Dragon's Winter (18 page)

Hern returned with a jug beneath his elbow. “This stuff’s weaker than the last batch.”

“It better be,” Herugin said.

Without announcement, Karadur entered the rear of the hall. Quietly, stopping briefly on his way to speak to this man and that, he moved through the long room. He angled toward the bench. The men rose. He gestured them to sit. “Herugin, how is Arnor?”

“I sent him to Macallan, my lord. His shoulder’s no better.”

Karadur nodded. “His horse fell on the ice,” he said to Hern and Wolf. “He was thrown. And the gelding?”

“Improved. The boys are poulticing his leg every four hours.” Herugin offered the jug. “Wine, my lord?”

“Thank you, no.” He surveyed Wolf. “You look comfortable enough.”

“I am, my lord. Thank you.”

“Where is your son?”

“With my wife, in the kitchen.”

The dragon-lord nodded. “Hern, its good to see you.”

“Sir. Thank you.”

“How are your parents?”

“They’re fine, my lord.”

“I am grateful for the horses. Tell them so. What do you hear from Dennis?”

Hern said, “He’s well. My lord—they say you ride north next month.”

“It’s true,” the dragon-lord said.

Hern said tightly, “I would give anything to join you.”

Karadur said gently, “I know you can fight, Hern. But if every rider and archer and swordsman in the domain were to come north with me, the land would empty. I need men I can trust to guard my back. With the war band gone, half the thieves and outlaws in Ryoka will be heading this way, hoping to catch the villages unaware and undefended. What if Reo Unamira’s boys were to take a sudden notion to come over the ridge and raid your stock?”

Hern snorted. “That foul-mouthed, sheep-stealing old drunk. He wouldn’t dare.” He flushed suddenly. “I’m sorry, my lord. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“No need to be sorry,” Karadur said. “I know what he is.

In the middle of the hall, a group of men had left the pig carcass and were practicing their grappling techniques near the fire. A stocky man, who had clearly had an ample portion of drink, challenged Rogys to wrestle. “Come on, Red. Two falls out of three. Loser to shave his head to the bone and clean the winner’s boots for a week.”

“You’ll lose,” Rogys said comfortably. Karadur, soft-footed as a cat, moved to stand in the shadow of the hearth.

“a rpi
      
rt

lryme.Try me.”

“Who’s he?” Wolf whispered to Herugin.

“Orm Jensen. He’s an archer. He’s good, but Rogys is better.”

Orm pulled his shirt off. Under it his muscles bulged. Rogys imitated him: he was leaner, wiry, but with the clear advantage of height. They moved into the circle. Orm lunged, laughing, for Rogys’s legs.

“You would never know,” Wolf said to Herugin, “that half these men just spent two days riding through a mountain pass and over snow-fields.”

“They’re good boys,” Herugin said austerely. “They work hard.”

A cheer rose from the middle of the room. Orm was on his back. Rogys spun toward the hearth, arms raised in triumph. “My lord,” he said, “will you wrestle?” It was put half-seriously, out of sheer bravado, and it drew a chorus of laughter and catcalls.

Karadur undid the lacings of his shirt and pulled it over his head. “Surely.” He sauntered into the ring. “What stakes?”

Silence fell over the hall. Clearly Rogys had not expected to have his challenge accepted. He swallowed. “Whatever you like.”

“No stakes,” the bigger man said. “Call it a practice bout.” The candlelight ricocheted off two bare torsos, two bent heads, one fair, one red. Shadows played along their backs and arms as they moved, feinting and testing. Rogys moved first, diving for his opponent’s legs, a technique to shake the larger man’s balance. He was countered, by a smooth twist and a scissoring grip that broke the hold and turned him on his back. He twisted, trapped the other man’s knee with his heel, and came upright. They circled, and closed again. Rogys tried for an armlock; Dragon whirled and pulled free with a powerful jerk. The circle of men whooped. Even the kitchen staff had crowded into the hall to watch.

Wolf said, “The boy’s fast. Does he have any chance at all?”

Herugin shook his head. “To hold Dragon?” said Hern. “Not in this lifetime.”

