Tales of Ethshar

inn. He gathered his courage and knocked on the heavy wooden door, between the protruding spikes.

One of the spikes twisted, then slid back into the door and vanished; startled, Wuller looked into the hole it had left and saw an eye staring back at him.

Then the spike was replaced and the door swung open.

“We’ve no beds left,” the old woman who had opened it announced, before he could say a word, “but if you’ve money for drink, we have plenty on hand.”

“I don’t have any money,” Wuller explained, “but I’d be glad to work for a drink, or a bite to eat, or to sleep in a corner — I don’t need a bed.” He looked past her, into the common room, where a crowd of people was laughing and eating at tables set around a blazing hearth.

“We don’t need any,” the old woman began.

Wuller’s gasp of astonishment interrupted her.

“Wait!” he said. “Wait!” He slid his pack off his shoulder and began digging through it.

“Young man,” the woman said, “I don’t have time for any nonsense...”

Wuller waved a hand at her. “No, wait!” he said. “Let me show you!” He pulled out the charcoal portrait and unrolled it.

“Lady, I’ve come all the way from northern Srigmor,” Wuller explained, “on an errand for my village — there’s a dragon, and... well, you don’t care about that. But look!” He showed her the picture.

She took it and held it up to the light from the commons.

“Seldis of Aldagmor,” she said. “Good likeness, too.” She glanced into the room beyond, where the young woman Wuller sought was sitting alone at a table eating dinner, then looked at the picture again, and from the portrait back to Wuller. “What do you have to do with her?”

Wuller decided quickly that this was not the time for the complete and exact truth, but for something simpler.

“I must speak with her,” he said. “The seer in our village knew her face, but not her name, and sent me to find her. I had thought I would have to search for sixnights yet, or months — but there she is in your dining hall! Please, let me come in and speak with her!”

The old woman looked at the portrait again, then turned to look at the young woman in the room beyond, sitting alone at a small table. Then she shrugged, and handed the picture back to Wuller.

“No business of mine,” she said. “You behave yourself, though — any trouble and I’ll have the guard in here.”

“No trouble, lady,” Wuller said. “I promise!”

11

He settled into the chair opposite her, still astonished at his incredible good fortune, and astonished as well at her beauty. Neither Illure’s charcoal sketch nor the image in the oracle had really captured it.

“Hello,” he said. “My name’s Wuller Wulran’s son.”

She looked up from her plate and stared at him, but said nothing. The face was unmistakably the one he had seen in Kirna’s oracle, the one that Illure had drawn, with the vivid green eyes and the soft curls of dark brown hair. It was somewhat eerie to see it there in front of him as a real face, a small smudge of grease on the chin, rather than as a mere image.

The reality was more beautiful than the image, grease-spot notwithstanding.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said.

She turned her attention back to her plate, where a few fried potato slices remained. Wuller glanced at them, reminded how hungry he was, then returned his gaze to the top of her head.

“No, really, I’ve come all the way from northern Srigmor looking for you. My village elders sent me.” He pulled out the portrait and unrolled it. “See?”

She raised her head, put a slice of potato in her mouth, and began chewing. She blinked. Then she put down her fork, reached out, and took the picture.

She stared at it for a moment, then looked at Wuller. “Did you do this, just now?” she asked. “It’s pretty good.”

“No,” Wuller said. “My Aunt Illure drew it, more than a sixnight ago.”

“A sixnight ago I was home in Aldagmor,” the girl said, her gaze wary.

“I know,” Wuller said. “I mean, no, I didn’t know at all, really, but I know that Illure didn’t see you. I mean, didn’t really see you.”

“Then how... all right, then who’s this Illure person? How did she draw this? I don’t know anybody named Illure that I can recall.”

“You’ve never met her. She’s my aunt, back home in Srigmor. She drew this because she’s the best artist of the people who saw your face in the oracle.”

“What oracle?”

“Kirna’s family oracle.”

“Who’s Kirna?”

“She’s one of the village elders. Her family got this sorcerer’s oracle during the Great War, and it was passed down ever since, and when the dragon came...”

“What dragon? One of... I mean, what dragon?”

“The dragon that’s captured my village.”

The girl stared at Wuller for a moment, and then sighed. “I think you’d better start at the beginning,” she said, “and explain the whole thing.”

Wuller nodded, and took a deep breath, and began.

He described the dragon, how it had arrived one day without warning. He told her how it had killed Adar the Smith and given the village an ultimatum. He explained about the meeting in Kirna’s hut, and how the oracle had shattered after showing them her face.

“...and they sent me to find you,” he said. “And here I am, and I thought I’d have to find some way to hire a magician to find you, only I don’t have any money, and then by sheer luck, here you are!”

“No money?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

“Does anyone in your village have any money?”

“Not any more,” he said, a trifle worried by this line of questioning.

He considered what he might do if she proved reluctant to come to the aid of the village. Small as he was for his age, he was still slightly bigger and stronger than she was; if worst came to worst, perhaps he could kidnap her and carry her home by force.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “Will you help?” he asked.

She looked down at the portrait she still held.

“Well,” she admitted, “your oracle wasn’t completely silly. I do know something about dragons. My family — well, my father’s a dragon-hunter. That’s been the family business for a long, long time now. That’s why I come to this particular inn when I’m here, the Dragon’s Egg, because of the connection with dragons. I was here in the city selling the blood from my father’s latest kill to the local wizards; they use it in their spells. And some of my uncles will get rid of dragons when they cause trouble. But ordinarily...” She frowned. “Ordinarily, we don’t work for free. This dragon of yours doesn’t sound like one I’ve heard of before, so there’s no question of family responsibility — I mean, this isn’t one that we taught to talk, or anything. At least, I don’t think it is.”

Wuller suggested desperately, “We could pay in sheep, or wool.”

She waved that away. “How would I get sheep from Srigmor to Aldagmor? Even if they made the trip alive, I’d do better just buying them at home. Same for wool. We don’t raise as much in Aldagmor as you do up north, but we have enough.”

“If you don’t come, though,” Wuller said, “my village will die. Even if the dragon doesn’t eat us, we’ll starve when the sheep are gone.”