HATCHLING

 

by Jean Lamb

 

Book One in the Dragon in Flight series.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you are ever told you don’t have what it takes—don’t believe them.

 

You do have magic.

 

All you have to do is find it.

 

 

 

 

 

Cover by Malcolm Horton (www.malcolmhorton.com). Map by Jay Random. This is a work of fiction, and as such, all characters, geology, and pretty much everything else is fictitious. My thanks to my beloved husband Mike, and all my dear friends who helped support me through the writing of this book. Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1

 

Stine attacked. Tameron barely blocked her sword in time and gasped for breath. Full armor was heavy, and he wasn't used to it yet. The battle-hardened old woman facing him thrust again. Tam stepped to his right, and let the sharp-edged metal scrape along his shield.

He struck back. Stine beat his assault out of line, but he recovered quickly. He raised his blade again, only to falter when she whirled and punched his sword-arm with the top of her shield. The sword left his grip and clattered to the floor. Tameron desperately flung his own shield up and crouched down to retrieve his weapon under its cover, but a blow from her boot knocked him over and left him defenseless. He twisted over to grab at her ankles, but she easily evaded him.

"Not bad, not bad," Stine said, letting the point of her blade droop towards the floor. She gave the sword to an assistant and offered him a hand up. "When you’re older and stronger, this won't be so easy for me."

Tameron dayn Sidian a' Piran wished he was older and stronger now, as he struggled to his feet. He'd be fifteen in two months, but glumly knew it'd be years before he could dream of besting the Protector's arms-mistress. It helped to have fine armor and a sword made at Diesa Tower, but not nearly as much as he hoped for on days like this in the high-ceilinged practice room. The only privilege he had as the Protector's son was having a turn with her at every session.

Tam bowed in respect to Commander Stine, and stood in the back of the spacious room with the rest of the novice guards. He relaxed as Stine picked on someone else to humiliate.

Lorin, one of the other trainees, whispered in sympathy, "Just wait till your powers come in! Then you can get back at her, even if you're not as strong a mage as your father."

Tam smiled. "I know. If my Element is air, then I can read her mind and figure out what she's going to do next. If it's earth, then I'll make her armor too heavy for her." It was only fair, considering what a weight his armor was for him.

Lorin sighed. "But with your luck, it'll be water and you'll have to give up fighting!"

"On days like this I don't know if I'd mind!" Tameron said. Healers were sacred. Not even Stine would dare strike at him then. Besides, everyone knew that the gift of healing could also bring death.

Lorin shrugged. "Of course, you could get lucky and end up with fire!"

They both smiled. Several other trainees sighed, the look in their eyes giving away their own wishes. Tameron could think of quite a few pranks to play when his magic finally emerged, and knew he wasn't alone.

To be fair, Commander Stine was never cruel, but he knew he wasn't the only one who would like to find a way to defeat her without having to work for years to get better. Most of the other novice guards were older than he was, and already knew they had too little of any one Element to give them magical powers.

Was he going to be like them? It was said that talents like his father’s showed themselves when the body changed from childhood. He was growing fast enough that he sometimes dreamed of what might happen during his first Festival next Midsummer, but he hadn't seen any trace of wizardry in himself so far. Time was passing quickly. Soon everyone else would begin to wonder if he was going to have the powers that separated the rulers of Fiallyn Mor from the rest of the people.

After the practice session, he bathed and changed. Surely he'd learn which Element would rule his life soon. Some, like his father or the Guardian of the North, had the aid of two. His own silver hair and gray eyes marked him as the child of wizards, while high cheekbones told of a trace of Outsider blood. No foreigners were able to enter this land through Wizardwall without strong magic of their own. Surely that meant he had a strong potential as well. After all, his four brothers and sisters had had magic before their deaths.

As soon as he dressed, he decided he'd waited long enough. He had to know! Tameron received permission from his tutor to skip a study session. He presented himself to Coris Mimn, the Lord Protector's dark-haired, dark-skinned friend, and requested an audience with his father as soon as it was convenient. He waited nearly an hour, but he was used to it. In fact, he was lucky the Protector was even in residence here in Kelemath, rather than on progress in some other city.

It was almost sunset when he was ushered into the small sitting-room behind the large audience chamber. Tameron was proud that he was allowed to bear a weapon into his father's presence. Only favorites like Mimn and Commander Stine had that privilege as well.

