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Authors: Joanne Bertin

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BOOK: The Last Dragonlord
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Linden and Maurynna stood together
before the fireplace in his sleeping chamber in the city house, a single ball of coldfire dancing in the air above them. All the other players in this night’s drama were still at the palace; he’d pleaded fatigue—his own and Maurynna’s—and left the others to untangle the last threads in the plot; a plea met with too many too innocent looks, and a barely concealed smirk from Otter, blast him. He’d get the bard back one day. But not tonight … He rubbed his cheek against Maurynna’s hair.
Together at last.
The words sang through him again and again as he held her close. She, in turn, held him as tightly as if she intended to never let him go again.
Gods, but he’d never known such happiness. He smiled, wishing the moment could go on forever.
She said, “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Wonder filled her voice.
He chuckled. “No, thank the gods. This is very real.”
She ran a hand down his back. “Don’t believe you.”
“Shall we see if this convinces you?” he teased, and tilted her face up to meet his.
He kissed her, a long and lingering kiss that left them both breathless when it finally ended.
“Well?” he asked, smiling down at her.
She looked thoughtful a moment. Then, grinning mischievously, she said, “Perhaps just a little more … convincing?”
He laughed aloud and set about the pleasant task with a will.
It was quite the gathering
in one of the palace gardens. Rann and Kella romped with Bramble the wolfhound. Otter played his harp. Eel sat near him, resplendent in a new jerkin and cap, nodding his head in time to the music. The older Dragonlords and Duchess Alinya talked in the shade of the pavilion; Tarlna looked healthier already. Maylin, Quirel, and Jeralin sampled the various delicacies on the laden tables. Elenna and Tasha were discussing, of all things, methods of distillation. Linden supposed it was something common to perfumery and herbalism, but he was too lazy to really care. Instead he pulled Maurynna a little closer, so that her head rested on his shoulder for a moment. She smiled up at him.
He half-closed his eyes, wondering, if he tried hard enough, if he would see an auburn-haired shadow by the edge of the garden. Despite her part in the plot that had brought them all to the edge of disaster, they owed this happy ending to Sherrine.
I hope you find your own happiness in the afterlife,
he thought sadly.
You deserve it. Fare thee well, Sherrine.
Maurynna turned her head and smiled up at him. “I still don’t believe this,” she said.
“I’m very happy to,” he replied.
“Wait until I drive you mad. I’m very stubborn, you know,” she warned.
“So am I. I foresee some interesting centuries ahead of us.” He kissed her; her head went back down on his shoulder as she laughed quietly.
After a time she asked, “When do we go to Dragonskeep?”
“As soon as we have word that your crew knows you’re safe. They can tell your Thalnian family the tidings. Beren
sent a fast ship out this morning to overtake them, so stop fretting, love; your crew won’t have long to worry.”
“Remon must be worried sick,” Maurynna said. “I feel awful about that.”
“We’ll make it up to him and the others somehow. Ah—there’s Beren. I’d been wondering where he was.” Linden waved to the new regent of Cassori as the man entered the garden, his newly betrothed lady on his arm. Now that the stress of the council meetings were over, both Beryl and Beren had changed tremendously; Linden found that he liked them both. Beren made for them as if the wave had been a summons, pulling Beryl along with him.
He greeted them with a slight bow as Beryl made a courtesy. “Dragonlords.”
Linden felt Maurynna shift under his arm; she was not yet at ease with her new rank. It
was
a hard thing to get used to. “Duke Beren, my lady Beryl,” he said, nodding in return. “Will you sit with us?” he asked, secretly hoping they would decline.
“Thank you, but—may I speak with you a moment, Linden Rathan? Alone? My apologies, Maurynna Kyrissaean.”
Linden frowned. There was something in Beren’s tone … . “Wait here, love. I won’t be long.”
Beryl took his place on the bench; she and Maurynna began talking.
Beren led him to an empty section of the garden, well away from the gathering. “Your Grace,” the duke began, “I’ve a double confession to make.”
Oh, gods—what was the man about to stir up? “Indeed, my lord?”
