Brian Rathbone - Regent

Just as the largest timbers were being rolled into place, there came shouts from outside. Chase turned to look as Mirta charged forward. A man in bloodied desert garb stumbled into the great hall, in his arms, Kendra. Men stepped forward to aid him, but he shouldered away their efforts. Mirta spoke to him in soothing tones, and when he reached a place where some blankets had been stacked, he laid her down.

"Help her," he said, his accent thick.

Mirta looked Kendra over, and her apprentice Loriana approached the Arghast, a damp cloth in her hand. He stepped back at first, but Loriana grabbed him by the arm and looked him in the eye. She guided him to the floor and tended his wounds. Slowly he relaxed.

"Catrin," he said with fervor.

"First we must get your wounds clean," Loriana said in a calm and even tone.

"Need Catrin," he urged, but as Loriana tended his wounds, he slowly eased back and fell to sleep. Loriana tensed when she heard him mutter in his sleep, "She will teach us to fly."

Sinjin had never realized that light could hurt so badly; it felt as if it were trying to burrow its way into his brain. His vision swam until he took a deep breath, then he slowly began to see. His ears, however, worked just fine.

"You tell me this instant what happened to you!"

Millie's voice cut into Sinjin's consciousness like an axe, and it took him a moment before he could respond. "I don't know. I don't remember."

"What's the last thing you remember?" she asked, no less intent on getting an answer.

"Um. . I. . uh. ." Sinjin stammered, ashamed that the last thing he remembered was hiding in an alcove and eavesdropping. "I don't know."

"How can you not know?" Millie asked, her glare suspicious. "What's your name?"

"Sinjin Volker," he responded, and he heard someone snort in derision.

"And what's my name, then?"

"Why, you're Millicent, former maid to the Lady Mangst and current keeper of the aforementioned Sinjin Volker."

"Your memory and attitude appear whole. If only you could tell me what you were doing when you sustained this injury!" Not waiting to see if he would say any more, Millie walked away, seemingly having trouble keeping from throttling Sinjin.

"This is all your fault," he heard Kendra say, and he almost had the sense to duck before her fist landed on his cheekbone.

"Kendra! Never hit anyone in the infirmary! How could you?" Khenna said, her mouth agape.

"It's all his fault."

"Are you all right, Sinjin?" Khenna asked.

Sinjin just moaned and levered himself out of the cot.

"Look at that eye!" came another familiar voice, and Sinjin's heart felt a bit lighter as he turned to see Durin grinning back at him.

"It sure is good to see you," Sinjin said.

"You look worse than I do now but not as bad as Kendra; she looks terrible. I'm betting most of those cuts and scrapes are going to leave scars. Hideous."

"If you two boys feel well enough to pick on this poor girl while she's a-healin'," Mirta quipped, "then you just get your butts out of here. There are more sick and wounded in this place than we have beds for. And go easy for once, the both of you! I don't want to see you back here 'cept for visitin'. Now git!"

Sinjin narrowly avoided Kendra as he stood to leave, his legs only vaguely responding to his commands, which he supposed were now more like requests. Durin was not so lucky or so quick, and the remainder of her salted fish slapped him in the side of the head.

"You just wait. ." they heard Kendra say as they left.

"Things are a mess," Sinjin said once they were out of the infirmary and out of Kendra's range.

"You don't know the half of it. The dragons attacked while you were out."

Sinjin nearly choked and could find no words to respond.

"The Arghast showed up just before the dragons attacked, and now we know that they came looking for your mom because the dragons had been tormenting them."

"Why are the dragons attacking? Is it Kyrien?"

"No, no," Durin said. "It's not Kyrien. These dragons are nothing like him. They're as black as night and shiny, like a snake, and they're meaner than a cornered bear."

"And the Arghast want my mom to make the dragons go away?"

"Nope. Guess again. Get this: they want your mom to teach them how to catch and tame the dragons so they can fly."

"Now you're just telling tales," Sinjin said. He turned his head as he noticed a low din slowly growing louder.

"Am not. You'll see. Oh, and those people who shot me weren't assassins. Morif told Millie that if they had been trying to kill you, I'd be dead. What do you think of that?"

Just then they walked into the great hall, and Sinjin stopped, dumbfounded by what he saw and heard. A tent village had sprung up in the hall, and it seemed everyone had something to say at the same time. The noise was difficult to describe, and the great hall's acoustics only added to the effect.

"Told you."

Sinjin grew more anxious with every step, suddenly feeling cramped and crowded, wondering if anyone among the gathered masses wanted him dead. For once, seeing Morif shadowing him and Durin did not anger him. He felt safer knowing Morif was about. He'd taught Sinjin much of what he knew about fighting and about defending himself. Fighting was not one of Sinjin's strong points, which had been proven on just about every one of his encounters with Kendra.

"No one goes out in the daylight now," Durin added as if it were exciting news. "We have to harvest at night. Brother Vaughn says that given ample food supply, the dragons will multiply. He said something about their gentryfication period being short, and that meant there could be a lot more dragons by spring."

"Gestation period," Sinjin said.

"Whatever. The point is that what your mom said was gonna happen actually happened, and now all these people are stuck in here. And let me tell you, stay away from the kitchens if you can. Sheesh, you'd think the world had already come to its end. It's like a kicked anthill down there, and Miss Mariss is in rare form. Last time I went down there for a snack, I came back soaked and covered in flour, and I can't do as much as I used to. That nearly dying stuff takes it out of you."

"I suppose that rules out some food, then," Sinjin said, his hand on his aching stomach.

"Are you kidding? Sometimes you just have to take your chances, and I need food," Durin said. Besides, with the old man following us, it's not like we can hide."

Sinjin noticed a tremble in his friend's hands that had never been there before. Guilt stabbed at him. "All this is your fault," echoed in his mind. "Do you think my parents will live? I mean, do you think they will come back?" Sinjin tried to keep the hitch from his voice, but it betrayed him, as did the tears that gathered in his eyes.

"Of course they'll come back. Soon. I promise."

Sinjin wished Durin wouldn't make promises he couldn't keep.

"This is not a good place for you boys to be spendin' time. How 'bout we head to the kitchens and get some food? I'll keep Miss Mariss occupied while you make your escape." Sinjin looked up at Morif in surprise. The weathered warrior smiled back. "I may be missing one eye, but my ears work just fine for an old man."

Durin winced. "Uh. Sorry."

Morif gave him a light smack on the back of the head. "Let's go."

What Durin had said about the kitchens was not as much of an exaggeration as Sinjin had thought, and the two ducked into the guard hall while Morif shouldered his way into the kitchens. The guard hall was eerily quiet; normally one of the more boisterous rooms in the hold, it stood nearly empty. Never before had so many guards been needed on duty at one time.