The Dragon Revenant

by Katharine Kerr

  After catching sight of Rhodry, Gwin left the city and rode north, rejoining his allies some three hours past dawn only to find the toad still asleep. They were camped some twelve miles outside the city walls of Wylinth with the small caravan that provided the rationale for their traveling around the islands. Although Pirrallo sometimes claimed to be a slave trader, keeping actual slaves with eyes to see things and mouths to blab them would have been far too risky; instead, they had a string of twenty-odd horses for sale or trade and two stock handlers who were in fact lesser initiates of the Hawks. Gwin himself was supposed to be Pirrallo’s property, just because owning one barbarian gave the toad a reason for asking to buy another, a ruse that rankled, because the stigma of having been born into slavery stuck to him wherever he went, even among those who followed the dark paths. Until the summer before he’d faced or fought it down when he could and took a perverse pride in it when he couldn’t, but his brief trip through Deverry had turned his views on life and his self upside down. He’d spent a long time thinking about this change in himself, and he decided that simply living among free men had brought it about, but, of course, deeper levels of the soul and memory were working on him, more deeply than he could know. Although Gwin was no true barbarian—his father had been a Bardek man though his mother, a Deverry girl—he’d felt in some odd way that Deverry was home, that he’d been trapped all his life unknowing in a foreign exile, and that, of course, the exile would continue without hope.

  His one comfort these days was knowing that the other two Hawks hated Pirrallo as much as he did. After all, Brinonno and Vandar stood to die, too, if their toad-spy turned the Hawkmaster against them. That morning, the three of them sat at the cold campfire and ate stale bread and last night’s vegetables while Pirrallo snored in his tent on the other side of the campground. Vandar even said aloud what all of them were thinking, that he hoped the fat fool would do something stupid and get himself killed or arrested when they reached Wylinth.

  “Not too likely, unfortunately,” Gwin said. “He knows his work, all right.”

  “You don’t suppose he’s scrying us out right now, do you?” Brinonno said with a start. “And listening to what we’re saying?”

  “I doubt it very much.” Gwin allowed himself a twisted smile. “You know what his big flaw is? He loves himself so much that it never occurs to him that other men hate him.”

  “I’m willing to bet he doesn’t have much power for scrying, anyway,” Vandar put in. “Always bragging, yes, but why are we wandering all over, playing out this elaborate hoax, if he can really scry for Rhodry? I know he’s never seen the barbarian himself, but you have, and a real master can work through someone else’s eyes.”

  “Only if that someone’s willing to let him crush his will.” Gwin felt his voice turn flat. “By the Clawed Ones themselves, if he tried to put his toad’s paw on the back of my neck, I’d knock him halfway to Hell, and I think he knows it.” Then he laughed in self-mockery. “Not that it’s fear of me that’s holding him back, mind. No, when he arrived, he announced that there were fresh orders from the Hawkmaster. He had reason to think that it would be dangerous to scry too much, or use much dweomer for anything, for that matter. Pirrallo didn’t tell me why.”

  “Probably the master didn’t tell him,” Brinonno said.

  “Maybe not.” Vandar stood up, stretching. “But the little pig-bugger was probably lying, too. Well, I’m going to water the stock. It’s shaping up for a warm day, now the rain’s gone.”

  When the two walked off together, Gwin sat by the fire and considered them. Doubdess they would tell the Hawkmaster everything he’d said, especially if it would save their own skins later, but he was sure they’d let nothing slip to Pirrallo. Since in his own way Gwin was a good judge of men, he knew honest hatred when he saw it.

  “Salamander?” Jill said. “Can you tell fortunes?”

  “I can, but I wouldn’t use true dweomer for such a stupid game.”

  “I was wondering about that.”

  “These dies that Bardek women play around with? All they do is focus your intuition. I shall make up some highly colored, titillating, and thus satisfying blather for the Lady Alaena that more or less fits when I intuit about her, and into this spicy stew I shall weave all the bits of information I picked up about her at the party.”

  “Weave things into a stew?”

