Dragon and Phoenix (38 page)

Read Dragon and Phoenix Online

Authors: Joanne Bertin

BOOK: Dragon and Phoenix
8.02Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
It would have been deliciously ironic, though, Taren thought with a wry smile, if he’d yelled a warning and so earned Linden Rathan‘s—and Maurynna Kyrissaean’s—undying gratitude.
Damn. He could have made good use of that.
 
The walk to the imperial city was long and dusty. Though Liasuhn wished for some water, he didn’t dare ask if they could stop and search for a stream or spring. His world had changed so rapidly that he scarcely knew up from down anymore. So he licked his dry lips and suffered in silence.
Only once were any words exchanged. Nalorih said, “Think you it will be dark enough when we arrive, brother?”
Kwahsiu looked at the westering sun and replied, “Likely. But we’ll take the long route just to make certain. That will also give us a chance to see if anyone follows.”
Dark enough for what, Liasuhn nearly cried. And why would anyone follow us?
He wasn’t certain he could stand the answer.
The sun was setting as they entered the city he’d waited so long to see. But he saw nothing of its glories; Kwahsiu and Nalorih led him through the poorest quarters in the failing light. They moved swiftly, as men who knew their destination well, but always one or the other was close to his side or right at his back. Once, when Liasuhn hesitated at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley that stank of piss and vomit, the tip of a knife pricked his spine. Liasuhn scuttled forward, heedless of the foulness underfoot. At least no one accosted them; a Walker’s fighting skill with his staff was well known.
It was almost full dark by the time they came out into a street of dingy shops. Now the pace picked up. They moved swiftly, each new street an improvement over the old as the shops became larger and more prosperous. Many were shutting for the night as they passed. Once, when they passed a shop selling fried bean cakes, Liasuhn’s stomach growled, demanding food.
Kwahsiu laughed, saying, “Wait. You’ll have better than that swill soon enough.
Much
better.”
Liasuhn struggled to understand what was happening to him. Why the disguises? Why must no one see him? Where were they taking him—and for what reason? And why did they threaten him one moment and promise him good things the next?
So fogged was his mind that they were well into an area of walled compounds before Liasuhn realized it. His captors kept to the back ways that the tradesmen used, but even these “alleys” would have been fine roads back in
his village. From the way Kwahsiu and Nalorih quickened their pace, he sensed they were near their goal. The thought so terrified him that he nearly broke and ran. Better the knife than whatever horror waited for him.
Somehow they guessed. Before he could do anything, his companions grabbed his arms and dragged him to a gate in a wall. It swung open; someone had been waiting for them. Liasuhn remembered the man from the traveler’s shelter. Kwahsiu pushed him and he fell through the gate.
Hands caught him, hustled him along a path lit by paper lanterns. They met no one else. Then they were at a second gate, this one set in a palisade of bamboo. Fighting a way through the tumbling confusion that was his mind now, Liasuhn realized that this must lead to a private guest house within this compound. He’d heard of such things; whoever owned this was a wealthy merchant indeed—or even a lord.
Then they were through that gate as well. The scent of jasmine enveloped him; he had a hazy impression of a dark garden, and heard water somewhere nearby. The gate shut behind him, and Kwahsiu and Nalorih dropped his arms at last.
“Why?” Liasuhn found the courage to ask at last. He rubbed his aching arms.
“You’re to do our lord a great service. Come,” Nalorih said, and led the way into the garden.
Liasuhn had no choice. He followed, Kwahsiu close behind.
Their footsteps drummed hollowly as they passed over a little footbridge. Liasuhn could make out the darker form of a house against the night. Then a door opened, and light spilled out and across the lawn.
He was almost beyond terror as he went through the door. Once inside, he stopped in confusion. Was this nightmare or dream? This might be the bower of the Flower Princess of legend, it was so beautiful. Overwhelmed by the room, he didn’t notice anyone in it until Kwahsiu yanked his hood back, and a voice said, “Incredible. Were he older, he could almost pass for Xiane. You’ve done well.”
Liasuhn gaped at the speaker as Kwahsiu and Nalorin bowed low to him. The man stared back at him, coldly amused. One hand toyed with his long mustache. He wore the brocade robes of a noble; as he moved, the light rippled over the heavy silk.
“You have been brought here to perform a task for me,” the lord said. “I think you will not find it onerous. Obey, and you will be treated like a prince.” He turned his head slightly and called, “Zuia!”
From another room came two women, one herding the other, younger, woman before her. Liasuhn’s heart pounded in fright when he saw the second. Brocade robes, pale skin, and soft hands that had never known harsh labor in the sun marked her as noble—and her face was uncovered. He, Liasuhn, commoner, had looked upon her. He could die for that.
Or, worse yet, lose his balls. Liasuhn moaned in terror.
But the lord called for neither his death nor his castration. Instead he motioned for the first woman—a servant by her dress—to bring her charge forward. She pushed the young noblewoman so that she was only a few feet from Liasuhn. When the girl tried to shield her face from his gaze, the servant slapped her hands down. Tears ran down the pale, pretty face.
The lord moved so that he stood off to one side between them. “This is my niece,” he said. “As you see, she is quite comely, so your duty will be a pleasant one. You will get her pregnant.”
The girl cried out in shock.
At the lord’s nod, the servant seized the shoulders of the girl’s robe and tore it from the young woman’s body. Only a silk loincloth now covered her nakedness. She sobbed piteously as she tried to cover her body with her hands.
Liasuhn’s jaw dropped. “Whaa—”
“You heard me.” The noble moved toward the door as he spoke. The others drifted after him. “Get her pregnant. You know how it’s done, of course, or my men would not have brought you here.
“And don’t think to play the virtuous hero. She is now a virgin. If she still is when Zuia returns in the morning, it will be very much the worse for you.” The quiet menace in his voice sent a shiver down Liasuhn’s spine.
With that warning, the noble left. The others followed.
The door shut; Liasuhn heard the key turn in the lock. The girl stared at him with wide, frightened eyes like a deer’s, her robe puddled around her feet. For a moment he considered disobeying, she looked so pathetic.
But he remembered the danger in her uncle’s voice, cold as steel, and knew what he had to do. Unfastening his robe, he let it fall to the floor. Next he loosened his breeches. They followed the robe.
She wailed and cowered back, one small hand raised to fend him off.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Then he reached for her.
The months that followed passed
in a haze of activity. Almost every day, the troupe practiced either in the meadow, if the weather was good, or in the enormous covered riding ring. Sometimes Lleld declared a holiday, but they were few and far between. They all knew that they hadn’t much time.
 
