The Last Dragonlord (15 page)

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Authors: Joanne Bertin

BOOK: The Last Dragonlord
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“Oh, gods—yes. It was three years later and she had married
someone else, so she had no claim on me.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, lost in the past.
“So how did you meet your unnamed lady today?” Tarlna said briskly.
Linden couldn’t help laughing. Trust Tarlna not to give up. And if she disapproved of playing with the servants’ children, what would she say to this?
“I went down to see the ship Otter came in on. She thought I was a dockhand—she heads a crew of them, you see. She told me to get my ass over there and earn my pay.” Linden chuckled. “So I helped unload the ship as long as I could.”
Tarlna shut her eyes. She looked pained. “Linden—there is no hope for you.”
Kief laughed. “So that’s why you were late.” Then he sobered and said, “Don’t tell her, Linden, until you know her better. If she’s headstrong, she may try to force an early Change. That would be disastrous. On the other hand, it may make it easier for both of you if she understands what’s happening and is patient enough to let things unfold as they should. She’ll want you as much as you want her, I suspect.”
“I’ll ask Otter if he’ll help me find her. I know, I know,” Linden said, forestalling the other’s objections, “he’s not a Dragonlord and this is Dragonlord business. But I need him to search for me. A Dragonlord looking for a dockhand would set too many tongues wagging. And remember—he’s a bard. He knows how to keep his mouth shut when needed.”
He fell silent.
Gods; I hope I can hold back. No, not “hope;” I must hold back. I wish I could talk to Otter right now.
He refused to think of what he’d truly rather be doing. This was going to be hard enough without torturing himself.
But when he reached out with his mind, he found that Otter was deep in sleep. This time he’d not wake the bard up; time enough to talk in the morning.
He sighed. Six centuries. Six long, lonely centuries—and now this. A memory drifted into his mind. Once more he heard Rani say, “Nothing worth having comes easy, you know.”
He never noticed when Kief and Tarlna left him alone with his thoughts, the river, and the warm night.
 
