Dragon's Treasure (38 page)

I thought him dead before.

I beg you not to look for me.

"I
must
look for you," he said. "I can't do without you, you know that."

Only silence answered. Anguish, and a savage rage rose inside him. A hot wind moved through the chamber. The curtains flapped like banners. The paper flared to ash in his hand. It did not matter. The words were seared into his heart.

He walked out of the bedchamber. Lorimir and Hawk had followed him. Their faces changed when they saw him.

He said, "Who was on the gate when they left?"

Lorimir said, "Derry."

"Bring him. I want to speak to him."

Lorimir Ness was pale, but the old man had been a soldier all his life. He said, "You can't. I sent him away."

The rage blew out of him then. Almost without volition, his fist moved. Lorimir's head snapped back. Boneless, he slumped to the floor, and lay there, not moving.

No....

Hawk, kneeling, laid the fingers of her right hand against the hollow of Lorimir's throat. Then she shook her head.

Karadur closed his eyes.
Gods, what had he done?...
Sparks streamed from his fingers. If he stayed where he was the Keep's walls would explode. Let it burn, he thought insanely. Let it all burn, as Sorvino had burned, and Coll's Ridge, and Mako, if only the inferno in his heart would stop.

He moved then, along the corridor, out the door, to the Dragon's Roost. Changing form in midleap, he flung himself from the rock, wings spread to catch the mountain wind, driving upward through the moist, snow-laden clouds. Ahead of him loomed Dragon's Eye's summit. He soared over the peak, skimming the snowcapped rock. Something shrieked: the black condor, flung from its eyrie by the wind of his passage, spread its wings and croaked its outrage.

He had killed Lorimir. He had not meant to do it, but he had done it nevertheless. The sun, a blood-red ball, was falling into the west. He wondered what would happen if he flew into it. Perhaps it, too, would explode.

Like a bright arrow he rose, up and up. Then he heard the voice speaking in his head.

Greetings, bright one.

All the instruments of sound humans had ever made, or ever could make, lived in that voice. He looked up. Above him hung a white, winged, naked man. Streamers of frost wreathed its head.

This is my kingdom. Hast come to play again? That was a fine chase we had, last time.

He said,
No, god of winds, I do not come to play.

Dost seek again thy kindred?
sang that exquisite voice.
I have told thee, they are gone.

No, god of winds.
The air was thin. He could scarcely breathe. Darkness pressed about him. His wings moved slowly.
There is nothing I desire, save my friend, who has left me.

Ah
, Inatowy sang,
I understand. Thy friend is dead, and thou wouldst join him. That is easy. Go thou a little higher, bright one. There is death in this place. He gazed into the pitiless emptiness. Come
, Inatowy sang.

Sanity returned. He had come too high. Lungs heaving, he retreated. He let himself drop downward, away from the domain of the wind god, to his own country.

* * *

He landed on the Dragon's Roost, and Changed. He went downstairs, half-expecting to see Lorimir's body in the hall outside his bedchamber, but it was not; they had moved it. He went into the chamber and sat on the bed. The rage that had fueled his flight had receded, leaving him exhausted; he did not want to move.

In a while, Marek Gavrinson spoke through the door. The words had Lorimir's name among them. Karadur did not listen.

Later, Hawk spoke to him.
Don't do this,
she said.

Go away,
he told her.
Leave me alone.

Your people need you.

Her persistence infuriated him. Wielding fire like a knife, he cut the link between them. The chamber grew dark. The night wind plucked at the shutters. He would have to leave the chamber eventually. The needs of his human body would drive him from it. He did not want to be human; it hurt too much.

The harp string lay across the pillow. Picking it up, he wound it about his wrist.

* * *

Lorimir Ness was laid in the earth, and the swordsmen stood watch over the grave. Across the domain, the folk of the villages mourned him, for though he had come from outside the domain, he had served Dragon Keep for thirty years.

"He was a good man," the women said.

"He was an honorable captain," said the men who had served in his command.

A letter went to Averra, to his people, telling them that he had served his lord well, and died in honor. It was written by Aum Nialsdatter, and bore Karadur's seal.

Winter came early to Ippa that year. The first frost arrived in October, and by November the roads were closed, with snowdrifts high as a man's head. The fur trappers were happy, for the heavy snow had driven lynx and beaver and white foxes south early. The harvest had been good; there was plenty of hay for the horses and cattle, and vegetables for the pots, so no one starved, but the sheep grew thin.

On Coll's Ridge, the cottage by the Windle sat empty. The herbalist had gone to stay at the Halleck steading.

"You cannot stay alone this winter," Maura had said, when first Maia's condition became evident. "Stay with us."

Rianna jumped in delight. "Yes! Stay with us." Angus signed his agreement.

Maia demurred. "Your house is small, and it will be smaller with Morga and myself within."

"You cannot stay alone. Maura gestured toward the high swollen mound of Maia's belly. "If you will not come to us, go to Miri Halleck."

And Miri said firmly, "Certainly you will come to me."

So Maia went to live in the Halleck homestead. She shared a sleeping chamber with Linnet, Ursule's youngest daughter. At first, she found the presence of so many people difficult. She was accustomed to solitude, and the big sprawling house was never empty, never still. Even in the middle of the night the walls creaked, sleepers snored, children cried, and mothers rose to comfort them.... Within weeks, though, she found she had grown accustomed to the clamor.

Morga, wary at first among so many strangers and strange dogs, found her place in the household. Indeed, she seemed to like being part of a pack.

Miri's daughter Arafel and her daughter-in-law Ursule, wife to Alf, treated Maia like a sister. Ursule made her cup after cup of nettle tea, and brought her treats when her appetite failed. Arafel, who had borne three children, rubbed her legs when they cramped. The house seemed filled with children. The youngsters were enchanted by the stranger in their midst. They showed her their toys, and made her part of their games. It was pleasant, at first. But idleness made her cranky.

