The Dragon Revenant

by Katharine Kerr

  “Is somewhat wrong?” Rhodry said.

  “Naught. It’s just been such a strange road to ride lately.”

  “Now that is true spoken with a vengeance.” He turned to Salamander. “Here, elder brother, since you seem to know so much, how did I get to these blasted islands, anyway? All I remember is waking up in the hold of a ship in a Bardek port, and there was a man named Gwin who seemed to be my friend and a man named Baruma who was a demon-spawned enemy from the third hell. We traveled round for a bit, and then they sold me to a man named Brindemo in Myleton.”

  “That comely and erudite slave trader we have already met, and from him we heard some of your sad story.” Salamander paused to frown into his wine cup. “Gwin, I know not, but Baruma—ah, Baruma! Jill first learned of him in the Bilge at Cerrmor, where, apparently, he had you knocked over the head and taken prisoner. Remember any of that?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “And then they loaded you onto a ship and took you off to Slaith, a secret pirate haven in the Auddglyn. I doubt me if you remember that, either.”

  “I don’t. By all the ice in all the hells, I don’t even remember being in Cerrmor or why I went there in the first place.”

  “A wretched shame, too, because my curiosity’s been pricking at me for weeks over that. At any rate, in Slaith you and your hideous captors took ship and sailed to Bardek, and somewhere along the way Baruma—I suspect at least that the most loathsome Baruma is responsible—ensorceled you and broke your memory into little shreds.”

  “I remember somewhat of that.” Rhodry stood up with a convulsive, automatic shudder. “It wasn’t pleasant.”

  “No doubt.” Salamander’s voice turned soft. “No doubt.”

  With a shake of his head Rhodry paced back to the window. Although Jill wanted to go to him, she doubted that he’d tolerate sympathy. Brooding on the pain Baruma had caused him made her rage swell and burn like fever in her blood.

  “Ye gods!” Salamander hissed. “What is that?”

  In the corner stood the wolf, quite solid-looking though glimmering, his tail wagging gently, his tongue lolling as he watched Jill’s face, for all the world like a dog awaiting his master’s next command. What surprised Jill the most, though, was that Rhodry could see him, too. He drew back, then shrugged and held out his hand. The wolf sniffed it, tail still at the wag, then looked at Jill again.

  “Uh well,” she said. “He’s mine, actually. I uh, well, I don’t quite know how I did it, but I sort of built him one night when I was doing my exercises.”

  “Well-built he is.” Salamander sounded furious. “What did you feed him on, hatred and rage?”

  “And why shouldn’t I, after what’s happened to Rhodry? I was thinking of vengeance, and the death-wolves of the Dark Sun, and—”

  “I can see that, you idiot! What happened then?”

  “Well, he seemed to … well … go off on his own.”

  “Truly on his own?” Salamander’s voice held cold steel.

  “Uh, well, I did sort of send him after Baruma.”

  At that name the wolf leapt out the window and disappeared. Salamander swore in several languages for a good long minute.

  “My apologies, turtledove, because when the apprentice makes a truly ghastly mistake like this, it’s the teacher’s fault. Oh ye gods and all your nipples! What have I done?”

  “What’s so wrong?”

  Salamander looked at her, started to speak several times, then merely shook his head.

  “There are ethics in these things, turtledove, and you’ve just countered every one of them, to send a thing like that out into the world. You didn’t know, mind—I blame myself, and I’ll take whatever blame anyone else cares to lay on me—but it was an ill-done thing all the same. There are dangers, too, because Baruma has a blasted sight more power than you, and if he decides to follow the wolf back to its owner, well, he’ll find us, good and proper.”

  At that Jill went cold all over. “Ethics” was a new and strange word to her, but danger she could understand. All at once Rhodry laughed, and for that moment he looked his old self, the berserker grin slashed into his face.

  “Let him,” Rhodry said. “Let him track us down—if he dares. When Baruma was about to sell me off, I swore him a vow, that someday I’d slit his throat for him. Here, Jill, can you forgive me? The bastard’s got my silver dagger. He took it from me, and there was naught I could do about it.”

