Dragon and Phoenix Page 6

  “He’s Yerrin?” Otter asked, surprised. Taren wasn’t a Yerrin name.

  “Yes,” Raven said. The words came reluctantly. “Taren Willowson is his real name—

  “Willowson?” Otter interrupted, tugging at his beard. “There’s something—bah! It’s gone again; getting old, I guess. But my apologies—go on.”

  “His mother was Kelnethi, but his father was Yerrin and he was raised in Yerrih. Mountain Eagle clan. He’s as Yerrin as you or I, or Linden Rathan for that matter. It’s just—”

  Suspicions sprang up in Otter’s mind at Raven’s hesitation. “No clan braid? He’s outcast, then?”

  “It was cut off in Jehanglan; he was a slave there. Please don’t tell anyone he’s Yerrin,” Raven pleaded. “He wants to pass as Kelnethi. Though it wasn’t his fault, he feels his honor in his clan has been broken. He’s ashamed to face them. That’s why he asked no word be sent to his kin.”

  “I see,” Otter said. And he did. Unconsciously his hand groped for the long, narrow clan braid hanging down his back. He sighed in relief. Silly, that; of course it was still there.

  Gods—not even your worst enemy will cut off your clan braid. Your head, perhaps, Otter thought. But not your braid.

  The mere thought made him queasy. To cut off a clan braid was to brand one as parna, outcast, unclean. It was done to break a man or woman’s spirit, declare them dead to the clan and to all honor. “But of course the Jehangli wouldn’t know,” he said. But whether to reassure himself or Raven, he wasn’t certain.

  “They did. He’d told them, you see, what it meant. They cut it off anyway,” Raven said. He looked ill. “Taren said they laughed when they did it.”

  “Oh, gods,” said Otter, sickened. Never mind that it wouldn’t mean the same thing to the Jehangli as it would to any Yerrin, even anyone in the Five Kingdoms. The thought still turned his stomach.

  Raven grabbed his packs and pushed to his feet. His voice rough, he said, “If it’s all the same to you, Great-uncle Otter, I’d like to switch to that outside sleeping chamber. I like the view from the window. But it’s a long way down, isn’t it?”

  “Very,” Otter said. “This end of the Keep is built right on the edge of the cliffs. Nothing between you and the valley floor but thin air and lots of it. Don’t get any ideas about sneaking out that way as you used to do when you’d slip out to the big fair at Stormhaven.”

  Raven laughed. “I always thought you knew about that. Thanks for never giving me away to Da.”

  Otter watched his grandnephew stride from the sitting room. Aye, the boy was hurt now but he’d recover. He was young and, though he’d deny it hotly, had never been desperately in love with Rynna. There was some other girl whose life Raven would make miserable, Otter thought with a smile.

  Raven’s disembodied voice floated in from the small sleeping chamber. “He’s calling himself Taren Olmeins. That was his mother’s name. Never let on that you know he’s Yerrin, please; he’ll feel like an outcast around you because you’re a bard, and he doesn’t deserve it. He’s a fine man, risking his life to help that dragon.”

  “You’re too late, Lleld,” said Nevra, one of the kir guards barring the way to the Meeting Field beyond the Keep.

  “What do you mean?” Lleld asked. Blast it all, she knew she should have tried sneaking in from the other side. There was a well-hidden trail through the rocks there so narrow that only a child—or a very undersized Dragonlord—could fit through it. A pox on Jekkanadar for tricking that promise out of her! Now how was she to know what the truedragons had discussed with the Saethe?

  She tried to see past the stocky guard. “Where’s the one from Jehanglan—Taren?”

  Nevra said, “The truehuman went back to the Keep some time ago. He didn’t look at all well. The Lady and some of the Saethe are still talking with Morlen and the other truedragons, but most have left. The council is over, they told us.”

  Damn, damn, damn! “So what did they say? Is there really a truedragon held captive in Jehanglan? Or is it one of us? Either way, who is it?” Lleld demanded in an agony of frustration. How maddening! She could see the truedragons and a few Dragonlords talking, too far away for even another Dragonlord to hear what was discussed. “What do the truedragons say?”