  “Not my best turn of phrase, truly.” Salamander waved the lapse away with a languid hand. “I wouldn’t tell fortunes at all, except it’s such a perfect way to get into her house. It would be wretchedly rude of me to just go marching up to her door and ask if she’d sell me her exotic slave. First I’ll get her confidence; then, most cleverly, dripping with guile, I shall work the talk round to my pressing need of another barbarian for our show.”

  “Very well, then. You’ve been right enough so far.”

  “I’m always right,” Salamander lolled back onto the cushions and saluted her with his wine cup. “But what particular occasion of my lightness earns your praise?”

  “Finding Rhodry, of course. I owe you an apology. I thought it was daft, staying in the best inn, playing up to rich women, and here you were right all along.”

  “Ah. Well, who else could afford him but some wealthy house?”

  “So I see. Now.”

  Salamander smiled, then gestured at the elaborate breakfast of cold meats and spiced vegetables.

  “Eat, my turtledove.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Try. Anxiety is like worms—it thrives in an empty gut.”

  In spite of herself Jill had to laugh. She took a slice of spiced pork, wrapped it in a round of bread, and forced down a couple of bites.

  “But what if she won’t sell him?”

  “I’ll think of somewhat, never fear. Now eat! We are due at her palatial residence in but an hour or so, and we must bathe and dress in our very gaudiest finery. After all, we have reputations as barbarians to keep up.”

  When, wearing red-and-gold silk and brocade, and smelling of roses and violets, Jill and Salamander presented themselves to Alaena’s gatekeeper, the old man seemed more amused than impressed, but he did show them straight into the garden, where a pretty young maidservant was waiting to take them to the reception chamber, Even though Jill normally didn’t care for the Bardekian style of art, when she saw the airy trees and the brightly painted birds, she was charmed. The feeling the wall decorations gave her was somehow familiar, too, and all at once she found herself remembering the painted tents of the Elcyion Lacar. Before she could ask Salamander about the similarity, Alaena came through a side door to join them.

  Dressed in simple white linen, set off only by a chain necklace of what looked like solid gold, Alaena greeted them with great courtesy and had them join her on the dias. After they’d settled themselves on velvet cushions around a low table, the maidservant brought in plates of dried fruit and sweetmeats and cups of sweet wine.

  “And the box of tiles, too, Disna,” Alaena said.

  “Yes, mistress.” The girl went over to an ebony cabinet. “They’re right here where Rhodry usually puts them.”

  At the mention of her footman’s name, the mistress’s expression grew oddly strained, and she glanced at Salamander in a manner that was almost furtive before a bland smile blossomed. Disna brought over the box, set it down, and took off the fid.

  “You may go now,” Alaena said. “Tell the cook to make orangeade. This wine is too strong for morning.”

  “Her exalted loveliness is most kind to a humble wizard,” Salamander said.

  “The humble wizard is most kind to come at her request. Disna, I said go.”

  As the girl, who’d been hovering all a-twitch with curiosity, scurried out, Alaena dumped the tiles out of the box and began mixing them in a well-practiced thunder. She had lovely hands, Jill thought, slender and graceful, with long fingernails that had been stained a tasteful orange-red with annatto seeds and polished to such a glossy perfection
that Jill found herself hiding her own calloused fingers and bitten nails in her lap. She also noticed that Salamander was watching the lady with a warm sort of appraisal of his own, approving of more than her hands as she laid out a selection of tiles in a star-shaped pattern.

  “Aha.” Salamander leaned over the table. “I see many things, dark, hidden, recondite, a time for pain followed by rejoicing, laughter followed by tears, shafts of sun breaking through clouds, storms followed by sunsets of peace.”

  With a delighted little shiver, Alaena stared at the tiles.

  “I see you standing at a crossroads in life, oh favored one of the Star Maidens. Look at the Flowers blooming among Spears. The Raven is crying out, but he will be silenced. First of all …” He paused to lay one finger on the Ten of Flowers. “You have many loyal friends who care for your welfare. They have been worried about you, worried to see you fretting and listless, no doubt, over the question of whether to remarry soon or to wait and see what the waves of Life wash up on your shore. Always you must worry about being loved for yourself. There are some suitors who would marry your investments and your connections with the great trading houses.”

