Dragon's Treasure (11 page)

To Shem's horror, Kiala stood in the pantry. She pounced on him. "Where have you been?" she demanded. Her round face was flushed. "You knew I was looking for you."

He wriggled, but her grip was firm. "I was on the wall. Turtle was with me."

Simon the stew cook said, "Leave the brat alone, Kiala. What can happen to him?

"He's still a baby."

Simon said, "He's no baby. Look at him, he's big as Devin." Devin, swinging on the pantry door, grinned. "Beside, there's naught in Dragon Keep would harm him. He's Dragon's pet."

Simon had once threatened to cook Turtle for getting underfoot. Shem had bitten him. He stared at Simon, not smiling. Simon glared back.

"Come," Kiala said. She dragged him to the sewing room and made him stand on a stool while she measured his shoulders. "Mother of night, I swear you've grown a hands-breadth since the last time I did this."

"I have?" He wriggled. "Can I go now?"

"Go."

In the hall, Devin was waiting with the honeycake he had filched when Simon's back was turned. He broke the cake in two and passed Shem one of the halves. Turtle, who had vanished—he knew he was not allowed in the kitchen— reappeared. He laid his head soulfully on Shem's knee. Shem broke off a bit of cake and held it in his palm.

They returned to the courtyard. Devin pulled a piece of yellow string from his pocket. "Look what I found in the barn." It was a long piece, quite strong.

Shem tugged on it. "We could go fishing."

"We need a hook."

Shem felt in his pocket. But he had nothing sharp at all: only a dull arrowhead found at the archery range, an empty snail shell, and a flat rock glittering with mica.

Devin eyed the rock. "Where did you get that?"

"In the old buttery." Shem liked the ruined buttery. The scullions played dice there. It was cool and secluded: fat yellow roses clambered over the stones, and daisies trembled underfoot. An owl lived in the tumbled-down west wall; he had heard it, shuffling in the dim private place it had found, and grumbling to itself.

Devin said, "Eilon says there's a ghost in that place."

"What ghost?"

"A weeping lady, with long black hair and black teeth. He says it wails at night."

"Huh," Shem said. It sounded fearsome. But Hawk had told him that there was no need to be afraid of ghosts, that few people saw them, and that when they did appear, they were not dangerous, they were only messengers.
She
had seen a ghost once. She had refused to tell him whose it was. "
I've
never heard it."

Devin said thoughtfully, "We could go there now and look for it."

Their eyes met. They were not supposed to go beyond the walls without permission. But if they asked Beryl's permission she might forbid the excursion, or find some tedious task for them to do. Devin grinned. Wordlessly, they scrambled up and trotted through the courtyard toward the storage barns. Luga the dogboy had showed them the hole in the wall behind the barns. A set of planks hung over a hole in the stone, but the planks could be lifted, and the hole turned into a tunnel. It was dark, but quite dry, and high, big enough for a grown man to crawl through, if he was not too fat.

Devin, who was stronger, raised the planks. Shem burrowed in. The tunnel was dark, and smelled of animal droppings. He wriggled through it quickly. Then he was out. Devin followed him, sneezing. Over them, the sky blazed white, like a fire. On the tower, the dragon banner waved, high atop its pole. They trotted across the fields and crept into the roofless ruin. Gorging bees dipped and dug amid the flowers. They climbed over the fallen beams, hunting for signs of a ghost.

Shem found a piece of pointy bone. It was smooth and yellow. "A dragon's claw!"

Devin found a square of bleached cloth, and a pole, and a bit of corroded metal. "An arrowhead!" he declared. He breathed on it and rubbed hard to make it shine. While Turtle chased squirrels through the scrub, they made the tumbled stones into the wall of a fort, and shot imaginary arrows at Isojai raiders. Proclaiming themselves victors, they threaded the cloth on the pole and propped it between two stones.

"It ought to have a device," Devin said. "Like the dragon. Or the blue arrow. That's the Lemininkai's sigil."

"How do you know?"

"My father taught me. He says a warrior has to know the sigils of all the houses."

