Dragon's Treasure (33 page)

He could barely speak. "Nineteen."

"So. You are young, but a man." The dragon-lord looked at Rogys. "Rogys. Is there room in your grieving heart for mercy?"

Rogys, in turn, looked at the riders. One by one, they shook their heads.

"So be it," Karadur said. "Hang him on the wall."

Ashen, Lorenzo sank shaking to his knees. Four of the riders stepped forward. They hung him on the wall. As the hard summer sun beat upon the dark stones, they could hear him whimpering. He lived three days, which was long, the kitchen folk agreed, though perhaps not that long, given that he was young, and unwounded, and had not had his arms or legs broken first. Eilon said, "They die quicker in the winter."

* * *

Across Dragon's domain, in inns and market squares and other places where people gather to talk, the news that Karadur Atani had killed the lord of Sorvino, and burned his city—or perhaps not—was scarcely mentioned. Merchants in their caravans, traveling tinkers, and mercenaries looking for an inn to guard made occasional reference to it, but the inhabitants of Dragon's domain had little to say. Most had never been to Sorvino; it was far away, in Nakase. Those that had been had no comment. They knew Marion diSorvino's reputation. And Dragon's enemies were Dragon's business, unless they came to the gates of Chingura waving swords and spears, in which case they would get a rude welcome.

Of more interest to the drinkers clustered in the common room of The Simple Lizard was the news that Taran One-arm, once a bandit, more recently a washer of pots, who had vanished from the Keep the night Herugin Dol died, was back, seemingly unscathed. There was argument in the common room: had he tried to escape, or not?

"If he'd tried to escape he'd be dead," Gerda Sorenson declared.

Kernan, who had served in the swordsmen's wing for two seasons, before returning to Castria to take over his father's farm, wondered aloud why Dragon had bothered to rescue a pot washer, and a one-armed one at that. "He's a thief, after all."

In the hills around Coll's Ridge, the shepherds' children watched the flights of the dragon and also wondered; but, young as they were, they knew not to talk of Karadur Atani's comings and goings. Miri Halleck warned her sons and daughters and grandchildren to mind their speech away from home. Maura and Angus Halland could not help but be aware of the dragon-lord's visits to their nearest neighbor. Maura said nothing to anyone, and Angus, of course, did not speak.

But others did. Tel the ironworker, come at dawn to cut a round of salt from the salt mound on the ridge, saw the black horse Smoke tied to the birches near the herbalist's. That night at The Simple Lizard in Castria, he described what he had seen to Corwin the cartwright and Small Rory. Corwin Cartwright was a closed-mouthed man. But Small Rory—so called to distinguish him from his cousin, also named Rory, who was tall—liked to gossip. In the forest the next day, he mentioned to Tall Rory what Tel had seen.

Tall Rory, being older and wiser than his cousin, said, "I would not make too much of that."

Small Rory said, "Dawn's not usual hour for visiting. I wonder what he's up to."

Tall Rory said dryly, "Best not wonder, lad. It's Dragon's business."

In Castria Market, Henk the butcher, come from the Halleck steading, where he had directed the slaughter of four of the Hallecks' pigs, spoke of the passage of the golden dragon over the farm, not once but twice in three days.

* * *

Ferd Parisi had never visited the herbalist before. But he had a boil festering on his palm, a big one, filled with blood and pus. None of the horse ointments the folk at the Amdur farm traditionally used to doctor their own ailments seemed to affect it.

"Go to the herbalist," his wife said. "She will give you something to heal it."

"It will heal of itself," Ferd said. But it did not.

So Ferd, having first sought leave from Mellia Amdur, rode the yellow mare across the fields to the stone cottage where the herbalist lived. Graciela had told him how to find the cottage.

"You cross the Windle at Tangle Ford. It lies between the river and a round high hill. The door's west-facing. She's made a garden against the south wall, and a goat pen to the east. It's easy to find."

Indeed, it was easy. He left the mare by the riverbank and strode silently through the tall grass. As he came around to the west he heard laughter, and a man's voice. The sun's strong glare beat against the house walls. He put up a hand to shield his eyes.

A man and a woman stood before the door of the house. The woman was quite tall; she wore a long gown of emerald green, and a garland of daisies in her hair. She looked like something out of a story. The man was taller. He wore black. His hair was sun-colored, and his skin gold as summer. They clasped hands. The woman looked up. The man bent his head. A golden armband gleamed on his right arm.

Silently, Ferd retreated.

That night, in bed, he told Graciela what he had seen.

At the market the next day, she told her friend, the draper Nini Daluino.

Taran One-arm heard the news by accident. Crouched in the pantry one day, sweeping spiders and their webs from the lowest shelves, he heard Simon speak first his name, then his sister's.

"Her name's Maia. She lives outside of Castria. She's tall as a man, but pretty enough, they say. It's about time Dragon found a woman."

"You say she's One-arm's sister?" That was Gelf, from the stable. He liked to gossip.

"Half sister. That's what I heard."

"You think Dragon will wed her?"

"Some village bawd? Of course not. Why would he need to?"

Taran emerged from the pantry, then. Simon and Gelf looked up in alarm. Taran brushed Gelf aside. He wound his arm about Simon's neck. Ignoring his struggles and shouts, he marched the flailing cook out the door and ran him headfirst into the kitchen midden. "You keep your comments about my sister to yourself!"

Then he went to the tower chamber. He had never been there before. Dragon was not in the sunny chamber, but Azil Aumson was. As Taran burst in, he looked up, nodding cordially.

Taran said, "Where is he? I want to see him."

"No, you don't," said the singer. He was seated in a high- backed chair. He had a harp on his lap. "Not with that temper on you. What is it you wish to say to him? Something about your sister?"

