Dragon and Phoenix (17 page)

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Authors: Joanne Bertin

BOOK: Dragon and Phoenix
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Then the wind sang among the rocks below, and in it he heard an echo of the Phoenix’s voice.
His
voice—someday.
Hodai crept away.
 
Taren’s head nodded; the next moment he was drowsing in the manner of a man much older, light and easy, as quick to wake as to dream. Linden held a hand out to Maurynna.
“Come,” he whispered as he pulled her up from the floor. “I’ve a wish to learn more of Jehanglan.”
Jekkanadar heard, whispered in turn, “Ah. You’re thinking the same thing, perhaps, as I?” He pointed at the ceiling.
Linden smiled. “Indeed, yes.”
He led the way from the room, Maurynna’s hand warm in his own. Lleld tucked the shawl a little tighter around Taren’s shoulders as she passed him on her way to the door. Once in the hall, Jekkanadar took the lead, scattering a handful of coldfire ahead like scouts.
“Where are we going?” Linden heard Raven mutter to Otter.
“The library,” said the bard. “I’ll wager Lukai and Jenna are still awake and presiding over their kingdom.”
Jekkanadar grinned over his shoulder. “You’ll not find anyone willing to take that wager, bard, in all of Dragonskeep. We know our archivists too well.”
 
Taren listened as the soft footsteps vanished down the hall. With an oath, he flung the shawl to the floor.
Damn
them for asking so many—and such searching—questions. As tired as he was of feigning illness, he was glad he had such a trick to fall back on. He would play it as often as he needed.
A sudden shiver reminded him that it was not all a sham. The sickness still had its claws in him. He picked up the shawl once more and wrapped it around his shoulders.
These were the four. He
felt
it. These would give the throne of Jehanglan to his master—if the cursed truedragons didn’t succeed in their mission.
But they cannot succeed. The rogue Oracle said nothing of such a calamity.
Taren paced the room, giving vent to the foulest curses he knew. The truedragons must fail, he told himself again and again. If they did not, it would completely negate Lord Jhanun’s Oracle. And that could not be.
Yet no Oracle, not even a
nira’s,
saw everything.
Damn
the truedragons.
He hoped whichever way it went, it would be over soon. This waiting was driving him mad.
 
