Hatchling (Tameron and the Dragon) Read online

  Tameron unsheathed his dagger and laid it out on the bed. He didn't want to die! All his roads were shadowed. Down one of them, he failed Fiallyn Mor by pretending to be its ruler without any idea of what was really going on. If all his children were ordinary, who would rule the Council then? A small majority of the leading families supported his father, but he doubted they'd ever pay heed to him!

  Where could he run? They'd find him any place he fled within the bounds of Wizardwall. No doubt the scandal would ruin his father's plans. No, the only solution was death. His death. It'd be given out as an accident or an assassination, and no one would ever have to know that he had no magic.

  Tameron's hands shook as he began to lift the dagger. He had to do it right the first time, or it'd be even worse.

  He prayed to the Lord and Lady to forgive him for tossing aside Their gift of life. One hand held the blade, while the other moved in the tapping pattern of supplication on the bedside table as he whispered to the empty air.

  Wait, he thought. Perhaps my father is wrong. It was rare for all the children of any couple to have magic, especially when a man and woman were allowed to complete their Duty with only each other, instead of with different partners chosen by the Wizards' College. It had to be even rarer for all the children except for one to inherit these gifts.

  He'd heard stories of the accident that had killed his brothers and sisters about a year before his birth. Each one had been strong in a separate Element. According to rumor, they'd tried to complete the Balance, which was the only thing that would remove the barrier around the Empty Throne and the Dragon Crown, preserved forever by the death-curse of the last queen of Fiallyn Mor. The children's failure had killed them, and destroyed everything in the room except, of course, the barrier and what it protected.

  He hadn't even known about them till he'd found this portrait, and was still forbidden to speak of them in public. Tam had never seen his father so angry till the day he’d asked about them.

  They'd all had magic, though. Why didn't he? Then again, what better way to keep him from experimenting on his own than to make him think he was powerless? A mage, especially a strong one like Lord Sidian, could 'shadow' the abilities of another. That must have been what his father had done!

  Tameron almost wept with relief. It had to be the truth! If only he had some magic, he could do what his father wanted. Many commoners had enough power to show what Element belonged to them. If he could learn any kind of spell, then it wouldn't be so bad, no matter how hard the rest of it was.

  He barred the door, searched in his hidden drawer again and drew out a small book. The Golden Path was for beginners, with basic spells in all four Elements.

  Tameron remembered when he'd found it. His nursemaid had been growing larger all winter, and had had to rest a lot. Randor told him it was because his wife was going to have a baby. Tam, only ten at the time, believed he was going to get a younger brother or sister--well, he was old enough to know it wasn't really true, but it didn't matter that much.

  Finally the day came when Esa stayed groaning in her bed, calling for help. Randor had fussed, the maids kicked them all out of the room, and Tam wandered around untended when the older man had been called back.

  He’d gone looking for his father, but became distracted when he’d discovered a musty old room full of trunks near the Protector's quarters. The book and the portrait had been packed together in one of the chests. He must have spent hours there before his father had finally found him and taken him to his own chambers for once. Esa had died trying to give birth to twin girls, and not even Coris Mimn, already the finest healer in Fiallyn Mor, had been able to help.

  Tameron shook aside the memory of the last time he'd seen her. In a way the Lord and Lady must have been looking out for him by sending this memento of his own mother when they knew the woman he thought of as his real one was going to be taken from him. Damn them! he thought. I never wanted to make that trade! He calmed down quickly, though. He'd learned long ago that anger only got him sent away.

  He looked at the book again. Maybe this time it'd help him. The first Element he wanted to summon was fire. It was the easiest to call, though the hardest to control. Tam found an old toy, a glass ball with a flickering wizard's flame inside, packed away in a box in the back of his closet. It had been his night light, once. He darkened the room, and then chipped gently at the glass until a small piece fell off the top. Tameron held his hands over the little gap. "Like calls to like," he whispered, and then recited the spell that should cause his fingers to be surrounded by a burning glow.

  Nothing happened. Three more Elements to go. Tameron tried the next exercise. Air was his father's strongest Element. It might be his as well. The spell looked easy enough. All he had to do was to sit on the floor and breathe a certain way, while intoning a chant. He waited patiently for the light breeze that would snuff the small flame in the glass.

  Nothing happened then, either, except he became dizzy and bored. He knew he was doing it right! Tam threw the ball against the wall in frustration, where it broke into pieces. Fortunately the impact also smashed the fire out before it could catch on anything.

  Tam took a deep breath, and carefully cleaned up the broken glass. He still had two Elements to go. He opened the shades of the lamps till he could see well again, and then fetched a pair of his old work boots that had mud and a couple of pebbles on them from yesterday. He was glad they hadn't been cleaned yet.

  Did he have enough dirt to make any of the Earth spells work? He separated the mud from the small stones, and placed them on his bedside table in two piles. The incantation he chose should draw them to each other, though they sat several inches away. Tam studied the words and the gestures, and did as he was supposed to twice over just to make sure.

  Again, nothing. The mud and the pebbles stubbornly sat apart. He fought back panic. He'd be proud to have water for an Element. Most healers were strong in that one, though some had it combined with earth.

