The Last Dragonlord Read online

  Linden pulled his horse around in a tight, rearing turn. One hand reached for the greatsword that he knew wasn’t there. He dropped the hand, feeling supremely foolish when he saw his attacker.

  Sherrine tossed her hair. “Did I startle you, Dragonlord? My apologies!” Her voice was husky, enticing even as her eyes laughed at him. The woods lily scent of her perfume filled the air.

  He smiled, wishing everyone who’d sneaked up behind him in his long life was so welcome a sight. “Good day, my lady. I’m sorry—I didn’t notice you.”

  She frowned, but there was a smile hiding behind it, like sunlight behind a cloud. She asked, “May I join you, Dragonlord—or do you prefer to ride alone?” Her eyes said she hoped he didn’t.

  Her gaze warmed him. Oh yes, this girl wanted a dalliance. Her boldness enchanted him—as did her beauty. It had been too long since he’d had a lover. Perhaps his stay in Cassori would be more interesting than he’d thought.

  “I would be delighted,” he said. Then, because he couldn’t change old habits, he asked, “To what good fortune do I owe this meeting, lady? Surely you don’t ride these woods alone.”

  “Sometimes I do, Dragonlord; the woods this close to Casna are safe. But today I was riding with some friends.”

  He remembered the voices he’d heard.

  “We’d thought to have a picnic, but they returned to the city instead, leaving me to go on alone. And by sheer luck I found you instead.”

  He hid a smile. Her laughing eyes made Linden certain she had spotted him and sent her friends off. Nor, he thought, did she much care if he guessed it. They both knew what game she played.

  She smiled as she rode up alongside him. The scent of her was warm, dizzying. My luck or hers—and do I care? he thought.

  “Are you enjoying your stay in Casna, Dragonlord?” she asked, and urged her horse on. “Aside from the council meetings, of course.” She looked back over her shoulder at him, a glance of mingled amusement and sympathy.

  Linden urged the gelding to catch up. “I’d enjoy it far more if there were more moments like this and less of the council,” he said.

  She laughed. “Mother says the council is terribly boring. Especially when old Lord Corvy starts rambling.”

  Linden grimaced. With his huge, bristling mustache, Corvy looked like a dyspeptic walrus—and sounded like one. “Too true. Though when Baron Chardel threatened to shorten Corvy’s tongue for him if he didn’t get to the point, it almost became interesting. Almost.”

  Sherrine smothered a laugh. “Be thankful you weren’t there when Corvy and Chardel were fighting over the swamps that lie between their lands. Chardel wanted to drain them to make more farmland. Corvy refused.”

  “Why? It seems laudable.”

  Now her shoulders shook. “Because it would drive away the bullfrogs, you see.”

  Linden wasn’t sure he’d heard that correctly. “Bullfrogs?”

  Sherrine nodded. “Corvy is inordinately fond of frogs’ legs and was livid at the thought of losing his favorite dinner. They sniped at each other for months. I thought Mother would resign her seat on the council. She still won’t have frogs’ legs served at home.”

  He could see the two feisty old men going at it in his mind’s eye. Laughing, he said, “Thank you. Have you any idea how tempted I shall be to whisper ‘ribbit, ribbit’ the next time Corvy starts?”

  Sherrine laughed in turn and told him more about the nobles of the Cassorin court: Lord and Lady Trewin, who had a joint passion for collecting Assantikkan ceramics; the racing rivalry between Lord Duriac and Lord Sevrynel, the Earl of Rockfall, the latter also being well known for the impromptu feasts he gave for whimsy’s sake—“And somehow nobody minds; most people think they’re great fun and go just to see what he’s celebrating this time”; Lord Altian who was “rather light-fingered, keep an eye to your things should he visit you,” and his unfortunate sister, Lady Dovria, who spent much of her time rushing about and returning the things her brother had “absentmindedly picked up” from various residences; the efforts of the Duchess of Blackwood to marry off her six daughters; and many other foibles and oddities of the Cassorin nobility.

  Linden listened with amusement; Sherrine’s descriptions were droll and witty, and showed him the very human side of these people he dealt with every day. He also made a mental note to warn Kief and Tarlna about Lord Altian.

