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THE PROTECTOR SHALL come before, to prepare the way for his Charge. His symbol is the Shield, and he shall know his calling by it.
—excerpt from Testament of the Augur
* * *
ONIN HAD SCHEDULED the necessary time to return by way of Dragonport. He preferred it to the harrowing experience of climbing up the dragon harness. Dragonport had enough altitude that the dragons could hover in place for extended periods. This allowed passengers to embark in a less arduous way. There were about twenty or so seats available on the dragon’s back, and despite the significant cost, the seats were usually full on each voyage to or from the Heights. Not many souls could manage the task of negotiating the harness, but the Guard took pride in it. Onin regarded it as an unnecessary risk; several Guards met their end by falling from the harness each year. He had survived too much to risk his skin on pride.
So Onin waited the extra days for a seat on the tierre. Dragonport provided an ample number of cozy and warm inns catering to the travelers. He spent his time with his feet at the fire, sipping ale and remembering Zorot. He toasted each memory silently, raising his tankard to the fire before drinking.
Onin knew he made the right decision when he climbed aboard the dragon’s tierre by way of a narrow wooden gangplank with ropes on either side to serve as handrails. Many of the passengers were natives of the Heights and balked at the thin strip of wood they were expected to cross. Onin just smiled in relief and walked calmly across the plank. Knowing the alternative made it easy for him.
The dragon riders waiting in the tierre nodded approvingly at his boldness. Onin guessed pleading and cajoling nervous people to board got tiresome after a while. He thought it ironic so many, wealthy and otherwise, wanted the distinction of flying adragonback but would balk at the danger when the time came to do it. There was no alternative route to return to the Heights, so it was the gangplank or live in the Midlands forever. Onin imagined most would choose to board by way of the harness than stay in the Midlands.
Once the passengers were on board and tied to the hard wooden benches with rough hemp ropes, the gangplank retracted and the dragon riders returned to their respective stations. Two clambered out of the tierre and out of sight. Onin guessed they must be checking the harness that kept the tierre in place. The flight commander, the highest-ranking dragon rider on the flight, surveyed her crew and passengers and, apparently satisfied with the preparations, pulled the horn from her waist.
"Clear!" she cried. She raised the horn to her lips and waited for the response from the dock.
"Clear!" came the reply from the dock master.
The flight commander blew a strong, hollow note from the horn. The dragon lifted its enormous head and hooted in response. The massive wings tilted slightly, and the great beast veered away from the mountain peak faster than Onin would have thought possible. Others were shocked by it; he could tell by the gasps and barely contained yells from the other passengers. The dragon banked steeply to the right, providing all of the occupants of the tierre with a direct view of the ground below. Already the forested mountainside was far beneath them. Onin felt a thrill at the view.
The verdant dragon turned its heading toward the Heights and leveled off, much to the relief of the majority of the passengers. One old woman, from a Great Family judging by her dress, voiced her displeasure to the flight commander in no uncertain terms. The senior dragon rider took it in stride, but Onin detected a hint of a smile. Sensing his gaze, she looked to the left and locked eyes with him. Each could only grin wider, and this sparked a fresh tirade from the aged woman.
Onin could not tear his gaze away from the woman piloting the dragon. While not especially beautiful, she looked at Onin in a way that excited him. Her eyes sparkled at him, and he felt drawn to her. He considered talking to her but had no idea what he would say. He also thought of Yolan and his recent promise to himself. If he sincerely wanted to improve his marriage, then he shouldn’t consider talking to this woman. He had seen enough to know it always turned out messy in the end, no matter how innocently it may have begun.
Onin pulled his gaze away from the flight commander and settled in to stare at the landscape as it drifted by far below them. Once again, the majesty of flight took hold of him, and the worries and cares of his life seemed to drop away, falling from the back of the dragon. He could see the grand mountain of the Heights far in the distance.
The wind blew cold and strong due to the altitude, and the dragon riders dispensed blankets to the passengers. Onin took comfort in the briskness of it and leaned back in his bench contentedly. It wasn’t long before Onin fell asleep, his head nodding forward onto his chest, even as the wind whipped his hair over his shoulders.
