Hatchling (Tameron and the Dragon) (10 page)

He made camp when he found an open area under a huge fir near a second, smaller creek. Someone had trimmed the bottom branches off, so people had been here. This wasn't quite the way he'd planned on spending the day, but it was still better than sleepwalking through his usual routine, or being suspicious of everyone the way he'd been yesterday. Besides, he ought to rest the mare. She enjoyed the small fire as much as he did.

After a few hours he doused his campfire and began to head back. Snow sifted through the trees and covered his tracks. Tameron thought he knew the way, but worried when he didn't find any droppings from his mare. He was disgusted when he ran across the brook again,
and then became frightened when he couldn't find the hearth he'd left behind. The current was running the other way from what he remembered, so it must be a different one. The light was so gray there were no shadows. Nobody knew where he was, and they might not guess which horse he’d taken. Tam wished he hadn't eaten so much of his food already.

Once he knew he was lost, he started looking for a place to spend the night. At least he hadn't traveled in a circle, but that wasn't much help. Now it was getting dark.

Wait, there was a clearing up ahead! He should set up camp near the open if he had a choice, so he could figure out which way was east when morning finally came.

He urged the horse on a bit faster when he found a path nearly hidden by snow.
Maybe there's shelter at the end of it
. He smelled smoke and spurred the mare into a canter, not noticing the tangled branches that reached into his way.

Then his mount stumbled and sent him flying through the air. He moved slowly, as if he were floating...then he rushed up against a knobby tree trunk and all went dark, as dark as in his quiet, empty room in Kelemath just a month or so ago.

Chapter 5

For a long time he felt terror and pain, occasionally soothed by gentle hands and a voice like Esa's. Was he dead? He ought to be able to see her if he was. Odd lights and shadows replaced the welcoming warmth Tam recalled from his last brush with death.

As if in a dream, h
e stood at the heavy double doors inside his father's palace in Kelemath, doors that had been locked and barred the day after the death of his brothers and sisters. Beyond them lay the vaulted hall that held the Empty Throne and the Dragon Crown, a place he'd never seen.

He touched the iron bar. It dissolved into mist and faded away. The doors swung open. Tameron forced himself to walk into the room.

The throne wasn't empty. A tall, lean woman sat there, wearing a jeweled crown that looked like a dragon coiled around her head. She was old and haggard, but her eyes blazed with power. Her voice echoed inside his mind. I HAVE WAITED A LONG TIME FOR YOU TO COME.  I SEE I SHALL HAVE TO WAIT EVEN LONGER. STEP FORWARD.

He obeyed, trembling from head to toe.
What am I afraid of?
he wondered.
The barrier will stop me before I go too much further, and I'm certainly not going to try to push through it.

Layers of dust within the circle closed off by the invisible wall marked its boundaries. The rest of the room was relatively clean, despite fifteen years or so of neglect. Tam shuffled nearly to the edge of the circle, and stopped.

KEEP WALKING, said the skeletal queen. Her face changed into a skull, and her hands into bones.

"But I can't," Tam whispered. "What's the point? I can't go much farther anyway."

THAT IS WHAT THEY BELIEVE. THAT IS WHAT THEY WANT YOU TO BELIEVE.

He bit his lip and took
more steps.

THAT'S RIGHT. DON'T LOOK DOWN. JUST KEEP WALKING.

Then Tameron glanced back and saw his footprints in the dust on the floor, dust that had been there for a hundred and fifty years. "Am I dead?" he asked. That might explain why he was able to cross the barrier.

NO. THOSE OF OUR BLOOD ARE BORN ONCE EVERY GENERATION, BUT THEY ARE THOUGHT TO HAVE NO POWER EXCEPT TO BREED. I HAVE TALKED TO SEVERAL LIKE YOU. MOST OF THE TIME IT'S TOO LATE, AND THEY'RE ALREADY PRISONERS OF DEVER TOWER.

"Those of our blood? I don't understand. Who are you?"

I AM THE LAST TRUE RULER OF FIALLYN MOR, BEFORE THE MAGES WHO PLEDGED THEIR LOYALTY TO THE CROWN BETRAYED US.

Tam gasped. This was the queen who he'd read about, the one the histories said even brought in foreigners to continue her own tyranny over those with magic. "But I'm from one those families myself! I'm Tameron dayn Sidian a' Piran! How could I be related to you, when your whole line perished?"