Lord Sidian dayn Riallan a' Piran, the Protector of Fiallyn Mor, was a tall, blue-eyed man with red hair turning white at the temples. His long, slim hands caressed his curlwood walking stick, which had a brilliant ruby inset at the top. His bright blue robes were trimmed with pale fur, though he rarely felt the cold.

Tameron bent his knee in brief homage, then asked, "Father...I will be fifteen this Midwinter. I wonder...how will I know when I get my powers? Will there be problems because I'm so late? And how will I know what element I'm going to be strong in?" He'd heard horrifying stories about the ordeals of those who developed their magic later than others, but tried hard not to show how frightened he was.

The Protector's remote face tightened in lines of worry. "You have a right to be concerned," he said. "I should have helped you find out a long time ago. I can't believe how fast you've grown!

"But the tests are simple. Turn around."

Tameron obeyed. His father placed both hands on his head from behind for a moment, and then asked, "Do you hear anything?"

"No," Tam said. He faced the Protector again. "I don't have Air, do I?"

"No, you don't, or you would have heard me mind to mind when I spoke to you that way, or seen a vision of what I meant. Now, tell me if this hurts. The test for fire isn't always easy." Lord Sidian held Tam's hands and muttered under his breath. Small flames arose in his palms, but Tameron was disappointed when he felt nothing. In fact, the tiny flickers of light died out as soon as they touched him.

He shrugged, trying hard not to show how disappointed he was. "It's not Fire, either." Tam had always wanted to share at least one Element with his father.

"I'm afraid not. Your flame should have risen in response to my own if it were." Sidian sat down again. "However, there are four Elements, not just two." He closed his eyes and appeared to concentrate for a moment.

Not long after, Coris Mimn walked into the room. "You summoned me, my lord?" the younger man asked politely.

Tameron liked his father's friend. The man had always been kind to him, and had been glad to help when the Protector wasn't available. Randor, Tam's chief valet and foster-father, was still only a servant and as such had his limits.

"Yes. I have decided it's time to test my son for the Element of Water. Nothing complicated, since we're just trying to find out which one he has the most affinity for."

Mimn nodded, and fetched a full cup of water. "Lord Tameron, gaze into it and try to feel what it's like to be in this cup. If your Element is the Shape-changer, you'll know what's going on."

Tam looked down into the cup and heard his father saying something under his breath. He didn't realize what was going on till he noticed the water was suddenly giving off steam. "Nothing," he said. He should have felt hot himself if that was his Element. That left Earth. Despair began to eat at his heart.

The Protector dismissed Mimn and sent for Scholar Tayn, who was an earth-mage as well as Chief of the Archives and Tameron's tutor. The old, thin man unhappily shook his head when Lord Sidian asked him to test Tameron. "I handle his papers and books every day and I've never felt any impression from him on them. Even ordinary people leave more of themselves behind than he does. It's almost as if he isn't there. Odd, really. There's no chance that the Element of Earth is strong in him."

Tameron felt numb. He realized why Mimn and Tayn had been called in separately. What would happen when it became known that the Lord Protector's only child had no magic? After the old tutor was gone, Tam said, "Father, I'm sorry..." His voice cracked. For so many years, he'd been sure that he and his father would be so much closer once he finally had magic. I’ve failed him.

The Protector sighed. "I know. It can't be helped." His face was like stone.

Tam wondered when he was going to be sent away. Children who developed powers, but belonged to common families, were adopted by mages. The opposite was also true. Many ordinary households were paid well to adopt the offspring of mages, though their descendants were usually watched in case the powers had simply skipped a generation.

He bowed his head. "When I must leave, may I go to Randor's family?" he pleaded. Tameron had never forgotten Esa, who had been his wet-nurse and foster-mother since the death of his own when he was born. He still missed her, though it'd been over four years since she died trying to bear twin girls. Even Coris Mimn hadn't been able to save her, and he was a noted healer. Randor, Esa's husband, was the chief of Tam's servants and gave up most of the year to be with him, rather than with his own family on a farm in the hills east of Kelemath. Tam had spent several summers there, and always looked forward to those visits. Since Randor had cared for him so long already, why not become part of that family rather than go to the house of strangers?

His father sat silently, his eyes apparently lost in thought. "It's not as simple as that," the Protector said. "There may be a way you can still be my heir. Many of my own duties have nothing to do with the Elements. Since you are likely to have children with magical powers, you may well be considered a proper Regent for one of them. After all, the Council itself has the right to rule only in the absence of he who will someday sit on the Empty Throne and wear the Dragon Crown. We've made some exceptions already in families with no other heir. I doubt the Council would deny me the right to name my own successor."