“Beryl admitted to me that it was she who hid the warrant, Dragonlord. She only thought to spare me shame when you found out; we feared you would be able to tell …”
“Tell what?” Linden asked.
Beren’s face turned as red as his hair. “The warrant of regency, my lord. It is a forgery.”
Whatever Linden had expected, it wasn’t this. “But you swore—”
“That I didn’t forge it. I am not forsworn, my lord. I didn’t; my brother Dax did.”
“The prince consort,” Linden said, bewildered at the turn of events. “Why?”
“Dax never trusted Peridaen and his influence over Desia. She was a good queen, but too softhearted about her younger brother. Dax had some kind of evidence proving that Peridaen had dabbled in dark magery; I don’t know what it was. But I believe he spoke the truth about it. So when Dax told me what he’d done, I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t believe Peridaen would really do anything, but I didn’t want to get my twin into trouble.” Beren shrugged. “I still don’t know whether everything that happened was due to Peridaen and his mage, or if some was just coincidence. I don’t think we’ll ever know the whole truth.
“We’re tracking down as many members of the Fraternity as we can, Dragonlord. I don’t know if Alinya told you: Anstella has been exiled for life after confessing as much as she knew—or said that she knew. Neither Alinya nor I have the heart to put her to torture, Your Grace; we felt she’d been punished enough, losing lover and daughter like that. You’d understand if you saw the emptiness in her eyes.”
The duke faced him squarely. “Now that you know the truth, my lord, what do you intend to do?”
Linden said, “Nothing. One of Rann’s parents considered you the best choice for regent and I happen to agree. Besides, who else is there but Alinya? And I am not,” he added with some heat, “sticking my hand into
that
hornets’ nest again.”
Beren laughed. “Dragonlord, I can’t fault you for that. And may I say, I’m glad you’ve found your soultwin at last.”
Linden looked back to where Maurynna now laughed with Beryl. As if she felt his gaze upon her, she smiled at him, a smile full of happiness.
He smiled in return. “Thank you, Beren,” he said, his eyes still on his soultwin. Smile turned into wide grin.
I wonder if she really is as stubborn as I am?
TOR BOOKS BY JOANNE BERTIN
 
 
The Last Dragonlord
Dragon and Phoenix
“The Last Dragonlord
by Joanne Bertin features villains who have not lost their humanity, and heroes who are still capable of making mistakes. Court intrigues are entangled with unabashed romance in this fast-paced and satisfying story. The reader gets a sense of the world’s rich history and unique magic.”
—Robin Hobb
 
“Joanne Bertin’s
The Last Dragonlord
is fresh and different, a story nobody’s ever told before. The writing is clear and powerful, and the characters appealing. Altogether, I had a wonderful time!”
—Joan D. Vinge
 
“Action brews constantly at several interstices within the web of characters in this honest and engaging first novel. The flow of action and many layers of intrigue will float readers toward her novel’s hard-fought conclusion.”
—
Publishers Weekly
 
“A convincingly colorful welter of plots and stratagems set forth with confidence and finesse.”
—
Kirkus Reviews
 
“Newcomer Bertin launches a winning fantasy epic. What with political intrigue, romance, bloody menace, and sweeping adventure as well as well-realized characterizations and intricate, believable world building, this is full-bodied fantasy, sure to be a hit with fans of Dickson’s
Dragon Knight
and McCaffrey’s
Pern.”
—
Booklist
Here’s a special sneak preview of Joanne Bertin’s next novel, the sequel to
The Last Dragonlord …
Prologue
Midwinter
Year of the Phoenix 988
Jehanglan
 
 
The old dragon stirred as
something blazed like a shooting star through his dreams.
Something new. Something … unbelievable.
He drifted toward waking. In all his long life he had never known such a thing and he trembled with joy. The waters of the deep lake above him rippled, echoing his movement.
Then, like a morning mist, it was gone, hidden once more from him.
He sank back into sleep, to dream the centuries away.
Chapter One
Year of the Phoenix 1008
The Harem of the Imperial Palace
Jehanglan
Lura-Sharal was dead.