"Let me work," she said to Ursule. "I feel well, I'm not sick. I can clean, and sew, and bake."

"Why should you work? You are our guest."

But Miri said, "Of course she should not be idle! She can tend the herbs in the sunroom, and watch the little ones in play."

So Maia spent her days in a tiny warm chamber filled with pots of dill, basil, sage, and mint. The herbs in their pots made it fragrant; the smell reminded her of home. She had brought little with her to Miri's house; only her books, and her clothes, and the cloak Karadur had given her. News from the Keep was infrequent and troubling. She knew—everyone knew—about Azil Aumson's disappearance, Lorimir Ness's death, and Karadur's grief.

Alf said, "They say the lord speaks to no one. They say he stays in his chamber and will not come out." She wanted to go to him. But of course, she could not.

Her body changed.

How do you feel?
the women of the household asked her.
Are you sweated? Are you chilled? Is there aught you need?
They brought her fresh meat, which she could not eat—the odor made her sick—and soups, which she could. Their solicitude was sweet, but she knew well that it was not for her, but for the child she carried, the babe that might be a dragon-child, and was in any case Karadur Atani's heir.

* * *

In Dragon Keep, the mood was grim. Marek Gavrinson, unbidden, assumed Lorimir's duties. The dragon-lord spent his days in the tower, or in the castle map room, and his nights in his chamber. He spoke to no one.

"This is stupid," Rogys said one evening in the kitchen. Brian had just brought a platter back from Karadur's room. The food on it had not been touched.

"It is stupid," agreed the head cook. "You tell him."

"I will," Rogys said. And the rider captain, who loved the man he served—would have killed for him, died for him, gone to his bed without a second thought—strode to the tower chamber. "My lord!" He hammered on the door.

It opened suddenly. Karadur loomed in the doorway. The dragon-lord's face was haggard, and his cheeks, habitually smooth, were rough with stubble. His eyes burned with a deep blue flame.

He said, "You have news for me?"

Rogys said, "My lord, I do not." The words running through his mind—about hope, and fidelity, and the fears of his men—seemed worse than foolish now. Nevertheless, he drew breath to speak.

Karadur said, "Then go away." Quite gently, he shut the door.

More troubled than he had ever been, even in the time of the wargs, Rogys spoke to Finle. That evening, together, they spoke with Hawk.

Rogys said, "He'll kill himself if he does not eat. Go to him. He calls you friend. He'll listen to you."

But the one-eyed changeling said, "Do you think I have not tried? He will not."

"Why does he hold himself apart from us?"

"He's afraid," the hawk-changeling said bluntly.

"Of what?" Finle asked.

"Of himself. Of what he has done. Of what he might do."

* * *

In the dawn after New Year's Moon, they lit torches in the villages, and banged the drums, to call Imarru the Hunter back from the Country of the Dead. In Dragon Keep, Raudri blew the horn to welcome in the year. The mournful sound echoed along the icy flanks of the mountains.

A week after New Year's Moon, Rain the midwife came to the Halleck homestead. She felt Maia's breasts and listened to her belly.

"Aye, the babe is well," she said, "and you also. How do you feel?"

Maia said, "My feet are too fat, and my sides hurt."

"That is as it should be," Rain said severely. "Your body stretches to hold the child."

The squirming baby's heel thumped firmly against a rib. Wincing, Maia laid her hand on her belly. "Little one, be still a moment." The wriggling quieted. "Is it boy or girl? Can you say?"

"Sometimes I can tell," Rain said, "but not with this one. You will know soon."

"How soon?"

"April, I think."

Maia blinked. "Surely not. I bled in August."

Rain shrugged. "Babies come when they will. And this one looks to be in a hurry."

Thoughtfully, Maia pulled her gown back down about her legs. Hana Diamori Atani's babies had come early, too. But she was not Hana Diamori Atani, who had died giving life to her children. She was Iva Unamira's daughter. She thanked the elderly midwife, who had struggled through snow to reach her. Despite her complaints, she felt quite well. Her appetite was changeable, and her belly itched constantly, but Ursule and Arafel assured her that they, too, had experienced this: all women did.

Also, there were other changes. Her senses had sharpened. Her night sight had grown keen. The taste of food was more acute.

February came, and March. Winter's grip on the land lifted. Frozen rivers cracked and trickled. It rained; ice melted; roads turned to mud. The light deepened, and lingered longer. Red buds appeared on the trees.

At the Halleck homestead, the women scoured the baking ovens. Maia tried to help. "Get away," Miri scolded. Alf and the boys dragged the plow from the barn.

* * *

As the days lengthened, Karadur emerged from his refuge. He confirmed Marek Gavrinson as captain. He named Lurri first of the swordsmen's wing. He ate in the hall: not every meal, nor even every day, but often enough. And he wrote letters, and sent them, to the Lemininkai, Lucas Ridenar, Allumar Marichal, and to Cirion Imorin, in distant Kameni. Each said the same.

My friend, the singer Azil Aumson, and the archer Juni Talvela may be traveling through your country. Of your courtesy, I ask you to receive them should they come to you, and give them whatever they need.

* * *

Maia diSorvino gave birth to her baby on a soft April morning, while the white mist hung about the hills. The pains began about midnight; they were mild at first, but soon grew fiercer. Her back ached. She walked about the house. As the speed of the cramps increased, Arafel and Ursule soaked her belly with hot cloths. Heat coursed through her arms and legs. She crouched. The room was hot, and filled with women: Rain, Sirany the priestess, Miri and her daughters, and Maura, who had come across the fields in the middle of the night to be with her. They tried to feed her sweet stuff.