  The horse took advantage of his inattention to snatch at another bush. Sighing, Linden hauled its head up once again. “Bloody idiot,” he said. “I wish Shan were here.”

  “Shan?” Sherrine asked.

  “My Llysanyin stallion. I had to leave him behind.”

  Sherrine chewed her lip. Then, as if she’d made up her mind on something, she said in a rush, “Dragonlord, the stories about your kind … ah, make it sound as if your horses are, well, more than horses.”

  Linden had an odd feeling that that wasn’t what she’d started to say. He pondered what he should answer. The Dragonlords deliberately kept truehumans as ignorant as possible of their strengths and weaknesses. And even those few truehumans whom they did trust—such as Otter—didn’t know everything. But Linden thought he could tell this girl about the Llysanyins. Just not everything about them.

  “They’re more intelligent, for one thing. Oh, they can’t think, not as we do,” he said lightly, apologizing to Shan in his mind, “but they’re much smarter than a horse like this.” He nodded at the gelding. “But then, with this one, that isn’t very hard, though I’ll grant he has a fine canter.

  “And Llysanyins are very long-lived. Shan and I have been together for over a century now. We’re used to each other.”

  “A century?” Sherrine said. “Are they magic, then?”

  Linden smiled and shrugged, pretending he didn’t know. He’d already told her as much as he meant to.

  They were deep in the woods now. The white trunks of birch trees rose around them. Linden picked a way at random. The coolness and the earthy scent of humus and leaf mold revived him.

  “This is what I needed,” he said. “I’ve been walled up in that stone city for much too long.”

  “Dragonlord,” she said, “would you like to see my favorite spot in these woods?”

  He raised an eyebrow. Ah; now her game began in earnest. And he was quite content to play. “I’d love to, my lady,” he said. “Please—lead on.”

  She urged her dappled grey mare ahead. About a half a candlemark later, Linden guessed, she turned onto another path. It twisted and turned around boulders and fallen trees. More than once Linden had to duck or be swept out of the saddle by a low-hanging branch.

  They came out by a stream. Its high narrow banks dipped down where the trail crossed, then rose up on either side. Sherrine rode her horse into the water and turned it to walk upstream. Linden followed her.

  The banks rose higher as the horses moved slowly along the bed. The water rushed and bubbled around their hooves as they splashed along. Linden heard a vireo in the distance, the bird’s liquid song echoing the rushing water.

  The stream twisted and turned, the steep banks cutting off any view ahead. Sherrine looked back once or twice as if to make certain he still followed. He heard falling water somewhere.

  When the banks had risen to as high as he could stretch his hand, the sound of falling water became louder. He rode around a last bend in the stream and stopped his horse in surprise.

  The banks opened sharply, curving around a small dale. The hollow was shaped like a rough triangle, its walls running nearly straight up and down. Beech and alder, hawthorn and basswood ringed the top, looking down into the hollow. Grey rocks jutted out from the ferns and shrubby growth that covered two of the walls.

  They had entered at one “corner” of the triangle. The wall opposite him was a stone cliff. Its harsh lines were softened by the bright green of the ferns that grew in every available niche.

  Water spilled from a breach in the rock to bubble merrily over the stones bel
ow. It trilled and sang as it splashed from ledge to ledge until it formed the stream.

  The stream divided the floor of the dale into unequal halves. To his right was barely enough room to walk. On his left, though, the earth was covered with patches of ferns and long hummocks of grass. Ground ivy wove its way through the grass, its tiny purple flowers vivid against the green. He could smell where Sherrine’s horse had crushed it.

  “Does this suit you, my lord?” Sherrine said as she dismounted.

  Linden followed. “Indeed, yes. It smells wonderful here—so cool and fresh. I wish we had that picnic with us. This is—”

  With a sly wink, Sherrine reached into her saddlebags. He watched, curious, as she pulled out a stone flask and set it in the cold rushing water.

  “You do prefer your wine chilled, Dragonlord, yes?” she said. She reached into the bags again.