Turtle leaped over a fallen beam and trotted to Shem's

side. He had something in his mouth. "Here, Turtle. Give."

The dog laid his prize down. It was a fluffy yellow-eyed bird, quite dead. It had a deep puncture wound in its throat.

"Good dog. Where did you get this?"

Turtle wagged his tail. The body was still warm. Blood seeped from the hole.

"One of the cats must have killed it," Devin said. It had huge round eyes and short stubby feathers, auburn on top, but underneath pure white. "It's a fledgling, look at its wings. I bet the barn cats raided the nest while the mother was hunting."

Shem wondered if it was the chick of the owl he had heard hooting in the west wall, and if the owl knew that its chick was gone. He imagined the cat gliding silently along the sun-warmed stones toward the hidden nest, tasting the bird's scent deep in its throat, every muscle taut, ready to cut off escape, while the fledgling, unwitting, breathed and slept....

"Hey," said Devin. "What are you thinking? Your eyes are strange."

Shem blinked. "Nothing." He jumped up. "Come on. Race you to the fence." The fence marked the bounds of the riding runs, where men new come to the Keep and hoping to be soldiers learned that riding a warhorse was different from riding a plow horse. It was quite far, but Shem did not care, he just wanted to move. Legs churning, he pounded through the tall grass.

Suddenly he tripped. He hit the ground hard. His breath went out of him; he yelped like a puppy. Gasping, he lay still, arms and legs splayed into the dirt.

Devin bent over him. "Are you all right?"

"Uh." He sat up. His face and hands were covered with dirt. He pushed to his feet. "Yes." He walked in a circle. His knee stung where it had smacked into the ground, and his elbows were skinned. In the distance, Turtle was barking loudly.

Devin said, "Maybe we'd better get back." He looked a little alarmed. If it were discovered that they were out, they would get a scolding, and, if Beryl was very cross, perhaps a beating.

"Where's Turtle?" Shem whistled. The barking continued. "Turtle!" They moved toward the sounds. "Turtle, come!" It was hard to see through the thick grass. Shem pushed it aside with his arms.

Suddenly the grass was gone. They had reached the road. And there was Turtle, barking and barking at a lean man who sat calmly on a fine spotted horse. Shem dove forward and grabbed for his wayward dog's collar.

"Turtle! No! Bad dog! You know better than to bark at horses." He wound his fingers in the leather strap. "Sorry," he said, squinting upward at the rider. "He does know better. He forgets sometimes."

The man did not seem particularly distressed. "No matter. My horse is used to barking dogs." He sat gracefully in the saddle, with the ease of a man for whom horseback was as natural as walking. "I am going to Dragon Keep. Shall I find its lord at home, do you think?"

Devin looked at Shem.

Shem shook his head. "No."

Early that morning, half-asleep, curled in his place at Devin's side, he had felt the Golden Dragon spring from the mountainside and soar into the sky. He always knew when Dragon was near. That was another way he was different from the other children.

"He'll be back, though. He always comes back at sundown."

"Then I must wait for him," the rider said. He touched his heels to his horse's sides. The horse trotted forward.

Devin, quivering with excitement, said, "Did you see?"

"What?"

"His cloak bore the blue arrow. He's a messenger from the Lemininkai. That's the second in a month. Something's happening. Come on!"

* * *

That night Shem and Devin ate in the hall. Crouched over a single bowl, they watched from the shadows near the hearth as the men dragged the long tables and benches into the center of the big stone space, and the servers brought platters of spring lamb and turkey and new potatoes and bitter greens and hot bread and pitchers of foamy red beer. They had not been beaten, nor even scolded for their transgression: in the fuss of the courier's arrival, no one had noticed two small boys slipping through the postern gate.

At the center table, big Olav and one of the recruits, a muscular farm boy from Sleeth, had clasped hands to test each other's strength. Huffing, the two big men strained against each other. Olav bent his opponent's arm to the table.

"Olav is strong," Devin said. "My father says he is stronger than anyone in the swordsmen's wing."

