The Dragon's Egg Page 4

  “I greet you, Drusinaar,” he said gravely, sketching a small bow with his fingers. “And I’m Garrett. May I eat with you both? I was to meet friends here for a game of dragon stones, but it appears they have better things to do.”

  The peasant’s tiny nod was enough for him. He carried a box under one arm, so he set that down first, then his tray. Hooking a stool with one foot, he sat and began on his meal. The smell was disgusting, but he ate with apparent relish.

  Shakara asked a question to get the peasant woman talking again, and then Garrett joined in between mouthfuls and the conversation rolled along quite nicely. Shakara was able to withdraw her attention, and keep an eye on Rythin. He was talking to one of the guests now, smiling, trying to force his ugly face into pleasant shapes.

  When everyone had finished eating, Garrett and the girl stacked bowls and trays, and carried them to the hatch. When they came back, Garrett brought a large jug of ale, and topped up all their tankards.

  “Well, Drusinaar,” he said, reaching for the box, “I have been deprived of my friends, but I might still get a game of dragon stones, if you’re willing. Do you play the game, in your holding?”

  He lifted the lid to show the little stones in all their coloured glory. Her eyes flickered over them, back and forth.

  “No.”

  “This is a simple version of it with only four colours, very easy to play. Would you like me to teach you?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Right.” He tipped all the stones out of the box with a clatter. “Now, to start with, I’ll lay out a simple pattern. Then I’ll show you how to flip the stones, and move them to make a different pattern. You have to remember what colour the flipped stones are, and you also have to plan ahead.”

  The girl was absorbed in it. Probably she had never seen a game quite like it, or perhaps, like a child, she was attracted to the colours. Garrett patiently explained the rules to her, and then worked through a simple game, in demonstration. Then they played in earnest, although he pointed out whenever she made a mistake. Garrett won that one.

  And the third game the girl won.

  She lifted those huge eyes to Garrett’s astonished face. “I win. I made the pattern.”

  “Indeed you did. That was… a surprisingly good game for a beginner, Drusinaar. Would you like to play again?”

  “Yes, please.”

  They played three more games, and Dru won every time. By now, several interested spectators had been drawn to the table. The girl was not flustered in the least by the attention.

  “Right, Drusinaar, let’s try something different,” Garrett said. “I want you to lose to me this time, but to force me to make the pattern you chose. Think you can do that? It’s harder than it sounds.”

  “Yes.” Her eyes glittered.

  The crowd murmured, and Shakara saw money changing hands. She was not surprised. Amongst the very best players, it was a courtesy to deliberately lose one game in two, but few below those ranks attempted it. The honour play, it was called. A challenge indeed.

  And the child managed it. Not just managed it, she made it look easy. Garrett hid it well, but he was shaken by it, that was clear. Shakara saw silver passed amongst the spectators. A tidy profit for anyone who had bet on the girl.

  “Tomorrow I’ll bring a full set of stones,” Garrett said. “Would you like that?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Shakara? May I walk with you back to the Keep?”

  She had not meant to stay so long, but, like the watching crowd, she had been drawn in by the girl’s ability. Now she would have Garrett’s irritating company, instead of her own thoughts.

  He was unusually subdued, and after a while she was driven to break the silence herself. “How does she do it, do you think?”

  “Eh, what?”

  “The girl. How is she doing it?”

  “You say it as if it’s a trick, but it’s not. She really is that good. She has perfect recall, never misread a single flipped stone all evening, and understood the patterns, too. She’s very quick. But the honour play? I’ve never in my life seen a beginner pull that off.”

  The guards saluted as they walked onto the bridge. Far below, the roar of the sea told her that the tide was in.

  “So she really is special,” Shakara said. “Will she interest the Lady, do you think?”

  “Who knows what might interest the Lady?” he said lightly. “But Drusinaar certainly interests me. I’d like to know what other hidden talents she might have, and where she got them from, since she doesn’t have a mother or a father.”

  “Everyone has a mother and father,” Shakara said sourly. “Sometimes a child may not know them, that is all. Or the mother and father may not know the child.”

