and basin stood on a small table with a mirror, placed against the wall. The only other furniture in the rooms was a wardrobe.
“Don’t you mind Tarin and Wendi,” Anya said to them. “We’ll go out tomorrow and buy you some nice clothes and things. Your father sent some gold last year to help us out when we had a few difficulties but now we’re doing well so it’s the least we can do to repay him. Come down when you’re ready and we’ll eat.”
Anya left the room. Vigano looked over at his sister and merely shrugged his shoulders before he went to his own room next door to wash and change. Soon they were downstairs tucking into a late afternoon tea and suffering under the scrutiny of their cousins.
True to her word, the very next day, Anya took Vigano and Bromala shopping for some new clothes. She harried Tarin and Wendi into coming along with them as she was well aware that their tacit approval was important in the choice of apparel. Their friends would be far more accommodating if Vigano and Bromala were fashionably dressed and looked less like the country yokels they were.
Their first day out in Wenstrom was a revelation to Vigano and Bromala, they had never seen so many people in one place before. The streets were thronged with folk going about their business, some moving between shops to make purchases, others carrying messages while stall holders were competing to sell a variety of goods, mostly food. So much colour and movement, nothing like the slow pace of life at Balfour’s Keep and the noise! People chattering, calling out, shouting their wares, buskers playing music for reward and carts and coaches rattling past along the cobbled street. Each time the little group crossed the street they had to be careful where they placed their feet, as the carthorses didn’t care where they left their droppings. It didn’t take long for Vigano and Bromala to notice most people never seemed to look down but still managed to avoid the piles the horses left. A couple of men with buckets and shovels walked up and down the busy thoroughfare scooping up these offerings and removing them. The assault of colour, sounds and smells was nearly more than the siblings could cope with.
Anya took them to a women’s clothing store and Vigano and Bromala gaped in awe at the size of the window, yet it had only six large panes of glass behind which was a dummy wearing the most sumptuous dress Bromala had ever clapped eyes on. The colours were brilliantly bright and the material seemed to shimmer of its own accord. A small gasp escaped her lips. Anya noticed.
“Yes. It is beautiful, isn’t it? This is the finest store in town for women’s clothing and that particular example is made of silk from Cheshwon. It would cost a year’s wages for some people. Were not here for something of that quality but if we’re going to introduce you to society in Wenstrom, you’ll need suitable clothing.”
She turned to her son and handed him a small purse.
“Tarin, you and Vigano can’t come in here with us and we’ll be a while, so take this money and your cousin to a men’s outfitters down the street. Not Teratto’s, they’re far too expensive. Try Capanic’s a little further along. Meet us back here at midday.”
Tarin took the purse, feeling its weight before placing it into an inside pocket and tugged on Vigano’s sleeve, turning to leave. Vigano nodded to the women and followed Tarin along the busy thoroughfare, trying to look at everything at once. There was far too much to comfortably comprehend. They arrived at Capanic’s and entered into its quiet interior, the sound from outside diminishing to a distant background in the cool, dim depths of the store. A slight, balding man approached them, his hands constantly moving as they rubbed together in a washing motion. Tarin adopted a bored demeanour which Vigano didn’t understand. The shopkeeper glanced past him and ran his eyes up and down Vigano before addressing Tarin.
“Ah yes, a young gentleman from the country. I assume you would like to purchase some clothing more appropriate for the city.”
Tarin sniggered, amused at the discomfort shown by Vigano.
“Yes, my cousin here is visiting from a place where they apparently weave their own cloth. Very rural. I’d like him outfitted to a reasonable standard but don’t break the bank.”
The storekeeper nodded in agreement, hiding his distain for the lack of manners exhibited toward him by this overweening young man. He turned to Vigano and took the tape measure from around his neck and started to measure him up. He felt the muscle beneath the lad’s clothing, obviously a product of work, something the other young fellow would obviously benefit from. Shortly he was lifting jackets and pants and shirts down from the racks they hung on so Vigano and Tarin could inspect them. The country boy had no idea what was fashionable or what would go together but the other one did. The shopkeeper begrudgingly acknowledged the fashion sense of the arrogant young fellow and his ability to pick a bargain. In the space of an hour or so they had purchased a number of different outfits from casual salon wear to formal, colourful to discreet, all of which fit the young fellow from the country like a glove.
Tarin took out the purse his mother had given him and when the shopkeeper had totalled the bill, bargained for a discount due to the amount of goods they had bought. He was reluctantly given a small concession in the price. As he paid, Tarin directed the parcels of clothing to be delivered to his house and paid a little extra for the service. All this was new to Vigano, who was still trying to absorb everything he was seeing. Eventually, they left the store with some time to spare before their meeting with the girls. Tarin took out the purse and looked inside it.
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“We did well in that store. There’s enough money left over to buy you new boots and go visit a nearby tavern for a little sup of ale.”
Vigano was taken aback. Drinking ale in the middle of the day and it not even being a holiday! Strange habits these city folk had. He agreed though and together he and Tarin went to look for a suitable shoe store where he could find boots which fit before they went to an inn.
The moment Bromala entered the clothing store with Anya and cousin Wendi, she was entranced. Colour was everywhere, a riot of it, leaping from bolt after bolt of material stacked in endless shelves, marching down to the rear of the premises where curtains hung across what Bromala presumed was a work area. Racks hung with dresses and blouses, aprons and pinafores were arranged around a central carpeted area facing a number of mirrors reflecting backward and forward from each other. Bromala had seen nothing like this before. Her mother’s best clothing, which came from Conurbal many years before, had nothing of the colour exhibited here.
Two well dressed women glided up to the little group as they entered and gave a slight bow to Anya.
“Madam, a pleasure to see you again. What can we help you with today?”
Anya indicated Bromala.
“My niece is in need of a number of outfits. We’ll take some already made and I want some special dresses run up for more formal occasions. Wendi here is to give advice on what is worn among her circle of friends but I want things kept demure please.”
There was head bobbing and agreement in plenty as Anya was shown to a seat in the central area and Wendi and Bromala taken to look at some of the racks of clothing. They chose a number of items and Bromala was escorted to a curtained change room near the centre of the store to try them on. When she emerged from the change room to stand in front of the mirrors, her aunt looked pleased. One look in the mirrors showed Bromala why. The dowdy country girl had gone, to be replaced by a pretty young woman resplendent in a colourful, fitting dress which left her firm arms and shoulders bare. Her curly brown hair fell in waves to tickle her uncovered shoulders as she twirled in front of the mirrors, able to see herself from every angle for the first time. Wendi went quiet, aware that she was being outshone by her country cousin but she put on a brave face. It was only their first day in the city, plenty of time for upstaging later.
Were of the Drakon Page 12
