Dragon and Phoenix Read online

  That did the trick. If there was one thing Lleld prized above all else, it was news; she turned greedy eyes on Raven. “The captive truedragon—you know about it?”

  Linden held up a warning hand. “Lleld, not so fast. We’ve still no proof—”

  Lleld ignored him, reached up and caught Raven’s elbow. “Have you broken your fast yet, lad? No? I’m Lleld Kemberaene. Here, come and tell m—tell us everything as you eat.”

  Surprise banished the smoldering anger in the boy’s face. “As you wish, Dragonlord,” he said politely to Lleld as she propelled him to a table.

  It was a while before they were all settled and food was brought to them. Then Jekkanadar arrived and they had to find a place for him as well, Lleld excitedly telling him about the truedragons. At last they were ready. To Lleld’s obvious frustration, Raven began eating. At Linden’s nod, Otter took pity on Lleld and acquainted her, Maurynna, and Jekkanadar with what he and Linden already knew.

  At one point while his great-uncle spoke, Raven picked up a slice of bread from the serving platter and looked around; without a word and hardly taking her eyes from Otter, Maurynna pushed one of the three little clay jars on the table to the young Yerrin. The blue-glazed one, not the green jar with rose-hip jam or the brown with elderberry in it. Raven accepted the jar without examining the contents and dribbled honey onto his bread. It was plain that that was what he’d expected.

  It filled Linden with unreasoning jealousy that Maurynna would know Raven’s wants, that she would be so aware of him, that Raven would accept it with no surprise. Don’t be stupid, he told himself. Of course she knows what he likes on his bread, just as he no doubt knows what she likes with hers. They grew up together, damn it! The cold reasoning did little to douse the fire of resentment. He glared at the younger man.

  Raven chose that moment to look up from his food. First surprise, then a smug half smile lit his face. Soultwin you may be, Dragonlord, but even you cannot erase what went before, that smile seemed to say. And when Maurynna laid her hand on the green jar, Raven said, “Rose-hip?”

  She smiled as she ladled a good-sized dollop of jam on her bread, and said, “Of course; what else?” before turning her attention back to Otter.

  Otter finished his tale and turned to his own food. Linden felt the tickle in his mind that meant Otter was trying to mindspeak him. He opened the contact.

  No bard is he, diving into his meal like that, Linden said in half-hearted jest, struggling to keep jealousy from coloring his mindvoice. That he didn’t quite succeed was evident in the puzzled look in the bard’s eyes.

  Luckily Otter chose not to ask any awkward questions. Not even an inkling of it, was all he said. Any true bard with an audience this eager would have starved before disappointing them. Ah, well. He scooped up a spoonful of frumenty and ate with relish.

  One’s enough for any family, Linden replied.

  Linden, is all well? Otter asked, pausing before eating another spoonful.

  Linden ignored the question. Silence fell over the table as they ate.

  When Raven did start talking, it was so sudden that most of them jumped. “House Mimdallek had Taren from certain, ah, merchants who occasionally have business in northern Jehanglan.”

  Linden raised an eyebrow. Well and well; it seemed that some not of the favored—and no doubt official and heavily taxed—few made it to and from Jehanglan.

  “Merchants, my ass,” said Lleld. Then, with relish, “Smugglers! What fun.” She rubbed her hands together in glee.

  Raven blinked in surprise at the little Dragonlord, then laughed. All at once Linden saw the little boy he’d played with years ago.

  “Gilliad al zefa’ Mimdallek,” Raven continued, “is the Second of her House in Nen dra Kore, the Assantik port on the Straits. She’s both greedy and superstitious; one was nearly the death of Taren, the other saved him. She got Taren out of Nen dra Kore before House Mhakkan—and her own First, Ben-dakkat—found out about him. House Mhakkan is a very powerful House, the only one that trades with Jehanglan; the only one allowed to—officially. They hold the imperial grant.

  “Taren was passed through Mimdallek hands the length of Assantik and shoved onto a ship bound for Thalnia. My friend Iokka brought Taren to me in Tanlyton; he and all the others along the line were convinced Taren was mad. He sounded it, too.”

  “Lucky for him,” Jekkanadar said. “It’s ill fortune to kill a madman.”

