Dragon and Phoenix (80 page)
Read Dragon and Phoenix Online
Authors: Joanne Bertin
Before Linden could move, Pirakos hurled himself upon his enemy. He met the phoenix breast to breast; it screamed in surprise. Ignoring the flames that devoured him, Pirakos threw one foreleg around his enemy and clasped it close, like a lover embracing his beloved. The other foreleg ground the shackle that tortured it into the wound in the feathered breast. The iron bubbled and hissed as the phoenix’s blood melted it—and the phoenix screamed in agony as the infection of cold iron entered its body. The blazing wings faltered.
Pirakos roared again, agony and victory twisted together in a last cry as he and the phoenix fell through the air. Somehow the dying dragon bent his long neck around; a torrent of scarlet flame took the phoenix even as it burst into a holocaust of golden flames. Their bodies were but black shadows within the fire.
Linden watched, numb with shock, as the two enemies tumbled through the air faster and faster, a flaming ball of whirling gold and scarlet fire. There was nothing to be seen in the heart of it now but a brightness that hurt the eyes.
Then they crashed to the earth, into one of the temple buildings. The ancient, lacquered wood burst into flame like oil-soaked kindling. Fragrant smoke, smelling of camphor, rosewood, sandalwood and more, billowed up even to where Linden hovered.
May the gods have mercy upon them,
Linden thought. Suddenly every wound ached, every burn tormented him, and he was tired beyond belief. He spiraled downward slowly.
Linden thought. Suddenly every wound ached, every burn tormented him, and he was tired beyond belief. He spiraled downward slowly.
“Where is Xu?” Shei-Luin demanded.
Baisha frowned at her, one hand pressed to the wound in his thigh. “It’s not your place, concubine, to question what a lord—”
Shei-Luin exploded in fury.
“Where is my baby, damn you?
What have you done with my little one?” she screamed. Her long, painted fingernails slashed across Baisha’s face. “Outlander! It’s not your place, foreign filth, to dictate to the empress and the mother of the heir! Beg for mercy or I shall have you killed.”
“Where is my baby, damn you?
What have you done with my little one?” she screamed. Her long, painted fingernails slashed across Baisha’s face. “Outlander! It’s not your place, foreign filth, to dictate to the empress and the mother of the heir! Beg for mercy or I shall have you killed.”
Baisha clapped a hand to his bleeding cheek. His face worked, emotions tumbling across it: hate, anger, then … fear. He darted a look at the impassive eunuch standing at Shei-Luin’s side and the color drained from his face. He shrank into himself.
Shei-Luin knew what he saw. Murohshei, eyes like flints, still as a statue, hands tucked into wide sleeves. Hands that at her word would draw forth twin daggers and slit this pig’s throat. And Baisha knew it; knew that Murohshei would take as long as she wanted to kill a certain henchman of Jhanun’s slowly
and carefully, eking out every bit of pain with loving malice for the theft of her son.
and carefully, eking out every bit of pain with loving malice for the theft of her son.
In a voice as soft as chrysanthemum petals drifting across silk, Shei-Luin said, “I will ask you only once more. Where’s my baby, my little Xu?”
Baisha heard the razor’s edge behind the silk as she’d intended. Even more color leached from his face. He was now a grey creature, indeed; grey of hair, grey of robes, grey of face.
“I … I don’t know,” he whispered.
Shei-Luin dropped a hand in a chopping motion. Like a tiger, Murohshei sprang before the wounded man could move. In the blink of an eye Murohshei was behind Baisha; he seized the man’s hair in one hand and jerked the terrified prisoner’s head back. The other hand held a small but deadly dagger to the exposed throat, its point pressing into the pallid skin.
“Don’t move,” Murohshei breathed. “Don’t struggle. Don’t make a sound, pig.” The dagger pressed a little harder. A drop of blood appeared.
“Now, filth,” Shei-Luin said, “Let us see if your wisdom has increased. You know where they’re taking my son, Baisha. You will tell me.” She trembled, barely containing white-hot fury. She let Baisha’s death fill her eyes, let him see it there.
Talk or you shall die.
Baisha tried to stare her down. Fool; did he think she was any woman? She was the empress of Jehanglan.
Sweat broke out on Baisha’s forehead. His lips quivered, and Murohshei slowly, slowly rocked the dagger so that the edge lay against the exposed throat.
Jhanun’s creature voided himself in his terror. The dagger moved—just a little. So very little.