They circled again. Rogys swept his leg at his opponent. Dragon fell. Rogys sprang forward. But as he sprang to pin, Dragon moved. There was a flurry of movement, too fast for Wolf to see. Suddenly Rogys was down, with Dragon’s pressed knee firmly against his spine, and both arms twisted up behind his back. Someone pounded on the table. The dogs barked wildly.

Dragon’s swift, rare grin gleamed through the shadows.

He pulled Rogys up in one weightless motion. “Well done.”

The servers, obedient to Lorimir’s signal, began to snuff the candles. The dog-boys called the dogs. The soldiers, talking softly, strolled to bed. “My lord,” Azil said, moving from the shadows. He was holding Karadur’s shirt. Karadur took it from him. His skin was flushed and gleaming. He worked the shirt on and pulled it down, freeing his head. Their eyes met. Karadur reached to touch the scarred man lightly on the cheek.

“Ah, well,” Herugin said. He rose. “Time for bed. Wolf, your wife is probably wondering where you are. Gods be thanked, Murgain drew the night watch. Hern, you know your way.” The young horseman nodded. Herugin hailed a pageboy. “Torik! This is Wolf, Dragon’s guest. You know where he is to sleep?”

Wolf followed the boy’s flickering candle along one corridor and up a flight of stairs to another corridor. It was a long ways from the guard hall. Thea was sitting upright in the bed. Her hair fell like silk around her pale shoulders. Shem, his breathing soft and even, lay near her, nested in furs. His round face was soft and innocent as a flower. The tapestries on the stone walls were faded, lines indistinct, colors muted.

Under the quilts, Thea was warm and naked. Wolf undressed, and slid beside her. He could not tell if she was angry. He brushed his lips against her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She said softly, “I thought you would both be torn to pieces.”

He decided not to tell her how close it had been. “I know.” He kissed her again. Her skin tasted of flowers. “Did you enjoy the evening?” He felt her nod. “Whom did you talk to?”

“I met Marek’s wife, Beryl. She is the Keep’s chief seamstress. She lives here, with her sons. I met the head cook, Borys, and the steward and Bryony, Tuar’s mother. The bake oven in the kitchen is so big you can walk into it.”

“What did they talk about?”

“They gossiped about the captains.” She turned her head slightly. Her grin made him uneasy. “What did you do in the guard hall, besides eat and drink?”

“I did nothing,” Wolf said virtuously. “The soldiers threw knives at the pig bones, for money.”

“I know.” She giggled suddenly. “Borys was mad enough to spit when the servers brought the tray back. He wanted to make a stock with the leavings. Whom did
you
talk to?”

“Mostly Herugin.”

“Was Dragon there?”

“He was there.” Wolf extinguished the candle. Coals glowed redly in the hearth. “Did they gossip about Dragon, too?”

“What would they say?”

“Gods, I don’t know. What he likes, what he hates, who he sleeps with.”

Thea said, “Dragon sleeps alone.”

Her certainty startled him. “They said that?” She shook her head. “How do you know, then? I thought—Azil—”

“No. Once, perhaps. But Azil Aumson left him, and whatever drew him away still lies between them.”

He did not doubt her knowledge. A log slipped in the hearth. Shem murmured in his sleep. He smelled of spice and soap.

“His parents are dead,” Wolf mused. “He has no lover, no friend, no kin, save a brother who hates him. Gods, he must be lonely.” A deep, pleasurable ache stirred his body. The chamber was shadowy as a cave. “My wise woman.” He drew her on top of him. “My wise, beautiful, wondrous woman. Come here. How did I survive, before I met you?”

She laughed, deep in her throat, and nipped his ear. “You have friends.”

11

They woke to the scent of bread baking, and Shem’s soft unmelodic crooning.

Wolf sat up, confused by the angles and colors of the room. Then he remembered where they were. Thea’s dark hair fanned like a peacock’s tail over counterpane and pillow. Gazing along the capacious bed, Wolf looked for his singing son.

