Read The Last Dragonlord Online
Authors: Joanne Bertin
The Last Dragonlord (32 page)
Otter, in the midst of hanging up the gelding’s tack, raised his eyebrows and asked, “Will the others stand for it?”
“Have they any choice?” Linden replied.
Somewhat restored by half of a cold chicken, bread, cheese, and a goodly amount of wine, Linden pulled his boots and tunic off and lay down on his bed. Otter pulled up a chair.
“Ready?” said Linden.
“Ready,” Otter replied as he tossed his cloak back from his shoulders. The bard closed his eyes and stretched his legs out.
“Very well, then.” Linden closed his own eyes and reached out to Kief and Tarlna.
The speed with which they answered told him they’d been waiting for his call. And the annoyed apprehension he felt
through the link told him in what state of mind that time had been spent.
through the link told him in what state of mind that time had been spent.
This was not going to be pleasant.
Before they could do more than exclaim, Linden launched into his tale. He held nothing back, though he did try to mute the full effect of the victim’s terror and what he himself had suffered from Rathan’s rage; Otter was no longer a young man.
As he knew would happen, the moment he finished, the other two Dragonlords heaped violent recriminations upon his head. He stood it for a few moments, then bellowed,
Enough!
Enough!
In the shocked silence that followed, he continued,
Yes, I was a fool. We’re all agreed on that. And no, I won’t do it again. But what’s done is done, and instead of wasting time and what little energy I have left this night, let us see what we can make of this.
Yes, I was a fool. We’re all agreed on that. And no, I won’t do it again. But what’s done is done, and instead of wasting time and what little energy I have left this night, let us see what we can make of this.
A moment of stiff silence followed. Then Kief said,
Very well, Linden. So what do we now know? First, that there is a mage of some power about.
Very well, Linden. So what do we now know? First, that there is a mage of some power about.
And that he—or she—uses blood magic,
Tarlna added.
Linden—could you tell how long ago that …
Her mindvoice faltered.
Tarlna added.
Linden—could you tell how long ago that …
Her mindvoice faltered.
I’m no mage to know for certain, but I do think someone was killed there not very long ago. Within a few months at the most; remember, what was left was nearly strong enough to catch a Dragonlord.
Tarlna said,
That would seem to indicate that it was fairly recent, else the power would have ebbed away, thank the gods. Dark magery is too volatile to sustain itself at such strength when stored like that, save in a soultrap jewel—or unless another mage the equal of Ankarlyn has arisen.
That would seem to indicate that it was fairly recent, else the power would have ebbed away, thank the gods. Dark magery is too volatile to sustain itself at such strength when stored like that, save in a soultrap jewel—or unless another mage the equal of Ankarlyn has arisen.
Avert!
Linden and Kief said at the same time.
Linden and Kief said at the same time.
Linden shuddered as though shaking off a nightmare. That was something he hadn’t yet considered—didn’t want to consider. Ankarlyn the Mage had been the worst enemy the Dragonlords had ever faced; though it was long before his time, the tale of how Ankarlyn had nearly annihilated their kind touched a chord in every Dragonlord. After they’d destroyed
him and his following, the Fraternity of the Blood, the Dragonlords had hunted down every grimoire, every scrap of spell on parchment that Ankarlyn had written, and burned them. The thought that a single book might have escaped—or that another mage had been able to repeat Ankarlyn’s spells—made him feel ill.
him and his following, the Fraternity of the Blood, the Dragonlords had hunted down every grimoire, every scrap of spell on parchment that Ankarlyn had written, and burned them. The thought that a single book might have escaped—or that another mage had been able to repeat Ankarlyn’s spells—made him feel ill.
And the thought that such a mage might be working for the newly reborn Fraternity made his very soul tremble.
But we don’t know that this mage is attached to the Fraternity said to be in existence here in Cassori, he said.
True,
Kief said.
There have been, after all, no attacks on us. It could be some mage garnering power for his own ends and nothing to do with events here in Cassori.
Kief said.
There have been, after all, no attacks on us. It could be some mage garnering power for his own ends and nothing to do with events here in Cassori.
Just so,
Tarlna said.
After all, it was not magic that caused the storm that sank the queen’s barge.
Tarlna said.
After all, it was not magic that caused the storm that sank the queen’s barge.
