Read Dragon and Phoenix Online
Authors: Joanne Bertin
Dragon and Phoenix (34 page)
But a Dragonlord’s acute hearing was hers now, and she recognized both voice and words. It was Raven.
Even as she thought
How odd; I thought he’d gone home candlemarks ago,
his words penetrated her mind.
How odd; I thought he’d gone home candlemarks ago,
his words penetrated her mind.
“I can’t go home, Master Kesselandt.” The words were slurred as if with emotion and exhaustion. “Please …”
“No,” a crisp voice said. It was not Uncle Kesselandt.
Maurynna’s lips drew back, baring her teeth. Uncle Darijen had never been friend to her or Raven. Remembering how he’d nearly convinced Kesselandt she was too young for a captain made her hot with anger all over again.
“With all due respect, sir, I asked the Head of this family—not you.”
Despite his exhaustion, there was steel in Raven’s voice. Maurynna silently cheered him.
“Insolent pup! I’ll see you broken for that.”
“Master Kessel—”
Uncle Darijen cut him off. “You set those sails yourself, boy, now live with the course you’ve chosen. You’ll find no help here.”
Oh, gods, what that sneering voice brought back. Memories burned through her, all the slights and indignities this uncle had heaped upon her throughout the years. Maurynna set the tray with its ale and cakes down on the floor. Then she took a deep breath and went to find a door.
Linden was wondering where Maurynna had gotten to with the promised ale and cakes when he heard the sound of a horse’s hooves rapidly approaching. A late guest? Not likely. Curious who would be visiting at this candlemark and in such haste, he went to the window and twitched the embroidered hanging aside, peering out into a night lit only by stars and a quarter moon.
A servant appeared as the rider pulled up in the central courtyard before the houses. In the light of the torch the servant held, Linden saw the visitor was a man of perhaps forty or so. Every movement, from the way he threw the reins at the groom who came running up, to the angry jerk at the hem of his tunic spoke of fury. Linden wondered anew who came in such haste and such anger. Surely not a dissatisfied fellow merchant?
Lleld joined him at the window, fitting neatly under his raised elbow. “Who is it?” she asked.
“I’ve a suspicion, but I’m not certain. I can’t see his face.”
Jekkanadar came to peer around his shoulder. As they watched, the servant pointed at the Mousehole.
Linden looked down at Lleld; she still stared out of the window. Then her eyes met his for a brief moment, eyebrows raised in speculation.
Once again Linden looked out the window. Below, the torchlight played over the man’s hair as he crossed the courtyard. At that distance and in such poor light, only a Dragonlord’s unnaturally sharp vision could have caught the glint of red. “Oh, hell,” he grumbled and let the curtain drop. “I know who it is.”
Lleld caught it, peered outside once more; a moment later she said, “That’s Raven’s da, isn’t it? He looks as mad as a bear with a burr up its butt.”
“Doesn’t he just, though?” Linden said. In fact, he’d never seen anyone meet the old hillman’s description so well. “This will not be pretty.”
“But why is he here? Raven left this morning to go home,” said Jekkanadar.
Linden, too, wondered about that.
Maurynna skirted the moth garden with its sweet-scented flowers. Though it was late in the season for them, a few of the gauzy-winged insects still tended the blooms. They fluttered through the pale moonlight as they paused at one blossom after another, paying court to the white flowers that dotted the shadows.
When she was younger, Maurynna had often sneaked out of her garret room to play in the garden. On soft summer nights when the moon was full, it was a magical place, a place where anything might happen.
But now she strode past without even seeing it. A trailing vine of moonflowers brushed her shoulder. She pushed it aside. Her goal was the knot garden on the far side of the honeysuckle hedge. She hoped she was not too late; the closest door had been on the opposite side of the house from where the three men argued. Under her bare feet the brick walk was rough and scratchy, and the sharp, dry scent of the baked clay contrasted with the sweetness of the flowers and the soil’s rich fragrance. The cool night air slid along her cheek like silk.
Lleld cocked her head at him. “Shall we?”
