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| wChapter 10: The Light in the Cave: Sunday, November 27, 2005 | |
Chapter 10 Madrul’s eyes at first had wanted to rivet themselves to the ground before he could give away in a glance all of his guilt to the dragon, but the woman’s gesture distracted him, for as she turned he focused instead on her. And once he had done so he could hardly draw his eyes away--she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The woman’s toga clung to her body in ways that he had not known a toga could cling, but he didn’t concentrate on that. Her face, however, was what drew his attention—her cheekbones were high, and the characteristically slightly larger nose of the islanders that made him look so awkward only served to draw attention to her eyes, which were a deep shade of black that seemed to fill his existence. They were also widened as if in amazement. “Mother?” gasped Iakena. Madrul pivoted, startled, to goggle briefly at his companion, but she was already gone, running down the hill with her arms out, and the woman took two or three strides to meet her and catch her up in a great hug. Madrul gulped a few times and then started down the hill towards the group. “You certainly took your time,” said Drademar to Madrul. “Yes, sir, but it’s not sunset yet.” Drademar smiled. “Did you get everything you need?” “I think so, sir,” Madrul realized that the strap of the now heavy bag was digging into his shoulder and he swung it off of himself and let it drop to the ground. Drademar followed it down with his eyes and let his gaze rest on Madrul’s feet. “How do you like your new boots?” he said. Madrul bit his tongue for an instant to keep from ranting all whinily about them again and then only let himself go when he felt he could say something decent. “I can imagine that they will be most useful, sir,” he said. The dragon laughed, a snort of laughter through his grinning teeth, a laugh that shot smoke from his nostrils briefly; the smoke poured into the air and was torn away by a sudden gust of wind. “Astute, apprentice,” he said with another smile. “Drademar,” said the woman--Madrul knew it was her, though he had never heard her speak before. Only someone that beautiful could have such a soothing voice, all low and sweet honey like tones that seemed to fill his ears with pleasant flavors and colors. Drademar turned his head back to the woman and Madrul properly turned to face her as well. Iakena stood next to her mother, staring at the ground slightly; she glanced up once at Madrul and her eyes were round. They narrowed slightly when her mother said, “I would like you to meet my daughter, Iakena. Iakena, this is... an old friend of mine.” Madrul realized then that he had never heard anyone address his master by his first name alone, and he wondered about how old of friends the two must be. Iakena stepped forward and curtseyed carefully. “Sir,” she said quietly. “A pleasure to meet the gracious daughter of such a kind woman,” said Drademar. “A pleasure to meet the dear friend of my mother,” said Iakena, and stepped backwards. “I see that you have already have met my apprentice,” said the dragon. Madrul swallowed and then realized he was probably supposed to step forward. He did so, at the same time pondering how interesting it was to hear that term, apprentice. “But Rythcaren, you have not. His name is Madrul.” The woman stepped forward and curtseyed politely, with an infinite amount of grace that almost but not quite disturbed him. Then he uncomfortably realized he was supposed to bow, and he did so, though awkwardly. “A pleasure to meet the proficient student of my kind friend,” she said, her tone lilting. “A pleasure to meet the dear friend of my master,” he said, the phrase fitting all smooth and ritual-ly into his mouth. He had not been formally introduced to anyone for a very long time and then only once or twice before, when he was quite young. He remembered that he had been horribly nervous then and had not remembered what he was supposed to say; the feeling now was interesting, but it did not strike fear in him as it had then. She smiled at him and in that moment unthinking he could only blink at her radiance and bask in her grace, before he realized he was supposed to step back, and hastily did so. “Well, Drademar,” said Rythcaren. “I am afraid that I am keeping you overlong.” “It is nothing of the sort,” said Drademar. “I would stay all night if I were needed.” “I thank you for your kind offer.” She smiled again, this time the full effect of her gaze falling on Drademar, who received it unwavering and unblinking. “But I do not wish to monopolize your time.” “A pleasure to see you again,” he said. “Always. I do await your next visit.” She stepped back, signaling the end of the conversation. Madrul did not have time to wonder about the situation’s formality as Drademar