Rhapsody

by Elizabeth Haydon

  Rhapsody smiled. “Can it wait until tomorrow? I’m a little winded tonight, I’m afraid.”

  Beneath his hood Ashe winced; he had forgotten about her injury. “Of course. Does that mean I’m welcome here for another night?”

  “You’re welcome here for as long as you’d like to stay. We’re grateful for everything you did to help in quelling the raid. And even if that hadn’t occurred, you would have been welcome all the same.”

  “You’re most kind. Then I suppose there is nothing more I need tonight.”

  Rhapsody nodded. “Well, good night, then,” she said, walking to the door and opening it. “Sleep well.”

  “I have no doubt I will.” He watched as she closed the door behind her.

  The agony he carried roared back, causing him to gasp deeply and clutch the bed. He breathed shallowly until it came slightly under control, then lay back and fell into an exhausted, troubled sleep.

  62

  “If you’re really that lonely here among the Bolg, Rhapsody, I will get you a cat.”

  Rhapsody glared at him, and the light of the fire burning behind her intensified.

  “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  Achmed sat forward quickly, the look in his eyes direct.

  “It means that he has been here for a week now, and has shown no signs of leaving any time soon. He is wandering the halls of Ylorc with Jo, with no apparent restriction, despite what I thought was a rather clear directive to keep him away from any area that we might not want broached.”

  The hay target at the end of the meeting room exploded with a savage thud.

  “Excuse me,” Jo said icily, “who died and made you Supreme Ruler?”

  Grunthor looked up from the field map he was studying.

  “Oi think that would be Janthir Bonesplit’er, lit’le miss,” he said, then returned to his reading.

  “Maybe for the Bolg. I don’t remember taking a loyalty oath.” Jo pulled the dirk out of the remains of the target. “Look, I don’t know what you’re worried about. Ashe is a good sort. It’s not his fault that you don’t trust anybody, any more than it’s mine.”

  “This is not a point you want to argue,” Achmed said acidly. He turned to Rhapsody, who had put down the physician’s lyre she had been attempting to study. “I want him out of here by morning.”

  Shock rippled across her exquisite face. “Why?”

  “I don’t want him here.”

  The shock waves were replaced with white anger.

  “Really? I agree with Jo; I hadn’t realized that yours was the only opinion that mattered. I thought we all lived here.”

  “All right, he can stay. Grunthor, kill him, please. Before supper.”

  “Wait,” Rhapsody said, watching the Bolg put down his map. “That’s not funny.”

  “I wasn’t joking. Rhapsody, he’s dangerous and secretive. I’ve told you this before. I don’t want him here, but if you’re loath to ask him to leave, bad manners and all, Grunthor and I can handle the social arrangements for you.”

  Rhapsody glanced between the two angriest sets of eyes in the room. Achmed was growing visibly more upset, but he would have a long way to go to catch up with Jo. Her sister’s rage was only nominally contained. She stood, trembling with anger, fingering her dirk.

  “All right, everyone calm down,” she said, a Namer’s tone in her voice. “First you, Achmed. I don’t think secretive is necessarily a bad thing; you are the most secretive man I’ve ever met, including Ashe. Just because he doesn’t show his face doesn’t mean he’s evil. Maybe he’s scarred.”

  “I can’t pick up any vibrations from him, Rhapsody. Whenever he’s around it’s like standing beside the ocean. You know how much I love the ocean.”

  It’s not what he is, it’s what he wears.

  Rhapsody sat straight up at the sound of the voice in her memory. She listened intently, but no more words came.

  “That may be nothing more than the function of something he’s wearing,” she said pragmatically. “What do you think, Grunthor? You’ve been fairly quiet.”

  The giant Bolg intertwined his fingers over his stomach.

  “Oi agree with ’Is Majesty. Oi don’ think we should let ’im out of our sight.”

  “Fine,” said Jo quickly. “I won’t leave him alone in any of the main rooms. I’ll be with him whenever he’s not asleep; how’s that?”

