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Authors: Joanne Bertin

The Last Dragonlord (17 page)

BOOK: The Last Dragonlord
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“That’s sad. He’s nice,” Kella said. “I’ll be his friend. Do
you think he’d like that? I already wave to him whenever I can and he waves back. He called me ‘kitten.’”
Maurynna smiled. “I think he’d like you for a friend,” she said. Then, her voice tight with excitement, “Look—we’re almost there.”
They were near the end of the narrow street that gave on to the great avenue known simply as the Processional. Dotted along its length by trees, the avenue stretched from the palace through the heart of Casna, ending in the part of the city where the highest ranking nobles lived.
A single stately elm graced the corner they approached. One of the city guard loitered in its shade.
Taking pity, Maylin said, “Go on—I know you can’t wait any longer.”
Maurynna swung Kella down. “D’you mind walking, sweetling?”
“Race you,” Kella offered.
“You’re on.”
Maylin shook her head. “You’re going to run in this heat? You’re mad.”
Maurynna laughed but got on her mark. Kella jumped up and down, then screamed “Go!” at the top of her lungs. The little girl set off as fast as her short legs would carry her. Maurynna jogged just behind.
Following at a pace more suited to the heat, Maylin watched the laughing racers. Kella reached the tree first. Maurynna spoke to the guard standing in its shade.
Uh-oh; why aren’t there any people lining the route today? Not everyone’s gotten jaded about the Dragonlords.
The guard was shaking his head. Maurynna’s shoulders slumped. Then she and Kella started back at a slow, dejected walk.
Maylin stopped. “What’s wrong?” she asked when they reached her.
“The guard said that the meeting’s been postponed until midday,” Kella piped.
“Oh, no.” Maylin looked at her cousin and read the thought in her eyes. “Rynna, I wish we could wait with you,
but Mother does need us. But if you want to …”
Maurynna shook her head. “I’ m tempted, but it would be silly to stand here for candlemarks. No, go on to the shop. I think I’ll go to the ship.”
Maylin tried to catch her eye, but Maurynna wouldn’t look at her, just turned and walked away.
“Poor Rynna,” said Kella.
“I feel bad,” Maylin said. “Getting her hopes up like this, I mean. I wish she were coming with us.”
She’s going to look for that dockhand; I just know it. I hope Otter introduces her to Linden Rathan soon. Because if anything can distract her from that wretched fellow, it will be meeting him.
She shook her head; there was nothing she could do. “To the shop, gigglepuss.”
 
Anstella sat at her desk, pleased with the delay even as she wondered at the reason for it. She had much to do.
First an anonymous letter to Merchant Farell, reminding him of his promise to contribute a purse of gold to the Fraternity’s cause, and hinting, if he delayed much longer, that certain evidence regarding his daughter’s illicit dalliance with that young guardsman would somehow find its way into the hands of his elderly, wealthy, noble—and insanely jealous—son-in-law. The same son-in-law who was pouring money into Merchant Farell’s faltering business.
Then, perhaps, an equally anonymous note to the uncommitted Baron Gracien, to say it would be most unfortunate if Beren should win the regency; for the duke would surely discover that the bandits Gracien was charged to hunt down paid a tithe to be left alone—and not to the crown.
Yes, that would do for now. Anstella opened a drawer, then pressed a certain knot in the wood with her thumb and twisted. The false bottom slid back and she took out two of the spelled sheets of parchment Althume had prepared for her. As soon as the messages were read, the ink would fade, leaving a once-more blank sheet of parchment, and no evidence.
She smiled, took up a quill pen, and began to write.
 
 
Aside from a few sailors working on the deck, there was no activity at the dock where the
Sea Mist,
lay rocking gently at her mooring. The water glittered in the sun. Gulls swooped overhead, their raucous screams loud in the early morning quiet.
Otter shook his head. “Bad news, boyo.”
Linden said hopefully, “They haven’t started yet? We’ll have to wait for them?”
“They’re done. See how high the ship is riding in the water? She’s empty. The dock crew must have moved on to another ship.”
“Ah, damn,” Linden said. Disappointment filled him. “I should have known this would be too easy.”
Otter clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll find her—you’ll see. I’ve a good feeling about this.”