The whitewashed walls of the bedroom glowed a warm ivory in the circle of light cast by the single rushlight. Shadows filled the corners that the tiny flame couldn’t penetrate.
Maylin sat with her legs hanging off the side of the bed as she leaned against a bedpost at the foot of it. Kella, asleep long before Maurynna had arrived, lay curled up in the other bed.
Now Maurynna sat on a pallet made up on the floor between the beds. The tall girl sat with her legs folded to one side, nightgown rucked up to midthigh, displaying long, slender legs. She had pulled her long black hair over one shoulder to pool in her lap. The red-gold of her captain’s bracelets winked in the rushlight as she brushed her damp hair.
Stroke, stroke, stroke. Maylin blinked, almost hypnotized by the slow, rhythmic motion. The ropes supporting the mattress creaked as she shifted to better study her cousin.
Half-lowered eyelids concealed the odd-colored eyes so vivid in the tanned, heart-shaped face. Maylin envied her cousin her long aristocratic nose—so different from Maylin’s own snubby one—even if it wasn’t quite straight, a legacy of being knocked to the deck by a loose boom.
As Maurynna switched hands, her nightgown of fine lawn slipped from her shoulder. The sharp line between the sun-darkened neck and the lighter, honey-toned skin of her shoulders was startling. Maurynna’s lips curled in a dreamy smile.
It was the smile that worried Maylin. Just as it had worried her all during Maurynna’s bare-bones recital of the docking and unloading of her ship as the taller girl ate the cold supper hastily prepared for her.
Something’s not right here,
Maylin thought.
That dockhand did an honest day’s work—why should he run off before he could be paid? Perhaps he’s not a dockhand—but then, why unload Maurynna’s ship? And I don’t like what she
didn’t
say about him. That’s not like Rynna. No funny descriptions. Not a bit about what he looked like—just that he was a big
man and strong—or anything else about him save that they worked side by side all day. Just that same dreamy smile.
Her mother had been too distracted to notice. Like every other merchant Maylin knew of, her mother was worried sick over what a prolonged regency debate—or, gods forbid, civil war—would do to trade.
Maylin wondered what the bard would make of Rynna’s dreaminess; he seemed a clever fellow. She’d ask him tomorrow. Now it was time for a distraction—and she knew just the thing.
“We’ve seen Linden Rathan,” she said a touch smugly, nodding at the sleeping Kella.
The distant look vanished from Maurynna’s face. “What! How?”
Maylin grinned. “Haven’t you heard? There are three Dragonlords in Casna because of the debate over the regency. The other two are Kief Shaeldar and Tarlna Aurianne.”
Maurynna stared open-mouthed. “But, but—Oh! That wretch! Now I understand! I’ll keelhaul him,” she fumed, smacking her thigh with the brush. “He knew all along.”
“Who?” Maylin asked, confused. “Linden Rathan?”
“Otter. Never mind, I’ll explain later. Go on about the Dragonlords. Please.”
Maurynna rearranged her long legs. To Maylin it looked a dreadfully uncomfortable position. But Rynna seemed happy with it, so Maylin plunged into her story.
“We’ve seen him nearly every morning when Mother can spare us.”
When she saw the naked longing in her cousin’s eyes, Maylin was sorry she had announced it so baldly. Good thing Mother had already told her she could bring Rynna to the Processional tomorrow.
“Where—and how?” Maurynna begged.
Maylin warmed to her tale. “The council meetings almost always start about three candlemarks or so before noon. The morning of the first meeting Mother let us go to the Processional. We got there barely in time. They were earlier than I thought they’d be.”
Now she bounced with remembered excitement. The ropes of the bed complained. “Two kind guards let us stand right in front so that we had a perfect view.”
Maurynna’s eyes went wide. A soft “Ohhhhh!” escaped from her.
Maylin knelt on the edge of the bed, looking down on Maurynna on the pallet. “But this is the best part! I held Kella up so that she could see better and of course she waved. Linden Rathan waved back and called out ‘Hello, kitten’ to her!
And
he’s waved every morning that we’ve been there—we always stand near the same spot if we can—whether he’s alone or with the other Dragonlords. I really think he looks for us. He smiles whenever he sees us.”
The brush fell to lie in Maurynna’s lap. Her fingers caressed the handle carved in the shape of a dragon as her eyes closed. “Oh, gods.”
To Maylin, the barely heard words sounded like a plea. “Although Mother needs us tomorrow, she said we could bring you to the Processional. I should have let Kella tell you this—it’s really her story—but I couldn’t wait. Just act surprised when she tells you.”
Maurynna nodded. Then the odd-colored eyes opened again; they sparkled. Maylin wondered why her cousin suddenly looked smug.
She had her answer when Maurynna said with false diffidence, “Did I tell you that Otter’s offered to introduce me to Linden Rathan? They’re friends, you know.”
“What!” Maylin’s squeal brought a sleepy grumble from Kella. Contrite, Maylin clapped a hand over her mouth.
Maurynna nodded again. “But I don’t know when he will, and I’d like to have a chance to see Linden Rathan before that. Do you think we’ll see him?”
“It’s likely. There should be another meeting tomorrow; they seem to meet for four or five days, then break for two or three, sometimes more—to let tempers cool, Mother thinks. The talk is that it would take very little for an open break in the council. And that would mean war. Only the Dragonlords have kept it from that.” Maylin shivered at the
thought. Her gaze met her cousin’s, odd-colored like her own.
Maurynna made the sign to ward against evil. “Avert,” she said. “Let’s hope the Dragonlords can keep it from that.”
The next few moments passed in troubled silence. Here, in the little bedroom with its age-darkened beams, the possibility of civil war should have seemed remote. But for the first time Maylin believed it could truly happen. Something hovered in the room like a shadow. Even the colorful tiles around the hearth seemed dimmed.