  “Just so, Dragonlord. Likely that was all that stopped Gilliad from ordering Taren kilted—that and the fact that in betweeen his bouts of raving he’d invoked Danashkar to avenge him if she had him killed. It stayed Gilliad’s hand, but must have burned her toes, as Iokka says, not to have had Taren’s throat cut somewhere along the line. She wishes her associations with these particular trading partners to remain very, ah, discreet.”

  Otter snorted. “I can imagine.”

  Linden rubbed his chin. “Is it so important?”

  Maurynna, next to him, nearly choked on her tea. “Very,” she said.

  Raven rested his elbows on the table and said kindly—too kindly—“Why, Dragonlord; surely you must know about the Dawn Emperor’s grants of—”

  Before Linden could pin the snide brat’s ears back for him, Lleld broke in with, “Obviously he doesn’t and neither do I. I’ve never been to Assantik, I don’t think Linden has either, and neither of us was ever a trader. So, hang it all, just why is it important? And who is Danashkar?”

  “Danashkar,” Jekkanadar said, “is a particularly nasty Assantikkan demon you don’t want angry with you. He’s not invoked lightly. The mad are his children, and he’ll hunt you down if you kill one of them. All the stories agree you’re lucky if you take only a few years to die in his domain. I’ll let one of those who understand trade explain the emperor’s grants.”

  Smirking at Linden, Raven began an answer, but jumped in his seat and shut his mouth again. He darted an angry glare first at his great-uncle to his left and then across the table at Maurynna. Linden generously hid a satisfied grin behind his mug of tea.

  Maurynna said, “For the most part, the Dawn Emperor doesn’t interfere with the great trading Houses. It’s the Council of Ten which, as my Assantik ‘cousin’ of sorts complains, writes the laws and causes all the problems. But sometimes an emperor will, for reasons best known to him or her, grant a House the rights of trade for a particular commodity, or with a particular port.

  “My family is allied with House Bakkuran for trade, Lleld, and that same ‘cousin’ once told me that a very, very long time ago, the empire of Jehanglan closed itself off from the outside world.”

  Jekkanadar nodded agreement. “A long time to truehumans, yes; it was not long ago as Dragonlords reckon time. It happened in my father’s time; he was a child but he remembered. Even at the campfires of the lowest was told the tale of how an emperor of Jehanglan closed his land against the world and became the first Phoenix Lord. No one knew why. From what I understand, it’s still not known.”

  Raven whistled. “You Changed that long ago, my lord? But that’s—”

  “A little more than a thousand years ago,” Jekkanadar finished. “As Dragonlords go, I’m still considered young, my friend.

  “The realm of Assantik was in chaos from decades of the Wars of the Witch Kings, the armies still battling back and forth across the land when I first Changed. I was only a goatherd then, but even the most humble of us were caught in the fighting.” Jekkanadar paused and absentmindedly fingered the thin scar running along his dark cheek. “It was almost a hundred years later that one man took the throne and his children and children’s children held it after him. That was Nerreklas the Black, first emperor of the Third Dynasty.

  “Nerreklas’s great-great grandson tried to break Jehanglan’s isolation. He was greedy, and the tales of Jehanglan’s wealth had not lost in the telling over the years. He raised a navy to conquer them. That navy was destroyed.

  “Only one sailor returned from th
e Straits of Cansunn. Tied to a spar, he was found by a fishing boat and brought before the emperor. He lived long enough to pass on the message he had been given, then died.”

  Jekkanadar stopped. His last words hung on the air.

  “And?” his soultwin demanded at last.

  “What was the message?” Maurynna asked at the same time.

  “Oh, well done,” Linden heard Otter whisper under his breath. “Give me this man and I’ll make a bard out of him.” The words were so soft that only the unnaturally keen hearing of a Dragonlord would have heard them. From Jekkanadar’s wink, Linden knew he’d heard them as well.

  “The message? Let me see if I can remember … . Ah! I have it!”

  Good thing, too, Linden mindspoke Otter, or else Lleld would have had his hide for boot leather, the tease.