Linden smiled wanly. “I hope you’re right.”
“I know I am. Let’s work our way along the river. At least it’s a bit cooler here by the water. So—north or south?”
“North,” Linden said, thinking of the cool, clean air of Dragonskeep. “We’ll try north.”
 
By the time she reached the
Sea Mist,
Maurynna was sorry she’d chosen to walk. She should have gone back to the house and taken one of the horses.
Hindsight sees all,
she told herself.
Now if I can only last long enough to get into the warehouse.
The building rose before her, cheerful with the Erdons’ silver dolphin painted on the doors. She pushed the heavy door open, grateful for the dim coolness inside, and staggered to a crate. She sat with a thump. Wiping her forehead, she announced to all within earshot, “Sailors should not walk—not in this heat, anyway.”
The clerks working nearby chuckled. One said, “No one should, Captain. Times like this I envy you sailors the open sea.”
Danaet came out of the office. The clerks bent over their tally slates once more. “I thought I heard your voice, Captain Erdon. Could I talk to you—in the office?”
Mystified, Maurynna followed the stocky factor.
Captain Erdon?
From Danaet?
Once inside the office, Danaet carefully closed the door behind them. Something told Maurynna she was not going to like this.
Blunt as ever, Danaet went straight to the point. “Some of the dockhands were gossiping, Rynna—about you and that big blond worker, the way you two were looking at each other—and the way you looked after you were in the hold with him. Who is he?”
Maurynna’s face grew hot. “I don’t know. I thought you might—Jebby sent him. She’ll know.” She looked away, unable to meet Danaet’s angry gaze.
“I asked Jebby; she tried every dock she could, but couldn’t find anyone to send.”
For a moment Maurynna was too surprised to speak. “What! But if she didn’t send him—”
“Then he’s not a member of the Dock Guild. And you know how they are about non-guild taking work from them. They might refuse to work here, and then where would we be? I only hope he didn’t get the full wages—”
“He didn’t get any at all,” Maurynna said. She nodded at Danaet’s astonished face. “I thought Jebby had sent him, that he was guild, and was going to pay him the same as any of the others. But he disappeared, long before I paid the workers. He never got anything, let alone full wages.”
Grimacing, Danaet pulled the chair out from the desk and plumped down into it. Maurynna found another chair and did the same.
Danaet swore. “That’s bad. I think he’s a thief, then. What better way to learn what’s worth stealing than to unload it? No doubt he also took a long look at the locks and such while he was here.”
That infuriated Maurynna. “Danaet, whatever he was, I know he wasn’t a thief. He was rarely even near the warehouse—he was by my side practically every moment.”
“So I’ve heard,” Danaet said dryly. “But I still think he’s a thief. Gods, girl! How do you find these people for friends?
This one’s likely as bad as that Flounder or whatever his name is. And if he isn’t a thief, are you out of your mind, making eyes at a dockhand? He’s well below your station. Probably outcast from his clan. Damnation, you’re a member of one of the most powerful merchant families in the Five Kingdoms—an aristocracy of its own, even if these jackasses of Cassorin nobles think otherwise. Do you really want to set tongues wagging that you’re dallying with a common dockhand?”
Maurynna gritted her teeth and stood up. Only the knowledge that Danaet spoke to her this way because the factor truly cared gave Maurynna the strength to bite back the angry words crowding her tongue.
“You’re wrong about him. And I’ll do as I see fit, thank you.” She relented at the hurt look on Danaet’s face. Sighing, she crossed the office in two quick strides. She bent and hugged the factor, saying, “Danaet, please don’t worry. I have to find him again, that’s all. There was something odd … . Believe me; I do know what I’m doing.”
Danaet sighed. “I hope so, girl. I don’t want to see you hurt or lose your ship. But don’t bother looking at any of the other docks, Rynna. He’s nowhere to be found here at the riverfront.”
Maurynna paused by the door. “How do you know?”
Danaet sighed again. “I asked Jebby to look for him; I knew you’d want to find him again, and I didn’t want you going from dock to dock. It wouldn’t be fitting. And there’s some out there that’ll kill you for the gold in those bracelets.
“My word of honor on it—he’s not working any dock today. And no other crew has ever seen someone even close to that description.”
“Three docks now, boyo,
”
Otter
said, “and we still haven’t found her.”
