The Dragon Caller (Brightmoon Book 9) Read online

  “Gods! I never knew you’d met such important people. How do you address the First Protector of Mesanthia?”

  “Well, I just called him Zak. Oh, on the letter, you mean? Hmm, no idea. I usually just put‘To the First Protector of Mesanthia’.That seems to find him.”

  “Oh. Right.‘To the First Protector of Mesanthia, greetings from Garrett of the Windblown Isle.’ Now, you dictate, and I’ll write.”

  ~~~~~

  With all the trouble at the inn on his previous visit, Ruell had forgotten all about the new school and the possibilities of the library there. It seemed even more important now to find whatever references he could to dragon callers, so the next time Garrett went to Sand Eagle Bay, Ruell went with him.

  There was a swell in the strait that day, and their little ship laboured up and up each rise, and then dropped into the trough beyond, making Ruell queasy. Or perhaps it was the prospect of returning to theMidwinter Moon Inn that tied his stomach in knots. He didn’t want to face anyone there, not after last time. He could imagine it – some of them patting him on the shoulder in wordless sympathy, some staring open-mouthed, and some laughing at him. He hated being laughed at. That was why he’d dared Kestimar’s displeasure and given up training in sword-work. He was the only one who didn’t train at all, apart from a handful of old men, but he’d grown tired of his own ineptitude.

  Garrett came to stand beside him where he huddled in the shelter of the little cabin.

  “Don’t you want to come inside out of this wind?” Garrett said.

  Ruell shook his head.

  “Look, it occurred to me that you might feel a bit uncomfortable staying at theMidwinter,” Garrett said. “The chatter will die down in time, just as soon as something new comes along to push you out of their minds, but in the meantime, would you like to stay somewhere else? At theSand Eagle Tavern? The man who keeps it is a good friend of mine.”

  “Will you be staying there too?”

  “No, I always stay at theMidwinter, and if I don’t people will wonder at it. You’ll be fine with Zamannah. He doesn’t let rooms out as a regular thing, just to friends occasionally, so you’ll probably be the only one staying. He’ll be glad of a hand with the barrels, I expect.”

  “Will you tell him why I’m there?”

  “No, but he might guess anyway. He hears all the gossip, so he’ll know what happened. You can trust him, though. But these people at the school…”

  “Darro and Famri? They’re nice, friendly people. Are you saying I shouldn’t trust them? How am I to find what I need if I don’t tell them anything about myself?”

  Garrett sucked his teeth thoughtfully. “I don’t think you should trustanyone more than you have to. Me, your mother, Kestimar – we already know. Zamannah I’d trust with my life, so he’s safe to talk to if you need to. But anyone else, no, I wouldn’t tell them anything about dreams or talking to dragons or any of that stuff. Tell Darro and Famri that the island is seeing more dragons than usual, which is perfectly true, and that you want to find out more about dragons generally. No need to mention dragon callers at all.”

  “All right, but I’m not convinced it’s necessary to be so secretive. I want to find out as much as I can, and being furtive isn’t going to help. I’m not afraid of Darro and Famri laughing at me for thinking I might be a dragon caller. I’ve been laughed at for worse.”

  “It’s not them laughing at you that worries me,” Garrett said sharply. “You saw how Kestimar took it, and your mother too – they see you as a tool for gaining power. The dragon callers were like gods, Ruell, even I know that much. If you have even the remotest possibility of becoming one, you’ll have everyone on the continent fighting for control of you. So keep quiet about it, for the Gods’ sake. Don’t breathe a word toanyone unless you trust them absolutely, all right? Not a single word.”

  6: The Library (Garrett)

  “Zamannah? Where are you, old man?”

  The sounds of sweeping in the supper room stopped, and a head poked round the corner. “Garrett? Watch who you call an old man, friend. I am still your junior. Oh, who is this?”

  “This is Ruell. My son. He’d like to stay here for tonight, if you’d be so obliging.”

  “Ah.” Zamannah smiled, resting on his broom. “A pleasure. Welcome, friend Ruell. Come in.”

  “Why are you doing your own sweeping?” Garrett said.

  Zamannah rolled his eyes. “Impossible to get a woman to stay. As if I have nothing else to do.”

  “I’ll sweep if you like,” Ruell said. “I’m good at sweeping. Just these two rooms?”

  “For now. Thank you, friend.”

  Ruell vanished round the corner, and the sounds of enthusiastic brushing could be heard.

  “Oh, I like him,” Zamannah said. “Very willing.”

  Garrett laughed, pulling up a stool to the counter and waiting for his ale to appear. “He does a lot of sweeping on the island. Don’t know where all the leaves come from, but there they are, every day, waiting to be swept. We’re all expert sweepers.”

  Zamannah slid a foaming tankard down the counter top. “I have not heard about his ability with a broom.” Then he untucked a cloth from his belt and began assiduously polishing the wooden counter, not looking Garrett in the eye.

  “I imagine there are plenty of rumours swilling around just now,” he said calmly.

  Rubbing industriously, Zamannah said, “I take no notice of rumours, myself, but others do. It is no mystery why he chooses to stay here with me, but if he wishes to avoid comment, even in such an out of the way corner of the town as my tavern, he would do well to take another name. Or keep himself out of sight.”

  “Perhaps he could be useful in the kitchen?” Garrett suggested.

  “Ah. That would work. But you should know that the happenings of a quarter moon ago have attracted some notice.”

  “Anywhere in particular?”

  “Not that I have heard, but the strange language is of most interest. It is being said that your son spoke the old language, the language of the mages.”

  Garrett sipped his ale pensively. “I would think that unlikely,” he said slowly. “Not that I heard what was said, but he’s no mage, I’m sure of that.”

  “Ah.” Zamannah nodded in understanding. “And you, of all people, should know. I will see that this opinion is made known.”