Jekkanadar led them down the hall to a wooden door. He pushed it open, revealing a narrow stone staircase. It curved around and around; with each step Linden’s feet found the smooth hollows worn in the stone treads, testimony to the many Dragonlords who had sought knowledge or simply quiet in the centuries since Dragonskeep was built.
And how many of us have come this way biting our fingernails because we didn’t complete the lessons our tutors had set us?
he wondered, remembering when he was new to the Keep and learning the languages of the Five Kingdoms. He could smile about it now, but old Brithian—his tutor for Pelnaran—had been a terror; a ghost of long-ago apprehension tweaked Linden as he reached the final step. He paused to shut the door at the top of the staircase before following the others down the hall.
They filed into the library. Jenna, the archivist, sat at a table near a window; she looked up in surprise from her book. Lukai, her truehuman counterpart, came out of one of the small rooms used for lessons, feather duster in hand. He blinked owlishly at them.
Kir
and truehuman looked first at each other, then stared at the newcomers in frank astonishment. The only other occupants were two truehuman men, each at a different table.
Of those two, one was clearly one of the scholars who sometimes journeyed to Dragonskeep; the floppy, four-cornered cap of an academic lay by his elbow. He scowled briefly at the interruption and bent over his books and scatter of parchment notes once more. He muttered to himself, pulling his small oil lamp closer. Dragonlords held no interest for him, the set of his shoulders said.
The other man also looked up at their entrance. He wore a bard’s torc. Linden heard Otter’s startled but quiet “What’s he doing here?” as Otter slowly raised a hand in greeting.
At first the stranger did nothing, merely staring coldly at Otter. Then the man nodded and went back to his book.
Someone you know?
Linden asked.
And no friend, either, by the look of it.
There had been venom in that look. To himself Linden thought,
Who would bear Otter such animosity?
Otter replied,
Yes to both; he’s a fellow bard, one of the Masters at the Harpers College; doesn’t usually travel much. I’ve told you about him.
His lips were a grim line.
Linden suddenly knew who it was.
Leet?
he asked. That would explain much.
Yes. A welter of emotions twisted beneath Otter’s unsteady mindvoice.
I wonder what
—
Otter broke off as Raven spoke.
“Good gods!” Raven exclaimed, staring about him. “I had no idea there were so many books in the world!”
A disgruntled snort came from the scholar’s table. Leet read on as if he hadn’t heard anything.
Linden looked around the room, remembering his own astonishment at his first sight of the library of Dragonskeep. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books, some in gaily colored bindings, most in sober brown; some were the gifts of kings and queens, some the presented works of grateful scholars who had found long-sought-after knowledge in the collection, others acquired by Dragonlords on their travels. The gentle, slightly stuffy scent of old leather welcomed him; he’d forgotten what a haven this had been when he’d first come to Dragonskeep, a hillman fresh from the mountains of Yerrih, awkward and nervous and frightened at what he’d become.
Jenna chuckled softly. Rising, she said, “There may well be no other collection like it, young truehuman. Kingdoms may come and go, but there has always been the library of Dragonskeep—and the Keep itself, of course.” An impish smile twitched over her short-muzzled face. “It’s late in the evening to be looking for a little reading, my friends. Shall I guess what you’ve come for?” She laid a hand upon the page she’d been studying.
“Bother,” said Lleld. “Someone’s been here before us, then?”
Another, louder, snort from the scholar.
Lukai blinked; his large, watery eyes crinkled with amusement. “Many someones, Lleld. Indeed, we were surprised we haven’t seen you before this. And we’ve missed you, Jekkanadar. We found some words in an old history of Assantik that we’d like your help with.”
“Here,” said Jenna. She shut her book and patted it. “Let’s take this into one of the lesson rooms and leave Master Pren in peace.”
Since the volume looked heavy, Linden picked it up for the frail
kir
archivist and followed her to a small room off the main library. Once they were all inside, Jekkanadar shut the door behind them; the others sat. Linden placed the book before the two archivists and took his own place by Maurynna.
Before anyone could speak, Jenna nodded at Raven. “You’re the one who brought Taren Olmeins to Dragonskeep, aren’t you, young truehuman?”
“I am,” Raven admitted.
“When we heard the news,” Jenna said, “we remembered this book and began reading.”
“Do you know every book in the collection?” Lleld asked.
Kir
and truehuman smiled. “Yes,” they said together.
“You see,” Jenna explained, “they’re old friends to us.”
“Old and well trusted,” Lukai said. “How may we help you?”
“Tell us about Jehanglan,” Lleld said. “We know that the Phoenix Emperor closed his kingdom. It happened in Jekkanadar’s father’s time.”
“True,” Jenna said as Lukai nodded. “And from then until a hundred or so years ago, no one traded with Jehanglan save a rumored few smugglers, and not many of those, either. Then an envoy came to the Dawn emperor, saying that his brother emperor of Jehanglan wished to beg a favor of him, for there had once been much contact between the two kingdoms. It was the first word from the Phoenix Kingdom.”