  “Forgive you? There’s naught to forgive, but it aches my heart. Do you remember the man who gave it to you? Cullyn of Cerrmor? My father?”

  “I don’t, or wait—I think I do remember his face, and that I respected him more than any man I’d ever met. By the Lord of Hell’s balls! Then I want that dagger back more than ever.” His voice was so quiet that he might have been discussing the loan of a couple of coppers, but the smile was etched even deeper into his face. “I want it badly, I do, so let him come after us if he wants. I’ll be waiting for him.”

  When Jill laughed with a crow of vengeance, Salamander looked back and forth between them, his eyes filled with misgiving and a touch of fear.

  “You two make a fine pair, truly,” the gerthddyn said at last. “And I certainly wouldn’t wish either of you on some other hapless soul. The gods were provident when they brought you together.”

  Although all of them laughed, desperately trying to lighten the dark things they discussed, Jill felt oddly cold and weary at the jest. Of course we belong together, she told herself. I’ll never leave my Rhodry again, never! And yet, deep in her heart, she wondered where the dweomer road would take her, wondered now, when it was far too late to turn back.

  For some time, while the evening grew darker and the room filled with shadow, they talked, trying to piece together what had happened back in Deverry, just a few months ago for all that it seemed another century now. Talking grew harder and harder, because they were always coming up against horrible things, pain and torture and the dark dweomer itself—the worst perversion of all, truly, that someone would twist the workings of the Light into darkness and death. Finally they all fell silent, staring idly across the room, looking, it seemed, at anything rather than each other. Jill got up, started a taper burning at the charcoal brazier, then lit the oil lamps to give herself something to do, but she was close to tears, feeling that Rhodry had never been farther away from her. Yet after some moments of this queasy silence Salamander showed a tact that Jill had never suspected he possessed. He stood up, stretching in a lazy way, and announced that he was going to the tavern downstairs.

  “And I think me I’m going to visit more than one tavern tonight. I don’t like all these dark and dour warnings of evil dweomer all around us, but I don’t dare scry, either. We shall see what eyes and ears can do, unaided by mighty magicks, to pick up news, rumors, and hints of peculiar people and sinister doings.”

  “Is that safe?” Rhodry said.

  “It is, because I’m well-known, remember, and popular to boot, the famous and amusing wizard who’s entertained the town on many a happy eve. Do you think these good folk would stand by and see me murdered or abducted? I shall gather a crowd about me wherever I go, and that will be a better shield than one any weaponer could make.”

  “You’re right, truly,” Jill said. “How long will you be gone?”

  “Hours. If I’m not back at dawn, then come after me, but don’t worry until then. We barbarian witch-sorcerers have been known to carouse all night.”

  Salamander grabbed the red cloak, lined with gold-colored satin, that matched his brocaded robes, and left with a courtly bow to them both. Jill shut the door behind him, then turned round to see Rhodry back at the window, his hands clutching the sill as he stared blindly out. For a moment she watched him in utter misery, as if he were an invalid, sick so badly and for so long that she could no longer tell if he’d recover or not. Finally he sighed and turned to face her. The silence flowed around them like water, deep and threatening.

 
“I don’t know what to say,” Jill burst out at last.

  “No more do I. Ah by the hells, I’ve listened to enough stinking words for one evening anyway.”

  When he caught her by the shoulders and kissed her, she felt the distance between them close. No matter what had happened to his mind, his body remembered her, and hers recognized him, too, whether or not her mind considered him changed. As long as she was wrapped in his arms, she could pretend that nothing had ever gone wrong, and from the desperate way he made love to her, she knew that he was pretending, too.

  In the morning they woke to the sound of Salamander bustling round and throwing things into saddlebags and mule packs. Although he was singing under his breath as he worked, the tune was off-key and nervous to boot. When they came out of their chamber, he greeted them with an imperious waggle of his hand.

  “We’ll eat on the road,” he announced. “I want to get out of this town now, before our lovely Alaena changes her mind, or our enemies decide to cause trouble of some sort.”

