Stone Dragon (The First Realm) (4 page)

* * *

“Well done, my daughter,” Findecano said. “I see your time in the convent has been usefully spent.”

“I’m glad to hear that, my father,” Meerwen said as she walked up to the VIP stand. “Especially since you were against it in the first place.”

“Those were some of the best fighters in the army. They were sons of soldiers, and grandsons of soldiers. I would not have thought it possible for a single person to defeat them, let alone barehanded and using human techniques.”

“The humans have much to teach us, father. As do the other races.”

“Everything they know, they learned from
us
. What can such people invent when their lives are so undisciplined?”

“The Fighting Nuns have plenty of discipline.”

“For members of that oversexed race to take vows of chastity—let’s just say they don’t represent all of humanity. “

“But—”

“Enough. If we are to argue, let it be in private. Take my hand, my dear.”

She took it, and they teleported home.

It was obvious to anyone that the Elanesse house was one of the oldest and finest mansions in the city. You only had to look at its seamless marble floors, its gold-inlaid walls, and, above all, its expansive floor plan. The servants always teleported to get from the kitchens to the dining hall, otherwise the food would get cold. Like many of the houses in the Palace Quarter it was built to the same plan as the king’s residence, only slightly smaller.

There were other mansions as fine, but none as simply decorated as the Elanesse house. Findecano was not one for fine paintings, century-old tapestries, or eggshell-thin vases, though he could certainly afford them. Every stick of furniture was stark and useful—there wasn’t a single conversation piece in the house.

You got the impression that he was an indifferent homeowner, until you realized that a complete lack of something was a statement on its own.

“I hope tonight’s wine will be acceptable,” Meerwen said, walking toward the house. “Elrond assured me it was one of his best vintages.”

“I’m sure it is,” he said. He caught up and took her arm. “Before we go in, would you walk with me?”

Meerwen frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“I merely wish for us to talk before I once again put on my public face. You know how these dinners are.”

“I never understood why you’d have dinner guests who’d be happy to cut your throat.”

“Politics, my dear. It makes for strange tablemates.”

He was a grizzled old elf, past the point when his long-lived race finally looking young. His face was lined and wrinkled, and age had filled out his frame. Yet there was strength in his limbs and quickness in his wits. He remained in his prime.

“I have missed these gardens,” Meerwen said. “I see that Mother is still into orchids.”

“She is,” he said. The house was famous for its gardens. “Her main ambition is to cultivate a new variety.” He looked at her. “Her other main ambition, that is, after ensuring her daughter’s future.”

Meerwen rolled her eyes. “Not this again, Daddy.”

He grinned. “I can’t stop being your father, can I? You know I’ve always wanted you to be happy.”

“Am I not fulfilling my dreams? Granted, they’re not what a young woman usually aspires to, but give me credit for originality.”

They walked down a path that took them past flowerbeds and ornamental fountains. The land rose and fell, and at every turn the path revealed new things. This time three statues depicted the moment just after King Galdor’s execution. There was the swordsman, his curved sword stuck in the chopping block. There was a younger Valandil, arms raised in anguish. Finally, there was the king, who in a bit of artistic license was standing and holding up his own head. It didn’t seem to bother King Galdor that he was one black horse away from becoming a stereotype.

“These statues always used to scare me,” Meerwen said. “I played everywhere but here.”

“I remember. It didn’t help that the cook used to tell you the statue of the king
was
the king, just petrified.”

“And that he would come back to life if little girls didn’t eat their vegetables.”

They laughed. “I miss that time,” Findecano said. “It seems only yesterday that you were a little girl who only wanted to read adventure stories and sneak off to the Halfling Theater.”

“I still read novels. Not much has changed.”

“Yes. You are still completely uninterested in marriage.”

“Daddy! I will marry when I’m ready. And when the right man presents himself.”

“They’re not exactly lining up, are they? Especially not after today’s trial of arms.”

She shrugged. “I’m advancing gender equality.”

“Yes, but what about your family? You are my only child, and it’s up to you to continue our House. To maintain continuity.”