  Nevra shrugged. “The truedragons are keeping their own counsel. My guess is they’ll—There they go!”

  Five mighty forms erupted from the ground. Wing stroke after powerful wing stroke gained them the upper air. As she watched them rise, an idea came to Lleld.

  She raced away. A quick run along the paths seaming the plateau of Dragonskeep brought her to the stone stairway leading to the wide landing cliff. She raced down it, leaping from step to step like a demented mountain goat.

  The landing cliff was empty; no one had thought to balk her this way. She let herself flow into Change. Scant moments later Lleld, now a small dragon the fiery red of her hair, launched herself from the cliff.

  It wasn’t long before she had the truedragons in sight. She followed at a discreet distance.

  What on earth are they doing? Lleld asked herself in surprise a short while later. For the truedragons had flown only until they were out of sight from the ground at Dragonskeep, and were spiraling down to land in a meadow that she knew was nearby. They must be stopping to discuss something. Perhaps I could sneak in—

  Sneak in? How? You’d glow like a beacon fire against that green grass. Then all one of them has to do is sit on you, and it will be all over, Jekkanadar said. Remember your promise.

  It was only for the council in the field, she complained but veered away. It would be just too embarrassing to have her soultwin arrive and drag her off. Especially in front of truedragons. And he’d do it, too.

  But one way or another, curse it, she’d find out what was going on.

  Seven

  Bless Lady Riya-Akono, Shei-Luin thought. On this one day of the year were all women honored; on this one day of the year could the concubines of the harem mingle freely in the palace gardens with the lords and ladies and courtiers.

  Besides, she had always felt a special kinship to the Lady. Were they not both of the West? True, the legends said nothing of where Lady Riya-Akono was from, but it must have been the western lands, for it was only there that two names were used. Then there was the Lady’s bravery and resourcefulness. That, as far as Shei-Luin was concerned, was the final proof. Jehangli women had no spine.

  Yes, it was only right the Lady of the Moon be honored.

  As it was only right that she held the place of special honor among the Phoenix Lord’s women. The courtiers and the lords and their ladies made way for her as Shei-Luin walked with studied nonchalance through the exquisite beauty of the gardens. For by her side Tsiaa now carried little Xahnu, her son and heir to the Phoenix Throne. Behind her walked Murohshei.

  Her son—though not Xiane’s. She turned to gaze fondly at her child. Dressed in robes of the imperial yellow, little Xahnu looked solemnly about him, dark eyes big in a face already losing its baby roundness. His hair shone glossy black in the sun as he gifted her with his sweet child’s smile.

  Shei-Luin’s heart flamed with love for her son. He was worth every risk she’d taken in conceiving him. She thanked the Phoenix that she’d been able to bear this child to the man she loved—the same man who walked toward her now with Xiane’s arm around his shoulders. Shei-Luin sank gracefully to the ground at the emperor’s approach. Her servants did the same. She watched them through lowered lashes.

  They were nearly to her when a flash of black and red buzzed around Xiane’s head. To her astonishment, he turned as white as bleached silk and jumped back, shaking. Yesuin swatted at the insect. It flew off.

  She heard Yesuin murmur soothingly, “Only a fly, Xiane, the kind that looks like a bee. Don’t worry. All’s well.”

  And what means this? Shei-Luin thought in astonishment. Phoenix! Don’t tell me the man is afraid of a little bee!

  It was all she could do t
o hide her contempt as the color crept back into Xiane’s cheeks.

  A moment later it was as if nothing had happened. “Have you seen my son yet, cousin?” Xiane brayed as he threw his arm around Yesuin’s shoulders once more and led the Zharmatian hostage to where she waited, eyes lowered now.

  Shei-Luin dared to look up. She met Yesuin’s eyes.

  “Handsome, isn’t he?” Xiane went on.

  “Just like his father, my lord,” Shei-Luin said.

  Xiane laughed in delight. “Ah, Precious Flower! Tell me, Yesuin, am I not a lucky man? A healthy, handsome son and the most beautiful woman in Jehanglan is his mother and my concubine. What man could ask for more?”

