Dragon and Phoenix Page 4

  Despite the comfort of hearing her own feelings echoed, sudden misgivings danced down Maurynna’s spine as a wicked smile crept across the little Dragonlord’s face. She’d known Lleld for only a couple of months, but on the journey to Dragonskeep she’d heard many a story from Linden about the madcap bundle of trouble that was the smallest Dragonlord. “No one that tiny,” he’d complained again and again, “should have that much mischief in them.”

  “Lleld,” Maurynna said in alarm, for if even half of Linden’s stories were true, this Dragonlord was known as “Lady Mayhem” with good reason. “What are you planning now?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Lleld said airily. Then, “Did you see Kelder flying north this morning? I’ve an idea about that.”

  Something else to worry about. Lleld and her “ideas”—or “wild guesses” as the others called them when they were being polite—were all too well-known in the Keep. And, as Lleld gleefully reminded Linden at every opportunity these days, sometimes she was even right.

  Now Maurynna knew which Dragonlord she’d seen this morning. Yet what errand could send Kelder Oronin, soultwin to the Lady of Dragonskeep, winging north so urgently? All she could think of to say was a weak, “Oh?”

  Lleld needed no further prompting. She launched enthusiastically into her latest incredible theory. Maurynna could only shake her head as she listened, too stunned to protest.

  A shadow swept over them, was gone. They looked up; Maurynna recognized the Dragonlord she’d seen flying north candlemarks ago. The sight of Kelder Oronin hardly slowed Lleld down. She continued lecturing.

  Then even the voluble Lleld was stricken silent.

  Maurynna gasped. As five giant shapes flew in close formation not far overhead, a second shadow slid over them, this one taking heartbeats to pass by. Their hair whipped about their faces in the sudden wind. Boreal snorted in fear and quivered under Maurynna’s arm.

  “I thought they hardly ever left their mountains,” Maurynna whispered in awe.

  “They don’t,” Lleld said. Her eyes looked ready to pop from her head. “So what are they doing here?”

  Six

  Shei-Luin slipped through the tunnels of the palace like a ghost, her slippers of heavy felt making no noise to betray her upon the smooth wooden floor. Now and then she paused when something in a conversation caught her ear. She would listen for as long as it interested—or profited—her. Then she would be away again. She hadn’t much time before she must be in the gardens, and she must yet bathe and dress. What if Xiane should take it into his idiot head to come to her chambers before the gathering in honor of Riya-Akono’s feast day? The edge of danger just made this, her only freedom, more exciting. She giggled behind a hand.

  These hidden passages were her palace, ever since she had discovered them when Lura-Sharal was mistress of the chambers of the favorite concubine. She and her sister had explored them together until Lura-Sharal’s death.

  Now those chambers—and the secret they held—were hers. She spared a moment to wonder which emperor had had the tunnels built, and why, as she put her eye to the secret peephole in her sleeping chamber.

  It was empty save for Murohshei guarding the proper entrance and her maid, Tsiaa. Shei-Luin released the catch and slid the door open.

  Murohshei leaped to his feet and helped her pull off the old Zharmatian tunic and breeches she kept for her secret expeditions. Tsiaa clucked at the dirt on her hands and scrubbed at one cheek.

  “Into the tub with you, Favored One,” the maid scolded. “Aiyee, that you should run about like a Zharmatian hoyden! What a trial you are to me! See how white my hair is because of you?”

  But the scolding words were affectionate. Shei-Luin patted Tsiaa’s cheek and said with false innocence, “But I am a Zharmatian hoyden, Tsiaa! Don’t you remember?”

  She laughed and ran to the bathing room ahead of the only woman she named friend.

  Moments later, Tsiaa was scrubbing her back. Shei-Luin heard Murohshei setting out the new robes that Xiane had sent for this day, the finest she’d ever had.

  For today was the first time that Xahnu would be taken from the near fortress that was imperial nursery and shown to the court.

  Especially to one member of the court.

