The Last Dragonlord (36 page)

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Authors: Joanne Bertin

BOOK: The Last Dragonlord
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Althume stood as patiently as
he could while the servant removed his wet cloak. The long, dripping bundle in his arms felt like both a prize and a beacon. But he schooled his expression as he had learned to over the many decades of his long life, looking neither guilty nor triumphant.
“No—I’ll take this myself,” he told the servant when the man offered to carry his burden.
The servant bowed himself away, saying, “Prince Peridaen is in his study.”
Althume strode down the hall, cradling the sword wrapped in Pol’s cloak against his chest. At the door to the study he pushed the latch down and elbowed the oak door open. To his relief, Peridaen sat alone before the fireplace.
“Where’s Anstella?” Althume asked. He locked the door behind him.
Peridaen looked up from the chessboard he was studying. “With Sherrine; the girl looked like—what is that?”
With a flourish Althume swept the concealing cloak away. “Tsan Rhilin,” said the mage. He looked down at the sheathed greatsword resting in his arms with the fierce pride of an eagle for its nestling.
“Good gods!” Peridaen stood, knocking his chair to the floor. “Let me see!” He crossed the intervening space in two long strides.
Althume laid the sword in the prince’s waiting hands.
Peridaen studied the plain leather scabbard. “Hardly seems fitting for a sword out of legend, does it?” he said, fingering the unadorned straps. “And the sword itself—doesn’t look as if it’s magical.” He half drew it from its sheath. “It simply
looks to be a well-made, serviceable blade,” he observed as he sheathed it once more.
“It isn’t magical—not of itself, anyway.” Althume wandered to the table and poured himself wine. “There’s some Yerrin legend about Sister Moon and the sword—its name means ‘Moon Dancer’ in archaic Yerrin.” He drank a little, then finished, “Supposedly Rani eo’Tsan took it from an undead Kelnethi harper—though I never understood how he came to have it—and gave it to Bram Wolfson.”
“And Linden Rathan had it of the Wolfson.” Peridaen ran a hand over the hilt wrapped in twisted wire for a sure grip, the pommel of silver like a full moon. “They were related somehow, weren’t they?”
He seemed unable to tear his gaze away from the sword, plain though it was. Althume watched him with disdain. As loudly as Peridaen might prate of his hatred of the Dragonlords, he was still susceptible to the glamour surrounding them. It irked Althume that even as powerful a mage as himself needed the patronage of the nobility.
If only a mage could seize power as in those foolish tales. Such a pity that it would take more magic than any one mage could wield.
And who ever heard of mages agreeing long enough to league together?
“We’ve more important things than the sword,” the mage snapped.
That broke the spell. Peridaen set the greatsword on the table. “Gods, yes! Of course. It seems that there’s no need to ask if your mission was at least partially successful. That you have Tsan Rhilin is proof that your spells worked. But why in the name of all the gods did you take it? That was a dangerous trick, Kas. And of the rest? Did you find out what we need to know?”
“Some.” Althume pulled a chair before the fire and sat. He stretched his boots onto the hearth; in a few moments the steam rose from them. “I’ll give him this: Dragonlord Linden Rathan is one very strong-willed, stubborn bastard. He should not have been able to move while under the influence of the
potion or to resist me. Yet he did both at the end. Still, I found out some things and had others confirmed.”
Peridaen retrieved his fallen chair. “Such as?”
“Dragonlords cannot read minds—”
“Thank the gods,” Peridaen murmured with a wry smile. “Else we should all hang.”
“I would hang;
you
would be beheaded, courtesy of your royal birth. But as for the Dragonlords, while they cannot read minds, they can speak mind-to-mind with each other.
“And we can now lay to rest two of the causes of endless arguments within the Fraternity: Ankarlyn the Mage did indeed find a way to loosen the bond between a Dragonlord’s souls. Unfortunately Linden Rathan had no idea how this was done, so he could not confirm what I have learned in my studies. We’re on our own for that.
“But Ankarlyn’s spells will work against them. It was proven once and for all by the successful mix of potion and spell that I used against Linden Rathan and further confirmed by his own words,” said Althume.
“That’s one cause laid to rest,” the prince noted. “What is the other?”
