The Dragon Revenant

by Katharine Kerr

  Although Wylinth was only some sixty miles away, about three day’s ride, Salamander decided that they’d best approach it by a roundabout way. That first afternoon they headed dead west, following the river to the small town of Andirra, which sported only two inns, both, much to Salamander’s horror and Jill’s relief, of medium price and quality. Their performance, however, was a great success, as few traveling showmen came through Andirra. The head of the local merchant guild even invited them to meet some of the leading townsfolk at his house for a lavish supper, the perfect opportunity for Salamander to ask casual questions about the availability of exotic barbarian slaves. Although the merchant knew of none, he did remark that a slave trader, passing through on his way to Tondio, had asked him that very question just the week before.

  Once they were back in the privacy of their inn chamber, Jill asked Salamander whether he thought this mysterious trader, was the same man whose trail they’d crossed in Daradion.

  “I’d wager a goodly sum, truly. But how odd this is! If he’s asking questions of merchants, he can’t know how to scry. Unless, of course, he never saw Rhodry before, but why would the Dark Brotherhood send someone like that?”

  “Maybe he is just a trader. He might not be from the Dark Brotherhood at all.”

  “Then what about that poor little spirit I saw in Daradion? Oh, I don’t know, Jill! Ye gods, I feel like a farm-wife chasing chickens into her henhouse. Two pop out again for every blasted one that goes in!”

  The first time that Baruma saw the wolf, he thought nothing of it, because he was staying in an inn whose owner kept a pack of hunting dogs. He was by then traveling through the mountains in northern Surtinna, working his way closer to the Old One’s isolated estate but taking his time to allow the blood guild to recapture Rhodry, and he’d stopped for the night in a small town some miles east of Vardeth. Just at twilight he was crossing the courtyard on his way to his chamber after a dinner out, when he saw, on the far side of the compound, a large black dog standing and watching him as he went upstairs—an event of absolutely no moment, or so he thought at the time. Later that evening, he heard a paw scratch briefly at his door and a canine whine, but he ignored it. Sure enough, in a few minutes he heard human footsteps come down the hall, and at their approach, the scratching stopped, as if the dog had gone off with its master.

  The next time, however, he realized the truth. He had reached Vardeth and was staying in an expensive inn right down in the center of town near the Plaza of Government, the kind of establishment where large dogs are most unwelcome. Again at twilight he was crossing the walled garden when he saw the black creature drinking at the tiled fountain. This time he saw clearly that it was no dog, but an enormous wolf. When the beast raised its head to look at him, no water dripped from its jaws. Immediately Baruma threw up his hand and sketched a banishing sigil, but the wolf ignored it. Throwing back its head in a soundless howl, it loped toward him, snapped at him, and vanished as silently as it had come. Shaking a little, Baruma hurried to his suite. He was just barring the door behind him when he looked around and saw the wolf lolling on the divan.

  “Get out!”

  Here in the privacy of his chamber he could work a full banishing ritual, and this time the wolf did indeed disappear at his final command—only to come back with the dawn. When he opened his eyes, he found it standing on his chest and growling soundlessly into his face. With a barely stifled scream he sat up and began sketching the ritual. The wolf was so heavy when he threw it off that he knew it had been sent by someone with real skill in the dark arts; the thought-form had been ensouled with a great deal of magnetism. He was sure that it had been sent by one of his enemies in the circles of initiates and would-be initiates that buzzed around the dark dweomer like flies around manure; after all, his rivals had to try to remove him from competition just as surely as he had to best them. He concentrated on doing a thorough banishing this time, and when he was done, he set astral seals over himself as well.

  Yet at twilight the wolf came back. Over the next few days it dogged him wherever he went, ignoring his mighty curses by the Dark Names and his threats of demons and annihilation. Although it never tried to do him physical harm, still it frightened him, popping up at every corner, it seemed, or padding after him down dark streets. At times it invaded his dreams; at others, his dweomer practices. Finally it occurred to him that, the wolf might be something of a spy, sent by yet another faction of the continually squabbling members of the Dark Brotherhood. If the Hawkmaster wanted to know what the Old One was up to, others might, too. That night he took out his jug of consecrated black ink, poured it into the special silver basin, marked round with foul sigils, and set himself to contact the Old One and tell him of this unwelcome companion.