  Jekkanadar continued, his voice low and menacing, “From the tales I heard when I went back to Assantik many lives of men afterward, it was plain that the man was under some spell, kept alive until he could deliver his message. For he said, ‘Those who challenge the Phoenix, shall die by the Phoenix’s might,’ and fell dead, the flesh rotting from his bones in that instant.”

  “Eeyahh,” Lleld said with a grimace. “That’s gruesome.”

  Her soultwin smiled, pure wickedness. “That’s how I heard it. It’s best told around a campfire in the dead of night, though. One can imagine all sorts of awful things then.” He hitched one hand across the table like a monstrous spider, fingers veering this way and that as if they searched for something. “All sorts of things creeping up on you out of the darkness beyond the firelight.”

  A long moment of silence; then, “Feh,” said Lleld, pushing her plate away. “I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.”

  Linden wholeheartedly agreed.

  Four of the truedragons stood together to one side of the Field; they were the guard of honor, made up of kinswyrms of the fifth and largest truedragon, one honored and venerated among his kind and the Dragonlords.

  Morlen the Seer swung his long neck around as the Dragonlords and Taren approached. *Well met, little cousins,* Morlen said. *And good day to thee, truehuman Taren Olmeins; we thank thee for thy sacrifices in bringing us this news.*

  Taren’s face turned an alarming shade of grey. Be gentle with him, Morlen, the Lady said privily to the Seer. Like most truehumans, he’s terrified of dragonkind, and has been ill as well. Aloud she said, “Taren, please tell Morlen all you told the Saethe earlier.”

  Once more Taren Olmeins recited his news. But this time he told it quickly, the tale skinned and cut to its bones. Now and again the Lady elaborated in mindspeech for Morlen’s benefit.

  When the man was done, Morlen thought for a time, then asked, *Have thee any idea who it might be, Jessia?*

  Taren’s gaze darted between them.

  The Lady replied, “Kelder and I talked it over last night. While Taren says that the captured dragon is a Dragonlord, it’s not proved to our satisfaction. We all know, old friend, how false tales can spring to life. It could well be a truedragon. More of your kind have disappeared than of mine. That’s why I asked you to come.

  *Still, the tale could be true. Besides the many truedragons that have gone missing, there are a few Dragonlords who have disappeared over time, Dragonlords that thee have no idea what befell them. This could be any one of those. But I agree—this is most likely one of my kind.*

  “I tell you, the one beneath the Iron Temple is a Dragonlord!” Taren interrupted. His hand flew to his mouth as if to chastise his tongue for its rudeness. A faint flush of color crept into his cheeks.

  The Lady nodded, accepting the tacit apology. “It’s possible. And there’s one we consider more likely than any of the others, for he was fascinated with exploring new places before …”

  *Before his soultwin, Carra, died. Thee should not look so surprised, Jessia; thee were thinking of Dharm Varleran, were thee not? I remember him wandering the northern wilds after her death. I spoke with him then; Dharm talked of releasing his hold on life so that Varleran would come into his own, and he would be free to follow Carra to the other side. It would also explain a Seeing I had long ago; I could not understand it then, for it was confused and faint, but now … *

  “If it is Dharm, then this is the concern of the Dragonlords.”

  *No, Jessia, even if this is the one we once knew as Dharm Varleran, then Dharm has already gone on to the other side. That means it is Varleran who is imprisoned—and if that is so, it is the concern of the truedragons. And even if it is not he, there are truedragons it might well be. As thee said, we have also had our disappearances. Either way, I think we must claim this burden. I will bring it before our council, and we will decide what must be done.*

  A gasp from Taren brought her attention back to the man. “You will send Dragonlords, will you not?” he demanded of her.

  She frowned at him, surprised by his vehemence. “Lord Morlen has claimed this—”

  “No! Where he’s kept, the truedragons wouldn’t be able to reach him. You must send Dragonlords!”

  Then, as if his last outburst was too much for him, Taren staggered and would have fallen had not Sirl caught his arm. “I apologize, I have no right to speak so. It’s just … I—I must lie down,” he whispered.

  The Lady nodded and beckoned to Sirl. She watched the kir help Taren back to the Keep. “Now why … ?”