Shem said loyally, "He is not as strong as Dragon." The lord of the Keep sat among his officers at the table nearest the hearth. Azil the singer, as always, sat at Karadur Atani's right hand. Marek Gavrinson, Devin's father, was there: so was Herugin, the cavalry master, and Rogys, his lieutenant, and Captain Lorimir, senior captain of the garrison. The courier sat at Dragon's left hand. Hawk sat beside him. As usual, she looked very stern. Her sternness frightened people, Shem knew. So did her patch, and her crooked arm, and her fierce, one-eyed gaze, which seemed to look right through to bone. It did not frighten him. Hawk was his friend, as she had been his father's friend. Hawk was changeling. She, too, could see in the dark. She could hear a mouse whisper, the archers said, with admiration. And there were other things she could do, skills only changelings had, that he would someday have, when he was older.

Hawk did not Change, though. He did not know why. He had seen Dragon Change, many times. He thought—he was not sure—it had something to do with the war.

Devin tore a hunk of bread in two, and passed the larger piece to Shem. He dunked the bread in the turkey juice. Someone opened the doors to let the dogs in. Turtle galloped joyfully to Shem's side. Shem gave him the bread.

"You spoil that dog," Devin said. "You should keep him hungry. Hungry dogs make better hunters. Cuillan says so."

Deep in Shem's mind, so deep that he could not quite recall it, was the memory of a time when he had been hungry. He pushed it away. He would never starve a dog. He stroked Turtle's ears. Cuillan was the dog warden. But Cuillan did not keep the Keep's dogs hungry; Dragon would not have let him do that.

He looked across the room to the officers' table. Marek Gavrinson was speaking to the dragon-lord, and Dragon was laughing. Then he glanced across the room, right at Shem. He crooked a finger. Shem's heart beat hard, like a hammer. He scrambled up.

"So, Shem Wolfson," Dragon said. "I am told you and Devin Marekson were first to greet our guest today. What were you doing beyond the wall?"

Shem said firmly, "My lord, we were fighting Isojai."

"How many did you kill?"

"I don't know, my lord," Shem said. "Many. We didn't count them."

The men at the table laughed. Dragon smiled, and brushed his palm lightly over the top of Shem's head. Then he rose. The men quieted. Faces turned expectantly.

"Warriors of Dragon Keep," he said, "we have a guest. This is Laslo Umi, who comes to us from Ujo with a message from the Lemininkai." He nodded to the stranger. "Speak, courier."

The courier stood. "This is the message from the Lemininkai. To the lord of Atani Castle, Karadur Atani, from Kalni Leminin of Ujo, greetings. You are invited to share the city of Ujo's joy, and its celebration of the wedding of Selena Mariana Leminin and Cirion Imorin, Prince of Ryoka, lord of the city of Selidor, in Kameni, to be held during Midsummer Festival on the first day of August, this year."

The soldiers whistled and stamped. "A toast!" Dragon said. "A toast to a wedding!" Brian leaned swiftly to pour Dragon's wine. The soldiers held their mugs and flasks high. The dogs barked. Everyone drank.

The courier said, "My lord, the Lemininkai asked me to tell you he hopes you will come. A suite of rooms has already been reserved for you and your escort at the Hotel Goude."

Dragon said, "That was thoughtful of him. You may tell the Lemininkai I accept." He looked down the table. "Lorimir, do you want to go to Ujo with me?"

The elderly captain's beard glinted in the candlelight. "If you want me to go to Ujo, my lord, I will."

Dragon smiled. "I know you will. But I also know that you hate cities. Herugin."

"My lord," said the scar-faced officer.

"You shall come to Ujo with me. Rogys, while Herugin is absent, the cavalry is in your charge. Mind you keep it well. Finle, you shall ride to Ujo as well. Bring your bow. There will be contests. Tourneys, archery matches, wrestling, horse races: I expect you all to compete, and if you can, to win. Herugin, is Rosset ready to race?" The big red four-year-old stallion was the fastest horse in the Dragon Keep stable, and maybe in all of Ippa.

"My lord," Herugin said, "there's not a horse in the north can beat him."

"My lord," Marek said, "you have named an archer and a cavalryman: whom shall you bring from the swordsmen's wing?"