The dream came upon him like a great wave, terrible in its intensity. The sky turned blood red, and the dragons plummeted. His view came upon the egg with the familiar shield-shaped symbol. The urgency of the dream made his heart race. The dream incorporated the old woman of the underbelly who had nursed him back to health. She talked in the same manner as always, never addressing him directly, but he felt everything she said was intended for his ears.
"His heart aches but his pain has only begun. No one can carry the burden for him. It is his to bear alone."
The sky was filled with dragons, graceful, scaled shapes darting across the winds. Dragon fighting dragon, such a terrible battle. Blood fell like raindrops to drench the earth below. The lone nest. The solitary egg. The shield marking. The mismatched eyes.
The egg’s shell cracked.
Onin woke with a start. He glanced around but none of the other passengers seemed to notice his discomfort. Most were asleep or gazing idly over the terrain. His mind in turmoil, he grasped for some way to make sense of the strange dreams. Now the images had progressed. For the first time, the egg in his dream had cracked. What could it mean?
Onin pulled the blanket around his shoulders, feeling chilled. He passed the rest of his flight in quiet contemplation. For no reason he could discern, he was very anxious to get home.
* * *
"THIS IS NONSENSE," said Commander Torreg. "How can the Guard function without proper equipment?"
"The Guard is properly equipped, Commander," said Sensi with a cool tone. Already Sensi could see frustration on the man’s face.
Sensi rarely had the opportunity to enjoy the good weather in the palace gardens. He had sought out Torreg at the palace to deal with the requisition and located him in the gardens, drilling the palace guards. The drills were conducted by a scar-faced man new to the palace detail, a subordinate of Torreg’s from his time in the Midlands, according to rumor. Sensi indicated the training men with a wave of his hand.
"I see arms and armor on every man present," said Sensi. "I would call that properly equipped."
The air split with the clatter of armor as one of the Guards struck the ground. Sensi thought the sound not unlike an armful of pots and pans dropped down a flight of stone steps. One of the trainers barked out a rebuke and hoisted the fallen man to his feet. The now-risen Guardsman looked shaky on his feet, but the trainer was relentless, shoving him back into the fray.
Torreg motioned to the nearest Guardsman, who dutifully approached him and stood at attention. Torreg grabbed the sword from the Guard’s hand. He held it in a steady grip and extended the blade for Sensi to examine. It was brightly polished and clean. The blade was acid-etched with intricate patterns, and the hilt covered with a gold veneer. An emerald was set in the pommel.
"It is fine looking," said Sensi. "Exactly as it should be."
"It’s garbage," said Torreg. "Pretty to look at but rubbish in a fight. The balance is completely wrong. The blade is finely decorated, but the steel is substandard and prone to breaking. The additional weight of the gold on the hilt makes the entire weapon slow and cumbersome, not quick and accurate. In short, it’s a showpiece, nothing more. No warrior would trust his life to one of these in battle."
"Anticipating a battle at the palace?" asked Sensi. His lips curled into a snide grin. His statement had exactly the effect he had hoped; Torreg reddened visibly.
"Perhaps," said the commander stiffly. Another loud clatter punctuated by a yelp of pain came from the garden. Sensi glanced over to see another Guard lying inside one of the many flowering shrubs that decorated the garden.
"So you would deplete the stores of the king for a battle which may never come?" asked Sensi. "Sounds unwise."
"No," said Torreg. "By law, the king’s storehouse is to be held in reserve for emergencies. What I seek is to properly arm and train the men dedicated to his safety."
"Again, the men I see here seem properly equipped," began Sensi.
"Again, these blades are worthless in a real fight," countered Torreg. "But I wouldn’t expect you to understand." The commander gave him a smug smile, certain he had the advantage.
"The cost associated with your request is beyond reason," said Sensi without batting an eye. "The amount of iron needed would drain funds from other things equally important to the king’s welfare." Sensi fixed him with a sly look before continuing. "But I wouldn’t expect you to understand."
The rebuttal hit home. Sensi watched the anger and resentment flash across Torreg’s face in an instant. Sensi, however, maintained his composure.
