The Dragon Caller (Brightmoon Book 9) Page 8

  “That’s a good question,” Garrett said thoughtfully. “Whatdoes it mean? I can’t answer that, but I can tell you who attacked you.”

  “Who?” Ruell said, leaning forward eagerly, and then wishing he hadn’t, as his head spun.

  “Your fine friends, Famri and Darro.”

  Ruell’s mouth dropped open. “What?” he screeched. “No! No, no, no, you’ve got that all wrong.”

  Garrett said nothing, waiting.

  With a sigh, Ruell said, “Oh, go on, then. Tell me how you came to that conclusion.”

  “Let me tell you how I think it happened, and then you can tell me where you think my reasoning is faulty, all right?”

  Ruell nodded mulishly, quite prepared to argue every point.

  “Famri comes to the tavern at midmorning, even though no one told her you were there. Presumably she had you followed yesterday.”

  Ruell opened his mouth, then closed it again. That was a good point. How else could she have known? Apart from Zamannah and his cook, who else knew where he was? And even if he’d been seen entering or leaving, how could that information have got back to Famri? No, Garrett was right, he must have been followed. And if that were so… He uttered an exclamation of dismay.

  “Sorry. Go on.”

  Garrett smiled, knowing Ruell had seen the strength of the argument. “She persuades you to go with her, but she takes a narrow, little-used back street. Why? So that no one will see what happens. Someone taps you on the head—”

  “Taps!” Ruell’s outrage was genuine. “More than a tap! I was knocked out for hours.”

  “Yet the healer could find no broken bones and no blood, only a small bruise. You were tapped on the head, then knocked out with sleeping drops on a cloth held over your mouth.”

  “Sleeping drops?” he whispered.

  “Head fuzzy? Legs wobbly? Sleeping drops, without question. They whip you into a nearby building, and keep you there, unconscious, for several hours. Then they take you to the candle-maker and send for the healer. The candle-maker, bless him, sends his boy to find me. I’d been in there not an hour before, so he knew I was around the shops somewhere. That was no more than an hour ago. And it seems to me that this was no opportunist at work, for what self-respecting thief leaves money pouches untouched? No, this could only have been a deliberate attack arranged by your friend Famri and her helpers.”

  Ruell was too dismayed to say a word.

  “So I can see exactlywhathappened,” Garrett said, “The one thing I can’t work out iswhy.”

  8: Evening (Garrett)

  Garrett spent the whole of the short voyage wrestling with the question. Why by all the Gods would the Tre’annatha do such a thing? It defied credibility. Yet it was obvious that such a plan had been in Famri’s mind from the start. Why else would she make such a strong argument for Ruell leaving town, at once and alone? Because she knew perfectly well that if he had Garrett with him, no one could get near enough to hit him over the head, and if anyone did, they would not survive longer than the time it took him to draw his sword. Naturally she wanted no blood spilt. A quick tap, the cloth over the nose and bundle him out of sight. It could be done in a few heartbeats and no one any the wiser. And then they could… what?

  This was the point where he always stopped, for what purpose was served by keeping Ruell unconscious for several hours and then restoring him, apparently unharmed? If their interest in him was as a potential dragon caller, it was a bizarre way to treat him, and he could think of no other reason for them to take the slightest interest in Ruell, who was otherwise a perfectly ordinary and undistinguished young man.

  Ruell lay on the bench seat, face to the wall, pretending to sleep as the ship made its ponderous way across the strait. Garrett left him to his thoughts. He was so trusting, and had been so happy to have these new, interesting friends, it must be galling to realise that he’d been betrayed and abused by them.

  It was almost full dark before they docked at the little harbour below the palace, the last light of the sun a slight glow along the horizon, no more than a shade or two lighter than the rest of the sky. Ruell leaned heavily on Garrett’s arm as they made their way up the ramp and into the palace.

  “Do you want to go to bed?” Garrett said. “I can bring you some supper on a tray.”

  He hung his head, looking like a boy of twelve caught stealing the pie left to cool. “I’d really like that, but Mother will be wondering…”

  “I’ll explain to her. You can tell her all about it tomorrow, but for tonight you’d be better off resting.”