  Although Baruma had yet to become a member of the Outer Circle, he was no rank beginner, and he made the contact almost at once. On the surface of the pool of ink the Old One’s face spread out, trembling a little from the palsy that afflicted him in cold weather. While Baruma told his story, the Old One listened with half-closed eyes.

  “You were right to report this,” he said at last. “I’ve suspected for some time that someone else’s been tracking Rhodry down, and this confirms it.”

  “Indeed?” Baruma went a little cold—he should have known that not even a Hawkmaster could hide treachery from the Old One. “Well, it’s reasonable that they’d be the same ones who sent this wolf, then.”

  “It may be a wolf, but they are dogs—puppies, even.” The old man seemed to be chuckling to himself. “They misjudge me, my friend, because I look like a fat slug on a garden leaf, and they think I spend my days crawling in the slime. Huh. A man of power still lives inside this loathsome casing, as no doubt they’ll discover, soon or later.”

  “Er, sir? You don’t think this wolf could come from our old enemy, our ‘no one,’ do you?”

  “No, no, no, you fool! The idiots who follow the mincing dweomer of light would never do such a thing.” His mind-touch oozed contempt. “Them and their petty little strictures, fit for women and slaves and nothing more! But enough! If we have enemies, we’d better not risk being overheard. Come to me soon, but make sure nobody’s following you. I’d rather wait to see you than have the wrong people follow along after.”

  “Of course. I’ll be very very discreet.”

  Once he broke the vision, he allowed himself a smile. Be cautious, eh? The Old One himself had just given him a good reason to delay his trip to the villa. He was feeling splendidly smug until he turned around and saw the wolf, gnawing on one of his traveling bags. With a little hop like a skipping lamb, Baruma yelped aloud.

  Jill and Salamander arrived at Wylinth late in the next afternoon, with just enough time before sunset to rent a suite in the best inn that the place could offer. That evening, when they went to the marketplace to talk with the archon’s men about setting up a show, Jill kept a constant watch for Rhodry. Although she wanted to go door-to-door and ask for him at every house in the city, Salamander insisted that she be patient.

  “I have a scheme, turtledove, most subtle, recondite, and, or so I hope, foolproof.”

  “Listen, elf! I’ve had some experience of your wretched schemes, and they always take forever to unwind.”

  “Not forever. Merely a decent interval of time. Jill, trust me yet once again, will you? If we rush, we could ruin everything. So far we don’t have the slightest reason to think the dark dweomer is aware of our presence in this esteemed archipelago, while we’ve been warned of theirs. The longer such remains the case, the happier, indeed the healthier, we shall all be.”

  “Well, true spoken. But if we haven’t found him in an eightnight, then I’m going to start asking around.”

  “Fair’enough. An eightnight it is.”

  At least twice a week one or another of Alaena’s women friends would invite her over to tell fortunes. Although all the women in her set dabbled in astrology, the tiles, and other forms of divination, only she had
any talent for it. The women took these sessions in deadly seriousness, even though Alaena foretold mostly small events such as a letter from an old friend or a visit from a relative. They were hoping she’d see the possibility of a romance, because in Bardek wealthy married women often had sentimental love affairs and no one thought the worse of them for it, provided that they never deserted their children or flaunted their lovers in their husband’s face. Since these affairs were their chief entertainment, they would crouch for hours over the tiles as Alaena studied them for omens of romance.

  One afternoon Malina did try to read Alaena’s tiles for her, out of fairness’ sake, when they were lunching with another friend, Eldani, a matron of about Malina’s age. After Alaena picked her tiles, the older woman frowned at them for a long time, then began saying a few chopped phrases, obviously memorized whole by rote.

  “The Prince of Birds is good fortune, but it’s next to the Three of Spears, so it’s flawed. I’m sorry, Alaena. I just don’t have your gift.”

