The Last Dragonlord (2 page)

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Authors: Joanne Bertin

BOOK: The Last Dragonlord
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Linden grimaced at the thought of how his Llysanyin stallion would take the news.
I thought I’d wait until the morning. He’ll probably bite me. Where are you bound for?
Otter replied,
Believe it or not, we’re on our way to the great city of Casna, as well.
There was a sly feel to Otter’s mindvoice that Linden knew well. Someone was in for a teasing. Wondering who was the intended victim, he said,
What are you doing at sea?
For the past few months I’ve been visiting a kinsman who lives now in Thalnia. You might remember him—Redhawk, a wool trader. His son Raven’s best friend is a trader-captain, one of the Erdon merchant family of Thalnia. I asked to go with her; I’ve an itch to travel again. She agreed to let me sail with her.
Redhawk? Raven?
Linden thought a moment.
Ah! I remember them now, especially the little boy; red hair and a passion for horses.
Otter’s chuckle tickled in his mind.
Little? The lad’s now nearly as tall as you are! And still horse-mad, much to his father’s despair. A pity he’s not along; the two of you would get on well together.
Linden nodded, forgetting as he always did that Otter couldn’t see it; it felt as though the bard stood next to him.
And why are you going to Casna?
It happened to be the first northern port the Sea Mist is bound for. I’d planned to journey to Dragonskeep to drag you out of there and go traveling with me. Poor Maurynna; when she heard that, she was wild to come with me. Tried to talk her uncle, the head of their family, into letting her take a trading trip overland, but he was having none of that.
Linden wondered who Maurynna was, then decided she must be the captain. And from the feel of Otter’s mindvoice, he now knew who the intended victim was to be.
Otter—what bit of mischief are you planning?
Never you mind, boyo. Then, wistfully, Gods, but it’s been a long time.
Linden sighed. He’d forgotten how long the years were to truehumans. It was part of the magic of Dragonlords; to be caught out of time until the dragon half of their souls woke, years passing with the swiftness of days—both blessing and curse.
He rubbed his temples; even with the aid of the merlings’ magic, his head was beginning to ache. He said,
Kief and Tarlna are coming, as well.
A brief wave of sadness washed over him. He hoped Otter didn’t feel it.
Tarlna, eh? Aren’t you the lucky one,
Otter said.
But Maurynna
will be delighted
—
three Dragonlords in Casna!
Linden raised an eyebrow at that.
Oh?
was all he said, but he put a world of meaning into it.
When will you make port?
I’d guess in a few tendays or so, but I’m not certain. Perhaps sooner; we’re making good time or so I’m told. We left Assantik two days ago, looking for something Maurynna calls the Great Current. Ah, Linden—may I ask you a favor?
Here, then, was his answer.
Of course. What?
Would you mind if I introduced her to you? She’d be thrilled.
Oh, gods. Another one looking for a Dragonlord as a lover’s trophy, no doubt. He hoped she wasn’t the sort to gush. Still, she was a friend of Otter’s; he couldn’t refuse.
No—I don’t mind.
I should warn you right now that you’re one of her heroes. She’s always loved any story about Dragonlords—and about Bram and Rani and the Kelnethi War. This will be a dream come true for her. You’re not only a Dragonlord, boyo—you’re Bram’s kinsman who fought alongside him and Rani.
Linden cringed. This was going to be worse than usual.
Kief and Tarlna.
A moment’s hesitation, then Otter said,
I’m sorry, Linden; it will be hard for you, won’t it?
Linden bowed his head. Somehow, at Dragonskeep, although there were soultwinned couples all around him, he could ignore it. Whenever it became too much, he had friends he could escape to in the outlying villages or he could go riding in the mountains. But in Casna, the only people he would know would be Kief and Tarlna. And theirs was one of the closest bonds in the Keep. Being with them would be like having salt water constantly poured into a wound. Perhaps there would be someone in Casna to help him forget for a little while.
He should have known the bard would catch that quick betrayal of loneliness before—and not have forgotten. He made light of it.
Ah, well; at least I’m not the one tied to Tarlna.
To lighten the mood again, he told Otter what Lleld had said earlier.
The bard laughed.
She said that, did she? Imp. You’ve enough to worry about with Tarlna; you don’t need a wicked mage.
The mage, Linden said,
might even be preferable.
The power that had been aiding his effort wavered; the group of merlings must be splitting up.
Otter, I can’t hold this link much longer.
I understand. Shall I look for you at the palace when we make port? I’m known there; I played many times for Queen Desia.
Yes, Linden replied.
Good-bye.
He let the contact fade, groaning a little at the ache that had settled behind his eyes. The scent of
callitha
blossoms returned, spicy and soothing. Afterward he sat watching the night sky for a long time.
 
