The Last Dragonlord Page 18

  Before they could get a word in Almered disappeared behind the embroidered hangings at the back of the shop.

  “Whew!” Maylin said. “Quickly, before he gets back: what’s a tisrahn and what did you say when we came in?”

  Maurynna said in an undertone, “A tisrahn is a coming-of-age ceremony in Assantik. They’re huge feasts that are meant to bring luck and acknowledge the youngster’s new status as an adult. This one’s for his nephew. It’s an honor to be invited to one. Guests are often chosen for the ‘luck’ they can bring.

  “I greeted him as a cousin. It’s the usual greeting for people you know well, though there might be truth to it for the two of us. Remember, one of my great-something grandmothers was Assantikkan and our Houses have been allied for many, many years. Hm—I wonder …” she said as Almered returned with his wife.

  When the second round of greetings was over and the small talk out of the way, Maurynna said, “Almered, I know that this is not the way it is usually done, but—There are two friends of mine who would enjoy seeing a tisrahn. One is a bard—”

  “Bards are lucky,” Almered murmured. “Very lucky. Of course he is welcome. Doubly so since he is a friend of yours. And the other?”

  “The other.” Maurynna cleared her throat, suddenly embarrassed. “Ah, well, the other …”

  Almered and Falissa exchanged knowing glances.

  “Soooo—this other one is someone very special to you, then, Maurynna?” Almered said with a sly wink. “May we meet him before the tisrahn?”

  “Stop it,” Falissa ordered. “You are making the girl blush.”

  Maurynna ignored Maylin sniggering behind her hand by the wall where the bolts of silk were displayed. Revenging herself for the amused innuendo of Almered’s tone, Maurynna said, “Let me say this about him: he may well be the greatest bringer of luck to ever attend a tisrahn.”

  She almost laughed aloud to see her “cousin” eaten alive with curiosity. “And yes, if I can I shall bring him here before then so that you may see for yourself. Maylin, do you still want that candied ginger?”

  Tempers were running high throughout the council chamber this day. Linden shifted uneasily in his seat, trying to watch everyone at the same time. A dozen petty squabbles had broken out at once and every one of them threatened to explode.

  Kief swore aloud in disgust and stood. Those nearest him gasped; Linden swiveled around to stare at him in surprise. He’d never known the slender Dragonlord to lose his temper so publicly.

  It happened the moment he took his eyes off the council. In that instant one argument spilled over into physical violence. He looked back to find Lords Duriac and Chardel exchanging blows, falling over other members of the council, intent by all appearances on killing each other. Linden bellowed, “Enough!”

  While it didn’t halt the fight in progress, it was enough to stop any others from joining in. Linden pushed a way through the paralyzed councilors and seized each man by the neck of his tunic. He yanked them apart so hard he heard their jaws snap shut, then held them dangling above the ground.

  “He struck me first!” Duriac sputtered.

  The fire in Chardel’s eye was in no way dimmed because there was a good foot of air below his feet. “You greasy little pimple. You’ve been at me this past tenday or more—don’t think you didn’t deserve this.”

  “That will be quite enough, my lords,” Linden growled, looking from one to the other. “Do you understand me?”

  Both men mumbled something that Linden took as agreement. He set them down none too gently.

  In the sudden silence that followed, Kief spoke. His voice shook with suppressed anger and disgust. “I have sat in judgement, my lords and ladies, at least half a dozen times in my long life. And never—never!—have I been witness to such an unseemly display as this. Did I wish to see brawling, I would go to the worst tavern I could find—not here.

  “I hereby adjourn this meeting; we will not meet again until four days from now, to give tempers a chance to cool. If this should happen again, I will have the offenders removed from these sessions—permanently. I am not jesting. I have that right and I will invoke it. Think well upon that.” He stared stony-faced at the Cassorin nobles who filed past him like chastened schoolchildren as they left the room.

  Linden watched from the side of the room, neither moving nor speaking, legs braced wide, arms folded across his chest. He’d wanted the holiday, but he’d not wanted it to come this way. He waited until the last truehuman had left before he joined his fellow Dragonlords.