The mage smiled briefly. “Why, that ‘idiotic nursery tale’ as some of the Fraternity’s less enlightened members call it, of course—Ankarlyn’s enslavement of a fledgling Dragonlord. This time Linden Rathan did know how that was done: using the blood of a Dragonlord—or one who has Dragonlord blood.”
Peridaen said slowly, “One of my ancestors was the truehuman daughter of two Dragonlords. And that means—damn it all, Kas, does it have to be the boy? I’m rather fond of him.”
Shrugging, the mage said, “Rann is endearing enough, I’m sure, but will you let even him stand between the Fraternity and success? For if we do succeed, there are many that hesitate now who will flock to our banner, my prince. Will you cast that aside?
“Oh, gods.” Peridaen closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead
as if his head suddenly hurt him. “No, of course not. It’s just … Sherrine
and
Rann?”
“The gods drive stiff bargains, my prince,” Althume warned.
“I know. But this … I’ll have to think about it, Kas,” said Peridaen.
Peridaen’s tone lit a warning beacon in the mage’s mind, but he decided against pursuing the subject. Instead, he said, “Now, it may be possible to develop other spells to use against Dragonlords, but I’m not willing to spend the time. We can’t drag out this regency debate for much longer, though I think we have a way to prolong it now.” Althume leaned back in his seat and folded his hands across his stomach. “And there is a fledgling Dragonlord; I asked just to be certain. That seemed to frighten Linden Rathan; it was then that he fought the enchantment so hard that he came near to breaking it.”
The mage raised his goblet in mock salute to the absent Dragonlord. “As I said, a stubborn and strong-willed bastard. I was amazed; I didn’t think it could be done. The effort must have cost him dearly.” He drained his cup and wiped his lips.
“I might have been able to subdue him again, but as bad luck would have it, two late-night travelers happened upon us.”
“What! Who?” Peridaen demanded. “And did they see you well enough to recognize you?”
“I don’t know; all I could see through the rain were two cloaked and hooded figures. By the same token, that would have been all that they could see as well. One charged us with a blade—whoever he is, he’s used to using it. Rather than risk a wounding and awkward questions, I judged it best for us to get away.” He held up a hand to forestall the question he knew Peridaen was about to ask. “Remember—neither Pol nor I were armed. The casting of spells that powerful will not tolerate the presence of cold iron. By the time the travelers found us, we had most of what we wanted—and that besides,” the mage said, nodding at Tsan Rhilin lying on the table.
“Yes,
that.
And what shall we do with
that
? We can’t leave it here. If one of the servants finds it—Blast it, Kas, you’re taking too many chances! This wasn’t in our plans.”
Althume smiled one of his wintry smiles. “Plans are for changing, my dear prince. And stop worrying; this treasure will remain hidden until the proper time.”
 
Low, urgent voices and the sound of people running up and down the hall woke Maylin. She sat up, startled by the thickness of the featherbed beneath her, the feel of finer linen sheets than any she’d ever known. Memory returned in a rush and she tumbled out of bed onto a richly carpeted floor.
Hiking up her borrowed nightgown so that she wouldn’t trip, Maylin hurried to the door and ran into the hall. She was just in time to see Kief Shaeldar, water streaming from his clothes, reach the top of the stairs and turn into the hall. He carried Linden Rathan as if the big Dragonlord weighed no more than a child. A bevy of servants draggled behind him like lost chicks. One caught her eye; a blocky-faced man with a hard expression.
Didn’t I see him somewhere tonight? No; I couldn’t have. He’s not been out in the wet. Then, My gods—Dragonlords are strong, aren’t they? No one as small as Kief Shaeldar has any business being able to carry someone of Linden’s size that easily.
Any other time the image of Linden’s long legs dangling over Kief Shaeldar’s arm would have been funny. But not tonight. Maylin ran down the hall as the door to one of the bedrooms opened.
“In here,” Tarlna Aurianne said from inside the room. “Hurry.”
Maylin caught only a glimpse of Linden’s face as Kief Shaeldar hurried into the room. She reached it in time to have the door shut in her face. For a moment she debated knocking. But whatever grace being Maurynna’s cousin earned her, she didn’t think it stretched that far. So she turned and dragged her feet back to her room.
