Hatchling (Tameron and the Dragon) (4 page)

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.

Th
e 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 c
ouldn'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.

Chapter 3

Tam awoke in his room. It was dark, save for one dim lamp. His father sat by the bed. "Your servant told me you were at the end of your endurance, but I ignored him," the Protector said. "I ask your forgiveness. You helped me more than I can say when you stood up for yourself, but I never meant for you to risk your life. Mimn has told everyone he can't identify the poison in your cup, so that will let me send you to Lochil where the Guardian can heal you."

"May I ask what the real reason is?" He knew there was one.

Sidian bowed his head. "I can't keep you safe, even with the guards! If you had emptied that cup, you'd be dead." He picked up the aching hands and held them in his own. The lanchets clung like leeches. "Tameron--why did you hurt yourself?" His father's voice held anguish, not anger.

He tried to find the words. "I can't be your heir without magic, Father. I didn't want to be ordinary, but that's what I am!"

"You will never be ordinary. When you spoke today, I was proud of you."

He
swallowed hard. Compliments from his father were so rare he remembered every one. He’d store this one away like treasure.

Lord Sidian continued. "Trust me. I'll find you a way. You'll
become well during the winter, far away from all this nonsense. By spring even the Sandegas will see things my way."

"Why must it take so long for me to heal?" Tam asked. "Is it some kind of curse because Mother died when I was born?"

The only movement on his father's face came from the flickers of the lamplight as silence fell between them. Then he spoke. "None of this is your fault, son. I'll be honest with you. I
had
hoped that you'd have magic of your own. I want you to know that you're still all I could wish for just the way you are. I can't tell you everything yet, but the time will come when all your questions will be answered. I never thought time would pass so quickly, Tam. I thought I had years yet, only to turn around and see you grown already.

"I know it's late at night, but you must leave now. Stine herself will lead your escort, and by tomorrow morning it will be far too late for anyone on the Council to call you back. Can you walk to the postern gate?"

Tameron struggled to sit up, and managed it with a bit of help from his father. "Is Randor coming, too?"

"Of course he is. Here, lean on me. Randor, are you ready?"

The servant entered, carrying an extra cloak. "His things are packed and the litter's ready," Randor said. "Wear this, young master, it's chilly outside."

His father and Randor were on either side of him as Tam got his balance and walked slowly through the anteroom towards the hallway. Despite the hint of danger at this clandestine departure, he felt safe between these two men, and happier than he had been for a long time. At the postern gate, the Protector bade him farewell and wished him an easy journey. "My sister will do all she can to care for you once you're there," he said. Commander Stine took over once he was outside. She was hooded and cloaked, and not wearing any of the badges of her rank. Tam wondered at that, but said nothing.

Randor helped him into the litter and made sure he was wrapped warmly. "Go ahead and sleep if you can, lad," said the older man.

"Is there a litter for you, too?" Tam asked. He was suddenly weary. He'd lost so much already, he wanted to make sure he didn't lose Randor, too. Everything was wrong side up, and only the padding in the horse-box kept him from falling.

"I'm not so old that I can't ride. The first posting house is less than a day's journey from here, and I'll rest then. The Protector said that he can keep the Council from finding out you're gone for at least a couple of days."

Tameron nodded, willing to let matters lie in the lap of the Lord and Lady for now.

As far as he could tell, he slept for most of the next couple of days in spite of the jolting speed they were making.
Stine must be changing horses at every stop,
he thought as he began to stay awake longer. He made up his mind to ride as soon as he could. For one thing, Randor looked older every time he saw him, and could likely use the litter himself.

In less than a week he asked to have a horse saddled. If nothing else, he'd manage for a couple of hours each day while Randor lay down. Stine instantly granted permission, which startled Tam.
How much danger
are
we in?

As long as his horse wasn't restive, Tam was able to hold the reins properly, and was actually more comfortable on horseback than being jolted in the litter over most of the North Road to Lochil. He cheered up even more when he saw the lanchets beginning to shrivel. Perhaps they were mimicking the falling leaves. To top things off, Stine looked at him with approval.

The commander visited him one evening after they'd stopped at a posting house instead of camping alongside the road. "How are you doing, Lord Tameron? Feeling better?"

"Yes, sir,"
he said. His wrists barely hurt at all now, and he was sleeping much better at night. He wouldn’t mind a real bed, though.

"It's too bad you ended up in the middle of this," she said. "Was this the first attempt on your life, or the second?"

"I don't like talking about it," Tam said, quite truthfully.
What an idiot I was!
He sat straighter in his chair.

She
bent down to face him. "And nobody bothered to tell
me
! Well, that explains why your weakness was kept hidden before you were poisoned. Someone probably learned you weren't going to be a mage and weren't going to be sent away before they discussed it in Council.
Nothing
to do with anyone's ambition to have a child adopted into the Protector's line, of course! I don't understand why you weren’t cured with magic, though. You were hanging on by a thread even before you spit the poison back into their faces. Some think that Mimn is no good any more except for the Protector, but I don't understand why another healer wasn't brought in."

"I've always been kept away when I was sick or hurt," he said. "Esa nursed me, or Randor, even when I broke my arm at the farm one summer. I thought it was because my father didn't like
having me around when I’m…I’m not perfect."

Stine's eyes went wide. "He might not say anything around you, but he worries h
imself sick whenever it happens. He nearly had my ears off when we came back from that raid last spring and I told him about that bandit you spitted. Did I
know
what could have happened, he once said, as if I haven't been fighting for twenty years, and so on. But if it's what I think it might be, no wonder he's kept you in hiding."

