The Dragondain Read online

  Einar gave Dubb a withering look.

  “And try not to be so put out, Einar,” added Wyrdin. “This is my doing.” Wyrdin’s long tail whipped around and disappeared from view.

  Dubb patted Annora and Bree’s shoulders and gave them a beaming smile. “See what you get for being overachievers?” he said.

  “But—” Annora began. “What do we—”

  “Just be polite.” And Dubb sped off to catch up with Einar.

  Horrified, Annora turned to face Bree, who was bouncing on her heels and beaming.

  “It’s a dragon, Bree,” said Annora. “You get that, right? A DRAGON.”

  “And he talks!” said Bree, clapping her hands quickly. “And he wants to talk—to us! How great is that?”

  Bree took Annora by the hand and began to tow her toward the barn. Annora did not pull her hand away from Bree, but leaned backwards and dragged her feet.

  “Come on,” Bree urged. “He’s getting away.” The closer they came to the barn, the harder Bree had to pull. Just outside the door, Annora came to a complete stop, but Bree kept making little steps, tugging and pulling. Suddenly, Bree let go, and Annora stumbled backward. Bree shot inside the barn.

  She did a little twirl and began laughing. Waving her hands excitedly, she asked, “Do you think he breathes fire?”

  Annora clapped a hand to her chest and, mouth agape, stared at her sister. Annora was just beginning to wonder if something important in Bree’s mind had finally snapped when Bree hopped farther into the barn and out of sight.

  “Hey,” echoed Bree’s voice, “if we ask him nicely, do you think he’ll breathe for us?”

  “Bree?” called Annora, a twinge of panic rising in her voice. “Bree! This is a barn! A wooden barn.” Annora hesitated, then tiptoed to the opening and peered inside. “Bree? . . . Bree!”

  Chapter Six

  Live by the Sword

  Once people discovered that a lunamancer, having gained sufficient distance from the newly blackened arena, could still draw a peerin, things quieted down. A chill air descended on the fields. Darkness fell. Torches left to mark the edges of the stain flickered feebly, offering very little in the way of light. All became quiet.

  The atmosphere at Cora and Quib’s house couldn’t have been more different. The rooms were warm, crowded with people young and old, and filled with the homey smells of stew and biscuits. After dinner, the wine and cider flowed.

  Dubb, Annora, and Bree were conspicuously absent.

  Threading his way from one room to the next, Jasper finally spotted the man he was looking for, sitting alone on a low footstool before one of the house’s many fireplaces. This room was half empty, but only because of all the personal space being afforded the man before the fire. If he minded, he didn’t show it.

  Tavin smiled at Jasper and motioned to the empty footstool next to him.

  “You’re certainly looking much better,” said Jasper.

  Tavin patted his stomach. “Cora’s meals can have that effect.”

  Jasper sat and for the next several minutes stared at the fire in silence.

  “So,” began Jasper, “your sword . . . it talks?”

  The happy creases in Tavin’s face faded. He turned, shifting uncomfortably on his stool, clutching his knee tenderly. His scarred brow furrowed, and his eyes, which had a talent for seeing much and missing little, settled on Jasper. Now it was Jasper who shifted uncomfortably. Meeting Tavin’s gaze and holding it was an oddly painful experience.

  Then, suddenly, Tavin’s face lightened, and he grinned, pinpoints of firelight dancing in his eyes.

  “It’s not so much the sword, Jasper, as it is the curse that comes with it.” Jasper nodded. “You see, ages ago, someone, for reasons I will never understand, decided that this blade”—Tavin patted the scabbard—“should carry with it a most evil and vile entity, and that anyone unfortunate enough to pick it up would be forever bound to it.”

  “You’re bound to it?” asked Jasper.

  “Yes, bound. I can’t leave it, and it doesn’t want to leave me. And I become—cross, shall we say?—when anyone attempts to take it from me.”

  “Cross?”

  “If the sword is removed even a short distance away, madness comes first,” he said, smiling frighteningly. “That we’ve tested.”

  “What comes next?”