"I will do whatever you wish, sir," Tam said. He wondered how his father knew his own children would have powers. After all, Lord Sidian had clearly been certain that he would have some, and that obviously wasn't true.

He was confused. He was glad he wasn't going to be exiled. He cared a lot for old Randor, but the Protector was still his father. But--was this truly going to work? The ruler of Fiallyn Mor was always a mage, and he doubted the Council would allow that much of a change just for him, or for his father's sake.

"I have much to do," Lord Sidian said. "It's getting late and you'd better rest. If only you weren't so young, or I were younger..."

Tameron bowed and left the chamber. The more he thought about the problem as he walked towards his rooms, the worse he felt. How could he rule a Council of Mages without being one himself? Wouldn't he be at the mercy of their spells? Why, he'd likely be the butt of their jokes, too, as ordinary people always were. Would he know if someone cared for him, or only for his favor? As for next Midsummer, how would he know if a girl really wanted him, or only wished to fulfill her Duty to bear children with powers?

He stopped in front of the door to his quarters. Of course, people without magic--like him--weren't supposed to care who they mated with. According to gossip, they paid no attention to family heritage or the proper mixture of Elements, only to the lusts of their bodies. Or the dreams of their hearts, he thought with longing. He knew from listening to the other guards that the jokes weren’t true, but even mages who had partners chosen for them by the Wizards' College could have their true love with them always. What about him?

Tameron walked into the anteroom. Perhaps if he pretended he was all right, he could fool everyone. He greeted Randor warmly.

The thickset, grizzled man obviously saw through his facade and asked, "What's wrong, boy?"

Tam wished he could tell him. "I'm just tired," he said. "Stine gave me a rough workout today with sword and shield, and then I had an audience with my father. Armor's heavy." Not as heavy as the burden he bore now.

"They're both too hard on you," Randor said. "I'll have a word with her. I know better than to ask the Protector to go easy on you!"

"Please don't," Tameron said. "I have to learn it sometime." Especially now, with no other skill. I’ll need every scrap of knowledge from Tayn, as well as Stine's battle-learning, to do what Father wants of me.

"Well, if you say so. But you need to sit down and have something to eat, if nothing else. Between that old bag, your tutor, and duties at Court, you scarcely have a moment to call your own. I doubt it's going to get any better,” Randor said grimly.

No. It's going to be much worse, Tam thought. Once the news got out, he would have to display his paces like a new pony before the Council to convince everyone he was fit to be the Protector's heir. Randor couldn't do anything about that. "I'll rest this evening," he told the older man. "I promise not to sit up too late over my books, either."

"That's more like it," Randor said. "I wish your life was easier. Maybe you'll have one more summer at the farm before you move up the hill to the Wizards' College."

"I wish I could," Tameron said, trying not to let his true feelings show. "I wish I could be there now!"

It didn't matter what he wanted. Not now. Randor reminded him to eat the supper left for him on the sideboard in the next room, then left for the rest of the evening. He wearily forced it down, though it tasted like dust. Stine had taught him a soldier took what nourishment there was whenever possible.

When Tam was done, he sagged down in a chair near the glowing firestone hearth and almost wept. It was his duty to do whatever the Protector asked, no matter how impossible. He'd already seen some soldiers die so others could live last spring, when he'd accompanied Stine on a raid against the Dragons in the hills. He understood that.

Scholar Tayn often spoke to him about knowledge and justice, and how powers ought to be used only for the good of the people. Yet what justice could he give without enlightenment that only magic brought? What judgments could he give to a Council that held him in contempt? If his children had powers, wouldn't they despise him when they learned their strength was greater than his?

Tameron shivered, though he hadn't felt the cold before. Magic had surrounded him all his life. He'd dreamed for a long time about which Element would be his. Perhaps he’d become a warrior with sword and fire, or a healer like Mimn. Most of the time he'd hoped to have the airy mental gifts like his father, or draw strength and wisdom from the earth itself, like his tutor Tayn.

What was he supposed to do? Even if his father convinced the Council not to send him away, he'd only be warming the chair till his children grew. He didn't understand why his father wanted to go against the law. Would he ever know? He didn't deserve the status that was given only to mages in this land. After all, he'd never be able to turn it to true power. Why, he wouldn't even know if people were telling him truth! Without the truth, there was no justice.