They guided their horses through the teeming streets of the waterfront. To Otter’s amusement, now and again someone would jerk around as they took another look at Linden. Invariably the person would shake his or her head, certain that a Dragonlord couldn’t be down at the docks with the common folk.
There were merchants, well-fed and glossy, sailors with the rolling walks that spoke of long months at sea, and a myriad of others, some respectable, some Otter never wanted to meet in an alley at any time, all walking slowly and complaining of the heat. Only the street children had the energy to run. One urchin dodged under Otter’s horse’s nose, causing him to pull up for a moment.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead. The air was so thick and heavy he felt as if he was breathing under water. He’d never known Casna to have such hot, humid weather. With luck there would be a storm soon to break it; at least he’d be on dry land this time. In the meantime, he looked with longing at every tavern they passed. But Linden had only a few candlemarks to look for his soultwin before it would be time to go to the council meeting. He’d not ask the Dragonlord to waste a moment by sitting in a tavern.
To distract himself from the heat and his thirst, Otter asked, “Will you tell her when you find her?”
Linden shook his head. “Too dangerous. I had wanted to court her, claim her as my soultwin, but Kief reminded me of the danger.”
Otter’s ears pricked up. This was something he’d never
known about Dragonlords—and thanks to Linden, he probably knew more about them than any truehuman alive. “Danger?”
“Yes. It sometimes happens that two Dragonlords—two
full
Dragonlords—will destroy each other when they join. You see, the soul-halves merge for a brief time, then separate once more. If they don’t …”
“Wait a moment. ‘When they join?’ As in bedding?” At Linden’s nod, Otter complained, “Then what’s all this about some mystic ceremony? You mean it’s just a matter of—Boyo, I can’t put that in a song! At least not one that can be sung anywhere else than a tavern. And how much else about Dragonlords is a smoke tale?”
“No one at Dragonskeep knows how that story started. But it suits us. The less some truehumans know about us, the better,” Linden said.
“Ah,” said Otter, understanding, “of course. Yet if you can’t claim her, that’s going to be a bad time for you, isn’t it?” He bit his tongue before adding,
You were never very good at celibacy,
and smothered a grin.
Linden’s groan nearly made him repent his levity.
 
When Linden entered the council room, the other Dragonlords looked eagerly at him. He shook his head and took his seat. Then he sighed.
Damn, but this was going to be a long
long
meeting.
“Are you certain about this,
Kas?” said Prince Peridaen as he made ready for the mysteriously delayed council meeting. “I can hardly believe it; it’s incredible. Your man is reliable?”
“Yes,” Althume answered. “Ham and his brother Pol have been with me for years. Harn heard the older Dragonlords speak of a fledgling Dragonlord—a woman. From what he said, I think the new one is Linden Rathan’s soultwin. For some reason they don’t think he should join with her. And they’re hoping ‘the other girl’—whoever she is—distracts him from her for the time being.”
Peridaen stood before the mirror in his quarters at the castle, adjusting the set of his tunic. “Don’t the stories say that the joining of soultwins involves a ceremony? Perhaps it must be done at Dragonskeep.”
Althume considered. “Very likely. The forces involved must be considerable; there would be wards at Dragonskeep against their raging out of control. The place is ancient and full of magic.” He picked up Peridaen’s heavy gold necklace of rank from the table and slipped it over the prince’s head. “Think of it, Peridaen: the Fraternity’s own Dragonlord as spy. How ironic.”
“Could the fledgling really be Sherrine? She doesn’t seem to have a Marking,” said Peridaen.
“Perhaps not all Markings are noticeable. I wonder; if Linden Rathan suddenly stays away from her—Will Anstella come here before the council meets?”
An oddly patterned knock sounded at the door. Peridaen covered his eyes and said, his voice deep and mysterious, “Let me see—the mists are parting. Yes! Anstella will be
here before the council meets.” He went to the door and opened it.
Anstella of Colrane entered. Peridaen greeted her with a light kiss and shut the door again.
Althume chuckled. “Very good, my lord. Even
I
need a scrying bowl. You’ve missed your calling.”
Peridaen grinned. “I’ll leave the magery to you, Kas.”