  ~~~~~

  Garrett had to make the usual visit to Amontis Mansion to hand over Kestimar’s orders to Jonnor. He found the man not at all his usual urbane self.

  “Garrett, what is all this about Ruell? I’ve heard the most startling stories from theMidwinter Moon.What is thematter with the boy? Is there something amiss with his mind?”

  “Not that I’m aware. He’s young, Jonnor, and not very comfortable with women, that’s all. If he panicked—”

  “It didn’t sound like panic to me. It sounded like a case for the crazy island. But there! I’ve said for years that keeping the boy at Tella’s skirts, trapped out on the Windblown Isle, was a foolish thing to do. That island sends people insane, you know. I’ve never been so glad to leave a place behind in my life. The Bay isn’t exactly civilised, but at least it conforms to the laws of nature, and doesn’t decay overnight.”

  Garrett murmured something noncommittal. “What do you know about this school that’s starting up? And the people running it?”

  “Oh, the Tre’annatha?” Jonnor said, with a frown. “I don’t like it. Or more to the point, I don’t likethem. We’ve had a bellyful of them over the years, and if I never saw another one, that would suit me just fine. A nasty, two-faced race.”

  “I’ve known one or two who were all right,” Garrett said. “Well, one, anyway. The Mesanthian Second Protector is Tre’annatha, and he’s fine. And some are just… wrapped up in their own concerns. Not sure where these two fall.”

  “Just watch out for them,” Jonnor said. “I argued against it when it was discussed in the kylerand, but I wasn’t listened to, a
s usual.”

  “Are you on the kylerand?”

  “No, no, it takes three generations or something, very much a hereditary system. Still, I know everyone here and I talk to a lot of people in an informal way, and I’m always consulted when something like this comes up. But they took no notice of me. That’s how these people are so clever. They come here with their proposals for a school, and it seems like such a small thing, doesn’t it? And so beneficial for the town. Who could possibly object to a school, an education for the children and a library for those with a taste for the academic. But gradually, in insidious ways, they worm their way in, and before you know it, they’re in charge and you can’t do what you want any more. And it’s all for the greater good, they’ll say. Pfft. I hate them.Hate them.”

  Garrett mumbled something, and handed over Kestimar’s orders, and that diverted Jonnor’s attention away from the awkwardness of the subject.