told him to climb up--he scaled the dragon’s side and then wondered belatedly if his boots might hurt the soft hide, but despite an extra shower of scales or two, the dragon seemed unaffected. The boy caught Iakena’s eyes one last time before Drademar kicked off from the ground, and she no longer seemed quite so shocked about him. It must have been some surprise for her to first see her mother speaking with the dragon and then learn that Madrul was his apprentice, but he did not have the opportunity to speak to her. He wondered if they came here the next time if he would be able to find her house again. He hoped so. He did not want this to be the last time they would meet. The dragon’s wings pumped hard, the muscles bulging and stretching beneath him as Drademar sought a draft on which to rise, laden with boy and bundle. By the time they swept away from the city the sun had begun to set. “How did you meet Rythcaren’s daughter?” Drademar asked as he flapped and gained altitude, soaring over the darkening landscape. “I got lost, Master Drademar,” he said, and because he was not really paying attention he told the dragon everything. “I went to the smith’s guild to ask after a shop, but I got told I would not be sold to without a contract.” Drademar snorted, the motion of his wings drawing the smoke back over his head so that it passed close to Madrul without actually touching him. “You have a contract. Or did you forget?” “I know that we have a contract, sir, but they wanted it in writing. They would not take me at my word.” Drademar was silent for a moment. “I am sorry to hear that. I should have asked Rythcaren if she knew a contractor in the city but I did not think of that.” “It was all right, Master,” he said. “When I left the guild somewhat despairingly, that was when I encountered Iakena. She offered to show me where a smith tools shop was located, and I followed her. The shopkeeper was reluctant to sell to me without a written contract but agreed to if...” “If?” Drademar twisted his neck so that his head was staring around at Madrul. “If what?” “If the name of my master was in his book of guild approved masters. Apparently there is some sort of guild discounted price for those apprentices who have contracted with masters, but I do not see why they would not sell to the average person off the street. I mean, if you want smith’s tools, one would assume that you are going to do something with them.” Drademar twisted back to his normal position and swept down low towards the land so that his belly skimmed the tree tops of the larger forest. “It has to do with competition,” he said at last. “The guild does not want freelance blacksmiths coming along and lowering prices for the average nail, you understand. So they do their best to keep freelancers out of town or out of business. One way to do that is by denying them repairs or supplies they might need, or charging exorbitant prices for such supplies.” “What does exorbitant mean, Master?” Madrul had learned almost as soon as he had arrived at the cave that he would never learn the meaning of the words the dragon used if he did not ask promptly. “An exorbitant price is one that is... how would one put it? A price that no decent item should cost. For example... paying five gold for a single hammer, or thirty dreeleng for a horse.” “Ah,” said Madrul. “So if the guild charges that price for masters who are not part of the guild they either prevent the smith from buying or take so much from him that they hardly need to worry about his still being in business.” “Yes,” said Drademar. “Now, finish your telling.” “There is not much else to say, sir. I gave the smith your name and he sold to me. Though I admit, sir, that his reaction to your having an apprentice was surprisingly shocked.” Drademar snorted and then roared in laughter. “Yes, yes,” he said through a cloud of smoke. “They buy my swords faster than I can make them but they don’t want to recognize me as a smith. I had a hard enough time getting my name on that list of guilds masters, though I am indeed a member of the guild.” “Why would they seek to deny you, sir?” “I do not know, Madrul.” He swooped upwards into the darkened sky so they could approach the stars and the cave at a more level height. “I do not—“ He stopped, not only in speech but also in direction, swooping hard to the left so deeply that Madrul had to grab at the bag with an outcry to keep it from sliding off the broad, scaly back. The dragon continued to circle, his eyes shining slightly in the starlight, staring at the mountain. “Master?” queried Madrul at length. “What is the matter?” “There is a light in the cave, and I did not leave the torch burning,” said the dragon. Madrul turned surprised eyes to the cave entrance and saw that the dragon’s words were true. “But... who would be in the cave?” he said quickly. “Perhaps random travelers,” said