The Forging of the Dragon (Wizard and Dragon Book 1)
Read The Forging of the Dragon (Wizard and Dragon Book 1) Online
Authors: Robert Don Hughes
© Robert Don Hughes 1989
Robert Don Hughes has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 1989 by Ballantine Books.
This edition published in 2016 by Venture Press, an imprint of Endeavour Press Ltd.
TO OUR BRONWYNN,
WHO LEARNED TO READ WHILE
IT WAS BEING WRITTEN—
*
AND ALSO PLAYED SOME OF THE PARTS.
ON most days the people of Lamath worked hard at being prudish. But at weddings, especially occasions of this magnitude, the bonds that bound their passions seemed loosely tied indeed. The fragrance of a thousand freshly cut blossoms made a sweet-tasting syrup of the humid air. Shockingly bright garlands hung from every spire of the estate, and its walls echoed with nervous giggles. Today it would happen!
Lamathians thoroughly enjoyed seeing a good match being made, and this promised to be the stellar mating of the year — Elaryl, lovely blond daughter of a ruling elder, married to Seagryn, the rising star of the clergy. The matrons pouring the punch couldn’t help but flush at the thought. But that didn’t keep them from thinking ...
They knew Elaryl, of course — had known her since her priestly father had placed her upon his lap as he sat in the nearby city of Valus and administered the laws of the region. Old Talarath had really been rather young then, but even as a young man he’d seemed old. By now he’d been their ruling elder so long he had to be old. And of course, the child upon his knee had been cute —
far
easier to look at than Talarath, even then.
Now ... wonder upon wonders! She was a daughter any mother would cherish — a flawless face whose little nose was given dignity by eyes as piercing as her father’s, large, frank lips that only stopped short of being pouty due to her resolute commitment to purity, and a chin as firm as her convictions. Elaryl was a good girl. Anyone could tell just by looking. Of course, tonight ...
And then there was Seagryn, whom none of them knew at all, other than the fact that his mind sparkled like one of the gems embedded in the High Hall of City Lamath. They’d heard him speak, and his tongue thrilled them, for it could pry pieces of the tradition out of hidden places in their memories and fashion these bits together into ideas so artfully that even the densest among them could understand! Not to mention — the matrons mentioned to one another repeatedly with much gleeful cackling — the fact that he was built more like a warrior than a cleric. He had a jaw on him, too — and green eyes and thick bushy eyebrows that seemed especially designed to search out the faltering in the very back rows and demand that they listen to his lessons. He was a fine one, that Seagryn, destined to judge someday as a ruling elder. Perhaps when old Talarath departed? The matrons poured punch and planned the future, and a joyous time was had by all.
Seagryn stood at his window on the third floor of Talarath’s mansion, and surveyed the festivities below. He was happy — and that worried him. He could not allow his emotions to dash wherever they chose. Those plump little ladies who cast admiring glances up at his window didn’t really know him — they didn’t know him at all. Throughout this week-long celebration, his sleep had been plagued by waking dreams, memories of the monster he’d once been ...
None of his own people were here, of course. Bourne was far away in western Lamath, a poor region lightly regarded by those in the capital city on the flood plain. Seagryn had left it so long ago he no longer considered it his home anymore. He was an educated easterner, a top student, a man moving up —
“
Seagryn!
What in the Name of the Name we do not speak are you doing here!”
Gasping with surprise, Seagryn whirled around to face the lovely features of his betrothed. Elaryl had cocked an eyebrow so as to convey both shock and flirtation at the same time, and he was momentarily confused. “Why — I thought I was supposed to be here, that this was to be my room to —”
“Well of course it is!” Elaryl laughed, all pretense of surprise disappearing. Then her high forehead furrowed knowingly. “Did you forget? It’s the custom!”
“Oh. Oh, yes. I remember.” Lamathian custom dictated that, just prior to any wedding ceremony, the bride and groom were “accidentally” to encounter one another in a private place. In less pious settings, this often resulted in a delay of the proceedings — in fact, the old grandmothers liked to predict the longevity of a union based upon the length of this “chance” encounter.