  “Very deep, Shakara. Or perhaps she really is a gift from the sea. Perhaps the Sea God created her, eh? What do you think?”

  She had no patience with such foolish talk, so she strode on ahead, leaving him chuckling at his own wit behind her.

  4: The Lady's Room (Marisa)

  Marisa trotted along behind Garrett, trying to quell the terror rising up in her throat. Everyone said the Guardian was a kindly lady, and it was what they had come for, after all, but still, it was a frightening prospect. She’d faced down an angry kylerand with less fear than she felt now, going to meet one middle-aged lady.

  Dru wasn’t bothered at all. Did she even understand what was happening? She was certainly flicking her eyes a lot this morning, which perhaps was a sign of excitement. Or maybe she was just pleased to be outdoors for once. Ten whole days inside the guest hall – sleeping room, eating room, cooking room, back to sleeping room again. Now the soft rain was refreshing, sprinkling shimmering droplets on Dru’s hair.

  “Dru. Shawl,” she hissed, pointing to her own head covering. Dru unfastened her shawl and draped it over her hair. Bit late, really. She was already soaked.

  Two guards saluted as they approached the bridge. Marisa smiled and nodded to them, but they gazed back at her without expression. Perhaps it wasn’t proper to be polite to guards here. So hard to know the right things to do. She felt clumsy and rustic, with all these smart uniforms around her.

  Then Garrett was striding onto the bridge. She took three steps and stopped so suddenly that Dru almost crashed into her. So high. Why had no one told her that the bridge spanned this narrow valley? The gorge was so deep the bottom was out of sight. It was as if someone had taken a knife to the spit of land and sliced a thin wedge out of it. On the landward side behind them stood the Outer Keep and the guest hall. On the island beyond the bridge, the Keep loomed darkly, towering into the clouds. And below her feet, water churned, the restless sea making a violent moat.

  But the bridge was solid stone, and Garrett and the woman – Shakara, that was her name – crossed it every day. So it must be safe. Garrett must have sensed her hesitation, for he stopped and turned, waiting for her, a smile of reassurance on his face. She’d been so suspicious of him on the ship, but he’d been very friendly to Dru, and that made him a friend of hers, too. She smiled back, and willed her feet to carry her across the bridge and bring her safe to the far side.

  A short path, the stones smooth, then up broad steps and they were at the entrance to the Keep. The stone archway, carved with strange patterns, towered over their heads as they passed through, its huge wooden doors wide open. Out of the rain, and into the stone-chilled air. A gloomy entrance hall, the curved ceiling far above them, the guards’ uniforms the only spots of colour. Another arched door, another huge room, a corridor, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor.

  “Not far now,” Garrett said. Another reassuring smile. He was a nice man. She’d thought for a while that he had certain intentions towards her, and there’d been an awkward moment one evening when he’d found her alone in the scullery. He’d leaned close and she’d been sure he was going to kiss her. But she’d backed away in alarm, and he’d laughed and made some joke and t
he moment had passed.

  So much stone! So thick, so heavy, so dark. The Keep was a monstrous building, taller than a mountain. Perhaps it had been carved out of solid stone. She could almost feel the weight of it, pressing down on her. And up above, more stone, soaring far above their heads. How did it stay there, so high up, with only a pillar here and there to hold the whole thing up? Some strange foreign magic, or the power of their Gods, perhaps.

  It was just as well Garrett had warned her how they would be lifted up to the top of the tower, or the swaying about in the lifting box would have had her fainting with fear. He seemed so relaxed, though, and he showed her the wooden rail to hold onto, so she wouldn’t fall over. It didn’t take long, but, by the salt, she was glad when it was over.

  A smaller room, filled with softness and colour – rugs, cushions, shining vases, woven pictures hanging on the walls. They were cleverly done! She would have to tell Lissanda about them. She was good with her stitches, and could embroider a very pretty butterfly or bird or leaf, but her weaving was simple patterns, nothing elaborate.

  She had barely taken it all in when Shakara came out of a door she’d not noticed. “The Lady will see you now. This way.”

