Dragon and Phoenix (21 page)

Read Dragon and Phoenix Online

Authors: Joanne Bertin

BOOK: Dragon and Phoenix
13.01Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
And passed through. As did the rest of Aumalaean, unable to stop his headlong flight. With a scream of agony the like of which Morlen prayed he’d never hear again, Aumalaean burst into flames. He fell, tumbling end over end through the cool air of dawn, burning like an oil-soaked torch. Then, mercifully, his screaming ended. Moments later he crashed into the ground.
 
One final thrust, and it was over.
Yesuin collapsed on her, his chest heaving, his body hot and sweaty against her own. Shei-Luin lay gasping. Her hands roamed blindly over her lover’s body.
Then Yesuin rolled off of her and fell heavily to the cushions. His eyes were closed as he fought to catch his breath.
She turned her head on the pillow to look at him. Her gaze devoured him, willing herself to remember everything about him at this moment, the line his dark, heavy eyebrows made, how a strand of his long black hair curved around one high cheekbone.
How she loved this man … .
A sudden swift, sharp pain in her womb made Shei-Luin sit up, hands clasped to her belly. “Oh!”
At once Yesuin was on his knees beside her. “Shei—what is it?”
Wonder stayed her tongue. For beneath her hands, it was as if a sun glowed in her womb for an instant and she
knew
. Joy bubbled up inside her.
“Yesuin,” she whispered, hardly able to speak for sheer happiness, “I am with child again. It happened just now—I know it!”
“Are you certain? Can such a thing—”
An urgent knock at the door interrupted him. “Lady,” Murohshei called, low-voiced, “someone comes!”
At once Yesuin was out of the bed. He snatched up the clothes he’d let fall to the floor the night before and was running for the entrance to the secret tunnels before she could say a word. She saw the red-and-gold lacquered panel slide back under his fingers, watched mutely as Yesuin disappeared into the dimness beyond and the panel slid shut once more.
All that was left was the knowledge of what lay under her spreading fingers, and what it might bring her.
 
At last Morlen understood what they faced. This was not the Phoenix itself. This was a Sending built of magery, a concerted effort of a kind he’d thought impossible, using the magical forces of the Phoenix and Pirakos to fuel it. His heart went cold within him.
Mages did not band together, work to one end this way. They wouldn’t; they couldn’t!
But the deadly proof filled the sky before him. The ghostly bird wheeled and the balefire lashed out once more. Once again the dragons scattered before it. A few more were caught. They fell, burning, to their deaths as had the others before them. The Phoenix turned on the largest band of survivors. They fled.
It was hopeless. The dragons were doomed. Despair washed over Morlen. They could not succeed against an enemy they couldn’t even touch. Their only hope lay in retreating beyond the range that the priestmages could project the Sending.
*
Retreat! Now! Get beyond the mountains!
* Morlen roared to his kindred wyrms. For a feeling rose in him now that if the dragons could but win to the red lands they had passed over earlier, they would be safe. He remembered the welcoming feel of that land, sent it on to the others.
One by one they responded, halting their panicked, fruitless dodging, and raced for the mountains as fast as they could. Some faltered in the air, barely able to fly. Others dashed in to help, heedless of their own safety, risking death as the Phoenix swooped down once more.
It singled out a pair of dragons; with a cry of despair Morlen saw it was Lurione, one of the youngest dragons, gravely wounded—and Talassaene, her amethyst scales glittering like jewels in the light of the newly risen sun. He struggled to reach them in time; in time to do what, he didn’t know. But he was too old, too tired, and wounded besides.
And there was nothing he could do, anyway. That knowledge hurt the most.
Yet somehow Talassaene, her claws gripping the younger dragon, twisted in the air and tumbled into a dive. The lash of the Phoenix’s fire missed her body by scant inches. For a moment Morlen thought she would win free unscathed; then the streamer of fire slewed around and caught her across the back and wings.
She cried out but kept hold of Lurione and by some miracle kept to the air. Staggering as she flew, Talassaene nevertheless dodged out of the Phoenix’s range and continued toward the mountains, still bearing Lurione.
Relief flooded Morlen; she would be safe. He turned his attention to the
other dragons, urging them on. They obeyed, flying as fast as they could for the mountain barrier to the red lands.
Once more the Phoenix dove after them. The last stragglers’ wings beat frantically in what Morlen feared was a futile attempt. He cried out a warning as it loomed over them; one of the dragons, despair filling her ruby eyes, looked over her shoulder at the Phoenix closing in. Then, just as the fire from its wings reached for the dragons, the Phoenix disappeared. Like the haze above a fire, it vanished, leaving the clean blue sky behind.
Morlen went weak with relief. The gods only knew why their enemy had disappeared—had the mages reached the end of their power?—but he didn’t question it, only blessed it. Now he must get his kindred to safety.
The flight was pure nightmare. His pain increased with each beat of his injured wings. Yet he couldn’t give in to it, couldn’t rest; nor could he allow any of the others to do so. Morlen didn’t know how the Jehangli had known of the dragons’ attack, or even how long they had known of it. There might be troops waiting below to kill or capture any wounded dragon setting down.
They must keep flying. Morlen begged, pleaded, bullied, and cajoled his kinswyrms along when they would have given up. He would not allow it.
At last they were over the mountains. *Rest,* he sent to the others. *
Here we are safe.
*
 