He stood up and paced around his comfortable, quiet sitting room. Was the Protector telling him the truth? Did it matter? It would be hard to leave this place for Randor's farm, never mind a stranger's house. He was sure that was better than becoming a figurehead, or worse, a joke. What difference does it make? I won’t have a choice.

What was he going to do? Ordinary people could not leave through Wizardwall. The magical boundaries of force, sustained by the Guardians at the four Anchors of this land, allowed only mages through in either direction. Everyone was protected from the terrors of the outside world, whose armies had tried to invade in the past. And those like him were prisoners. Only a few without powers were allowed to accompany wizards as servants and soldiers for rare trading expeditions Outside. Was this choking feeling something that all the rest lived with? How did they endure it? No way out, no way out--

Then he thought of one way out. The only one.

At least this way he wouldn't disgrace his father or himself by failing at a task he could never perform. The Protector would just have to find another heir. Surely there were others besides Lord Sidian and the Guardian who could claim descent from Lady Piran. Surely some of them had offspring of their own who had the talent for magic. His father was known for his wisdom. Perhaps someone else was already being trained to replace him. Oh, Blessed Lord and Lady, he'd been taught to rule--but he couldn't. Not without the powers that everyone, including himself, valued so much.

It wasn't as if he'd be missed. His father barely knew he was alive most of the time. It wasn't as bad as it used to be, but Tameron remembered earlier years, when the Protector had looked at him resentfully the few times he'd spoken of Lady Aliana and her death. Tam knew he'd never be forgiven for killing his mother with his birth. If his brothers and sisters had lived, he never would have been born at all.

He opened a hidden drawer in the small table near his bed and took out a small portrait. Tam sat down on the bed to look at it. The picture glowed as if those in it were alive. His mother Aliana, her blonde hair gleaming, sat with four small red-headed children piled like puppies next to her in a wide chair. A much younger Lord Sidian stood behind them. They all had magic, which was rare in any family.

Tam bowed his head, cursing. All of them. Except him.

One thrust through the ribs would end it quickly. He'd learned how fast death came last spring, when he had ridden on patrol with Commander Stine and other soldiers, as they scouted the northern hills near Lochil for rebels. Bandits had attacked them, and one went for him. He'd stabbed forward without thinking, and watched the man crumple and fall, dead before he hit the ground. He’d stared at the blood on his blade till Stine reminded him to clean it after the skirmish was over. He’d done as he was told, then threw up.

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 farewell 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.

Tameron shifted in his seat, uneasily aware of all the stares. It was hard to pretend not to notice them, especially when they came from the faces of his father's enemies. He leaned back in his well-padded seat and propped his crippled hands on the arms. He was glad his wide sleeves covered his bandages, and his shame.

He glanced longingly at the cup on the small table next to his comfortable chair. The aroma of its contents was pleasant, but he doubted his hands could lift it. Spilling a drink all over himself wouldn't help his father. How many hours till noon, when Randor can help me? he wondered. It was going to be a long morning.

Lord Sidian rose and greeted everyone formally to begin this convocation. He was king of Fiallyn Mor in all but name, no matter what the other great families on the Council thought of his policies at times. It'd been over a century since the last member of the royal family sat on the Empty Throne, or wore the Dragon Crown which gave the wearer control over all magic, and over all those who wielded those powers. Both were now protected by an occult barrier that none could pass, left by Queen Catalya's final curse, when she chose slow death from being trapped within it rather than let any other get their hands on such power. Of course, she hadn't minded letting Fiallyn Mor be invaded by foreigners in order to keep Wizardwall from being raised by mages who only wanted to protect the people inside, Tam thought. He still had a sneaking admiration for her courage, though Tayn had often pointed out the selfishness of her deeds.

Tameron sat back and reminded himself to keep quiet no matter what happened. He knew what his own role here today was--to be fought over like a bone nobody really wanted. Why couldn't they just leave him alone?

Members of the excitable Sandega clan demanded that he be sent away as the law prescribed. He wished that he had the courage to agree with them. Deep inside, though, he didn't really want to become a commoner forced to fend for himself and at any mage's mercy. If he hadn't been useless before, he was now. He glowed with warmth inside when his father stood up to them all on his own behalf. Others, from families less opposed to the Protector, agreed that perhaps magic was not as necessary to proper administration of power as their ancestors believed. Tam was astonished when he listened to Commander Stine and Scholar Tayn speak so favorably about him. He'd never heard more than grudging approval from them before.

