Hatchling (Tameron and the Dragon) (5 page)

"But he does depend on you. He is much older than he looks, Tameron, and so am I. He decided you were worth the trouble. As for some of your other questions, I promise to answer those at another time."

Tam noticed how carefully she'd avoided most of them. What would happen to him? He wasn't even old enough for the festivals at Midsummer. "Am I going to be an ordinary person and marry someone for good, or am I expected to do the Duty of a mage by the College? Or both?"

The Guardian bowed her head. "I don't know," she said. "It's possible that all your own children will have magic, so I doubt the College would be content to have you choose just one partner if that's the case. However, that doesn't make you useless for anything else. Half the population of Fiallyn Mor has no skill in magic, either. Some of them join the raiders you fought against earlier this year because they have no hope. Your father has plans for the day when all of us have some powers, but that's far in the future. Now he sees you can serve as a symbol of all that is best about the common people, as well as providing him grandchildren who may be stronger in the Elements than he is. The powerless won't be so likely to rebel when they see you treated with honor, while some mages may not oppress them so much if they know they might have to answer to you."

He'd never thought of that. Maybe he wouldn't be just a figurehead after all. "How?" he asked. He remembered the shouts of those who'd demanded that he leave the Council Chamber and not disgrace it with his common flesh.

"Such people often rule Outside. In fact, some lands beyond Wizardwall forbid mages to command others at all. Sometimes for good reason. It's hard to focus on the needs of others when magic is constantly calling."

Tam bent forward in the chair, suddenly exhausted. "I don't have any to give up," he snapped, "so it should be easier for me, I suppose." He felt sorry as soon as he'd spoken. The Protector often had severe headaches during Council season, and complained that not being able to use his great powers contributed to them.

"In that way it will be easier," the Guardian said softly. "In other ways it will be much harder for you."

"How long will I last when some wizard is angry at me? Maybe he'll just put a glamor on me so I'll do what he wants me to," he wondered out loud. Unless he was truly free from magic's power. Then he remembered the poisoned cup in the Council Chamber. "If I live long enough for anyone to care..."

"Then you must take precautions," the Guardian said. "Commander Stine can teach you what you need to know to protect yourself. As for the rest, you must learn to rely on yourself alone. I wish you
didn't have this lesson so soon." Her voice had despair in it.

"What a choice!
I live in fear or I will die." Tameron covered his face with his hands.

The Guardian was silent. Then she finally spoke. "If it's any comfort, your father is sometimes just as terrified as you are. Even his great magic can't always stop his enemies from trying to break his own shields. If he makes them too strong, he can no longer see out of them and he is as
mind blind as you are. If he doesn't make them strong enough, he pays a terrible price at times for that as well.

"You're safe here, Tam. That much I can give you. All the Guardians of Fiallyn Mor take oaths to protect those in their custody, oaths sworn to the Elements themselves. Your father visits the Anchor points
as well, not only to see that all is going as it should, but so that he might rest."

Tameron let his hands drop, and swallowed back tears. "Thank you." For so long he'd blithely assumed that the world belonged to him, and that all the faces looking at him were friendly ones. Oh, he'd been warned about the malice behind some facades, but he'
d never truly feared other nobles before tasting the poisoned cup in the Council Chamber.

"Now come over here," she said. "You've been ill for too long. I'll send you into a deep sleep, and you'll feel better after that. There's more to the healer's art than you know."

He knelt before her as she placed her long, white hands on his head. He felt so weary. The Guardian's murmurs were like a half-forgotten lullaby, the kind Esa used to sing him when he was a child.

"Softly comes the night at end of day," she whispered softly. "Leave off your cares and let them fly away..." Tam swayed back and forth a little as his eyes began to close.
Maybe it was his own weariness and not magic, but he thought he could sleep better here than anywhere else.

His aunt let her hands dro
p to his shoulders, patted him, and then spoke out loud as the shimmering cloud disappeared. "Go to bed and sleep. I'll tell your escort that I've found the poison, but you're still weak from its effects. They respect you for your endurance, while some are even angry that no one's helped you. You have more friends than you think. Oh, I wish your father had sent you to me earlier!"

Tameron would have kissed her hand if it had bee
n allowed. He rose to his feet and bowed. The Guardian told everyone they were dismissed. Stine and Randor assisted him up a short flight of stairs to a bedroom. He lay on the bed while Randor departed for a moment. At least she'd promised to answer the rest of his questions.

His servant returned with a large cup full of some brown liquid. It tasted odd, but he drank it anyway. He was so thirsty, and had been ever since
--since that night. If he couldn’t trust the Guardian, he may as well give up.

He rapidly drifted into sleep. Voices wove in and out of his blurry, confused dreams. Stine's gruff tones wound around memories of sword drill and riding on patrol last spring. Randor's familiar mutter made him feel safe no matter what other visions he had, while his aunt's soft voice reminded him of Esa caring for him when he was sick.
Do I have a shield around me like the one the Guardian mentioned?
he wondered.
She never really told me if magic affected me or not. What does it mean if it doesn't?

He slept on, willing to let her worry about it for now. Then he finally woke up. His eyes felt sticky from sleep, and it felt good to clear them. Then he looked at his wrists. The lanchets were gone! The scars left behind were still raw-looking, but would probably fade. 

Tam sat up as he heard voices, though there was nobody in the room. It wasn't from outside his door, either. Maybe he really did have magic, and it'd taken all this to uncover it? Or maybe the Guardian had found his shield, and removed it! He was willing to risk being vulnerable to the spells of others if he could only work some of his own.

He swung his legs over the bed and nearly fell from dizziness. Judging by the light coming through the double-paned window, it was morning. He yawned and stretched. He tensed as the voices stopped. Maybe he was still half-asleep and had just dreamed hearing things.