For some reason the mention of the barge made Linden remember Maurynna’s amusing description of the ungainly vessels. “They wallow like pregnant cows in the water, but—”
Dear gods!
he exclaimed, interrupting something Kief was saying.
Maybe we’ve been looking at it all wrong!
he exclaimed, interrupting something Kief was saying.
Maybe we’ve been looking at it all wrong!
What do you mean?
the others demanded. This time even Otter, who’d remained discreetly quiet during the conversation, joined in.
the others demanded. This time even Otter, who’d remained discreetly quiet during the conversation, joined in.
We’ve always looked at the storm as the cause of the sinking,
he said in a rush, lest the half-formed idea surfacing in his mind vanish before he could share it,
and wondered if it was mage-born. But the storm was the work of nature and nothing else. It wasn’t even that bad of one, I’ve been told.
he said in a rush, lest the half-formed idea surfacing in his mind vanish before he could share it,
and wondered if it was mage-born. But the storm was the work of nature and nothing else. It wasn’t even that bad of one, I’ve been told.
He went slowly now, feeling his way through unfamiliar concepts and language.
But it wasn’t the weather that made the barge sink. What caused that was her stern going under. Which it shouldn’t have; another sailor told Maurynna that it was only a small following sea—he saw it. And she once remarked that, clumsy as the barges are, even they shouldn’t dip their sterns low enough to founder in such a sea.
But it wasn’t the weather that made the barge sink. What caused that was her stern going under. Which it shouldn’t have; another sailor told Maurynna that it was only a small following sea—he saw it. And she once remarked that, clumsy as the barges are, even they shouldn’t dip their sterns low enough to founder in such a sea.
Another conversation came back to him.
Gods, even Healer Tasha once said that the barge had weathered worse.
Gods, even Healer Tasha once said that the barge had weathered worse.
A long, thoughtful silence followed his words. Then …
A storm might well be out of our mage’s powers,
Kief began.
Kief began.
But causing the end of a boat to dip just low enough for waves already there to swamp it …
Tarlna continued.
Tarlna continued.
Is well within the abilities of the mage that I sensed tonight,
Linden finished.
Linden finished.
And who benefited the most by Queen Desia’s death? Whose way to the throne was made clear? Duke Beren.
That same Duke Beren who had revealed time and again his antipathy to the Dragonlords. In his mind’s eye Linden saw once more the duke’s livid face as he and Linden confronted each other on the beach.
That same Duke Beren who had revealed time and again his antipathy to the Dragonlords. In his mind’s eye Linden saw once more the duke’s livid face as he and Linden confronted each other on the beach.
He let the other three follow his thoughts and felt their wordless agreement, then listened as Kief and Tarlna discussed what they could do, for they still had no proof the mage who used the altar was even connected with the queen’s death.
All at once he couldn’t stay awake any longer.
Please, I must sleep now.
Please, I must sleep now.
Understood. Rest well, Linden.
The others withdrew from his mind. Sighing, he let himself sink toward sleep.
A hand on his shoulder startled him awake. His eyes flew open; Otter was bending over him. Gods help him, he’d forgotten the man was still here! He began an apology.
The fury in Otter’s eyes stopped him. Linden had never thought to see the bard so angry that words would fail him. He saw it now.
“Don’t,” Otter said, his voice tight and flat when he could finally talk once more, “you ever,
ever
do something like that again. Damn it all, boyo! We could have lost you!”
ever
do something like that again. Damn it all, boyo! We could have lost you!”
Linden began feebly, “But I had—”
Otter snarled, “And what would have become of Maurynna? Tell me that, you bloody idiot! Oh, ho—you’d forgotten that there’s not just yourself to think of now, didn’t you? Then you’d best get used to the idea and right quick, do you hear?”
There was no arguing. Otter was right; he’d been even more of a fool than he’d thought. The thought of what his death might have done to his soultwin sickened him.
Otter must have seen it in his face, for the bard straightened, a grim, satisfied smile on his face. He picked up his cloak from the chair and slung it over one arm. “No—you’ll not be repeating that bit of arrant stupidity any time too soon.” He paused at the door and said with rough affection, “Go to sleep, you ass. You’re done in.”
There was no arguing with
that,
either. Linden nodded and once more closed his eyes.
that,
either. Linden nodded and once more closed his eyes.