Even listening to so much praise, Tam felt worse as time passed. His bandaged wrists throbbed with pain, while his hands ached with cold. He forced himself to pay attention to those who either sang his praises or damned his lack of wizard's powers. He was horribly thirsty, but he didn't dare try to pick up the cup while everyone was staring at him.

His vision began to blur. "Mimn," he whispered, "can you send for Randor?"

Mimn hastily whispered in Lord Sidian's ear. The Protector rose and called for the mid-day break. As people left the chamber, his father glanced at Tam with a worried expression, but had to turn back to his conversation with the head of the Sandega clan, an old fire mage.

Tam tried to stand up, but couldn't. Randor, now allowed into the place, came forward to help. Coris Mimn went to his side as well. "What's wrong?" Mimn asked, as he picked up the cup with one hand and assisted him out of the room with the other. Once the three of them were through a nearly-hidden door into a small chamber behind the Protector's seating area, his father's friend and Randor helped him lie down on a daybed.

Mimn looked down into the cup. "I put that drink there to help you, but I don't blame you for being suspicious and leaving it alone. Drink up, it'll help a lot.

Tameron said softly, "I can't. My hands..."

The healer felt them and frowned. His touch was eerie, as if it almost wasn't there. "Have Randor help you with dinner and then drink this. I'll see you this evening," he said gently. "I must attend your father. They'll wonder why I'm not with him. The potion will help you to make it through the rest of today."

Randor assisted him with the food on a tray already sitting there, and Tam did his best to eat all of it. Then his old servant helped him with the potion. It was sweet and lukewarm, but brought strength once it settled down. After a quick visit to a nearby privy, he gratefully collapsed back onto the daybed until it was time to return to the Council chamber for more debates.

The afternoon went better. The Sandega family stopped listing Tameron's deficiencies and concentrated on the virtues of one of their daughters, a young maiden who was an accomplished mage already. On top of that, she was descended from the Protector's uncle, Grandmother Riallan's younger brother. Her mother was an Outsider from a strange land called Azdab, but that didn't matter.

Tam listened closely, especially when the girl in question stood and bowed to the Council. Lady Kiliane dayn Lerall a' Sandega had long dark hair, light brown skin, and large, black eyes. Tameron was enthralled by her beauty. He disliked the way she smiled at the young man with sandy hair and freckles sitting in the chair next to her, and then was slightly amazed he had enough strength to feel any longing for her.

Admiring her certainly helped him pass the time for the rest of the afternoon, though he doubted he could walk the few steps it would take to go across the floor of the Council room to reach her. Once this session was over, he nearly fainted on the way back to his room despite the potion. As he rested in the sanctuary of his bedroom, the guards stayed out in the hall or in the anteroom. Tam wished he was strong enough to join the game of Golden Path obviously taking place by the sound of the dice being rolled. The potion had worn off, though, and his hands felt totally lifeless.

Coris Mimn came in after Randor was done feeding him his dinner. The healer brought in a small pot with a lid on it. He set it down on the side-table and took off the bandages. Ugly, dark lines puckered and twisted the skin on the inside of both arms. "I had no idea they were hurt so badly," Mimn said, as he ran his fingers up and down the ruined wrists.

"How long will I be like this?" Tameron asked, though he dreaded the answer. It was his fault, too. He couldn't move his fingers any more. What--what if he could never use his hands again?

"I don't know. I hope this works," Mimn said, frowning. He drew a small pair of tongs out from a pouch, removed the lid on the vessel, and pulled out a green thing like a leaf, except it wiggled. "These little beasts were created in the Great War when there were too many wounded for the mages to cope with. Old Sagrat still raises them for a hobby, and gave me a couple."

The wizard Mimn spoke of was famous for the strange plants and animals that lived in his house. Tameron stared at the odd beast. "What is it?"

"A lanchet. When it's put on a wound, it grows into it, and heals any damage from the inside. It'll draw its life from you, but it'll send strength where it'll do the most good. Once you're well again, it'll shrivel and fall off." Mimn laid one of the lanchets on Tam's right wrist, watched it settle in, then brought out the other for the left.

Tameron watched as they took root in his flesh. He felt nothing but a soothing coolness. "It doesn't hurt," he said.

"It won't till the healing begins," Mimn said. "But that's the least of your problems. Try to move your fingers now."

Tam was pleasantly surprised to see how his hands obeyed him now. His skin started turning white instead of gray, and the tips of his fingers began to tingle. He smiled.