Shei-Luin bowed her head as her sister’s body was carried away for burning, borne away upon a litter of ebony by four burly eunuchs. A cloth of the imperial gold silk covered the girl’s slight form. What did it matter?
Lura-Sharal was dead.
Shei-Luin knew she should be proud of that mark of the Emperor’s favor. But all she wanted was her elder sister back. What would she do without the wise and gentle words of Lura-Sharal guiding her?
She watched as the litter disappeared through the door. Tears streamed down her cheeks; she wanted to run screaming after it, to hurl herself upon her sister and beg Lura-Sharal to tell her it was but a jest, to hold her, to sing and dance with her once more. To run away and ride the wide open plains again as Zharmatians with Yesuin, their childhood friend.
Ah, Phoenix, if they could all be free once more …
But now Yesuin was a hostage to the uneasy peace between his father’s tribe and the Jehangli.
And Lura-Sharal was dead.
A hand came down with jarring force upon Shei-Luin’s shoulder. She jumped, and looked up to find Lady Gei’s masklike face hovering over her.
“Come,” the lady said. Her voice held no sympathy. “Come; the Phoenix Lord has seen you and grants you the
favor of his company. For you are also of the seed of Lord Kirano; it is time to do your duty, girl. At thirteen you are old enough.”
“But I am n—” Shei-Luin broke off. To speak the truth would be to close the path she suddenly saw open before her. Shei-Luin turned her head to hide her slip of the tongue.
The fingers on her shoulder tightened like bands of steel. Empty inside, Shei-Luin went where they led. Eyes filled with jealous hate followed her as she went deeper into the perfumed sanctum of the harem to be made ready.
And afterward …
She bowed her head. But only for an instant; she would not shrink from her fate or from Xiane ma Jhi, Phoenix Lord of the Skies. For she knew a thing that no one else alive now remembered.
She stared straight ahead, her eyes dry now.
Chapter Two
Dragonlords—those who are both
human and dragon. They come to Jehanglan. They will bring war to the Phoenix.
So said the rogue Oracle. And the words of an Oracle were truth.
But now his Oracle was dead. She would never See for him again.
Lord Jhanun pondered the prophecy once again. Had he known the girl had a weak heart, he would not have ordered her given such a large dose of the forbidden drugs. But her words had been so tantalizing …
His fingers smoothed the piece of red paper on the desk, discovering its texture, gauging its precise weight. Each piece of
sh’jin
paper was subtly different. A true disciple revered such individuality.
He made the first fold. “This is a true thing, these—” he hesitated over the uncouth foreign word—“Dragonlords?” He glanced at the man who knelt a few paces before the desk.
“It is, lord. There are a certain few, far to the north, who are born with the joined souls of dragon and human,” Baisha said.
Fold, crease, fold. “And these weredragons—they are able to change forms as do the weretigers that haunt the mountains?” Jhanun asked.
“Yes, lord. But they may change form whenever they wish, not just at the full moon.”
Jhanun ran one end of his long mustache through his fingers and shuddered. Abomination! He must calm himself, else the paper would sense his disturbance. Fold, fold, a quarter turn of the sheet … “The creature now beneath the mountain—it is not one of these … ?”
“No, lord; it is a northern dragon, else it would have Changed and escaped as a human.”
“I see,” Jhanun said, thinking.
One alone—the Hidden One—means the end of the Phoenix. But four will give you the throne—
A pity the girl died with those words; more would have been useful. How was one more dangerous than four? he wondered. He would get no more; he must gamble with what he had. The crisp red paper hummed as he slid a thumbnail along a crease.
Jhanun said, “The Phoenix must live. You will lure these unnatural creatures to the sacred realm. You know the prophecy; you know what must be done and the best way to do it.”
After all, according to the prophecy, the vile creatures were coming no matter what. He would merely make certain that it would happen in the most advantageous manner—for him.
Turn, fold, crease, fold.
