The Blood of a Dragon

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Teneria stared in disbelief at the pens.

Dragons!

Dozens of dragons!

Big dragons, small dragons, red, blue, and green dragons!

She had never seen any dragon before, in her entire life, and here there were dozens of dragons.

What in the World was this place?

And what was Dumery doing here?

She lowered her pack to the ground, then scooped the spriggan off her shoulder and dropped it onto a nearby rock. She sat down, still staring at the farm, and tried to think.

As she did, she was aware once again of a sort of soft muttering in the back of her mind, as if someone were trying to sneak up on her, or was thinking loudly about her somewhere nearby. The same uncomfortable sensation had come over her a few times on the way up into the mountains, and she didn’t like it at all.

She had disliked it right from the start, but oddly, it had taken until the fourth time she felt it before she recognized it.

It was the Calling.

Witches weren’t supposed to be susceptible to the Calling-but on the other hand, Adar had told her that people who got too close to the Warlock Stone could spontaneously become warlocks, and witchcraft and warlockry were apparently not all that different, after all. She knew that she had been born with a strong talent for witchcraft-Sella had told her as much. That was why Sella had been willing to take Teneria on as an apprentice even though Teneria’s parents couldn’t pay the customary fee.

And if Teneria had the innate talent for witchcraft, why wouldn’t she have the talent for warlockry, as well?

Even so, she might not have picked anything up, might not have sensed the Calling, if she hadn’t spent those long, horrible hours focused on Adar’s mind, trying to hold the Calling out. That had taught her what the Calling was, had attuned her to it.

She wasn’t a warlock, even now, by any means; she could levitate things, of course, but it still tired her, it was still witchcraft, not warlockry.

Witch or warlock, though, she could feel that unpleasant mental touch, ever so lightly.

And it seemed to be growing more noticeable as she continued southward and eastward. She did not like the idea of venturing even farther in that direction.

But now she wouldn’t have to. Dumery was here; despite the delays, she had finally caught up to him. And this, surely, was where he had been headed all along.

She could see why he hadn’t wanted to tell the truth when his parents’ hired wizard contacted him. That would have sounded so reassuring to his poor mother... “Oh, I’m hiking up into wild, dragon-infested, warlock-haunted mountains in Aldagmor, along what used to be the frontier of the old Northern Empire. I’ll be up there in the freezing cold weather without any supplies or money, with nothing but the clothes on my back. I’m going to a secret menagerie of dragons up there.”

And what in the World did Dumery want in this miserable, gods-forsaken place, anyway? What business did a twelve-year-old boy have at an all-dragon zoo like this? Had he been tricked into coming here as dragon-fodder?

No, that didn’t make any sense; he was still alive, she could tell. And even if there were some reason to feed dragons boys instead of sheep or cattle, surely there were gullible boys to be found closer than Ethshar of the Spices.

Maybe the boy was on some errand for a wizard? Everybody knew he had been hounding half the magicians in the Wizards’ Quarter for an apprenticeship; maybe he had settled for a job as a wizard’s errand boy. Wizards seemed to take an unhealthy interest in dragons; she had certainly seen enough of them with dragons embroidered on robes, or with carved dragons adorning their shops.

Well, there were ways to find out what was going on. The simplest and best was to walk right up and ask.

If it turned out that her interest wasn’t welcome, well, she was a witch; she could defend herself.

She marched down the path. Behind her the spriggan let out a small yip of dismay, which she ignored, and then scurried after her.

She reached the door, stopped, raised a fist, and knocked loudly. The spriggan grabbed her ankle and held on.

Even through the heavy oak, and even though she had never had any contact with the people on the other side, she could sense the astonishment within. She waited.

Eventually, the door creaked open an inch or so.

“Yes?” a handsome young woman asked, in Sardironese. “Can I help you?”

Teneria could see that the woman was thinking in Sardironese-hardly surprising, as they were still in Aldagmor. The witch was still not very comfortable with the local language, but she tried. “I am looking for Dumery of Shiphaven,” she said, unhappily aware that she had spoken with a very thick Ethsharitic accent, and that the spriggan was clinging to her leg, hampering any fast movement.