  “Fine with me,” said Rhapsody. “He’s leaving soon anyway. I just ask you to indulge me in one more thing, you two,” she said to the men. “May I remind you that he helped quell the Hill-Eye rebellion, and did a credible job at it? He helped us when it was no business of his, without asking or expecting anything in return.”

  Achmed stood to leave. “Maybe he didn’t need anything else in return,” he said as he stalked to the door. “Maybe all the reward he needed was in causing the rebellion, himself, in the first place.”

  The heavy wooden door slammed shut with a sound like a thunderclap.

  The cool mist of Ashe’s cloak settled on his face, diminishing the heat of his dream.

  He turned over in the bed, shrugging away the garment that he wore at all times, night and day, with no exceptions. As he shifted beneath the blankets a pocket of steam rose from the cloak. There was comfort in the mist; it took a little of the edge off his pain. And it kept him safe, hidden from those who hunted him.

  He had not been able to dream these twenty years, not since the night when his life had been torn asunder.

  In younger days he had come to regard the time he spent dreaming as a blessing, the one chance he still had to be with the woman he loved, would always love, to the exclusion of any other. Her death had been the end of hope for him, or belief in the Future, but he still had his one and only memory of her in the Past. He had come to long for those rare nights when she graced his dreams, smiling in the darkness as she had so long ago.

  When he’s in port, it’s actually very tiny—about as big as my hand. And he keeps it on his mantel, in a bottle.

  His one and only memory. It had been enough.

  And then, one night, even that solitary comfort was gone. Now his life was no longer his own; he was a shell, a pawn in an evil game. The pain he carried, day after day, moment by moment, was ever-present in his mind and body. It was an agony of the soul as well as the physical realm, a torture so complete that it required almost constant force of will to keep from giving in to it. The dream had vanished then, too holy and pure to be able to exist in the same mind that saw what he was forced to see, night after night, moment by moment.

  But now something had changed. Ever since he had met her in the marketplace in Bethe Corbair, he had dreamt of Rhapsody. The guilt of the betrayal of Emily’s memory had faded quickly, shoved aside by the ease that her voice brought to his pain, to the throbbing in his head and chest that he had been unable to escape before he met her.

  Ashe sat up, untangling himself again from the blankets and the mist cloak. He closed his eyes and breathed shallowly, willing her to go away, to spare him the one thing he held holy. In body and soul, even in his memory, he had been unfalteringly loyal to the woman he had crossed Time to meet, if only for a moment.

  There could be no other, he knew. Emily’s place in his heart was a shrine.

  So why was this woman there? Why couldn’t he drive her out of it?

  I’ll be thinking about you every moment until I see you again.

  63

  As the days passed, Ashe became a fixture of sorts in Ylorc. Achmed had barred him, as he had Jo, from Gwylliam’s vaults and the ancient library; only Rhapsody, Grunthor, and the king himself were allowed within those chambers. Ashe, of course, knew where they were anyway, owing to his dragon sense. But for some reason their contents were unclear to him; he was unable to make out the details from the restricted area, which was a rare occurrence.

  It didn’t matter. Rhapsody was generally more than willing to discuss the various artifacts they had discov
ered with him, and Achmed routinely read the manuscripts he found within the library in the evenings after supper, giving Ashe the opportunity to discern what they were then.

  Once, as he was allowing his dragon sense to scan the documents in the Firbolg king’s hands, the scroll was abruptly rerolled. He opened his eyes to see Achmed staring at him from across the room. It was almost as if the Warlord could tell what he was doing, even beneath the misty hood. Perhaps it was a sign of his dominion over the land; Achmed held the law and lore of kingship and knew, innately, the minutiae of his kingdom, just as if he were a dragon himself. These were his lands; Ashe had no power here.

  All the insults and restrictions were worth it, as it allowed him access to Rhapsody. She was a joy, there was no doubt about it. Her personality held myriad facets and contradictions; she was at once gentle and ferocious, depending on the circumstance, though she possessed a rare ability to laugh at herself and to graciously endure the sometimes brutal teasing of her friends. She was devoted to Jo, and kept after her like a mother hen, defending her chick in all confrontational situations with talons more akin to a raptor. And her intelligence and sense of humor were without peer.