He found Shem naked, as close to the fire screen as he could get. The ashes were cold, but the red bricks that lipped the fireplace had retained their warmth, and Shem sat happily upon them, playing with what Wolf took to be wood chips, until he lifted one and found that it was assuredly not wood. Clay? “What’ve you got there?” he inquired.

Shem nudged the little shapeless chunks with his fingers. “Orse,” he explained blithely. “At. Boppy.”

Upon closer examination, Wolf agreed that the largest of the three bits—he realized they were made of bread dough—could conceivably be said to resemble a horse, and the smallest a cat, and the middle one a dog.

“How did you get down from the bed?”

“Shem get down.”

“I know that,” Wolf said patiently. “How did you get down?” He lifted the smooth shell-pink child and deposited him in the center of the bed. “Show me.”

Shem chortled. His hazel eyes were the exact shade of Thea’s. With a practiced motion, he crawled to the edge of the bed, stuck his legs straight out in front of him, arched his back, and slid, letting his legs fold as soon as he touched the floor. Landing in a frog-squat, he grinned at his father. “Shem get down.”

“We have birthed an acrobat,” Wolf informed his wife. Going to the window, he pushed the heavy rich curtains aside and opened the shutters. Light and cold air streamed in. Thea snatched for her clothing. Shem, seeming oblivious to cold, crouched on the brick beside his toys.

They ate fresh-baked bread and cold ham in the kitchen. Thea kept Shem close; the breakfast cooks, though indulgent, were busy, and the pots and trays the servers slung with such skill were heavy and hot. A black dog nosed through the scraps.

“Boppy,” Shem said happily. “Shem get down.”

“Shem stay here.” Thea caught him as he moved to slide from her lap. Shem reddened. “He is going to yell in a minute. Come, my treasure, we are leaving, don’t cry. We are going home. Shem go home.”

They went into the courtyard. The warm wind held a touch of moisture. The sky was grey-white with cloud. As Wolf slung the pack over his shoulder and buckled on his sword belt, a fair-haired child tugged at his elbow.

“Sir? Dragon sent me. He wants to see you.”

Wolf kissed Thea’s cheek. “I won’t be long,” he promised. “Lead on,” he said to the page. They climbed a stairway, strolled along a tapestried corridor, and climbed a second, narrower staircase. At the top of the second stairway, a thick wooden door lay partly open. The windowed room was bright and hot. A tapestry on a wall showed a city with flags flying, and a light-filled sky, and in the middle of that sky, a black dragon.

Karadur Atani sat in a high-backed chair behind a desk.

Papers lay in piles on a long table, along with wine and plates, the food on them half-eaten.

Wolf stood in the doorway. “My lord. You wanted to see me.”

“Come in.” Karadur pointed to a chair. “Sit. Be comfortable.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Azil Aumson moved from the corner in which he had been standing to fill a glass with wine, and set it at Wolf’s elbow. The dragon-lord leaned back in his chair. Wolf felt the heat of him across the plank of the desktop.

“How is the boy?”

“My lord, he is fine.”

“He is a brave child. He was well-named. Did my people treat you well?”

“We were entertained like princes.”

Karadur nodded. “Good.” His tone changed. “You know that we prepare for war.” Wolf nodded. “Do you know who our enemy is?”

“I have heard rumors, my lord.”

“I am sure you have. What do they say?”

It was direct as the prick of a sword point against his bare skin. Wolf said, “The rumors speak of a quarrel between you and your brother, Tenjiro.”

“Yes,” the dragon-lord said. Something moved behind the controlled lines of his face. “Have you a brother?”

“I have four brothers, my lord,” Wolf answered. “Three sisters.”

“Are they all changeling?”

“No, my lord.”

“And is there dissension between the changeling kin and their siblings who lack their powers?”

It was not an easy question to answer. Wolf said honestly, “We are not all friends.”

“But there are many of you,” the dragon-lord said. “If an enemy army were to attack the place of your birth, would you set your animosities aside, and stand together?”

An army in Nyo... For a moment Wolf saw the low sprawling buildings of his family’s manor surrounded by leaping flames. “My lord, I believe we would.”