“Rhampul!” Baisha squealed like the pig he was. “They bring him to Rhampul!”
“Why there?” Shei-Luin shot back.
“The soldiers there are loyal to Jhanun, and some are mountain men. If you send troops for Xu, they’ll hide him where you’ll never find him.”
All at once Shei-Luin understood. Xu was to be a hostage, just as his father had been. But Xu would have no kindly captor as Yesuin had. Let her move against Jhanun, and her son would die.
“Kill him!” she screamed.
The knife flashed across the pale throat and blood spurted out. Dead eyes wide with disbelief, Baisha crumpled to the floor like a pricked bladder. Murohshei wiped the blade on Baisha’s robe and returned it to his sleeve.
Her mask of calmness shattered like thin river ice under a heavy blow. Frightened for her child, Shei-Luin forgot
when
she was for a moment. “Get Yesuin. Tell—Phoenix help me, I forgot,” she wept, sinking to her knees in despair. “He’s not here anymore.
when
she was for a moment. “Get Yesuin. Tell—Phoenix help me, I forgot,” she wept, sinking to her knees in despair. “He’s not here anymore.
“Murohshei, Murohshei—what shall I do? My baby; they have my …” She cried as she had not cried in years, her heart frozen with a mother’s grief.
“Lady,” he said, “we can only go on.”
The temple and its grounds were theirs. They were patrolling it, looking for stray bands of priests, when they heard a sound of unearthly beauty.
Amura and his band followed the singing. Never, Amura thought, had he heard such a voice. It filled his heart until he thought he would weep; such splendor was more than mortal man was meant to know.
Though it was long past dawn, the voice rose now in the solo passage from the Song. Amura had heard it a few times when he’d chanced to be in the temple on early errands; never had it held such beauty or such power. He led his party beyond an outcropping of rock and stopped in amazement, for the singer was Hodai.
So—the rumors were true. By some miracle—or magery—the old
nira
’s Oracle had found a voice. And such a voice!
nira
’s Oracle had found a voice. And such a voice!
The boy stood close to the edge of the cliff, facing them and the east, his hands clasped to his thin chest. He seemed not to see them as he sang. The ancient words flowed like liquid gold from his lips, soaring up and up into the final triumpant paean. This was the crowning glory of the Song. This was beauty to break the heart.
But just as it reached the final note, the crystal purity of Hodai’s voice shattered. Amura cried out. His sword fell from suddenly nerveless fingers, and he covered his ears against the terrible betrayal.
A moment later he recovered himself. He almost couldn’t bear to look at Hodai; what must the poor child be feeling?
But Hodai’s face was blank; then sad wonder filled it. His lips parted. “Gahunk?” he said softly, to himself. His shoulders slumped. More animal-like sounds followed, all in that same tone of resigned sorrow. The now-pale lips closed once more.
For the first time, Hodai seemed to notice he was not alone. His eyes met Amura’s, and Amura hoped he never saw such despair in a child’s face again. He walked forward slowly so as not to frighten the former Oracle, his hand outstretched. Zhantse would find a place for the boy in the tribe.
Hodai bowed his head; his hands spread in a gesture of defeat. Then, before Amura could close the distance between them, Hodai drew himself up as proudly as if he stood before the Phoenix Throne and turned away. Three quick, decisive steps brought him to the edge of the cliff—and beyond.
Amura cried, “No!” as the boy disappeared from view. Too stunned to move, to do anything, he stared at the spot Hodai had stepped from.
He should go look. He couldn’t. Not for a hundred sheep and a hundred horses—wealth untold to his people—could he stand to look upon the small,
broken body now lying far below. It would break his heart. Instead, Amura spun on his heel and led his men away. They followed without a word; one or two—fathers, they were—wept quietly, perhaps imagining their own children sprawled upon blood-stained rocks.
broken body now lying far below. It would break his heart. Instead, Amura spun on his heel and led his men away. They followed without a word; one or two—fathers, they were—wept quietly, perhaps imagining their own children sprawled upon blood-stained rocks.
Amura glanced up at the sun; vultures dotted the sky already. He broke into a trot. It was long past time, he thought, to see the Vale again.
Linden came to rest on the ground some distance from the pyre that consumed both Pirakos and the phoenix. Yet even from this distance the heat of the towering flames beat against him, and it came to his mind that this was no natural fire. For, in his dragon form, he was immune to a natural blaze of any size; he’d once flown through the wind-whipped flames of a forest fire and felt nothing more than a pleasant warmth. Only a fire born of magic could cause the discomfort he felt now. And where the intense heat licked at his wounds, there came short, stabbing flashes of pain that he ignored. He was too exhausted—and saddened—to care.