  Ashe knew he should be moving on; the one who was waiting for him would doubtless be growing annoyed by now, but he seemed powerless to leave her. He had established a casual, disinterested demeanor that had set well toward making Rhapsody comfortable around him; her guard was down, and she was growing to like him, or at least she seemed to be. Just a few more days, he told himself each night as he lay in bed, alone, wondering what she was dreaming about. Achmed’s will had extended even into the stone walls, making it impossible to sense her when she was not in the same room. It was a disconcerting feeling.

  Everything changed a few days later. Achmed and Grunthor had been gone for most of the day, exploring the caverns. Ashe had spent the morning teaching Jo to play mumblety-peg, a dexterity game he knew she would excel in, owing to her nimble fingers. She had mastered the technique quickly and was demonstrating it to Rhapsody when the two Bolg returned from the vaults, wrapped in an air of excitement.

  “Wanna see what we found, Duchess?” said Grunthor, handing her a slim jeweled case. It was pristine, the outer box made from the dark, blue-toned wood of the hespera trees that grew deep within the Hidden Realm and from which much of the ancient furniture they had found had been crafted. The top was hinged with tiny golden braces, and the clasp had no lock.

  “It was within many other layers of boxes and caskets, buried deep in the vault,” said Achmed, pouring himself a glass from the decanter.

  Rhapsody opened it carefully. Within it lay a flawed, curved dagger, the length of a short sword, made from bone or another inconsistent material. It was the color of rose-gold, the metal alloy formed when copper was mixed into a golden base.

  “How very strange.” She removed the dagger carefully from the box, turning it over in her hands. “Who would gild a weapon with red-gold? It’s too soft for any battle use. And the craftsmanship isn’t good; look how many defects there are in the surface.”

  “Perhaps it’s ceremonial.”

  Rhapsody closed her eyes and listened, there was an intense hum in the air around the dagger. Then her eyes opened wide in alarm. “Gods; I think I know what this is,” she said. Her face turned white and her voice dropped to a whisper.

  “What?”

  “It’s a dragon’s claw; look at it.” She held it up at a curved angle; she was right. There was no mistaking it, or the extrapolation that the dragon it had come from had been immense.

  “It’ll make a great sword for the lit’le miss,” said Grunthor.

  “You’re insane,” Rhapsody snapped. Then regret flooded her face as Grunthor looked hurt. “I’m sorry, Grunthor,” she said. “I just remember a little dragon lore from the old land. Dragons are particularly selfish creatures, and very jealous of their possessions. If the owner of this claw is still alive, it will know who has it, and may scour the countryside looking to get it back. I don’t want Jo anywhere near this thing; in fact, I’m not so sure we want it anywhere within the mountain. We may have to take it back to her.”

  “Her?”

  “Elynsynos, Anwyn’s mother, remember? Llauron’s grandmother. She’s the only dragon I’ve ever heard of in this land.”

  “It’s been fine here for centuries,” said Achmed, annoyed. “Why do you think she will suddenly want it back?”

  “Perhaps when it was in the sealed vault she didn’t know where it was, but now that the air has reached it, its smell will be on the wind. I’m not kidding, Achmed; one of the first types of lore they teach you as a Singer is tales of dragons and others of the five firstborn races. Most of those stories have to do with the rampages the wyrms go on when a thief steals something from their hoard, or when it is taken inadvertently. We have to decide carefully what to do with this; it would be awful to wake up one night with fire raining from the sky.”

  Grunthor sighed. “Oi’m not showin’ you nothin’ from now on,” he said.

  “Perhaps she’s right,” Achmed said; the others looked up at him in surprise. He knew the tales as well, and darker ones. “But I’m not sure returning it is the answer. Perhaps we should just take it to the tallest of the Teeth and hurl it onto the plateau. If the dragon is still alive, she’ll find it.”