“So how does a fire-breather breathe fire anyway, O Lady Mayhem?” Linden asked one day after Lleld and Jekkanadar flopped to the ground, tired from a few candlemarks of tumbling and ropewalking. “Were there any in your family’s troupe?”
“Eh? Ah, that’s right—we have to turn you into a fire-breather in this form. Pity you can’t just Change … . Yes, we had a fire-breather for a time. He would never tell anyone what he used; said it was a secret of his brotherhood.
“But this is how he’d start.” Lleld caught up the waterskin, took a small swig, then, moving away from the others, pursed her lips, and spat the water out in a fine spray. She pantomimed sticking a brand into the mist. When the water was gone, she wiped her chin—for some water had dribbled down it and onto her tunic—and said, “It was something like that. And even if Linden doesn’t get it quite right, it doesn’t matter. The fire won’t hurt him.”
“But if we don’t know what fire-breathers use for the spray, how—” Taren began.
Linden laughed. “I’m a Dragonlord, remember? If it can burn at all, I can make it burn hotter and faster.”
“Cooking oil, then?” Maurynna said.
“Feh,” Linden said, making a face. The thought of a mouthful of oil did not appeal to him. A pity he couldn’t make water burn, but that was beyond even a truedragon’s magic.
Raven jumped up. “I’ll get some from Cook,” he said, and whistled Stormwind over. He leaped up onto the Llysanyin’s bare back and galloped off.
“Hell of a rider,” Linden said in admiration, watching.
“If he doesn’t go to his aunt after all this is over, I’ll kick him,” Otter said, chewing on a grass stem.
When Raven returned, Linden took the small flask of oil from him and, catching up a twig from the ground, went to stand a few feet away. He took a small mouthful of the oil, then, with a silent command, set the end of the twig alight. Mimicking Lleld, he spat oil and air out in as fine a spray as he could, and at the same time he touched the twig to the mist, he ordered the oily mist to burn.
The results were spectacular, even from where he stood. From the delighted shrieks, he thought it must look even better from the audience. Some of the oil dribbled down his chin, but no harm done, he thought.
Then the wind shifted, and the fire burned back toward him. A moment later, the oil upon his chin caught fire and dripped down onto his tunic, setting it aflame as well. He ordered the fire to cease, but it was too late. He looked ruefully down at his ruined tunic. Next time, he’d try it barechested.
From the sidelines, Lleld remarked thoughtfully, “I think this needs a bit of work, Linden.”
 