Linden sighed and took a last look around the small sitting room. He’d been hoping for a quiet evening and early to bed, but now … For a moment he was tempted to let Raven deal with the mess the boy had landed himself in. Then his conscience prodded him; it was for the sake of a truedragon, after all, that Raven was now in trouble.
He sighed again. The gods only knew where the son was, but he could go reason with the father. “Let’s get it over with.” He led the way to the door.
Maurynna rounded the hedge and halted. Before her stood three men: Raven, cloakless, his shoulders slumped in despair, but his feet planted wide in defiance, shivering with the cold; Uncle Kesselandt running the fingers of both hands through his hair as he always did when facing a difficult and unpleasant task. And Uncle Darijen, as arrogant as ever, sneering at Raven, snug in a thick wool cloak.
“Getting above yourself, aren’t you, boy, playing tagalong to your betters? Did you run crying to Maurynna when your Yerrin kin had the sense to throw you out? And now she’s tired of you tagging after her and her soultwin and brought you home like a runaway cur.”
Maurynna’s fists clenched. Idiot Raven might have been lately, but by the gods he’d been a friend too long for her to let that slander pass. She took a deep breath to steady herself and forced herself to take the first step.
But Darijen wasn’t finished; there was yet more venom there. “I suggest you crawl home to your father and beg him to take you back. He might find you a place as one of his shepherds, though I don’t see why he should, you ungrateful—”
“Enough,” Maurynna said. The words—and the courage to say them—came from somewhere deep inside. She spoke quietly but with a snap like a whip. All three men jumped. “That will be quite enough, Uncle Darijen.”
She bore down on them, feeling like a stranger to herself. Who was this woman who strode so confidently along the winding path, ordering to silence a man whose poisonous tongue she had feared all of her life?
She halted in front of Darijen. But as he turned his withering glare upon her, the bold stranger inside quailed beneath the weight of memories. Maurynna’s mouth went dry and the words died on her tongue.
She looked to Raven for support—and found none. There was only despair in his eyes.
“Where is he?”
The speaker pushed past the hapless servant who, all unsuspecting of what lay beyond, had opened the door to the sharp knocking. Redhawk surged into the foyer as Linden reached the bottom stair, Lleld by his side. Jekkanadar paused on the step behind them.
Linden quickly glanced around for Maurynna. Luckily she was nowhere in sight; Redhawk would likely vent his ire upon her before remembering what she was now.
Redhawk’s eyes lit upon them in that instant. Linden saw that the man’s face
was red with fury; vengeance glittered in those blue eyes so much like Raven’s. Wherever the boy was, Linden devoutly hoped he stayed there. However much a pain in the ass Raven could be, he didn’t deserve a homecoming like this.
was red with fury; vengeance glittered in those blue eyes so much like Raven’s. Wherever the boy was, Linden devoutly hoped he stayed there. However much a pain in the ass Raven could be, he didn’t deserve a homecoming like this.
Redhawk looked ready to storm through the house in his search for his errant son. Two long steps and Linden stood before him as if by chance, blocking his way to the lower reaches of the house. Lleld and Jekkanadar stayed on the stairs, she leaning nonchalantly on the newel post, he against the wall. But Linden knew that if Redhawk thought the tiny woman and the slender Assantikkan no obstacle, the man was in for the rudest awakening of his life. Which, considering his churlish behavior so far, was likely no more than Raven’s father deserved.
“Where’s my son?” the man snarled, looking at each of them in turn. The riding whip he carried in one hand quivered as if it wished to lash out at one of them.
“Master Redhawk!” the servant gasped. “These are Dragonlords! Please, you mustn’t speak to them so.”
But if Redhawk heard the warning and the servant’s anxiety for him, he gave no sign. Indeed, Linden feared the man was so caught up in his anger that he would strike one of them—and the gods help Redhawk if he did. He had no wish to see a kinsman of friends face what would come of it.
Redhawk took another step as if he would push past Linden. Linden held his ground.
The blue eyes burned with rage, and the whip came up to strike.