  Morlen chuckled in her mind. *Did thee not say he was terrified of my kind? Perhaps he feared thee would send him as our guide and that one of us would mistake him for a rabbit one dark night.*

  Once again the Lady spent a rueful moment reflecting that she had forgotten too much about truehumans—especially if a truedragon had to remind her of their foibles!

  “What of Taren’s claim that you won’t be able to reach the prisoner?”

  *Where one dragon has gone, others may follow. This is not the task of thy kind, Jessia. Let us hope it need never be. *

  “I suggest you stop pushing your luck, young man,” Otter said as he entered the chambers that were his whenever he came to Dragonskeep. He pushed the door closed behind him. “That was cowardly; you know Linden won’t clout you because you’re my great-nephew, and Maurynna’s friend.”

  Raven looked up from sorting through his packs, his eyes flashing in anger. “Ah—because he’s a Dragonlord I’m supposed to be so careful of Linden Rathan’s feelings? Just lie down and accept that he’s stolen my lass from me? I thought you always said he preferred being treated like any man, not like some godling. Well and well, I’m treating him better than any other man who’d taken Maurynna from me. I haven’t Challenged him, have I?”

  Otter shook his head in disgust. Was the boy really such a fool? That wasn’t the Raven he knew. “You ass. Do you really think you’d have a chance against Linden in a duel? Likely he could have scrubbed the stable floor with you even before he’d Changed. Or did you forget that he’s a warrior trained from the cradle, O my idiot nephew, and you a trader with but a few tricks with the sword? Remember those he was a mercenary under—the woman who became the greatest queen Kelneth ever had, and the man whose reign as High Chief was a golden age for Yerrih. It would have been no contest even then. Now, of course, he could merely pick you up and throw you into a wall to have done with it.

  “But never mind that. I wasn’t talking about Linden. I was talking about Maurynna. Don’t think she didn’t notice you sniping at Linden all morning long. Just a short while before I left them she was planning to have a little … talk with you.”

  At least the boy had the sense to wince at that. There was hope for him yet. A flaying with the sharp edge of Maurynna’s ire was not a thing to court. Nor would she hesitate to clout the fool boy, either, as the young idiot knew well. She’d done it many a time back in Thalnia.

  “Rest easy; Linden was talking her out of it when I left them. Why, I don’t know. I’ve always told him he’s too easygoing.” Otter crossed over to his favorite chair and sat. He lo
oked down at Raven squatting over his bundles on the floor and tugged his beard in frustration. “Didn’t you listen to a single blasted word of the tales I told you and Maurynna when you were both sprats? Linden didn’t ‘steal’ Maurynna from you. They were given to each other by the gods more than six hundred years ago.”

  The bard sighed. “If you only understood how lonely he was, waiting for his soultwin to be born, afraid it would never happen.”

  “‘The Last Dragonlord,’” Raven quoted softly. “He was named so in the stories, wasn’t he?”

  “You remember that much at least,” Otter said. “And don’t you dare tell me you’ll be as lonely as that pining away for Maurynna. It’s not the same thing as missing literally half your soul. Not at all.”

  A sheepish grin told him Raven had indeed been clutching that bit of romantic idiocy to his bosom.

  “Ass,” Otter said again, but this time with affection. “There’s someone else for you, you’ll see. And just for my curiosity—did you tell your father and stepmother you were coming here?”

  Raven bit his lip. After a moment, he said, “No.”

  “They must be worried sick—especially Virienne—wondering what’s happened to you,” Otter said quietly.

  “The letter should have reached them by now. Remember how desperate I said Iokka was? You’ll understand just how much when I tell you that he agreed to give that letter into Da’s own hand in return for my getting Taren as far away from Assantik and anyone in House Mhakkan as I could,” Raven said smugly.

  Otter laughed until the tears came. The boy wasn’t the trader his father was, thought the bard, but that time he’d driven the bargain of a lifetime. “That was cruel, lad,” he said with real admiration.

  “Iokka thought so, too,” Raven said with a grin. “But I kept my part of it. House Mhakkan doesn’t trade this far north. And how could I trust poor Taren to anyone else? There he was, ill with the shaking sickness and so glad to have someone he could speak Yerrin to once more—” He stopped, cursing himself.