Dragon's Treasure (16 page)

"Put that on." He knelt, greaves in hand. "There's wine, if either of you would like it."

"Not I," Ridenar said.

Karadur shook his head. He said, "You spoke of my father. Did you know him?"

Ridenar said, "I remember him from the war. I was thirteen; it was my first battle."

"Aye, and you were late to it," Nicolas said. "Your father was beside himself. He thought you'd been captured."

"Aye. He told me so, after." He stood. Nicolas settled his breastplate over his shoulders. "Your father... He was a big man, as you are, and he moved like flame. He was not so much older than I, but he was a man already, ruler of his domain and leader of his war band, and I was still a boy. I have to confess, I was frightened of him."

He ran his hand over the scratches in the breastplate. "Nico, is there anything you can do about these?"

"Not anymore," Nicolas said. "I've told you not to wear it."

"It's comfortable."

"Scratches draw the tip."

"I know." He held out his arms. Nicolas fastened leather vambraces over his forearms.

Karadur said, "You spoke of your first battle. When was your last?"

Ridenar frowned. "My last true battle? Gods, years ago. I don't count chasing outlaws."

Nicolas said, "You had that skirmish with the Chuyokai last year. September, it was."

"I don't count that either. They hardly gave us much of a fight." He rolled his shoulders. "I'm stiff."

"Getting old."

"Look who's talking. Old man. I'll never be as old as you." They grinned at one another. Nicolas handed Ridenar his sword belt.
"
You
fought a war in the north. Last year, April, was it not? They say you battled a demon, and took its treasure."

"Do they?" The dragon-lord's face was expressionless.

"Not true?"

"I fought my brother in the north," Karadur said. "I killed him."

* * *

The winner of the tourney, to no one's surprise, was Lukas Ridenar. The rangy warrior scythed and battered his way through all his opponents. Edruyn advanced as far as the third round. He was beaten by one of Cirion's soldiers, a tall man with an astonishing reach and reflexes to match.

After the tourney there were footraces, and the jugglers returned, followed by acrobats, and then by dancers, many of them young, female, and dressed in diaphanous, slithery costumes that draped and undraped strategically. The young men ceased their wrestling to form a rapt circle around the dance troupe. Toward midafternoon the horns blew. The crowd moved toward the racetrack. It wound around the palace in a great circle, through trees and rock gardens. Kalni Leminin's groundskeepers had built it especially for the occasion.

Karadur and Lukas Ridenar worked their way through the crowd to one of the better viewing points.

"I hear you have a horse in the race," Ridenar said.

"The red one," Karadur said. A groom was walking Rosset down the middle of the track. The red horse's coat gleamed like fine glass.

"He looks prime," Ridenar said. "Of course, so does that one." He pointed to the big grey stallion that danced and fretted to Rosset's right. Its groom wore the prince's colors, black and silver. A slender man, also in black and silver, stepped onto the track and caught the stallion's rein. "Vaikkenen's balls. It's Cirion."

Kalni Leminin appeared on the terrace of the palace, Selena on his arm. A horn sounded. The horses moved toward the starting line.

"One's missing. There were supposed to be twelve," said Ridenar. "Ah, there she is." A sleek black filly trotted up the track. Her jockey seemed impossibly small.

"Whose horse is she?" Karadur asked. The jockey's robes were unmarked.

"I don't know." The trumpet blew a second time. The riders brought their horses to the starting line. The Lemininkai lifted a hand. The trumpet blew again. The horses surged forward.

The black filly led the field from start to finish. She crossed the line a stride ahead of the big grey stallion. Rosset, battling hard with Dennis Amdur's bay over the last quarter of the track, finished fourth. The spectators cheered their lungs out, and pelted the horses with flowers. A groom grabbed the filly's head rein. The jockey leaped from the narrow leather patch that served as a saddle. Her white robes billowed about her. Her skin was brown, and her hair and eyes were ebony.

Ridenar said, "Gods, it's a girl." He swung his long legs over the rope and strolled down the track to Cirion's side. "My prince, you should have won. The black filly had an unfair advantage, bearing so light a rider."

Cirion shook his head. His hair, clothes, and skin were coated with dust. "Not so. I was outraced."

"Whose is she? I saw no colors."

"I don't know." Cirion beckoned to the girl. She danced to his side. She was lithe and small as a child. "What's thy name, child?" he said.

She shook her head and spoke in a musical tongue. He answered in the same language. Her dark eyes widened.

Ridenar said, "I didn't know you spoke Chuyokai."

Cirion said, "I had a Chuyokai tutor for a time." He spoke again to the girl. She smiled broadly and gestured. A look of surprise crossed the prince's face. The girl laughed and danced away.

"Well?" said Ridenar.

Cirion said, with an apologetic smile, "It seems the filly's mine. A wedding gift from Sunudi Isheverin."

"Truly? Your own horse beat you? Ah, that's a fine jest."

Cirion said, "I shall have to write and thank him. Atani, that red horse of yours nearly knocked mine off the track. Your man's a fine rider."

Karadur said, "Herugin Dol is my cavalry master." He beckoned. "Herugin!" The rider came swiftly to his side.

"My lord?"

Cirion said, "My friend, you ride well! Someday we must have a rematch. Perhaps, if your lord permits, you will come to Selidor, you and your horse. It is a beautiful city."

Bowing, Herugin said, "Highness, I was born in Selidor."

"Were you indeed!" Cirion looked at Karadur. "My lord, once there was great friendship between the house of Imorin and the house of Atani. I would have it so again. It would give my wife and myself great pleasure if you were to come to Selidor, and visit us."