Then Maurynna shattered the darkling mood. She began brushing her hair again and asked cheerfully, “But what does he look like?”
Since there could only be one “he,” Maylin began, “He’s big—”
Maurynna was now staring at nothing, smiling again. The brush hung suspended in midstroke.
Maylin wanted to knock a head—her own or her cousin’s, she wasn’t sure which—against the wall. Belatedly she remembered that description fit the dockhand. Oh, gods; Maurynna wouldn’t—Not with a common dockhand, would she?
How to ask without offending her?
Maylin considered the problem and could see no way around it. A frontal attack it was, then.
“You look like a lovesick calf,” Maylin said. “You’re thinking about that dockhand again, aren’t you? Oh, don’t try to deny it; you’re redder than a palace guard’s tunic. What happened between the two of you?”
If possible, Maurynna’s face turned even redder. “What do you mean, ‘what happened’?”
“Don’t deny it.” Maylin folded her arms. “Rynna, when you talked about him you got all starry-eyed. And you kept smiling to yourself afterward. You’re not planning to, to …”
“Have a dalliance with him?” Maurynna scowled like a storm about to break.
Maylin counted her breaths. One, two, three … She reached ten before the danger passed. The anger melted away, replaced by a look of bewilderment.
“I don’t know. He’s—he’s … There’s just something
about him,” Maurynna said. “That’s the best I can explain it—even to myself. I don’t even know his name; he didn’t tell me. He’s a Yerrin noble; I saw his clan braid.” She rose to her knees and blew out the rushlight. In the sudden darkness she confessed: “He kissed me when we were in the hold.”
Maylin groaned. This was worse than she’d feared. “Rynna—have a care!” she pleaded. She waited until the sounds of Maurynna putting herself to bed ended. “If he’s a Yerrin noble and working the docks now, then he must be an outcast and in disgrace. Are you really willing to risk everything you’ve worked for for him? Please; don’t throw your life away. Tell me you won’t.”
The silence stretched on and on. Maylin fell asleep waiting for a reassurance that never came.
Harn crept along the hall.
He had no fear of a squeaky floorboard betraying him. The thick, patterned carpets muffled every footstep. He paused outside the Dragonlords’ bed chamber.
Damn their arrogance. Because they’d not let him accompany them, he’d had to spend the evening chafing in the house under the watchful eye of the house steward. He’d had no chance to follow. He wondered what they’d spoken of; the younger Dragonlord had left without coming back. The other two had looked disturbed and retired right away. This might be his only chance to find out what had happened.
The other servants were all below. He hoped none of them came upstairs. He had no duties to take him up here, no plausible excuse ready. Still, he had to take the risk. His lord was interested in anything the Dragonlords did or said.
He pressed his ear against the thick oak door. At first all he heard was muffled, indecipherable mumbling. Then the mumbling resolved itself into two voices that became clearer; it seemed the Dragonlords had moved closer to the door. Harn caught the name “Sherrine.” He strained to hear.
The man spoke now. “Do you think Linden will be able to stay away from her now that he knows?”
A heavy sigh, and the woman said, “I don’t know. I hope so. Best not to take him to task over it, though. You know how stubborn he can be. Maybe the other girl will distract him.”
Harn rocked back on his heels, surprised.
Why would the young Dragonlord suddenly want to stay away from Lady Sherrine? My lord and the prince will not be at all pleased. And who is the “other girl”?
He resumed listening in time to hear Kief Shaeldar’s voice again and the sound of someone pacing. “To tell you the truth, I trust Linden; I think he’ll be strong enough not to risk them both. And this matter is between them. I’ve interfered as much as I feel is right. Gods; I wish the Lady were here. This is a dangerous situation for a fledgling Dragonlord … .”
Startled, Harn gasped. From inside the room he heard the pacing stop. At once he jumped up, running lightly down the hall in the opposite direction. His stocking feet made only the faintest sound on the thick carpet.
As he turned the corner, he heard the door to the Dragonlords’ chambers open. Kief Shaeldar called out, “Is someone there?”
Harn swore. He ducked into one of the unused bedrooms. His heart pounded as he leaned against the door, listening. There were no pursuing footsteps. He went slack with relief.
Damn! The tales of the Dragonlords’ acute hearing were true, it seemed. Once more thing to tell his lord, Kas Althume.
He grinned. Althume would be well pleased with this night’s work of his. To think Lady Sherrine was a new Dragonlord! What irony. The mother deep in the machinations of the Fraternity, and the daughter—
The daughter was one of the enemy.
As soon as all in the house slept, he’d take a horse and set off. News like this couldn’t wait.
 
“What was it?” Tarlna asked as Kief shrugged and shut the chamber door once more.
“I thought I heard something. Must have been my imagination; still all agog over Linden’s news, I guess. Imagine—the first new Dragonlord in six hundred years!”
“But is she?” Tarlna mused as she twined a curling strand of hair between her fingers.
Kief frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Think. Even before Linden’s birth, there were fewer and fewer Dragonlords sensed with each passing century. No one thought it too odd at first; such ebb and flow has happened
before. But was it in truth the beginning of this famine of Dragonlords?
“We know none of the elders sensed this girl; not even any of the truedragons did. How many others like her have there been? And how can we be certain she’s the only one since Linden?” She watched her soultwin, saw him catch her meaning.
His eyes went wide. “Good gods. There could have been a thousand—ten thousand!—of them … .”
“And since most of our kind die before we’re old enough to Change, we wouldn’t know about any of them,” Tarlna said. “So the question remains: is this girl truly the only one?”

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