  Yesuin said, “You are indeed lucky, my lord.” There was a touch of pain in his voice that Xiane, she knew, would never hear.

  Indeed, even now the emperor turned to clap his hands for everyone’s attention. “To the Garden of Eternal Spring!” he called. “I have arranged for a special treat in honor of my son!”

  Shei-Luin lowered her eyes once more. It would not do to burst out laughing. But even as the laugh bubbled to her lips, it died. There had been more than simple pain in Yesuin’s voice. But what?

  Her breath caught in her chest as she thought she recognized it.

  It—it could not have been remorse. Could it?

  Maurynna couldn’t decide who was the more annoying, Linden or Raven. How dare Raven snipe so at her soultwin! It wasn’t as if he had any claim on her beyond friendship. As far as she knew, Raven never had approached her Uncle Kesselandt to seek her in marriage or had asked his father to do so. So what right had he to act so proprietary?

  She grabbed Boreal’s saddle and blanket from their rack and his bridle from its hook, and went out to the paddock for the second time that day. The stallion trotted up at her whistle. “How about a nice, long ride, boy? Before I kick a certain best friend in the ass for being such a pain in mine.”

  Boreal’s ears flicked back and forth as he tilted his head at her. But he came up and stood quietly as she smoothed the saddle blanket over his back.

  Linden was almost worse, Maurynna thought. Raven deserved a good thumping or at least a severe dressing down. Yet Linden had refused to do it.

  But it was herself she was most annoyed with; she’d let Linden talk her out of pinning Raven’s ears back. She set the saddle down carefully on Boreal’s back, fuming as she fumbled with buckles and straps she still wasn’t at home with; one of the stablehands usually saddled Boreal for her. At least she didn’t have to worry about getting a bit into his mouth.

  Her mind insisted on going over the argument yet again … .

  “Why?” she’d demanded. “He was trying to start an argument with you all morning long. Why didn’t you just rake him over the barnacles and have done with it?”

  “Because,” Linden replied, “I understand how he feels. He’s lost you, Maurynna; lost you completely and he knows it.”

  “He never had me to begin with,” Maurynna snapped back, “save as a friend. I was never his, damn it all. If anyone owned me, it was my House. Only they had the right to order my life. And damn Raven anyway for expecting me to blithely give up my ship and follow him to Yerrih.”

  Linden opened his mouth, shut it again.

  “Don’t say it,” she warned him. “I didn’t try to get back to the Sea Mist because of the Lady’s orders. Now that I’m a Dragonlord, she is to me what Uncle Kesselandt is to House Erdon—the Head of this, my new ‘House.’”

  She stalked around the room, then stopped and rearranged the apples in the big pottery bowl with a violence that sent two of them flying onto the table. She scowled at them, then grabbed one and bit into it, tossing the other back into the bowl; she resumed prowling as if she might find the source of her ill humor lurking in a corner and squash it. All at once she stopped. “Linden, would you have made me give up the Sea Mist if the Lady hadn’t?”

  “Made you? No,” Linden had said, shaking his head slowly. “Tried to convince you to—yes.” Then, “I’m sorry, but I would have.”

  She’d walked out of their chambers at that. He hadn’t followed … .

  The last buckle was done; Maurynna swung into the saddle and gathered up the reins. “Let’s be off, shall we?”

  Boreal broke into a trot.

  Very well then, Lleld thought. No doubt Morlen and the other truedragons wouldn’t like it if I barge in on them. But what if I just happen to meet them as they fly north again? Just out for a bit of exercise, that’s all, and such a coincidence if I should run into them on their way home.

  She swung wide of the valley so that no one inside would see her and dashed north as fast as her wings could take her.

  So here she was, riding their favorite trail—alone.

  In truth, not quite alone, Maurynna had to admit. But special as Boreal was, he was not the company Linden was.

  Or usually is. How hard, Maurynna wondered, would he have tried to talk me into giving up my ship? She was perversely glad she’d closed herself off to him when she’d felt him “searching” for her earlier. She was not ready to talk to him yet. And perhaps would not be for some time. She would see.