  “Will we be safe on the road?” Jill said.

  “Of course we won’t, but then, we won’t be safe here, either, so we might as well travel and see more of the glorious islands. Don’t throw that lamp at me, Jill my turtledove! A mere jest, that’s all. Actually I have a plan in mind, most cunning and devious. We’ve got to set Rhodry free sooner or later, and that’s no simple matter. There are depositions to be sworn in front of priests, and a statement to be recorded by a city scribe, and so on and so forth. In the very center of this island is a high plateau, and in the center of that is a city, the beauteous and renowned Pastedion, and in the center of that is a particularly splendid temple of Dalae-oh-Contremo, the Wave-father, he who protects unjustly treated slaves. We shall go there, beg for sanctuary, and lay a formal, legal complaint against our Baruma—for selling a free barbarian on false pretenses. The archons will be duty-bound to investigate, and while they carry out their ponderous workings, we shall be reasonably safe. Who knows? If they can find Baruma, they might even drag him into court.”

  “Oh might they now?” Jill said. “So these archons are good for somewhat, are they?”

  “You shall see, my petite partridge, the advantages of civilized life. We’ll have a strong case, because I have the original bill of sale, which looks forged, at least to my elven eyes. When we visited the lovely Brindemo in his private chambers? I saw it on the writing table in the corner, and I snagged it while you were talking to his son—the bill of sale, that is, not the writing table, which was a bit large for even an accomplished wizard to conceal.”

  “Civilized life indeed!”

  “One small thing,” Rhodry broke in, and he wasn’t smiling. “I swore I’d slit his throat, and that’s one vow I’ll hold to even if it kills me. Do you understand? Gwerbret or not, I won’t leave Bardek until I watch him die, and if the archon’s men torture me to death for it, well, that’s a price I’ve vowed to pay.”

  The silence in the room was profound. Finally Salamander sighed.

  “You know, beloved younger brother of mine, you might well get your chance to kill him long before we reach Pastedion, if our wretched rotten luck runs true to form and our enemies catch us on the road. If not, we’ll worry about reaching safety first and murdering Baruma second. Agreed?”

  Rhodry did smile, then, a bitter, ugly twist of his mouth, but he said nothing. Jill decided that there was no use arguing with him, at least not at the moment.

  “We’d best take a roundabout way to this place,” she said. “The longer we pretend to be traveling wizards, the better.”

  “You are correct, my owlet. We’ll head back to the coast first and perform our wonders in the harbor towns to the north. You know, I think I’m getting a feel for the wizard business. I keep getting all sorts of new ideas for the show.”

  The great wizard and his newly augmented crew were a full day gone by the time the news finally reached the Wylinth market place: the widow Alaena had sold her handsome barbarian slave to Krysello for his traveling show, and on one of her sudden whims, too. The conventional wisdom said that he must have offered her a tremendous amount of money, which confirmed everyone’s suspicions that the performer was as rich as an archon. The local gossips were outraged, seeing their delicious scandal gone all sour; surely Alaena wouldn’t have sold him if, as rumored, she’d been having an affair with the boy. For reasons of their own, of course, Gwin and Pirrallo were equally annoyed when they heard the news.

  “Too bad you took your time,” Gwin said with a less than pleasant smile. “If you’d only been willing to make your move as soon as I found him, we could have just bought him ourselves.”

  “Hold your ugly tongue! We’ll catch up with them on the road, that’s all, and if this stupid juggler won’t sell peacefully, then he’ll die.”

  “Oh? And I suppose you can tell me which way they went, then.”

  Pirrallo started to speak, then drew himself up to full height.

  “Of course! But I need privacy to work. Don’t you or the others come near me till I’m done.”

  Gwin watched him stride off in a huff and wondered why he was so sure that Pirrallo was going to lead them in the wrong direction. He wondered even more why he was pleased.