  He looked at the empty cup by his plate. If he called for wine or water, Randor would become upset because he was up so late, or wonder where the fragments of glass came from. Then the whole story would probably come out.

  He wasn't ready to give up hope just yet. Tam grinned as he thought of another source of liquid, but decided against that particular form! Never eat the yellow snow, Stine had solemnly told them all once when riding out in winter, and then had sighed when all the trainees erupted into laughter.

  Tam smiled at the memory, but sobered quickly. This was too important for a joke. He placed the empty cup on the floor, sat, and then nicked his right wrist. A little blood drained into the vessel. Blood was the water of life. In fact, the commentary in the book said it was preferred for most conjurations, but should be done only under supervision. He snorted. After that battle last spring, he didn't think a few minor cuts would make him faint! He squeezed half a cupful out after several small slashes, and then bound the wounds.

  His heart pounded. This spell had to work! Tam spoke the words and waved his hand over the top of the cup. The blood should swirl around to follow the movement.

  At first he thought he'd succeeded. The surface rippled and changed in the light. Hope soared inside him. Then he realized he was leaning over so close that he was breathing into it. He stood up and tried again. The liquid was like a dark mirror, no matter how frantically he gestured and spoke.

  Tameron ripped the torn shirt from around his wrist. He slashed again and again, until his blood spurted out into the cup. He shouted the spell in a hoarse voice, forgetting the need for secrecy.

  For the last time, nothing happened.

  His father was right. Tam numbly gazed down at his wrist. Why bother wrapping it? His only magic would come at the point of death. Only a complete offering of all his life-force would release the little power all living things had. He'd never be able to serve Fiallyn Mor as the Protector's son unless he dared to make the sacrifice. Tameron touched the portrait in far
ewell with his left hand. If this failed, he'd join them.

  He slowly lifted the dagger with his dripping right hand, though his hand rapidly lost strength, and drew the edge along his other wrist. The line became crimson, and then spilled onto the floor. He sat and watched it flow into a puddle. It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. He sat and waited.

  Tam was cold now, even near the firestone hearth, and began to feel weak and dizzy. All his life he'd wanted to please his father. Perhaps he finally would, if only with the manner of his death. He began hearing odd voices, hissing whispers as if the stone dragons that decorated the Protector's palace were trying to speak. Oh, if only he could fly away with them!

  The light in the room grew dimmer to his eyes, and it felt as if the room were moving underneath him. Then he heard someone softly calling his name, only he was falling, falling, into the dark and cold. All was silence then, except for a slow creaking sound as if the stone wings of his father's dragons were beginning to unfold.

  It was like sinking into deep water, until he sensed the light and warmth at the bottom. He swam desperately towards it. Perhaps his mother was waiting for him there. Perhaps she'd forgive him for killing her. He was a coward for giving up so easily, but it was too late now.

  Then something tight wrapped around him and drew him upwards. Hot liquid streamed down his throat and burned him inside. He struggled to break free, but the pain destroyed his link to the depths he'd so eagerly sought.

  Tameron opened leaden eyelids. His father's stern face loomed over him. He'd failed again. He should have been braver and died like a man. "Sorry..." he whispered.

  "Don't ever do this again!" the Protector shouted. "Think of your duty to Fiallyn Mor, if nothing else!"

  But I was...Tam thought. Or did his father mean his Duty to the family line? He didn't know. He let his eyes close again. Why couldn't they just let him go? He was useless to them!

  He was tormented by his dreams when he finally slept. In them, he rode with Commander Stine against the bandits as he had last spring, only this time the leader thrust his blade through him. Other evil visions followed. He tried to work simple spells over and over, but now everyone was watching and laughing at him when he failed. Tears of humiliation ran down his face.

  Then a soft cloth brushed at them. He opened his eyes again. Randor spoke with reproach in his voice. "What was so bad you couldn't tell me about it, lad? Your father said you were attacked by one of his enemies, but I know better."

  "I--I don't know how to tell you," Tameron murmured. His wrists were tightly bound and still hurt. He tried to sit up, but felt so dizzy he slumped back onto the pillows.

  "You'll be weak for a bit yet," Randor said. "He said he wanted you to learn a lesson by healing from this naturally. Enough people have to go without magical cures, he said, for such to be wasted on foolish boys." His sour look of disapproval said what he really thought of the Protector's decision.

  It didn't matter. Tam knew his servant was even more powerless than he was.

  Randor helped him drink some hot, sweet cider. "Ah well, you'll be better soon," the older man said. "I put the book away before your father got a close look at it. There's a reason blood magic is dangerous, and I'm sure you found out why!"

  "I don't have any magic," he said softly. "I never will. That's what he's really angry about." Randor might as well know the truth.

  His servant looked sad. "You haven't done anything wrong. I'm sure he's disappointed, but he'll make sure you're taken care of. My farm might not be exalted enough, but you never know."

  "It's not like that. Father said I was going to be the heir anyway." Tam turned his face to the wall. "I wish he was here."

  "He's in Council, or so I was told. He's probably trying to get them to agree to keeping you. I don't understand what's wrong, though, if you're not going to have to leave."

