Dragon Stones (18 page)

"Didn't you get my message?"

"Message?  What message?"

"The message I sent."

"
When
did you send it?"

"Yesterday."

Ponn sighed.  "Timmeon, I could not possibly have gotten a message that you just sent yesterday."

"Then why are you here?"

"Never mind that," Ponn said, glancing at T'Sian.  She stood near the door, arms folded, watching in anticipation, as if she expected Ponn to reach behind the bar and pull Gelt out.  "Just tell me what's going on."

Timmeon leaned forward, reduced his voice to a whisper.  "They know, Ponn."

"
Who
knows
what
, Timmeon?"

"The tax men.  They know a
bout the … the special trading.  They came with soldiers.  They took all the books, both sets, and they arrested Parillon, and they made everyone who was staying here leave."

"The tax men?  You mean the King's tax men, from Astilan?"

"Yes.  And the mayor was with them too."

"
Apperand
was with them
?"

"Yes," Timmeon said.  "You should have seen him, Ponn!  Acting surprised,
tut-tut
this and
shocking
that and
cheating the King of his due
."  He banged a big fist on the bar.  "After all the meals he ate with you and Parillon."

"He's just trying to save his own skin, now that we've been found out," Ponn said.  Then, to T'Sian:  "We must go."

"Why?"

"Because I just walked quite obliviously through the center of town, and it's quite likely that by now the mayor knows I'm here and where I can be found.  If we stay here, we'll be arrested and taken away in chains."

She curled her hands into fists.  Ponn could only imagine what it might feel like to be struck by one of those rock-hard mallets.  "
If they try to chain
me
, they will regret it."

"No fireworks," Ponn said.  "You promised."

"I made you no promises, and I said nothing about not harming foolish men who lay hands on me."

"I know, but you can't just—"  He broke off as the front door opened and four soldiers, wearing the colors of King Varmot, entered the inn.  Too late to flee now.  He had been foolish to stand here debating with the dragon; they should have left immediately upon hearing Timmeon's news, or at least gone into the second hidden cellar, the one Apperand didn't know about.  But very likely they were watching the inn and had seen him enter; they would know he was inside, and would have searched until they found him.

He watched as the soldiers spread out, forming a wall of blue and black to block the exit.  With their long-handled, largely ceremonial bills held vertically in their left hands, they resembled an oddly-painted, dangerous-looking fence.  If it came down to a fight, he knew, they would drop the pole arms and draw their sharp, curving swords.  What would such a blade do against the dragon's scales?

The guard on the left looked Ponn over, then said:  "You are the one called Pyodor Ponn?  Co-owner of this inn, partner of the smuggler Parillon?"

"No, no," Ponn said.  "I am merely a traveler, looking for a place to spend the night."

"A traveler, you say?  How did you arrive here, then?"

Nearly everyone who came to Dyvversant arrived by ship, but if they had been shadowing him through the town they knew he had been on foot.  "We walked."

"From where?"

"Enshenneah."

"Over the mountains?  Just the two of you, alone, with no packs or supplies?"

"We were with a group," he said, "but we had a falling out.  We stopped here and the others continued north."

The soldiers exchanged glances, then made way for Apperand to enter.  "This is Pyodor Ponn, all right," the mayor said, standing behind the soldiers as if they were his personal bodyguards.  "We may add lying to the King's men to his list of crimes; he tries to mislead you with this tale."  He glanced at T'Sian, who stood watching the soldiers with detached interest, the way a sated snake might watch a group of mice in a field.  "And who is this?  Another of your conspirators?"

"No," the dragon said.  "I am his lover."

"What?" Timmeon cried.  "Ponn!  You should be ashamed!"

Marvelous.  "She's not my—"

The soldier who had spoken earlier banged the handle of his weapon loudly on the wooden floor.  "Enough," he said.  "The woman is not named in the warrant and we have no interest in her at this time.  But you—"  He tipped the bill forward so that the spear-tip pointed at Ponn's heart.  "You will come with us."

It seemed to Adaran as if the storm would never end; the howling wind rose and fell like a cry of mourning, every lull followed by a renewed fury.  The girl stayed huddled up against him as they were slowly covered by sand and grit, trembling with the chill, or with fear, or both.  He moved her around to the other side, nestling her against the eagle's prickly feathers.  Leaning up against the beast himself, he closed his eyes and waited for it to be over.

Some time later, he awoke to someone tugging on his left arm.  He grumbled and looked around, but found it too dark to see.  
They must be completely buried now; no wonder the air tasted sour and stale.

The girl tugged on him again.  "I'm awake," he said, his voice dry as old firewood.  He shifted position, felt grit trickle down his neck.  He couldn't hear the wind any longer; had the storm ended?  He pushed up on the bird's wing, feeling resistance, as if a weight were pressing down against it.  Dust cascaded into their space, making both of them cough.

Definitely buried.  He would have to dig.  He moved forward and began to claw at the powder.  Salt found its way into every crevice of his skin, stinging each nick and cut; it coated the inside of his throat, making him retch and spit.  Before long, though, he had opened a hole to the outside, letting in fresher air and the breaking light of dawn.  The storm had blown all night, creating a dune up against the great, immobile bird; fortunately they had been in the lee of the wind.

He reached back toward the girl.  "Take my hand," he said.  She did; he hauled her forward and pushed her out of the hole.  She rolled down the slope and out of sight.  He crawled after her, worming and twisting, finally pulling free.  He tried to stand, but lost his footing on the shifting dust and fell on his backside in a plume of dust that made his eyes burn and water.

"Don't move."

