Blood of Dragons

She squatted by the well cap and set her laden glove on it. ‘What do I do?’ she wondered aloud. Then, before anyone could reply, she drew her hand along the wood, stroking the rough plank with the grain. ‘I’m pressing on it, trying to make it smooth,’ she said.

All were silent, watching. As she trailed her fingers on the board, the Silver drained from the glove onto the wood until her hand was gloved only in green dragon leather. The Silver was smooth on the wood in the wake of her hand, but only for a moment. Then it began to gather itself up into tiny balls on top of the plank.

‘I knew it couldn’t be that easy,’ Tats muttered.

Thymara scowled at it. She ran her glove over it again, and again the Silver coated the wood obediently. She stopped and watched it gather itself up into tiny balls like droplets of dew. ‘Why does it do that?’

‘No one told it not to,’ Alum observed.

Thymara gave him a sharp look. She ran her fingertips across the Silver and wood again. ‘Be flat, be smooth.’

The Silver scattered before her touch, ran in erratic circles behind it. For a moment, it smoothed itself into an even sheen over the wood, and then bubbled up again. Harrikin crouched down beside her. ‘May I try?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘With the other glove?’

‘You remember something?’ Carson asked him, almost sharply.

‘Maybe it’s like the dragons. Maybe you don’t tell it what to do. Maybe it needs to be persuaded.’

Thymara held out her free hand, and he carefully drew the glove from it and slid it onto his hand. It fitted badly on his larger hand and the fingertips were empty and flopping. Thymara lifted her hand away and his took its place. He glanced at the others self-consciously, then visibly focused himself. ‘Be smooth and lovely. Bring your beauty to the wood. Shine and gleam. Be as strong and smooth as the face of a placid lake, be strong as polished metal.’

Unevenly, his fingers trailed along the wood, and unevenly did the Silver obey him. Narrow streaks of gleaming Silver-polished wood followed his touch. Where he had not touched it, the Silver darted about, formed itself into balls and danced nervously, uncertainly on the surface of the rough plank.

‘Try it again,’ Carson suggested, his voice barely a whisper.

Alum looked up at him and then back at the wood. ‘Look how narrow the stripes are. It would take forever to …’

‘Don’t say it!’ Carson interrupted him hoarsely. ‘Don’t suggest anything we don’t want it to do.’ He stared at the beaded dancing Silver as if it were game he were stalking.

‘Add your beauty to the wood; give it your gleaming strength.’ Harrikin had gone a bit pink on his cheeks but he spoke on. ‘Like a shimmering, gleaming pond of shimmering, gleaming, beautiful, still water. Please be like that. Let me see how you can make your beauty part of the lovely, pretty, smooth wood.’ He looked up suddenly at the others, his eyes desperate. A thin line of polished wood was following his awkward touch.

‘You are like the moon’s shimmering path on a still pond,’ Thymara suggested. Harrikin nodded tersely.

‘Let your beauty on the wood be like the moon’s shimmering path on a still pond.’ He spoke to the Silver, and another narrow streak of gleam joined the first.

‘The glorious strength of molten iron running in a steaming stream,’ Carson muttered.

Harrikin nodded and spoke again to the Silver. ‘Add to this wood your glorious strength, like the smooth running of molten iron in a steaming stream.’

‘I’ve got one!’ Alum said softly. ‘The beauty of a woman’s hair, unbound and falling down her bare back before her lover’s eyes.’

‘Lucky for you that Leftrin’s not here,’ Carson muttered. Alum flushed pink under his pale-green scaling.

Thread by thread, compliment after compliment, the Silver was persuaded to merge with the wood. When the final dancing drop was stilled, Harrikin rocked back on his heels. He heaved a sigh. He drew the glove off slowly and offered it back to Thymara. She took it carefully. He stood, flexing his back and shaking his head. ‘Alum was right. Look how long it took to persuade one gloveful of Silver to bond with the wood. There it is, a stripe that’s barely a finger wide. It’s going to take days to finish that well cap!’

‘Seems likely,’ Carson replied thoughtfully.

‘And it seems likely that if we do it, it may last a hundred years,’ Tats added.

Thymara was gazing around at the city. ‘How did they do it? How did they raise it all?’

‘Very slowly,’ Carson replied. ‘And not with magic alone.’ He seemed to be thinking something through and then he added, ‘I don’t think they used it because magic made it easier or quicker. I think they used it to do things that otherwise couldn’t be done. Then the effort would be worth it.’ He scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘Obviously, we’ve a lot left to learn.’