“Odd,” Linden said. “Why change their minds all of a sudden?”
Though her eyes were full of old stories, Jenna said only, “Silk.”
Dragonlords and truehumans looked at each other.
“Silk?” Maurynna echoed.
“Just so,” said Lukai. “It is all here in this journal by Lady Ardelis of Kelneth. She was a great traveler and seeker of odd bits of information. She visited the Assantikkan court perhaps a year or so after the pact was signed. Here; let me read this to you.” He pulled a kerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at his eyes. “I beg your pardon, but the dust upon these old books …” he muttered as he carefully turned the pages.
“Ah! Here it is. Lady Ardelis wrote: ‘Today I saw a most strange ship come in to the port of Nen dra Kore. It’s not like our northern cogs, nor even like to the galleys of the Dawn Emperor. I’ve not the knowledge of ships to say anything more detailed than that it’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before. Every inch of it is painted and carved as if the sight of the good bare wood were an offense to the eyes. A veritable rainbow of colors it was! And looming over all upon the sail is the image of a great, fiery bird; yet flying from the mast was the triangular pennant of an Assantikkan trading house—House Mhakkan, my escort, Merreb, said.’
“‘I was told that this was one of the ships from fabled Jehanglan. When I remarked that I’d heard it was closed to outsiders, Merreb said that had once been so. But it seems some time ago the silkworms of Jehanglan were wiped out by a plague or some such thing, and the Phoenix Kingdom was desperate for silks and silk brocades. It is all their nobles and rulers wear in court. Now, it so happened that before Jehanglan shut itself off from the world, there had been a great trade between the two countries, even to the establishing of temples to each other’s gods to accomodate the traders, and that silkworms were exported from there to Assantik at one time.’
“‘While they never did quite as well in Assantik as in their homeland, the silkworms had prospered well enough that the Assantikkans could spare silk to sell to Jehanglan—in return for certain trade concessions. The Phoenix Lord agreed and the Dawn Emperor granted the right of trade with Jehanglan to House Mhakkan, who controls much of the production of silk here.’
“‘All this I was told by Merreb, factor to House Azassa, who spat whenever House Mhakkan’s name was mentioned.’”
Lukai ran a finger down the page. “Here Lady Ardelis noted—with great delicacy—that she later heard that the Dawn Emperor owed much to House Mhakkan.”
“Which meant they owned him,” Raven said bluntly. “Knowing what I do about that House now, the emperor likely had to give Mhakkan the grant. They would have brought him down otherwise. I wonder what hold they had over him? Whatever it was, they haven’t lost any of that power over the years; much the opposite. They’re stronger than ever and still greedy as hell. Now they control
all
of the silk production in Assantik. Trust Mhakkan to be in the right place at the right time even then.” He shook his head, looking disgusted. It was plain Raven had no more love for House Mhakkan than the long-dead Merreb of House Azassa.
“I understand better now,” Linden said, “why Gilliad al zefa’ Mimdallek wanted Taren out of there.” He stared at the books lining the walls without seeing them. “No, House Mhakkan wouldn’t take kindly to someone using smugglers and taking trade from them, would they? Perhaps even opening a new route. What if someone found a way around the Haunted Straits? And if it were known there was such trading—” He looked over at Lleld.
“The emperor would have to stop it, wouldn’t he, because whoever did it violated an imperial order,” finished Lleld.
Maurynna nodded. “Exactly; he would have no choice but to destroy that House. And that is not something Gilliad al zefa’ Mimdallek would want. For when the Dawn Emperors destroy a House, it is absolute. Ships, warehouses, merchandise, wagons, homes, everything that House has. Their fields are salted, their livestock slaughtered. Adults are killed and the children sold into slavery. Even the name of that House is stricken and may never be used again.”
“It’s happened?” Linden asked.
“Oh, yes,” Maurynna said. She shivered. “It’s happened.”
“Taren,” said Linden, “is a very lucky man indeed to still be alive, then. Good thing for him that Second is so superstitious.”
Lleld, chin in hand, asked, “Does Lady Ardelis say what the Jehangli trade for besides silk? There must be more than that.”
Muttering to himself, Lukai thumbed through the journal once more. “Hm, hm, know it’s here somewhere … . Ah—‘they trade for silks’—which we knew—‘and cochineal and murex dyes, myrrh from Assantik, muttonfat amber and the gum of the sweet balsam tree that both come from the north, as well as other dyes and incenses and gemstones. Wheat and a few other grains, and Assantikkan dates, oranges, and ginger. Yerrin horses as well when they can get them—Merreb said the Jehangli are as passionate for horses as any Yerrin—and, oddly, troupes of traveling entertainers. Those are the only outsiders allowed
to travel in Jehanglan. Perhaps the Jehangli have no jugglers of their own? I thought that odd and asked the reason.’”

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