  “Or someone else will,” said Rhapsody indignantly. “Anyone could come across that box and open it; you’d be sentencing an innocent stranger to a horrible death. Besides, I don’t think a dragon that would journey to Ylorc to retrieve something she thought was valuable would appreciate it being tossed from a mountain like so much garbage.”

  Jo had organized the Bolg children into crews that had cleaned up the centuries of filth and litter from the steppes. “Nobody better be throwing trash from the mountain,” she said, then went back to her game.

  “And how do you propose to return this to her?” Achmed asked.

  “I’ll go,” Rhapsody said. “It will be interesting; perhaps I can learn some dragon lore firsthand.”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?” Rhapsody’s eyes narrowed; it was the first sign of anger brewing.

  “I said no,” Achmed repeated. “If I recall correctly, wasn’t Elynsynos the dragon that rampaged when she found out that Merithyn didn’t come back, and deserted her children as infants?”

  “Yes,” she admitted.

  “And you want to seek her out and say, ‘Here, we found this; I’ll be on my way now’? I don’t think so. Besides, you have no idea where to find her, do you?”

  “I do,” said Ashe quietly. He had been sitting by silently, observing the proceedings with interest and a touch of amusement. The women jumped when he spoke, having been lulled into forgetting he was there. “I could guide you there.”

  “No,” Achmed repeated again, a snarl in his voice.

  “Do you have a better idea?” Rhapsody asked, her annoyance growing.

  Achmed sighed irritably and glanced in Ashe’s direction. “Perhaps instead of no I should had said not yet. There may be some value in seeing what she might offer in return for it.”

  “You’re going to ransom something to a dragon?” Ashe’s voice contained a note of either disdain or amusement; Achmed couldn’t decide which, but either one infuriated him.

  “Don’t be a jackass. I just want her to remember to whom she owes its return.”

  Rhapsody was becoming impatient. “I’m not willing to risk it,” she said. “Ashe knows how to find her lair.”

  “Good; then he can draw us a map, assuming he’s literate.”

  Ashe laughed. “I don’t think so. If you’re still interested in the morning, we can make plans for the journey. I think I will wish you all good night now.”

  Jo stood as well. “Me too. I’ll walk you there.” She kissed Rhapsody on the cheek, then followed the cloaked figure out of the room.

  Rhapsody waited until she was sure the two could no longer hear their voice
s, then turned to Achmed again.

  “Why are you doing this? What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. It’s not a case of something being ‘the matter.’”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s a case of being careful in unfamiliar territory.”

  Rhapsody’s brows knit together. “It’s not unfamiliar to Ashe, obviously.”

  “Ashe is unfamiliar territory. What’s the matter with you, Rhapsody? You trip over this imbecile in the market; he calls you a whore and then buys you lunch to make up for it, and you forgive him, proving that, in a way, he was right. Then he shows up here, in my lands, unannounced and unwelcome, and worms his way into your good graces again. Are you so intolerant, is the company of Firbolg so repugnant to you that you crave the attentions of this useless idiot just to be around humans again?”

  Rhapsody’s eyes stung; Achmed had never been especially careful with her feelings, but even for him this was caustic. “What a horrible thing to say.”

  “Far less horrible than the things that could happen to you, alone and unprotected, with this man you barely know, outside the range of help. You know I can’t leave Ylorc right now. This is not the time for me to go overland when the Bolg are finally united and the plans we put into place are beginning to bear fruit.”

  Rhapsody’s eyes narrowed again. Grunthor caught a glimpse of them from across the room, burning like green fire; he knew that look. It was the warning of great wrath.

  “And therefore I am required to stay in Ylorc as well, even though my part in your great unification plan is over,” she said, her voice low with the effort to remain in control of her temper. “I have done my share in your effort, Achmed, at times even crossing the line of what I was willing to, all for you, because you said it was the right thing to do. What am I supposed to do here now?”

  Achmed gripped the arm of his chair. “What about helping with the agricultural program? The hospital? The hospice? The education strategy?”