Dragon's Treasure (15 page)

Carefully, Finle aimed at the lamp Daniello had missed. It dropped. Finle shot a final arrow. The last lamp dropped to the earth, guttered, and went out. Selena clapped her hands. "Ah, splendid!" She turned to Lukas Ridenar. "My lord, I wish to make a toast. Do you suppose we might arrange for wine?"

Ridenar said, "Certainly, my lady." He whistled shrilly. A page scuttled out of the darkness, and vanished again, to return carrying a tray loaded with glasses. A second page arrived with a jug. The rich scent of spiced wine rose into the night air. The pages filled the glasses.

Selena raised hers high. "To tomorrow's contestants! May they all win!"

"That's impossible," Daniello said gloomily. He drank, and brightened. "Ah. This is good. Father, there is merignac in this."

Marichal drank. "So there is," he said. "Lukas, I approve of your refreshments." Smiling, Lukas Ridenar tipped his glass up. Elsewhere on the lawn, a harpist struck a chord.

Selena, rosy-cheeked, said, "Then I wish to make a second toast!" Lukas Ridenar signaled. The pages filled the glasses a second time. "To the winners!" She drank. "My lord Atani, your archer deserves a prize."

The dragon-lord said, "Do you think so? Then he shall have one." He worked a ring off his arm. "Finle!" Bow in hand, Finle approached the steps. Karadur tossed him the armring. Finle caught it deftly. "My lady, allow me to present Finle Haraldsen, second-in-command of my archers' wing. Finle, make your thanks to the lady Selena."

Finle, bowing, said, "Thank you, my lady. You are as thoughtful as you are beautiful."

"A courtier!" Selena clapped her hands. "My lord Atani, I applaud your warrior's training. Are all of your men so quick-tongued?"

Karadur said, "My men have many talents, my lady."

A whippoorwill called into the warm darkness. A yawning page trotted to Selena's side. She bent her head to listen, and made a wry face at his whispered message.

"Alas, my friends, I must go. My mother reminds me that I am to be wed tomorrow, and need my sleep." She reached a hand to Cirion. Together they climbed the stairs and went into the hall.

Allumar Marichal said, "Indeed, it grows late. Daniello, time for us to return to our hotel. Lukas, my thanks; it was a pleasant evening." Shoulder to shoulder, father and son descended the stairs. Three men with Merigny badges fell into step behind them.

Lukas Ridenar nodded to the dragon-lord. "Till tomorrow, my lord." He mounted the stairs. The whippoorwill called again. A phalanx of groundskeepers with water buckets and brooms moved toward the tree. Karadur passed his glass to the waiting page. Finle took his habitual place at Karadur's left hand.

They were nearly to the boulevard when a harpist plucked a familiar tune. A voice lifted into the night.

The Red Boar came from the forest; the Red Boar came to the hills;

His tusks were iron and his breath was fire;

His bellow toppled the castle spire;

O, the Red Boar, the Red Boar of Aidu.

The harping was indifferent but the voice was true as a lodestone. Karadur halted in his tracks. Joy and astonishment chased across his face. The harping ceased; the singer fell silent. Finle whispered, "My lord—do you want—shall I—?" He gestured in the direction of the music.

Karadur hesitated. Then he shook his head.

"No," he said. "Leave them alone."

He started walking again, toward the hotel.

8

At dawn on the day of the Midsummer Festival, in the city of Ujo, Cirion Imorin, son of Idaris Imorin, Prince of Lienor, and Selena Leminin, daughter of Kalni Leminin and Sarita Amarinta Leminin, of this city, knelt before the Goddess in the Temple of the Mother on Mirabella Square. Each drank thrice from the beaten copper bowl, and recited the words Isandre the High Priestess told them to say.