Baisha smiled to the precise degree allowed a favored servant to master. The hands resting on his thighs suddenly turned palm-up. They were empty. Then he pressed them together and brought them up to touch fingertips to forehead. Then he laid them palm-up in his lap once more.
This time a silver coin lay in one hand.
The Jehangli lord nodded in understanding; the creatures would be tricked. “You’re certain they will come?” asked Jhanun.
“Yes,” Baisha replied. “They will come, the noble fools.”
“So be it.” He studied this, one of his three most faithful and trusted servants.
Pale skin, yellowed now, wrinkled and lined; a bald head fringed with thin white hair bleached by the powerful phoenix of the sun. A
baisha,
a foreigner indeed.
The Jehangli lord went on, “I raised you from slavery. I covered you with the hem of my robe though you were not one of the children of the Phoenix. I gave you what your own people denied you.
“Now I give you this task. The journey will be long and hard, the task difficult. Do not fail me.” A final fold, a last crease, and a paper lotus of a certain style lay before Jhanun.
“It will be done, lord. I will bring you the required number of Dragonlords.” Baisha rose and bowed. His eyes burned with fervor. “I know what will bring them. I won’t fail you.”
Stirred by such devotion, Jhanun rose from his desk and came around it. Bending slightly, he rested his fingertips on his servant’s shoulders, a mark of great favor. “I know you will not fail. Now go; there’s much to be done.” He let his hands drop once more to his sides.
Baisha bowed once more, backed the three required steps, then turned and strode to the door.
With a satisfied smile, Jhanun folded his hands into his wide sleeves.
It was beginning.
 
Shei-Luin fanned herself as she watched the tumblers with their trained dogs and monkeys performing in the open space between the two gazebos. She sat by the railing of the Lotus Gazebo in the choicest spot as befitted her current status as favorite concubine. Her eunuch Murohshei stood at her left shoulder, keeping the lesser women from crowding her.
The Lotus Gazebo and its companion, the Gazebo of the Three Golden Irises, stood in the heart of the Garden of Eternal Spring. Winter never came here; the leaves of the plum and peach trees never withered with the cold, the bright green of the grass never turned sere and brown. The might of the Phoenix ruled here, a gift to its royal favorite, the Phoenix Lord of the Skies. Or so said the priests who chanted here at the solstices.
To one side sat the Songbirds of the Garden. A group of boys and young eunuchs chosen for the incredible purity and beauty of their voices, their sole purpose was to sing for the
emperor whenever he chose to visit the Garden. They were silent now, except for giggles as they watched the performers. They were, after all, just boys.
Shei-Luin hid a smile behind her fan as she glanced at the youngsters. Many rocked back and forth, holding their laughter in lest it disturb his august majesty in the Gazebo of the Three Golden Irises. One boy eunuch, Zyuzin, the jewel of the Garden, had both hands clapped over his mouth as he doubled over in mirth; his three-stringed
zhansjen
lay forgotten on the grass before him as he watched.
For one of the tumblers ran in circles, waving his arms and crying exaggerated pleas for mercy as a lop-earred, ugly, spotted dog chased him. Each time the dog jumped up and nipped at the man’s bottom, the man would grab his buttocks and leap into the air, squealing like a pig with a pinched tail.
The Songbirds giggled and pinched each other in delight.
A loud, braying laugh shattered the air. Shei-Luin winced delicately, careful that no one should see it, and looked into the opposite gazebo.
Xiane ma Jhi hung over the railing, laughing as the ugly dog persecuted its master. He called encouragement to it, slapping the shoulder of the man standing by his side and pointing at the tumblers. The man grinned and said something in return.
Shei-Luin’s heart jumped at the sight of the second man. Yesuin, second son of the
temur
of the Zharmatians, the People of the Horse, the Tribe. Yesuin, once her childhood love and now hostage to his father’s good behavior. How she’d cried when he first came to the palace, knowing what it meant to him to lose the freedom of the plains. She’d remembered all too well what she’d felt when the walls of the imperial palace closed around her. But his misfortune had become her salvation.
