Dragonborn Read online

  DRAGONBORN

  Toby Forward

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Book One WIZARD WORK

  Flaxfield died on a Friday,

  The willows were not quite at the bank

  Starback

  “That boy is a fraud,”

  Wizards have ways

  Sam looked around for Starback,

  A weaver’s cottage

  Sam’s blue eyes

  Sam felt Starback’s absence like

  Starback wheeled away in the air

  That night, Sam dreamed

  Book Two WIZARDS EVERYWHERE

  It was a moment

  Just to be in the air was enough

  Tim Masrani walked on one side of Sam

  Dragons have a skill

  No one seemed very interested

  Sam unpacked his bag

  Tamrin remembered

  There was nowhere else for her

  Tamrin caught up

  The sky was a shoal of kites

  Tim found Sam

  Tamrin hated being

  Some of the older village folk

  Sam’s hand was moist

  The light had gone

  That night,

  Smedge didn’t like

  Sam decided

  Book Three WIZARD WAR

  He did not know

  The first after Bearrock

  Starback missed Sam

  The roffles stood at the four corners

  From her high window,

  Sam had never taken someone through

  Leaving the castle

  The tapping confused Sam

  The sudden, sharp stink

  Frastfil was in the middle of a question

  The ghost of the flames

  Ash smiled

  The night is never as quiet

  Ash lifted her head and turned

  Miners left early for work,

  Saliva ran from the corners

  Book Four DRAGONBORN

  Sam arrived at the inn on a Friday—

  The dragon woke

  Sam set the places

  The other books were open

  Ash didn’t like the spring. She liked

  When Flaxfold went to wake Sam,

  Tamrin squinted in the sunlight

  Starback jumped up to the height

  envoi

  Acknowledgments

  Imprint

  It’s no use trying to be clever—

  we are all clever here; just try to be kind—a little kind.

  —Dr. F. J. Foakes Jackson of Jesus College,

  Cambridge, to a newly elected don

  Kindness is a much underrated and undervalued virtue.

  Many people have been kind to me over the years,

  especially at times when it was greatly needed.

  This book is dedicated to them.

  Book One

  WIZARD WORK

  Flaxfield died on a Friday,

  which was a shame, because he always ate a trout for dinner on Friday, and it was his favorite.

  Sam said good-bye to him at three o’clock and went off to catch the fish, and when he returned just before five, Flaxfield was dead.

  Sam was annoyed because the old man hadn’t told him he was going to die, and Sam missed him. He waited till seven o’clock, then put the frying pan on the range, dug his fingers into the butter, and took a piece as big as a walnut. He let it bubble in the pan and fried the trout, dusted with flour, salted, and, just before the cooking was finished, sweetened with flakes of almond.

  Starback got under his feet more than usual. Sam reached down absently and scratched him, but that only made him more of a nuisance.

  The trout tasted good with fresh bread and more butter, but not as good as Flaxfield must have thought, because Sam didn’t think he’d want one every Friday. He didn’t finish the fish and put his plate on the floor for Starback.

  He knew what to do with the body, because it was one of the first things Flaxfield had taught him when he started as the old man’s apprentice, six years ago. He didn’t much like doing the bodies, nor did he much mind, usually. But he really didn’t like doing it this time. He kept thinking Flaxfield would sit up and tell him he was doing it wrong.

  Anyway, he did it right, of course, and then, when he had finished, he sat down on the floor and cried so long that he hurt his throat.

  He was twelve years old.

  Sam stepped outside the house and looked up at the sky, as Flaxfield had taught him to. There were many messages there. There always were, but though he sought for something about his old master, there was nothing plain to him. Starback scratched his way up the almond tree by the gate and looked up as well, as though he could understand the heavens, which perhaps he could.

  Sam slept well, and though bad dreams were no stranger to him, he had none that night. He was still sleeping when the door opened, and only half-awake when a hand shook his shoulder and said, “Breakfast, boy, and be quick.”

  Sam was dizzy with sleep and stumbled to his feet. Starback cowered behind him.

  “Here, catch!”

  It wasn’t fair. Sam’s eyes were less than half-open, he was staggering to stand, and the throw was too fast. He still managed to get one hand to it, slapped it into the air, grabbed with the other; it slipped, and he ducked to slap it up again; tossing it from hand to hand he finally secured it—and found it was a folded bag of greasy paper that squelched in his hands and had a fine tang of faintly scented urine.

  “Enough for two there; you can share it,” said the stranger.

  Sam was used to strangers and used to being ordered about, so he did as he was told. He laid the parcel on the oak table, turned, and felt for the tinder box.

  “By the clouds, you’re slow,” said the stranger. “What are you? Kitchen boy? ‘Prentice?” He looked at the parcel and gave a grin that showed long teeth. “No, I know. You’re Flaxfield’s juggler.”

  Sam scowled, put a little paper and kindling on the ashes of last night’s fire, and struck the tinder box, raising a spark but no flame. He rearranged the tinder.

  “Well? Which is it?”

  “Apprentice,” he mumbled. Again the spark raised no flame.

  “How long?”

  “Six years.”