A muffled voice, young, not yet deepened from a boy's tones to a man's.  Something gleamed near his face.  He blinked away his salt-induced tears and realized he was looking at the point of a spear, ready to strike, held by an apparition swaddled in grey cloth.  Nearby, a similar figure held the struggling, squirming girl.  A few hundred yards away, the walled city rose from the dust, with dunes piled high against the side that had taken the brunt of the winds.  He hadn't realized they were so close to safety.

The figure in front of him said, "You wouldn't have made it."

"What?"

"If you had kept going once the wind picked up, you wouldn't have made it.  You would have gotten turned around in the dust, gone the wrong way, and died in the storm."  He coughed, raising the back of his left hand to his mouth, even though it was swathed in fabric.  The spear never wavered.  "In any event, we didn't expect to find you alive."

"We were lucky to shelter when we did, then."

"Yes.  You were."  The tone held faint menace; Adaran wished he could see the boy's face better, read his expression.  He wasn't sure yet if they were being rescued, or if something else was taking place.  The guard pointed at the mound behind Adaran.  "Where did you get that … creature?"

"What, the bird?"  He glanced over his shoulder.  The eagle's back was visible through the top of the dune, a few sad feathers bent by the weight of salt and dust, fluttering in the gentle breeze.  He looked back at his questioner.  "I stole it."

"And the girl?  Did you steal her, too?"

"I suppose you could say that."

"I just did.  Who was the victim of all this larceny?"

After a moment, Adaran said:  "Some men who were trying to kill us."

"That's rather vague.  Who were they and why were they trying to kill you?"

This line of questioning was straying into uncomfortable territory; if these marauders found out Lord Dunshandrin was after him, they might decide to sell him back in hopes of a reward.  "I'll tell you everything," he said, "but first, if you please, the girl and I are hungry and thirsty.  We ran out of food and water some time ago."  A lie, but unless they wanted to dig in the sand, the men would not find their provisions.

"Did you, now?  What makes you think I'm inclined to give you either?  What makes you think I won't just spit you where you stand, rob you, and leave you for the beetles?"

After a moment, Adaran said:  "I'm sure you and your companion are good and kind men who would not waylay poor travelers."

The figure regarded him for a moment, then burst out laughing.  He lowered his spear and thrust the blade into the powdery earth near Adaran's side, then reached up and unwrapped the cloth from around his face.  The first thing Adaran saw was an unruly cascade of raven curls; the second was a porcelain face, flushed and sweaty from the scarf.  Seeing him goggle, the woman laughed again, then said:  "As you can see, you are quite wrong about my being a good and kind
man
."

"Yes," Adaran said.

She gestured at her companion, who released the girl; in a flash she was at Adaran's side, clinging to his dusty cloak.  The enrobed woman observed this with a sardonic smile.  "For a stolen trinket, your little friend seems quite attached to you."

"She was being kept bound in a net when I rescued her."

"Oh, now it was a
rescue
."  The woman
tossed him a water skin, which he handed to the child; she began drinking greedily.  
"What an interesting story this will be for the headmistress.
"

"Headmistress?"

"Yes.  Of Flaurent."  Then, in response to his blank look:  "The oracular college and retreat?  Surely you've heard of it."

"You're an oracle?"

"Hardly," she said.  "My duty is to ensure that the oracles are not bothered by the likes of you landing giant birds in their midst."  She pulled her weapon out of the ground and pointed with it toward the gates of the city.  "You'll come with me.  You can relate your tale to the headmistress.  If it suits her, she may arrange your transportation out of the Salt Flats."

She turned and began walking toward the walled city; Adaran followed, pausing to allow the little girl to swarm up his cloak and plant herself on his shoulders again.  The other guard fell in behind them.

"Do you have a name?" Adaran said to the woman's back.

"Yes.  Do you?"

She was a chary one.  "I'm Adaran."

"And the girl?"

"I don't know her name.  She doesn't talk much."

"I am called Diasa," the woman said.

Adaran nodded, then glanced behind him at the other guard, who had remained silent.  "And what's his—"

"He doesn't have one."

Adaran eyed the silent figure.  If it objected to Diasa's statement, it gave no sign.  His gaze strayed to the weapon it carried; it clutched the shaft with gnarled, withered fingers, reminding Adaran of the beef jerky on which he had been subsisting for the last few days.  Disconcerted, he turned away, examining Flaurent instead.  It looked more like a fortress than a college; the walls seemed to be solid stone, with no evidence of joints or masonry.  Robed figures, similar to the one behind them, were already at work clearing mounded sand from the walls; it seemed like a futile, endless job, and probably was.

When they reached the gates, Diasa raised a hand and gave some sort of signal.  The broad stone door groaned ponderously inward, revealing green grass, trees, flowers.  Adaran stood there for a moment, agog; Diasa glanced back at him, a smirk on her face.  "Our wells are deep, and our irrigation system is remarkable."

"I suppose it must be."

Another black-robed sentry approached, similar in form to the silent apparition who had brought up the rear of their little procession.  "Your weapons," Diasa said.  "You'll get them back when you leave."

He had wondered when they would get to this point.  "I won't use them, I promise."

She snorted.

Adaran sighed and started handing over his daggers, one at a time, handle-first.  Diasa took each one and passed it to the robed figure, who collected them in a sturdy pouch.  By the time he gave her his last throwing knife, the sack contained quite an assortment of gleaming weapons.

"That's the last of them, is it?"

"Yes."

"You're
a heavily armed little man, aren't you?" Diasa said.  "What have you been up to besides stealing birds and children?"