  “I don’t understand,” Kief was saying to Tarlna. “I’ve never had anything like this happen before. You’d think between all the foot-dragging in this council, and now this, that the very gods were against us finding a solution.”

  “Or at least a quick one,” Linden said without thinking. And wondered where the thought came from.

  Twenty-five

  Hooves claltered on the cobblestones outside, shattering his concentration; Althume looked up from the grimoire in front of him and listened. Though he could not make out any words, he thought he could recognize Prince Peridaen’s voice. He shut the ancient leather-bound tome and waited.

  Soon enough he heard laughing voices approach the study. Something went right, by the sound of it, and about time. The mage laced his fingers together and stretched his arms out, cracking his knuckles.

  Peridaen and Anstella burst into the room without ceremony. “Oh, the look in Chardel’s eye,” Anstella said, trying to catch her breath. “Duriac is lucky indeed the old war dog didn’t have a dagger with him.”

  Peridaen slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Kas, you have more time. Four days’ worth, in fact, courtesy of Duriac’s acid tongue—and Chardel’s temper.”

  Althume smiled fiercely. “Excellent! Excellent!”

  “There should have been even more fights—Duriac had spoken with the others,” Anstella complained, “but when Linden Rathan yelled ‘Enough!’ it took the heart out of them. I’ve never seen him so angry. Luckily, the one fight did the trick. But I shall still have words with them.” The fire in her eyes boded ill for someone.

  The mage made a small noise of contempt. He had no use for snivelers who were so easily cowed. Couldn’t the fools see the Yerrin Dragonlord was nothing more than one of those big soft men, more brawn than brain, who could be twisted around the finger of a clever girl like Sherrine? Bah. No wonder the Fraternity hadn’t succeeded before this.

  “But it’s not a gambit we can use again,” Peridaen said. “Kief Shaeldar has threatened to remove any future transgressors from the deliberations on the regency. While it would also remove some of Beren’s supporters, we don’t have enough of our own to lose them that way. We need them to sway uncommitted councilors to our side. But still, it’s four days’ grace.”

  “It’s a beginning. We’ll get more time as we need it.” Althume ran his long, thin fingers over the grimoire before him. “If this continues as it promises to, we’ll be able to offer our Dragonlord guests a most … interesting visit,”

  Twenty-six

  The first rays of the rising sun came through the window and spread fingers of light on the tiled floor and across the foot of the bed. A toy soldier, standing guard in its nest formed by the blanket tossed aside in the night, basked in the new day’s warmth. The door to the sleeping chamber opened and a slender figure slipped in. The wolfhound on the floor by the bed raised its head but bayed no alarm. His tail thumped the floor.

  The young woman carried a small dosing bottle in her hand. Going to the open window, she emptied its contents into the rain gutter below. Then, with a swiftness born of long practice, she extracted a flask from its hiding place in the clothes cupboard and filled the bottle once more, wrinkling her nose at the faint sour, mousey smell. Some of the potions didn’t smell so bad, but this one! Unfortunately, it was also the usual one. She shook the flask gently before replacing it.

  Nearly empty. I shall have to ask the steward
for more. I wonder what’s in it—but I daresay it’s safer not to ask. Enough to know that it pays me well. And enough to know that it’s not a poison.

  She went to the bed, nudging the dog aside with a foot. The dog heaved itself to its feet and lumbered to one side.

  “That’s a good boy, Bramble,” the young woman whispered as she sat on the edge of the featherbed and gently shook the thin shoulder that was all she could see above the sheet. “Rann? Rann, dear—time to wake up and take your tonic.”

  A querulous, sleepy grumble was her only answer. She laughed softly and slipped an arm around his shoulders and eased the boy up.

  Rann blinked up at her, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Don’t want to, Gevvy,” he complained. “It tastes awful.”

  “That’s how you know a medicine’s good,” Gevianna replied firmly. “The worse they taste the better they are. Come now; wake up a bit more and drink it down. I’ll make sure there’s extra honey for your porridge if—”

  The sound of voices and the door opening in the outer room cut her off. Rann came instantly awake, bouncing onto his knees on the bed next to her. Gevianna gripped the small flask in suddenly trembling fingers. She recognized the voices.