  Starback huddled against his legs, with a comforting scratchy feeling. But Sam needed more than that to stop him from fumbling nervously.

  “Flaxfield must have been getting desperate in his last years.”

  Sam ground his teeth together.

  “Put that rubbish down and light it yourself.”

  Sam pretended not to understand, and stood dumbly staring at him.

  “Well, at least you know not to give everything away all at once,” said the stranger, and for the first time a suggestion of respect crossed his face. But not for long. “Light it yourself. I know you can.”

  “Flaxfield said I shouldn’t. He said it wasn’t for that.”

  “You shouldn’t. It isn’t. But Flaxfield’s dead and I tell you to do it. So do it. I was his apprentice once, too.”

  Sam looked the man in the eye, really taking him in for the first time. He was awake now and his wits were returning. Long hair, with ringlets at the side, made the stranger’s face look longer than it really was. His nose was long, too, and not quite straight. Long teeth and a long tongue in a wide mouth. A friend would have said he looked like a wolf. An enemy would have said a fox. Sam decided fox, a judgment that was supported by the russet cloak and brown shoes. A wolf would be gray. And a wolf would fight you face to face. Sam decided that this one would fight behind your back. This one was sly, not brave. And all the more dangerous for that.

  “
Do it!” he snapped, “or I will think that Flaxfield took on idiots at the end.”

  “You were his apprentice, you do it,” said the boy. Starback coughed and whined and clung tighter to his legs.

  He lifted his hand and Sam raised his arm in defense. But no blow fell. Instead, a shaft of fire leaped from the man’s open palm, streamed across the room, and flashed into the range. The dead ashes flared up, licked the kindling, crackled, and settled into a cheerful blaze.

  Sam lifted his eyes. The old face was grim and set. He looked at Sam with new interest. “You’re not as stupid as you look,” he said. “You’ll need watching.”

  Not by you, swore Sam, silently.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Sam.”

  “And your real name?”

  Sam looked down at the floor, then put his knuckle in his mouth and sucked it.

  “What’s yours?” he asked.

  “You can call me Axestone. All right. Now cook the breakfast.”

  The kidneys were fresh and sweet, with butter, salt, and fresh pepper, bread, and tea.

  “I see I’m the first,” said Axestone.

  “Will there be others, then?”

  “Stars help us! And just when I thought you weren’t quite the idiot you look. Of course there will be others. Before the day is out. Now, clear this lot up, then gather the willow and keep your eyes open for the others. Let me know as soon as you see someone.”

  “I can’t leave you alone in the house,” said Sam.

  The door flew open. Sam felt the floor tilt steeply, and he stumbled through the door, tumbled to the ground, with Starback sprawled on top of him, legs everywhere and claws scratching him. The door slammed shut.

  “Keep your eyes open for the others,” Axestone called.

  Sam made a sign with his finger at the door. It was the one that Flaxfield once beat him for when he caught him doing it, but he was safe now that the old man was dead and he was hidden from the stranger’s sight by the heavy door.

  “Do that to me again and you’ll regret it,” said Axestone.

  Sam put his hand down quickly. Starback found his feet and raised an embarrassed face to Sam.

  “All right,” said the boy. “It’s not your fault. He made us both look stupid.” And he swore quietly that he would repay Axestone double for the insult.

  Pages from an apprentice’s notebook

  EVERYONE KNOWS THAT DRAGONS BRING LUCK; the trouble is, you never know whether it is going to be bad luck or good luck. And, the worst thing is, dragons have a way of bringing people the luck they deserve.

  That makes it difficult when you meet a dragon. If you suspect that you are a bad person, then you deserve a bit of bad luck from the dragon. On the other hand, a good person should get good luck. You get the luck you deserve.

  So, whatever sort of person you are, you behave as though you are glad to see a dragon, because you want people to think you are good and deserve good luck.

  This, of course, is good for dragons, because it means they are made welcome everywhere. But it’s also bad luck for dragons, because it means that there are lots of secret enemies who pretend to like them, but hate them really, and plot behind their backs to get rid of them and do them harm. In this way, dragons are like most people, who can never tell who their real friends are, and who never know who is only smiling to their face and all the time getting ready to hurt them as soon as their backs are turned. For the world is full of deceit and danger, and it’s as well to know that early on.

  As everyone knows, Green and Blues bring the most luck, good and bad. There are seventeen varieties of dragon, all told, but only nine of them have ever been seen by people. The Green and Blue is not the smallest variety—the Snake-Tail and the Boulder Dragon are smaller—but the Green and Blue grows to the size of a Memmont, and so is popular around the house. Also, unlike many other dragons, it can be taught to be clean and it does not smell. On the other hand, you can’t decide to have a dragon, like buying a puppy. If you leave a bay tree in a square pot by the kitchen door it’s a sign that you would welcome a dragon, and if one sees it and decides to stay, then it will. Otherwise, you have to do without one. Or at least that was what people said. Not that many people had dragons, anyway.

  Except for wizards, of course, who can let it be known that they would like one to come and stay. Green and Blues like to live with wizards. It gives them a bit of status with the other dragons.