Drademar. “Looking for a place to pass the night. Decided to stop there, finding it livable but apparently uninhabited...” “They decided to climb halfway up the mountain just to sleep in a cave they could hardly have seen in the first place, sir?” Madrul’s voice bore incredulity and he forced it down; he did not want his tone to be taken for disrespect. “No offense meant, sir, but also the cave looks as if someone were living in it, not as if it were old and abandoned. I make sure the dust doesn’t accumulate too much, sir, I do, I—“ “Enough, boy,” the dragon growled. “I do not blame you, nor do your words offend. You are, as ever, astute. Then whoever they are, they are looking for me.” The tone of his voice had dropped low, and as he spoke a rumbling growl arose in his throat, a sound Madrul had never heard in his master before. It frightened him; he remembered that night, so long ago it seemed like, when he had lain by the tree in the meadows by Lohien and had watched the dragon slaughter and devour the goats, one by one in the darkness, with the dark blood coating his claws and muzzle. He shivered suddenly and tightened his grip almost involuntarily on the spike to which he clung. The dragon swept as silently as possible towards a spot about halfway down the path that led up the mountain, and per his quiet instructions Madrul dismounted. “I do not want you to get hurt,” he said. “Excuse me, Master,” said Madrul, scuffing the toe of the horrible boots at the dirty path. “But if whoever is in there is looking for you, why do you propose to go to them? Let me go to the cave. I will take the goods on my back and act as if I have just returned. And you could wait, down by the stream; I would go as if to fill the buckets and tell you who it is.” “And what would you do if that person attacked you?” “What person would come to the cave with an outwardly malevolent intent?” Madrul shrugged. “I do not know, Master, but then... perhaps you could wait close by outside if I need your help.” The dragon shuffled uneasily from foot to foot. “I would not have you hurt, Madrul,” he said, and then he sighed deeply. “You do not even know how to use it yet,” he said petulantly, and then he spoke a phrase, quick and guttural magic that traced hot runes in the air and made starlight glisten from nowhere momentarily. The glow solidified slowly, and something fell from the white afterspots it left in the air. Unconsciously Madrul reached out and caught the object with his one free hand. It was a short sword, of similar make to that of his father’s own blade. The hilt was inlaid with a line of silver that wound its way up to the tip, and etched with magic sigils. He put down the strap of the bag and took the opportunity to draw it slightly. The half inch of blade that showed glimmered in the light of the moon, and he could see something etched along it. “I did not want to give it to you yet,” Drademar said. “I will fly in from above and... make my way down the mountainside by foot so that my wings do not announce my presence. I will wait just above the entrance of the cave. If you have any need for me, yell, and I will come.” Madrul pushed the sword back into the sheath. “Thank you, Master,” he said, a little breathlessly. This sword was better a hundred times over than that of his father, and he did not know quite what to say about it. To praise the dragon’s work seemed pointless; but the blade was truly excellent. He swallowed hard against his dry throat, and then nodded. The dragon took off by pushing himself over the ledge of the path and swooping down over the fields and the stream beyond before curving back up into the sky. Madrul watched him disappear around the side of the volcano and swallowed again, feeling suddenly alone. He gripped the sheath in both hands for a moment and then tucked it into his belt so that it was hidden beneath the folds of his toga. Then he hefted the bag onto his shoulder and started the climb up the hill. As always it was a relatively long trek, and in the time it took to make it he tried to think of what he would do when he got to the cave. The trick to it, he told himself silently, was to act surprised. And natural. To not give away the dragon’s position. Yet again and again his mind kept wandering as he tried to imagine who on earth would be looking for the dragon, and would be either bold enough or unwise enough to take up residence in the cave when Drademar was not there. He reached the point where the path widened out into the talon-scarred ledge and the cave mouth opened onto the path. The light of the fire inside flickered and bobbed against the stone. It suddenly looked almost cold and alone. He hesitated, then took a deep breath to steel himself and turned the corner into the cave. Three figures held two torches. He blinked against the sudden light, trying to clear his eyes, until at last he could