  Outside Gwerbret Blaen’s great hall the dark sky let down thick ropes of snow, swaying in the wind. Inside, a thousand candles winked light off silver goblets and jeweled table daggers, the two enormous hearths roared with flame, and laughter and talk whistled round the enormous room like the wind outside. Nearly a hundred lords and ladies feasted at tables set as close to the gwerbret’s as room would allow, while on the far side of the hall their escorts and Blaen’s own warband dined on the same fine fare. It was the shortest day of the year, and while it was no true holiday, not like Samaen or Beltane, Blaen always held a grand feast in the sun’s honor, simply because his father always had. He in turn had gotten the idea from his wife, Graeca, Lovyan’s sister; as lasses the women had lived on the Eldidd border, where men had picked up a number of strange customs from the people they called the Westfolk.

  Every now and then he looked over to his right, where his wife headed up a table of her own. Since by then Canyffa’s pregnancy was showing noticeably, he worried about her overtiring herself, but she was chatting with her guests and laughing like a lass, very much at her ease and apparently surprised at how well everything was going, just as if she hadn’t spent frantic days planning every detail of the feast with the chamberlain, steward, and head cook. To make sure that the drink was as good as the meat, Canyffa had hired a temporary servitor, too, Twdilla the alemaker. Two days before the feast, the snow had suddenly stopped, much to everyone’s surprise, and Twdilla and her husband had triumphantly driven their wagonload of barrels into town.

  At the moment, over in the curve of the wall by the riders’ hearth, Twdilla presided over several of those by-now nicely settled barrels, dipping out tankard after tankard full for the serving lasses to pass around. Since Blaen very badly wanted a word with her, he mentally cursed the finely woven web of noble privilege that kept him over on his side of the great hall, but curse or not, he was forced to wait. After the honeycake and the last of the year’s apples were served, the bard played, presenting his newly composed declamation in Blaen’s honor while the guests were still overfed into quiet, then switching to the well-known tale of King Bran’s founding of the Holy City when they began to chatter, and finally giving up poetry altogether as the talk rose high. With a wave of his arm, he brought in another harper, a horn player, and an apprentice with a small, squishy goat-skin drum. When they began playing, servants and noble-born alike rushed to shove the tables back against the wall to clear the space for dancing.

  In this confusion Blaen could finally slip away from his guests and find the ale mistress. She was supervising a group of pages as they brought in another barrel on a wheeled handcart.

  “Don’t joggle it so, lads!” she was saying. “It’s barely had time to
calm down after its trip here. Careful, careful now!”

  Blaen had to wait until the full barrel was standing safely near its empty fellows, and Veddyn had appeared to open it and take his wife’s post for a little while. Together the gwerbret and the dweomermaster walked down the back corridor that curved round the great hall until they found a private if draughty niche. Although Twdilla had grabbed her shabby old cloak as they left, Blaen merely shivered and ignored the cold by force of will.

  “Is there any news, good dame?”

  “None from Bardek, and there won’t be any till spring, Your Grace. But Nevyn says that things are … well, restless in Eldidd.”

  “No doubt. Ye gods, I wish I knew if Rhodry were alive!”

  “Your Grace, I believe with all my heart that Nevyn would know if Rhodry were dead. So, for that matter, does Nevyn.” She gave him a reassuring, if half-toothless, smile. “The question is, will he stay that way when our Jill brings him home in the spring? We may know Rhodry’s alive, but most of Eldidd’s got him buried already. The men who want his rhan are spending a lot of coin and calling in wagonloads of favors to further their schemes. How are they going to take it when the rightful heir blithely rides in to claim what’s his?”

  “Badly, no doubt, the weaseling bandits! What shall I do, ride to Eldidd as soon as the weather breaks?”

  “It might be best, Your Grace, but then, it might also be far too early. Who knows when they’ll come back across the Southern Sea? I hate to ask you to leave your own affairs only to wait upon your cousin’s.”

  “Well, if Rhodry’s inheritance were the only thing at stake, I might grumble, but it’s not. Look, if Eldidd goes up in open war, the High King will be forced to intervene. What if our liege were slain or wounded or suchlike? Or what if the war drags on for years and starts bleeding him white? I’m the King’s man first and always, good dame. Allow me to put myself and my men at your disposal.”