  The tumult had died down at last. Now there were a dozen discussions going on and what sounded like a hundred disagreements. Taren, sitting once more, leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

  Just as the Lady wondered if she should have him escorted back to his rooms, she felt something brush against her mind. Recognizing that touch, she held up her hand; when she had the attention of most of those in the room, she tapped her two middle fingers against her forehead-the Dragonlords’ signal for mindspeech. The last of the clamor died away.

  *I am here, Jessia,* the mindvoice said.

  I thank you, Morlen, for coming so promptly.

  *Thee are welcome. The others and I will await thy coming in the Field.*

  The voice faded from her mind. The Lady stood. “Early this morning I sent Kelder north to request Morlen the Seer to come and lend us his counsel upon this matter. He’s here.”

  Nodding approval, the rest of the Saethe also rose from their chairs. The Lady beckoned Sirl, who came at once. She said, “Taren, we must go to the Meeting Field. Sirl will help you, if you will.”

  Brow furrowed, Taren said, “Meeting … ? Lady, who is this Morlen?”

  “One of the wisest of the truedragons, and a good friend to the Dragonlords. I value—Taren, is something amiss?” she demanded, for the look that filled the man’s face verged on panic.

  “I would rather not … .”

  Nebulous suspicions rose like ghosts. The Lady asked, “And why not?”

  “Because …” A sudden, shy smile of unbelievable sweetness greeted those suspicions and made them tawdry. “Because I’m but a slave, the lowest of the low, and not fit to meet one of the lords of the sky, Lady. I’m unworthy.”

  Touched, the Lady said, “You are a slave no longer, and that you were will be of no importance to one such as Morlen. What does matter is your bravery in finding your way to us so that this wrong may be righted. But I wish him to hear the tale from your own lips. He may have questions for you that I cannot answer.”

  For a moment she thought he would refuse; his eyes would not meet hers. Then, so quietly that had she been truehuman she doubted she would have heard him, Taren said, “As you wish, Lady,” and drew the shawl closer as if seeking comfort in its warmth.

  As she watched him shuffle from the room, leaning heavily on Sirl’s arm, a belated realization struck her: the man was unused to dragons of any sort! Of course he was frightened; most truehumans were, save those born and bred at the Keep.

  It was clearly too long since she had moved in the world outside Dragonskeep. She followed, shaking her head and thinking.

  “Explain,” Linden said shortly. He was in no mood to be generous with this boy. He didn’t know what Raven had said to his soultwin, but he’d seen her face as she bolted from the hall. The boy had upset her badly.

  And now he was trying to tell them a tale wilder than a drunken bard’s. Linden folded his arms across his chest and waited.

  First the boy flushed with anger; then his face went dead white. He’d heard the challenge, then. Well enough; let him make good his wild words.

  Raven slowly stood up. He crossed the short distance between them, halting a bare pace from Linden. Hands gripping his belt, he stared hard into Linden’s eyes, his face set in lines of fury.

  Linden returned the glare. Yet for all his anger, he had to admit the lad had courage. There were few willing to risk the anger of a man as large as he was, even those who mistook him for a truehuman. But to challenge a Dragonlord, one known to be inhumanly strong and fast, took more bravery than most had. Or, Linden allowed, far fewer wits.

  But whatever other faults he might have, Raven did not look stupid. He did look ready to try his luck in a fight. Linden made ready to
catch the fist he was certain was coming. From the corner of his eye, he saw Otter raise his hands as though to push them apart.

  Instead, Raven earned Linden’s grudging respect by keeping his temper on a tight rein and replying calmly—if in a voice hard with anger—“As you wish, Dragonlord. I don’t know if Maurynna’s told you aught about me, or what you remember from meeting my father so long ago, but he’s a wool merchant in Thalnia now.”

  Linden nodded. “I remember.” And he did, very well; the memory was still bright and clear. What seemed so long ago to Raven’s truehuman perception of time was not long ago at all to him. “You were three, perhaps four years old. It was before he left Yerrih for Thalnia; he thought he could do better there, Thalnia being so much closer to Assantik. Did he succeed?”

  “Yes,” Raven said. “And that’s why I’m here today and not someone else—if someone else had even believed Taren.