Agony! Death!
The old dragon twisted and thrashed in his sleep, his dreams now a torment. He moaned, all unknowing, and fled the nightmares that stalked him, sinking deeper into his mind.
The waters of the lake swirled around him as if to wash away the pain.
 
It was Heilan, one of Xiane’s eunuchs kept to run errands to the harem. Shei-Luin received him after donning the proper robes.
“The Phoenix Lord wishes to ride to the Pavilion of the Three Pines this day, lady,” Heilan said. “He desires that you ride with him.”
Despite his condition, the eunuch kept his gaze firmly upon her embroidered slippers. It was a moment before Shei-Luin noticed; her mind was still full of what had happened earlier.
But when she did notice, she raised her fan to hide a smile. While it was true she was currently the emperor’s favorite, she was still only a concubine, and a palace eunuch was free to look upon her. Indeed, the eunuchs were the only males in the palace free to gaze upon the faces of any woman, noble or otherwise.
Any woman, that was, save those of the highest rank, such as the mother of an emperor, his sisters, or … his empress.
She was not Xiane’s sister, and certainly not his mother. But that Xiane’s
eunuch unconsciously treated her with such respect told her how his master truly thought of her.
She let the fan fall away with a graceful gesture. “Tell the Phoenix Lord that it will be my greatest pleasure to ride with him this day, and that I thank him for this mark of his favor,” Shei-Luin said. Then, greatly daring, she went on, “And tell him I also thank him for thinking of the Pavilion of the Three Pines. It is very … romantic there,” she added, her voice low and silky.
A moment later she nearly laughed aloud. Though the eunuch’s gaze stayed firmly on the toes of her slippers, the tips of his ears had turned bright pink.
“You will repeat to your master what I said—and
how
it was said,” Shei-Luin ordered with impish delight. She knew Heilan was an uncanny mimic.
The ears turned red. “I will, Light of the Emperor’s Eyes.” The eunuch crawled backward to the door, then stood and left on his mission.
Pleased, Shei-Luin rose from her chair to allow Tsiaa and Murohshei to undress her for her bath. “Use the jasmine perfume; it’s Xiane’s favorite.”
Though once Xiane received her message, she doubted she’d have need of any perfume. They might not even get away from the palace this day.
She thanked the Phoenix for this gift of chance.
 
