Realm of Dragons

Greave knew he couldn’t tell her that the love poems weren’t what he was searching for, that he still had a book to find, without explaining what, and why. Well, he could, but then it would look as though he had no interest in her, and that simply wasn’t the truth. Instead, he stood straight, took the book of Francesca di Vere’s poems, and took hold of Aurelle’s arm.

“I would like that too,” he said. After all, how long could this take? Whatever secret was hidden away in the library, it would still be there when they were done.

And he would find it, whatever it was.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nerra went to Physicker Jarran’s quarters and knocked, the strange scent of the place striking her as she did it. There was always a mix of rot and brightness about the place, the sharpness of the herbs he worked with mixed in with the decay of those bodies of criminals he kept for dissection.

“Enter, enter!” he called out in a jolly voice. For someone who worked with the dead and the dying so much, he always managed to sound more cheerful than he had a right to.

Nerra pushed open the door and stepped inside, trying to leave it as long as possible before taking another breath there. The quarters were large, on the bottom level of the castle, with window slits above whose light was patterned by fragments of stained glass. Most of the light came from candles kept in jars, carefully just far enough away from whatever the physicker was working on in that moment that they wouldn’t set light to it.

The room had probably once been a crypt or a chapel, with slabs that now held bodies in various states of dissection, and one whole end of the room given over to living quarters, a layer of rugs and carpets marking it out as different from the rest. There was a desk there, a large board filled with chalked observations, a bed, and a table with chairs around it.

Physicker Jarran was a large man whose frame was barely contained by the robes of the House of Knowledge. Currently, he wore an apron over them, and was working on cutting up the arm of a body on one of the nearer slabs. Nerra tried not to stare in horror at that sight, even though she’d been down here plenty of times before for lessons.

“Why are you cutting up someone’s arm?” Nerra asked, and she was sure some of her disgust at it leaked through.

“The House of Knowledge says that no knowledge is ever wasted,” Physicker Jarran said. “In this case, by better understanding the workings of the arm, I might be able to do more to help those who have injured theirs. It is a study that would help you greatly, if you truly wish to heal others.”

Most of the herb lore Nerra knew, she’d learned from the physicker. To her parents, it had just been her taking an interest in her treatment, yet the physicker had quickly seen her interest and taught her far more, to the point where Nerra could recognize almost any plant in the forest and its properties. Even so…

“No, thank you,” she said. Some things just weren’t for her.

“I wasn’t expecting you here for a lesson today,” Physicker Jarran said.

All of Nerra’s brothers and sisters had taken lessons from the physicker, since as a graduate of the House of Knowledge, he could teach reading, writing, history, and philosophy as easily as any scholar of the House of Knowledge. Nerra’s lessons had featured increasing amounts of herb lore once he had seen she was interested in it, along with knowledge of other places she knew she would never live long enough to see. The physicker was also one of the few people who knew the truth of her condition, since he’d been the one trying to at least slow it for years now.

“I don’t have a lesson today,” Nerra said. Suddenly she was nervous, finding herself wondering if she should be there at all. “I… guess I’m supposed to be at all the feasting.”

“With so much feasting, who could attend it all? Even me?” Physicker Jarran countered, with a pat of his stomach. “Why are you here, though, Nerra? It’s not to join in my research.”

“I…” Nerra wasn’t sure whether to just come out and tell him what she’d found or not. She thought back to her worries in the forest: that someone would take the dragon’s egg and destroy it, or dissect the dragon within. She knew she couldn’t take that much of a chance, but she still needed to know more than she did.

“What do you know about dragons?” Nerra asked.

“Dragons?” Physicker Jarran asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’d have thought that was more Master Grey’s field than mine.”

“You know he won’t answer,” Nerra said. Master Grey rarely said anything about dragons, even though the rumors said that he’d seen them, fought them…

Physicker Jarran took off his apron and came over to the living area, sitting down in one of the chairs at the table. It creaked under his bulk.

“I may know some things about them, certainly. I have read of them, in the House of Knowledge.”

“What can you tell me about them?” Nerra asked. “And about their eggs?”

“Their eggs?” Physicker Jarran said.

“How would I know for sure if one were real, for example?” Nerra asked.

“That is easy,” the physicker said. “It wouldn’t be. Preserved dragon eggs are so rare these days…” He spread his hands apart. “A real one would be about this big, if I recall the books correctly. It would have veins of red or gold or green running through it. The shell color would reflect the color of the creature within, and… well, the sources say that the egg would be warm of all things.”

Nerra’s breath caught. Every detail fit with that of the egg she’d found.

“This is a curiously specific thing to ask about, Nerra,” Physicker Jarran said. “Has someone offered you a cast of a shell? I know that there is a market for such things, and people think they know what to look for. They see a large egg and assume it must be a dragon’s.”

“Well, I wanted to know more about dragons generally,” Nerra said. The more she could find out, the better. “Where do they come from? How do they grow? What do they eat?”

“Generally, anything they want,” Physicker Jarran said, and it took Nerra a moment to realize that it was his idea of a joke. “According to the books, dragons are creatures of power. In both the magical and every other sense. Their very beings are conduits for power, letting them soar, and shape that energy into fire or lightning or mist or shadow. They are long lived, each living a thousand years if they do not die in combat, starting to wane only in the years after the dragon moon. They are said to roost among volcanoes and places of fire, the heat of them warming their eggs when they lay them, just before they die.”

“They lay their eggs immediately before they die?” Nerra said.

“There is a kind of sense to it,” the physicker explained. “With creatures so long lived, if they birthed their young earlier, they would soon overrun the world. They would be raising their own competitors. Look at people.”

“I don’t understand,” Nerra said.

“Don’t you? You have seen how families can be complicated. How many times in human history have sons and daughters risen up against their parents, or brothers and sisters gone to war? It is a story as old as time.”

Physicker Jarran’s expression turned serious. “You’re asking about dragons. Where do they live? If there are any left out there, they live beyond the realms of men, in the fire places. They are powerful, powerful enough that the kingdoms were separated in the war against those who ruled using them. But they are also not a subject you should waste your time on, Nerra.”

“Why not?” Nerra countered.

“Because we both know how little time you have. How bad is your sickness now? Are the herbs I recommended slowing it?”

The suddenness of the question caught Nerra by surprise. So did the sharpness of it. “I…”

“Show me your arms,” he insisted.

Nerra rolled up her sleeves, letting him see the scale sickness there. Pulling on gloves, he poked at the flesh, apparently watching the way the dark lines there distorted at the touch.

“In spite of our efforts, the sickness has progressed,” he said. “I am sorry, but at this rate of progression, you will either die or be transformed in a matter of weeks.”

“Transformed?” Nerra said. She’d heard of the things the scale sickness could do, but she hadn’t believed them to be real until now.

Physicker Jarran went back to his chair. “You have heard the stories.”

Nerra nodded, buttoning her sleeves once more. “What’s the truth, though? I thought that it was all made up, that it was just that people had seen the scale pattern and thought it meant something.”

“You thought that people did what they always do, and surrounded the truth with so many stories and half-truths that it became obscured?”

“Yes,” Nerra admitted. “I thought… when they sent people away, I thought they just died. I thought that all the fear was because of the way it could spread.”

“You thought, or you hoped?”

“I… hoped,” Nerra admitted.

Physicker Jarran shook his head. “The scale sickness is a transformation. People die when their bodies are not strong enough to complete it. The results… you have heard of the horrific beasts of legend, the things that populate Sarras.”