This time the big bed felt lonely; she wished Maurynna,
her mother, or even Kella, were here with her. She tossed and turned, pounded the pillow, counted sheep—but nothing would drive away the memory of Linden’s face: still, slack, and grey, with dried blood crusted around his lips.
Three desperate faces looked to
Tasha for answers she didn’t have: the Dragonlords Kief Shaeldar and Tarlna Aurianne, and Linden Rathan’s friend, Otter.
“Can you help him, Healer?” Kief Shaeldar asked.
Tasha shook her head. “Your Grace, you told me that you used a dragon’s Healing fire on him and it did little good. How can a truehuman Healer do any better? Especially with so much time gone by; if only I could have crossed the river last night. All I can tell you is that he looks to have been poisoned, unlikely as it seems. And if you’re right that there was magery involved …”
She spread her hands helplessly. It was a feeling that she was all too familiar with these days and heartily sick of. “The best I can do is to try to counteract the symptoms with herbs and make him as comfortable as possible.”
For the first time since Tasha had arrived at the river estate, Tarlna Aurianne spoke.
“Will he survive?”
Tasha drew a deep breath. “I don’t know. I truly don’t know—and the odds aren’t on his side. Nearly a day since you brought him here and there’s still no change.”
The bard bowed his head and walked a short distance away. Tarlna Aurianne turned to the comforting embrace her soultwin offered. They clung together.
“I will try my best,” Tasha said.
Kief Shaeldar nodded. “We understand, Healer. And we thank you. He’s a stubborn pain in the ass at times, but we’re very fond of him anyway,” the Dragonlord said with a weak smile. “May the gods help you save him.”
May they indeed,
she thought as she left them in the hallway
and returned to Linden Rathan’s sickroom.
Globes of coldfire—left there by the other two Dragonlords—stood sentry at the four posts of the bed. Still unnerved by the idea of grabbing something her instincts clamored would burn her, Tasha caught one of the balls gingerly and directed its light onto Linden Rathan’s face.
His skin had the grey, waxy look of a corpse. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest reassured her that he still lived. She released the coldfire; it drifted back to its place.
Once more she sat by his bed and attempted to puzzle out what exactly was wrong with Linden Rathan. If only he could tell her what had happened to him. All anyone was certain of was that two men were involved—and that only because the young sea captain and her cousin had seen them.
Who were those men? And what did they do to Linden Rathan? Did they poison him? His symptoms suggest it. If so, how did they overpower a Dragonlord? And what did they use?
But she had no more answers for this Dragonlord than she did for her young prince. All she could do was wait. And hope.
 
“By all the gods, Kas, what did you do to him?” Peridaen demanded. “Rumor has it that Linden Rathan’s dying! What was in that cursed potion?”
Althume watched the agitated prince stride from one side of the room to the other for a moment before answering; all the while Peridaen yanked at his beard as if trying to pull it out. “The potion should not prove fatal, I don’t think, even without the antidote.”
That brought Peridaen to a dead halt. “Antidote? This thing was deadly enough to require an antidote and you didn’t give it to him? What were you thinking of? What if he dies? We’ll have Dragonlords turning the country inside out looking for answers. Why didn’t you give it to him? And why didn’t you tell—?”
Weary of the flood of questions, Althume broke in, “Because you’re sometimes unwilling to take necessary risks.
And as for why I didn’t give him the antidote, remember the two travelers? It was leave Linden Rathan there to take his chances or be caught. I don’t need to tell you what
that
would have meant. The man’s as healthy and strong as the proverbial ox; he should pull through. I’m more worried about the aftereffects. It is likely he will be severely depressed, perhaps even suicidal. A pity we can’t warn the other Dragonlords, but one can’t have everything.
“And if he does die—by his own hand, or because of the potion—we might well lose Sherrine,” the mage continued. “I have no idea what losing a soultwin would do to a fledgling.” He shrugged. “If so, we return to the original plan.”
Peridaen eyed him. “Since when had we decided to abandon it? Take care you don’t overstep your boundaries, Kas. I have not yet decided that we shall attempt to enslave Sherrine. Do nothing else to involve or endanger the girl, do you understand?”
Althume was beginning to understand all too well. “Of course, my lord.”