He was asleep even before the door closed.
During the noonmark break from
the council meeting, Linden decided to wander out to the garden where Rann played when he felt well enough. Perhaps it would wake him up. He was still tired and feeling more than a touch mind-fogged from his adventure, even though he’d spent most of yesterday napping when he wasn’t in the council. Kief and Tarlna had given up trying to discuss anything with him after he’d fallen asleep for the third time.
the council meeting, Linden decided to wander out to the garden where Rann played when he felt well enough. Perhaps it would wake him up. He was still tired and feeling more than a touch mind-fogged from his adventure, even though he’d spent most of yesterday napping when he wasn’t in the council. Kief and Tarlna had given up trying to discuss anything with him after he’d fallen asleep for the third time.
It would be a long, long time before he tried something like that with Rathan again.
But in a few candlemarks he would see Maurynna again. The thought lifted his spirits as nothing else could have done.
He turned the corner of the hall and saw the Earl of Rockfall coming toward him. He raised a hand in greeting, feeling a little guilty that Sevrynel had gone through all that trouble for him—and for nothing.
So when Sevrynel greeted him with, “Dragonlord! A moment, please!” he stopped.
“Yes, my lord Earl?” he said. “I’m sorry I missed your gathering the other day. Both Kief and Tarlna told me much about your new mares.”
The little earl joined him. “I’m sorry, too, Your Grace,” he said, sounding truly disappointed. “I would dearly love your opinion on them. Did the other Dragonlords tell you the mares are of the Mhari line?”
That caught Linden’s interest as nothing else could have. “Indeed? Then I’m doubly sorry I missed them. Perhaps another time—”
Such as after we figure out what to do about this damned mage …
Moved by guilt—and too tired to think carefully about what he promised—Linden said, “I swear I
shall attend your next gathering without fail, my lord. Will that do?”
Such as after we figure out what to do about this damned mage …
Moved by guilt—and too tired to think carefully about what he promised—Linden said, “I swear I
shall attend your next gathering without fail, my lord. Will that do?”
Sevrynel beamed. “Indeed it will, Dragonlord—for the next one is this evening!”
Linden could only boggle at him. Tonight? But—
The earl must have noticed his hesitation, for he waggled an admonitory finger, and with a roguish grin, said, “Ah—remember! I have your sworn word, my lord. Tonight.”
And with that, the earl bowed and continued on his way. Linden stared dumbfounded at nothing, mentally berating himself for his careless tongue.
He had to go to that cursed gathering now; he’d given his word. And that would make him late for the
tisrahn.
Maurynna would have his head.
tisrahn.
Maurynna would have his head.
“Oh, bloody hells,” he said, suddenly disgusted with the world.
Well and well, he’d just have to do the best he could. At least he had until moonrise to get to the
tisrahn.
tisrahn.
Maurynna paced back and forth in the upper hall, her shadow on the wall following her in the glow from the rushlights. “Where can he be? Surely the council meeting ended hours ago. I can’t see those fat nobles missing their suppers.”
“Will you stop,” Maylin snapped. “You’re making me dizzy. And we can’t wait any longer. The moon’s going to rise soon. You’re one of the sponsors—you have to be there on time. If we don’t leave now—Someone’s here!”
Both young women gathered up their skirts and ran to the top of the stairs. Maurynna paused at the first step.
Please let it be Linden!
Maylin crowded beside her. They spied as Merrisa, one of the young clerk-apprentices, answered the door.
But the man who stood there was not Linden. For one thing he was far too old. And he wore royal livery. He and Merrisa had a hurried discussion, then the apprentice disappeared down the hall. The cousins exchanged glances, puzzled.
“Do you think he’s sent a messenger warning you to go ahead?” whispered Maylin.
“Let’s find out,” Maurynna said and descended the stairs.
The man looked up at her, but beyond a polite nod paid her no attention.
“Sir,” she said, her voice trembling. “May I ask your business here?”
He weighed his answer for a long moment. Then he said, “Prince Rann wishes Bard Otter Heronson to sing for him, young mistress. He’s feeling poorly tonight and Healer Tasha thought it might help.”
“Ah. There was—um, no other message?”
“No, mistress.” The lined face was bored.