Anstella looked from one man to the other. “You two look uncommonly pleased with yourselves. It can’t just be this little reprieve. Has something happened?”
“If we’re right, you’ll be pleased as well, my dear,” Peridaen said, slipping his arm around her waist. “Kas?”
“Anstella, is there anything unusual about Sherrine? Aside from her extraordinary beauty,” the mage said with a bow to the source of that same beauty.
Anstella acknowledged the compliment with a smile and a nod. “Such as?”
Althume shrugged. “A birthmark or some such thing.”
A slight sneer curled Anstella’s lip. “Why, yes, she has. A wine-red birthmark—like Linden Rathan’s—on her lower back. So?”
Althume saw Peridaen smile. It was the smile of a hungry wolf. He knew his own matched it. “Just like Linden Rathan’s, eh?”
Then Peridaen frowned, saying, “It may mean nothing; there are many people who have birthmarks like that and aren’t Dragonlords. After all, the other two—their Markings don’t match.”
The mage interrupted, “But the Markings do, Peridaen. Think. They’re both physical deformities. Maybe soultwins’ Markings match up somehow.” He slammed a fist into his palm. “There’s so much we don’t know about them, so much they keep hidden! Damn!”
His face cleared. “But if Markings do correspond, then that means Sherrine is the fledgling. And I’ll wager anything they do. It would follow one of the Laws of Magic—that of Correspondence.”
“What?” Anstella cried. Her face went white. “Sherrine—a Dragonlord?”
Peridaen laughed. “Indeed, my love. But I’m afraid your lovely daughter is about to lose her Dragonlord lover for a bit. In fact, I hope so. It will confirm what we suspect. But tell her not to grieve; it won’t be for long.”
“She’ll have all of time to be with him,” Althume said. “But don’t tell her; not yet. That would complicate—”
“No!” Anstella shouted. “No! I don’t believe it. It can’t be true. You’re lying.” She looked wildly from one man to the other, her breast heaving.
Before Althume could speak, Peridaen took Anstella’s hands in his own, holding them until they stopped shaking. There was a wild look in the eyes that stared up at the prince.
“We will not speak of this right now,” Peridaen said gently. “We’ll give you time to accustom yourself to this. And remember: this will help the Fraternity.”
Althume watched tensely as long moments passed. Then, with a barely audible “For the Fraternity,” Anstella was once more the self-assured Baroness of Colrane. Only her breathing, rapid and light, and the deathlike pallor of her face betrayed her now. “It can’t be true,” she said, but her voice was quiet now, if still tight and brittle. “You’ll see. But let us speak of other things.” Once more she looked to Peridaen, her eyes beseeching him.
“Kas,” the prince said softly.
The mage nodded briskly. “If either of you can see a way to it, I need another delay in the council. A day or so if possible.”
“Another?” Peridaen asked with a sigh, falling into the pretense that nothing was amiss. “Much more and the Dragonlords will notice something’s in the wind, Kas.”
“It can’t be helped. The translation is difficult.”
“What is it?” inquired Anstella, sounding almost like herself. She eased her hands from Peridaen’s.
Althume smiled again. “A bit of this, a bit of that. And something that I hope is much more than an old tale.”
Anstella tossed her head, once more the imperious baroness,
and slid her arm through the prince’s. “Not very helpful. But I’ve had Duriac working on Chardel for the past tenday, Peridaen. He said last evening that it would take very little more to goad the old fool into attacking him.”
The mage nodded as the other two turned to leave. “Good. Tell him to save it for one of the actual council meetings. Might as well get the full benefit of it.”
Peridaen paused in the doorway. “You mentioned Ham’s brother before. Have you yet had any word from Pelnar from him?”
Althume said, “Not yet. The last from him was that Nethuryn has gone into hiding. Don’t worry; Pol will hunt him the length and breadth of Pelnar if necessary. He’ll bring us what we need.”
Peridaen nodded; he and Anstella continued on their way.
As the door shut behind the two Cassorins, Althume locked his fingers together and stretched out his arms, cracking his knuckles with satisfaction. Yes, home to continue translating the only copy of Ankarlyn the Mage’s grimoire known to have survived destruction by the Dragonlords. And to ponder the problem of Anstella, Baroness of Colrane.
BOOK: The Last Dragonlord
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