In Great River Market, merchants had been toiling since before sunup, laying out their wares. Stalls filled the square, selling every manner of luxury and trinket: fine cloth, shining brass bowls, mirrors and jewelry and leather sandals, willow cages filled with songbirds. The streets of Ujo were, for once, quite clean: they had been swept, and scoured, and swept again by a battalion of street cleaners. Stalls on every third corner, attended by competent men with flashing cleavers, and urchins whose sole task it was to chase away flies and stray dogs, sold ribs and sausages and pigs' feet. Vendors sold oranges and dates, ears of roasted spring corn, and taffy on a stick. On the river docks, costers sold live eels, which a cheerful man would slice into pieces and grill for you as you watched. White-winged gulls perched on the pilings, shrieking at one another, and fighting over the discarded eel heads. Even the shabbiest barges were festooned with ribbons. There was ample entertainment. Acrobats turned somersaults and stood on one another's shoulders. Musicians plucked lutes, blew on horns, jangled bells and tambourines. In the common room of the Crimson Lion, a man in a green robe with stars embroidered on its hem told fortunes. In the courtyard of the Steeplejack, a puppet master and her apprentices presented the drama of Pohja Leminin's victory over the Isojai to an admiring throng. In the Perfume Quarter, pretty girls in scanty silks invited visitors to sample the scents. On Lilac Avenue, girls leaned precariously over the balconies, tossing wrapped mementos down to the men. The favors held chocolates and little bells and occasionally a small gilt token, which entitled the lucky man who caught it to a free visit. Pickpockets wove quietly through the crowd, staring with feigned wonder at the acrobats, while deft fingers plucked pouches and wallets from hidden places. The city guards observed them indulgently; even cutpurses had to eat. But indulgence had limits. Word had gone out across the city to the pimps and thieves and thugs that for this day, and two days after, while petty infractions would be overlooked, visitors were not to be touched. Violence to their persons would draw immediate, severe penalties.

On the hill above the city, the archways and balconies and spires of the Lemininkai's palace gleamed like cut rubies. Below the palace, on the promenade, two snowy-white pavilions had been erected. Pennants floated on poles over the lawn. To the south, a long and level field sported man-shaped straw targets painted with bright concentric circles.

To the west, the lawn was chalked for the tourney. The lines were arrow-straight: the master of lists, a meticulous man, had personally supervised the placement. The grass was emerald-green. The sky was cobalt. It would be—the Lemininkai had decreed it, and it would be so—a flawless, faultless, perfect day.

* * *

As the party from Dragon Keep rode up the avenue, a herald stepped forward to greet them. Grooms appeared to take charge of their horses. "Careful with this one," Herugin warned as he relinquished Rosset's reins. "He's racing this afternoon," The red horse pranced a little at the unfamiliar touch.

Pages scuttled through the crowd, carrying trays of fruit and sweetmeats and jugs of wine. Men and women in bright silks moved across the grass. Karadur sauntered easily among them. His eyes were bright.

"These are the same people we saw last night," Finle said. "Don't they get tired of each other?" He unstrapped his bow case from the saddle and slid it over his shoulder.

Herugin said, "My lord, I'm going to the raceway."

A man with a pike over his shoulder plodded past them. Edruyn glanced hopefully at the dragon-lord. "My lord— may I..."

"Go," Karadur said. He touched Edruyn's shoulder lightly. "Good luck. Don't kill anyone whose rank is higher than your own."

Grinning, Edruyn sped away.
Hunter
, Karadur said,
stay beside me.
He strolled toward the palace. The Lemininkai's big red house shone in the sunlight. It looked like something on a tapestry.

A gently sloping lawn led to a terrace. At its center sat a stone fountain carved in the shape of a massive lily. Water poured into its bowl. Cirion, with Selena beside him, stood beside the fountain. Cirion wore silver-grey. Selena's gown was blue. A fire opal on a golden chain glowed at her throat. Set in red-gold, it was the size of a baby's fist.

Karadur said, "Hunter, is it true that there is a fountain in every room in the Lemininkai's house?"

Hawk said, "I don't know, my lord. I haven't been in every room."

He crossed the terrace to the newly weds.

"Highness," he said to Cirion and to Selena, "Princess. Felicitations on your wedding."

Selena said, "Thank you, my lord." She touched the opal at her throat. "As you see, I wear your gift this morning. It is beautiful. Do you know its history?"