Between the Phoenix Emperor and Yesuin was a certain resemblance; the concubine who had borne Xiane had been a woman of the Tribe.
Yet such a difference! Yesuin was all fire and grace; Xiane …
Bah; Xiane does not bear thinking about,
Shei-Luin told
herself.
He looks like a horse and brays like an ass.
As if he sensed her thoughts on him, Xiane looked across the lawn into the gilded structure where Shei-Luin sat with the other concubines and their eunuchs, the only males allowed there beside the emperor himself. Their eyes met. He made a great show of licking his lips and leering at her. Shei-Luin’s stomach turned; she knew that look. Unless he drank himself into oblivion, he would come to her chamber tonight.
She pretended modest confusion and hid behind her fan, gaze lowered. Later she would send Murohshei to bribe Xiane’s cupbearer into seeing that the Phoenix Lord’s wine bowl was kept full.
The other concubines tittered. Shei-Luin considered ordering them all flogged. But no; she had not the power for that yet. She must become
noh,
a servitor of the first rank; she must give Xiane an heir.
An heir that he could not give himself. But she had found a way; for she alone knew the ancient secret of the palace. And then …
The scene before her changed. The tumblers and their animals gave way before the female wrestlers that were Xiane’s current mania. Shei-Luin sat up straighter.
Not because she enjoyed the wrestling. Far from it. She thought these women hideous beyond belief. They were as ugly as the women soldiers who guarded the harem; big women, solid as oxen, and muscled like them, too.
But this was the fourth troop of wrestlers in the past span and a half of days, and if Xiane remained true to form … She watched the women, naked save for loin cloths and breast bands, grapple and struggle with one another, and waited as patiently as she could.
At last! Xiane stood up. A servant ran to take the robe he shrugged from his shoulders. The loose breeches beneath came off next and the Emperor of Jehanglan stood only in his loincloth. He vaulted over the railing, calling over his shoulder, “Let’s have some fun!”
Laughing, the other young men in the gazebo followed suit. For once they were freed of the restrictions of the imperial
court where every move was ancient ritual, every word and glance noted, debated, dissected for insult or weakness.
Only in this garden and among the troupes of entertainers that he delighted in, could the Emperor of Jehanglan, Phoenix Lord of the Skies and Ruler of the Four Quarters of the Earth, relax. Shei-Luin felt a momentary pang of sympathy. The Phoenix was cruel, setting this man upon the Phoenix throne instead of making him a performer.
But that moment was lost as she watched Yesuin run lightly across the lawn to stand beside the emperor. Her heart hammered in her chest; it was a wonder that all could not hear it.
They might almost be brothers, they look so much alike standing together!
But similar as the men were in build, it was the thought of Yesuin that thrilled her. The memory of Xiane’s body on her’s made her feel ill. It amazed her, how differently she could react to two men so much alike.
Neither was tall but both were well made and athletic. Xiane’s skin was the paler legacy of his imperial father, and smooth; Yesuin’s scarred here and there from the battles he’d fought before coming to the Imperial Court as hostage. Some of the courtiers cast glances of mixed admiration and disdain at the sight of the scars; when those gazes fell upon the Zhar-matian’s thigh and the brown birthmark there, they were pure contempt.
So the People of the Horse don’t kill their children for every little blemish,
Shei-Luin thought fiercely, dismissing those contemptuous glances with an unconscious flick of her fan.
They’re not the cowards you are. They don’t fear your demons.
She watched him, and him alone, as he wrestled first with the women, then with any of the courtiers brave—or foolish—enough to challenge him. She knew what was to come.
It happened all in a heartbeat. Yesuin and Ulon, one of the courtiers, rolled across the lawn as they grappled; Yesuin caught his opponent in a choke hold. As if by chance he looked over Ulon’s head and into the Lotus Gazebo where
no man’s gaze but the emperor’s might fall. Shei-Luin was ready.
She dropped the fan.
Tonight,
she mouthed, quick as a thought. He blinked. Then Ulon twisted, and he and Yesuin rolled away once more.
It was enough. She would be ready.
BOOK: The Last Dragonlord
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