  “It takes practice, that’s all, and you’ve got to make a story out of them. You can put in things you know about me, you see, to fill the story out a little.”

  Malina frowned at the tiles again, spoke a few more hesitant clichés, then sighed.

  “I just can’t find any story. I feel so selfish. Here you always do ours, but you never get yours done. Or can you give yourself a reading?”

  “Not very well.”

  “Maybe that marketplace wizard tells fortunes.” Eldani broke in. “Have you heard if he does?”

  “I didn’t even know he existed,” Alaena said.

  “His show sounds like lots of fun. My husband saw it last night, when he was on his way to the guild meeting. He’s this funny-looking man in a long red robe, but he can do all sorts of amazing tricks.”

  “I heard about that,” Malina said. “Cook was quite excited when she came home from doing the marketing. The wizard could make fire leap out of his hands, she said, and lights of all different colors. It’s clear he’s doing it with some kind of powders and chemicals, but she says that the effect was quite lovely.”

  “At night it certainly would be,” Alaena said. “Maybe I’ll go down and watch.”

  “Alaena!” Malina was scandalized. “You can’t go down there with the common crowd at night!”

  “Why not?” Eldani’s smile turned entirely too limpid. “Our ‘Laen loves to be daring.”

  Alaena smiled in return.

  “Why not? I’m much too young to paint mats day and night like you do, dear.”

  Malina leaned forward with a flutter of hands. “Maybe we should all go see this wizard, and take escorts, and then it won’t be daring at all.”

  “Well, I suppose,” Eldani said. “Or will Alaena bring her footman?”

  Rhodry felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. Malina’s expression turned so fierce that Eldani shrank back.

  “If nothing else,” Malina went on. “It will give us something new to think about.”

  “Yes, of course.” Eldani forced out a normal sort of smile. “Or I know—what if we gave a party and hired the wizard to perform?”

  “Wonderful idea!” Malina snatched at the change of subject. “If it doesn’t rain, he could do his show out in the garden, and it would be absolutely lovely among the trees. I’m sure he’d come if I offered him enough.”

  “It would certainly give dear Tannilan something to think about,” Alaena said. “Do you remember those awful acrobats she hired for her last party?”

  “I certainly remember the airs she gave herself afterwards.”

  The tiles forgotten, the three women leaned forward over the table and began to plan.

  “It’s driven me half-mad, that’s all!” Even though he was trying to project a calm self-control, Baruma knew his mental image was snarling. “Every time I turn around I see that demon-spawn wolf, growling at me.”

  “Can it hurt you?” the Old One thought in return.

  “I don’t know. It resists all my banishings.”

  Floating on the pool of darkness the Old One’s image grew thoughtful.

  “It was sent by a man of power, then, not one of your rival journeymen. I was afraid of this. Some of my rivals in the Brotherhood know I’ve got an important piece of work on hand, and obviously they’re meddling. Well, when you come back, we’ll do a working and follow this wolf to its den. Finding out who lives nearby should prove very interesting. In the meantime, think of it as a test of your courage.”

  With a flick of his hand, the Old One broke contact, and nothing that Baruma could do would bring him back again.

  For some days messages from Malina had been arriving at Alaena’s house. Yes, the wizard would perform; yes, he did do fortunes; by the way, Malina was going to wear a blue dress, so if Alaena would wear another color, it would be sweet. The day before the party, the mistress sent Rhodry down to the market to refill a vial with her usual perfume. As he made his way through the booths, he heard a lot of people talking about the Great Krysello and his wondrous show.

  “Hanged if I know how he docs it,” the perfumer said. “He has a maidservant, though, who seems to be more a partner than a slave, and two big braziers belching incense. He’s got to be using chemicals.”

  “I’m sure of it,” said the fruit seller in the next stall. “You can find some strange things for sale if you go to the big markets on the coast, they say. It’s really amazing, though, to see him shoot blue flames right out of his fingertips. It’s got to be a pretty risky process when you think about it.”