ONE SMALL GIRL LIVED. THEY THOUGHT SHE WAS A SERVANT. WHEN SHE GREW, SHE BORE CHILDREN TO HER MASTER, CHILDREN THAT WERE ALL MAGES. THIS NOBLE BUILT HER A TOWER OUT OF LOVE, OR SO HE SAID. OR PERHAPS FROM FEAR SHE WOULD BE TAKEN FROM HIM IN THE CONFLICT OVER HER THAT FOLLOWED. HE WAS FORCED TO SHARE HER, OR BE DESTROYED BY THE COUNCIL. ONE OF HER GRANDCHILDREN WAS NAMED RIALLAN.

His grandmother, and Protector of Fiallyn Mor in her own right till her death. Tam shook with horror when he thought of Dever Tower, no matter how cherished any Blessed Mother was who lived there. Was that fate going to be his? "Why couldn't any of them come to you when they attended Council? The chamber isn't that far from here."

THEY MAY NOT LEAVE THE TOWER UNLESS THEY ARE ALREADY CARRYING A CHILD. THEY CANNOT PASS THE BARRIER THEN,
FOR THE INFANT WITHIN DRAINS ALL THEIR POWER. ONLY ONE OF THEM LIVED PAST THE TIME OF WOMEN, BUT FOUND SHE WAS STILL A PRISONER. SHE WAS KILLED TRYING TO ESCAPE, TRYING TO COME TO ME. A drop of water ran down the face of the skull from one of the eye holes.

"How...am I the only one who was
a boy?" What good would that do? He'd never carry a child, and thus would never be allowed outside of Dever Tower.

YES. YOU WERE A DESPERATE GAMBLE. YOU'LL UNDERSTAND WHY EVENTUALLY. THE RED CUP WAS MEANT TO BRING JOY TO THESE WOMEN, BUT IT BECAME A TRAP. DON'T LET YOUR BODY LEAD YOU INTO DANGER!

Tameron had heard the rumors of the potion being given to unwilling brides, or sometimes used by weary older men. He looked down in embarrassment, knowing he'd nearly gotten himself killed by lusting after Liselda instead of thinking of his own safety. Then he noticed his feet were beginning to fade into the dusty carpet. "I'll come back someday, I swear it," he said.

IF YOU REMEMBER. RUN, BOY, RUN, OR YOU'LL BE CAUGHT, TOO. The closed eyes of the metal dragon on her head began to open.

It was dark now, dark and cold. Somebody was crying, but he didn't know who. Where was Randor? Then he realized that he was the one who was weeping like a child.
They're going to be so angry with me!
he thought.
It's all my fault this time, too.

He knew he had to get up and go, but he couldn't. There was something he had to do back in Kelemath. Something about dragons...
run, boy, run...
a quiet voice echoed in his mind. Why? Why did he have to run? Most of him fled away then, retreating rapidly into a pale white mist where it was safe.

Eventually he awoke. His head hurt, and the blanket was scratchy. He opened his eyes. Everything looked blurry, but the modest cabin seemed slightly familiar, as if he'd seen it before. A woman with dark, gray-streaked hair bent over him. "There you are, lad," she said, and patted his cheek. "You've got to eat."

He had trouble finding the right words. "Where--where am I?"

"My husband found you when he was out trapping. It took him three days to bring you in after that terrible storm. We're east of Lochil and a bit north of Bogatay, and for now that's all you need to know. You're not going anywhere, and neither are we."

"Who are you?"

She smiled wearily. "I'm Dorena, my daughter is Marsya, her little son is Jorry, and my husband is Aylar the Trapper. He's back in the hills looking for fatbear. I hope you remember it this time."

He must have looked as puzzled as he felt, as she continued. "I've told you this a dozen times already. Marysa has, too, but I suppose it leaks out of your head with the knock you got." She ruffled his hair gently, but even that hurt.

"I'm sorry..." He used to have a good memory, or so...so some old man had once told him. He tried to sit up, but that was a mistake as his stomach roiled.

Dorena quickly helped him lean over a plain wooden bowl as he retched. "Now, don't take on so," she said. "You're making more sense than before, and that's a good sign. Can you tell me who you are?"