Mimn wrapped his wrists again, but loosely. "Keep moving your hands," he said. "You need to improve the circulation until your wrists heal properly. Don't try to lift anything heavier than a small cup. Rest..." His smile faded. "Well, do your best. It won't be easy, I know."

Tameron thanked his father's friend, and then let Randor help him wash and dress for bed. He felt so exhausted he could barely move, but now he had hope for the future. One day's taste of being crippled physically as much as he was magically was enough.

During the next few days, he attended Council, drank the potions Mimn made for him, and listened to everyone wrangle over his fate. He tried to appear strong whenever he answered questions.

Why couldn't the Protector find a healer who could cure him, though? He thought he understood his father's anger a little bit, but letting him stay weak made no sense. Surely it did his father no good in Council for him to be like this now. He'd take whatever punishment given out later on, if only...if only Father would relent and let the proper spells be cast for him.

Every day the lanchets dug in deeper. Both his hands and wrists hurt more as time went on, which made it hard for him to use them for anything. The medicine usually quit working by mid-day, but Mimn was reluctant to give him more. Tam had to fight to sit upright each afternoon, and by evening he was content to collapse in the bedroom and hope the guards didn't gossip. The lanchets thrived, but at his expense. By the end of the first week, he felt nearly as weary as when it started. The only thing that helped during the next few days was that the hammering finally stopped. At least he could sleep in peace

One morning, two days after the repairs had been completed, Tameron couldn't sit up. Randor bit his lip, and sent a message to the Protector. He dozed, fully dressed, as they waited for his father's reply. The old man cursed when it came. "Damn him! He won't have an heir at all if this goes on!"

"He won't have one if he loses, either," he said. It finally made sense. He didn't have magic, but he was his father's son, which was more than could be said for Lady Kiliane. Maybe some of the support in Council for Lord Sidian came from those with the same problem. "Help me up, Randor. I'll feel better once I drink Mimn's cup..."

The older man lifted him to a standing position. "I'm not sure it's really helping you, lad. You should be growing better by now, not worse."

"I need it." Tameron slowly moved his fingers. They hurt, but they belonged to him now. The lanchets weren't as fat as they were just a few days ago. Perhaps the aching wasn't going to become any worse. "I'm so tired. They keep saying the same things as they did the first day. I could be a death-doll for all they care..."

Randor placed a finger near his lips. "Don't say that! Your father needs you!"

"Why? I'm no good to him the way I am," he said. "Haven't I been punished enough? I've learned my lesson!" He certainly had. If he ever truly meant to die, he wouldn't fail the next time.

"It can't last much longer," Randor said. "Lord Mimn is doing his best, but some say he's so close to your father he can't heal anyone else." He looked angry.

"I don't know," Tam said. "Would it do any good to ask for a different mage?" He searched his memory, but couldn't remember any enchanted cures for him. Esa had fretted when he'd been sick as a child, and Randor had been worried one summer when he'd broken his arm falling from a hayloft at the farm, but surely he'd never been this ill before. "I must go now." He'd rested long enough, and thought he could walk at least part of the way.

Randor nodded, but spoke quietly with the guards. Tameron was thankful when two of the largest ones practically carried him down the hall. As he entered the Council Chamber, he had to grip the tops of the chairs on the way to his seat, despite the pain that shot up his arms. When he finally slumped into his chair, his father's eyes went wide, though the Protector rapidly got his face under control.

Tam forced himself upright, smiled to show he was all right, then reached for the cup. Mimn wasn't here, but had clearly left it behind for him. He lifted it to his lips, eager for the sense of well-being the potion brought him, but stopped after one sip. It smelled odd, and the little he took before setting the cup down in alarm made his tongue go numb. He was about to ask his father about it when Council began.

Today the entire Sandega family, save for the demure Lady Kiliane, decided to attack Tameron's right to inherit anything, let alone the Protector's seat. Lord Sidian listened grimly, but didn't interrupt. He began to tremble with anger. Or was it the sip he'd swallowed from the cup? It didn't matter. He'd had enough. When old Lord Juri himself sneered at the Protector's stupidity and his mother's virtue, he grasped the arms of his chair and pushed himself up.

The hall fell silent. "If I am so insignificant," he said hoarsely, "then why does my cup taste so strange today? If I am such a disgrace to my family, then why am I a threat to others? If I am so ordinary, then why must I be removed?"

He tried to turn on his heel and march out, but fell to the floor instead. The cup tumbled with him, its contents spilling into a puddle that ran like blood across the floor. The last thing he remembered was his father's horrified face staring down at him.