  He tried to sit up again. "I can't do it! I can't rule the others, not without any powers of my own!" Of course, he probably wasn't going to do more than warm a chair. He had one Duty to perform, but that was likely all he was good for. At least Commander Stine didn't know about what he'd done to himself. He knew what she'd say about his cowardice. "I'm always going to be alone," he said quietly and desperately. Neither mage nor commoner. What was to become of him?

  Randor smiled. "No chance of that! I told the Protector how you never had time for friends because you have to do so much each day. Then he gave orders for Stine and her people to watch you more carefully because of assassins. You know some of the younger guards already. There won't be a moment of the day or night when you'll lack for company."

  Tam would have been happy yesterday, but now he was appalled. He'd have to prove himself worthy of being his father's heir from waking to sleeping, especially once they learned of his disability. Even commoners expected more from their rulers than he was able to give. He sighed, and forced himself to smile. Randor only meant to help. "Please thank the Protector for all the care he's taken. I just wish--I just wish I could see him." Even if his father did nothing but shout, he still wanted assurance that there was a good reason for all this.

  Randor laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, lad, it won't be that hard. Promise you won't try this again. I'll do anything I can to help you, but you have to promise to be here for it!"

  Tameron bowed his head and gave his word. If only Randor was right! He'd never have the powers of a mage, but he wasn't going to be allowed to assume the role of an ordinary person, either. Whatever he was, he'd just vowed to live with it. No matter what.

  He was trapped.

  Chapter 2

  Randor woke him early next morning, though Tam was already restless from the sound of hammering that had invaded his dreams. "You're summoned to Council," the servant said bitterly. "I warned your father that you might collapse if you left your bed too soon, but he won't listen to me."

  He sat up with the older man's help. He tried to eat, but his hands were numb and had no strength in them. Randor rewrapped the bandages less tightly, but it didn't do any good.

  Am I going to be this helpless forever? What if this is permanent? Tam was frightened. He chewed and swallowed what the older man placed in his mouth, but only half the plate was empty when his stomach began to rebel.

  The older man helped him dress. "If you’re too tired, send for me," he said. "I'll be there at noon in any case with your meal. With luck you'll have time to lie down before the afternoon session. At least you won't have to attend in the evening. The Protector agreed to that much."

  Tameron nodded, and then joined his escort in the anteroom. His sword felt heavy on his hip. Will I ever wield it again? If only I'd been brave enough to die like a man. No matter how bad things were, I've only made them worse.

  He concentrated on enduring the walk to the Council Chamber. The hallways of the Protector's castle in the center of the city of Kelemath had never felt so long before. He was so dizzy he nearly fell once, but Lorin was one of the guards, and lightly gripped his elbow to steady him. The dark-haired young man was the closest thing he had to a real friend.

  "What's that noise?" he asked his friend. "It's giving me a headache." The hammering was louder than ever.

  "Earthquake last night," his friend said quietly. "My father's a mason, and he was called out just before dawn. The walls by all the statues have cracks in them, too."

  "Strange quake that only shakes the houses of mages," said another guard. Tam couldn't remember his name.

  "Quiet back there," the leader said.

  "It's the dragons," Lorin whispered. "They're angry about something. Or maybe some mage disturbed the Giant."

  Tam thought it was probably the second. Everyone knew that the dragons of Fiallyn Mor were only statues now, mere symbols of the power that mages drew from their Elements. Their extra weight was probably why buildings that had them were the ones damaged.

  He relaxed once he entered the Council Chamber and went to his place behind the
Protector and Coris Mimn. Mimn looked at him, nodded, and quietly spoke to Lord Sidian. His father's face brightened as he turned around and briefly glanced at his son, though he went back to greeting the heads of the other great families without actually saying anything.

  The Protector looked fresh and rested, but Mimn's drooping shoulders gave the reason. Tameron knew that his father often drew on his friend's strength. Only healers with a close connection to their patients could give so much. Tam wished for a moment that he could have some of it, too. Perhaps it was too much to ask, since he'd brought this trouble on himself.

  Tam surveyed the Chamber as if it were a battlefield. The room was built in three circular levels, and the highest-ranked Council members sat near the center floor. Stine was over by the main entrance with several hand-picked soldiers. She eyed the clan-groups carefully as they entered and walked towards their seats, and then bowed as several Honored Mothers came in. These were women mages who had not only borne more than the four children required by their Duty, but had been able to give their powers to more than half of them. They were allowed to sit in a section not far from the Protector himself, no matter how lowly their family background. Men who had done the same only wore a jeweled ribbon around their necks, since their risk was so much less. Why doesn't Father wear one? Then he answered his own question. Maybe he would if my brothers and sisters had lived.

  The elegant chair in the center of the seats for the Honored Mothers remained empty, though. A Blessed Mother was one who bore more than ten children, all of whom had powers, and thus was cherished and protected beyond any other treasure. Tam heard the last one had died over a generation ago. His tutor had told him once that only one woman in every generation was born that way, and had to offer up all of her magic in order to give it to her children. "Poor things are always a prisoner of Dever Tower," the old man had said one day, and pointed in the vague direction of the small fortress less than half a mile away.