  Tavin’s gaze drifted to the fire. “Racking pain, uncontrollable spasms . . . it happens very quickly. Once, desperate to be rid of the thing, I asked Raewyn to try and help me wean myself from it.”

  “How did that go?”

  “Poorly. They strapped me down to a table. I don’t remember anything after the fourth day. Raewyn tells me she thought she’d lost me. I wouldn’t revive, even after they strapped the thing back on. But in the end, I proved too stubborn to die.” Tavin smiled and took a long draw on his goblet of wine.

  “Can’t someone lift it?”

  Tavin pursed his lips. “Many have tried. I suppose it’s possible that the person who cursed it could, but he or she would be long dead now. Perhaps there is some quest I must fulfill. Alas, if ever such a quest existed, the knowledge of it has been lost to time—and Curse isn’t telling.”

  “How do you know the person who cursed it is dead?”

  Tavin’s smile was cruel. He reached down, unbuckling the scabbard with one hand and tossing it to Jasper with great force. Reacting quickly, Jasper caught it in both hands.

  “That thing you now hold has a long history of bringing to its bearer an early end: Narisa the Graceless, Werton the Defenseless, Nard the Hapless, Storri the Stumbler, Wari the Inept, and Marbay the Clumsy, to name a few. Good men and women by all accounts—that is, until the day they touched that grip.”

  Jasper inched his hand away from the grip.

  “Not to worry . . . it only wants me. Now give it back . . . so I won’t have to kill you.” And while his words were spoken in jest, the look in Tavin’s eyes was not remotely mirthful.

  “Tavin!” said Cora, setting down a plate of fresh biscuits. “There will be no bloodshed in this house.” She gave him a playful shove, and he smiled a devil’s grin.

  Tavin reattached the scabbard to his belt and stood with difficulty. He picked up his goblet with one hand, and the plate of biscuits with his other. “All right now,” he said in a loud voice. “Final lessons before the big day. I know Dubb would want you all to be practicing hard this night, and as he’s not here now, that task falls to me.”

  Falin appeared from seemingly nowhere and hastily grabbed two of the biscuits before dashing from the room. “Great!” he said, grinning ear to ear. “We’ve already cleared the courtyard.”

  In the courtyard, hanging paper lanterns illuminated the cool night, and the two iron braziers at either end glowed with hot coals. The courtyard was a dozen feet wide and twice as long. Narrow benches rimmed the walls, tucked under a small overhang just wide enough to offer shade, or protection from rain, to the rows of seats lining the walls. The rest of the courtyard was open to the night’s bright stars and enormous moons.

  Tavin limped to the center, sloshing the contents of his goblet with every step.

  “Let’s start with the youngest, shall we? Is Luna here?” said Tavin, looking about.

  A huge hulk of a man sitting between Falin and Grimm spoke. “She went with Dubb.”

  “Andros!” shouted Tavin. “I didn’t see you arrive. Sneaked in with the shadows, did you? Good. Very good. I’ll need you to spar with your boys tonight, if you’d be so kind. I’m afraid I’m not up to it right now.”

  Andros nodded and gazed proudly at Falin and Grimm. “I’ll do my best, but it’s getting so I’m learning things from them,” he said.

  “Excellent! So who is the next youngest?” said Tavin, scratching his o
ily scalp. “Teague? Or Andra?”

  “I am. By almost a year,” announced Teague, and he stepped into the cleared arena.

  “Good. Stand next to me. Now, the first thing they’ll test is your ability to identify marks.”

  “Marks?” whispered Jasper to Ridley.

  “Mistakes,” Ridley replied.

  Tavin grabbed two blunted longswords made of wood. “I’ll need two people to help me illustrate what to do and what not to do. Falin, could you come here for a moment? And . . . Jasper, you’ll do nicely.”

  Jasper’s pulse quickened. He knew quite a bit regarding quarterstaffs, and he was quick, but Ebb didn’t teach swordplay.

  “Me?” asked Jasper, looking to Ridley for support, but Ridley just smiled and gave him a push.