She felt a fool but had to ask. “None from Dragonlord Linden Rathan?”
Puzzlement replaced boredom. “No. All three Dragonlords left the palace early this afternoon to attend a dinner in their honor at Lord Sevrynel’s river estate.” He eyed her, no doubt wondering what mad fancy had taken her that she thought a Dragonlord would deign to send her private messages.
Maurynna retreated in bewilderment to stand with Maylin at the foot of the stairs. Otter came down the hall, arranging a cloak over himself and the harp case slung over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry I can’t go with you, Rynna. I hope Almered will understand about a royal summons.” He peered over the servant’s shoulder at the sky outside. “You’d best leave now for the
tisrahn
—looks like rain,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t wait any longer for Linden; he wouldn’t want you to be late. Likely he’s still stuck in the council.”
tisrahn
—looks like rain,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t wait any longer for Linden; he wouldn’t want you to be late. Likely he’s still stuck in the council.”
“But—” Maurynna began. Her words were lost as the bard rushed out, drawing the servant in his wake. “He’s not,” she finished to the oaken door that shut in her face.
She turned to Maylin. “A dinner? Why didn’t he warn us, then?”
“Perhaps it was a sudden thing?” Maylin hazarded. “The gods only know the answer to that, but I do know this: if we wait for him to get back from the other side of the river, we’ll miss the
tisrahn.
We must leave now, Maurynna.”
tisrahn.
We must leave now, Maurynna.”
Aunt Elenna stuck her head out of the office. “If neither
Otter nor the Dragonlord are with you, you girls are taking a ’prentice for an escort. It’s too late for you to go unescorted.” She looked over her shoulder and called, “Gavren, come here! You’re escorting Maylin and Rynna to this feast.”
Otter nor the Dragonlord are with you, you girls are taking a ’prentice for an escort. It’s too late for you to go unescorted.” She looked over her shoulder and called, “Gavren, come here! You’re escorting Maylin and Rynna to this feast.”
Gavren, all gangly elbows and knees and bobbing throat apple, came grinning out of the office. “Yes, Mistress Vanadin. I’ll go round to the stable and get some horses.” He disappeared through the door at a shambling lope.
Maylin groaned. “Why Gavren, Mother? He’ll eat everything in sight and laugh that horrible braying laugh of his.” She shuddered.
Her mother shrugged unsympathetically. “So send him to the servants’ quarters when you get there. If he tries to get more than his fair share of the food, don’t worry—someone will thump him. Besides, he’s the only male apprentice here tonight.”
The ring of horses’ hooves on the cobblestones outside announced Gavren’s return. Maurynna numbly allowed Aunt Elenna to fling a cloak over her shoulders. Without knowing what she did, she kissed her aunt’s cheek and followed Maylin out the door.
Somehow she was astride her horse, arranging her blue silk skirts around her. The sense of emptiness and abandonment astonished her as they clattered out of the courtyard.
Maylin reached over and patted her hand. “I’m sorry, Rynna. If there’s anything …”
Maurynna decided on a brave front. “It’s all right, Maylin. I didn’t really think he’d come.”
“You did as I bade you?” Althume said.
“Yes,” Sherrine replied. “Indeed, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much in my life as I have these past few days.” She laid a hand across her middle. She’d had to force every bite of that meal down; she’d been so nervous about seeing Linden again that her stomach had threatened to rebel with every mouthful. “Why did I have to eat so much, anyway? You never told me the first time.”
And she’d been too frightened to ask.
“To slow down the effects of the drug,” Althume answered and held up a small parchment packet. “Once more—there is a servant named Joslin at Lord Sevrynel’s estate. See that he is the one to prepare the farewell cup for you and give him this to add to it. A pity that it couldn’t have just gone into his food.”
“True,” Sherrine said as she took the packet. She tucked it safely away in the embroidered pouch hanging from her belt. “Where are the vials?”
“Here.”
Now the mage handed her two small earthenware vials. Both had wax seals, one brown, one white. “Repeat what you will do with these.”
Holding on to her temper, Sherrine said, “The brown is an emetic; get away as soon as possible after I finish the cup and drink it when I’m alone. Then drink the white; it is the antidote to the powder.” She looked down at the second vial and asked the second question she’d not dared to ask the first time. “Antidote? Is the stuff poison, then?” Gods help her, she’d no wish to
murder
Linden. Make him suffer, yes, but killing him had no part in her plans.
murder
Linden. Make him suffer, yes, but killing him had no part in her plans.
