Hatchling (Tameron and the Dragon) (3 page)

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," Tam
eron 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 enter
ed 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.