  “Thanks. Um, Garrett…”

  He waited expectantly, not rushing him.

  “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to sleep away at the top of my tower. I mean, in case… anything happens. With… you know, my head. Can I squeeze in with you? Then you’ll be there if I need you.”

  “Of course, or I can squeeze in with you, if you’d rather sleep in your own bed?”

  “Not sure I can manage all those stairs tonight,” he said with a rueful laugh. “You’ve got that sofa thing in your room, haven’t you?”

  “I have, but the bed’s plenty big enough for both of us, if you don’t mind sharing.”

  Ruell brightened. “That would be nice. Then you’d be right there if…”

  “…if anything happens. Yes, I will. And I’d be happier, too. You never know how head injuries are going to go.” He wasn’t going to point out to Ruell that what he was suffering from was not concussion, but the after-effects of the sleeping drug that had been used on him.

  Garrett half-carried and half-supported Ruell along the corridor to his room, which mercifully was on the ground floor. One of the guards trotted along behind with their packs, and Garrett’s swordbelt. Ruell slid with a relieved smile onto the bed, and Garrett lit all the lamps, and then from habit, fastened his swordbelt on again.

  “I’ll go and let Tella know that you’re safe and sound, before she hears the news from anyone else,” Garrett said. “Then I’ll be back with our supper. Why don’t you get undressed and get into bed? You look exhausted.”

  “Yes, I’m a bit tired,” Ruell said. “Those pillows look wonderful. Is it all right if I doze off? I mean, with a head injury…?”

  “I think it would be fine. Sleep if you need to. I’ll wake you for supper.”

  The meeting with Tella was as awkward an interview as Garrett had ever had. There was no appeasing a mother in fear for her child, even if the child was fully grown and not in immediate danger. “He needs rest more than anything,” Garrett told her, but no matter how often he repeated it, she was determined to fly to his side and offer the succour that only a mother could bring.

  Garrett tried not to roll his eyes at her hyperbole. Far from bringing succour to Ruell, she would weep all over him, wring her hands and stride about the room, denouncing those who had dared to attack her beloved child. The worst of it was, she could keep up the tirade for hours, until everyone else was drooping, red-eyed from exhaustion. She had far too much energy for a woman of more than sixty, but then Garrett had only himself to blame for that.

  In the end, it was Kestimar who said curtly, “By the Nine, woman, leave the boy to Garrett and stop fussing. Your screeching’s giving me spasms.”

  In the sudden rush of concern for Kestimar, Garrett was able to sidle out of the room, and make good his escape. Armed with a tray of soup, meat and cheese, and two tankards of best Amontis beer, he made his way back to his room.

  He knew at once that something was wrong. Ruell’s face alone would have been enough to tell him that, but he was perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed, still fully dressed.

  “What is it?” Garrett said, with a sudden rush of fear. Was he wrong about the concussion? Maybe Ruell really had been injured somehow. Sliding the tray onto a chest and swiftly unbuckling his swordbelt, he knelt in front of Ruell. “What’s the matter?”

  Ruell lifted agonised eyes to his face. “My undertrousers are on
back to front.”

  Garrett rocked back on his heels. Whatever he’d expected, this wasn’t it. “Your… undertrousers?” he said, bemused. “Oh… you mean someone undressed you?”

  He nodded. “Must have done. When I was knocked out. No other explanation.”

  That was true. He’d not been undressed at the candle-maker’s or afterwards, so it could only have been done during those missing hours when he was unconscious.

  “Is it possible you soiled yourself when you were out cold?” Garrett suggested gently.

  Ruell shook his head. “I’d have known. Besides, these aremy clothes. Would anyone take them off me, take them away for laundering and put them back on me again?”

  “No, of course not, but then—”

  “—why?” Ruell said. “That’s what’s bothering me, too. Do you think they might have… done anything to me?” He blushed so fiercely that Garrett had no trouble interpreting his meaning.

  “That would be quite difficult with an unconscious man,” Garrett said, with a smile. “It’s a whole lot easier when all participants are fully alert.”

  “But things can happen during dreams.” More blushing. Gods, but the boy was shy about such things!