  The trail grew steeper. Maurynna concentrated on lifting herself from the saddle slightly to ease Boreal as he surged up the incline. That’s right; get up into a half-seat—No! Don’t stand in your stirrups, she could “hear” Linden say as he always did at this point.

  This was the worst bit of the trail—especially coming back down—but the mountain meadow on the other side was worth the trouble. In a few moments it would open before her, a green haven of lush grass and wild flowers, cupped within a circle of ridges. She and Boreal would drink from the spring that bubbled from a cleft in the sheer stone at one side, then she’d strip the Llysanyin’s tack from him and let him wander while she scrambled over the tumbled boulders at the edges of the meadow. There were imprints of seashells in some of the rocks. She had hopes of someday finding a perfect one small enough for her to take back. She didn’t feel quite so far from the seas that she loved, somehow, among these rocks; those same oceans had once been here.

  She tried not to think of how these trips usually ended when Linden was with her. Instead she concentrated on the ride. Just around this bend in the trail, and down again—

  Boreal stopped, neighing in surprise. He spun halfway around, ready to bolt, before Maurynna threw off the paralysis of astonishment that had briefly claimed her. “No!” she cried and clamped her legs around him, holding him. She knew that if Boreal fell prey to his fright, she’d never stay on him, not on this trail. “Don’t be silly—they won’t eat you!” She hoped the stallion listened.

  Boreal stopped, hooves braced wide, trembling in every limb, but now set as immovably as the boulders around him. Maurynna patted him on a shoulder suddenly dark with sweat, and dismounted. It seemed courteous, somehow.

  The five truedragons seemed even more surprised than she. Almost as one they reared back, heads well up, watching her as she approached, leading the stallion by the reins. Boreal followed, reassured now that he was not to be dinner.

  There was something wrong, Maurynna realized, in the wary poses, the uneasy glances they cast at each other. She stopped, unsure what to do next. Surely these lords of the sky could see she was no threat?

  *Greetings to thee,* the largest said at last.

  “Greetings, my lord dragon,” Maurynna replied. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, my lords.”

  The truedragon who had spoken came forward a few steps. That would be Morlen the Seer, Maurynna guessed. He was huge, larger than any living creature she’d ever seen; she wondered if even the fabled great whales of the far northern seas could compare to this truedragon. The slanting light of the sun washed over his dark green scales. The other four came up until she stood ringed by truedragons. She looked at each one in turn, tilting her head far back to do so. Boreal crowded her back, no doubt having second thoughts about the wisdom of all this.

/>   Like Dragonlords, the truedragons were various colors. Morlen was a deep moss green; of the others, two were brown, another a deep sapphire blue; the fourth was the color of amethyst and Maurynna knew she looked upon the flower of dragonkind, Morlen’s granddaughter, Talassaene.

  A sudden—memory?—of a white-haired young woman with violet eyes overwhelmed Maurynna. Someone she didn’t recognize, had never met, but knew nevertheless. The gaze of the violet eyes haunted her. She knew that if that woman—Who is she? And how do I know her?—had been a Dragonlord, she would have been the color of the truedragon standing here … .

  Maurynna shook her head to clear it of the unbidden image, and returned to her study of the first truedragons she’d seen close up. As with Dragonlords, their belly scales were the color of old ivory, and their eyes shone with ruby fire. They were utterly beautiful and dangerous beyond anything she’d ever met with.

  She faced Morlen once more.

  *No, thee do not disturb us,* Morlen said. His mindvoice was kind, if perplexed. *We have merely paused on our journey back to our own mountains.*

  Ah; no doubt they were discussing whatever they’d learned from Taren, then. It would account for their initial wariness; she’d surprised them. Still, the smoke curling from the nostrils of two of the other truedragons sent chills up her spine. The magic that made her a Dragonlord was proof against all harm from fire—all, that is, save dragonfire. If these were so minded, she would die here and no one would be the wiser.

  Should she mindcall Linden? To what end? He could do nothing against the likes of these; even the smallest of these truedragons was larger than he was. If the gods meant her to die here nothing would help her. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

  But the look in Morlen’s eye was as kind as his mindvoice had been. With a grunt he settled himself in the long grass and continued to study her; the others followed suit. She wondered what went through Morlen’s mind.