Her braver self did not desert her after all. Maurynna went on, “Everything you’ve just said is a lie, uncle. Raven’s Yerrin kin did not throw him out. He never even went to Yerrih—he came straight to Dragonskeep. Nor is he merely a tagalong as you’ve said. On the contrary, he is an equal traveling among equals. And as far as I’m concerned, Raven stays in the Mousehole as an honored guest with the rest of us, or we will all leave. I’m certain that one of the other Houses would be willing to welcome four Dragonlords and a bard even on such short notice.”
She folded her arms and stared coolly at Darijen. Then she turned to Kesselandt. “Uncle? As Raven pointed out before, the decision is yours.”
The whip fell, but only to strike against Redhawk’s boot. “Where’s my son?” he asked once again. His eyes darted everywhere as if to spy out Raven hiding behind one of the sconces on the wall.
Linden shook his head. “I’ve no idea, Redhawk,” he said. “He went home candlemarks ago.”
He paused, waiting for Redhawk to recognize him. Surely the man hadn’t forgotten meeting him?
Redhawk hadn’t. That furious gaze turned on him once again; Linden saw it snap into focus as if Redhawk only now truly saw him.
From somewhere in the house came the sound of a door opening and shutting once more. Some servant running to fetch help? He hadn’t the time to wonder.
Redhawk said, “You’re Linden Rathan. We met long ago. You—you haven’t changed at all, have you?” There was a touch of fear in the words.
It was a fear Linden was all too familiar with. “No, I haven’t. Regarding Raven, Master Redhawk, we’ve not seen him since—”
Voices from behind interrupted him. One was the last Linden wanted to hear at this moment.
Redhawk’s face went red with rage; a vein pulsed in his forehead. “Raven!” he bellowed.
Linden turned. Sure enough, Raven and Maurynna were behind him. Both faces were pale.
“Oh, gods,” Raven whispered. “I’m in for it now.”
But Raven did not, Linden saw with approval, try to hide behind him. Instead the young Yerrin passed him to stand before his father. Linden was less pleased that Maurynna followed, but understood; he knew they were used to facing punishment together.
“Sir?” Raven said.
“You ungrateful whelp!” his father roared. “Is this how you pay me back for all I’ve done for you?” Redhawk’s hand came up; too late Linden remembered the riding crop.
The crop slashed down at Raven’s head. But before it could strike, Maurynna sprang forward with a Dragonlord’s speed and caught the hand holding it.
“Master Robinson, no!” she cried.
“Get out of my way and don’t interfere, stupid girl!”
For the first time since she’d become a Dragonlord, Linden saw Maurynna truly believe her new rank. He knew that she’d practically grown up in this man’s house. He knew that Redhawk was a successful merchant, an important player in the great game these traders gambled at. As a very junior partner in House Erdon, she would have deferred to one of his stature or risked the wrath of her own elders. Hell, the idea of raising her hand to this man would likely never have occurred to her.
But she was no longer that junior partner. Instead of backing down, Maurynna snarled right back, “It’s ‘Your Grace’ now, Master Robinson! And I order you to drop that whip!”
Her words had the force of a slap. Linden saw shock replace fury in Redhawk’s eyes, followed by outraged indignation as he glared at Maurynna. The man looked near to choking on the angry words trying to get out.
But the riding crop fell to the floor. An almost inaudible sigh of relief swept the room. Maurynna stepped back, her face pale and set.
“Thank the gods that’s over with,” said Lleld from the staircase. There was an edge to her voice that Linden had seldom heard.
She stepped down from the stairs to face Redhawk. “I am Dragonlord Lleld Kemberaene, Master Robinson,” she said, her voice low with anger. “What is the meaning of this unseemly intrusion?”
They glared at one another, each willing the other to give ground. Though the difference in their heights bordered on the absurd, there was nothing amusing in the confrontation. Someone coming in unaware might have thought it an argument between parent and child at first glance, but there was nothing childlike in either Lleld’s fury or the regal way she stood up to the much larger man.
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