  The willows were not quite at the bank

  of the river, and their shade was welcome, even this early in the morning. Flaxfield said that summers were getting hotter. Sam hadn’t seen enough of them to be any judge of whether that was right. Flaxfield was always saying that sort of thing.

  Sam selected slender branches, new shoots that had grown since the last winter, straight and smooth with fine foliage, the tender leaves a lighter green than the older growth. They had the pliant quality of youth, easily curved and guided. He piled them under an oak.

  When he had twenty he sat down and stripped them of their greenery, leaving long, slim, smooth wands.

  At first Starback made a nuisance of himself, running up and down the willows as Sam selected the best branches. But he soon tired of this and dived into the river to cool off.

  It was hard work, but Sam made it simpler by not setting himself a time to complete it. He knew he had more than enough time, so he didn’t rush.

  Leaving the piles of willow, he ran to the river and dived in, his body entering the water like a needle piercing silk, leaving scarcely a ripple. Starback squealed with pleasure, grabbed his leg, and pulled him deep into the water. Sam was ready for this and he had taken a deep breath before diving. He wrestled playfully with Starback for a while, then tapped him on the nose to tell him it was time to let go. Starback could breathe underwater, so he easily forgot how important it was to let others gasp for air.

  Sam lay back in the water, his legs dangling, kicking just enough to keep him afloat. He turned and dipped his face in the water, to cool it. A sharp pain cut across his back. And another. He dived deep, just as the same pain sliced into the back of his thighs.

  Axestone stood on the riverbank, a willow wand in his hand.

  “I told you to look out for strangers,” he shouted.

  Sam paddled out of range of the switch. Starback snarled and spat.

  “I did look out. There’s no one for miles.”

  “And work. I told you to get the willow ready.”

  “He’s done quite a lot, Axestone. He needed a rest.” A woman stepped forward from the shelter of the trees and stood next to Axestone.

  “He won’t get much rest now that Flaxfield’s gone. The old man was too soft on the boy. He’ll learn what work is when he goes down the mines.”

  Sam shuddered. The mines were what mothers threatened children with if they were naughty. But if ordinary people feared the mines, so much more did wizards. Magic was different there.

  Another man joined them. Sam had only seen one black man before, black with skin like midnight. Not like this one. This one was the color of ale, dark winter ale. He stood as high as Axestone, and as slim. They might have been twins, save for the color of their skin. The same arrogant pose marked them both.

  “Enough of that for now. There are still decisions to make,” said a fourth, very old man, older than Flaxfield by the look of him.

  Sam felt his stomach churn with fear. How many were there? How had he missed them? And who were they? And why were they here?

  “Get out,” said Axestone. The switch dangled by his side.

  “Not if you’re going to whip me again.”

  “Get out!”

  “He’s right,” said the old man. “He’s taken his whipping. And he’s made a good start on the willow. Let him be.”

  Axestone growled at them, more wolf than fox after all, but he dropped the switch and turned away.

  By the time Sam had climbed the bank, they were all under the oak, looking at h
is pile of willow.

  “He has chosen well,” said the old man. “The very best saplings.”

  “And the right sizes,” said the woman, who was sorting them into smaller piles according to length and thickness.

  Axestone nodded angrily. “But not enough,” he snapped.

  “Then let us make that good,” said the dark one.

  He unsheathed a long, curved sword, pointed to a willow, and, in an instant, a pile of branches bigger than the one Sam had gathered appeared at the base of its trunk. Each one was trimmed smooth and all were perfectly straight and true.

  “Khazib!” Axestone snapped. “Have you forgotten yourself?”

  The woman clutched herself in distress. Sam flung himself in fury at the man, but before he could reach him, Khazib slapped him away like a fly, and he fell, dazed, on the grass. Starback growled and his nostrils flared.

  Axestone waved a hand, and the branches shriveled and bent, all sap dried up; they were as brittle as old bones, useless.

  Khazib walked away without looking back. The woman helped Sam to his feet, then sat him against the rough trunk of the oak in the shade while the three of them set themselves to cutting and piling more branches of willow.

  The old man, before he joined them, fetched cool water from the river for Sam to drink. The boy looked away as it was handed to him. No one had ever waited on him before, and with such courtesy.

  He watched them at work, the sweat dampening their brows, as it had his. He remembered the trout he had caught for Flaxfield. The fish were biting well yesterday, so Sam had played with Starback at the river to pass the time. Once, he had fished all afternoon and none had risen. He was hot, tired, smelly, impatient, and bad tempered. So he conjured a trout. It was a little spell, one he had taught himself, really, like learning how to do a handstand.

  As soon as he walked into the house he knew he had made a big mistake.

  Flaxfield was at the desk. He was always at the desk. It was the only desk Sam had ever seen. More or less everything in Flaxfield’s house was the only one he had ever seen. Flaxfield had taken him in when Sam was only three years old, so he didn’t really remember much before that. There had been a woman, called Flaxfold, who looked after things. She looked after Sam as well, and taught him to cook and clean, and to make useful things for the house—bookshelves and doorstops and bolts.