  When Garrett had finished, he found Ruell waiting, as arranged, in the lobby, the painted ceiling so high the chandeliers’ ropes were fifty paces long at least. The women in their oddly-draped skirts curtsied as Garrett passed, then curtsied again as Ruell jumped up to greet him. Two men in gold-trimmed uniforms held the heavy wooden doors open as they passed out into the sunshine, the summer heat wrapping them in a smothering blanket.

  “Right, let’s try out this school of yours,” Garrett said. “Let me do the talking, and remember, we are looking for any information on dragons, because they have been venturing close to the island lately.”

  “Right. And no mention of…callers,” Ruell muttered in an undertone.

  The school was housed in the former corn exchange building, lately moved to larger and grander premises near the harbour. It was unfortunate that the school and the Amontis Mansion were at opposite ends of the town’s busy main street, so there was no avoiding the crowds out with their wheeled baskets, buying goods from the shops. Most people glanced incuriously at them as they passed by, but one or two jumped aside with recognition in their eyes, and two women burst into audible giggles, then turned away, spluttering, hands in front of their mouths as if to hide their laughter. Garrett ignored them, but Ruell was red with embarrassment by the time they reached the school.

  “Stupid people,” Garrett said, with a sympathetic laugh.

  Ruell quirked a bit of a smile, too, which seemed like a good sign.

  The interior of the school was blessedly cool, the wide entrance hall a tangle of ladders and boxes and oddly-shaped packages, with an overpowering smell of fresh paint. The building was hexagonal, with a central yard where the corn wagons had once lined up, but now it made a pleasant place for a school, the yard edged with sheltering verandahs and the building itself divided into small teaching or studying rooms, or accommodation for the teachers. A passing worker with carpentry tools at his belt directed them to the library, an entire wing left as one big, open room, the walls lined with brand new bookcases, some being painted and others still under construction. A few shelves already sported books, but the floor was covered in boxes, each neatly labelled:‘Animals - Plains’, ‘Earthquakes and Volcanoes, some weather’, ‘Poetry, Northern Plains’, ‘Empire, Third Era’ and on and on. So many books! Garrett couldn’t imagine anyone needing so many. And yet the whole room was smaller than the smallest private study room in the Academia at Mesanthia.

  “Isn’t it glorious?” Ruell breathed. His eyes were round with wonder as he gazed about him.

  Several people were hard at work at the furthest end of the room, busily taking books out of two or three boxes and placing them on the shelves. A man and woman detached themselves from the group, and came towards them.

  “Ruell! You came back!” the man said. “We thought we might have put you off. And you have brought a friend. Greetings, and welcome to Sand Eagle Bay School and Free Library. I am Darro and this is Famri.”

  To Garrett’s eyes, they were typical Tre’annatha. They all looked alike to him, with their softly curling brown hair, honey-coloured skin and almond-shaped eyes. They dressed alike, too, having a fondness for full shirts, leather coats and wide-brimmed hats. These two, a man and a woman, had left off the coats and hats in deference to the heat, but the frilled shirts and patterned leather boots proclaimed their origins.

  Garrett had mixed feelings about the Tre’annatha. He’d once seen them as an utterly evil race, as Jonnor still did, but time and travel and some interesting friendships had taught him that they were the usual assortment found in any group of people – some bad, some good and most awkwardly in the middle, trying to do the best they could with the dice they’d thrown. But one thing they all had in common was that they followed their own path, and their motives were never entirely altruistic.

  “This is Garrett,” Ruell said, then added with a hint of defiance that made Garrett swell with pride, “He’s my father.”

  “Welcome, Garrett,” Darro said. His smile didn’t waver, but he looked Garrett up and down in what felt like an appraisal. “I think you will not need your sword in here.”

  “Probably not,” Garrett said genially. “Still, there’s no knowing, is there?”

  Darro’s eyes narrowed just a fraction.

  “Besides,” Garrett went on, “I’m used to the weight of the thing. I’d probably fall over without it.”

  He smiled blandly at Darro, who responded with a nervous half-smile. It was the woman who laughed and said, “Oh, you’re funny. I like your father, Ruell.”

  “I like him, too,” Ruell said simply, and Garrett was almost too overcome to speak. Not noticing, Ruell went on, “You said I could read some of your books.”