Nethuryn never knew who slipped the note under his door. Perhaps it was Joreda, who sometimes saw the truth in her fortune-telling sticks. But anonymous as it was, it had the ring of truth.
The cold-eyed one sends his wolf for you.
Nethuryn’s hands shook as if with a palsy as he read it over and over. “Gods help me,” the old mage pleaded in a whisper. He looked wildly about his comfortable lodgings.
He knew who hunted him. And what they wanted. He even knew who the “wolf” would be.
“Mmmrow!” A black-and-white cat twined about his ankles, demanding attention. Annoyed when the customary pat didn’t follow, the cat batted at the hem of the old man’s robes.
The tug brought Nethuryn back to himself. “Oh, Merro-lad, I’m sorry. We’ve been happy here for so long, but now …” He swayed and caught himself on the back of a chair. “Now we have to run.”
But was there anywhere he could hide and not be found? Pelnar wasn’t big enough to hide him, not from—
Despairing, he sank to the floor. Perhaps he should just give up; he was old, useless, his magics nearly gone …
Merro jumped into his arms and purred in delight. What
will happen to Merro if you die?
Nethuryn demanded of himself as the black-and-white head butted his shoulder.
The old mage took a deep breath. “We shan’t make it easy for him, eh, boy? No, he’ll have to hunt for us, he will. Hunt us and … and
it.”
Setting the cat down, Nethuryn clambered stiffly to his feet and set to work.
Linden gritted his teeth. Resolving
not to lose his temper, he ignored Tarlna and went to the window of the small meeting room.
Outside, Varn and the other servants were moving the departing Dragonlords’ packs to the distant cliff. He stared at their small figures retreating along the track. And counted to ten once more, trying not to wish they’d drop Tarlna’s packs into the green valley below.
Then he said, “For the last time, Tarlna, I am
not
wearing the ceremonial regalia now. Once we reach Cassori, yes—but not today.”
Her voice tight with exasperation, she said, “One would think you’re ashamed—”
Linden rounded on her. “I’m not ashamed of them. Far from it. But blast it all, they are uncomfortable!” He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her.
Tarlna returned the glare. She stood with her arms akimbo, blue eyes flashing, blond curls tossed back. Her lips parted as a gleam filled her eyes.
Linden knew Tarlna had thought of an especially scathing retort—even for her. He gambled everything on a final toss of the dice. With his most innocent look, he said, “What if it’s raining there? That’ll ruin the silk.”
The blue eyes narrowed.
Linden wondered if he should start running now. If Tarlna guessed he was jesting, and at her expense …
Kief’s voice came from the doorway. “He’s right, love. Let’s get there first. We’ll be formal later.” He sauntered into the room, grinning. “Won’t we, Linden?”
Linden grumbled but agreed. While small, slender Kief
looked younger than he, Linden, did, in reality Kief was much older. And as eldest, Kief would head the delegation to Cassori.
Tarlna turned her glare on her soultwin. Kief smiled and shrugged. She advanced on him.
Linden worked his way to the door. Just as Tarlna, her voice ominously soft, said, “Why do you encourage him—?” he slipped out of the room. He hurried to put as much distance as possible between himself and the inevitable explosion. Once outside, he heaved a sigh of relief.
Then he remembered he still hadn’t told Shan he was leaving. He looked back at the Keep with longing. He’d rather face Tarlna than his stallion.
 
The stone stables were cool and dim, sweet with the smell of freshly cut hay. Linden paused a moment to breathe deeply. He closed his eyes; that scent brought back so many memories of Bram and Rani. He smiled a little, then opened his eyes and continued on. He stopped by Shan’s stall. It was empty.
“Shan!” he called.
A big black head appeared in the doorway to the paddock outside. The stallion whinnied a greeting as he entered. His ears were cocked forward and there was a bright, inquiring look in his dark eyes. He dropped his head over the stall door to be scratched.
Linden obliged.
Oh, gods, he thought. He thinks we’re going for a ride.
He cleared his throat.
“Ah, Shan? There’s a problem in Cassori … .”
Shan tilted his head. The ears flicked back and forth. He rumbled deep in his chest and nodded.
“There’s a question there about the regency, and I’m one of the judges.”
Shan whickered. He clearly relished the idea of a long journey.
Linden inched backward. “I have to fly to Casna—and that means—”
He threw himself back as the big head snaked out. The stallion’s teeth snapped together, just missing his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, but it’s the Lady’s orders. You know I’d rather ride you—”
Shan turned and raised his tail, flicking it insultingly.
“Don’t you da—!” Linden looked down at the fresh pile of manure as Shan stamped out the paddock door.
“What did you expect?” a voice said. “If you Dragonlords must insist on riding Llysanyins …”
Linden turned and found Chailen, the head groom, watching him. The
kir’
s expression was sour.
“You know he’ll be impossible until you come back,” Chailen said. “The stable boys consider it a punishment to clean his stall whenever you leave him behind.” The
kir
sighed. “Ah, hell; dodging Shan’ll keep ’em lively.
“I came to tell you Varn was looking for you. Everything’s ready”
 