  So did Rann. “Healer Tasha!” he called. “What are you doing here?”

  The door to the sleeping chamber opened and Healer Tasha poked her head around it. “Up already, Prince Rann? Good. Ah, Gevianna—has he had his tonic yet?”

  Gevianna licked dry lips and shook her head. She didn’t trust her voice.

  “Good—very good. I don’t think it would go well with what I have for him today,” Healer Tasha said as she entered, bearing a steaming mug in her hands. Her two senior apprentices followed her.

  “What’s that?” Rann asked suspiciously.

  Gevianna gathered her wits as the Healer approached the bed. She stood up and moved out of the way. Feigning a nonchalance that she didn’t feel, the young nurse set the dosing bottle on a nearby table as if it had no importance. To her relief neither Healer nor apprentices took any notice.

  Healer Tasha said, “This, my fine young lad, is a sovereign remedy against seasickness. It’s ginger tea.”

  “Seasickness?” Rann stared at the mug. “Am I to go on one of the barges today?” He sounded half sick with fright.

  Gevianna’s stomach turned. Was the boy to go the way of his mother, then? It was one thing to give him a potion to keep him quiet, but this was murder.

  And she would be expected to go with him. She who was even more terrified of water than the young prince was. She clamped a hand over her mouth.

  She couldn’t let it happen. She didn’t want to die. Even if it meant the ruin of her family, she couldn’t let them kill her and the boy like that. Oh, gods, she would have to tell them. She would have to tell them everything … The thought made her ill.

  Healer Tasha sat on the bed by Rann and hugged him one-armed, balancing the mug in the other hand. “No, love, no one expects that. This is a proper ship, with a real captain and crew. It’s a surprise Dragonlord Linden Rathan thought of for you. He went through a great deal of trouble to arrange it, so I hope you will go.”

  Rann’s eyes were huge in his thin face. “He did? And it’s a real ship? Will it have sails and banners?”

  The further his spirits rose the deeper Gevianna’s sank. The thought of going out onto the river was bad enough, but the sea! She leaned on the table for support and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “It will certainly have sails, and I imagine it will have—Gevianna! Girl, what ails you? You look about to faint.”

  Gevianna opened her eyes to find Healer Tasha peering intently into her face. She moved her lips, but no sound came out. She’d come so close to ruining everything and for nothing … .

  “You’re white as salt, child,” Healer Tasha said. “Let me guess—you’re terrified of sailing, aren’t you? Ah, well—it’s not as much of a problem as it might be otherwise. You’ll just stay here. I will be with Rann and—”

  A fear stronger than that of the bottomless sea tore through Gevianna. “Oh, no! I must go with Prince Rann.”

  Gods help her if she didn’t go along to spy on whatever surprise the Dragonlord had thought of. She had no wish to explain how she’d been left behind to either Baroness Colrane or—worse yet—the prince’s cold-eyed steward from whose hand came the potions nowadays.

  “Drink the tea now, Rann; it must be cool enough,” Healer Tasha said over her shoulder. Gevianna saw him take a cautious sip then drink eagerly. Then the Healer’s full attention was back on her.

  Through the buzzing in her ears Gevianna heard Healer Tasha say, “No. You will not come with us. I forbid it. I already have Rann to look after; I won’t have the time for another patient. Nor will the ship’s crew. Rann will be well taken care of today, Gevianna. You’ve nothing to worry about. I prescribe a day of rest for you and an infusion of lemon balm for your nerves.”

  Turning to her apprentices, the Healer continued, “Quirel, Jeralin—you two are in charge while I’m gone. I want one of you to look in on Gevianna later today, is that understood? If she is no better, add hops and skullcap to the lemon balm for another infusion.”

  The apprentices nodded. Then one—Quirel—pointed to the table behind Gevianna. “Shouldn’t we take that with us, Healer? It wouldn’t do to have someone else drink it by accident.”