"I don't know what you mean
," Tam said. Now that he thought about it, it didn't make sense.

The commander stood up and stretched. "Healing spells don't work on a few people," she said softly. "
Very few. A good thing you're not a girl, or you might have gone to Dever Tower by now for your own protection. If that's your problem, guess what your father's enemies will try if they get that idea in their heads."

"Maybe they already know," Tameron said.
He felt queasy at the idea of being a Blessed Mother. He didn’t know that ever happened with boys. Did they end up in Dever Tower, too?

"I hope not, lad." Stine shook her head. "I think they were probably just too afraid to try magic in front of everyone in the Council Chamber. Especially with the Protector right there!"

"That could be true, too," he said. He remembered wondering if his father was shadowing his powers. He should have asked when he'd had the chance. He'd prefer that to any thought of being so—so different. He yawned.

"Don't be troubled about it for now," Stine said, as she turned to leave. "Once we're in Lochil the Guardian will help. She's pretty reasonable for a Cloaked One."

Tameron hoped so. His father's sister was one of the four Guardians who held Wizardwall together at the elemental anchor points of Fiallyn Mor. Neyarmie Isle, in the middle of Kadramas Lake just north of Lochil, was the anchor point for the Earth spirit that most called the Giant. Why his mother had been there when she'd given birth to him, with only the Guardian to help, he didn't know.

Despite her reputation as a healer, the Guardian was even stronger in the Element of earth than she was in water. An air mage guarded the passes to the top of Mount Shiast in the south, a fire mage watched over the flames in the center of Diesa Tower to the east, while a water mage controlled the western anchor point in the middle of the
pool leading to a river near the town of Warding.

Stine yawned. "Long day ahead. Don't be too embarrassed to ride in the litter when you're tired. We'll lose more time if you fall over again the way you almost did yesterday. I'll be glad when you're well enough for drill, mind you. Go through it in your head when you have nothing else to do. I did that once when I was down with
marsh fever, and I didn't lose as much tone from all that lying about as I thought I was going to."

Tameron agreed, but quickly fell asleep when she left. He'd had a few bad nights on this journey, but that had ended once he'd started riding. Randor had mumbled something about Mimn and his potions, but Tam didn't see why his servant was upset. Mimn's cups had helped when he'd needed the strength to sit in the Council Chamber and fight for his rights. It wasn't like Rand
or had the power to let him rest.

A few days later they rode into Lochil just at sunset. The middle-sized town was nestled due south of Kadramas Lake, whose dark gray waters surrounded the mist-covered island near the shore. High stone ramparts protected Lochil and the lake, forming a wall pierced only by the road from Kelemath. The people of the town mostly lived off the trade brought in by pilgrims wishing to see the lake and consult the Guardian on various questions.

The day's light rapidly disappeared beyond the high horizon. Tam gripped the reins--he could do that now--and straightened in the saddle. Several people stopped to watch them go by. Most of them seemed to be staring at Stine, who had donned her best armor, rather than him.

Once they entered the large holding near the lake ruled by the Guardian,
he and his party were quickly ushered inside and fed in a large hall near the kitchens. Stine helped him to the Guardian's audience chamber as soon as they'd finished eating. Even here he was escorted by several soldiers.

Tameron bowed to the Guardian, once known as the Lady Sigaldo. Even though the drooping hood she always wore covered her face, he felt safe here as he never
did anywhere else. It had been kindness to send him to Lochil, not just necessity. "Greetings, my lady," he said, glad his voice seemed to be through changing. At least for today.

"Please sit. I've been told you aren't well. I grieve that political quarrels have so many innocent victims."

He decided not to lie to her. "My lady, it was my own foolishness which brought this on." He wouldn't have needed any potion if he hadn't risked his life just for the chance of being able to work a few spells.

She waved a hand. A glowing wall suddenly surrounded just the two of them. "You may speak frankly here. Your father has already told me mind-to-mind of what happened. You carry a terrible burden, but there are reasons for it."

Tameron sat on a chair thoughtfully included within the bubble of silence. "I promise not to behave disgracefully while I'm here, my lady. Since I have no magic, I have to learn how to do justice without it somehow if I'm going to be the Protector's heir. But why didn't Father send a healer to me? Does magic work on me? Has he put some kind of shield on me for some reason? Or..." he hesitated a moment, hoping his father wouldn't lie to him. "Did he shadow my powers? Do I have any?"

She sighed. "Your father hoped that you would have magic, as he told you, especially since all his other children did. You don't, at least not in the way that most people understand."

"Isn't that strange? Why did they have them when I don't?"

"It's a long story. Do you know how the Wizards' College matches talents together and your Duty to the family?"

"I know that it's unusual for one couple to be allowed to have all their children together," Tam said, "but I suppose it makes sense with my brothers and sisters all having magic. Now that I think about it, I am surprised that the College didn't ask him to find someone else after my mother's death. I mean, he did his own Duty, but the Honored Mothers are asked to do far more. Everyone knows the College gives them all they ask if they continue past the usual number. With my brothers and sisters dead, I would have thought..."

"Oh, believe me, they tried to convince him!" Sigaldo said harshly.

"But that doesn't make sense. If he had other children, he wouldn't have to depend on me." Tameron was confused. He'd grown up knowing that most mages fulfilled their Duty to either sire or bear four offspring with partners chosen by the Council or the College, with hope that at least two of them would have powers. In return, they gained the freedom to choose someone they loved as their life partner. Ordinary people married as they liked, or as their families told them to. His father probably had a match in mind for him to help keep the peace. Perhaps even Lady Kiliane to keep the Sandegas sweet! Her image flashed in his mind.