“I never liked the men you brought home.”

“Why not? Nice boys, every one. What’s more, they had coats of arms that went back generations, and not just to their grandfather’s ennoblement. Do you know how many favors I burned just to give you a shot at a royal guard commission?”

“Am I hearing this from the elected Lord Governor? Is Drystone’s champion of the common elf telling me I should
marry
into the aristocracy?”

He coughed. “Kings are obsolete, it is true, but the Houses still hold power. It wouldn’t hurt if our blood had a bit of blue. After a few generations, nobody will be able to tell the difference.”

* * *

They walked on, past artful tableaus of rock and sand. “In any case, Father, you probably shouldn’t worry about never having in-laws.”

Findecano raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? You’ve met someone?”

“More like ran into someone.” She told him about the meeting in Elrond’s Commonwealth.

“So this Angrod is an apprentice who goes drinking when he should be running errands?”

“Come on, you know masters never run out of chores. Why, even at the convent we were always chopping wood and carrying water. When we weren’t printing postcards.”

“When
I
was an apprentice—and my own apprenticeship was especially long, since I studied under several masters—I never had time for frivolous things.”

“Tell that to Mother, since that’s when you met her.”

“I met him when?” someone said. They turned to see Tari Elanesse gliding toward them.

“My dear wife,” Findecano said, and bowed. “How are you this evening?”

“Hello, Mother,” Meerwen said, and curtsied.

“No need for formality,” said the lady of the house. She was slender even for an elf, and tall. She had golden skin and auburn hair but otherwise looked remarkably like her daughter. “What’s this about frivolous things?”

“It’s nothing, Mother,” Meerwen said, looking away.

“Meerwen has been telling me about a boy. And unlike the others, this one might have a chance.”

“
Really?
Who is this fine man and what House is he from?”

“His name is Angrod Veneanar and he’s a smartass,” Meerwen said.

“But a smartass with a coat of arms,” Findecano said. “And his chances look good—when has our daughter even
noticed
a boy?”

“It’s not like that!” Meerwen said, turning red.

“Well, maybe it should be,” Tari said. “You aren’t getting younger, you know. When can we meet him?”

“I’m only a hundred and two,” Meerwen said. “Plenty of time. And it’s not my place to pursue him. He knows my name and where to find me.”

Findecano was about to comment on how his daughter was challenging gender roles in the military, but not in romance, but thought better of it. “As a graduating apprentice he’ll probably show up at the Royal Ball.”

Meerwen’s eyes lit up when he mentioned the biggest social event in Drystone. Then she looked worried. “The Royal Ball? But I have nothing to wear!”

“Tomorrow your father will call in the best tailors in the city,” Tari said. “In the meantime, why not get dressed for dinner? You have just enough time if you go now.”

“I’ll do that,” Meerwen said. “Mother, Father. We will talk more later.”

Husband and wife watched as their child hurried into the house. Findecano smiled. “Young love.”

Tari looked to him with a frown. “This Angrod, isn’t he apprenticed to Valandil the Royalist?”

“Yes,” Findecano said. “By all reports Angrod is a nice boy, if a bit wild.”

“You’re still having his master followed?”

“Even when he teleports. He was never good at keeping secrets, or we wouldn’t have heard about his little project.”

They walked arm in arm down the meandering path, stopping to enjoy a topiary animal here and there.

“Is it likely, you think?” she asked.

“That he’ll find a missing heir? I shouldn’t think so. Still, there
is
a prophecy, so better safe than sorry.”

They looked at a topiary dragon, which reared up like the real thing. You expected it to snarl and breathe fire any moment.

“I hope this doesn’t call for some pruning,” he said.

“Sometimes things need cutting,” she said. “Otherwise they lose their shape.”

“Is the shape so important?”

She looked at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve spent
centuries
cultivating our garden, and I should hate to abandon it now. Sometimes the situation calls for the hedge trimmer and sometimes it calls for the scythe.”

“I would hate to lose the city’s best builder.”