  Gevianna clenched her skirts to keep from slapping the Healer’s hand away as the older woman reached for the flask. What if the Healer or one of her apprentices opened the thing? One sniff would tell them it was not the original tonic. What would happen to her then? She thought she’d go mad with terror.

  But Healer Tasha merely handed the flask to Quirel, who tucked it into the basket he carried. She said, “Leave it in the workroom.”

  Gevianna gasped, suddenly realizing she’d forgotten to breathe. Healer Tasha gave her a queer look.

  “Help me get Rann dressed, Gevianna, then take to your bed. Quirel, make up that infusion with the hops now. Add a little syrup of poppy to it.”

  She had to watch as, a short time later, an excited Rann bounced out of the room with Healer Tasha. When she tried to follow, Jeralin caught her and Quirel forced a mug into her hands. They made her drink while she fought a battle with her stomach to keep it down. Defeated, she handed the empty mug back, already feeling the soporific effect of the hops and poppy.

  She did not struggle as Jeralin led her to her little room to one side of Prince Rann’s chambers. She only prayed that Baroness Colrane would understand. And that Healer Tasha never opened the flask.

  Twenty-seven

  Linden waited at the bottom of the old garden. The gelding pranced under him; he quieted it without thinking, looking to see if Healer Tasha and Prince Rann were coming yet. The two guards with him sat their stolid beasts in silence. One held the reins of a fourth horse.

  One moment the garden was empty; the next Rann appeared around the corner of a hedge, towing the ginger-haired Healer along behind him. He pulled free and ran to Linden. “Dragonlord! Do you truly have a surprise for me?”

  Linden leaned down and caught Rann’s hands as the boy jumped. He swung the child up to sit on the horse behind him. Small fingers dug into his belt. “I do, Your Highness. Do you fancy a picnic today?”

  One of the soldiers helped Tasha onto the spare horse.

  Rann, sounding a little confused, said, “I thought I was going for a sail.”

  Linden led the way out of the gardens and through the little-used postern gate that Duchess Alinya had told him about. “You are; the picnic is on a beach that I found when I was in dragon form. I thought of you when I saw it.”

  The thin arms hugged him. “You did? Truly? And you’ll be sailing with us?”

  Linden smiled. “Truly. I will meet you at the beach itself, though I will sail back with you. I’ve something else to do first. Healer Tasha will take you to the ship. It’s called the Sea Mist and the captain is … a frie
nd of mine. Her name is Maurynna Erdon. You must promise me that you’ll listen to whatever she or her crew tells you when you are on board the ship.”

  “But I’m a prince,” Rann said.

  “You are a prince here in Cassori,” said Linden. “But on board a ship the captain is the ruler. And the crew know more than you do, so you’ll listen to them as well. If Captain Erdon told me to do something, I’d do it right sharply, my lad. At sea she would outrank me.”

  He let Rann digest that bit of information as they rode through the waking city. “Promise?” Linden asked when they reached the small green near the merchants’ quarter.

  “I promise.”

  “Good. This is where I leave you. Corrise comes with me; I’ve a job for her. Will you ride with Healer Tasha or Captain Jerrell?”

  Even Tasha laughed as Rann lunged for the guardsman. When Rann was settled in his new perch, Linden backed his horse away, Corrise following.

  “But Dragonlord—aren’t you coming on the picnic?” Rann called as they rode away. His voice trembled.

  “Yes, but remember—you’ll need a guide.” Linden winked at the puzzled boy. He brought the gelding around in a prancing pirouette and set off at a canter, the young guard following.

  Maurynna paced the dock before the gangplank. Now and again she cast an expert glance at the water. Her last passengers had best come soon; the tide had turned and was running out to sea. Master Remon lolled on a nearby stanchion, splicing a bit of rope as he waited.

  “Captain,” said he, “you said you don’t know where this beach is?”

  “That’s right. I just know it’s well east of Casna. But don’t worry, Remon; we’ll have a guide.”

  “But who, Rynna?” Maylin called from the deck. “None of us has ever been there.”

  Maurynna shrugged. Before she had to answer she heard the sound of horses approaching. She went to meet them.