If so, theirs would be a brief marriage indeed, for old Talarath would doubtless intervene soon. This was a formal ceremony in an elder’s home, and events would begin on schedule and be done properly. To be honest, Seagryn felt a bit relieved at that. His courtship of Elaryl had been carefully supervised, with so few opportunities for passion in private that Seagryn had scarcely even touched her. She’d teased him about that, wondering aloud if he even knew how to demonstrate his affection. He let her mock. Seagryn kept his emotions tucked deep inside his broad chest, side by side with the memories that had driven him from Bourne. He valued this woman as he had no other person in his life, and that was the cause of his worry. If she should know — if she should learn —
“Seagryn, are you all right?”
“Hmm?” He saw the concern that had replaced her smile, and cursed himself for burdening her with his own worries on this most joyous of days. “I ... believe I’m ... nervous,” Seagryn managed to mutter.
“Of course you are! Bridegrooms are supposed to be.”
“Are they?” he murmured absently. This time Elaryl scowled.
“What
is
it?” she demanded.
“Nothing,” he said, but the word soured on his lips, and he trembled with self-revulsion. The magnitude of the lie he’d lived so long suddenly crashed in upon him. He could no longer inflict it upon this precious lady! He turned his back to his bride. “My dear, there is something I must confess, something I cannot hide any longer —”
“Wait,” Elaryl stopped him. “I know what you’re about to say.”
“You do?” Seagryn gasped, spinning to face her.
“I do.” She nodded solemnly. “The other girls all told me. It’s the true purpose of this meeting.”
“What?” The cleric frowned.
“It’s a ... a thoughtful time for both groom and bride — and it tends to prompt premarital confessions. Am I right?”
“I ... I —”
“You suddenly see me as your bride to be and feel unworthy and want to tell me about all the other women in your life.”
“But it’s not about —”
“Seagryn, don’t you realize that I don’t feel worthy of you, either?” Elaryl’s eyes glistened with forming tears, but didn’t blink. Her gaze never left his as she shook her head, and he saw light from the window dance across her golden curls. “If you confess, don’t you see that I would have to confess, too? And my father will be coming through that door any moment to fetch us! I can’t, Seagryn — and you don’t need to.” Despite the tears that still threatened to course her cheeks, Elaryl now wore an expression of stately serenity. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, in any case. I’ll love you forever.”
Stunned, Seagryn could think of only one response. He lurched forward and clutched her to him, nearly smothering her against his barrel chest. So. The dreamlike memories of a monster in Bourne could be put to rest at last — for Elaryl loved him. Then he picked her up and kissed her.
She finally tore her face away from him, laughing once again. “So you
do
know how!” Elaryl threw both arms around his neck and squeezed. Perhaps, Seagryn thought, the ceremony would be delayed after all ...
Then the door flew open. “Yes,” Talarath said. The couple quickly parted.
It amazed Seagryn just how negative the old man could make such a positive word sound. “Finished?” Talarath asked. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t move his wrinkled forehead. Yet somehow he managed to express such deep suspicion that Seagryn felt slightly dizzy.
“Yes, Father,” Elaryl answered dutifully.
“Good. Ranoth arrives at any moment. You’ll both need to greet him.”
“Sir —” Seagryn tried to interrupt, but without success as Talarath continued:
“The greeting must be stately but swift. There is danger in public appearances before crowds of this size. We’re all aware these days of Marwandian marauders. They’ll know, surely, that much of the Ruling Council will be present today. If they truly intend to make this region their own, they’d be fools not to attack us and, while these loathsome magic users are many things, unfortunately they are not fools. Come.” Talarath started to turn away.
Magic users. The term struck at Seagryn’s heart. “Sir —”
The old man turned around to face Seagryn squarely. “Yes?” he asked. Talarath spoke with great honesty and humility. He put no reproach into either his tone of voice or his expression. Yet somehow, as always, Talarath made Seagryn feel like a burdensome child whose words were to be tolerated, not heard. Seagryn hesitated — and lost the moment. “I understand how you feel, son,” Talarath said brusquely — but of course, he didn’t. The ruling elder of southern Lamath stalked out the door and down the hall.
