Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 (21 page)

Dragons of the West

F
ather only ever played their game with one other person, Uncle Preinon. During her uncle’s infrequent visits, they seemed almost like boys to Adria, chattering and moving the pieces quickly — usually too quickly for Adria to hope to follow their strategies herself.

Mostly she would sit quietly as they advanced and exchanged piece after piece, until only the final handful remained, and the game no longer held any mystery for them. One or the other would turn over his king without remark, or else would offer his hand to the other with a resigned but contented sigh. Either of them might favor Adria with the occasional smile, or maybe a conspiratorial wink when he made a particularly decisive or risky move.

They seemed altogether unmoved to discuss the game being played with one another, and neither seemed overjoyed with victory or abject with defeat. They spoke of matters of their households, trivial business of Windberth or of Preinon’s own duchy in the Violet West, which seemed to Adria a near-mythical land. The board below seemed only a task for idle hands.

“Why did you…?” she might say, on the rare occasion when she was unable to hold her tongue. She would catch herself, but one or the other of them would often encourage her to finish her question. They might either reverse a few moves, or else play through the next several more slowly, to show her why what seemed a loss of a knight was the foundation for a forced stalemate ten moves later.

When this silence of the game was broken, her father might invite her to sit by his side on her stool, to see the game from his vantage, or else Preinon would take her onto his lap with a feigned groan of exertion.

“So big already,” he would laugh. “You’ll soon be trading my knee for a saddle.”

Adria would favor him with a smile, but her thoughts were on the game, on the desire to see ten moves into the future of light and dark, with the foresight shared by Father King and Uncle Duke.

Though her father’s titles had long been obvious to her, those of her uncle had been somewhat more problematic. Adria had misunderstood for some time, thinking his name was “Earl” or “Duke.” It took some time, the aid of a book of Aeman history, and a few questions to her current Sister tutor before Adria sorted out the various titles and offices which existed in her father’s kingdom. Many were occupied by Preinon, Duke of Heiland, Marshal of the Violet West, Earl of Westmund, and Count of Coutheshire, Ebonfold, Gladewell, and others. The maps were at first incomprehensible, and certainly didn’t seem to be arranged with the black and white logic of a chessboard.

“Why aren’t the lands ruled by a single lord kept together?” she sighed with frustration to the Sister. “Wouldn’t they be much easier to manage?”

“There are many reasons,” the Sister began. She was inordinately fond of secrets, and of maintaining superiority over her pupil. Adria would see that she did not last long in her position.

“It was originally a matter of inheritance,” the Sister continued. “Many years ago, when a lord died, his land was divided by all his sons, who then did the same with their own lands. Also, when lords go to war, they often needed to sell their lands to pay for the venture, and it is not always best to sell the land which is farthest away. Through generations of such division, and through many wars, the counties became a… patchwork.”

“That makes sense, of course,” Adria shook her head, still feeling there must be a better reason. “But why does Father simply not redistribute the land in a better pattern?”

The Sister smiled politely, meaning she could not or would not answer. Little matter, when Adria could ask her father himself, or even her uncle. Surely they would know better why they were so divided.

The family had once shared a home, Adria knew, but the particulars of this, and of the reason they now kept to separate corners of Heiland, were unknown to her. Somehow, it was clear that this was never to be discussed with Father or Taber — or to anyone who might communicate this to them. Like her father, her uncle seemed to have no wife, but unlike him, Preinon did not claim any children as his own.

“You and your brother are enough trouble for one clan,” Preinon smiled good-naturedly when Adria asked if he had any children. “And the wilds of the West are far too dangerous for anyone under twelve, maybe thirteen….”

Adria was skeptical, of course. Preinon responded to many questions in jest, though he nearly always eventually answered in earnest.

“You see,” Preinon leaned down, glancing to either side, and whispered. “I was sent to the West on a great quest by your father, one he could trust only to his own brother... no one else. It is the very great secret of our time, and if all the people of Heiland knew, they would flee our land for distant shores, never to return...”

Despite her suspicions, Adria was still young enough to be caught in the spell of a story or a secret, and she whispered back, “What quest?”

He glanced to either side again, leaned even closer, and widened his eyes and his hands. “Dragon…!”

Adria frowned and stamped her foot in doubt. “A dragon.”

“Absolutely,” Preinon insisted, and crossed his arms indignantly. “He lives deep in the mountains, in a great cave full of gold coins and age-old bones. And every Spring, when he first awakens from his winter sleep, he flies down among all the villages of the West, to demand from each the sacrifice of a child to appease him, lest he tear every home to the ground and scorch the fields with his fiery breath.”

“Indeed.” This was a new word for Adria, and one she employed often.

“Indeed,” Preinon repeated, eyes wide. “And it has been my task for these past years to spirit away all the children of the villages, to a place where they will be safe from the great thunder lizard. What a joy it has been, each spring, to be able to say, ‘Well, I’m really rather sorry for you, Great and Terrible Dragon, but we’re simply fresh out of children!’ He leaves disappointed, or else pulls the rooftops off a house or two, in a vain effort to prove me a liar.”

“A liar?” Adria smiled. “And whatever might make him think that of you?”

But her uncle was undaunted, and waved his arms wide. “Hundreds of miles of land, hundreds of towns and villages among the fields and streams, beside the forests and the mountains... and not a single child to be found. Now, by the time the dragon has finished searching them all, it is winter again, and he returns to sleep.