  Another room, bigger, emptier, less colourful but filled with light. And a glowing figure, radiant. Awed, Marisa dropped into a deep curtsy.

  Garrett bowed, and Shakara curtsied too, very stiffly, head bowed, then slowly rose. So elegant and respectful.

  Shakara said something in another language, but Marisa heard her own name, and Dru’s, so she guessed Shakara was introducing them.

  The glowing figure spoke, and to Marisa’s relief, she understood. “Holder Marisa, Mistress Dru, you are welcome.” Then she stepped forward, away from the light. Without the enfolding glow, she was no more than a woman, although not one quite like any Marisa had seen before. She wasn’t dark skinned, like some she’d met. But she wasn’t pale, either. Her skin was the colour of honey, and her eyes were an odd shape. But her voice was soft and mellow, and there was nothing threatening about her. Marisa couldn’t guess her age; she seemed neither young nor old.

  “Thank you for seeing us, Lady Guardian,” she said.

  “Come, let us sit,” the Guardian said, indicating a grouping of chairs near the window. “Holder Marisa, please sit here, and Mistress Dru, here. Master Garrett, Steward Shakara, you may sit over there. You are to observe only, if you please. Now, Holder, you may tell me your story.”

  The first part was the most difficult. She had told the tale a few times over the years, when she’d been forced to, and never once got through it without the listener interrupting her: “Yes, but what does this have to do with Dru?”

  But she began, telling it exactly as Dernish had always told it, with every detail: how the dragons had burst into the air above the ridge, entangled in battle. How they’d fought back and forth. How the smaller dragon had eventually dropped the prize, the gleaming egg, into the edge of the surf and the dragons had vanished far out to sea. How he, Dernish, had bravely retrieved the egg and carried it home.

  And the Guardian listened, head tilted slightly to one side, nodding occasionally, her expression solemn. Not once did she interrupt.

  “He was very proud of that egg, Dernish was,” Marisa went on. “He had a special stand made to hold it upright, and when he was tied to my mother, he brought the egg with him, as part of his marriage price. He was obsessed with it, to tell the truth. He wanted to hatch the baby dragon, to have a dragon of his own. Everyone knows that dragon eggs have to pass through flames before they hatch, so he kept setting it in the kitchen fire, but that didn’t work. It didn’t harm it, but it didn’t crack the egg.

  “He kept trying to build bigger and bigger fires, and one day…” She paused, hand over mouth, remembering. She should have realised what he was up to, when he wouldn’t go over to Lusanna’s Holding with them that day for the harvest feast. Only the very oldest and youngest stayed behind, but Dernish wouldn’t go.

  The Guardian said nothing, waiting patiently for Marisa to compose herself.

  She heaved a deep breath. “Dernish tried to make a fire bigger than anything he’d tried before. He must have piled a heap of wood in the big open fire in the cookhouse, and set the egg on top of it. Well, it went out of control…” Another long breath. “The whole building went up. At first, he ran outside, so he should have been safe…” For the first time the Guardian’s steady gaze unnerved her, and she looked down at her hands twisting restlessly in her lap. “I suppose… we all guessed that he went back in for the egg, although no one saw him do it. But the next morning, when the ashes were cool enough for us to go in… there he was.”

  For the first time, the Guardian spoke. “Steward, fetch a hand cloth for Holder Marisa.”

  Marisa hadn’t realised she was crying, but so it was. Shakara pushed a square of lace-trimmed material into her hand and she dabbed at her eyes. “Sorry. So sorry.”

  “No need to apologise,” the Guardian said, without any hint of impatience in her voice. “Please take your time, and continue when you are ready.”

  So kind. Such a fine lady, yet she wasn’t like any of the wealthy folk who passed through the kyle sometimes, or even some of those staying at the Keep’s guest hall right now. Very high and mighty, some of them.

  “The whole building was destroyed, nothing but ash, and Dernish’s body barely recognisable. We only knew him by his marriage bracelet. But…”

  She hesitated. This was where the story became truly crazy.