  “He won’t hurt you,” said Ridley, laughing.

  “Yes, this will only take a second, Jasper, you stand here.” Tavin handed Jasper a practice sword and wicker mask to protect his eyes. “Falin, you stand there. Face each other. Good.”

  Jasper glanced about for Darce but didn’t see her. Knowing she would not see whatever embarrassment was to come helped him relax . . . a little.

  Tavin gripped Teague’s shoulder tightly enough that Teague winced. “Are you watching?”

  “Yes,” he said, licking his lips and willing himself not to blink.

  “I will say ‘begin,’ and I will say ‘end’,” explained Tavin in a calm voice. “You will then tell me how many marks you can make. Ready?” Teague nodded.

  “Positions,” barked Tavin.

  Instantly, Falin struck a sword pose; Jasper stood still trying to remember what a sword pose was. Unsure, he turned his body sideways and pointed his lead foot to Falin, squatting slightly. But he couldn’t remember where his other hand was meant to be, nor how high to hold the blade, nor how much to bend the elbow.

  “Begin,” ordered Tavin.

  Afterward, Jasper remembered seeing Falin leap forward, but at the time, he wasn’t able to so much as blink. Falin used his sword to smash the hilt of Jasper’s with such force as to nearly tear it from his grip. But as fast as the first strike had been, Falin’s second was faster, coming just as Jasper attempted to readjust his grip. The second blow sent Jasper’s sword clattering to the floor, and without thinking, he bent to retrieve it. A hushed “ooohhh” from the audience met his ears, and when he looked up, he saw a look of pity on Falin’s face. Tavin had covered his eyes with an open hand, his face pained.

  “End!” shouted Tavin, still wincing. “Now, Teague . . . um . . . how many did you see?”

  Teague shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

  “Um,” he started, “there were a lot . . . weren’t there?”

  Tavin nodded, patting him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to catch that many tomorrow,” said Tavin quietly. “Just do your best, and be prepared to answer for every mark you claim.”

  “Okay.” Teague counted off on his fingers. First one hand and then the other. For Jasper the seconds ticked off like minutes.

  “Twelve,” announced Teague. “I can name twelve.”

  Twelve, thought Jasper, in three seconds?

  Tavin pursed his lips, tilted his head, and scratched his chin.

  “Andra?” called Tavin. “How many did you see?”

  “Sixteen!” reported Andra excitedly.

  “And Grimm?”

  “Twenty-four,” added Grimm.

  Twenty-four, thought Jasper, you’ve got to be kidding!

  “And Falin? What did you count?”

  Falin shot his brother a dark look. “Twenty-three,” he said disappointedly.

  Tavin smiled. “Very good, all of you. Let me go over the—”

  “Forty-seven,” said Darce, emerging from the doorway.

  “Forty-seven!” exclaimed Andra. “That’s impossible.”

  Tavin turned and beamed at Darce. “Forty-seven!” he said with a laugh.

  Darce frowned at Tavin, as though unsure exactly what he was laughing at.

  “I can list all of them,” protested Darce.

  Tavin raised his hands. “No. No. I assure you, that won’t be necessary . . . forty-seven,” he repeated, this time with awe.

  Darce, though, didn’t hear it as awe.

  “If you want,” she began, “I can list just the ones you didn’t see. Although it’s a rather long list.”

  Andros tittered.

  Tavin’s chin fell to his chest, and his hand fell over his heart. He laughed in mock pain.

  “No, Darce, that won’t be—” he looked up, suddenly curious. “A long list?”

  The room went silent. Andros leaned forward.

  “Very,” said Darce.

  Andros exploded with laughter, as did several of the other adults in the room.

  “If you want, I could give you a list of just the ones father would have missed,” offered Darce. “It’s shorter, but far longer than he would like.”

  Tavin waved his hands. “Mercy!” He was laughing quite hard now. “Oh! Oh, Darce, you’ve The Glaive in you. Of that I have no doubt.”

  Darce gave Tavin a suspicious look. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said.