“No.” The mage smiled slightly. “I’ve no more wish to kill Linden Rathan than you do, my lady. The potion will simply spare you the … unpleasant effects that he will suffer.”
“As well he should,” Sherrine muttered.
Hoofbeats sounded outside. Althume went to the window. Sherrine heard him grunt in pleasure as he raised his hand in salute to the rider outside. “That’s the signal. Everything’s set.”
The mage turned back into the room and caught up his cloak from a chair. “Are you ready, my lady? Then it is time.”
Indeed it was. Time for her revenge.
Linden excused himself from the group he’d been talking to. Spotting Kief across the room, he worked his way to the older Dragonlord’s side.
“You’re not planning to leave already, are you?” Kief demanded in an undertone.
“I most certainly am,” Linden snapped. “This idiotic, last-minute affair has made me late enough. I will not dishonor Maurynna in the eyes of her family. Or myself in
her
eyes.”
her
eyes.”
“I wish you’d reconsider th—Oh, bother; here comes Sevrynel, and he looks like a man with a bug in his breeches. I wonder what’s wrong?”
Linden looked over his shoulder. Lord Sevrynel was making straight for them; Linden had seldom seen a man look so flustered and worried. Annoyed as he was at their host for the poor timing of this dinner—for he liked the man and had enjoyed the other impromptu feasts—Linden couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. “Looks like one bloody big bug, too,” he whispered.
Kief smothered a laugh behind his hand.
Lord Sevrynel fluttered to a halt in front of them. “Your Graces—Linden Rathan—Oh, dear. Oh, dear. I don’t know how to tell you this … .”
A commotion at the door made Linden—and everyone else in the room, judging by the sudden hush—look in that direction. He nearly swore aloud.
For Sherrine, her proud face salt-white and streaked with tears, walked slowly toward him. Astonished murmurs followed her. Her eyes were fixed on him as if she were a storm-lost wayfarer and he a beacon.
And in her hands she bore a large silver goblet.
In a flash he knew what it was: a farewell cup. One that he had to share with her or look like the worst sort of petty bastard before all these nobles—for they, of course, had no idea of the true enormity of Sherrine’s crime. Some he’d overheard even wondered why he’d been so upset for the sake of a commoner.
He would have to share the cup and publicly forgive Sherrine. Once more the girl had trapped him. This time he was not amused.
He waited for her, hands gripping his belt so hard it was a
wonder the heavy silver plaques didn’t bend under the pressure.
wonder the heavy silver plaques didn’t bend under the pressure.
Easy, Linden,
Kief warned.
Don’t do anything rash.
Kief warned.
Don’t do anything rash.
When she reached him, Sherrine went down on one knee. “Linden,” she began, her voice shaking with unshed tears. “Linden, I—I wanted to say I’m sorry. I had no right. You had made it clear that—” She looked away for a moment, then continued. “I know now that there can never be anything more between us. I just wanted to tell you that I am retiring to my family’s estates in the country for the duration of the regency debate; I know that my continued presence is … painful to you. I leave tomorrow morning. But I wanted to share the farewell cup with you before I left. For a time we were happy, I think, and I would bid farewell to you and that time.”
Linden studied the pale face raised to him. Sherrine’s beautiful eyes were sad but hopeful. Now the murmurs from the watching crowd were sympathetic. He’d look like the rankest cad indeed if he refused the cup held out to him.
Still, he thought of doing just that. Then he remembered: the wergild. Maurynna’s words ending the feud bound him as well. He wanted to snarl his frustration aloud.
“I will share that farewell with you, my lady,” he forced himself to say instead.
Sherrine gifted him then with one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever seen and stood once more. Raising the cup so that all might witness, she said, “Fare thee well, Linden. I would have you remember me more kindly than I deserve,” and drank deeply.
As she presented the cup to him, he caught a delicate trace of her perfume. It brought back happier memories. A pity it had ended this way.
Linden raised the goblet to those bittersweet memories and said, “Fare thee well, Sherrine. I shall remember that we were happy. May the gods watch over you.”
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