  “He’d done it, though. It had cost him his life, but the egg was broken. The shards of it were scattered on the floor near the hearthstones. And…” Another pause. But she’d come all this way to tell the story, and she might as well get it over with.

  “And Dru was there. Just sitting, completely naked, right in the middle of all the devastation, the ashes still hot, not harmed at all. She was a little thing then, not a baby, though, more the size of a child of two or three summers. Not crying – she’s never cried, or smiled either – just sitting there.”

  She paused again, for surely now the Guardian lady would make some comment, would laugh at the absurdity of it, or be angry with them for wasting her time. But no, she nodded, saying nothing.

  “We could have sent her to the kyle, but the children’s house there – well, it’s not a nice place, and you can’t abandon a child, can you? So we kept her, and raised her, and, I’ll be honest, she’s been no trouble. Less trouble than my own, anyway. She grew very quick, in some ways, but in other ways… She has thirty summers now, at least, yet she’s never had a bleeding time, nor shows any sign of it. But that didn’t matter to us. She’s a little different, but she’s family now, if you understand me?”

  The Guardian nodded. “May I ask…?”

  “Oh, of course. Anything.”

  “You said she was like a child of two or three summers. Could she speak?”

  “Well now, I don’t know whether she could but she didn’t, not for years. Even now, she says very little. The others – they all chatter away, but Dru only speaks when you ask her something.”

  “Interesting,” the Guardian said. “And how do you explain her arrival?”

  Marisa flushed, not sure how to answer. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “I mean, do you believe that she came out of the egg? Or do you think there is some other explanation?”

  Marisa gaped at her. “But of course she came out of the egg! There was nowhere else she could have come from. I brought one of the pieces with me, if you’d like to see it?”

  “That would be most interesting.”

  Marisa reached into her belt bag and pulled out the fragment of egg shell, green and pale as a new fern. She’d kept them all, but most were too large to carry round. This piece was small enough to fit in her bag. Her fingers tingled as she touched it, as always.

  The Guardian took it from her, turning it over and over in her hands. “Fascinating. Mas
ter Garrett, what do you think?”

  He came across and went through the same process. “There’s definitely magic in it. I can feel it.”

  Magic! Yet somehow Marisa wasn’t surprised. Dragons were magical, too, everyone knew that.

  “Is it a real dragon’s egg?” the Guardian said.

  His lips twisted as he thought. “I’d have to compare directly to be sure, but I’d say not.”

  “But it is!” Marisa burst out. “The dragons dropped it, of course it’s real!”

  Garrett smiled at her. “They thought it was real, clearly. They believed it strongly enough to fight over it. But Marisa, think about it, a dragon’s egg will have a dragon inside it, not a child. This is a very good imitation, but it’s not dragon-created. Which is an amazing thought.”

  “Not a dragon’s egg?” she whispered.

  “The dragons were very special, Marisa, but they could not change the fundamental laws of nature,” the Guardian said. “A dragon lays eggs for the same reason as a bird or a snake – to produce more of its own kind. A dragon’s egg must contain a dragon, that cannot be altered. This was not produced by a dragon.”

  Marisa was silent. Not a real dragon’s egg? But what else could it possibly be? In over thirty years, she’d never imagined that it wasn’t real. But then sudden joy washed over her. They believed her! Garrett and the Guardian were talking together, but she heard none of it. She’d always told Dru’s story plainly, repeating what Dernish had said without embellishment, and the rest she knew to be true. But no one had ever believed it. Until now.

  “Marisa?” Garrett’s voice, gentle. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh yes. Thank you.” She beamed at him.

  The Guardian smiled, too. She looked so different like that, younger, less stern. Perhaps she was no more than thirty. It seemed such a responsibility for a young woman, running a great place like the Keep. “Let us have some refreshments,” she said. She tinkled a silver bell that sat on a table beside her chair, and servants came in at once with trolleys laden with food and drink. It was daintier food than the guest hall served: tiny little pastries and cakes, pieces of fruit, squares of soft cheese or meat, and an array of cool drinks that looked like water but tasted of apples or pears or other things Marisa couldn’t identify.