Elaryl grabbed his arm. “Come on.” Duty called, and dutifully Seagryn responded.
Guards waited at the palace door; when Talarath reached the bottom step, they formed a phalanx and pushed a pathway out through the crowd. The people cheered at the first sight of the couple and kept on cheering as if resolved to burst Seagryn’s eardrums. He covered his ears, but Elaryl elbowed him in the ribs, and he turned to see her smiling at him ferociously. He smiled back — a grimace, really — then followed her lead and raised his hand to wave.
A troop of riders broke over a nearby hill. The assembled guests quickly disregarded the wedding party and turned their attention to the road. As these horsemen distributed themselves strategically around the palace grounds, a new set of warriors was sighted, and the cheering began again in earnest. This group moved at a stately pace, bearing among them an ornate litter completely enclosed by fish-satin curtains. Seagryn stood behind Talarath as he waited amid the crowd for the litter’s arrival. When it reached him, he called out, “Silence!” The cheering abated.
Ranoth tossed aside the curtains that surrounded him and hopped nimbly from the litter. He was a spry little man with a firm grip — both in his wiry hand and in his equally wiry mind. Ranoth understood clearly his role in his world, and played it with satisfaction. The ruling elder of City Lamath and the Rivers regions that surrounded it, he was first among equals on the Ruling Council — and Seagryn’s mentor. Now he raised his sinewy arm in greeting and called to Elaryl and Seagryn, “My children! Come! Come help an old man who needs assistance!”
Seagryn smiled at this ridiculous order, but didn’t question it. He took Elaryl by the elbow and led her firmly toward the litter. Ranoth’s very presence restored some of the confidence that days spent with Talarath had shorn from him. He felt much better already.
“Ah, children.” Ranoth smiled with obvious pleasure. “What a joy to see you two linked at last. You’ve had a few moments together, already?” he asked, a naughty little twinkle in his eye.
Seagryn began, “We were —”
“You arrived precisely on schedule,” Talarath interrupted. “No trouble?”
Ranoth’s eyes lidded slightly — hiding something, Seagryn knew. He felt well acquainted with such behavior. “Shall we talk inside?”
Talarath swung around hard and gestured stiffly to his warriors. The path to the palace door reappeared immediately, as if by magic. The word sprang unbidden to Seagryn’s mind. It nauseated him.
Moments later they were inside, and the heavy doors were bolted shut behind them.
“Now,” Talarath muttered quietly. “What trouble? An ambush on the road?”
“Nothing today ...” Ranoth muttered, leaving the truth dangling unspoken.
“But?”
“But they’re clearly abroad. Reports of them everywhere.” Ranoth’s voice lowered another level. “Fearful reports.”
“Quit that!” Elaryl snapped in Seagryn’s ear, and the young man spun around to look at her. “You’re crushing my hand!”
Seagryn relaxed his grip immediately, and Elaryl jerked her hand away and cradled it tenderly against her bosom. Her expression quickly softened — for Ranoth’s benefit, Seagryn knew — and she explained, “He’s acting a bit strangely today, my Father. He says he’s nervous.”
Ranoth’s eyes danced merrily as he studied the woman’s lovely face. “He’s excited. I quite understand!”
“What reports?” Talarath demanded. The old man never allowed the free flow of conversation to interfere with important details. There was no distracting him.
“Odd things. Very odd.”
“Magic?” Talarath snarled. “Was magic used?”
“One tale I heard held that a group of our people were attacked on a road very near here. You’ve not been told this?”
“Weddings have a way of obscuring the truly important,” Talarath grunted, never noticing the impact his comment made upon his daughter’s face. “Go on?”
“Out of nowhere, a gigantic
bear
appeared and proceeded to rend apart every Marwandian in sight.” Seagryn noticed the strong emphasis Ranoth had placed on the word “bear” and it puzzled him. Talarath suddenly stepped backward and stiffened his shoulders.
“Perhaps these are things better discussed in private. Elaryl, have you no final preparations to make?”
“Of course, Father.” Elaryl knew she was being dismissed.
“More preparations?” Ranoth asked, seizing her hand before she could walk away. “Is it possible that such a one could make herself even more beautiful?”