As Linden strode down the well-worn path, he saw a familiar figure waiting for him at the head of the stone stairs leading to the landing cliff.
“Come to see us off?”
“Come to see how much Shan left of you,” Lleld said, looking him over. “You’ve gotten good at dodging him, haven’t you?”
Linden winced, remembering times he hadn’t been so quick. Then he said, “I’ve news for
you
this time. Remember Otter? I’ll be bringing him back with me.”
Lleld clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, good! He always has the best tales about evil mages.”
“And this isn’t one of them,” Linden said.
“How boring,” Lleld retorted. “It makes a much better story my way.”
Before Linden could say anything, a voice from the landing cliff hailed him. “I must go,” he said and continued down the broad stone stairs.
She called after him, “Tell you what, little one—I’ll wager
my dagger with the crystal hilt against your cloak brooch that it is—”
“No!” he yelled back. “With my luck you’d be right!”
Lleld crowed with laughter.
Linden shook his head as he continued on. Lleld and her ideas! He reached the landing place in time to see Kief move to the very edge of the cliff.
The updraft from the valley blew the fine brown hair back from the smaller Dragonlord’s face. Kief bent, adjusting the carrying straps holding his baggage, then said something Linden couldn’t hear to the
kir
servant beside him. The servant ran back.
Kief raised his six-fingered hands and closed his eyes. A rapt expression came over his lean face. The air shimmered around him. A red mist formed; the outline of his body quivered, melted. The mist spread, darkened, became a ghostly dragon.
A heartbeat later a brown dragon crouched on the cliff’s edge. One six-clawed forefoot stretched out, closed talons around the stout leather straps of the packs. Kief dragged the bundle closer, arranged it between his forelegs, and launched himself from the cliff. Spreading his wings to catch the wind, he spiraled upward.
Servants ran up with Tarlna’s belongings. When they were gone, she limped to take Kief’s place. She paused to watch her soultwin high above.
Linden looked up as well. The brown dragon hung in the sky now, his wings motionless, gliding in lazy circles as he waited for the others.
“Luck to you, Linden.”
The Lady’s voice came from behind him. A deeper voice echoed her. Linden looked over his shoulder.
The Lady and Kelder stood together. She leaned on her soultwin’s arm, her head cocked to one side. “I’ve a feeling that there’s something you must do in this matter, Linden, but I don’t know what. I wish—”
A ringing cry cut her off. They watched Tarlna, now a pale
yellow dragon, spring from the cliff. Varn and some of the other
kir
brought up Linden’s bundles.
The Lady spoke again. “Go, little one. Once again—luck to you. And keep your eyes open.”
Linden ran to take his place at the cliff’s edge. Varn helped him arrange the bundles. A quick clasp of hands, a whispered, “Good luck,” and Varn ran back. To Linden’s amusement, everyone moved much farther back than before.
For pity’s sake, I’m not
that
large!
he thought.
He let his mind empty, freeing his thoughts to savor Change. He felt his mind and body melt and flow. For a moment he was weightless, nothing more than a breath of air, a wisp ready to drift apart on a breeze. If something should distract him now, or cold iron pierce the mist he’d become, he’d be lost.
A thrill of terror stole through him, an old, familiar friend, spice added to the wonder that was Change.
Then, as always so quickly he could never put his finger on the moment it happened, the tenuous feeling evaporated and he was solid once more.
He craned his long neck around. Maybe he was that large after all; he covered nearly twice the area the others had. His scaled hide, the wine-red of his Marking, glistened in the sun. He seized his packs in his claws and opened his mouth, tasting the air. The wind called; he leaped to meet it.
The silken, sensuous feel of the air filling his wings delighted him. A few powerful strokes caught the same current Kief and Tarlna rode. He soared up toward the summer sun. The air was warm and to his dragon senses tasted of honey and wine. He threw back his head and trumpeted.
Kief and Tarlna wove their voices around his. Their harmony filled the air, echoing from the mountain peaks as one by one they wheeled in the sky and flew south.

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