  “Just before Maurynna left Thalnia late last spring, my father sent me to the highlands to bring home the wool sheared from our flocks there. I was furious; he had promised that I could go with Rynna and my great-uncle on board the Sea Mist. But at the last moment our factor, Black Oak—he who was to fetch the wool and bring it to Tanlyton—became ill. Instead of sending my stepbrother, Honigan, who was eager for it, my father insisted I go in Black Oak’s stead.”

  A spasm of anger passed over Raven’s face. “I don’t think Black Oak was ever ill; nor was there any reason to pass over Honigan for the trip. I think my father was afraid I’d never come home once I was so close to Yerrih. So he broke his word to me.”

  Linden mindspoke Otter. Would he do that?

  Which one—Raven or Redhawk? In truth, a good chance for either. The boy hates the wool business and is no trader. He has a gift for working with horses and an aunt in Yerrih who’s eager to welcome him and that gift. And as for Redhawk … Much as it grieves me to say this of a kinsman, yes, he would break his word to the boy. He wouldn’t think such a promise binding; he would say he knows what’s best for the lad.

  Despite his irritation, Linden felt a sneaking sympathy for Raven. He’d trained horses long ago and still kept his hand in here at Dragonskeep. And although he and his own father had fought like snow cat and wolf, at least his father had appreciated his talent and let him do what he loved. Besides, Linden thought wryly, Da made a good profit from it.

  Raven continued angrily, “I did my duty. I brought the wool train to Tanlyton, the big port on the southern coast, and saw it into the hands of our Assantikkan partners, House Mimdallek. In return, they gave into my hands a madman—so they said—who’d been picked up drifting in a dugout boat in the Straits of Cansunn.”

  Otter frowned. “Cansunn. It sounds familiar somehow.”

  “Cansunn?” Linden said, surprised. He knew he’d heard of the Straits. But it was another name that niggled at his memory, something Jekkanadar, Lleld’s soultwin, had said long ago as part of a story from his past. What was that tale … ?

  Part of it came back: that the deadly waters between Assantik and the fabled land of Jehanglan were considered unlucky even to name. That only madmen and the favored few attempted to sail them. That the madmen never came back and sometimes the favored ones didn’t, either. And this Taren was found there?

  Now he remembered the other name. “The Haunted Straits?”

  “The same,” Raven answered. Bit by bit the anger faded from his voice as he went on, and the tight set of his shoulders relaxed. “It’s a long story, but eventually Taren came into the hands of a Mimdallek friend of mine, Iokka, the one who bought the wool from me. He had to be rid of Taren before anyone in Assantik found out about him. So he brought the man with him when he set sail for Thalnia.”

  Why? Linden wondered. And why not just kill the man? It would have been simpler. “It was that important? So why trust you with the secret?” he asked, keeping the skepticism from his voice with an effort.

  A shrug. “Iokka was desperate; he had other things on his mind. We’ve helped each other before. He had little time and less choice.”

  “And this Taren is the one you escorted here?” Linden asked. In Otter’s mind he said, If his father is so against Raven’s getting anywhere near Yerrih, it’s surprising he let the boy go.

  I’m wondering about that, was the slow reply.

  Ah. Aloud, Linden said, “So it was Taren who told you about the … truedragon held captive in Jehanglan?”

  This time he couldn’t keep the doubt from his voice. Bind a truedragon? No and no and no yet again. Such a working wouldn’t need a band of mages. It would need an army of them.

  And that was an impossibility. There was truth behind the old children’s tale about the six silly mages arguing the best way to churn cream into butter. Mages were a notoriously independent and fractious lot. One might as well try herding a business of ferrets as convince a band of mages to agree on a working; it would be as likely to succeed, far less frustrating, and much more amusing.

  No, this was the stuff of a madman’s ravings. It had to be.

  “You think me a fool for believing there’s a truedragon held captive in Jehanglan, don’t you?” The anger was back.

  Linden drew breath to answer, not certain how to soften his words or even if he should. But before he could speak, another voice broke in.

  “If that’s the tale, Raven, then there are more fools about than you, I think.”

  Maurynna came up to them, Lleld a scant half pace behind. The smallest Dragonlord’s eyes were wide, and for once she was silent. Indeed, she looked too stunned to speak.