see them. When at last he did, his heart wobbled a little. It was a family, as far as he could tell--a man, and a woman who did not bear much resemblance to him, and a young boy perhaps a year older than Madrul himself was whose features were such a mixture of the other two’s that there was no doubt that he was their child. Where anything had seemed to go wrong on their faces, however, it went right on his. He had his mother’s oval eyes trimmed with dark lashes, but not her wide nose. His lips were the strong full lips of his father, but his hair was not the same wiry thinness as the older man’s. They were dressed fancifully--in the richly embroidered togas of the merchants in the cities, slightly stained by what appeared to be a long enough journey--or perhaps they had only climbed the hill. Madrul couldn’t be sure; either event was likely to make the walker very dirty. The man wore a pair of golden rings on one hand, and a long sword on his belt outside of his toga. He had a thick dark beard that was neatly trimmed. The woman wore the silver bracelets that Pedrac had always been so fond of--though far more of them than his family would have ever been able to afford. The three of them stared at him as he stared at them and after a moment he became uncomfortably aware of his horrid boots, the rips in his toga, the cloth now long stained with dust and dirt. He also became aware that the strap on his shoulder almost seemed to burn his skin--he grunted slightly and moved forward into the cave. They did not say anything to him, though the youth followed him with his eyes and the woman turned towards her husband and murmured something. He strode to the corner where his goods lay and dropped the satchel next to his neatly rolled up bed mat. He unrolled the mat with a foot and seated himself cross-legged on the surface to sort through the goods he had acquired that day. The food went on the rock shelf in proximity to his bed, where the remnants of the last trip still lingered. He put the fresher food behind so that he would remember to eat the older stuff first. Then he pulled out the leather smock and folded it neatly beside his bed mat. He laid the two pairs of gloves on top and then took out the oil-cloth wrapped hammers and tools. At last he removed his sandals from the bag. With trembling hands he undid the straps that held the boots to his ankles and pulled off the offending objects with a stifled groan. His heels were raw and red; one toe verged on bleeding, and the rest were squashed. He had also successfully acquired an amazing number of blisters. He bit his lip and stood the boots next to the other leather items, then stretched his poor feet. At last he strapped on his sandals. Wherever they touched he felt like weeping but his feet did seem to breathe easier after the stretch and without all that confining leather. Lastly he folded up the bag and tucked it next to his clothing. Then he stood and went to the water barrel to check its level. It was lowered, and Madrul scowled. He knew a puddle would evaporate in the sun after the rain fell and he wondered briefly if all water did the same, regardless of the sunlight it received. He pondered the feasibility of making a lid. It would have to be made of some sort of material that was not too heavy. That left out stone. A thin layer of metal, perhaps, but that would be expensive, and a waste. It should properly be made of wood anyway, since the barrel was made of wood. He measured the width of the barrel compared to his armspan and found it large enough and also circular. Then he realized that the three of them were watching him. He fought down the crimson that raced to make his ears red and reached for the buckets. Why didn’t they sit down? There was plenty of room in the cave. They looked horribly uncomfortable standing. But it was hardly his place to tell them or even invite them to sit in Drademar’s cave. He took the one bucket down from the wall and checked his own water supply—it would last for another day or two. Then he turned and left the cave. He did not look up when he left but he knew that Drademar, perched above the cave, was watching him. He made it about a quarter of the way down the slope towards the stream before he was sure the people were no longer watching him and he turned. Drademar was a dark, winged form, like a giant right side up bat clinging to the face of the mountain, his wings folded around him. Madrul squinted at him and the dragon’s eyes glimmered, sudden and round with a strange brightness, from the vicinity of his face. The darkened form of the dragon blended itself with the ebony that was the unlit face of the volcano and faded away. Madrul watched the spot where he had been for a long moment until he realized that he really would need water; he turned and started back down the path.
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