  “Yes,” he answered, and bit back a laugh. For Sherrine had pulled out two goblets, a fresh loaf, and a cheese. And a blanket. He couldn’t help smiling at how neatly he’d been trapped.

  Yet he wondered what she would expect of him afterward when it came time for him to return to Dragonskeep.

  She looked at him over her shoulder. Her smile was sweet and slow.

  Warmth spread through him. Still, he hesitated. Best to get this out in the open. “My lady,” he began.

  She laughed at him. “Oh, Dragonlord—don’t look so worried! Are you afraid that I’ll read more into this than a dalliance?”

  “Yes,” he said, relieved to be honest.

  She smiled. “Don’t be. I’m not fool enough to think that you’ll fall in love with a truehuman.” She unfolded the blanket. “And,” she said, slanting a look at him from under her eyelids, “what makes you so certain you would be the only one I dally with?”

  Linden laughed. The girl had spirit. “I deserved that. As long as you understand the same of me. And I will warn you now that a friend of mine is coming to Casna. When he arrives I will likely see a great deal of him. He’s my oldest truehuman friend.”

  Sherrine smoothed the blanket upon the grass. “Thank you for that warning, my lord. I think we shall get on very well together, Dragonlord, now that we understand each other.”

  He nodded. “I’ll hobble the horses,” he said. “And Sherrine—I am Linden to you.”

  This time her smile was pure pleasure.

  He settled the horses, slipping their bits and loosening their girths. After making sure they were hobbled securely, he bent to retrieve the flask from the stream.

  “For pity’s sake,” he murmured. “I haven’t hunted those since I was a boy!” He sat down and pulled his boots and linen stockings off and rolled up his breeches. Then he waded out into the stream, staring into the water.

  “What are you doing, my—Linden? What is there to hunt?” Sherrine asked. She stood on the bank and watched him.

  Linden’s hand darted underwater. “These,” he said, laughing as he held up his prize. The crayfish wriggled its claws furiously at him. Linden poked at it. “Ow!” he cried and dropped it. He held up a finger and examined it ruefully. “Out of practice, I guess.”

  Sherrine said, “Dragonlords feel pain, then, as truehumans do?”

  Linden showed her the red mark left by the angry crayfish’s claw. “Yes, save the pain of burning; fire can’t hurt us.” And it is none of your business, my curious lady, that too much smoke will kill us as surely as a truehuman.

  “I’m fairly conquered,” he said and retrieved the wine flask. “I’ll leave the stream to that crayfish. This looks much more interesting.” He nodded to where Sherrine had spread the blanket and arranged the goblets, bread, and cheese upon it. Linden knelt and filled the goblets.

  He raised his. “To you, my lady—and an unexpectedly delightful day.” He stretched out on the blanket, resting on one elbow.

  “You honor me, my lord,” she said. She fed him a sliver of cheese.

  He closed his eyes. Oh, very interesting … . Her fingers trailed gently along his jaw. He opened his eyes and fed her in return. They traded back and forth, laughing at each other.

  He was teasing her, holding a piece of bread just out of her reach when she bit him. He flung the bread away and pinned her down. “Vixen!”

  She tilted her head back, her lips parted. He kissed her. Her mouth was soft, welcoming. She pulled him close, her hands twining in his hair, running down his back.

  He kissed her thoroughly. “That will teach you better manners, little tease!” he said, then lay back on the blanket. He watched her from under half-closed eyelids. The sun-dappled shade played over her hair.

  She bent over him, nipping lightly at his lips. “I am well schooled, Dragonlord,” she said formally. But her mouth slid along his neck, trailing light kisses, a teasing counterpoint to her words. “You taste of salt. Were you swimming in the sea?”

  Linden nodded. He twisted his head so that their lips met again. He gently pulled her to him, ready to let go if she hesitated. He wanted her, but he wouldn’t force her.

  But she was as eager for him as he was for her. He slid his hands under her tunic. Her skin was soft and smooth.

  “Yes?” he whispered against her mouth.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  Linden lay on his back. One arm pillowed his head; the other held Sherrine against him. She lay along the length of him, one leg thrown over his, her head resting on his shoulder. Her fingers traced the length of the scar running across his chest and down one hip. Linden grunted when she reached the end of it at the top of his right thigh. Sated as he was, her touch threatened to arouse him again.