"Alas, I do not, my lady. I took it from Dragon Keep's hoard because it was beautiful. I am honored that you wear it this day."

Sister.
Jada appeared at Cirion's left elbow.
Good morning.

Good morning
, Hawk said.
Did your lord get any sleep last night?

Oddly enough, he did.

Did you?

Jada grinned.
Very little. A surprising number of people tried to interrupt the prince's rest, to congratulate him on his nuptials, of course. They kept us busy.

Lukas Ridenar, brandishing a roasted chicken leg, strolled across the emerald lawn. "Good morning. My lady, my prince, felicitations on your marriage. I wish you joy."

Selena gave the swordsman a dazzling smile. "Thank you, my lord, and good morning to you also."

"Atani, good day. This is quite a festival the Lemininkai has given us, eh?"

Karadur said, "It is." He glanced at the sword on Ridenar's hip. "I see you plan to compete."

The swordsman patted his well-worn scabbard. "I do. My friends have come to expect it." A trumpet sang across the day. "That's the signal for the contests. The archery's first. Is your young man shooting this morning?"

"He is."

"I'd like to watch that."

The two men made their way to the front rank of the crowd that ringed the shooting range. Finle stood amid the ranks of archers. "What round is this?" Lukas Ridenar asked of no one in particular.

"Second," half a dozen voices said.

"What's the distance?"

"Sixty paces."

There were twenty-eight shooters all together. They shot in groups of ten. By the end of the second round, twenty-eight had shrunk to seven: Finle, Daniello Marichal, two of the Lemininkai's soldiers, two of Cirion's, and a boy. His long black hair was tied back from his face with a broad red band, Issho fashion. He was perhaps fourteen, with long hands and long feet like a puppy's.

"Who's the youngster?" Karadur asked.

"Juni Talvela, Ydo Talvela's second son. He's a good lad, a good archer. He's supposed to go to Serrenhold for training."

"You don't approve?"

Ridenar said, "You know what they say. Serrenhold's a bitter place. Koiiva trained there. But Koiiva's more like his father than any son I've ever met. Juni is different." Ridenar shrugged. "Of course, it's not my business. But I'd not send a son of mine to be trained by Bork Hal."

They moved the line to eighty paces. Daniello Marichal's sixth shot missed the target. The seventh shot eliminated the two from Ujo. An arrow went wide: one of the men from Lienor stepped back from the line. Now there were three men left. They moved the line one hundred paces from the targets. Finle lifted an arrow, nocked it, and sent it flying into crimson. A second and third arrow followed the first. Without hesitation, the other two matched him. The crowd breathed loudly. The Talvela boy's fourth shot went into yellow. The spectators groaned in sympathy. He stepped back, flexing his fingers. The soldier's next shot plowed into the grass. Finle's fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh shots hit crimson. The Talvela boy lifted his bow. His next two shots hit red. His eighth shot hit the yellow.

Finle sent his last three shots smoothly into the target's red heart.

The spectators cheered. "Very nice," Lukas Ridenar said.

A pretty girl tossed a cluster of yellow roses at Finle's feet. He scooped them up. Karadur strolled to his side. "Well done." He nodded at Juni Talvela. "Both of you."

Color flooded the youth's face. He stammered thanks. A horn blew twice, and then again. The crowd began to slither toward the west lawn.

Lukas Ridenar said, "I must go. That's the signal for the sword bouts." He cocked an eye at the dragon-lord. "You don't compete."

"No."

"Your father didn't either. Care to join me?" Across the lawn, the red fox pennant fluttered on a pole above a tent. "My man is there, with my armor."

Inside the tent, a man with a seamed, calm face said, "My lord, you're late, as usual."

Ridenar said, "I'm always late to battles." He jerked his thumb at Karadur. "Nico, this is Karadur Atani, lord of Dragon Keep. Don't be rude to him." He unbuckled his sword belt and laid it aside.

Nicolas inclined his head. "My lord Atani." He pulled a light mail shirt from a worn chest and tossed it to his lord.