"I can fill your requisition, in part," said Sensi. "But the full order will need to wait until the price is acceptable. Until then, you will use the arms at your disposal."
Torreg looked ready to scream. Secretly Sensi was quite pleased with himself. So many years had been spent being overlooked in favor of the fighting men. Now that he had authority over the treasury, he took great pleasure in pulling the purse strings of men who had constantly condescended to him. It was a trivial thing, really, but he enjoyed it so much.
Torreg composed himself with difficulty and continued with his objections. "The palace detail would be hard pressed to defend against an organized attack with only these at their disposal. What good will it do to equip a third of them?"
"It will keep the financial underpinnings of the kingdom moving instead of wasting capital to prepare for an attack that is not going to happen," said Sensi. "You have failed to convince me this is a vital purchase."
"I’ll bring charges against you," said Torreg. His eyes narrowed threateningly. "I’ll have you tossed out on your ear for denying the Guard."
Sensi returned his venomous look, but his tone remained calm. "Go ahead. I am interested to see who the lord chancellor thinks is in the right."
Sensi rose to his feet abruptly and gave Commander Torreg a perfunctory bow before withdrawing. As he walked past the drilling guards, one of their number was struck a ringing blow and collapsed in a heap before him. Sensi paused momentarily then nonchalantly stepped over the fallen man and into the palace with Torreg staring daggers at his back.
* * *
UPON RETURNING TO THE Heights, Onin went to the Manespike hatchery straight away. He did not understand the sense of urgency that gripped him, but since the disturbing dream, Onin had been unable to think of anything else but the clutch of eggs he knew waited there.
The atmosphere at the hatchery was quiet, even somber. There was none of the energetic bustle common when a clutch was being incubated. The lack of excitement worried Onin, and he sought out the master incubator for an update.
His fears were confirmed by the pile of broken shells near the incubation rack. It had been a generous clutch of eggs, more than twenty, but less than half remained. Broken shells had been meticulously gathered into large urns, and the slimy yolks had been gathered as well. As Onin entered the chamber, he witnessed one of the great eggs being cracked open with a small hammer. The viscous fluid flowed out, to be gathered into a bowl. The contents of the bowl were distributed to an array of glass bottles, which were then sealed tightly.
"What is going on here?" Onin exclaimed, his shock palpable. The workers in the room stopped in the middle of their activities to look at him uncertainly. The master incubator approached him, extending his hands in supplication.
"We do as ordered by our mistress," he said. His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed his anxiety. "She ordered the entire clutch destroyed and the materials salvaged."
"Destroyed? Preposterous!" exclaimed Onin in disbelief. "Those were healthy eggs. The colors were right. The shells were healthy and solid. Why did this happen?"
"The colors turned while you were away, my lord," said the master incubator. The man’s expression softened through his anxiety. "If I may, please accept my condolences on your father’s illness—"
Onin interrupted him with a wave of the hand. He was normally gracious with the incubator, but he was not inclined toward niceties at the moment. He inspected the remaining eggs for the signs he had learned about. The coloring was indeed dark, but the shells were still strong and supple, not brittle as expected.
"These shells are not ruined," he said. He tapped one with his knuckle, the sound it made reassuringly solid. "Why destroy them already?"
"The mistress has ordered it," repeated the master incubator in a pained voice. "I informed her that the colors had gone dark but the shells were solid. She made the decision to cut our losses early." Onin watched him as he explained and thought he saw recrimination in the man’s eyes while explaining Yolan’s uncompromising orders.
Onin considered the remaining eggs, turning them about to inspect the shells. It was then he spied a dark splotch on one shell, and the sight of it made his heart skip a beat.
There it was before him, come to life directly from his dreams, the shield-shaped marking plain to his eye. Onin’s blood froze as he ran his fingers over the outline of the marking. He cradled it in his hands like a precious jewel.
"This one," said Onin. He turned to look at the master incubator. "You shall leave this one intact. I claim it for myself."
"The mistress gave specific instructions that they should all be destroyed," said the master incubator. He would have continued, but Onin cut him short.
"I will deal with my wife," said Onin. He set his jaw grimly. "But this egg now belongs to me. Move it back to the incubator."