  That did not bode well. Not at all. Linden drew a deep breath.

  Maurynna finished, “There’s five truedragons just landed.”

  With Murohshei and Tsiaa following, Shei-Luin went to the wing of the palace that housed the imperial nursery. The guards at the entrance gaped at her; then, remembering that such as they were not allowed to look upon a concubine of the emperor’s, they looked away in confusion. When one made to drop his pike across the entrance to block it, she struck his wrist with her fan.

  “I come for my son,” she said coldly.

  The pike moved aside slowly.

  But one of the women inside had heard. Lady Hami, wife of Imperial Minister Musahi, came to the door.

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” she said with a frown. “Lord Xahnu’s nurse will bring him to the gardens.”

  “No,” Shei-Luin said. “I shall bring my son myself. Now stand aside, so that I may go to him.”

  “But—!”

  Shei-Luin stared her down. Though Lady Hami’s lips thinned to a tight line, she moved aside. Shei-Luin entered the nursery.

  The main chamber was a bright room, with walls painted with images of the Phoenix. In one corner sat musicians, playing softly to soothe whatever childish tantrums might arise. Maids scurried about, picking up toys.

  Standing in the center of the room, directing the maids, stood Xahnu’s nurse, a woman of middle years. She held the Phoenix heir on one hip.

  Xahnu caught sight of his mother and crowed with delight. The nurse turned, frowning when she saw Shei-Luin.

  “I’ll take my son,” Shei-Luin said, holding out her arms. Xahnu lunged for her.

  The nurse pulled him back. “It’s not done so,” the nurse huffed. “I am his nurse, and—”

  Shei-Luin smiled, all silk and steel. “And I say that this day is a holiday for you. Give Xahnu to me. Or must I speak with the Phoenix Lord?”

  Fear entered the nurse’s eyes then; it was well known in the palace that Shei-Luin was the jewel of the emperor’s eye. One did not make an enemy of the First Concubine—not if one could avoid it. She passed Xahnu to his mother.

  Shei-Luin kissed her son’s forehead as his sturdy arms wrapped around her neck. “Come, little phoenix, today is a day of celebration,” she crooned to him.

  As they left the nursery, Shei-Luin wondered if she could talk Xiane into letting her visit Xahnu. By custom, the co
ncubine-mother of an heir was not allowed to visit, and thus influence, the future emperor.

  Xiane’s own mother had been allowed to raise him, but only because she’d been a favorite of the old emperor, and because Xiane had had two older brothers; no one had ever thought he’d become emperor.

  As Shei-Luin carried the precious weight of her son through the halls, she vowed to see that custom changed.

  “May the gods help us all,” Linden said, realizing what the arrival of the five truedragons might mean.

  Otter said slowly, “It could be true?”

  “It would seem the truedragons think so,” Maurynna answered. “Else, from all I’ve heard of them since coming here, I see no reason they would leave their mountain holds otherwise.”

  “One of them is old Morlen the Seer,” Lleld said, her voice barely audible.

  “What!” Linden exclaimed. “Morlen? But why is he—why are any of them here?” If it hadn’t been for the shock in Lleld’s eyes, he would have suspected her of having him on.

  “I don’t know,” Maurynna said. “We just saw them come back with Kelder.”

  “Kelder?” Linden asked, confused now. When had Kelder gone to fetch truedragons?

  Maurynna frowned. “Didn’t you see him—oh, of course not. He was out of sight by the time you came out on the balcony this morning. And then I forgot because—” She stopped.

  Linden hoped his face was not as red as his soultwin’s.

  Otter coughed and hid a smile behind his hand. Raven’s lips thinned to an angry line. The stunned look left Lleld’s face; a knowing grin replaced it.

  “You were … distracted?” she sniggered.

  “Lleld!” Linden said in warning. It didn’t stop her snickering. He ignored her in the hope that she would stop. If the gods were kind it might even work.

  And rivers would flow uphill.

  Perhaps—“I owe you an apology, Raven. I’m sorry. If you’re willing, I’d like to hear the full story, as much as you know about the captive truedragon,” Linden said to the young Yerrin.