He caught his breath between sour swallows. "Tam." He knew there was more, but couldn't reach it. It'd gone into the mist, along with so much else.

"That's a nice name," she said. "Here, drink this and see if you can keep it down."

The spiced, lukewarm tea threatened to come up,
and then settled down to stay. As Dorena prepared some food, Tam lifted a shaky hand and felt his chin. It had only some fuzz not worth shaving. Thin pink lines ran down inside both his wrists. He remembered something green on them. Maybe someone had used leaves to bind them when he’d been hurt?

The woman laid a roughly-hewn board on his lap and propped him with a
rolled- up blanket that smelled of cattle. The room spun for a moment, but steadied as his vision cleared a little. She set a bowl of soup and a piece of bread before him. "Ready to eat?" she asked.

The tea helped. He nodded,
and reached for the wooden spoon. Tam kept spilling the soup from weakness. What had happened to him? Dorena took over as if he were an infant. He thanked her between mouthfuls, and resolved to make it up to her once he was better.

Half the soup was gone when she put the bread in the bowl to soak up the rest, and he scooped that up with his fingers. Tam was glad
they
were working right! Then he had to ask for the pot. Dorena wanted to help him there, too, but he wouldn't let her, even when he almost fell climbing back into bed. He didn't want to know what she'd had to do when he was helpless.

He drifted back to sleep, but remembered where he was when he woke up again. Everything seemed fuzzy for a moment,
but then he saw there were two more people in the cabin. Marysa was dark-haired like her mother, but had round cheeks and sparkling brown eyes. Jorry was a small lad about five years old. His hair was dark as well, but his eyes were bright blue. "I'm glad you're awake," said the boy. "I have to sleep next to you."

"Jorry! That's not nice," Marysa said. Her smile took the sting from her words.

Tam knew the boy meant no harm, and was glad to see the younger woman wasn't really angry. He had more appetite after this last nap, and enjoyed smelling more soup cooking over the hearth. It must be supper time, since the place seemed darker than before.

This time he put the bread in his soup first to soak up the broth,
and spooned up mushy bread with the vegetables and tiny scraps of meat. Tam was proud that he ate over half of it by himself before Marysa had to help him finish it. Afterwards he was happy to lie back and enjoy the talk between the younger woman and her mother. Jorry quietly sat in Marysa’s lap.
I wish my mother were still alive,
he thought, and turned his head so the others wouldn't see his tears. Why did he have to remember
that
part?

He fell asleep as Marysa began getting Jorry ready for bed. Tam awoke in the night and felt the small body of the boy next to him.
It'll be nice to have a brother,
he thought, then drifted off again. It felt good to not be alone.

Tam regained his strength slowly in the autumn days that turned into winter weeks. He was still clumsy even when he felt better, and followed Dorena to learn chores around the cabin. Headaches and dizzy spells affected him when he tried to do too much, or remember things from before. One of his easier tasks, though, was playing with Jorry when Marysa had to go into town. She worked at a local inn to earn coins to help feed the family till Aylar gathered more furs. Dorena led a few stringy-looking cows to forage
in the forest each day. Tam knew it should be his task once he was strong enough.

She usually had him watch the soup while she was gone, and keep it from either g
oing cold or boiling over. One night Dorena taught him how to grind meal. He found it simple to take the nutmeats she'd laid out to dry on a tray near the fire, and then use her mill-bowl and roundstone to reduce them to powder. A few nights later, instead of making the bread herself, she showed him how to knead and lay the next day's loaf out to rise during the night. It took a few tries before he got it right, though they were hungry enough to eat the results anyway, but at last he produced good, wholesome bread that even Jorry didn't complain about.

Dorena was really surprised when they both found out he apparently knew how to sew already. The night that happened, she shook her head and said, "Lad, I'm glad your mother raised you right. So many men are helpless when it comes to keeping themselves out of tatters. Now, you can work on repairing these clothes tomorrow. I haven't had the heart to do it myself since my son last wore them."

Tam glanced up at the death-doll on the mantel, and then examined the shirt. It was plain, but made of strong, warm cloth. Fortunately the rips in it were along the seam. The trousers were a different story. Both knees were ragged, and needed to be patched. "Do you have any extra material?" he asked.