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing that,” Rhodry said. “He must be doing pretty well for himself.”

  “Oh, by the Wave-father’s beard! How well is he doing? Him and his barbarian girl are staying at the Inn of the Seven Lamps, that’s how well!”

  Properly impressed, Rhodry whistled under his breath, then happened to glance down to see a gray gnome a few feet away. The little creature was staring at him, and when he moved away, it followed, hesitantly at first, then with a rush to grab the hem of his tunic and dance up and down. Rhodry glanced around, saw no one looking his way, and hunkered down on the pretense of adjusting the ties of his sandals.

  “You look familiar, sure enough, little brother. Didn’t I last see you in Deverry? I don’t remember where, though.”

  The gnome clutched its head in distress, then disappeared.

  At sunset on the night of the party Rhodry escorted his lady’s litter to Malina’s compound. Five other litters were already there, with their bearers hunkered down beside them under the watchful eye of Malina’s gatekeeper and one of her footmen. Although Rhodry would have preferred staying with them and away from the prying eyes of society women, Alaena ordered him to come inside with her. Malina had outdone herself for the party. All through her lush garden tiny oil lamps glittered, and clusters of braided ribands augmented the last flowers of the season. Here and there people were wandering around, talking and laughing, or were already seated on little benches near an improvised stage, hung with red-and-gold banners, where two brass braziers stood in readiness. When he noticed more than a few of the guests giving him a good looking-over, Rhodry became profoundly nervous, wondering if his mistress would insist on his ecorting her like a free man. As they passed a group of the curious, though, she made a point of telling him, in a clear and carrying voice, that he was to go help Malina’s cook with the dinner. Before she could contradict herself, Rhodry went straight to the refuge of the slaves’ quarters.

  The kitchen was a madhouse fogged with delicious-smelling steam. In one corner two saves were frantically rolling out rounds of bread and slapping them onto a crackling-hot bakestone; at the hearth huge pots of spiced vegetables simmered while the cook rushed back and forth to stir them, tasting one pot here, adding something to another there, and yelling orders over her shoulder the whole while. Other slaves were chopping fruit, filling condiment bowls, sugaring little cakes and arranging nuts and sweetmeats on platters
. Just outside he could see a couple of men roasting a whole hog at an open fire. The cook glanced at Rhodry, pushed sweaty hair up off her forehead, and pointed to a four-foot-high amphora near the door.

  “The dippers are on that little shelf. Take the wine out to the serving table. The cups are already there.”

  With the help of a young boy, Rhodry wrestled the amphora outside and got its pointed bottom planted in a flower bed near the table. Guests promptly appeared, holding out eager hands. For the next hour he was kept too busy serving wine to worry about proprieties. He did have time to notice that a whole horde of Wildfolk had materialized around him. They seemed hysterically excited about something, leaping up and down, pulling on his tunic, dashing back and forth under the table and even occasionally pinching one of the guests. Once the meal was laid out and everyone served, he filled a silver pitcher with wine and wandered around the garden to refresh the guests’ cups. He found Alaena talking to her brother-in-law and his wife. While he poured, she barely glanced his way, holding out the flat, stemmed wine cup with an automatic hand. The Wildfolk danced around him as he continued on.

  All at once a gong sounded. With a bemused smile, Malina’s husband stepped out on the stage and announced that the Great Wizard, Krysello of the Far North, was ready to begin. Laughing and scurrying, the guests found seats. Rhodry went back to the serving table, which had a close if sideways view of the stage. He poured himself a cup of wine, then perched on the corner of the table in a crowd of Wildfolk just as the red-and-gold drapes parted and a slender man in a long red robe appeared. His hair was so moonbeam pale, his eyes so smoky a gray, that Rhodry swore aloud.

  “By the gods,” he whispered in Deverrian. “He’s half an elf at the very least.”

  The Wildfolk nodded their agreement and clustered close as a whole flock of their kind materialized on stage, so suddenly and dramatically that Rhodry glanced around, half-expecting that everyone else would have seen them, too.