  “Of course,” Famri said. “The library is for anyone to use. We will have reading tables in here, eventually, and small cubicles for private study. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

  Ruell cast a glance at Garrett, but then rushed on, “Dragons. We keep seeing them near the island, and we felt it would be useful to know something about them.”

  “Oh, dragons. An interesting topic. We haven’t unpacked anything relevant yet, but all the boxes are labelled. If you can find one that has books about dragons in it, we’ll be happy to open it. Darro, will you help Ruell to search?”

  That was unexpected, that the woman was in charge. The two began examining the labels on the boxes, methodically working their way up and down the room.

  “They will be busy for a while,” Famri said, with a ready smile. “Would you like me to show you around? The cornices in the refectory are most unusual.”

  Garrett wasn’t much interested in architecture, but even if he had been, all his senses were on alert at this obvious attempt to separate him from Ruell. “Maybe some other time,” he said, smiling to soften the refusal. “It would be a pity for Ruell to miss the unusual cornices.”

  She laughed, not at all discomfited. “You are his bodyguard as well as his father? Very well. There is a table over there with freshly pressed apple juice. Perhaps I might offer you some refreshment while Ruell is busy, and we can have a talk.”

  Garrett looked at the table and assessed the distances, then nodded an acceptance. The apple juice was cool and clear, and he was glad of it. He took a moment to look through Darro’s eyes, discovered him focused solely on the boxes he and Ruell were looking at, and was satisfied.

  “Thank you for the juice,” he said. “Very refreshing.”

  That brought another tinkling laugh. “Let us sit on this box here, where Ruell is still within sight but we cannot be overheard. There. Now, Garrett, I don’t know how much you know about Tre’annatha, but I should tell you that our ultimate purpose, the objective we all work towards, is to restore the pre-Catastrophe world exactly as it was.”

  Garrett laughed out loud. “Really? As it was? With mages who acted like gods, and the mass of the population nothing more than slaves? Is that really what you want?”

  “But we hadmagic, Garrett!” she said, suddenly animated. “The loss of magic is the great tr
agedy of our age.”

  “There’s still magic, if you know where to look for it. There’s magic in the dawn after a night battle. There’s magic in a woman’s arms. There’s magic in watching your child grow up. There’s magic in comradeship, in rain on your face, the heft of a well-made sword in your hand, in winning without cheating, in falling in love, in being alive. Magic is everywhere, if we stop looking for it long enough to allow it into our lives.”

  “Ah, a philosopher,” she said, her smile gone. “But that is just playing with words. Human experience is not the same as real magic. It cannot restore the broken, heal the sick or master the elements. It is passive, taking pleasure in a situation, whereas magiccreates the situation, whatever is wanted. Magic can control the world.”

  “And it almost destroyed it,” Garrett said impatiently. “The mages made such a mess of controlling the world that they all had to die to stop the destruction. You will never convince me that the mages were a good thing.”

  She was silent for a moment, looking at him consideringly. Eventually, turning away, she said, “Well, they are gone, and perhaps they will never return. But there is still magic –real magic – for those who know where to look, and that is the great mission of my people now, to seek out surviving pockets of magic wherever they may be, and learn from them. But magic hides itself well. Sometimes intentionally, because those with a magical power keep it secret. Sometimes accidentally, because they don’t understand the power they have. They think it’s just a natural ability, or a larger than average talent. Sometimes they think it’s just odd dreams.”

  She paused, and again she looked at him. He made no response, and hoped his face gave no sign of his dismay. Dreams! If they knew about Ruell’s dreams, then they were sunk.

  “Odd dreams and strange words that make no sense,” she went on. “A strange, hissing language, the girl from the inn reported. To most people, that means nothing. Some put it down as hyperbole, and others shrugged and thought nothing of it. But Tre’annatha are trained to take note of anything that cannot be explained in the usual way. Darro was very excited about the hissing language, and the description of flapping arms, like wings. He’s not the brightest man I’ve ever had the fortune to work with, but even he saw something noteworthy in these stories that flew around the town. He wanted to sit down and write at once to his court in the homeland. I dissuaded him, but sooner or later he will send word, and then Ruell will be in trouble.”