  “Stop that or you’ll make me late to meet with Kief and Tarlna.”

  She laughed. “Ready again so soon? I’d heard that Dragonlords were strong beyond the lot of mortal men, but I had no idea—”

  He silenced her with a quick kiss. Laughing, he said, “Ah, Sherrine, what shall I do with you? You’re a bold one, you are.”

  She snuggled against him. “Is it true? That Dragonlords are much stronger than truehumans?”

  Linden said, “Haven’t you ever listened to the bards’ tales of us? The answer is ‘yes’—just as in the songs.”

  “And faster?”

  “Yes.”

  Now she turned onto her belly, propping herself up on her elbows. Her tilted eyes were wide and innocent. “And can you truly read minds?”

  Linden sat up and smiled. “Why? Have you something to hide fr—is something wrong?” he said, for she twitched violently.

  “No, just a chill. It’s getting cooler, don’t you think? And do you really have to leave soon?”

  “Do you want your tunic? No? And yes, I really do have to leave soon—but not just yet.” He ran his hand down her spine, stopping just above her buttocks. With one finger he circled the wine-red birthmark there. It was as large as the palm of his hand.

  “Don’t,” she said, quickly turning and pulling away. “It’s ugly.”

  Linden raised an eyebrow. “Is it?” he said. “I don’t think so.”

  He saw her gaze go to his Marking. She blushed a fierce, dark red at the realization of what she’d said. Linden saw with interest that the blush extended as far as her breasts. He regretted that he didn’t have more time to investigate the phenomenon.

  “I’m not insulted,” he said, kissing her. “Before I Changed, I thought my birthmark ugly. I don’t anymore. But yours—where it is—is no hindrance to your beauty. And you are beautiful, Sherrine.”

  Indeed she was. Linden could think of few women he’d met over the centuries who could match her.

  “My mother says it’s ugly.”

  Linden bit his tongue. It was not his place to call her mother a fool. “Let’s get dressed,” he said gently. “I shouldn’t keep the others waiting.”

  They dressed in silence. As he helped her onto her horse, Linden said, “Would you bring me here again?”

  Her smile lit her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I will. I’d l
ike that. I’d like that very much.”

  He’d aimed his “arrow” well.

  Althume looked up from the scrying bowl. “It worked,” he said.

  “Sherrine found him where you told her she would?” said Peridaen. “Oh, well done, Kas, working out which way he’d go once he got to the woods!”

  Anstella leaned forward. “And?”

  Althume pushed the bowl away. “As I said earlier, it was hard to see very much,” he said. He stood up, hands pressed against the small of his back, stretching. He continued thoughtfully, “It would appear there’s a magic about Dragonlords that prevents their being spied upon. The images become fragmented, blurry. But,” he said in triumph, “it seems Sherrine has the dalliance she—and we—wanted.”

  Eleven

  The chill of a mountain dawn hung over Dragonskeep as Varn and Chailen walked together up to the Keep. To the east the first apricot streaks of sunrise lit the sky. In the distance they could see farmers already working in the fields.

  Mist drifted around the patchwork of the small fields of urzha tubers and the canals that separated them. The mist rose at night from the sun-warmed waterways and protected the delicate plants from the cold. As always, Varn thought how eerie it looked, seeing his neighbors moving through the fog, disappearing and appearing like wraiths as they jumped from island to island. It was more comfortable to watch the workers in the fields of wheat, oats, and barley, the plants soft gold and green in the growing light.

  “It must be quiet for you now that Linden’s gone,” Chailen said.

  “Very. And the twins miss their pillow fights.” Varn grinned and said, “I daresay it’s not the same for you.”

  Chailen made a wry face. “Very funny. No, it’s not at all quiet in the stables. Shan’s been in a foul temper ever since Linden left. And a stallion that size who’s determined to make life miserable for everyone … Why can’t Dragonlords ride ordinary horses?” he lamented. “Why do they have to ride Llysanyins? The wretched beasts are far too smart.”