“There are some who even say that it is the dragon himself who brings the Spring thaw, and who takes Summer back away with him to sleep within his cave every Autumn. But of course I don’t believe such nonsense and superstition, do you?”

Adria sighed. “Very well, Uncle, tell me… where do all the children go?”

“That is a very wise question, and I will tell you, so long as you can promise to keep the secret…”

She frowned, rolled her eyes, then sighed. “Oh… very well, then. I shall promise.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “At first, we merely shipped the children off east, in barrels we floated down the rivers to Highreach and Windberth and Propolus and all the other cities and towns along the way. But finally, your father said, ‘No more! We cannot feed any more little mouths. Send them elsewhere!’ So then, I was forced to determine more clever strategies. I sent load after load of them by cart to Somana, where they were trained as gladiators in the arena, and fought against trained bear cubs.”

“Bear cubs.”

“Yes, their claws sharpened like spear points, their bodies armored in gossamer and tree bark.”

“Which, Dear Uncle, the cubs or the children?”

“Both, of course,” Preinon shrugged. “The Somanans love nothing better than a fair fight. But soon they tired of this sport, and I had to find other places for the children.” He sighed, and began counting on his fingers.

“Many were traded to pirates from the Northlands for very fine ale.” he licked his lips. “Some were sent to the mines of Kelmantium and never saw the light of day again. I think a few were thrown to the ocean and swallowed by whales, and live well enough inside their bellies, though they have terrible coughs, I am told, from the damp.”

“Hm...”

“Some of them we just decided to stack one on top of the other, and give them large cloaks, so they look adult enough to the eyes of the dragon. But he has a keen sense of smell, and after a mishap or two, well…” he sighed and shook his head mournfully. “Not the best of my plans.”

“Indeed.”

“I met a witch, who told me that if you feed a child minced mandrake and warm apple cider before bed, the next day she’ll wake up full grown…”

“Did it work?”

“Yes, but they complained for a month from the bellyache.”

“Indeed,” Adria repeated, dubiousness nearly at exhaustion.

“But,” and here his voice hushed again, and he sat down upon the tiles, glanced to either side one last time to be certain they were alone, and then whispered, “But the best among them, the strongest and wisest of the children, the ones who showed true promise… these children were spirited away by the Wilding Ghosts in the southern woodlands, never to be seen again. Though… it is said that if you sleep in the deep woods at night, you can hear them, whispering, laughing, playing, hunting….”

And the story was over, half funny, half scary, and all worth remembrance in the years that would come. He had become earnest, somehow, in his ridiculous tale, as if he had told her a little truth, hidden somewhere in the whole mess. She understood this, but not well enough to frame the right question. Instead, she rephrased her first question, to fit the story it had earned from him.

“If you had children now, where would they go?”

He blinked a moment, then laughed, and answered only, “That is a very good question. Hopefully, not into the dragon’s belly.”

Uncle Preinon did not outwardly resemble her father too closely. Though her father seemed strong to her, her uncle was undoubtedly the stronger of the two. His limbs were massive, and he seemed even to tower over his brother, though when they were near one another only a slight difference in height could be seen. His hair held more red in its blonde than her father’s, and was cropped short, and he had begun to grow a beard — an unusual feature which had made Adria wary at first.

“I keep my blades sharpened for war,” he offered in response to her questioning look. But it was clear he was not really speaking to her. He was using a different voice, different words than he would have chosen for Adria alone. “In my counties, I’m afraid there is much less call for the refinements of a courtly face.”

He is no longer welcome here,
Adria knew at once, from the tone as he spoke with her and her father. 
He will no longer be allowed to visit.

Though Adria and her father had been playing chess all afternoon, with Preinon there was no chess, no real discussion of anything. As the evening wore on, her suspicions grew, and were confirmed when he refused a strangely formal invitation on Father’s part for him to occupy his old rooms for the night.

“I wish that I could,” Preinon sighed. “But there is urgent and unwelcome business to attend. I hope you understand.”

“Of course,” Father nodded politely. They had both been watching Adria closely the whole evening, she realized, and yet neither had really spoken much to her. It was strange, and it made her want to cry, for not once did she feel like she could talk to them, either — almost as if they were speaking Somanan, a language she was still only learning.

She struggled to sort it out, but would now have only the memory of her uncle’s face, the knowledge that he was somehow unable to touch her, to embrace her, or to take her onto his knee.

There were only a few words in parting, and Father stood behind her and held her shoulders tightly as she stood between them — a pawn, kings towering above.

“Well, Adria,” Uncle half smiled. One hand balanced the sword on his hip, the other adjusted the brooch of his cloak — an elk hide cloak, Adria noticed, like a peasant might wear, not a royal. “I will not likely return for some time, I fear.”

She blinked. This was more finality than usual, and the time he gave was less definite. After planting, he might have said. Or, I hope to make Midsummer this year again. Instead, simply, “I fear.”

Because she knew she would not have further chance, she strengthened her own will.

“Do not worry, Dear Uncle” she smiled, and felt the grip on her shoulder tightening. “Perhaps I shall come and visit you, and return the favor of your many kindnesses.”

Her uncle’s body froze for a moment, except his eyes as he looked from her face to her father’s. He only nodded then, and muttered, “Yes, perhaps.”

He turned away quickly, without meeting her eyes again. And as the doors closed behind him, Adria waited for her father to react. She knew she had done something very wrong, but could not exactly determine why.

But he only released her and returned to his favorite chair, to the warmth and comfort of its carved wooden arms, its wine colored upholstery with gold embroidered buttons.