“Would you rather the city lose its Lord? That would be a true loss to the city. We are so close to accomplishing our goal. Our supporters rule Pithe, Vergath, Mithish, and Lamemheth. Only Corinthe in the north remains adamant.”

“I will not crown myself king,” he said, but he was stroking his chin.

“What’s a crown got to do with it? We shall merely create room for a prime minister. The best man will inevitably fill that space.” She looked at him and smiled. “My husband,
you
will inevitably fill that space.”

Chapter 5

“Shiiiiiit!”

I jumped away from the dragon and fell on my arse. I and scurried back, my mind reaching for every bit of defensive magic I knew. Flame wall? I’d burn all the oxygen! Ice wall? Not enough moisture!

The floor rose up in front of me, coming to hundreds of sharp points. A palisade of stone rose up, every jagged edge pointed at the dragon. Razor-sharp stalactites jutted from the ceiling, ready to impale the huge reptile if it so much as blinked.

…

It didn’t. What I thought was a living, breathing dragon was in fact a gigantic statue.

“Oh, very funny, Valandil. Ha ha. Oh, ha ha ha. Is
this
my graduation prank? You really went through a lot of effort. That statue looks so lifelike.”

“Look again, my apprentice,” Valandil said, his face serious. “Use your other senses.”

“What, did someone paint
Angrod is a wanker
in ultraviolet paint?”

“Use. Your. Other. Senses.”

I shrugged and opened my Sight.

—and backpedaled further, for I’d glimpsed a living aura inside the stone. “Holy hell, the dragon’s alive!”

The Sight is not like hearing or smell. No sense organ gives us this ability, although it relies on all of them. The Sight is nothing less than applied synesthesia, using one’s existing senses to make sense of information gained through magic.

If you’ve ever heard a song that made you see fireworks, or eaten something that tasted like music, you know what I mean. Elves can turn it on or off and some scholars say we evolved it to deal with the monotony of a long lifespan. A person can only have so many new experiences, but the Sight can extend the novelty for a long while. It’s an excellent way to get new perspectives.

I’d
Seen
a stone dragon wrapped in electricity. It crackled and flowed throughout the monstrous body, drawing patterns on its skin and shining brightly through its bones. It was
alive
, and yet it was entirely stone.

“A petrified dragon,” I said. “Amazing!”

“The prophecy calls for at least one dragon, and as far as I know this is the last one alive.”

“I wouldn’t call it alive,” I said. “It’s basically frozen. Who did this?”

“A powerful elven mage did it in the fifth century as a favor to the dragon. Take a look at its back.”

I walked around—and grimaced. It was a grisly sight, even though everything was bone-dry and marble-white. Gigantic claws had torn long wounds into the dragon’s flesh and huge jaws had bitten out great chunks. The bone showed in many places and the spine was nearly severed.

“Wyverns,” Valandil said, and I winced. They were related to dragons, but smaller. They couldn’t talk and lacked the forelimbs of dragons, but they made up for it through sheer viciousness. This dragon had apparently run into a flight of them.

“The mage wasn’t skilled enough to heal it, so instead he turned the dragon to stone, preserving it against the day of its resurrection.”

“I’m assuming you’ve tried waking it up.”

“Of course I have. I’ve been trying for years! Transmutation at that level is a lost art, however. For all my experience, I could do nothing. Then again, maybe I’m not the man destiny has chosen.”

I crossed my arms. “I have to tell you, Master, I don’t feel particularly chosen. You don’t really think I can bring him back, do you?”

“Indulge me,” Valandil said, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Just make a serious attempt, and I will release you from all of your obligations as an apprentice.”

“All right, old man,” I said. “But only because you bribed me.”

I walked around to the dragon’s head and looked into its calcified eyes. Then I began the Working.

* * *

I remember the first time I saw Valandil build.

It was early on the construction site. It was cold, too, so I wore a coat. A crowd was waiting to see the master at work.

Valandil paced the site, inspecting the raw materials piled around the lot. The little family that had hired us was right beside me. The wife was smiling, the husband was beaming, and the little girl was hopping up and down. Everyone sipped hot chocolate and waited for the action.