Then people began to speak again. Tameron hung onto the bedpost and got to his feet. He turned his head. The sounds were just a bit louder to one side, and became clearer in a corner across from his bed. He could almost make out words as he went to his knees and pressed his ear to the floor. The wooden tile of the parquet floor was loose at one edge. Tam pried at it with his dagger, and it came out easily. A honeycombed grill of metal underneath caught the sound and funneled it to him. He held the tile to keep light from his room from going down into the hole and betraying his presence. A pity it wasn't under the bed. He was disappointed, of course, because it wasn't magical, but he wasn't about to stop listening.

"Why can't you decide this now?" said an older man, his voice fearful.

"The Protector's son is in residence and should be consulted. His rank must be respected. I will, of course, advise him." Tameron recognized the Guardian's voice.

"I'm not worried. Even a child could understand this case!" said a much younger man, judging by how he sounded.

He heard footsteps outside the door of his room. He quickly replaced the tile and scrambled to his bed.

Randor stepped inside, holding another cup. His face brightened. "Finally awake, are you? I thought you were going to sleep forever."

Tam yawned and shook his head. "I know it's late in the day," he said. "I feel a lot better, though." The gray exhaustion that had shadowed him ever since he'd sliced his wrists open was fading fast. He still wasn't strong, but something that had dragged at him before was gone.

"You've been out for four days," Randor said. "I was worried, but the Guardian said it was all right, and that you needed the rest. She said you should drink this once a day till the next full moon. I thought her spells worked faster, but she's done you less harm than Mimn has."

Tameron grimaced at the taste of liver as he drank the heavy brown liquid in the cup. At least it took the edge off his hunger. He dressed quickly, with only a little help, while the long sleeves of the tunic hid the scars on his wrists.

He flexed his arms to test their strength. It didn't hurt to move his hands at all now. He'd have to try a little sword drill soon. He m
ust be horribly out of practice. "Thank you, Randor. For everything," he said. "When's breakfast?" Or any meal. Even with the meaty soup the Guardian sent him, his appetite was sharp this morning.

"As soon as you come downstairs. Don't push yourself too hard, lad. There's no need for it here. Your father did you a favor sending you away this time," Randor said. "Now, let's go. The Guardian herself will eat with us."

That was a rare privilege. She normally ate and slept in complete privacy, as those were the only times she could remove the hood that concealed her face. It was an old custom, which allowed any Guardian to exercise justice even against mages without involving family connections. He supposed it was a symbol of the tradition that the person who lived before becoming an Anchor for Wizardwall no longer existed.

Tam
was grateful for such great hospitality. As he walked down the stairs, he suddenly felt dizzy and hung on to the rail. Randor supported him and whispered encouragement. "It's hard the first day up. Your color's better than it's been for weeks. Don't worry about it." He nodded. It was his fault anyway that he was still so weak.

Once at the table, he greeted his aunt and eagerly looked at the plates heaped with food. The Guardian directed the table-servant to fill Tam's platter with roasted meat and stewed greens. He also wanted fried sliced
hicki
, a common thick root, preferably slathered with butter and salt, and devoured it all before helping himself to apple slices in honey and cream.

The Lady Sigaldo kept her cowl on, of course, but managed to make her own meal disappear. Tameron appreciated her presence. The little time she didn't have to wear the hood probably meant a lot to her. She was kind to give it up today for his sake.

She leaned back in the chair and sighed. "Tameron, two gentlemen came here three days ago seeking justice. Do you feel strong enough to listen to their pleas, or do you want to wait?"

"My father has always said that justice delayed is justice denied," Tam said. "I don't know what I can do, my lady, but I'll try. Am--am I dressed properly?" He hoped the Guardian would assist him. The Protector often
became impatient when he didn't understand something as quickly as he should.

"I'd prefer more formal garb," she said dryly.

He took the hint and finished eating. Randor went upstairs and fetched the proper clothes, then helped Tam change into them in a nearby chamber. The glittering, beaded garments proclaimed him the Protector's son to anyone with decent eyesight. Fortunately he looked elegant in the blue of his father's clan, though the outfit was nearly as heavy as armor and just as uncomfortable.

The Guardian murmured her approval,
and then led him into the audience room just below his own quarters. Two chairs stood on a short dais. One was solid cameowood, with a few carvings that showed the lighter layer of wood beneath the darker one. He had always wanted to work with the satiny material, but he really wasn't good enough yet. He hoped his tools had been brought with him on the hasty journey to Lochil. The other chair was a throne-like affair with bright blue cushions on the back and seat. Lady Sigaldo motioned him towards the padded one. "You represent the power of your father's court, while mine is altogether different," she said. "Besides, those beads are likely unpleasant enough to wear already. I have sensible robes, and my bones are not so old that I need extra protection for them."

Tam hated looking like a stuffed doll on display. He'd
had enough of that in Kelemath. He bowed out of courtesy, and said, "To those who know, your chair is still more valuable."

"Ah." There was a smile in her voice. "Not many see so clearly, even with magic. However, those who plead before you today will
be more impressed with you, which should help."

He
hoped so, and sat down. His mouth went dry as two men walked in. One was almost Randor's age, with graying dark hair, watery blue eyes, and a scraggly beard. His voice had a whine in it as he introduced himself as Lord Honnold of Drizmere, an estate to the east and south of Lochil. Tam hated him on sight, and then rebuked himself. Justice was too important to be swayed by personal preferences. He was surprised the case hadn't gone to Bogatay, a town closer to the man's holding.

Jarrett, the other man was younger and claimed to be Honnold's cousin. He had a bristly black beard and brilliant blue eyes, while his voice was deep and clear. They were obviously the men he'd heard earlier this morning.