  “True, but in those cases the mind is aware, at least, not completely out of the world. Do you feel as if you’ve been… tampered with? Any soreness or bruising anywhere?”

  “No, and I had a good feel around,” Ruell said. “Nothing seems to be… different. I just don’t see the point of it.”

  Garrett slid backwards to rest his back against the wooden chest. He’d been quite prepared to let the boy sleep it off, confident nothing untoward had occurred, but this was unexpectedly worrying. Why undress him? It made no sense, and surely there was some mischief afoot? Even if Ruell couldn’t detect anything different, Garrett was certain something must have been done to him, for why else strip him?

  “Ruell,” he said hesitantly, for he still wasn’t sure in his own mind if what he was about to do was a good idea. He’d kept his secret for so many years. “Ruell, I’m going to show you something that no one else has seen… well, your mother knows about it, but no one else, not even Kestimar, and you mustn’t tell a soul, do you understand?”

  Ruell nodded solemnly, his eyes wide.

  Garrett reached for his pack and rummaged inside, finally pulling out a worn shirt, tangled up and tied into a tight bundle. Carefully he unwrapped it, and pulled out a cloth pouch, and from that drew forth a plain glass sphere.

  “I don’t suppose you remember this, do you?”

  “Course I do! It’s Mother’s ball, but she told me it was stolen.”

  Before Garrett could stop him, he reached out and grabbed it. Garrett gave a yelp of alarm, but to his astonishment, nothing terrible happened. Instead, the interior of the ball burst into life, filled with shimmering stars that shifted about in an ever-changing pattern.

  “Oh!” Garrett said. “It’s never donethat before. That’s… weird.”

  Ruell looked up at him with amusement. “That’s what Mother said, too. I only got to touch it once, then she took it away from me and kept it locked up, and then it was stolen, or at least...” His face changed. “Oh – so it wasyou who stole it!”

  “Not me, no. I brought it back to your mother, but it got changed when it was away, and she can’t even touch it now without pain. So she lets me keep it and I use it… for her benefit. It’s got its own magic inside, and I can ask it to do things. Like… like keeping Tella young, and keeping me strong, and…” He swallowed hard, but there was no going back now. Even if he didn’t say it, Ruell would work it out sooner or later. “And making Kestimar weak.”

  Ruell looked sharply at him, eyebrows snapping together. “You mean, Kestimar is in that wheeled chair because ofyou? It’s your fault his legs don’t work?”

  Garrett nodded.

  “Why didn’t you just kill him? It would have been kinder!”

  “I don’t kill unless I have to!” Garrett snapped. “I didn’t want himdead, I just wanted to make sure that he wouldn’t killme. Can you imagine what it’s like, never knowing when I might wake to find him looming over me with a knife at my throat, or when he might just explode one day over the soup and put a dagger through my heart? I couldn’t live with that uncertainty, Ruell. I’d have left here long ago if I hadn’t been able to make myself safe from him.”

  “He could have got someone else to kill you if he’d wanted you dead,” Ruell said.

  “Perhaps, but he was never a man to get others to do his dirty work for him. It was personal between us, and he would have wanted to get rid of me with his own hands. I just made sure he couldn’t, that’s all. Besides, Tella’s fond of him.”

  Ruell’s face softened – so expressive, that face, and he never could hide his feelings. “You were keepingme safe, too, weren’t you? By crippling Kestimar, I mean. You thought he might hurt me one day.”

  Garrett nodded. “Not just you, anyone. I once saw him snap a man’s arm just for sitting in the wrong seat. Not that he meant to, but he has a vile temper on him, and I was terrified that one day he’d do something unbearably awful, and I’d have to live with knowing that I could have prevented it. Life gives us some difficult choices sometimes, Ruell.”

  He nodded, understanding. “Does Mother know… what you’ve used it for?”

  “She knows what I’ve done for her, yes. If she suspects about Kestimar, she’s never given any sign of it. Look, I haven’t told you this for no reason. I want to be sure that those bastards haven’t done anything to you, and I need to use the ball for that. Will you let me?”

  “Will it hurt?”