The dragons rested on the small plateau they had found. Few were unscathed; most bore at least some small wounds; some were gravely hurt. And too many of those were hurt beyond saving. Some, like Lurione, died before they could be helped.
Indeed, Morlen suspected Lurione had died before ever reaching this poor sanctuary. It was a mercy, he thought, that Talassaene had fainted as soon as she’d touched the earth. She did not yet know her sacrifice had been wasted. He looked upon his granddaughter once more and wondered how she had brought herself to this place, let alone carried Lurione, she was so gravely wounded.
The dragons did what they could for their kindred, exhausting themselves by repeated uses of their Healing fire. Morlen aided where he might. But for him all that he could do was not enough; and draining him further was the foreknowledge that the dragons could not stay. If they lingered the priestmages would find a way to send the ghost Phoenix after them once more. And that would mean the end of them all. They
must
leave.
The Seeing sapped what little strength he had left.
I am old and useless
, he thought bitterly, watching a nearly spent Galinis bathe Talassaene in Healing fire once more. The blue-green flames enveloped her, slid around her unconscious body—and died out in a flicker. Galinis’s head sank to the ground, his eyes dull with exhaustion.
*I have done what I could,
* the younger dragon said. Even his mindvoice shook with weariness. *
I can do no more
.*
*
Thee have wrought valiantly,
* said Morlen, afraid it wasn’t enough. Talassaene
had not regained consciousness. *
Rest now; we must leave with the night.
*
Groans greeted this announcement. *
Why?
* a dragon named Beracca asked plaintively. One eye was seared shut, never to see again.
Galinis lifted his head. *
A Seeing?
*
*
Yes
.*
Sighs gusted through his mind, and their resigned acceptance followed. They would rest while they could. Morlen stretched out beside his granddaughter, willing her to live.
 
The
nira
was still dazed, having regained his senses only moments before. He blinked like an owl forced out into the day, unable to make sense of his surroundings. Giving up, he sagged against the arms that supported him—one of the acolytes allowed in to help. Another held a cup of tea out to him.
“Drink, Holy One,” the young man said. His face was pale and his eyes wide and frightened. Whether it was because of what had transpired in this place, or for the place itself, the
nira
could not say.
His confusion passed; with each moment memory came back. But he was still weak and in pain. Pah-Ko waved the cup aside. “Where’s my Oracle?” he whispered, holding aside the welcome relief of oblivion by sheer force of will.
“Here, Holy One.”
The voice came from behind him. Pah-Ko half turned in the shelter of the encircling arms.
A young priest of the first rank cradled Hodai against his chest. Hodai’s eyes were shut, black lashes stark against the ashy hue of his face. An acolyte gently wiped the boy’s mouth with a damp cloth. There was a red stain upon it.
Pah-Ko gasped in dread. His heart jumped and hammered jerkily in his chest. One withered hand stretched out.
“Rest easy, Holy One,” the young priest hastened to say. “He bit his lip, that’s all. He sleeps now from exhaustion.”
“Ah. Ahhh.” Pah-Ko relaxed. “Take him to my chambers and put him in his bed—” He wrinkled his brow in thought. “Yalin, is it not?”
The young priest beamed, pleased that his name was known to one so high. “Yes, Holy One. I will take him there now.”
“Stay by him until he wakes.” As the young priest bore his precious burden away, Pah-Ko turned his attention to the events around him. For the first time he noticed the sour stink of voided bowels beneath the fragrant incense. Then he saw the still, covered forms that littered the floor of the chamber.
But other forms were not so still. Pah-Ko heard wild mutterings as the junior priests struggled to hold down their thrashing brethren.
“What is this?” Pah-ko asked the one who still supported him.
“The backlash … . It was too much for some of them. Their brains are fevered, it seems. Whether they will recover …”
“Who?”
The youth rattled off a few names, but the only one that penetrated Pah-ko’s befuddled mind was Haoro’s. So—Jhanun’s devious nephew was no longer a player in the great game of the temple. Pah-ko wondered how long the reprieve might last; forever, he hoped.

Other books

The Rendezvous by Evelyn Anthony
Baited Blood by Sue Ann Jaffarian
Pearced by Ryder, H
Determination by Jamie Mayfield
Penny and Peter by Carolyn Haywood