Karadur said, "Thank you. I would like to visit Selidor. And you, my prince—you must come north someday."

Cirion said, "If the king my father's health permits, I shall. I am told there is nothing in Ryoka to rival the northern mountains. Though I do not think I could live in the north. I would miss the sea."

"I do not think I could live in the south," Karadur said. "I would miss the mountains. And the music."

"There is music in the south."

"Not like our northern music," the dragon-lord said. "When you come to my house, you will hear it."

A horn called. "That is the signal for dinner," Cirion said. "You will forgive me, I hope. My wife will kill me if I keep to these clothes." He turned toward the palace.

Dennis Amdur appeared at Herugin's elbow. He said, "My lord!"

Karadur and the lord of Firense both glanced his way. Lukas Ridenar frowned.

"I know you," he said. "Amdur, isn't it? You're one of the Lemininkai's captains."

"Yes, my lord," said Dennis. "First cavalry officer."

"You rode well." Ridenar's mobile face went still a moment. "You and your men were first into Castella."

"Yes, my lord."

"You sent Carlo to me. I am in your debt." Then he said, "From the way the two of you battled down the track, I believe you know each other."

Herugin said, "We do, my lord. And I, for one, look forward eagerly to our rematch. Though I understand it may be delayed, since I go north, and Dennis east."

"Oh?"

Dennis Amdur said, "The Lemininkai has given my company to the prince, a wedding gift." Squaring his shoulders, he faced the dragon-lord. "My lord, Hern wrote to me. He said it was you who replaced the stock we lost, and that when he tried to recompense the builders for rebuilding our house, he was told it had been paid for already, by Dragon Keep. You must let me pay you back."

"No," Karadur said.

Dennis said stubbornly, "My lord, it's my responsibility."

Karadur just looked at him. Herugin stuck an elbow in his ribs. "Dennis, you fool. Shut
up
." He thrust an arm through his friend's. "Excuse him, my lord. His wits are addled."

* * *

Humming softly, the gratified crowd streamed back toward the pavilions. Within the near pavilion, a meal lay ready on cloth-covered tables: an elegant pasturage of cold meats, smoked fish, cheese and soft bread and opulent baskets of fruit. Pages, bells chiming softly on their shoes, circulated among the revelers with glasses of wine.

As Karadur and Lukas Ridenar approached the tents, a belled page sprang, like a conjuror's pigeon, out of the ether. "My lords, of your kindness, the Lemininkai begs you to accompany me." He led them to the second pavilion. It, too, held a table piled high with meats, bread, and fruit.

The Lemininkai and Allumar Marichal sat facing each other at a small table. They had a keph board between them. The Lemininkai lifted a hand. He said, "Come in, my lords, and join us. It's crowded out there."

Resplendent in sky-blue silk, Sarita Amarinta Leminin sat majestically in a massive chair. She was a stately woman, twice her husband's size. A vase of orange lilies glowed at her feet. A stern-faced man sat on a chair beside her.

Karadur walked to her. "My lady," he said, "we have not met before. I am Atani."

She smiled graciously. "My lord, the city is honored by your visit. Are you enjoying your stay?"

"I am, very much."

"Good. Do you know each other?" She smiled at the man beside her. "My lord, allow me to introduce Karadur Atani of Ippa."

The man said, "Atani. Yes. I am Ydo Talvela." Juni Talvela slid forward, holding a plate of food. "This is my son, Juni." Ydo Talvela scowled. "Don't just stand there, boy. Get the lord some food."

"No need," Karadur said. "I am served." Edruyn had arrived with a plate of meat pastries in one hand and a chair in the other.

Ydo Talvela said, "I am pleased to meet you, my lord. I knew your father. You look like him."

Karadur said, "So I have been told. I saw your son shoot today. He did well."

"Not well enough," Ydo Talvela said. "He should have won."

Juni flushed.

A page brought Karadur a glass of wine. There was a slight stir at the entrance to the pavilion. Cirion, damp, and in fresh clothes, entered the pavilion with Selena on his elbow.

Behind them glided a dark-skinned woman. She was tall, regal as a goddess. She wore a gown of fluid gold. Night- dark hair sprang from her erect head like a corona.

Ydo Talvela said, "Who's that girl?"

Sarita Leminin said, "A singer, my lord."

Ydo Talvela grunted.

Azil Aumson, carrying a lap harp, followed her. He settled on a stool and laid the harp across his knees. Something glinted between his gloved fingers. He drew it across the strings. It made a hard, bright sound.

He did not look at Karadur. He spoke to a page. The boy brought him a glass of water. He sipped it. He tuned a string, another, then nodded.

The woman in gold put a hand on his shoulder.

The Lemininkai said, "My friends, pray silence for the singers!"

Let love be all and there shall be no weeping;

In every spring, sap rises in the tree;

Sweet summer calls; cold winter lies a-sleeping;

Let all be love when you return to me.

Let love be all; let song define our kingdom;

Let there be joy, and music unrestrained;

Let us delight; one to the other clinging;

Let grief and care be banished this domain.

For winter cold will silence summer's laughter;

And soon will come the turning of the year;

Yet love endures, through winter, and thereafter;

And spring returns, to vanquish every care.

Let love be all, and there shall be no sorrow;

In every song, let melody run free;

Winter will pass; the sun will rise tomorrow;

Let all be love when you return to me.

Supple voices blended in beauty. The pavilion was silent; no one breathed.

Then Selena said softly, "Sing another. Please."

Again Azil struck a chord.

The Red Boar came from the forest;

the Red Boar came to the hills;

His tusks were iron and his breath was fire;