  “No. You might feel some warmth, that’s all, or maybe nothing at all.”

  “All right.”

  He handed the glass ball back to Garrett and the twinkling stars disappeared instantly, so that the ball was plain glass again. Once the ball had cycled through a sequence of colours when touched, but it had long ago lost that ability. It had swirled black when Tella touched it, but otherwise it was unvaryingly plain, with no sign that it was anything but ordinary glass. Until today, and Ruell’s little burst of stars. What did that mean? Garrett had no idea, and could only hope that its healing power would still work the same as always.

  “Give me your hand.” Holding the ball in his left palm, and Ruell’s hand in his right, Garrett took a deep breath. This part always sounded weird, but he never quite trusted the ball to understand him unless he explained what he wanted fully. “Now, ball, Ruell here has had a bad experience today. He’s been hit on the head, drugged to unconsciousness and patched up with moonrose paste. I want you to make sure nothing evil has been done to him, inside or out, that might give him grief in the future. Understand? So have a look round and if you find anything amiss, you can fix it. Ball, heal Ruell.”

  The ball glowed with an unearthly light, illuminating the underside of Ruell’s face so that he looked like a ghost. His mouth opened in a circle of surprise, but he said nothing. After a few moments, the ball’s glow faded back to almost nothing and Garrett let go of Ruell’s hand.

  “Well?” Garrett said.

  “I feel… better,” he said, his tone one of utter astonishment. “My head has cleared, and there’s no ache any more. It was warm, not unpleasant at all. Gods, I’m hungry! That soup smells good.”

  They ate together companionably, and if Ruell was a bit quieter than usual, he’d never really been a chatterer. He’d had a difficult day, and would need time to come to terms with what had happened and his own part in his misfortunes. Garrett was never one to point out another man’s failings, but Ruell was smart enough to realise that if he’d just waited for Garrett or simply refused to go with Famri, he’d never have been attacked. And perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing for him to learn to be more cautious, and less trusting.

  His appetite sated, Ruell lay down on the bed and, with the ease of youth, was asleep within moments. Garrett lay down beside him, but sleep was more
elusive, his thoughts running round in his head like rats in a barrel. Ruell seemed to have come through his ordeal unscathed, but perhaps that was sheer luck. And the big question – why? Why had they kidnapped Ruell and kept him unconscious for hours? It made no sense. Would the Tre’annatha try any other tricks? Even if Ruell had learnt to be cautious, Garrett was only one man and couldn’t protect him from a determined assault.

  What was he to do with this son of his, to keep him safe and allow him to develop the power within him? Was he really a dragon caller? And if so, he would be the target for many factions wanting to use him. A dragon caller controls dragons, but whoever controls the dragon caller controls the world. Such a temptation! Who could he trust not to try to use Ruell’s ability for material gain? Not the Tre’annatha, that much was certain. Not Tella or Kestimar, either – he’d seen the greed in their eyes when they’d looked at Ruell.

  But there was always Mesanthia, the heart of dragon-lore. Perhaps Ruell would be safe there. When he got a reply from the First Protector, he’d decide what to do, and perhaps he and Ruell would just run away to Mesanthia and put themselves in the Keeper’s hands. And yet… Garrett had survived all these years by not trusting anyone but himself.

  So his thoughts ran, round and round, as he gazed by the dim light of the night lamp at his son’s sleeping face. So young, so trusting, so vulnerable. At his age, Garrett had spent years making a living on the streets, gambling, mostly, with some thievery when times were tough. Then he’d been thrust into an unending war, and learnt to survive with a sword in his hand. Whereas Ruell had grown up with books and dragons’ eggs and a mother who liked to pretend she was a queen, and Garrett wouldn’t wish his life any different. Ruell wasn’t tough or a fighter, so it was up to Garrett to protect him, and that was what he would do, while there was breath in his body. His son! Yes, that was something worth fighting for.

  It must have been close to dawn, and Garrett was half-dozing, when Ruell stirred in his sleep, murmuring. Garrett was instantly awake. The room was dark, and he couldn’t see Ruell’s face, but he could hear him. From his mouth came a stream of hissing, writhing sounds, rising and falling, separating into words.