  “That’s exactly right!” Her breathy voice held a note of childlike excitement. “Some are so blatant about it, good sir, why, you’d hardly believe their lack of tact!”

  “Alas, I fear me that I’d believe it all too well, knowing as I do the hearts of men.” He frowned at the tiles for a long, dramatic moment. “I see a young man from another island here, a handsome man, but arrogant.”

  “Why, yes!”

  “His youth tempted you, and his virility, because a great sorrow in your life is that you’ve never had children.”

  “Yes.” Her voice wavered with real pain. “That’s true, too. But he had other flaws.”

  “I can see them quite clearly. Fear not—you made the right decision. But now, alas, you wait, your mind running first one way, then another, while you wonder if your life will simply peter out, like a stream spent in the desert that buries itself in the sand. Yet few would pity you, because of your wealth.”

  “I find it hard to pity myself, good sorcerer. I’ve been very poor in my life, and I know just how lucky I am now.”

  “And yet, something gnaws you, an emptiness. Hum, I see that it makes you desperate at times. Now what’s this? I see a great threat of scandal, but I can’t seem to divine its cause.”

  At that exact moment Rhodry came in with a tray of glass goblets and a glass pitcher of orangeade. He glanced at Jill, then at Alaena in a kind of tormented desperation, and blushed scarlet.

  “Terrible, terrible scandal,” Salamander was saying. “Do you see the Queen of Wands? You must be like her, so full of righteousness that none can impugn you, so strong that you can dismiss enemies with the flick of a single finger.”

  Rhodry put the tray down, backed noiselessly away, and fled the room. Although Alaena never acknowledged his presence, Jill was certain that only an iron self-control kept her from blushing in turn. She looked up and waved a vague hand at the pitcher.

  “Jillanna, would you pour? I simply can’t stop listening to Krysello’s reading.”

  “Of course, my lady.” Jill would rather have slit her throat, but she smiled, and smiled again as she passed the goblets round.

  “Now, after the trouble passes—and it will pass, I promise you this, oh vision of feminine perfection—I see happy times ahead. There are those who would love you for yourself alone. One man I see, shy, filled with humility, whose feeling of unworthiness is all that keeps him from speaking. Wait! I see two such—one barely known to you; another who is an old friend. The friend travels for the winter, far away it seems, although the dies cannot tell me where. The new acquaintance hovers closer at hand than you would ever think.”

  “By the Stars themselves! I wonder who …” Alaena bit her lower lip and thought hard. “Do go on, good sorcerer.”

  Salamander managed to stretch out the reading for a good five minutes by the judicious selection of platitudes and vagaries. After Alaena had asked a few questions, she turned the talk to his travels throughout the country. As usual Salamander reveled in the chance to tell a long and involved tale, most of it embroidery, some of it lies, especially since she listened with a flattering intensity.

  “But don’t you have some home of your own,” she said at last. “Back in the barbarian kingdom?”

  “No, oh pinnacle of charm and graciousness. All roads are my home, and the swelling sea. I have my Jillanna here to cheer my lonely hours and share my labors.”

  “I see.” Alaena gave her a perfectly friendly smile. “Do you find it a hard life?”

  “Oh no. I love to wander.”

  “It’s a good thing.” The mistress turned her attention back to the wizard. “But it must be sad in a way, always packing up and moving on.”

  “What it is, is a lot of hard labor, actually. I’ve been thinking about buying a slave now that my career is progressing so well, a strong young man to load up the horses and so on. Of course, what I really need is a fellow barbarian.”

  “You can’t have mine!” Her voice was a child’s snarl; then she looked absolutely stricken. “Oh, forgive me! I’m so sorry I was rude! It’s just that everyone’s always trying to buy my footman from me, and I simply won’t sell.” She managed a smile. “It just gets so tedious, having everyone always ask.”

  “It must be, and truly, I would rather have your harsh words than some other woman’s blandishments. Anyway, what I was wondering is where you bought him. That trader might have others from time to time.”

  “Rhodry was a gift from that arrogant young man you saw in my tiles, so I don’t know where he came from. One doesn’t ask, with gifts.” She picked up the pitcher with a perfectly calm hand. “More orangeade?”