Taran gaped at him. "You know about it?"

Azil ran his fingers along the harp strings. "Don't be a fool, Taran Unamira," he said curtly. "Of course I know about it."

"And are you at peace with it?"

Azil's face took on some of Dragon's hardness.

"That is not your business, and never will be. But
you
had best make your peace with it, and quickly."

* * *

Taran went to Boris. "I need to leave the Keep. Give me permission."

"Why?" said the cook.

"I need to see my sister."

The head cook said, "Ah. Are you sure that's wise?"

"I don't know if it's wise. But I need to talk to her."

Boris gave him permission. In the stable, a sullen Gelf helped him saddle Lace. He rode out through the little gate and turned east. The sun was strong; the sky a bright clear blue. The hills about the Keep were brown and sere. High overhead, a hopeful eagle scryed slow circles across the burnished sky. He dropped into the valley. Here the hills were greener, the pastures golden, the wheat engorged and tall. Shorn sheep drifted in placid ranks across a hillside. He had helped his grandfather steal sheep out of a pen, once. He had been drinking merignac, and thought himself heroic: Unamira the Bastard, the prince of outlaws. Vaikkenen's balls, what an idiot he'd been.

The holly was thick around the cottage door. Maia was sitting on her step. She rose to greet him.

"I'm glad to see you," she said. "No escort?"

"None." He kissed her. Her face was nut-brown from the sun. Her hair smelled of lavender. She brought him into the cottage. Morga lay stretched on the hearth rug. She opened her eyes. Her tail thumped twice. Slowly she rose, and came to him, and thrust her head against his knee.

"Would you like wine?" Maia asked.

"Gods, no. Just water." She brought him water in a cup. She put bread and strawberries on the table. The cluttered cottage seemed unchanged from the last time he'd been there. Drying herbs dangled from hooks and racks. The shelves were piled with pots and jars. Maia wore trousers and a loosely flowing shirt. Her hair fell about her shoulders and down her back. The lacings of the shirt were open. A bright green jewel dangled from a chain at her throat. It looked like an emerald. Perhaps it was an emerald.

"You look well," he said inadequately.

She said gravely, "I am well. And you? You had a bad time. Are you recovered?"

"I am." A heavy leather-bound book lay on the table. Gold lettering across the leather binding said,
A Pharmacopoeia For Physicians.

He said carefully, "I heard a rumor at the Keep. About you, and Dragon."

Color flooded her face. "You heard that we are lovers." He nodded. "It's so."

"Are you happy?"

Her mouth curved. "Do I look miserable?"

She did not look miserable. She looked resplendent.

He said, "You know he has another lover."

"The singer. I know. It doesn't matter."

He thought perhaps it might. But it was not his business to dispute with her, or advise her. "Will you come to the Keep?"

"He has not asked me to come to the Keep."

He took a breath. "I have to ask you something," he said. "Don't be angry." She nodded. "Are you pregnant?"

"Not yet."

There were potions women took to keep from having children. He knew nothing about such things; they had never concerned him before. Pregnancy was women's business. But everyone in Ippa, everyone in Ryoka, knew that Karadur Atani's birth had killed his human mother.

He said, "I love you. I don't want you to die."

She said, "I won't die. I am strong, stronger than you think."

* * *

They did not speak of Marion diSorvino's death, or of the fate that had been planned for him. It was not something he could speak of, yet. Karadur, he was sure, had told her about the rescue. He asked about her work, about her neighbors, Angus and Maura.

"And the child, the little girl?" he asked. He had forgotten her name. "How is she?"

"Rianna," she said. "She's very well."

When it was time for him to leave, Maia brought a carrot for the horse. Lace nibbled it from her palm. She stroked the gelding's nose and told him he was a handsome beast. A bird trilled in the birch tree, exultant.

Taran gathered the reins in his hand, and mounted. Maia said, "Come back when you can."

"I will."

"Don't fear for me. All that has happened, happened by my choice."

Her certitude silenced him.

He urged Lace up and over the ridgeline. In the east the darkening sky was clear, but in the west a feathery mass of clouds spread across the horizon, and the sun as it descended lit them, so that light streamed along them and through them. They blazed like shining wings. Wind hissed through the bowing wheat, bringing with it a hint, a whisper, of winter's chill. Summer was ending. The year he had promised the dragon-lord was gone.

At supper that night there was a guest: Murgain Ohair, once archery master at Dragon Keep, who had come to tell Dragon of the birth of his son. They toasted the child's coming with ale and wine.

After the meal, spurred by some wildness in the dragon-lord's mood, the revelry in the hall grew boisterous. The men raced through the ward, and along the shadowy, treacherous ramparts. They hung ropes from the ceiling beams to see who could scale a rope most swiftly. Jon, who fancied himself with a spear, challenged Rogys to a competition with the throwing spears; the loser to clean the winner's boots for a month. He lost. The swordsmen rolled a tub from the laundry into the yard, filled it with ale, and challenged the riders and archers to see who amongst them could keep his head under longest. Evan, an archer from Estancia, who stood six feet tall and had a chest the size of a barrel, won that contest. Edruyn nearly drowned, and had to be held upside down to let the ale drain out of him. When the contest was over, they drank the ale.

When it was gone, Olav the axman, hair and beard sudsy, bellowed, "I cry challenge! I am strongest! I can pin any man here!" Whooping, they returned to the hall. One after the other, the strong men of the war band set themselves opposite the axman and clasped his hand, while the spectators counted down from ten:
"Nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one... Go!"
One after the other each was solidly beaten. The final match, with Lurri, took a long time: Lurri was powerful, and Olav was tired, and both were drunk. But at last, amid the yells and exhortations of the gamblers, Olav slammed Lurri's arm to the wood. He rose, arms upflung, crowing.