Near the end of the winter, Maurynna took her place in the raised seats in the riding ring with Linden, Lleld, Jekkanadar, and Taren. Finally, she thought, Linden, Otter, Raven, and the Llysanyins were about to reveal what they’d worked so hard on all this time. “Where are Otter and Raven?” she asked.
“Down there,” Linden said, pointing to the far end of the ring.
Sure enough, both men stood on either side of the open doors to the stable, Otter with a Yerrin
taeresan
and its beater, Raven with an Assantikkan
zamla,
its gaudy strap bright across his chest.
Then Otter began a beat. Maurynna thought it sounded familiar, but it wasn’t until Raven came in with the complicated counterbeat that she recognized it.
“The Dance of the Red Ghost!” she said at the same time Jekkanadar cried, “Takka nih Bahari! I haven’t heard that in far too many years!”
Then she forgot all else as Nightsong, Shan, Hillel, and Jhem entered the ring at a slow, controlled canter. They circled the ring, then, as the beat changed, turned into the circle, met in the center, reared up and reversed direction.
She gaped in wonder as the Llysanyins danced, obeying no orders, just the beating of the drums. From time to time she was aware that Linden whispered to her.
“That slow trot with the pauses between each step is the
shallinn;
if they stayed in place, it would be called a
verallinn.”
At one point the Llysanyins wove a daisy chain, passing back and forth in a slow canter. “Look! They’re skipping!” she said.
Muffling his laughter, Linden replied, “They’re changing leads with every step.”
“I don’t care what it is, it’s beautiful. All of it’s beautiful.”
“Let’s hope the Jehangli think so as well.”
All too soon the spectacle came to an end. The four Llysanyins lined up to face them; as a drum roll signalled the end of the song, they sank down upon their haunches, their forefeet raised. Maurynna recognized it as the menacing pose Shan had adopted last summer when a Cassorin noble had threatened Otter with flogging. They held the not-quite rear—“
Nilurn
,” Linden whispered—then, as the Dance of the Red Ghost ended with the traditional four measured drumbeats, the Llysanyins jumped forward with each beat, their forefeet lashing out but never touching the ground.
Then it was over, and they were horses once more. Shan came to the seats. Linden tossed him an apple from his belt pouch.
“For once, crowbait, you deserve it. That was perfect.” He turned to Taren. “How do you think the Jehangli will like it?”
Taren shook his head, his eyes still wide with wonder. “I’ve never seen anything like it. My lord, be prepared to fend off offers of cartloads of gold for them.”
Linden laughed. “We’ll fend those off if they come; as long as it opens doors for us, we should do well.”
Maurynna saw Lleld climb over the railing and drop down. “Where are you going?” she called as the little Dragonlord trotted to the stables.
“My turn,” Lleld called back, “mine and Miki’s. Watch.”
Maurynna sat back in her seat and took Linden’s hand.
“This should be fun,” she said.
“More likely terrifying,” Linden grunted. “You’ve never seen Lady Mayhem’s act, have you? If she ever slips …” He shook his head.
He was not, Maurynna decided a little later, exaggerating. She hoped the Jehangli were not faint of heart. Then she hid her eyes again.
 
Spring was in the air, in the red buds sprouting on the maple tree outside the riding ring. It was time to move on to Assantik. Maurynna sent word to her kin in Tanlyton to arrange a ship for them. When it was ready, Jekkanadar Changed, and flew to Assantik to remind the Dawn Emperor of his agreement.
Upon his return, he mindcalled Lleld. The troupe gathered together in the field for the last time to await his coming.
“What word?” Lleld asked as soon as her soultwin had landed and Changed once more to human form.
“All is arranged,” Jekkanadar said quietly. “As soon as we reach Nen dra Kove, the ship will sail for Jehanglan.”

Other books

Booked for Trouble by Eva Gates
The Captive Heart by Bertrice Small
Brides of Blood by Joseph Koenig
Falling Further by Hearts Collective
Orchard Grove by Vincent Zandri
The Irresistible Tycoon by Helen Brooks
Addicted by Charlotte Stein