  “Good! Because it’s a damn good one! Now, please, have a seat and wait your turn. Jasper, you have a seat, too. You’ve been a good sport, and I thank you.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell me what I did wrong?” asked Jasper.

  Tavin put on a tender face. “Well, that would take quite some time, but here’s the worst of it. Your stance is all wrong: your feet, your arms, your shoulders, your elbows, and your wrists. Your concentration is nonexistent; your eyes wander; you blink too long; and you must never, and I mean never, adjust your grip without first retreating. But the very worst of it was when, after you dropped your sword, you took your eyes off Falin’s.”

  Dropped? thought Jasper. Dropped? That stung.

  Jasper recalled the sound of the crowd as he’d stooped for the sword.

  He felt his cheeks flush. “What should I have done? I had to retrieve my sword, didn’t I?”

  “And have Falin run you through ten times over while you do so? I think not.”

  “Then what should I have done?” asked Jasper.

  Tavin looked at Jasper as though he couldn’t believe he was seriously being asked such an obvious question. “Why—you run like hell, son. As though demons be at your heels. Because by that time, it all comes down to who’s wearing the faster pair of boots.” Tavin motioned Jasper to his seat. Then his eyes softened a bit, and he laid a hand on Jasper’s shoulder. “Always listen to your third set of eyes—they are your best friends.”

  Jasper considered asking Tavin what three sets of eyes he was talking about but decided that he’d already had enough humiliation for one evening.

  He and Ridley watched the rest of Teague’s lesson and all of Andra’s, but once Grimm and Darce, both fourteen, took the floor, it didn’t take long for Jasper to realize that he knew next to nothing about swordplay.

  “Had enough?” asked Ridley.

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “Yes,” said Ridley, in a manner so frank and innocent that Jasper found he could take no offense.

  “Ah, well, what do you have in mind?”

  “It’s late. Tomorrow will be a big day. I say we get some sleep.”

  Ridley’s room was barren compared to Jasper’s back home. On the wall hung short shelves, just large enough to hold a few changes of ragged clothing and some knickknacks. Cora tossed a blanket to the floor of Ridley’s room, which was barely long enough for Ridley’s bed. Lying on the floor, even with his body angled, Jasper still had to bend his knees for Cora to close the door.

  “Ridley,” said Jasper into th
e darkness.

  “Yes.”

  “What did Tavin mean by my ‘third set of eyes’?”

  “Well, I’m no swordsman, much to my father’s chagrin—no, I shouldn’t say it like that. It’s not like I embarrass him. He just wants someone in the family to be something other than a lunamancer. And I’d like to please him, but . . . a sword just doesn’t feel right in my hand. I can’t get the hang of the thing. And magic seems so easy. But here is what I understand about the three sets of eyes. Your first set are the ones you use to focus on things. Your second are what you use to see around the edges, when you aren’t looking directly at something.”

  “You mean your peripheral vision?”

  “Yes, precisely. And the third—well, the third is a bit harder to explain. The third involves taking in what you see from the first two and coming up with an understanding of just what might be possible in the short term. Kind of knowing yourself and what you can do and also knowing what your opponent can do. You use your third set to plan your next attack or parry.”

  “How do you know what your opponent can do? What if you’ve never faced him?”

  “Well, that’s the trick. A good opponent will feint and taunt, hiding what he knows. He may even deliberately mess up a form, trying to make you think he has a vulnerability that he doesn’t. One that, when you attempt to take advantage, springs out like a trap. Swordplay is a very tricky business.”

  “I think I’ll stick to the quarterstaff. I understand how to move and hold my arms. At least I think I do, anyway.” Jasper wondered how much more he should risk asking Ridley. He didn’t want to seem like a complete idiot to any one person, but Ridley invoked a certain conspiratorial air, and he seemed to understand discretion. Maybe it was just the fact that he was so much younger. And with his two older sisters in hiding, and his younger sisters only three years old . . . who could he tell?

  “Ridley,” whispered Jasper. “about that black spot, the one that Annora made—what’s up with that?”