“Dumery?” the woman in the house replied, startled. Teneria saw that she knew exactly who Dumery of Shiphaven was; the mental image she conjured up matched Teneria’s own perfectly.

“Yes,” Teneria said, nodding. “Dumery.”

“He hadn’t told us he was expecting anyone,” the woman said, uncertainly.

Teneria realized that she wasn’t much older than herself.

“He wasn’t expecting me,” she said. “His... his...” She groped for the word.

Seeing Teneria’s discomfort, the woman said, “I understand Ethsharitic, mostly.”

Teneria noticed that she hadn’t said soin Ethsharitic, so she kept her words as simple as she could. “His parents sent me,” she said.

“Oh!” The confusion cleared from the woman’s mind with miraculous speed. “Come in! I’m Seldis of Aldagmor; my parents and grandfather own this place. Come on in.” She swung the door wide.

“Thank you,” Teneria said, accepting the invitation. The spriggan, riding on her boot, came with her.

She found herself in a large, cluttered room, facing a horde of children and a handful of adults. One of the children she immediately recognized-Dumery of Shiphaven.

“Hello, Dumery,” she said. “I’m Teneria. Your parents sent me.”

“My parents?” the boy asked warily. “Not Thetheran?”

“Well-my mistress, actually. I’m still an apprentice. But your parents hired her.” Teneria was uncomfortably aware of more than a dozen pairs of eyes watching the conversation closely, even though she could tell that only four of the listeners understood Ethsharitic-an old man with an arm missing, a big, powerful middle-aged man, a small, dark middle-aged woman, and Seldis.

Some of the children had spotted the spriggan, and were pointing at it and whispering to one another. The little creature hopped off and ran off to hide under the furniture somewhere.

“They did?” Dumery asked. “Who is she, your mistress?”

“Sella the Witch,” Teneria replied.

“My father hired a witch?” The boy believed her, she knew; he was just startled.

“I think your mother had more to do with it,” she answered.

The middle-aged man had stepped forward; while Dumery groped for another question the man spoke, holding out a hand in greeting. “Welcome to our home, young lady,” he said. “I am Kensher Kinner’s son.”

“Teneria of Fishertown.” She bowed politely.

Dumery watched as this unexpected new arrival was introduced to all the inhabitants of the farmhouse, and as he watched he was trying to figure out what to do now.

He had never expected his parents to send someone after him; despite the dream Thetheran had sent he hadn’t thought that they cared enough, or that his father would be willing to pay for it, and besides, why would they send someone when they had used the dream spell?

And quite aside from all that, how had this person found him?

She was an apprentice witch, of course, but he hadn’t known that witches could do that.

Somehow, though, she had found him. Maybe that spriggan he had seen run under the sofa had had something to do with it, if that was the same one he had seen back at the Inn at the Bridge-after all, he knew even less about spriggans than he did about witches.

Just how it was done didn’t really matter, though, since it had been done.

So now what?

What did this do to his plans?

It pretty much knocked them to pieces, he realized, unless he could either get rid of this Teneria, or get her over on his side, somehow. He had intended to take his leave of the farm, then sneak back at night and steal two hatchlings, as breeding stock for his own farm. If he were in a witch’s care he couldn’t very well carry out his scheme without her knowing about it.

Getting her over to his side-well, that would be ideal, certainly. A witch would be extremely useful.

However, he couldn’t imagine any way it could be done. Getting rid of her should be far easier.

Just now, though, he wasn’t sure how to do that, either.

It would require further thought.

Teneria, even as she committed the names of all the children to memory, was listening as best she could to Dumery’s thoughts.

She couldn’t get them exactly, but she knew he wasn’t happy with her presence.

He had been planning something, and he didn’t think she would approve.

This was something she would want to discuss with him. In private.

She smiled at Pancha and complimented her, in awkward Sardironese, on her fine collection of offspring. The mistress of the house smiled back.

She invited Teneria to stay for dinner, and for the night, and with an eye on Dumery, Teneria accepted.