  They chatted for some time longer before Salamander announced that they had to take their leave, because after the noon meal and the afternoon nap they had appointments at other houses round town, as more than one fine lady had wanted her fortune told. When they left, a good bit richer thanks to Alaena’s generosity, Jill was wondering how she was going to be able to stay awake, sitting in perfumed rooms and listening to his blather. She said as much to him once they were back in the privacy of their suite in the Inn of the Seven Lamps.

  “Blather, indeed!” Salamander looked sincerely wounded. “I thought I put on one of my best performances ever this morning.”

  “Well, she certainly was impressed. Did you pick up most of that stuff at the party?”

  “I did, truly. Odd, isn’t it? People who pay to have their fortunes told never seem to realize how easy it is to learn all about them beforehand. That scandal, however? That came straight from the dies, practically off the little scroll of meanings you get when you buy a box. I figured that any woman as beautiful as she is would be bound to have at least one scandal in the offing.”

  “No doubt, the frothing bitch!”

  “Jill!”

  “Well, ye gods, are you blind? Of course she’s up to her neck in scandal! Or does polite society in the islands honor women who bed their slaves?”

  Salamander’s face went through a spasm of puzzlement, modulating to outright shock and finally a sly sort of glee.

  “She’s been rumpling her blankets with my dear brother? How perfectly splendid!”

  Jill grabbed a wine pitcher and heaved it straight at his head. With a squawk he ducked barely in time, and the silver pitcher cracked a tile on the wall and fell dented to the floor.

  “A thousand apologies, oh fierce eagle of the mountains. I seem to have forgotten how the thing would look to you, of course.” His voice was a bit shaky. “Uh, you do accept my apology? No more flying tableware?”

  “Oh of course, but I’m sorry I missed, you heartless dolt!”

  “It’s not a question of being heartless but of scenting victory. Don’t you see? This is the exact lever we need to pry Rhodry out of her household. Well, well, well—sca
ndal indeed, and also a great relief to my ethical sensibilities. By winkling her exotic barbarian out of her household, I’m but doing her a favor—getting him out of town before said town can talk of naught else but the lovely widow and the footman!”

  “True spoken, but how are you going to convince her of that?”

  “A good question, my little turtledove. A very good question indeed. While I ponder, brood, and meditate upon it, how about fetching us the noon meal? I can never think properly on an empty stomach.”

  Some hours before sunset they presented themselves at the door of Malina’s compound. Since the afternoon was warm and still, the mistress of the house and her two daughters received them out in the garden, at a table under a bower of pale pink bouganvillea. While Salamander predicted that the daughters would make splendid marriages and hinted of possible suitors, Jill half-drowsed over a cup of wine. Once their fortunes were told, Malina sent the girls away so the wizard could read her tiles in private. After a few platitudes, Salamander struck.

  “Now, I don’t like the look of this, my dear lady, the Four of Swords so near to the Two of Flowers. I greatly fear that some friend of yours—no, closer than an ordinary friend—some dear and treasured companion will be touched by painful scandal.”

  Jill was suddenly wide-awake and all attention. Malina had gone a bit white about the mouth.

  “The tiles also tell me that you’ve been worried about something distressing. May I guess that the two things are related?”

  “It would be a clever guess, yes. Um, I don’t suppose you’d tell anyone what you saw in someone else’s tiles?”

  “Normally, no, but I felt very sorry for Alaena.”

  Malina winced.

  “She’s so vulnerable, isn’t she?” the lady went on. “And the city’s full of envious snips who love to say terrible things about her. Her life would have been so different if only she’d had children. Her husband was much older than she, you see. Oh by the Fire-mountain herself! If you could only have seen her when Nineldar brought her home! Just fourteen years old, a child who should have been playing with dolls, and as thin as a stick. It made me weep to see the beautiful face on that skinny little stick of a body, like a flower on a stalk. Nineldar wasn’t a bad man, only so lonely, and he honestly pitied her when he found her for sale. He brought the child to me and begged me to teach her how to be a wife.”