 
Maurynna woke up with a pounding headache. She sat up carefully, holding her head in her hands; it felt as if mad smiths hammered behind her eyes, and her stomach was none too steady.
“How are you feeling, dear?” her aunt asked.
Maurynna took a chance and cracked her eyelids open. “Like I’ve been flogged from one end of the
Sea Mist
to the other with belaying pins. My head hurts,” she complained.
“Some meadowsweet tea might help with that,” Aunt Elenna said. “Now that you’re awake I’ll get you some. Are you hungry yet?”
“No!” Maurynna said, swallowing hard.
Elenna got up from her chair. “You will be later. But the tea will be best for now.” She hesitated in the doorway on her way out. “Are you certain you’re well enough to be left alone?”
Rubbing her temples, Maurynna said in surprise, “Of course I am. Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Do you remember coming home?”
She had to think. “No,” she admitted. “Or going to bed.” She squinted at the window. The curtains were drawn, but she could see a faint light outside. “It’s almost dawn, isn’t it?”
Aunt Elenna shook her head. “No, dear—it’s twilight. The
tisrahn
was last night. You were barely conscious when Otter brought you here. Then you fell into a sleep we couldn’t rouse you out of all day long.”
Maurynna gaped at her. For the first time she noticed the tenseness in Elenna’s voice, the fatigue in her aunt’s face. “I—I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I. You kept muttering about ‘golden voices’ in your sleep. At first I thought that perhaps you had whatever made Linden ill, but Otter assured me that wasn’t the case. What it was, or what he thinks it might be, he wouldn’t say.”
“How did I get home? Otter couldn’t have carried me. And where is he? And Maylin?” Maurynna asked, trying to think despite the pounding in her skull. “Have you heard anything about Linden?” She clenched her fists and squeezed her head between them as if that would still the smiths’ hammers, and tried to remember what she’d dreamed.
“Oh, gods, Rynna—I’m sorry. I forgot about your headache; I’m too tired to think straight anymore what with everything that’s happening. If you and Maylin ever worry me like that again, I’ll—Let me get that tea for you,” said her aunt as she hurried away.
Maurynna leaned back against the wall. She was in Maylin’s bed and not the pallet on the floor, she noticed.
I wonder if Maylin’s back from the other side of the river yet?
A short while later she had her answer. Maylin entered bearing a mug and pushed the door closed with one foot.
“Drink this first before I answer any questions,” Maylin said. “Mother’s orders.”
Maurynna knew better than to argue. As quickly as she could, she gulped the scalding tea. By the time she finished, the headache had changed from excruciating to merely painful. “Maylin, tell me everything before I go mad. Where
did you sleep last night? Did you see Linden?”
“I stayed at the Dragonlords’ estate. And, yes, I did see Linden when Kief Shaeldar brought him in. Rynna, I’m sorry, but—he looked awful. They wouldn’t let me see him this morning when I asked. Everyone went about looking frightened. I saw Healer Tasha come out of his room at one point and she looked grim. I don’t think she even noticed me; she called for a basin of heated water and went back in.”
Maurynna closed her eyes and tried not to cry, but the tears leaked out anyway. She searched inside herself; after all, hadn’t she known somehow last night that Linden was in trouble? But she found no answers there. It felt like pushing against a locked door. “And where’s Otter in all this? And what’s wrong with me?”
“I passed Otter on the road as the Dragonlords’ guards were escorting me home. He didn’t stop to talk; he just galloped past, riding hard for the estate. He looked tired. And we don’t know what’s wrong with you. From what Otter said, you took sick as the two of you were walking home. Don’t you remember?”
“No.” Maurynna brushed the tears from her face. “I don’t. Tell me.”
“He carried you as long as he could, he said, then by the grace of the gods found his horse and Linden’s. I guess that they stopped running once they’d found each other and felt safe together. Somehow he got you onto Linden’s horse, tied you into the saddle and brought you home like that. You kept talking about ‘soaring through the storm’ and other strange things.”
Maylin fell silent, studying Maurynna as if she were some new type of bird never before seen. Maurynna squirmed under the intent gaze.
Maylin asked, “How did you know something was wrong with Linden?”
Maurynna shrugged uncomfortably. “I just did. I don’t know how.”
Maylin’s reply came as a surprise. “Good.” And she would say nothing more.

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