They had done what they’d come to do. And failed. Never again would Pirakos see the mountains of the north.
But he died the death he wanted, Linden.
Linden’s head snapped up. The mindvoice had a clarity to it he’d never heard before, but he knew that voice as well as his own. He just couldn’t believe he heard it now. How had she gotten here so soon after Pirakos? Not even a Llysanyin could come so far so quickly.
Maurynna-love?
he said in disbelief.
Maurynna-love?
he said in disbelief.
The voice in his mind went on,
He died cleanly, not like a wounded animal trapped in its own filth
.
He died cleanly, not like a wounded animal trapped in its own filth
.
It
was
Maurynna! The darkness lifted from his heart. Forgetting his wounds, Linden reared up onto his hind legs, wings fanning to hold him upright. He looked wildly around. No, there was no Llysanyin with a beloved figure upon its back racing through the ruins of the city.
was
Maurynna! The darkness lifted from his heart. Forgetting his wounds, Linden reared up onto his hind legs, wings fanning to hold him upright. He looked wildly around. No, there was no Llysanyin with a beloved figure upon its back racing through the ruins of the city.
Look up, silly,
the laughing mindvoice said. The love in it washed over him like springtime after a long, bitter winter.
the laughing mindvoice said. The love in it washed over him like springtime after a long, bitter winter.
Linden did as she bade. In the distance he saw a dragon silhouetted against the sky. Scales the iridescent blues and greens of a peacock’s tail flashed in the sunlight. With a roar of pure joy, Linden sprang into the sky and raced to meet her.
By Maurynna’s side flew another dragon, this one black. For a moment Linden thought it was Jekkanadar, and wondered where Lleld was. Then he realized this was no Dragonlord he’d ever seen before. A young truedragon, then, wounded in the ill-fated rescue attempt and left behind? No, Morlen would never abandon one of his kinswyrms; the old truedragon would have stayed.
So who—and what—was the mysterious stranger?
In the first flush of excitement, Linden hadn’t noticed how Maurynna and the strange dragon’s wings trembled with weariness. But now he did, and said to them,
Land before you both fall from the sky
.
Land before you both fall from the sky
.
It was also, he realized, damn good advice for himself as well. He angled back toward the place he had just left. Once more he landed, but this time with a lighter heart. The others followed, the black dragon in the lead.
Linden studied the strange dragon as it landed. It was black, like Jekkanadar, but didn’t have the brownish blotch on its right hind leg that the Assantikkan Dragonlord did, and was, Linden thought, a little larger than Jekkanadar.
Was
this a youngling truedragon, left behind, or could he dare hope … .
this a youngling truedragon, left behind, or could he dare hope … .
Then he forgot all speculation as Maurynna landed and stretched out her neck to him. Wishing they were alone—and in human form—so that he could be more … demonstrative, he laid his scaled cheek against hers.
Heart of my heart
, he whispered in her mind.
, he whispered in her mind.
But before she could answer, a wild singing brought them all around. It was equal parts of pain and joy, and more terribly beautiful than anything Linden had ever heard. It raged through heart and mind, and he knew he’d hear it in his dreams for the rest of his life.
At first he couldn’t tell from where it came. Then his dragonsight caught a movement in the blaze that consumed the enemies, a darker gold amid the towering yellow and red flames.
The song came from the very heart of the fire.
The priests were getting bolder, and he didn’t dare flame them. Jekkanadar knew the walls would just reflect his own fire back at him—the one kind of fire that could hurt him.
But the priests had found spears somewhere, and crept closer and closer. The sharp heads glinted wickedly in the sunlight.
Damn, he’d no wish to be stabbed to death. Jekkanadar drew breath; this would be quicker.
Flames washed over him then, blue-green flames like a cool mountain stream. Yelping in surprised relief, Jekkanadar sprang into the air, his wing whole once more.
Damn it all!
a voice yelped in his mind.
Watch where you’re going! Now let’s get out of here
.
a voice yelped in his mind.
Watch where you’re going! Now let’s get out of here
.
Higher and wilder the song became. There were no words to it, just notes like liquid gold shimmering in the air, rising upon the fragrant smoke to the heavens. And still the dark form moved within the flames. Indeed, it seemed larger now, and more substantial. After a moment, Linden realized that it moved in rhythm with the singing.
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